London is brilliant

Not something that was ever really in doubt but something that from time to time we forget or at least take for granted. I reminded myself what an incredibly rich cultural city I live in this weekend by visiting lots of galleries. I went to the Tate on Saturday and gasped at the sumptuous array of world class art hung on its walls and visited the National Portrait Gallery today.

I really enjoyed the exhibition of pencil and ink drawings in the Tate. There is something so unguarded about them, no artifice or contrivance just pure unfussied lines on paper. Some incredible pieces like Vija Celmins velvety 'Galaxy #1' or quadriplegic Close's gestural 'Self Portrait' that I loved. Most of all i fell in love with Fiona Rae's 'Night Vision'. To my intense frustration the picture above bears no resemblance to the piece in real life. It's fantastically matt black canvas seemed ablaze to me with it's thick central smear of neon oil paint bursting forth from a rich brown casing. For me it spoke of the comfort and surprising ease with which heavy linear ordered areas of colour can in fact work in harmony with more chaotic, fluid or certainly expressive brushwork. I haven't before seen such two polar styles balanced within the one canvas before.

The Portraits were also inspirational. Whilst I find the photorealistic style of painting technically impressive I often find it can leave me a little apathetic. However there was one entry in which the artist had painted her botanist father that left me dumb-struck. It appeared so real to me that it became real. Miriam Escofet had captured such detail in the lighting of her sitter that the finished portrait seemed to luminesce. It was amazing and like so many who visit those galleries left me longing to be able to paint in such a way. I also loved the Nordic regality in Inglov Helland's self portrait and the brooding power of Rupert Alexander's entry.