The Wykehamist
have, you can’ t articulate it. But how are we meant to deal with this overwhelming image? We are masterfully taken to the bare bones; the grimy, woody black, the scarce use of pyre-like red, the glaring white. It is as if we can feel the howl of the painting imbued in its very body. As Xander puts it,‘ Keifer’ s genius comes from how you are enveloped,’ bringing us down from our pedestal to the only moving piece visible in the work— a funeral pyre. It is harrowing, visceral, but something we need to see.
‘ Who would you have at your dinner party?’ asks Anna Nott( D, 24-). It is a typical question, an age-old ice breaker— but is there more here than meets the eye? Why do we choose certain people; why do we try and whittle down history? It feels vain. But it underscores something we do every day, and this time not as a light-hearted piece of conversation. Who decides who gets to be remembered? Judy Chicago’ s The Dinner Party( 1979) explodes out of the constraint of a frame, making the artwork a sort of frame itself. The room is completely dark, except for a slightly luminous tiled centre around which a triangular table is placed. At each of the 39 seats, lie the expression of a great woman from history. But why only 39? Anna fabulously engages us not just with our personal response, but with contemporary criticism. How can you sideline so much of history? She points out that they are not there solely to make themselves known, but to make the greater absence burn on our conscience. She demonstrates the use of the shape that lies at the core of the image we receive, the triangle we cannot seem to get out of our minds.
Whilst each plate has its own intricacies, the triangle becomes how we view the artwork as a whole— with no head at the table. We are not left thinking of the women Chicago presents us with, but of those she does not.
After a brief interval, the finalists return; Freddie and Xander’ s chairs, having lost their occupants to The Tempest, are now decorated tongue-in-cheek with Shakespeare’ s head. The tension builds in the audience again, and Thomas Dunn( H, 21-) rises to the lectern. The Battle of Alexander at Issus by Albrecht Altdorfer is a 1529 composition showcasing one of the most dramatic events of the ancient world. Highlighting the patronage and circumstances of the artwork, he demonstrates the importance of the world we are surrounded by, drawing us wittily to Alexander the Great’ s suspiciously Holy Roman attire, as well as comparing the Persians’ to that of the Ottoman Turks. Altdorfer saw this east-west division as a continuous one. We are reminded of Kenneth Clark’ s images at the beginning, Marcus Aurelius triumphal, the Pantheon rising proudly in central Rome— art can represent power. But Altdorfer’ s painting shows us something greater than the mortal engines of his time— it shows one great cyclical battle. It brings a sempiternal division, born out of lust for power and growth, to the contemporary and the alive. He shows us the
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