Shelley Rohde (1933–2007)

Close by the massive but underwhelming Imperial War Museum North in Manchester stands the new entertainment complex The Lowry named after the local painter Laurence S. Lowry and home to a museum that houses the City of Salford's collection of Lowrys. One of the joys of traveling is discovery. I have never heard of Lowry before visiting that museum. His paintings of industrial mills and anonymous mass scenes reminds me of Bruegel and Blake. Bruegel, because of his keen eye, for his power of observation and his love for the common man, the poor man, the working man. Blake, because the two of them mark the beginning and the end of the satanic mills in that pleasant land. Looking at a Lowry painting today opens both a vein of nostalgia and a shudder of a dreadful time of misery gone by.

Lowry's life is the classic story of the ugly duckling. In a mix of Kafka and Psycho, he lived all his life in the house of his parents as long as they lived, caring for his demanding invalid mother for years. A rent collector by day, a painter by night, success eluded him for decades both artistically and professionally. Doggedly, he held on to his life and art, always painting and sketching. Only in his sixties did he become famous, his art appreciated and recognized. He died a rich man, after a long, humble self-effacing life. What makes this biography such a gem is Lowry's comic talent and wit, always willing to play along a reporter's wild idea, developing a Lowryesque persona of revealing dissimulation. Naming an entertainment complex after this supremely private man is a perfect illustration of this paradoxical artist. The art world is still puzzled about the artistic output of this semi-professional amateur, beloved too much by the public. In simplicity lies great art.

Highly recommended.… (mais)