26 September 2015

Louise Bourgeois at the Museo Picasso, Malaga

I have been impressed by Ms Bourgeois before, and have watched a short documentary, some time, somewhere, where Tracey Emin spends time with her at her apartment in Paris. Emin was very likeable, Bourgeois a mysterious tiny bone-built creature. The exhibition at the Museo Picasso was sensual, bloody, intimate, discomforting, funny, tragic - an absolute beaut. I went with the Esteemed Aunt and our young charge, the junior doctor, neither of whom are huge gallery fans - but they both came away with a lot to say, and much of it emotionally charged, replete, a sense that especially for the Esteemed One it had really affected her. 

Bourgeois is an intensely personal artist, and her eclectic use of texture, shape and style does not hide the pulsating, visceral, sensory explosion of her work. It was quite exhilarating. 

And of course, there were her spiders. Which I loved. But the junior doctor thought then somewhat second rate. 

I am clearly thrilled by and in awe of these marvellous insects of destiny. 

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