I was in Hastings on 25th November. A sudden decision to take advantage of some fine weather. I made a quick plan. After a pub lunch, I would park in Hastings on The Stade (the old fishing area), have a fresh look at the Old Town, climb West Hill (one of two high, steep hills that contain the Old Town in a valley between them), descend in the West Hill Lift (if open), walk down George Street (a quaint street full of interesting shops and cafés), and hang around to shoot the sunset among the fishing boats.
And it all went to plan. The pleasing photographic results are on Flickr (there's a direct link at the top right corner of this webpage). One item not however in my original thinking was a visit to Hastings Contemporary, the town's main art gallery. This post is abut that.
Hastings Contemporary is on The Stade, surrounded by the working shacks and other buildings of the fishing fleet, but also facing East Hill and part of the Old Town. It's in a very good position. In form it's a black, tiled, rectangular structure on two levels. Although built only a few years ago, it blends in very nicely with the much older black-painted fishing structures, including the tall thin net houses for which The Stade is famous. As its name implies, it's a showcase for modern art, and a local venue for art workshops, besides having a seaward-facing upstairs café with a sunny balcony, admirably suitable for contemplating the characterful sea front over coffee. It reminds me (in spirit at least) of the Tate Modern in London. And I suppose also of that other seaside gallery in Cornwall, the Tate St Ives.
I'd never been inside before, although I'd visited Hastings regularly over the years. Either it had been closed on the day, or my companion at the time hadn't been very interested. The chief disincentive was the admission charge. I don't know about you, but I am all against admission charges where galleries and museums are concerned. It seems to me that it's an uphill struggle to get people interested enough in art and local history, or culture generally, to come in and enjoy what is on offer. So why put them off by making them pay a significant price? And it wasn't cheap. Even with an age concession, I'd have to pay £7 to get in. I did hesitate. But then I reflected that (a) I was genuinely eager to see what lay inside; and (b) £7 wouldn't break the bank. So why begrudge myself? I paid and was in.
I could have joined a guided tour that had just started. Here they are on the ground floor.
But I don't care for guided tours. I want to be free to explore on my own. I feel competent enough to appreciate artistic creations without someone else's help, and to draw my own conclusions concerning its meaning and impact. So I deftly glided through the throng and left them behind.
In any case, I wanted to take pictures, and I didn't want to be told that I couldn't.
For some reason, many galleries discourage photography. It once used to be because it 'might hurt their revenue from postcards and booklets'. But for some years now - in fact ever since mobile phones have had cameras worth using - it has been impractical or impossible to stop people taking sneaky souvenir shots, and so that reason has been dropped. There is still a stern prohibition on taking pictures of any special exhibition, 'because of the artist's copyright'. But again, anyone determined to take a photo can easily do so with a phone. In any case, I would have thought that in these days of Social Media, any sharing of a snap that shows an artist's work amounts to free and presumably welcome advertising not only for the artist, but the venue.
Still, Lili, my hard-to-miss Leica X-U, was not a phone, and she gave me the air of a serious photographer. Galleries don't like serious photographers. They are hard to distinguish from professionals with a commercial motive. I might get approached, and asked to explain what I was going to use the shots for. So while I visited each room with Lili openly hanging from my neck, I was discreet about using her. I made sure that I got my shots unobserved.
So, this is what the gallery looks like inside:
I wasn't too keen on the presentation of the paintings. Beside each was only a number. If you were interested, you could look up more information about the painting and its creator, using that number. I'd have preferred to see those details on a card next to the work. But I suppose that would have put paid to the 'patchwork' effect of the wall arrangements.
And these are the works, mostly paintings, that caught my eye. You may be able to infer something about my personal taste.
Ha! I was producing things like number 223 above in my second year of A Level Art in 1969.
On the ground floor was a big space for art workshops. I very much liked the colourful strips of paper hanging from the ceiling, each one a communal effort, the joint creation of many paint brushes:
To be honest, I thought these were better than most of the framed pictures displayed elsewhere in the gallery.
So much for the art. The building itself was nice to walk around, and one special pleasure was that the upstairs windows each seemed to frame a wonderful view of Hastings.
But the rear balcony was the spot to go to. What a fine view of The Stade, with its buildings, boats, and shingle, and the panorama of the sea beyond.
I think you can use the café without paying the full admission charge, but I may be mistaken about that. I don't think I really had £7 worth of modern art, but there was much to like, as my pictures show.
When the pandemic is over, or at least under proper control, I will think seriously about visiting the Tate Modern in London again. Indeed, many other such places there. It is so long since I saw them.
