Art news

The best art in London can appear in surprising places; currently it is to be found in a converted newsagent off North End Road. Hundreds of art lovers are braving the drizzle to glimpse the so-called “Fulham David,” a painting purported by some to be a lost work by Michelangelo.

Inside, visitors are met with dim lighting, the faint smell of recent floor polish, and the star attraction: a modest 40-by-30 cm panel depicting a muscular, half-reclining figure staring at what could be either a cracked marble column or a very large breadstick. His gaze drifts toward a bowl of pears that, under harsh light, resemble old tennis balls. The palette is muted, the brushwork uneven, yet the crowds keep coming, snapping selfies in reverent silence, as if proximity alone might grant them Renaissance insight.

For those squinting hard enough, there are hints of High Renaissance grandeur: the contraposto, the muscular form, the slightly imploring expression, perhaps the ghost of the Sistine Chapel lingers here. But for others, the resemblance stops the moment you look closely at the hands, which have the odd, blocky quality of someone painting gloves without ever having seen any.

Who is this painting by? Pro-Michelangelo voices argue for a youthful experimental work, perhaps dashed off between major commissions, its roughness the mark of genius unpolished. Then there are the more sober comparisons to Michael Andrews (1928,1995), the English painter known for his luminous, painterly figuration, often tinged with melancholy. Andrews’ portraits and group scenes, whether of bohemian parties or contemplative swimmers, carry a similar uncertainty of finish, a kind of cultivated incompleteness. The Fulham David’s flat planes and curiously distracted expression, say the Andrews camp, feel far closer to mid-20th-century London than early-16th-century Florence.

Dr. Selina Marwood of the Courtyard Institute is firmly in the Andrews column: “If Michelangelo painted this, then I’m Raphael’s left hand. The figure’s torso has promise, but the pears are pure 1960s Andrews, slightly unresolved, bathed in a haze of longing. And the varnish looks like it’s from somewhere between Carnaby Street and the Sixties.”

Meanwhile, the exhibition’s curator insists on neutrality, preferring to highlight the “mystery” over any definitive authorship. “Whether it’s the hand of Michelangelo, Michael Andrews, or even my mate Michael who popped in for a pint,” he said, “the public are clearly captivated. And the public are rarely wrong in such matters of art identification.”

Captivated they are. Pensioners, students, art tourists, and the simply curious all shuffle forward in the dim light, eager to witness a painting that might be a masterpiece. “Even if it wasn’t originally by Michelangelo, I feel that it is by him now,” commented Audrey Willan, and all the people nearby cheered in agreement.

In the end, the “Fulham David” may never be conclusively identified. But like the queues outside, the speculation shows no sign of stopping, and in the art world, ambiguity is sometimes the most valuable commodity of all.

By Isobel Hartley

Last week, I was granted the rare privilege of stepping behind the locked doors of the Southend Institute for Renaissance Studies, where, amidst the hush of climate-controlled galleries and the gentle hum of conservators at work, several of Piero Della Frampton-on-Sea’s works are undergoing meticulous restoration. To witness such moments is to glimpse the fragile heartbeat of history itself.

Della Frampton-on-Sea, whose luminous, almost ethereal compositions once adorned private chapels along England’s southeast coast, is not a household name, yet his mastery rivals that of better-known contemporaries. Standing before his panels now, the hand of time becomes startlingly tangible: layers of varnish, the residue of centuries of soot and candle smoke, and the delicate craquelure of aging oil paint. The restorers, moving with both reverence and precision, are revealing not merely the colors Della Frampton-on-Sea intended, but the very texture of his thought.

One work, The Arrival at Dawn, is particularly striking. The soft interplay of light and shadow, once obscured by a century of neglect, now emerges in startling clarity. Fragments of gilded halos, previously dulled to a matte whisper, shimmer faintly under the conservators’ careful touch. There is something almost magical in watching a figure previously trapped beneath layers of time reclaim its presence.

The Institute itself is unusual, suspended between the rigours of scholarship and the poetry of creation. Walls lined with glass cases hold fragments of other, still-invisible works: sketches, pigment samples, preliminary studies. Here, the past is not merely preserved; it is actively engaged with, dissected, understood, and,most importantly,resurrected.

What struck me most, however, was the intimacy of the process. Unlike a museum exhibition, where the viewer is forever separated from the work by glass and rope, here, one witnesses an almost surgical dialogue between the artist’s hand and the modern conservator. Each brushstroke, each careful removal of varnish, feels like a whispered conversation across centuries.

By the end of my visit, I found myself lingering before a small, once-overlooked panel: Saint Cecilia in Contemplation of a Shoe. The saint’s gaze, serene yet piercing, seemed to meet mine as if thanking me for witnessing her revival. It is moments like this that remind us why restoration is never merely technical. It is, at its heart, an act of empathy, a recognition that art carries memory, and memory, in turn, carries humanity.

Leaving the Institute, I felt a rare sense of quiet elation. To see Della Frampton-on-Sea reborn, even partially, is to glimpse the persistent vitality of the Renaissance spirit,and to be reminded that in the careful hands of those who love history, art never truly dies.

A collection of 19th-century daguerreotypes by the enigmatic Fitzrovia photographer Herbert Young has been uncovered during building work on New Cavendish Street, London. This discovery offers a rare glimpse into Victorian-era London, shedding light on the lives and landscapes of the period through Young’s meticulous photographic technique.

Herbert Young: An Overlooked Pioneer

While not widely recognized in photographic history, Herbert Young’s work provides valuable insights into the social and architectural fabric of Fitzrovia during the 19th century. His daguerreotypes, characterized by their sharp detail and reflective surfaces, capture moments and scenes that might otherwise have been lost to time. The recent find underscores the importance of preserving and studying such works to understand the nuances of historical urban life.

The Discovery on New Cavendish Street

During renovation work on New Cavendish Street, construction workers unearthed a cache of daguerreotypes hidden within the walls of a Victorian-era building. Upon examination, experts identified these images as the work of Herbert Young, based on stylistic elements and the unique characteristics of the daguerreotype process. The find includes portraits of local residents, street scenes, and architectural details, offering a snapshot of Fitzrovia’s past.

Significance of the Find

This discovery is invaluable for several reasons:

• Historical Insight: The images provide a direct visual record of 19th-century Fitzrovia, a neighborhood known for its bohemian culture and artistic community.

• Artistic Value: Young’s use of the daguerreotype process demonstrates a high level of technical skill and artistic sensibility, contributing to the understanding of early photographic techniques.

• Cultural Preservation: The find emphasizes the importance of preserving historical artifacts, as even minor renovations can lead to significant discoveries.

Future Plans for the Collection

Plans are underway to conserve and exhibit the daguerreotypes, with institutions such as the National Daguerreotype Gallery and the Museum of Early Photography expressing interest in showcasing the collection. Conservationists are working to stabilize the delicate plates, ensuring their preservation for future generations. Additionally, experts are conducting research to uncover more about Herbert Young’s life and work, aiming to shed light on this previously overlooked figure in photographic history.

The rediscovery of Herbert Young’s daguerreotypes on New Cavendish Street serves as a poignant reminder of the rich tapestry of history that lies hidden beneath the surface of our everyday surroundings. As we delve deeper into the past through these images, we can gain a greater appreciation for the lives and stories that have shaped the London we know today.