Turner (July)

Joseph Mallord William Turner catapults his admirers into florid panegyrics. ‘What is Sandridge? What steam? What fire?’ (Streeton) ‘Until then, I had never seen racing clouds.’ (McCubbin) ‘His rainbows are theatre.’ (Nolan) Poets find him irresistible. ‘Epic catastrophe his ardent apostrophe, / Turner’s sunset summaries hurtle into the sea.’ (Steele) ‘O! J.M.W! You are It and a Bit! / Mind if I come with you down to the Pit?’ (Harwood) Critics take the long view. ‘His Corio is like no other Corio.’ (McCaughey) ‘We like spending all Saturday morning with some artists, but with Turner the whole of July.’ (Smith)