LOUISE BOURGEOIS AT TATE MODERN

http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/louisebourgeois/default.shtm

I was not familiar with Louise Bourgeois before I attended a talk at Kensington and Chelsea College with the photography lecturer, Manon, who showed us slides of her sculptures, including "Filette". Manon's enthusiasm encouraged me to take an interest in this artist. So I was glad to go along and find out more.
We are lucky in London to have so much fine works to see, this autumn.
This is another blockbuster, the life-work of a woman now nearly 95.
In particular, I was moved by the large 'rooms' that are on display in the middle of this exhibition, where objects from Louis's past have been incorporated, her clothes which have been sewn and reformed. And red objects. Old doors are the walls, or wire cages.
I am not sure how to read the significance of these exhibits, I know very little about the art movements in New York during the years when they were made. They are, I guess, under the heading of 'installation' or 'scupture', and I have been looking at painting most of my life. Paint is familiar to me, not metal or found objects.
Obviously other artists have influenced her. She was in the heart of things, married to an art critic.
There is little here to suggest any link with France or French artists. Although there are many photos of her as a girl and young woman at the exit. She left France in about 1938.
Some early drawings of the housewife, half house, half women, brought back memories for me of the writings of women and the theme of being paid to do housework. I suppose this was in the 1960s, when I got very interested in the 'womans movement'.
There are beautiful objects here too, as well as sharp, agressive shapes and dirty bits of metal. By the window is the glossy bronze, the Arc of Hysteria, suspended from the ceiling. An exquisite thing.
Also exquisite is the view from the window across to St Pauls. On that day, it was all greys, the lines of the city buildings receeding in layers, the light from the river, and just to seal it in perfection, a drift of smoke falling towards the sea, blowing across the greyness of the sombre ancient heart of London.