John Leech Gallery in city centre again

By T.J. McNAMARA

When I began writing on the visual arts, the John Leech Gallery had premises in Shortland St and was almost the only place in the city that sold original art. The doors had first opened in 1855, when Shortland St was the main artery for tourists between the Queen St Wharf and the Grand Hotel in Princes St.

On their way to or from the centre of the island via the Grand they could buy paintings of the Pink and White Terraces at John Leech. Leech was Charles Goldie's dealer and made his trademark wide, black frames.

Subsequently, the gallery moved to Lorne St. Artists such as Michael Smither and the late Garth Tapper had important exhibitions there. Memories of the early John Leech Gallery are associated with its sign that always said "By Appointment" to some Governor-General or other.

The gallery moved to Albert St, then to Remuera. Now it is back in the city, in the St James building on the corner of Khartoum Pl and Kitchener St.

The exhibition 150 Years of New Zealand Painting ranges from a trim Victorian drawing of the Auckland waterfront by Charles Heaphy to Goldie (in one of the famous frames) and some superb Frances Hodgkins works. Particularly notable is Evening, where her use of a rich brick red to show the heat of Spain demonstrates her extraordinary talent as a colourist.

The most recent painting is one done this year by Justin Burroughs of a villa in Mt Eden that must be almost as old as the gallery.

All these paintings are for sale because, of course, a dealer gallery is a business. It was only in the late 1960s that a gallery could survive selling art alone, without also being a framemaker, craft shop or seller of art materials.

But business is not the whole of it. No gallery has survived in Auckland without a strong, even heroic, touch of idealism in its directors. Galleries take a chance on young artists who they believe have talent, though the work may not sell. They make welcome the almost endless trail of students taking notes for their essays in art history, a popular subject.

It is through the dealer galleries that the public can, without charge, keep in touch with the achievements of our outstanding artists. This week in particular there are exhibitions by two artists who have often worked together but are here showing separately.

Ralph Hotere's big works have been seen recently in public galleries but at the Milford Gallery there is an indication of the variety of his achievement.

There is a curious chair in the best surreal tradition, some passionately drawn lithographs, one of his classical paintings of fine red lines on a black background, the spirit rising in the void.

There is also a grand painting called Dream of Snow Falling,s where the geometry of a red circle is imposed on a chaos of emotion and, seen as if painted on a window, the words "an acre of wounds." It is a painting at once heroic and sad.

At the Sue Crockford Gallery, Bill Culbert has a wonderful installation called Spacific Plastic. Culbert has been collecting Tupperware for years for this work and he has brought together about 800 pieces, all harmonised by their characteristic pale green, yellow and baby blue translucent colours. He has chosen all open vessels so they stand on the floor as receptacles waiting to be filled, perhaps with thoughts and memories.

These found objects are made into a modern still-life sculpture with light because interspersed among the bowls and jugs are Culbert's signature fluorescent tubes. These make the Tupperware glow and the whole becomes a magic evocation of the 50s and 60s and innocent picnics and parties. It is an absolute delight.

Sometimes dealer galleries are simply brave. It takes a certain amount of spirit to allow your gallery to be taken over by someone else's rebellion. The Anna Bibby Gallery is adorned with a mass of little pieces of print and photographs held in plastic bags. Each work is centred on a vortex that contains a message of defiance of conventional life and ideas. The people in the photographs are anonymous victims. Their eyes have bars across them.

The piece is by Terry Urban and is called Prole Art Threat. The threat is made further intimidating by a maze of speakers on the floor, which continually broadcast loud and confused messages, and by the flicker of video monitors.

The work is cranky and absurd. It threatens only those who allow themselves to be threatened and one person's irritation does not make a social revolution. The work is angry rather than courageous but it takes a courageous dealer to show it.