Laura Gascoigne

Laura Gascoigne on how the Venice Biennale is searching for its place in art history Picture one of the world’s largest private yachts moored at the quayside of the Riva dei Sette Martiri, protected by a metal perimeter fence and a security detail. Now imagine two battered sea freight containers dumped in the shape of a tau cross on the quay just out of spitting distance of the security fencing. One is Roman Abramovich’s 115m superyacht Luna; the other is a Haitian pavilion showing Vodou-inspired sculpture by the Grand Rue Sculptors from the slums of Port-au-Prince. Welcome to the opening of this year’s Venice Biennale (until 27 November), bigger than ever and more deeply riven with contradictions.

‘Not something I’d want on my wall,’ said an English lady visitor to Antwerp’s Rockox House, standing in front of a painting of wolves attacking cattle. ‘Not something I’d want on my wall,’ said an English lady visitor to Antwerp’s Rockox House, standing in front of a painting of wolves attacking cattle. ‘Nor that,’ said her friend of another painting showing lions feasting on a live gazelle. I didn’t dare tell them that I’d come to Belgium specially to see a whole exhibition of paintings by the artist responsible, Roelandt Savery (1576–1639), in his native Kortrijk. ‘Kortrijk where? Roelandt who?’ you may be asking.

In 1879, two young brothers moved into a new fifth-floor apartment at no. 31 Boulevard Haussmann, overlooking the Opéra. Flush with inheritances from their father’s army bunk business, Gustave Caillebotte, 31, and his brother Martial, 26, were exactly the sort of children of the Second Empire for whom these new Parisian mansion blocks had been built. In 1879, two young brothers moved into a new fifth-floor apartment at no. 31 Boulevard Haussmann, overlooking the Opéra. Flush with inheritances from their father’s army bunk business, Gustave Caillebotte, 31, and his brother Martial, 26, were exactly the sort of children of the Second Empire for whom these new Parisian mansion blocks had been built.

It’s an irony of Western art that our vision of modern metropolitan life was shaped, via Impressionism, by ukiyo-e prints — ‘pictures of the floating world’ of Edo, Japan. It’s an irony of Western art that our vision of modern metropolitan life was shaped, via Impressionism, by ukiyo-e prints — ‘pictures of the floating world’ of Edo, Japan. In his new exhibition, Tokyo, at Flowers East, Jiro Osuga updates that vision for the 21st century. The son of a Japanese businessman, Osuga left his native Tokyo for London in 1970 at the age of 12 and studied at Chelsea and the Royal College of Art.

The historic centre of Bruges has 16 museums, enough to cater for every touristic taste. There’s a Diamond Museum, a Lace Centre, a Choco-Story (the narrative element distinguishes it from the 50 chocolate shops) and a Friet Museum — or ‘Belgian Fries Museum’, for English-speakers under the misapprehension that fries are French. But the main focus of the city’s five-yearly festival, now in full swing, is on a local product the French cannot lay claim to: the Flemish painting tradition founded by Jan van Eyck, who died in Bruges in 1441. The historic centre of Bruges has 16 museums, enough to cater for every touristic taste.

‘Museum decides against building new extension’ is not the stuff of newspaper headlines, so most of you will be unaware that the National Museum of Wales in Cardiff has been creating a distinct museum of art on the top floor of its existing Edwardian building. A few weeks ago, the Welsh museum relaunched its Impressionist and Modern galleries after an imaginative paint job and a rehang, and next year it will open a new suite of contemporary galleries in its former archaeology wing. For £6.

Volcano: Turner to Warhol Compton Verney, until 31 October On my desk is a lump of lava, a memento of Vesuvius. It doesn’t look like much, but neither does the volcano from the cinder track that winds around to its summit. From close to, Vesuvius is a giant ash heap; it’s from across the bay that the magic works. Never does distance lend more enchantment to the view than in the case of volcanoes: when they’re exploding they’re plain dangerous, and when not they’re really rather dull. Their allure is as elusive as a rainbow’s, and it was in rainbow colours that Andy Warhol painted Vesuvius in 1985, making it look like a Neapolitan ice cream blown under pressure through the end of a cone.

Albert Marquet Connaught Brown, 2 Albemarle Street, W1, until 26 June Amid the usual hype about the record price achieved by an Andy Warhol self-portrait at Sotheby’s New York on 12 May, another artist’s record passed unnoticed. At the Impressionist & Modern Art sale the week before, Albert Marquet’s ‘Le Pavillon Bleu’ fetched $1.5 million. ‘Albert who?’ some of you may be asking — but when Marquet painted this picture in 1905 he was a founder member of the first revolutionary art movement of the 20th century, one of the gang of young painters in pure colours surrounding Matisse who would be branded ‘Fauves’ at that year’s Salon d’Automne.

A Critic’s Choice Selected by Andrew Lambirth Browse & Darby, until 7 May The bravest thing an art critic can do is to show their own work; the next bravest is to mount a show of the artists they admire. Publishing one’s critical opinions in print is one thing; hanging up the physical evidence in public is quite another. One normally fearless critic of my acquaintance, when invited to do it, declined with a shudder and a quote from ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’. Cork Street didn’t feel like the Valley of Death when I visited Andrew Lambirth’s Critic’s Choice last week.

Without from Within Djanogly Art Gallery, Nottingham, until 3 May In 1935 Magritte painted a picture called ‘La Condition Humaine’ showing a mountain landscape seen from inside a cave. In the mouth of the cave an easel with a see-through canvas perfectly frames the view of a distant castle, while a fire burning inside reminds us of Plato’s famous allegory of human knowledge, comparing us to prisoners in a cave whose only perception of reality is based on shadows thrown by firelight on the walls. Painting, Magritte implies, is similarly partial (although presumably an advance on shadows for a cave-dweller).

Van Gogh and the Colours of the Night Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam until 7 June Remembering his former teacher Vincent van Gogh, the painter Anton Kerssemakers described a walk one evening in 1884 from Nuenen to Eindhoven when Vincent suddenly stopped before the sunset, framed it in his hands and, half closing his eyes, cried out, ‘My God, how does such a fellow — whether God, or whatever you want to call him — how does he do that? We must be able to do that too!’ The hours of sunset, dusk and darkness — outdoors and in — always fascinated van Gogh.