Cy Twombly:Poetry Belongs to the Defeated and the Dead.

"I would like to be Poussin. If I'd had a choice. In another time" - Cy Twombly.

Anybody who has seen Cy Twombly's art will know that he was most definitely not the reincarnation of Nicolas Poussin. His scratchy, abstract, almost mathematical, canvases looked like a messier Jackson Pollock or even the scribblings of a deranged lunatic. Highly amusing comical indie duo I Ludicrous even wrote a song taking the piss out his work. It was the first time I'd ever heard of the dude.

Truth be told, their song made me curious about him and when I finally did encounter his work I quite liked it. It reminded me of Fall LP covers. I might have liked it but I certainly didn't understand it and, as I've got older, I've become a little more cynical of high and confusing concepts and prefer either something beautiful or something meaningful for the most part. At least something interesting.

Batrachomyomachia (1998)

So, I'd gone off his art. A little bit. But his sculptures are quite different it turns out. Gagosian's Grosvenor Hill gallery has collated and curated a show, simply titled Cy Twombly:Sculpture, that gathers together twenty-three pieces made between 1977 and 2009, two years before Twombly's death, and it shows that when it came to this particular medium Twombly showed a bit more restraint than he did with his painting.

They're, for the most part, not particularly meaningful and nor are they remarkably aesthetically pleasing though they remain easy enough on the eye and it's a pleasant enough experience, if nothing mind blowing, to devote some time to wandering round the Gagosian taking them in.

Untitled (2009)

Untitled (To Apollinaire) (2009)

If that's damning with faint praise then so be it. Despite the lofty titles and presentation these are not art works that will change or alter your life. Materials used range from paint to bronze, from wood to cloth, and from nails to staples and the general theme is all quite understated. All the muted whites and greys can start to look like a Dulux colour chart but it does mean that when there's a splash of colour, particularly bright yellow or lurid green, it really stands out.

Most of the sculptures don't resemble anything and don't appear to be even remotely trying to be figurative yet there's one or two that look like either agricultural machinery or kid's scooters. I've no idea what Twombly is trying to say with this work (in that, there is a similarity to his paintings) and suspect that he enjoys the process as much as the results.

Humul (1986)

Untitled (2004)

Untitled (Snafu) (2009)

Twombly was once quoted as saying "white paint is my marble" and with this, as well as his use of found materials, he seems to be trying to unify various different materials and ideas into a coherent whole. The room is set up as you may expect to find more traditional displays in the British Museum or the V&A, as if to say that Twombly might have made new stuff (from old) but that he was steeped in the tradition.

A tradition he clearly tried to gently subvert. But it's so gentle as to hardly feel subversive at all. Nobody could genuinely think these are ancient artefacts and if Twombly is the art prankster many think he is it seems it's less that he's trying to fool people and more that he's getting people to consider why they venerate ancient Roman, Greek, African, and Egyptian relics and statuary so. Is it because they've been put into museums, put on plinths, and had history books written about them? Or is it because they are genuinely interesting and important? I believe it's the latter but then, perhaps, that's just because I've been conditioned to believe so.

Untitled (In Memory Of Babur) (2009)

Turkish Delight (2000)

Untitled (2002)

Untitled (1977)

Herat (1998)

Chariot Of Triumph (1990-98)

Untitled (2005)

Untitled (1998)

Untitled (Humpty Dumpty) (2004)

A Time To Remain, A Time To Go Away (1998-2001)

I didn't think all of this stuff while I was at the Gagosian. I thought about it afterwards, primarily when I started to write about it. Perhaps because the art wasn't quite interesting, or distinctive, enough to give me much else to go on. I pondered why Humpty Dumpty was brushing shoulders with Apollinaire, I wondered how Twombly decided which works he got the colourful paint out, and with A Time To Remain, A Time To Go Away I was returned from my reverie to the mundane and mendacious business of British politics with a harsh bump.

It was made nearly twenty years ago but it seems, in my mind at least, there's no escaping Brexit. I decided it was time to go away (from the gallery, not the EU). I walked up to The October Gallery in Bloomsbury, had a chat with my friend Adam on the phone, and ate a Fry's Peppermint Cream chocolate bar. I was living my best life and if Cy Twombly's random, but pleasing, set of sculptures could be art so could me walking, talking, and eating. Nobody gave me the option of being Poussin either.