Millennium Gallery - Strange Presence: John Hoyland - Review

Running as a prelude to a subsequent exhibition on Hoyland's rarely exhibited sculpture, this small gallery space platforms some potent works of 20th century abstract art and manages to enthral and challenge all those who enter. Strange Presence runs between Jan 18 - March 18 at the Millennium Gallery, Sheffield, free admission. 

I am back in Sheffield. In the grand scheme of things, it hasn't been long, but still I feel a sense of return. I could move through this city with my eyes shut. The reason for my return is to celebrate a friend's birthday, and, before we are scheduled to meet, I decide to take some time to revisit my old stomping ground of the Millennium Gallery. After meeting an old colleague for brunch, I take the route from the Peace Gardens, through the Winter Gardens, to the bustling hallway, out from which doors upon to a variety of galleries. 

Nestled between the permanent space reserved for the display of silverwork, and the exploratory Ruskin gallery - which exhibits a rotation of objects found in the Ruskin Archives, built around different themes - we find today's subject for inquiry: ‘Strange Presence: John Hoyland’. 

I had not come across Hoyland before, and knew the space to be rather compact - previously it has been used for Christmas Art markets, and an excellent display of sketches by the street artist Phlegm. So, I decide to move at a deliberately slow pace, and listen to the conversations of others experiencing the art around me. What follows is an ethically dubious exercise in arts ethnography - for want of a better term - with quotes from fellow visitors sitting alongside my own personal reflections on the art and exhibitory practices at work. As a coda, a rather inebriated, subsequent conversation with a good friend, where I show him photos of the artwork to provoke discussion. 

Without further ado:

I am immediately accosted by quite an arresting, challenging image entitled 'Herald 10.4.83'. An almost childlike, thick application of paint shows partially blended, very clear brushstrokes. What first appears as yet another jumble of abstract forms quickly gives way to a work in which boundary and form are playfully disrupted. Black is melting into ochre. The distinction between shapes is - at times - unclear, and the familiar set colours are problematised by visible undercoats. To me, this functions as both an exploration of - and play within – more familiar clarities of abstraction. Mondrian without the sharp edges, or Rauschenberg with a hint of colour under the white. 

'Herald 10.4.83' - J. Hoyland (image via author)

Directly next to the painting, hung at the same height, is our introductory text. Here we learn that Hoyland (1934-2011), a contemporary of Rothko and Frankenthaler, is a local. Born in Sheffield, he studied sculpture at the Sheffield School of Art. Sculpture which is to be the subject of the exhibition currently under construction further down the Millennium Gallery. 

Two groups walk in. Back-to-back, they approach ‘Herald’. From the first group, someone simply says "it’s very basic". From the second, and even simpler shake of the head, their only verbal response to the work: "no". However, as I continue to take notes on Hoyland's biography, they begin to discuss what they see in the work. They talk of the shapes and what it reminds them of. The introductory text draws a link between Hoyland's sculptural training and the forms within his paintings. One group, after stating that they could paint this, is rebutted that they, in fact, didn't. Hoyland did. 

To the right of the introductory panel are two cases, side by side, at roughly hip height. A family comes in. Someone asks the children which their favourite painting is. After singling one out, they are then asked "why?". The children speak of the choice of colour. The size. They are asked follow-up questions. My attention is on the polaroids and sketchbooks in front of me, under the glass. 

Polaroids - J. Hoyland (image via author)

Sketchbook - J. Hoyland (image via author)

Hoyland sketches, in his later years, in bold, declarative lines. He uses highlighters. The books read as potential cyphers to his work, if you want them to be. Or provisional titles. His polaroid photos document snippets of graffiti. Strange forms we will later see replicated throughout his work. A panel gives us the excellent quote that these polaroids "have meaning and potential only in my imagination". Yet, you can start to see the vision. 

I return to the start of the gallery and begin to work my way around the walls. The first image, "25.6.66" immediately reminds me of the album cover of my favourite album from 2024 - M.J. Lenderman's 'Manning Fireworks'. This simple connection emphasises how much I love the colour scheme built up within the painting, pine greens cut through with ember-like oranges. It is, an observation echoed in the painting's label, "mirage like". Again, the distinct forms are blurred. It stands in direct opposition to the Bridget Riley’s brilliant paintings in Graves Gallery just across the road, with their impeccably neat divisions of colour. 

'25.6.66' - J. Hoyland (image via johnhoyland.com)

We move on to 'Sevil 24.5.76'. This was the children's favourite. I can see why. Hoyland is quoted again in the label. His voice, expressed more in his artwork than his quotes, is not overbearing, and remains a nice contextualisation of his work. The gallery never seeks to offer a totalising explanation - a definitive reading - yet does provide clues and avenues in which to read his works. For instance, here, Hoyland "liked the idea of doing paintings with a meaningful dumb centre, that kind of blanked you, gave nothing away". Perhaps the deliberately unreadable core of this work was what allowed the children to see so much in it. It is rather hypnotising, both in size and form. As much as you want to study the borders, your eyes are repeatedly drawn back to the central sky-blue void. 

'Sevil 24.5.76' - J. Hoyland (image via author)

While the paintings are helpfully titled after their date of creation, the gallery itself is non-chronological. I like this. It doesn't attempt to be a survey, but more of a sampler, picking out certain elements, certain chapters in Hoyland's works. For instance, 'Survivor Man 17.8.08' is explained to be modelled off the shape of a surgery scar, the result of Hoyland's own heart surgery. A couple, reading this, use it as a jumping off point for a personal conversation that explores a painful aspect of recent family history. As observer, I refrain from noting any verbatim quotes, but it was apparent that this subject of conversation was new and had been triggered by the painting. Later on, another pair discuss the similarities between the image and an ash tray, and then an eye. One offers a descriptive reading of the centre as awareness and the extremities as the universe. On a second viewing, I understand their angle. The ocular nature of the image seemed to inspire the most conversation during my time in the gallery. 

'Survivor Man 17.8.08' - J. Hoyland (image via author)

Towards the rear wall of the exhibition, we find the largest work - 'Siren 10.7.89'. In spite of its placement, it is not platformed as the centrepiece but works alongside the other works. Here, the influence of the graffiti forms becomes clear, a sort of calligraphic motif emblazoned on a cosmic background. The piece is used to explore Hoyland's use of chance - dropping string onto the canvas and recording its form. 

'Siren 10.7.89' - J. Hoyland (image via author)

From across the room a toddler exclaims to their mum how one of the works looks "like cheese". The mother replies, "it could be". The toddler bimbles off, staggering somewhere else, having spent less than ten seconds looking at the painting, evidently convinced in their initial appraisal of the work. The work in question is 'Voyage to Now 22.3.95', used by Hoyland to demonstrate the influence of Balinese culture on his later work - a place he often travelled for inspiration. The blending of natural forms into the work, especially a particularly plant-like form, results in a final image that, you have to hand it to them, does look like cheese. 

'Voyage to Now 22.3.95 - J. Hoyland (image via johnhoyland.com)

The layout of the gallery allows for two separate, comfortably circular, trajectories. Visitors, mostly in pairs, are taking the space slowly, usually offering reflections and suggestions as to what the images "look like". Later on, someone, discussing the production of the works, lands on my favourite stolen quote for the day: "it's therapeutic, isn’t it, because you don't have an image to recreate". 

The parallel thoughts on whether the images are of something, look like something, or are simply what is seen, were a common trend in most people's conversations. I find myself, on occasion, reading form into the abstractions, and on occasion it seems like a work is genuinely an abstraction of a form. 

This leads us to the final work in the gallery, and ultimately my favourite. Potentially because I spend too long looking at it. We arrive at 'Arvak 19.4.93'. We are told it is a favourite of Hoyland’s. I can see why. It has a sense of melody to it. There is a distinct vibrancy, a presence, an aura in the chaos of the flow and the splatter of the paint below the central form. It is, without a doubt, un-replicable - hence the Benjamin-esque emanation of aura. At its heart is a symbol - a conjunction of lines and curves - which feels almost linguistic in nature. I have, in quick succession, jotted down the words 'linguistic, post-linguistic, pictorial, iconographic, hieroglyphic symbol that expresses such joy and movement'. I thought, when I came to write this up, I would be able to narrow down my initial impression, but that feels insincere. My initial impression is best captured in this run of words. 

'Arvak 19.4.93' - J. Hoyland (image via author)

I end up reading human form into it. Perhaps in response to the consistent insistence of fellow visitors that this painting looked like this or like that. The overlaying of black, then green, then red of the central icon/form give it an odd iterative strength, a genuine presence. The promise of the exhibition's title has come to fruition. You could almost image Hoyland's pride in this work's creation. I'm far from an art critic, but I thought it was an absolutely brilliant painting. 

A brilliant painting in, to summarise, an absolutely brilliant little exhibition. I will have to return after the 20th to take a look at his sculptural work since, having never heard of him before today, Hoyland is firmly in my list of 'artists that I like'. 

Later on that evening, after a celebratory amount of drinks, I put some pictures I'd taken before a friend who has rather different political convictions to myself. He appreciates art, and sees a lot in the paintings, consistently picking out human images within the works. I find this interesting, for, as much as I try, only that final piece 'Arvak 19.4.93' – for me – was unequivocally alive. 

'Strange Presence: John Hoyland' is on display at the Millennium Gallery between Jan 18 and March 18, and is free to enter.