Musing on Palmer
Stimulated by Plinius’ blog, I visited the Samuel Palmer exhibition and was glad that I did but it was a bit of a curate’s egg. I thought that the Oxford series was probably the high light with the very tight graphic composition and rendering and their intimate scale. I can see how 20th century artists , who I admire, such as John Piper and Graham Sutherland, warmed so much to Palmer’s almost prophetic style. Of his early years, The Storm near Hailsham, Evening and the Cloud studies showed what was to come. In the early years I loved the dark colouring, the ink, wash and gouache. The landscape is magical and mysterious but not threatening. Each example replays the effort of detailed scrutiny. The almost wood cut-like illustration of Lydgate’s Complaint of the Black Knight was so sharp and incisive.

But was Palmer spoilt by being told to concentrate on the ‘Great Masters’? His sketches of their works were not at all memorable. The only exception I would make would be for William Blake’s wood engravings of illustrations of Virgilian works. Perhaps his best period was the Shoreham years and highlights included The Cornfield by Moonlight with Evening Star where he added some wonderful deep red colours to the usual dark palette. In general, I was less impressed by the more colourful paintings. From this generalisation I would exclude The Magic Apple Tree, so rich and golden. It is such a treat to see on a bleak Winter day. I was moved by the biographical objects especially his spectacles. Although it was right and proper to include works by his associates in The Ancients, it is clear that none of them came any way near Palmer in talent and vision.

The exhibition goes down hill in the post 1835 period and one wonders what would have happened if Palmer had died at thirty. Would we have looked on him as a genius whose later works were cruelly lost to us? A painter’s Mozart. Unfortunately Palmer lived and worked for another fifty years and nothing bettered his Shoreham years. There were still beautiful individual pieces especially his lovely treatment of Tintern Abbey with its unfinished surroundings throwing the abbey buildings into higher relief. Some of his Italian works were also outstanding but the later water-colours would be passed by, as as the output of a minor artist, if we did not know of his reputation. There were a few flashes of his old talent in the Eclogues of 1863 and The Lonely Tower of 1880-1, but the exhibition ends in a whimper.

But just in case I have done Palmer an injustice, I have now acquired Timothy Wilcox’s new book on him and may end up with a better rounded appreciation.