6 ★ FINANCIAL TIMES Tuesday18 February 2020
ARTS
Elizabeth
Llewellyn
and David
Junghoon
Kim in
‘Luisa
Miller’
Tristram Kenton
Richard Fairman
In the 50 years since it moved to this
theatre, English National Opera has
rarely ventured into the high-blood-
pressure arena of early Verdi operas.
Macbeth,ErnaniandI due Foscari part,a
they have been cautiously avoided, so
the company’s firstLuisa Miller s ani
eventtobewelcomed.
It arrives, for better or worse, like the
theatrical equivalent of a punch in the
face. The singing has a passion and high
drama that are rare at ENO, while the
production is one of those combative
“look-at-me”exercisesthatisdifficultto
ignore,howeverhardonetries.
Luisa Miller s an adaptation fromi
Schiller. At its centre is one of those
father-daughter relationships that so
touched the composer, who had lost his
own two daughters, and the result at its
best is as heart-rending asRigolettoor
Iltrovatore.
As always in early Verdi, everybody
gets a lot to sing. The lovely Elizabeth
Llewellyncomes into her own in the
pathos of Luisa’s final scenes, where she
is matched with an impassioned and
ringingRodolfoinDavidJunghoonKim.
He really sings his heart out and stakes
hisclaimasaVerditenor.Ideally,Luisa’s
father, Miller, calls for a voice with more
paternal warmth than Olafur Sigurdar-
son’sfiercebaritone,buthehaspowerto
spare. Down in the bass department,
there is more sturdy singing in the evil
duo of James Creswell’s Count Walter
and Soloman Howard, who makes a big
impact as Wurm. Even Federica’s small
role comes across vividly thanks to
mezzoChristineRice.
They all get decent support from con-
ductor Alexander Joel, who does not
overplay the melodrama. The clashes of
personalities, painted in primary col-
ours by Verdi, are also realised boldly in
BarboraHorakova’sproduction.
Unfortunately, another show entirely
seems to be going on at the rear, where
a bevy of clowns and a dance group
are camping it up as if they have sud-
denly found themselves in a circus
tent with a jolly big orchestra. At least
ENO’s audience can look upon this
rare outing ofLuisa Miller s a doublea
win. They get some exciting singing
in the knowledge that they will almost
certainly never have to sit through the
productionagain.
ToMarch6,eno.org
A theatrical punch in the face
O P E R A
Luisa Miller
Coliseum, London
aaaee
Clockwise, from above left: Henry
Moore, ‘Reclining Figure: Bone’
(1975); Bill Brandt, ‘East Sussex’
(1964); Henry Moore, ‘Two Piece
Reclining Figure No.4’ (1961); Bill
Brandt, ‘Nude, East Sussex Coast’
(1960) —Henry Moore Foundation; Bill Brandt Archive
wine merchant’s cellar, where, in 1940,
Brandt discovered a group of Orthodox
Jewsporingovertheirreligioustexts.
This is where the differences between
the two artists’ work are at their most
marked. Brandt’s photographs give us
anintimatesenseofstealingpastpeople
abandoned in sleep. One man has his
arms thrown back behind his head,
cushioning it against the tunnel wall;
next to him a woman, perhaps his wife,
has a hand to her face, while her sleep-
ing child lies at right angles to her, one
chubby leg resting on her stomach.
These are real people. We can see up
their nostrils and into their open, possi-
blysnoring,mouths.
Moore’sShelter Drawings, by contrast,
seem to belong to a mythical under-
world. However often they’re seen, they
stillarouseacombinationofincredulity,
sadness and awe. These rows of face-
less, bundled figures ummon imagess
of the dead: preserved in ash in
Pompeii,crowdedinRomancatacombs,
piled into mass graves, or, for today’s
viewers, stacked up outside Nazi
concentrationcamps.
It is notable that Moore didn’t sketch
from life in the Underground, feeling it
was an intrusion; he committed the
scenes to memory and made notes for
hisdrawingsonthewayhome.
The aim of the two curators, Martina
Droth and Paul Messier, is to “erase the
hierarchy” between the two artists and
their respective mediums. It also
demonstrates how often their work
converged and intersected (Brandt died
in 1983 at 79; Moore in 1986 at 88).
Moore used the camera to study
the small objects he collected — bone
fragments, pebbles, flints — from every
angle oassesstheirpotentialforupscal-t
ing to larger three-dimensional works.
Their parallel is in Brandt’s photo-
graphs, including a series of rare colour
transparencies, of small rocks and peb-
bles he found on the coast of East Sus-
sex. Photographed at ground level, they
becomemonumentalsculptures—rem-
iniscent of Moore’s, or Barbara Hep-
worth’s, whose works Brandt photo-
graphedin1956inmuchthesameway.
Within the Hepworth’s elegant, spa-
cious galleries, the curators have done a
terrific job of pacing and displaying a
varietyofworks.Aswellasprints,draw-
ings and some large Moore sculptures,
theseincludemagazinespreads,contact
sheets, books, collages, small sculptural
maquettesand oundobjects.f
Both artists played with scale. Both
revisited their early works to create new
ones. Moore’s wartime pen-and-wash
drawings,forexample“Standing,Seated
and Reclining Figures Against a Back-
ground of Bombed Buildings” (1940),
wereclearly instrumental in the devel-
opmentofhispostwarpublicsculptures,
particularlyhisfamilygroups.
After the war, both artists escaped
I
t seems an obvious idea, coupling
Bill Brandt and Henry Moore — two
contemporaneous British mid-
century artists whose subject mat-
ter was often similar, even if their
treatment was very different.Yet the
new exhibition at the Hepworth in
Wakefield turns out to be the first time
the pair have been shown together —
unless you count the occasion in 1942
when Moore’s drawings and Brandt’s
photographs of Londoners sheltering
during the Blitz were printed side by
sideinthemonthlymagazineLilliput.
Theshowbeginsduringthewaryears,
when Brandt and Moore were both
working in London. Brandt was taking
photographsformagazinessuchasLilli-
put, Weekly Illustrated and Picture
Post, while Moore, whose street in
Hampstead had been bombed and who
had moved with his wife to Hertford-
shire, travelled back to the city to make
sketches ofruined buildings,bombing
andpeopleshelteringunderground.
It opens with Brandt’s now-famous
photographs of London under the
blackout,withtheHousesofParliament
lit by moonlight. Searchlight beams cut
throughtheskies(hispicturesaredelib-
erately printed as dark as possible) and
the Moon highlights the ruined facades
of buildings. Brandt’s pictures are
alwaysaestheticallypoised,withasense
of emptiness and mystery that reflects
his admiration for the French photogra-
phers Brassaï and Atget, whose work he
had first seen in Paris, where he was
brieflyapprenticedtoManRay.
Moore’s treatment of the same sub-
jects is very different. “Eighteen Ideas
for War Drawings” (1940) is a wonder-
ful series of small sketches laid out
across the paper like a storyboard or a
contact sheet. Each tiny scene is worked
up in a mix of pencil, wax crayon, col-
oured crayon, watercolour, wash, pen
and ink; each with its title scribbled in
pencil above: “devastated houses”, “gun
shells bursting like stars”, “burning
cows”,and,asifapreludetowhatwillbe
an underlying theme of the show, “night
War and peace, darkness and light
into the landscape. In 1945 Brandt
bought an old camera with a wide-angle
lens and began what would become a
study of the female nude that lasted for
more than a decade. Developed to pho-
tograph police crime scenes, the camera
gave his domestic nudes — dispropor-
tionately large naked women trapped
inside empty rooms — a surreal,
disturbingquality.
During the 1950s, he took his models
to the beaches of East Sussex and Nor-
mandy, where, shooting from a low
angle, cropping sections of their bodies
andmanipulatingtheprintsinthedark-
room, he produced what are probably
his most famous pictures: huge female
figures, bleached out and cropped until
they are barely recognisable as human.
However admired and saleable these
works became, it’s hard to look at them
now without an uncomfortable sense
of women being subjugated by the
photographer’sgaze.
Brandt reworked his negatives
throughout his life and his prints are
notoriously variable. He deepened the
blacks and bleached out the whites of
these close-up, truncated nudes,
touched them up with pencil and ink
andblewthemoutofscale.
Several iterations of them line the
walls of the final room in the show, as do
both artists’ depictions of Stonehenge.
Moore drew the monument close up,
and his 1973 lithographs emphasise the
muscularity of his drawing. Brandt
framed the stones similarly, but also
from a distance, with cows and cloudy
skiesorsilhouettedagainstsnow.
For a generation celebrating nation-
hood and rediscovering the natural
landscape after the war, the Neolithic
circle was a potent symbol. One of the
snowpicturesgavePicturePostitscover
for a special crisis issue in1947: “Where
StandsBritain?”
The human body was never far from
either artist’s work. In Moore’s case, it
emerged from the grain of a piece of
elm, as n the large reclining figure thati
is the gleaming centrepiece of the last
room. In Brandt’s case,it emerges as a
looming, sexually suggestive form. By
the end of this exhibition, both artists
seem to have been aiming for the same
semi-abstractgoal.
ToMay31,hepworth.org.uk
An illuminating show at the
Hepworth Wakefield puts the
works of sculptor Henry
Moore and photographer Bill
Brandt together in a gallery
for the first time. By Liz Jobey
and day — contrast”. This is an exhibi-
tionaboutdarknessandlight.
In 1941, Moore and Brandt were com-
missioned by the Ministry of Informa-
tion to make works that showed Lon-
doners sheltering in the Tube tunnels or
otherundergroundplacessuchasChrist
Church, Spitalfields or the East End
Left: Bill Brandt, ‘Liverpool Street Extension’ (1940). Right: Henry Moore,
study for ‘Tube Shelter Perspective: The Liverpool Street Extension’ (1940-41)
Moore didn’t sketch
from life in the
Underground, feeling
it was an intrusion
FEBRUARY 18 2020 Section:Features Time: 2/202017/ - 18:06 User:david.cheal Page Name:ARTS LON, Part,Page,Edition:EUR, 6, 1