Guest Blog - The Apples of My Eye, by Nicky Ellam

The Apples of My Eye

Greetings! My name is Nicky, and I’ve been a member of the museums’ front-of-house team for just over a year. When I first started working at the museums, my friends and family inevitably asked what my job entailed, and one of my main duties is to patrol the sites to make sure the collections are safe and secure. This would make them shake their heads in disbelief: ‘So you literally walk round and round all day?’ they would ask; ‘Don’t you ever get bored?’ The answer to that is an emphatic no because it’s given me a lot of time to spend with the collections (something which is accentuated by being part-time), and so I’m able to move from site-to-site. In one single week I can sometimes work at six different places so my ‘walking round and round’ is actually more varied than people might think! It also means I’ve got a strong overview of what each museum does, and I get to see more of the different events and temporary exhibitions that are happening in different places than I would if I was permanently based somewhere. Over the course of my constant roaming around Hull’s museums, I’ve become deeply attached to some of the objects in the collections, and so I’ve decided to share some of my favourites with you.

Today I’m at Ferens Art Gallery, and whenever there’s a moment to spare, I always find myself gravitating towards the same two paintings: ‘Portrait of a Philosopher’ by Jusepe de Ribera (1630s), and Conroy Maddox’s ‘The Theorist’ (1948). I’m not an Art History expert by any means, but both paintings explore variations of the same theme, and seem to be having a conversation with each other through time and across different art movements. Their conversation starts in Gallery One with Ribera’s depiction of the ideal philosopher. As you can see by his torn, plain clothing he is poor, but the book he’s holding as well as the book on the table show that he’s educated. To have had an education in the 1630s would have meant coming from a reasonably comfortable background, so it makes me wonder if he has purposely chosen to forsake material wealth in pursuit of learning and finding a higher truth. That I may be right is suggested by his books, which are in quite poor condition: the one on the table seems to be literally falling to pieces, while the cover of the book in his hands is curling in on itself in the corner. He’s obviously read them numerous times and are therefore much-loved possessions; perhaps even his only possessions other than his clothes.

Another reason why I think he’s transcended the more worldly concerns we so often find ourselves immersed in, is shown by the way the painting is put together. The main source of light in the painting comes from above as if suggesting divine inspiration. This light illuminates his forehead which both contributes to his strong physical presence, and also gives a sense of him emerging out of the darkness. The overall impression I have of our philosopher, is that by being able to reject material trappings, his mind is freer to reflect upon the point of existence, and in doing so he invites the rest of humanity to accompany him out of the darkness.

What fascinates me the most however, is his expression. There’s an air of serenity about him, but his gaze is so direct I can almost imagine him being physically in the room with me. I can’t help but wonder whether he’s staring at the viewer trying to decide whether we meet his ideals?

I think it is best we leave our philosopher to his ruminations upon the meaning of life and go and meet his counterpart. So come and take a walk with me round the gallery. Each area deals with art from specific eras set in chronological order, so finding ‘The Theorist’ is like making a journey through time. First we must head into Gallery Two which is home to paintings by sixteenth and seventeenthcentury Dutch and Flemish artists. From there, we continue  into Gallery Three, where we catch a glimpse of eighteenth century European art and Georgian England, before turning right and taking a long, leisurely stroll through the Victorian era, until we arrive at the early 20^th Century where ‘The Theorist’ is waiting for us in Gallery 6.

As you can see, he’s a different kettle of fish to Ribera’s philosopher. The angle of the scissors gives ‘The Theorist’ a frowning expression, but there is little else to denote his personality, as if his constant theorising has physically reduced him to nothing more than a concept. He therefore has an unapproachable and almost frightening air. This makes him hard to relate to, and so he is isolated: a fact which is compounded by the fact he doesn’t have a mouth and therefore can’t communicate. His inability to communicate renders his theorising futile because we are unable to understand his ideas and thought process. The pointlessness of whatever it is he’s thinking about is also shown by the series of lines in the top section of his head. Do they suggest a series of thoughts that drive evermore internally, and thus lead nowhere?

This contrasts with Ribera’s philosopher whose thinking could be seen as contributing to the greater good, whereas Maddox’s theorist is an example of philosophising that’s gone seriously wrong. Whenever I look at this painting, the phrases ‘intellectually superior’ and ‘stuck in an ivory tower’ always spring to mind. (Indeed, the room he’s sitting in- described by flat horizontal and vertical strips of colour- feels extremely claustrophobic). Who knows, maybe he started off like Ribera’s philosopher and initially had good intentions. If so, what happened to him that made him turn into this?