Exhibitions
The Royal Air Force 1918 (RAF Museum, Hendon, till 29 July)
Aviators and footsloggers
Giles Auty
As a small child I had two precocious if minor talents: rapid abilities to recognise birds or aeroplanes. For children living in East Kent during the war years the latter, at least, was a useful and relatively com- mon attribute. No self-respecting boy would have mistaken a clipped-wing Spit- fire for a Messerschmidt 109, nor even one of our own Typhoons for a Focker-Wulf 190, a later and more easily-made error. Hence one could continue playing in the open rather than rushing for shelter, although I doubt whether even the most bloodthirsty of foes would have elevated a group of muddy small-fry to the status of strategic target.
To my discredit I had not visited the Royal Air Force Museum before this week and am embarrassed to admit taking plea- sure in a continuing ability to recognise the second world war aircraft on display at sight — but this was not the purpose of my trip. I had gone to look at the recently opened permanent display of art commis- sioned originally by the War Artists' Advisory Committee, plus a special 70th anniversary exhibition of aviation art: The Royal Air Force in 1918. The former is in the Dermot Boyle wing on the ground floor while the latter is in Gallery I on the first floor. This information could prove useful, as some of the museum attendants I asked seemed none too sure; perhaps they feel that mere art cannot do justice to the real thing.
If so, their feelings are misguided, for works of art from either world war, whether graphic or literary, have a poten- tial for poignancy that is hard to rival. For once, the artist's vulnerability and wounds are not largely self-inflicted, since some- thing more immediately deadly even than drink, injudicious marriages or creative torpor lies just a trigger's pull distant. At any moment the yellow fields and hazy September sunshine may be supplemented by sounds less melodious than those of busily foraging bees. Unsurprisingly the ordinary phenomena of life take on a heightened preciousness under these cir- cumstances, for tomorrow, or in hours, one may not be seeing them again.
A number, but not nearly enough of the paintings and drawings in either exhibition told of these terrible beauties. In the Dermot Boyle wing many of the paintings appeared to have been cleaned recently and over-enthusiastically varnished. Abet- ted by less than ideal lighting, they became hard to see. Paintings by such as Eric Kennington, William Dring, Rodrigo Moynihan and Graham Sutherland avoided mere topography, sentimentality or Boy's Own Paper action sequences and were deeply moving. For me, few suc- ceeded better than Alan Sorrell's '8 a.m. Parade RAF', wherein smoke billowing from Nissen huts, snow on the ground and lines of greatcoated airmen triggered recol- lections of training at Padgate and Hednes- ford all too credibly. As one might expect, the better the artist the more stirring or exemplary the painting. Thus Christopher 'Spring in the Trenches, Ridge Wood', 1918, by Paul Nash Nevinson and George Clausen provided two of the more memorable works of the 70th anniversary show.
Recently I was reminded also of two of the major RAF images from the second world war, `A Balloon Site, Coventry' and `Take-off , when reading Caroline Fox's worthy study of Laura Knight, published last month by Phaidon. Both large paint- ings belong to the Imperial War Museum, which is currently mounting a large show of works by Paul Nash from the first world war. I do not know whether mixed-purpose museums find it difficult to approach the complicated task of showing paintings as professionally as out-and-out galleries can, but here once again a striking exhibition seemed inadequately lit and supervised. While a brace of uniformed attendants argued at the tops of their voices at one end of the gallery, a small child was rushing about dangerously with a pram at the other. In the narrow corridors, where an unsupervised exhibition of first world war montages and memorabilia might have prompted some degree of reflection, if not respect, a posse of children shrieked and laughed. Before long, none will remain who experienced the first world war first- hand. At such a point, written and visual reminiscences may take on even greater value, not least in aiding genuine under- standing of this country's history.
Nash's record of the inferno, the terrible human drama seen generally in sombre hues and eerie, unworldly light, reminds us of certain of the things mankind aspires to, both good and ill. Like others before and after him, Nash shed some degree of conspicuous artiness in the face of experi- ences which were all too real. In the present absence of wars in which we are involved, or conscripted service, one won- ders how many contemporary British artists may have missed essential discover- ies about their own natures or that of the world we live in. Artistic appreciation, even of the most dank or humdrum days, can take flight simply from the belief that their number may be limited. Could one continuing message of Nash's vast master- piece, `The Menin Road', be that without threats art or society slips into decadence and complacency too readily?
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