3 October to 8 November 2014

The Fine Art Society6 Dundas Street · Edinburgh EH3 6HZ

+44 (0)131 557 4050 · art@fasedinburgh.comwww.fasedinburgh.com

Works are for sale on receipt of this catalogue

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T H EF I N E A R TS O C I E T Y

A L E X A N D E RS T O D D A R T

R E C E N T S T U D I E S

F R O M T H E A R T I S T’S

Y O U T HE D I N B U R G H

M M X I V

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I N T R O D U C T I O N

Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen bluhn … ?

This small exhibition of recent works, small bozzetti (lightly modelled sketch studies for larger works), revisits subjects I first troubled over when a student at Glasgow School of Art between the years 1976 and 1980 and immediately thereafter. These themes caused me great difficulty owing to my technical inability to attempt them at the time and also because the subjects were weighty. They came from the two cultural summits of the great Classical Greek and German Romantic traditions, brought to my attention first of all through my reading of Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900); so many names, taken to be perfectly known to the reader; so many schools of thought and streams of sensibility understood to be currency. I tried a few of the themes but they came to very little. Now, in decided middle-age, I have returned to that ‘Land where the lemon-trees bloom’ to try to see what it was I was attempting so long ago, why I could not at that time succeed, and also to look, for once in a long career of biographical avoidance, to see what I was, and perhaps, in part, still am. Exposed first to the writing of Nietzsche, I quickly encountered Schopenhauer, whose thought has informed so much of my later work – a lasting benefit. The exhibition contains a single work from my youthful output; a self-portrait modelled in 1980, much damaged and scarred by studio abuses over the thirty-four year interim (cat.14).

We remain unknown to ourselves, we seekers after knowledge, even to our-selves – so how should we one day find ourselves? It has rightly been said that: ‘Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also’ (Matthew 6:21); our treasure is to be found in the bee-hives of knowledge. As spiritual bees

opposite: Alexander Stoddart, Paisley 2014, photographed by David Mitchell

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from birth, this is our eternal destination, our hearts are set on one thing only – ‘bringing something home’. Whatever else life has to offer, so-called ‘experiences’ – who among us is serious enough for them? Or has enough time for them? … Our eternal sentence reads: ‘Everyone is furthest from himself ’ – of ourselves, we have no knowledge …

Friedrich Nietzsche, Preface to On the Genealogy of Morals

Friedrich Nietzsche continues a northern-European tradition, stem-ming perhaps from Johan Joachim Winckelmann (1717–1768), in which the artist, or the poet-philosopher in his case, thirsts, above all, for the South. For Nietzsche the southern climate was physically necessary, Turin becoming the one place where he found relative physical ease, immediately before his final mental collapse in 1889. Others, like the painters Hans Thoma (1839–1924) and Anselm Feuerbach (1829–1880), the sculptor Adolf von Hildebrand (1847–1921), the critic and art-histo-rian Konrad Fiedler (1841–1895) and most importantly the Swiss painter Arnold Böcklin (1827–1901), found in the specifically Italian natural and cultural climate a kind of Heimat, critical to their work and aesthetic outlook. They were trying, by going away from the Germanic lands, to come closer and closest to themselves, to bring themselves “home.” Why home, so far away? As a young man I myself became enthralled by the idea of exile-as-home; there was always a sense in which I considered the ‘here’ to be far from the right place to be. This was felt in geographical terms up to a point, owing to youthful restlessness and the compulsion to travel which is an almost physiological imperative in the young, but much more strongly in the time context. The ‘now’ was always something intrinsically fraudulent to me, the ‘then’ being the real, true and account-able temporality. In the stories of these Germans trudging off to Italy in the 19th century my own travels commenced – a vicarious Grand Tour. It was a kind of companionship, enjoyed in a dim, painted light with much discussion over the precise difference between a satyr and a faun! As these artists of past time tramped the dusty roads to the Sun, so I found, one after another, various dusty studios in which, chained to a stone floor, I might set about making the past-regarding monuments (the present – and future-ignoring monuments) from which I have made my career. As

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above: Alexander Stoddart, Glasgow, 1980

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R E C E N T S T U D I E S F R O M T H E A R T I S T’S Y O U T H

time progressed, I found that I had begun to neglect my companions in art, so far away now, and so long away. I seldom read Goethe, and it was so long since I had heard anything by Hugo Wolf. In overlooking the very sponsors of my youth I had come to neglect a part of my spiritual person.

In my own case, as a very late and far-flung ‘Deutscher-Romer’, the call of the South has not strongly manifested itself in a particular desire to locate, geographically, in any specific place ultra montane. Instead, my entire dream of the South was slept through safely in the town of Pais-ley in West Central Scotland. I looked out at Italy, and at Greece itself, through the lens of Art and Literature, as the roof let in the rain. The picture had weird distortions, but also, I believe, a certain objectivity – for the dream faculty is powerful and its representations often startlingly clear. In the three decades that lie between my student years and the present, this ‘viewing’ of the cultural South, lately revived as a vivid dream just of the kind one often experiences immediately before waking, has resulted in my accumulation of a weighty debt to German culture in the 19th and early 20th centuries. I never learned the language and I seldom visited the German lands, having had neither the time nor the resources to venture there, but I discovered the art and architecture, the songs and verses, the thoughts and manners, by other means. My personal road to the classical sun, therefore, while not being in any sense an autobahn, was nevertheless signposted in Gothic script. On that path men walk arm in arm and greet the views, as they emerge, with expansive gestures.

AlExAndEr StoddArtPaisley, August 2014

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1 · T H E W I S D O M O F S I L E N U STerracotta · 30 cm · inscribed SILENUS A Stoddart, 2014

There is an ancient story that King Midas hunted in the forest a long time for Silenus, the companion of Dionysus, without capturing him. When Silenus at last fell into his hands, the king asked what was the best and most desirable of all things for man. Fixed and immovable, the demigod said not a word, till at last, urged by the king, he gave a shrill laugh and broke out into these words: ‘Oh, wretched ephemeral race, children of chance and misery, why do you compel me to tell you what it would be most expedient for you not to hear? What is best of all is utterly beyond your reach: not to be born, not to be, to be nothing. But the second best for you is – to die soon,’

Friedrich Nietzsche, – quoting Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus in The Birth of Tragedy, section 3.

This disturbing piece of folk-wisdom has been reviewed by philosophers from Aristotle onwards, and has exerted a strong influence over the many young men who have turned to philosophy in various states of curiosity and distress. ‘The Birth of Tragedy’, Nietzsche’s first book, makes the most celebrated reference to the story. He uses it to compare the conflicting impressions that any alert student of Greek culture has to accommo-date; firstly, of an overwhelmingly ‘exultant, triumphant life in which all things, whether good or evil, are deified … ’ and secondly, the sense of melancholy that seems to underpin this Hellenic gaiety. Nietzsche fixes on the demigod Silenus as a medium between the joy and the sorrow – a drunken commander of the vine, that ‘sympathetic companion in whom the suffering of the god (Dionysos) is repeated … ’

For me, in the late 1970s, ‘The Birth of Tragedy’ became a kind of model from which I derived much of my questionable behaviour at the time.

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2 · H E R M A P H R O D I T ETerracotta · 28 cm · inscribed a STODDaRT, PaISLEY 2013

This truncated study treats a subject from Plato’s Symposium, in which Aristophanes is given a speech explaining the origins of both homosexual and heterosexual love, and the cause of the powerful sense of being ‘lost in amazement of love and friendship and intimacy’ that attends such states.

Human nature, says Aristophanes, was:

… originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called love. There was a time, I say, when we were one, but now because of the wickedness of mankind God has dispersed us, as the Arcadians were dispersed into villages by the Lacedaemonians …

The original sexes were three; the male, the female and the androgynous. But original human beings continually offended Zeus, and so the Father of Olympus instructed Apollo to cleave them in two, leaving bisected wretches, each one forever seeking what the common expression describes as ‘his other half ’. Those who were originally male seek their completion in union with the male, the female with the female, this accounting for the homosexual loves. But those who were originally androgynous find their completion in the opposite sex, men with women and women with men.

We find something strangely ‘amazing’ in the sight of a figure lacking heads or limbs. I attempted many torso studies when young, in part because the complete figure presented problems beyond my capacity at the time to solve, but also because of the enchantment inherent in the startled gazing at such things; it felt like unconsummated love.

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3 · E R O STerracotta · 29 cm · Inscribed aMORE TRIONFaNTE

Alexander Stoddart PaISLEY 6 May 2014

Nature … the inner being of which is the will-to-live itself, with all her force impels both man and the animal to propagate. After this she has attained her end with the individual, and is quite indifferent to its destruction; for, as the will-to-live, she is concerned only with the preservation of the species; the individual is nothing to her. Because the inner being of nature, the will-to-live, expresses itself most strongly in the sexual impulse, the ancient poets and philosophers – Hesiod and Parmenides – said very significantly that Eros is the first, that which creates, the principle from which all things emerge. Pherecydes said: “Zeus transformed himself into Eros, when he wished to create the world.” … The Maya of the Indians, the work and fabric of which are the whole world of illusion, is paraphrased by amor.

Arthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Representation, Fourth Book, section 60

In this study, Eros Triumphant is rendered as an insouciant figure, at rest with nothing to do. I imagined, when young, making an image of the metaphysical ‘will-to-live’ of Schopenhauer which would amount to a raging, furiously turbulent, masculine figure. Now that I am old I see the Will clearly, and he cuts an entirely different figure.

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4 · H Y P N O STerracotta · 32.5 cm · inscribed a STODDaRT PaISLEY 2013

and HYPNOS at the front.

This exhibition is in large part a homage to my Genius. This sounds, to the modern ear, an insufferably vain thing to say, yet to the classicist it is entirely polite, and even pious. For in the ancient world one’s Genius was not identical with one’s accomplishments or brilliancies, but rather a kind of god or deamon to be looked after and attended, and recognised daily with sacrifices and prayers offered him. One’s Genius (and all people have one) is like the more modern idea of the Guardian Angel. Socrates’ Genius was a restraining spirit, a ‘divine sign’ that always commanded in the negative (cf. Phaedrus; interlude). For the ancients one could never be a Genius, but only have one, and he was to be treated with respect.

While Socrates’ Genius appeared to him as an inner voice, my Genius is only to be seen – and he commands nothing except my attention. He is, in fact, the god Hypnos, deity of sleep and brother of Thanatos, god of death and he appeared in my grown-up life through the window of the Fine Art Society’s premises in Glasgow in, I think, 1977, when an ideal bust of the subject by James Pittendrigh MacGillivray (1856–1938) was on display there. And as Socrates ascribed his abstention from polit-ical life to his ‘Daemon’, so I attribute my own abstention from artistic dynamism and all forms of ‘contemporism’ to this patron deity. Sleep is a realm in which no mischief can be done, and because the brain is the only organ that requires sleep, so Hypnos is also a god of knowledge and enlightenment.

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5 · T H A N A T O S M U S A G E T E STerracotta · 32.5 cm · inscribed a STODDaRT PaISLEY 14

There is a statue of Apollo Citharoedus in the Museo Pio-Clementino in the Vatican which comes from the 2nd Century Ad and belongs to the ‘Apollo Musagetes’ type, where the God of music carries a large Cithara, or bass lyre, and ‘leads the Muses’ (Musagetes: Muse-Leader). Here the god Thanatos is given the same epithet. The brother of Hypnos, he is the deity of death and is shown in the classical tradition not as a skeleton or spook but as a beautiful winged boy. Thanatos is a god of mercy, good fortune and knowledge, for, as Schopenhauer explains in Chapter xlI of The World as Will and Representation:

Death is the real inspiring genius or Musagetes of philosophy, and for this reason Socrates defined philosophy as “preparation for death”.’

In this study the god is seen shading his eyes from the low light of Elysium, over which he gazes. An extinguished torch hangs from the tree-stump against which the figure leans; not a dashed torch, but one apparently spontaneously and gently having ceased to burn. This notes the presence of the god’s name in the word euthanasia, which means ‘beautiful death’ – properly an un-engineered cessation of living.

I first saw an image of Thanatos on the famed Necropolis of Glasgow, carved by John Mossman (1817–1890), the city’s leading Victorian sculp-tor.

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6 · H Y P N O M O R P H E U STerracotta · 28.5 cm · inscribed HYPNOMORPHEUS a STODDaRT 2014

Since my earliest days as an art-student, and even before that in school, I was sensible of a strong aversion in certain people to the inclusion of wings on a human figure in art, and I have encountered it in later years among scientists especially, in men and women of business, and of course everywhere in the pseudo-scientised business-world of the official con-temporary arts.

The god represented is a composite of Hypnos and his son Mor-pheus, god of dreams. Hypnomorpheus’ wings issue not from his shoul-der-blades but from his pectoral muscles, the formalised ‘shoulders’ (more correctly the ‘thumbs’) of the pinion at the alula framing the face when the work is seen from slightly below.

Dreams often come true. One of science’s great modern failings lies in its confident statistical refutation of this fact and smiling refusal further to consider the matter. But other times have paid close attention to the visions of sleep which are marked by an intensity superior, sometimes, to the impressions of wakefulness. Hypnomorpheus, in this study, pays tribute to the frequent veracity of the dream-faculty in the frank associ-ation of the wing with the pectoralis, which muscle in birds powers the action of flight.

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7 · P T E R O STerracotta · 34 cm · inscribed PTEROS aLEXaNDER STODDaRT ’14

Plato is the agent of this work. In the Phaedrus, the lover’s soul, explains Socrates, when deprived of its beloved, experiences an atrophying of its wings; they become Imprisoned below the surface … and each embryo feather throbs like a pulse and presses against its proper outlet, so that the soul is driven mad by the pain of the pricks in every part, and yet feels glad-ness because it preserves the memory of its darling. When the lover sees his beloved, his soul is refreshed by the flood of emanations and the closed passages are unstopped … and there is nothing to equal the sweetness of the pleasure which he enjoys for the moment … This sickness, let me inform the handsome lad whom I am supposed to be addressing, men call eros, but the gods have a name for it which in his youthful ignorance he will probably laugh at … (quoting from Homeric apocrypha) – Eros the god that flies is his name in the language of mortals: But from the wings he must grow he is called by celestials Pteros … ’

Why do Pteros’ wings, in this representation, number three, two of which spring from the obliquus externus at the lower part of that muscle, just above the crest of ilium? The single wing at the back signifies sleep (cf. exhibit 4, Hypnos); perhaps the strangely located others serve to ‘bless’ or consecrate an area of the ideal classical figure’s torso which is one of the ‘darling’ features of the type; that buttress terminating the torso and making just preparation of passage to the pelvic areas; that startlingly attractive form, presented in duplicate, exaggerating something in nature, possibly to divert attention away from the genitals at that critical junc-ture – who knows? The artistically dedicated soul, on observing such traditionary forms, feels itself refreshed by the flood of emanations and the closed passages are unstopped …

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8 · T H E G E N I U S O F A R N O L D B Ö C K L I NTerracotta, painted · 26 cm · inscribed FUR BOCKLIN – a STODDaRT

PaISLEY – 18.5.2014

This profane group, featuring a sea-sprite pulling on the reins of a dol-phin observed by a sea-monster, was made as a homage to the great pater familias of European symbolism, Arnold Böcklin (1827–1901). There is a corpus of Böcklin paintings called his ‘marines’ in which a serious and daring attempt is made to grapple with the subject of life-surfeit. These pictures are the least favoured of this immense artist’s works, precisely, I believe, because they penetrate right to the kernel of what life really is – and the report is not comforting or euphemistic. In all the tumble of grinning mermen with hapless and singularly unattractive mermaids there seems to be a guarantee of miserable weather above and an effect conveyed of dreadful world-weariness, despite the hilarity. Glasgow School of Art library had two volumes on Bocklin which I had out on constant loan, back in the late ’70s.

The sea-sprite is correctly described as ithyphallic (straight-phallused). The form has appeared explicitly in various works from my student days to now; a dreadful centre-of-command in the physiology, the intellect’s antipode, the hammer for that ‘soft anvil upon which all mankind is wrought.’ ( John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester). The phallus is revered in the two great cultures, under the aspect of Dionysos in Greece, and as an attribute of Shiva in India. It is an important subject of art.

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9 · T H E S P I R I T O F E R I C H W O L F G A N G K O R N G O L D

Terracotta · 33 cm · inscribed E.W. KORNGOLD 1897–1957 IN MEMORIaM KONRaD HOPKINS 1928–2010 a STODDaRT PaISLEY 2014

This little study, Jugendstil in manner, commemorates an early enthusiasm for the music of the great Czech-Viennese composer of the title. The work is made as a memorial to Konrad Hopkins, who set up the Inter-national Korngold Society in Paisley in 1983 with Brendan G. Carroll, the leading authority on Korngold’s life and music. I was on the periphery of the society.

Like Arnold Bax, who referred to himself as ‘a brazen Romantic’, Korngold belongs to that resistant body of composers who stood up to the pressure to change imposed by the cultural commissars of the last century. Korngold is a hero of continuity.

This figure represents no character from any Korngold opera, and has no specific relation to any other theme that the composer entertained. It is rather the figure that I always pictured to personify the rising melodic theme in the famous aria Ich ging sum ihm in Korngold’s masterwork, the metaphysical opera Das Wunder der Heliane premiered in 1927. The study is a commemoration of the lost cultural idea of Mitteleuropa, kicked into oblivion by the National Socialist and Communist arrangements, and of course by Modernism itself.

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1 0 · T H E D R U N K E N D I O N Y S O STerracotta · 30 cm · inscribed DIONYSOS – a STODDaRT PaISLEY 2014

and FUR H. WOLF at the front.

The meaning of this study is hard to fix upon. Its inscription is a ded-ication to the great Austrian composer Hugo Wolf (1860–1903) and I believe it has a specific connection to his setting of Goethe’s poem Sie haben wegen der Trunkenheit where the poet laments:

They have complained about our drunkenness numerous times, And for a long time have not said enough about our drunkenness … [and then] … night or day, the intoxication of love, song and wine is the most divine drunkenness that enchants and pains me.

It is the theme of the sanctity of inebriation, (cf. The Wisdom of Silenus, cat.1) and Wolf ’s setting, with its resolutely downward trend in the bass line and a wild swaying of its final steps, so to speak, seems to open a vista on the tragical, Dionysian tone of the poem, the music disclosing the inner nature of the idea.

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1 1 · A N A C R E O N ’ S G R AV ETerracotta · 32 cm · inscribed ‘Welch ein Grab ist heir’ – fur Johann Wolfgang

von Goethe – a. STODDaRT PaISLEY 2014’

A herm of the Greek lyric poet Anacreon (582BC – 485BC) is crowned with laurels by Eros, god of love and desire. The base is slightly mounded, with flowers, indicating some kind of knoll or place. This study gathers together two streams of influence in my early artistic life; the inheritance from the poet Goethe and the great musical lieder tradition, in so large a part issuing from that mighty poet.

The ‘place’ hinted at above is the grave-tumulus of the poet Anacreon, crowned with his image. Such a setting is immortalised in Goethe’s poem of c.1785 entitled ‘Anacreon’s Grave’. Here the poet, discovering the sepulchre, asks Welch ein Grab ist heir, das alle Gotter mit Leben/ Schon bepflanzt und geziert? Es ist Anakreons Ruh. (What grave is here, that all the gods have planted and adorned with life? It is Anacreon’s resting-place.) The poem was included in Hugo Wolf ’s corpus of settings of Goethe (cf. The Drunken Dionysos, cat.10) and it became, for me, the perfect embodiment of the German art-song tradition apart from Schu-bert’s sublime achievement in this field.

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1 2 · H Y P N O SOriginal plaster bust · 63 cm · inscribed LORD HYPNOS a STODDaRT

PaISLEY 2014

This bust is a rectification of a series of failed attempts to represent my patron deity, Hypnos, god of sleep. The first version of the idea was exhib-ited in the early 1980s at the Calton Gallery in Edinburgh where it came to the attention of the poet Ian Hamilton Finlay who commissioned a second version, to be styled ‘by Ian Hamilton Finlay with Alexander Stoddart.’ This revision was a positive betrayal of my original revelation of the god and an affront to the noble art of sculpture, but it suited Little Sparta where concepts more than percepts ruled. I submitted to Finlay’s overlaid instructions as to how the new version should appear; ‘more neo-classical, smoother – and (of course) smaller, with no sockle but truncated as a herm.’ This I did in a spirit of opportunism. The exhibited piece now represents the truth, disclosed in full and at last.

The wings of Hypnos issue from his eyes. The cloudy modelling, the uncanny asymmetry of the sockle and the ‘Lysippian turn’ of the head upon the neck are features liable to aggravate the contemporist sensibility, for they introduce a narcotic or sedative effect antipathetic to the stimu-lative aims of contemporist culture

The small palmette antefix springing from the chest of the bust pays tribute to James Pittendrigh Macgillivray (1856–1926) who sometimes used a similar device as a signature monogram. His 1900 bust of Hyp-nos initiated me into the cult of Sleep and foreshadowed my interest in Schopenhauer, the philosopher of slumber par excellence.

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1 3 · T H A N A T O SOriginal plaster bust, tinted with Indian Ink · 59 cm

Un-inscribed and unsigned.

This strange mask-bust, the last item to be modelled for this exhibition, is a reworking of the remains, left after waste-moulding, of the original clay model for the bust of Hypnos (cf. cat.12). Hypnos and Thanatos are brother deities, commonly depicted together, the latter being the god of Death (cf. Thanatos Musagetes, cat.5).

This image conveys a sense of the fin de siècle, both in its being tinted, and in the absence of the eyes, so it belongs to a later decadent tradition of classical usage, as found in the works of Max Klinger, Ferdinand Khnopff and other symbolists at the turn of the twentieth century. The absent eye-balls remind us that in antiquity it was common to inlay precious stones, enamels or glass for the eyes of statues, and that it was equally common for those details to be thieved by vandals, as today. Symbolists find something compelling in the ‘blinded’ remains, but others find the effect terrifying. Philistinism and the fear of death are known associates.

The ‘inscription’, a line with full-stop, is a quotation from Schopenhauer.

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1 4 · S E L F - P O R T R A I TOriginal plaster bust, c.1979 · Repaired 2014 · 57 cm

This bust was modelled towards the end of my spell at Glasgow School of Art and included in my degree exhibition.

The bust was ill-positioned upon its sockle so spent its career in a series of head-dives in various locations. How art imitates nature. It was recently supplied with a new buttress, giving the work a longed-for tran-quillity. Now it can be reviewed, without fear of a tumble, for what it is.

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Alexander Stoddart was born in Edinburgh in 1959, educated in Paisley and enrolled at the Glasgow School of Art between 1976 and 1980 after which he undertook post-graduate research in the History of Art at Glasgow University. He lives and works in Paisley, having studios at The University of the West of Scotland’s campus in the town. Alexander Stoddart was made Sculptor in Ordinary to Her Majesty The Queen in Scotland in 2008.

Alexander Stoddart would like to thank Dr. Klaus Spohr and Professor Malcolm Crowe of The University of the West of Scotland for helpful discussions on matters German and Greek respectively during the preparation of this exhibition.

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Edinburgh Partners is delighted to support this exhibi-tion of Recent Studies from the Artist’s Youth by Alexander Stoddart, Her Majesty’s Sculptor in Ordinary in Scot land, and we congratulate Bourne Fine Art on what we believe will be a fascinating and successful exhibition.

E D I N B U R G H P A R T N E R S A L E X A N D E R S T O D D A R T

Published by The Fine Art Society for the exhibition Alexander Stoddart, Recent Studies from the Artist’s Youth held at 6 Dundas Street, Edinburgh, from 3 October to 8 November 2014.

Catalogue © The Fine Art Society

Photography by John Mckenzie Designed and typeset in Jenson by Dalrymple Printed in Scotland by Ivanhoe

Front jacket: detail from Hypnomorpheus [cat.6] Back jacket: detail from Hypnos [cat.4]

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