Much of this 50-minute documentary is taken up by an interview with the Irish art critic Brian O'Doherty, described as a friend of Edward Hopper. Yet the closer you look, the less you can believe that Hopper ever had any friends, so narrow and cheerless is the world he seems to inhabit. Privacy was clearly important to him, as a slow, intense, perfectionist craftsman - privacy, but never solitude. For his wife was always there, as some sort of grit in the oyster, an artist in her own right, as she (but not many others) kept insisting, and a necessary helpmeet, however tortured their marriage.
It was she who modelled for all his paintings, although her squat little figure resembled few of those mysterious nudes, hardly any of them glamorous or coquettish, yet all the more intriguing and arousing for that - something to do with the sepulchral mood he managed to create. Perhaps, like myself, you long to inject the fun and drama that is missing. But some have claimed that these narrative paintings do not attempt to portray drama, but the aftermath of drama - the silence after the symphony.
Given that blend of the sepulchral and the erotic, then, it should not surprise us that Hitchcock soon comes into the picture, with 'Psycho' and 'Rear Window' clearly rooted in the same voyeuristic style of observation. In fact, windows become a big theme in Hopper's work, like secondary picture-frames. And of course, windows admit light, which sometimes seems to become the main subject of the painting. (He said he enjoyed nothing more than to paint light on a wall.) That is perhaps a clue to the 'blank canvas' of the title, which would otherwise be meaningless, since every painter starts with a blank canvas.
This video was made by a Franco-German production company (ARTE), as symbolised by German film-maker Wim Wenders analysing Hopper's work in perfect French, with English sub-titles. The English-language commentary is by actress Sarah Tullamore, who does not quite carry conviction as an art expert; much of it sounds like a recital. This may not be altogether her fault, however, as the script suffers from some dull, mechanical passages, with unnecessary quoting of dates. There is also a very odd graphic device, with one tranche of the picture sliding across the screen until it is superimposed on itself. For me, this does not come off at all. The clips of old TV interviews with the couple, who must have been nearing eighty, are interesting (that touch of Brooklyn in his accent, for example), though not especially revealing. But generally this is a worthy tribute to one of the great representational artists, who defied the lemming-rush into abstract, and emerged victorious.
It was she who modelled for all his paintings, although her squat little figure resembled few of those mysterious nudes, hardly any of them glamorous or coquettish, yet all the more intriguing and arousing for that - something to do with the sepulchral mood he managed to create. Perhaps, like myself, you long to inject the fun and drama that is missing. But some have claimed that these narrative paintings do not attempt to portray drama, but the aftermath of drama - the silence after the symphony.
Given that blend of the sepulchral and the erotic, then, it should not surprise us that Hitchcock soon comes into the picture, with 'Psycho' and 'Rear Window' clearly rooted in the same voyeuristic style of observation. In fact, windows become a big theme in Hopper's work, like secondary picture-frames. And of course, windows admit light, which sometimes seems to become the main subject of the painting. (He said he enjoyed nothing more than to paint light on a wall.) That is perhaps a clue to the 'blank canvas' of the title, which would otherwise be meaningless, since every painter starts with a blank canvas.
This video was made by a Franco-German production company (ARTE), as symbolised by German film-maker Wim Wenders analysing Hopper's work in perfect French, with English sub-titles. The English-language commentary is by actress Sarah Tullamore, who does not quite carry conviction as an art expert; much of it sounds like a recital. This may not be altogether her fault, however, as the script suffers from some dull, mechanical passages, with unnecessary quoting of dates. There is also a very odd graphic device, with one tranche of the picture sliding across the screen until it is superimposed on itself. For me, this does not come off at all. The clips of old TV interviews with the couple, who must have been nearing eighty, are interesting (that touch of Brooklyn in his accent, for example), though not especially revealing. But generally this is a worthy tribute to one of the great representational artists, who defied the lemming-rush into abstract, and emerged victorious.
