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Help! A monster is menacing the courtyard of Burlington House. Like a kraken from the depths, it seems to writhe and thrash, waving dark-brown tentacles at a statue of the Royal Academy’s first president, Joshua Reynolds. After an hour or two at this year’s Summer Exhibition, I found myself wishing that this leviathan – in fact, a “monumental textile sculpture” (and part of the show) by British artist Nicola Turner – would come for me.
Usually, I find at least a few fond words for the Summer Exhibition, for which many have a soft spot, despite its maddening incoherence. Yet, the 256th edition – seemingly more swollen than ever, with 1,710 works – is a heap of tedious, shambling parochialism and humdrum bilge. And I’m not talking about the public’s submissions, an oddly endearing hodgepodge of pictures of animals (mostly pooches, plus a puffin) and, um, trees. (As if its audience were primary-school children, the hanging committee identifies the latter as a theme.) Is there any point in lambasting, say, an inoffensive ceramic model of King’s College Chapel? Or a shelf of knitted cosies for milk cartons and an ice-cream tub?
Rather, my beef is with some of the professional elected members of the Academy, each of whom is entitled to submit up to six works. There may be redemptive flashes: Veronica Ryan, for instance, pulls off an elegant hang, against turmeric-coloured walls, within the Lecture Room; the Large Weston Room, arranged by Cornelia Parker, has moments of wit. The rot, though, starts at the top.
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