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Just like we love real people, I hereby decree that it is entirely acceptable to have feelings for the subject of a painting. For I have been on many dates with this impertinent young lad who, in turn, has consistently failed to reciprocate my attentions. Ah, unrequited love.


Bronzino is one of the masters of Italian Mannerism, aka Renaissance on steroids, a style that is wedged between the High Renaissance and the Baroque (c. 1520 onwards). Mannerists moved away from the harmonious aesthetics of their predecessors in favour of a stylised and exaggerated treatment of the human form. Men and women alike have sinuous swan-like necks, elongated limbs, and long, tapering fingers. The are often depicted in unrealistic surroundings as they strike unnatural poses in order to convey a maximum of drama.


Just like this chap. Look at the emphasis on his left hand so firmly placed on the hip, defiantly pushing it forward. The presence of the book indicates that he might be a poet, most certainly someone sophisticated and intellectual, while the richness of the black fabric and the elegance of the home setting speak of his elevated social status. Handsome, aloof and slightly arrogant, he's like the bad boyfriend you can't stay away from.


Agnolo Bronzino, Portait of a Young Man (c. 1530)

The Metropolitan Museum, New York

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teamLab hail from Japan, they are an interdisciplinary collective of artists, programmers, engineers, CG animators, mathematicians and architects whose practice 'seeks to navigate the confluence of art, science, technology, and the natural world'. With their own digital museum in Tokyo and a growing number of indoors and outdoors solo installations around the world, they also boast a presence in some of Asia Pacific's most prominent museums.


Immersive experience is a buzz word I have come to dread. It's like we are suddenly unable to really engage with art unless aided by technology. VR, AR, welcome to the new reality of the digitally-enhanced art experience. This phenomenon goes hand in hand with the development of the blockbuster painting show, where digital technology has become something of a fixture, e.g. the long queues at Tate Modern to step into a VR rendition of Modigliani's studio.


The teamLab installation was jaw-dropping for visual impact and sharpness of execution. We really did find ourselves immersed in a world of floating petals, towering sunflowers, fluttering butterflies and crashing waterfalls. All supremely instagrammable and selfiable content, they are on to a winner. With no prescribed itinerary and loud 'dreamy' music playing nonstop, you're free to wander aimlessly and explore this dazzling display of mesmerising imagery. Dizzying sensory overload is the best way of summing it up.


After the first 5' of stunned wonderment, more rational thoughts started creeping in. The place was packed, people seemed happy and engaged, so surely this is what the democratisation of art looks like. But this also what Disneyland looks like. Is there a line to be drawn or have the lines blurred forever? Far from sharing the elitist idea that art is for the few, I accept these technologies are here to stay and respect their potential to offer something new, especially with a view to attracting broader and, crucially, younger audiences.


Er, do you see what I mean?

Videos and photos all mine. Except my own of course, which was taken by my friend Sasha Anevsky.

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The museums I have visited in Russia (Moscow and Saint Petersburg this far) have made a lasting impression on me. If we exclude the legendary Hermitage, which is for all intents and purposes like the Louvre, I found in their extraordinary collections a (quick and superficial) way to gain some understanding of Russian history through the development of its art. The State Russian Museum houses the world's biggest collection of Russian art, so really there is no better place to start.


As I was going through the pics on my phone, this one stood out and oddly resonated with the current zeitgeist. Queueing is something we do a lot of in England, almost like a sacred daily ritual. These days we still queue, but far apart from one another. It's a new kind of queueing where the usual boredom and impatience have been replaced by fear and anxiety.


But I digress, this is not what Sundukov's painting is about. Made in 1986, 5 years before the dissolution of the Soviet Union during the early perestroika days, this picture casts a scathing look at the reality of everyday life for millions of people. Faceless men and women patiently standing in line, a line that doesn't seem to have an end, perhaps symbolising the normality and perpetuity of this occurrence. As our eyes follow the queue towards the right, people no longer look like people. They could be houses, blocks of wood, their humanity taken away in this collective portrayal of the hardships of Soviet life.


The drabness of the colour palette conveys a sense of haziness and resignation. Everything looks beige and feels hopeless, even the sky. So overall, not the happiest of paintings I will admit. But like I said, I felt it resonated with today's general climate. Like the people in the picture, today we still queue hoping for better days.


Aleksey Sundukov, Queue (1986)

The State Russian Museum, Saint Petersburg

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