Constrained and Liberated: George Rouy's 'The Bleed' at Hauser & Wirth

     I’m intrigued by my own inability to find the words for Rouy’s paintings. Normally writing comes very naturally. When I look back at his paintings, I’m struck that this is why people paint. Because through paint, we can convey what words cannot. Everything I want to describe is wrapped up in the painting, with all its layers and intricacies. Can words ever deliver the same meaning as the painting? Perhaps a different, but equally important meaning? I’m going to try anyway to use words to explain my take on the exhibition.

     Set back off a busy, noisy Oxford Street at Christmas (the word ‘hellish’ is appropriate) his paintings are in your face before you even get into the building. From the street they are powerful. Huge canvases of writing bodies made passing businessmen in suits turn their heads. If I hadn’t come to Saville Row especially to see them I would have put all plans on hold to go inside.

     Hauser & Wirth’s big and airy gallery space is a pocket of zen. Tranquillity prevails and time stops. Despite towering two meters tall, the works feel highly intimate. I feel as though they were painted just for my eyes, and it’s just me and them in the room, or the world. (To be fair this is sort of true- I was the only one there.) They’re somehow both loud and quiet; suppressed and explosive; restrained and chaotic.

     Brimming with contrasts, the works depict writhing masses of bodies caught in a brawling kerfuffle. Yet there is also a distinct stillness on the canvas. The backgrounds are flat and controlled, and seem to be in a struggle with the figures who burst out of the flat void in an explosion of energy and paint.

     The figures themselves are also fighting a battle. They seem to be trying so hard to remain neat and contained, yet still an energy spills out from the painting’s very core. This power struggle between movement and stillness, chaos and control, is what moves me most about Rouy’s work. It’s full of contradictions. I was left thinking and trying to unravel the paintings in my head for days afterwards. I find them completely captivating, although I can’t put my finger on how they make me feel exactly, which bothers me. Yet I also like being bothered by it- discomfort means the art is worth seeing; it’s serving a purpose.

     Despite portraying a fleeting snapshot of movement, the paint seems to have been applied thinly and deliberately. There is huge depth and texture in the images, but little texture to the paint. It is all very flat- not a hint of impasto. I think that impasto can be an easy fall back for multi-layered scenes like these. I find it remarkable that Rouy achieves such depth of movement with such careful, thinned paint. Movement is suggested in blurred, smudged areas of paint as well as quick brush-marks which evidence Rouy’s own gestural hand. The works are clearly created in many thin layers, which facilitate total depth in the masses of tangled bodies. It’s impossible to tell how many bodies populate each canvas.

     I see the shadows of so many other artists in Rouy’s works. I mean this in a good way; an artist would be nothing without borrowing from others. They say no idea is original. That’s probably true, but Rouy has managed to put an original twist on the much-done subject of the human body.

     Cecily Brown’s work immediately sprung to mind when I stepped into the gallery. The fleshy mass of paint and bodies is key to both Rouy and Brown’s works. Both push and pull bodies, distorting them into almost grotesque, abstract forms. Masses of flesh, rather than people. Whilst Brown’s work often takes a step further into abstraction, they share an essence.

     The show included a couple of monotone works which felt distinct from the others. Rouy’s palette usually consists of fleshy browns, reds and pinks. The lack of colour in his black and white works made them appear less bodily and more abstracted. Without the distraction of colour, shapes become more apparent and the paintings take on an entirely different quality. I think these works belong in a show of their own; it would perhaps have been stronger for Rouy to pick between either colour or monotone. I recently saw Leonardo Da Vinci’s drawings at the Royal Academy, and felt a likeness between Rouy’s greyscale paintings and Da Vinci’s ‘The Virgin and the Child.’ Perhaps Leonardo’s tonal way of drawing feels like painting- or Rouy’s grey paintings feel like drawings. They're stylistically different, but the depth of form in the bodies ties them together.

     The incredible silkiness achieves in Rouy’s paintwork harks back to early renaissance techniques. This fleshy section in 'From the Cradle' (below) echoes the exquisite softness of early masterpieces from the likes of Titian, but with a distinct contemporary edge. This motif itself is much repeated in renaissance imagery, and not without negative and violent connotations. The below example depicts ‘The Rape of Proserpina’. Is there still a place for such imagery in modern art?

     Despite honouring the age-old tradition of the nude, Rouy reinvents it for his own purposes, pulling it into the twenty-first century. The inclusion of black bodies and male bodies as muses is unprecedented. And long overdue. Why has it taken until now for contemporary art to mirror the diverse nuances of society? ‘Traditional’ Western Art- the kind we put on a pedestal and pay money to see in museums- celebrates only the beauty and eroticism of attractive white women with ‘ideal’ bodies. It raises the question, how can a woman who doesn’t fit that mould love and celebrate her own body, if it’s never even seen in art or culture? These bodies simply aren’t seen as muses. They don’t exist in art history. And if they do, it’s tainted by violence or misogyny- think Gauguin painting underage Tahitian girls. Contemporary artists of colour are making huge progress and gaining long-overdue recognition. I’m particularly drawn to the work of Lubaina Himid and Lynette Yiadom-Boakye, to name just a few.

     It seems totally wrong that I’m even praising Rouy for his diversity; it should just be the bare minimum. But here we are. I enjoyed the work more for its inclusion of people of colour, and men as muses. It demonstrates tangible progress- artists practicing now are starting to reconsider the white-male-gaze. That said, the majority of the figures seem to be women, and none of them have heads. The male gaze isn’t totally dead yet.

     Rouy’s paintings bring the traditional theme of the nude to an ever-evolving youth culture. The movement of his bodies is borrowed directly from nightclubs, where Rouy mimics the movements of young people dancing. I think it’s crucially important for young people to feel connected to the arts; especially as ‘traditional’ painting can be perceived as antiquated, or something for the old rather than the young. Such a contemporary edge in Rouy’s works opens it up to younger, more diverse audiences, as well as marking him out as a very exciting contemporary artist.

     So, my verdict on George Rouy at Hauser & Wirth? A totally captivating group of paintings, completely reflective of the world we inhabit. Power struggles; fights; confusion; contradiction; humanity. A humbling mirror to society. And isn’t that what art is all about?

© Nik Macey 2025

All images taken by Author