Caoimhín Mac Giolla Léith
Red Hours I quite like the phrase ‘I’m not quite certain’. I think it’s rather violent. – Philippe Vandenberg 1
The colour red has an august and ancient pedigree in the history of the visual arts stretching back at least as far as the cave of Altimira, in Spain, which is adorned with an image of a bison painted in red ochre by an unknown hand more than 17,000 years ago. While it is true that in certain Asian cultures red can suggest happiness and good fortune, in the Western world its associations are considerably less harmonious. These tend toward the extremes of pain and passion, sacrifice and sexuality, courage, anger and love. This nexus of associations seems especially appropriate to a presentation of work by Philippe Vandenberg, which, though often beautiful almost despite itself, and sometimes sublime, is rather more given to turbulence than serenity. While happy to acknowledge patience and commitment as important virtues in a painter, Vandenberg once stated that ‘I believe it’s only despair that makes us act, or rather react against our condition as human beings …’ 2 In the case of Red Hours, the fact that on occasion he chose to execute an image using his own blood in lieu of ink or paint is enough to suffuse all of his images in which red predominates with an undertow of suffering, violence and injury. 3 This, however, is not to deny the remarkable variety of tone evident from even this relatively modest but sensitive selection of such images: sixty or so works on paper from the vast trove left behind after the artist’s untimely death in June 2009.
Vandenberg’s relentless questing was given form through a variety of media
including language – or, to be more precise several different languages. Pungent phrases written in French, Flemish or English often invaded his imagery, some times taking it over entirely, and he also generated a steady stream of impassioned and effusive commentary on art and life in general, as recorded in numerous p ublications. He was, however, first and foremost a painter and even credited the medium, in one conversation, with saving him from the likely alternative of a life of criminality. It is a bitter irony that the life-preserving properties of painting are also registered in a drawing produced shortly before his death, which features the following phrase: ‘Gebroken. Ik probeer me alleen nog aan elkaar te schilderen.’ (‘Broken. All I’m trying to do is paint myself together again.’) 4 ; and the cryptic slogan ‘Un homme ça dit rien ça peint’ (‘A man it says nothing it paints’) is emblazoned on another work made around the same time. Drawing was in fact a daily
47