Ruiz vs Picasso - Would Pablo still rock?

Having been critical and disappointed by my first pass through the event that is Picasso, I took myself for a second appreciative meander this past weekend. The gallery was open as a venue for the Sydney Festival First Night, and this seemed a perfect venue for a less hectic (read noisy) Involvement. However, as they say, the house was packed to the rafters.

At the bewitching hour of 3pm, I bowled in and wandered through the ten rooms in a plan of my whim, sans headphones, sans cattledog. Well, yes, I enjoyed it more the second time - but I was FAMILIAR with the works then, wasn't I. Familiar with the order, with the breadth. The really good aspect, that comes through so very strongly, is how Picasso developed from a faithful representative drawer, to the pin-up boy of modern art.

So, I get myself a third ticket and see it again before it goes off to Canada.

And the subtitle? Ruiz is the surname of Pablo's father, while Picasso is the surname of Pablo's mother. Spanish tradition allows the child to take the surname of either, so I gather.



This is my contribution to Lesley's Signs, Signs meme.

Picasso unplugged

Oh dear, how do I say this?

There are 10 rooms of works, over 150 in total. Canvases. Drawings. Bronze statues. Wooden and metal constructions. But Edmund's fliers say 'masterpieces'. Forgive me, but not everything created by Picasso was a masterpiece. And whichever of his works are classified this way, are in museums around the globe, or private hands.

One has to read the small print: these works were mostly found in Picasso's house(s) after his death and used (in kind) to pay the taxes Pablo owed to the French treasury. Subsequently, they were housed in the Musee National Picasso in Paris. It is stretching it to say they are 'Picasso's Picassos'. Just as it is unfair to say they are the ones he could not flog. Quite a few of them are studies for eventual masterpieces. Drafts, if you will.

And then there is the exhibition. The staging.

Ten rooms; 150 works. In sequence. There is no emotional high-point to the exhibition. Like using a grader to make a highway: cutting off the hills; filling in the valleys; voila! Am I allowed to say it is like being processed through Ikea?

And, I had to wait in an ante-room with others who nominated the 10am time-slot, only to see what appeared to be a conga-line of ticket buyers at the front desk, just going straight in.

So, I have bought another ticket for Saturday 7th January, which is the Sydney Festival First Night. They have French music, and Spanish music, and wine, and food, and a doco about Pablo.

Because I could be wrong. This could just be a rush to judgement.