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James K. Baxter Complete Prose Volume 1

Salvation Army Aesthete?

Salvation Army Aesthete?

The painting of Colin McCahon has lately aroused considerable controversy in the Listener. His critics seem to be divided into two camps – those who regard his work as being on a par with bad posters, and those who regard it as being original and naïve though technically limited. We do not claim expert judgment in matters of art, but we have seen McCahon’s work develop over several years and have found that what jarred at first became on closer acquaintance deeply moving and impressive. Knowing that for most critics, opinions and prejudice are the same thing, we have gathered by means of casual conversation from three well-known artists their opinion of McCahon. All three were agreed that McCahon’s work possessed power, depth andpage 41 beauty; one ranked him as the most vital artist now painting in New Zealand. Hence it is difficult to dismiss him as a poseur and eccentric.

Colin McCahon was born in Timaru, of pure Irish descent. Till 1938 he lived in Dunedin. He is now in Christchurch, and is making a livelihood by helping to produce miniatures and jewellery, thus supporting a wife and three children. He endured three half-years at the School of Art; has worked as a builder, also in innumerable labouring jobs, the most reputable being that of ladies’ lavatory attendant and swan-feeder in Wellington. On meeting McCahon one is struck by his obvious sincerity and admirable sense of humour. Referring to the difficulty that many find in placing his work, he remarked on one occasion that it is exactly the same kind of thing as one sees outside the Salvation Army Citadel.

The print shown above [‘River and Hills’] is one of his typical landscapes. It captures the raw harsh quality of so many New Zealand ranges, and should be an introduction to some of his more complex work. This print has appeared with others in Landfall, but McCahon’s vigorous use of colour cannot be shown. Nevertheless the rhythmic form of his art should be apparent even in black and white.

There seem to be three main difficulties found in the appreciation of McCahon. The first springs probably from an ignorance of his cultural background. There is much truth in the saying that there is nothing new under the sun. To those familiar with Bosch’s ‘Temptation of St Anthony’, surrealism will not seem strange. And as John Summers points out in his penetrating essay in Student, McCahon’s paintings would have been quite intelligible to those who saw Fra Angelico at work. Unconsciously we reject the major part of our artistic heritage for a norm founded on the chocolate box or that photographic mirroring of nature which reaches its peak in Albrecht Dürer. A fruitful comparison can be drawn between McCahon’s religious paintings and those of Blake. Both develop their own theme rather than illustrating a text; and both ally confidence and daring to a sure instinct. It would be untrue to describe McCahon’s painting as ‘mystical’ – there is nothing woolly about his method, and the device borrowed from the cartoon brings it nearer to satire.

The second difficulty is implied by the first, and rises from a misconception of the function of art. Many of us in our heart of hearts wish only to see a coloured photograph and distrust all symbolism and subjectivism. And the same problem is encountered in the literary field. Modern novels tend to be little more than accurate reporting. Jung relates how he showed a photograph to a Melanesian savage. The head-hunter turned it in his hands for some time and then exclaimed with an air of profound discovery, ‘It is a picture of white men.’ A European child would have recognised it instantly. Yet the savage was capable of creating the most subtle and expressive art forms, including no doubt representations of the human figure. We are inclined to forget thatpage 42 naturalistic art is based on a convention just as much as impressionism. The apparent distortion of McCahon’s painting is in fact more accurate than the photograph, for it represents movement and solidity.

The third difficulty comes from his choice of subject and his handling of it. The raw quality of his crucifixions might well offend a church-goer who wished to forget Christ on weekdays. There is in them a good deal of pity and terror and the monstrously ludicrous element which lies in all suffering. This may seem to a Christian blasphemy and to a non-Christian morbidity. But McCahon has done in painting what Sargeson does tentatively in prose before he cuts himself short with a sneer. He is expressing the sour and struggling piety that lies behind the blank mask of Presbyterianism. Instead of revolting from his environment he learns to accept it. His Christs and angels are reconciled with the fertile hills behind them. The curve of the wing of the Angel of the Annunciation is repeated in the shape of the peak above the square house.

The art of Colin McCahon has a fire and originality which sets it apart from that of most New Zealand painters. A.R.D. Fairburn is perhaps in some of his bush paintings the nearest to him in method and feeling. It is explorative and by standing outside schools is able to draw on the technical approach of any of them. His latest work, so far unfinished, shows a growing strength and richness. The man himself possesses great honesty and integrity, qualities which in combination with his undoubted gifts, should assure his work of the recognition it deserves.

1948 (33)