The Royal Academy's Young Artists’ Summer Show
An upcoming generation of artists are spotlighted in this year's edition of the show...
August 7, 2023
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
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Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
.JPG)
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
.jpg)
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
.jpg)
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
I always manage to spend as much, if not more, time in the Young Artists’ Summer Show, than the Royal Academy’s ‘main event’. Despite the size it’s afforded - a single room to the Summer Exhibition’s twelve - the range on display is no less diverse or developed.
The annual Summer Show is open to submissions from young, UK-based artists aged between four and 19 years old. Free too is the approach to curation, with works loosely grouped by theme - the catalogues, like the entry, have always been free here too, unlike the Summer Exhibition. Works across ages and media are thus curated in conversation. Though a similar gallery hang, the works’ numbers get another meaning, corresponding to the age of the maker; the lower the number, the younger the artist.
It makes for some wonderful contrasts; in ‘Mommy Tickles Me’, four-year-old Tin Ching Summer uses stark green and black colours to reflect her play with swans and geese. Beside it, we find ‘Hannah and Eric’, two teenagers flipping the bird at their onlookers.
The maturity of practice and ideas is always remarkable, a reminder of how engaged young people are. This year’s selection is especially political, with works on paper addressing the government’s Hostile Environment policy, conflicts in Cyprus, and the ‘plight’ of Afghani women, deprived an education by the Taliban. Many of these artists refer to events ‘in my country’, highlighting these artists’ awareness of their different, diasporic identities.
Still, they retain a playfulness and dark humour; Dia photographs a Palestinian Lives Matter matter protest, re-enacted using Lego. In ‘Height of Politics’, nine-year-old Bea turns the door of No.10 into a height chart, highlighting her literal lived experience of our turbulent political landscape. ‘By the time my mum was my age she’d only had two Prime Ministers. I am on my FIFTH!,’ she remarks in the caption. Indeed, we read many of the artists in their own words; Bea’s liberal use of interrobangs cuts through the political and media rhetoric, a direct critique of the ridiculousness of our situation.
More important, climate change is the obvious focus for many of the artists. Here, it’s uniquely addressed through the inventive use of media, from sculptures and models to fully-functioning water fountains. Milo’s Blu Tack blue whale could be over-academised as the product of found objects; his methods were more instrumental, switching to foil when he ran out of his preferred dough.
Much work is produced in collaboration - surprisingly few textiles, compared to 2022 – and the group ceramics are a particular delight. Each Heath Mount School duck has its own particular character, their arrangement a reference to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s ‘The Umbrellas’ (1886).
Indeed, these artists have a remarkable knowledge of art/history, one which betrays their age and experience. There’s MC Escher’s infinity knot, Katsushika Hokusai crops up twice, and we find mother-child embraces made after Käthe Kollwitz – here, from the latter’s perspective. A scrap metal car bonnet comes inspired by Cornelia Parker, while Cricket’s ‘Dancer’ comes from his Grandad, showing him Alberto Giacometti sculptures in the half-term holidays.
Some reference visits to the National Portrait Gallery, and classical paintings. But unlike their older counterparts, their self-portraits never seem self-centred. They should be read instead as powerful self-representations, responses to the gaps they’ve found in these permanent collections.
The works, however, are incredibly subtle, inviting creative interpretations of their motivations, and the artist’s identity more widely. Did Rowan see Mohammed Sami’s The Point 0 before painting his stack of mattresses? Could six-year-old Grace have sculpted her tiny clay ship in response to Yayoi Kusama’s Aggregation: One Thousand Boats Show? And might My Disrupted Life, Jay’s response to his continued illness since COVID, have more in common with Tracey Emin’s multimedia installations, and beds?
It’s hopeful how much these artists speak to universal, rather than individual, themes. The context of a work is implicit in its visuals, without the need for expression. Positionality is never the focus of a work, nor its caption; something which will infuriate those who like to target ‘snowflakes’. We find scenes of ‘love and connection without boundaries’, and celebrations of different cultures. Lisa’s wondrous ‘Home from Home’ is a painted dedication to the places of her childhood that are slowly disappearing, and her sadness in seeing them go.
There’s no ego in these works, nor do their makers take themselves too seriously. Indeed, it is shocking to read Demi’s detailed self-portrait was painted ‘really quick’. Others reinvent – or ground – well-known genres; Oscar’s still life is the product of a parent asking him to load the dishwasher. Wider contemporary reference points are a testament to these artists’ plural interests, from the rapper Dave to the films of Wong Kar Wai.
One condition to this otherwise accessible affair is that entries must come from schools registered by their teachers, which, along with the selection process, may breed a slight bias towards London (and perhaps, too, a prejudice towards those privileged to know about the Show in the first place). It plays out in many works about the capital, and public transport. Hannah’s lino print ‘Cadair Idris’ is one of few works from Wales; Evan’s ‘Otter-ly Cool’, made from his first visit to the valleys, observes how healthy cities are biodiverse and ecological ones.
‘Northumbrian Norman’ is Poppy’s ceramic pufferfish, painted the colours of the Northumberland flag. It’s typical of an exhibition, which combines both the joy of art and the importance of representation. Context-aside, so many of these works are really just good to look at; captions, where added, only give these works more meaning. A highlight is a wonderful portrait by the nine-year-old Amelie, which simply states: ‘This is a painting of my mum. I painted her because I love her’.
The Summer Show – and its title – is visual proof of our failure to take children and young people seriously, or equitably. Now it gets more attention from the likes of Katy Hessel, and it’s time for some more Great Young Artists in the media. So leave the Exhibition, and keep it YASS. It is all the better for it.
The Young Artists’ Summer Show is on view at the Clore Learning Centre at the Royal Academy in London until 13 August 2023, and online.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
