The stripes of Sean Scully Review by Sarah Belmont on the exhibition in Caen, France

By Sarah Belmont

Fifty years into his career. That was all it took to revolutionise abstraction. ‘The only way to save it, at a time when Minimalism was dying out, was to humanise it,’ explains Sean Scully (b. 1945), whose work is currently on show at Caen's Saint-Nicolas church as part of the Normandie Impressionniste festival. ‘I didn't know the area well, but when Philippe Platel (the festival director) showed me the place, I was immediately struck by its processional character. On either side of the nave are twelve canvases streaked with broad bands of colour, evoking the meeting of sea, land and sky on a multiple horizon. Contrary to what its title, The 12 (meaning ‘apostles’) suggests, this series was not conceived in situ but for the Hungarian National Gallery in Budapest, at the end of 2019 and during the health crisis. ‘Here, I would have given in to the temptation of an even bigger format. I'm a part-time Catholic, with very solid Zen foundations,’ jokes the Irish-born artist, whose humour is matched only by his pedagogy. ‘I speak British Airways (the worst airline there is!), which means slowly, not because I'm stupid but to get around the language barrier,’ adds Scully, who is used to teaching foreign students. In the middle of the church rises a 9-metre column of felt, available in 30 shades of grey, another version of which, with more contrast, was shown in 2019 at the Basilica of San Giorgio Maggiore in Venice. The material chosen muffles sound, which the public is invited to see for themselves as they enter the structure. Next door is a more intimate triptych depicting the artist's son on a Bahamian beach, and in the neighbouring cemetery, a compact block of Corten steel tubes: ‘There's no space in my work. It's the opposite with Giacometti, who is one of my favourite sculptors for that very reason.'