Nick Fraser at The Crypt Gallery: Resurrecting East London’s Van Gogh
I booked to see Nick Fraser, Chapter 1 at The Crypt Gallery a few weeks ago after seeing a plastered poster advertising its presence on Fleet Street. I walk that street nearly every day on my way to university and hence have become somewhat blind to its sights and bulletins. This one however, drew my eye; most likely it was the combination of the quiet Catholic overtones in the painting used where the man in flame-like colours raises his eyes skywards, palms up as if in prayer, that I always seem to catch on and the epithet: “the East End’s Van Gogh”. Religion, art, and East London, in some ways my own holy trinity, I had to make a point of attending.
I won’t say I had no expectations for the exhibition; as with anything I wanted to enjoy my experience, but I knew relatively little before going in on Fraser, his work, or its later reception and resurgence, and I certainly did not expect to be moved in the way that I was. The Crypt Gallery is located underneath the St Pancras Parish Church, which in its Greek Revival style is a treat to see before even getting into the heart of the gallery itself. Although small, the gallery manages to house a decent number of works and uses its size to its advantage, with the pieces perfectly at eye level and every alcove taken advantage of to be used as framing for each work. The art itself was unforgettable, first shown again here after 30 years it was clearly inspired by sacrality yet embellished with a deeply personal, invigorated spirit, expressive and fluid swirls and dots contained in thick black outlines rendering the pieces at once maverick and articulate, clearly made by a man with multitudes in his soul and a wise mind to translate them into visions. The pieces depict various beings, all outlined in black and coloured with deep browns, oranges, and yellows with flecks of jewel red and blue. Most paintings seem to have taken inspiration from biblical scenes like the Last Supper or the gates of heaven. From afar the paintings can look eerie and piercing, with jewel-tone eyes and wide mouths frozen in what could be screams, but on looking close up, there’s an unrestrained joy to the loops and curls, in colours that seem to laugh in just the same way that the figures’ open mouths also look to be doing. There is a consciousness of a wider universal experience fringing the paintings, a handshake with the metaphysical, a song of otherworldly oneness. Yet still underneath the spiritual splendour was a man who came from the humble East End, working long hours on an assembly line, finding time and money wherever he could to make art.
If I had left the gallery having seen only the paintings I would have been more than content, having been moved by Fraser’s skill and poignancy, however in the furthest room from the entrance, a video was playing on a loop. Once I had waited for the previous showing to end the projector hit some technical difficulties so I decided to seek out somebody in the gallery who could fix it so that I could watch. I ended up finding Marcus O’Shaughnessy, the curator of the exhibition, who was walking around the corridors of the little gallery exuding pride and a glowing fondness for the works that accompanied his steps. He made contact with every viewer I saw come through the gallery doors, leading them towards the video, ensuring we saw not just the art, but the gently beautiful insight into Fraser’s life and craft, and his own father’s role in documenting and shedding light on it. The video, narrated by Marcus himself, comprises footage his father Mark—a keen amateur documentarian—collected throughout their friendship. The footage is thick with affection, the camera lens seems as close to a loving eye as is possible; shaky close-ups show Fraser’s makeshift materials, often being commonplace items like household paint and cardboard, as he discusses his working-class upbringing in London’s East End.
On detailing his redundancy from the Tate & Lyle factory due to his developing arthritis, Fraser maintains that nothing will stop him from painting, and the senior O’Shaughnessy comments that now his passport will have to read artist, instead of factory worker. In a touching moment where Fraser stands amongst some of his works, he dwells on his dream of an instillation, somewhere, wherever, and with that angelic East London humility that hands you your cup of rosy first, how he is happy that even those few people that have purchased and seen his art have done so. Listening to that section of the video whilst surrounded by Fraser’s work so attentively assembled by Marcus, the nickname ‘the East End’s Van Gogh’ felt even more apt; their shared desires coming to fruition only after their time on earth came to an end. The knowledge that Fraser’s art was loved enough by some in his lifetime to be kept in focus and brought back into the light now, and as Marcus reassured us in the closing remarks of the video, it is almost certain that Nick Fraser was smiling upon his works, finally beheld together as they rightly deserve.
Nick Fraser Chapter 1 at The Crypt Gallery is truly one of the most full-bodied, tender, and devoted installations I have attended in the past year; triumphant in both the art and careful curation, an artist to remember, and a curator to watch.
To keep up with events at The Crypt Gallery, check out their website here.
Edited by Oisín McGilloway, Editor-in-Chief
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