As hipsters were twisting their way through the early swinging sixties, a group of artists was busy changing art forever. Artists like Peter Blake and Derek Boshier were manipulating the mainstream, co-opting culture and helping to invent pop art in the wake of earlier pioneers the Independent Group. But there was a woman among them too, who up until relatively recently was just a footnote to the movement: Pauline Boty.
She died aged just 28 after refusing chemotherapy while pregnant, and the tragedy of her story has obscured her art. But over recent years she’s been reappraised, re-celebrated, and had her place at the forefront of British pop cemented.
The small handful of paintings here show an artist full of potential. They’re like collages, stark elements clashing against each other; Marilyn Monroe beams out at you as you walk in, a huge grin framed by blonde hair and undulating blocks of colour, a monochrome man in sunglasses stands against a wall of orange, flanked by love hearts. All these snippets are sampled and rearranged with cold detachment, but giddy joy too. This is an artist forging a pop path, and finding her feet at the same time.
Upstairs, earlier works show just how young she was. There are awkward landscapes and portraits, tentative collages. Photos show her playing up and undressing in front of her paintings. There’s loads of fun and youthful freedom here, even if there isn’t a ton of good art.
But the main feeling you get is sadness, sadness that Boty didn't get to see her ideas through, to mature and grow as an artist. There are hints of brilliance here, but these paintings feel like precursors, Boty on her way to brilliance, just not quite there yet.
