Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app with each exhibition you visit!
Following a three-year closure and a £41.3 million rehang, the two inaugural exhibitions for the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery make sense; as the iconic Central London space distances itself from characterisations of stuffiness and pretension, opening with two photography exhibitions focusing on pop culture and vibrant colours suggests a slate of more social media-friendly shows to come. Whether by accident or design (and we can expect the latter), however, Yevonde: Life and Colour and Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm complement each other more than would first appear.
Visitors to the gallery are greeted by two large banners flanking the entrance: one a large self-portrait of McCartney - blurry and out-of-focus but instantly identifiable by the mop of early-Beatles hair - and the other a sharp, striking depiction of film star Vivian Leigh wearing a deep blue coat offset by a vivid red backdrop. The entrance promises both the Golden Age glitz and behind-the-scenes intimacy of public figures, both of which are delivered upon. Walking around the exhibitions reveals the real hook not to be the works themselves, but the constant, keenly-felt presence of the artist behind the camera.
Though a caption informs us that Yevonde embraced opportunities within fashion and advertising to support her creatively independent works, her style still bursts through in these commercial works, such as with the two small dogs in the background of A Day in the Life of a Debutant (An hours serious reading) and the recurrence of small stuffed toy referred to as ‘Mr Penguin’. Meanwhile, Paul McCartney’s bandmates are almost always caught looking past the camera and at the photographer, himself often physically present via his appearance in various mirrors.
Where these expressions of personality differ, though, is in the machinery of their production - Yevonde’s 1937 self-portrait demonstrates the sheer size of her camera, its balancing on a copy of Herbert Read’s Art Now demanding consideration of the composed nature of her work. The mirror's frame is absent, and Yevonde treats the camera as much as herself as the subject; photography, here, is an event requiring planning and polish. The exhibition even dedicates a space to the science and mechanism of the Vivex camera and the photos’ development process. McCartney’s self-portrait from 1963, meanwhile, is composed of three hastily snapped shots of himself, clumsily framed in the mirror on a portable camera. The style continues throughout the exhibition as the Beatles’ fame skyrockets, the photos offering an autobiographical perspective on fame, as the title suggests, from the eye of the storm.
A statement by Paul McCartney displayed at the entrance to the exhibition notes that he is “not setting out to be seen as a master photographer, more an occasional photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time”, acting as a swift and frank response to any preconceived critics; visitors aren’t here for meticulously composed shots and mastery of form, but for the voyeuristic content of the images themselves. Far from Yevonde’s exhibition breaking down the mechanism of early colour photography, the photos here are contextualised by video footage of the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and a press interview conducted on the runway just minutes after they touched down in America.
This isn’t to say that the subjects of Yevonde's lens aren't equally fascinating; activist Paul Robeson, playwright Shelagh Delaney, and even a young Judi Dench all appear within the context of the photographer’s more commercial portraiture. However, it is in the moments that Yevonde’s surrealism is embraced that Life and Colour truly shines. Perhaps her most celebrated work Galaxy of Goddesses reframes mythologies and storytelling in its portrayal of the powerful women of Classicism utilising every contemporary photography trick in the book to create a colourful blend of satire and fantasy. Pointedly, another section entitled Modern Women, displaying Yevonde’s slyly subversive portrayal of gender roles in her commercial work shooting for the cover of ‘women’s magazines’, is sequestered opposite the goddesses.
Captions beside some of the portraits also add an anarchic peek behind the hyper-composed curtain of Yevonde’s work - glamour is abandoned for ‘bohemian concentrations’ when author Iris Murdoch was mistaken for a cleaning lady during her sitting, and the half-smile piercing the formality of Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie is put down to the photographer mimicking a cat as she took the portrait. In Eye of the Storm, meanwhile, photographs are accompanied by captions written by McCartney himself, carrying significant emotional weight when the band reach Miami; as the monochrome of the exhibition so far gives way to colour, and the content suggests the young men enjoying their newfound rock and roll lifestyle, the subsequent deaths of half of the band are most keenly felt. Perhaps more intriguing, however, are the descriptions reflecting McCartney’s musical career - one photograph entitled ‘Unknown man, taken from the window of a train’, is accompanied by a quote in which he proclaims his love of “imagining the lives of people [...] whose story I will never know”, an Eleanor Rigby-like speculation which reframes the image within the context of his later work.
Both exhibitions, in fact, are at their most engaging when they highlight the more experimental works of their subjects; another of McCartney’s photos stares straight down the lens of dozens of paparazzi cameras as if responding to and subverting them at once. As Life and Colour delves into the experimentation of Yevonde’s later work, the crisp sharpness of her earlier imagery gives way to blurry, semi-abstract nude studies, and the strictly portrait-focused content of her work is replaced by the di Chirico-inspired dreamscapes of ‘Venus, Surrounded by Mask and Deep Sea Fire’ and ‘July (Butterflies and Bust)’.
Eye of the Storm is an easy sell: for many, the prospect of unearthed coverage of an enduring moment in British cultural history from the perspective of someone who lived through it is certainly enough to intrigue. And, while it may be a little self-mythologising at times, some sentimentality can perhaps be excused when depicting the unique scenario of four young men undergoing such a rapid ascent to superstardom. Meanwhile, while Life and Colour may rely on its striking imagery and star-powered subjects to get visitors through the door, the story being told turns up to be far more subversive, and sneakily radical, than first appears. If these two exhibitions are intended as a template for what’s to come, then The National Portrait Gallery’s future shows promise to be as inventive and playful as its redesign.
Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm and Yevonde: Life and Colour are showing at The National Portrait Gallery until 1st & 15th October 2023 respectively.
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