‘Rose’ by Bobbie Russon

I have talked, in a previous Journal entry (‘Isobel’), about my belief that, as artists and makers, we give something of ourselves away in the work we make so that each piece stands, in some way, as a self-portrait. Art reveals a great deal about its creator – interests, obsessions, thought-processes and character. We give more away in the act of creation than we probably intend.

What had escaped me however – until it was recently pointed out by a perceptive friend – is how we often see or recognise elements of ourselves in the art work we admire and collect. Is it this that draws us to it in the first place?

I have studied art history for many years, as well as gaining practical experience in the fine and applied arts. I have been fortunate to work with, and alongside, numerous talented creatives over the years and learnt to appreciate and understand work across all media. This does not mean I necessarily like it. I tend to think about art work in the same way I think about people. Some you like; some you don’t; some you tolerate. But you get the most out of your relationships with them by keeping an open mind, listening to what they have to say and trying to work out what makes them ‘tick’. Art and people are endlessly fascinating. Perhaps that is why I enjoy portraits so much.

Walking around the stands at the London Art Fair recently I was turning these thoughts over in my mind. So many high-end galleries showing diverse and accomplished pieces, many of which I viewed with interest and admiration yet very few I ‘connected’ with. But then I came upon the Bo-Lee Gallery and discovered a selection of intriguing works – particularly several paintings and mixed-media pieces by Bobbie Russon – which really got my attention.

Recessed in small white box frames, floated images of solitary female figures – ghostly, childlike, awkward ‘outsiders’ – remote, sad, stubborn and slightly sinister. Rendered in subdued tones, the paint had been layered to create veiled shadows from which small faces peered. Isolated characters sat alone in chairs, or stood defensively, back against the wall. Some clutched toys – dolls or animals. In a larger work a young girl sat, as for a portrait, half-hidden in shadow, white petals drifting across the foreground in front of her. Questioning, concerned, perplexed, distracted, withdrawn – they regarded me from their canvases and frames. “You know how I feel” they seemed to say. “You can sympathise”.

Yes, I’m an only child – but I’ve always had friends. Yes, I’ve felt afraid – who hasn’t. Yes, I’ve felt anxious, but I’ve learnt to handle it. Yes – and vulnerable – aren’t we all? But I think in these paintings, as well as acknowledging my ‘inner child’ – the part of us that never quite grows up – I recognised other children from art and literature that have acted as companions and friends through the years: Whistler’s Portrait of Miss Cicely Alexander (‘Harmony in Grey and Green’), Paula Rego’s numerous adolescent heroines, Estella from Great Expectations, Mary Lennox from The Secret Garden, Ann of Green Gables, Tess of the D’Urbevilles – I could go on – all caught in the twilight world between childhood and adolescence. And here they were, in front of me, appealing for understanding and sympathy.

I did some research on Bobby Russon after the fair. Turns out her work is autobiographical, to an extent, in that her characters portray ‘”the excruciating shyness” and “acute loneliness” she herself felt as a child.

Jane Hill writes on the artist’s website: “Bobbie Russon’s paintings speak to the quiet, contemplative and solitary place in all of us, usually featuring lone girls in a paradoxical moment of adolescence, caught between the needs of a child and the wants of an adult. More as a metaphor for humanity than a literal interpretation. The girls can seem both victim and perpetrator, vulnerable and strong. Russon’s work speaks to us on an emotional level, a whisper rather than a cry, it gives us time to stand still, time to reflect on what it means to be human”.

And, guess what, I got all this from looking at Bobbie’s work way before I read Jane’s piece. A picture paints a thousand words. Such is the power of art and its ability not only to speak to us of universal truths but also to enlighten us about ourselves as individuals in the process.