I'd never heard of her when I passed the window of Kettle's Yard in February and noticed the nice light, casting interesting shadows and reflections around a sculpture installation of a chair. The resulting photo had a nice, watery resonance. Lucia Nogueira. I looked her up: a Brazilian woman about my own age who went to art school here and had considerable success before dying, sadly, in her forties.
Once you know a name it tends to recur, so, although I knew her only as a sculptor, it was no surprise to find her in the Watercolour exhibition. The light, small drawings washed with flattish colour reminded me not so much of the sculptures as of - my photo! There was the pregnant, watery colour, the dark-hearted lightness. I sat down opposite (a lovely, uncrowded day at Tate Britain, with room to sit and space to contemplate) and looked again at a quality I'd captured all unconsciously. There's nothing mysterious in this, I think. It's the normal osmosis of art. A lot of the seeing is not amenable to thought, but goes on at quite a different level. You don't 'know' it in words, can't speak about it, but you might photograph it.
So, an inkling, perhaps, of why paintings and statues ask to be photographed. Yes, they offer easy subjects - obligingly still, slowly changing as the light moves on them. But it's not just that.