A Day at Kelvingrove
My first visit to Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum in Glasgow, was a bit of a rollercoaster. There’s the easy parking, the gorgeous red sandstone building, the excellent cafe, and a gift shop that’s frankly dangerous in the best way. Add to that a free organ recital filling the galleries with music, and you’ve got the makings of a brilliant day out.
And then there’s the art.
Kelvingrove is a major museum, housing a wide range of permanent and temporary exhibitions across history and art. It’s a lot to talk it. And while there were definite highlights, there was also… a lot that boiled my noggin.
Let’s break it down.
Where is Margaret?
Walking through the galleries, I passed several works attributed to Charles Rennie Mackintosh. One, The Wassail, from the Ingram Street Tea Rooms (1900), was accompanied by this wall text:
“[Rennie] Mackintosh described making these gesso panels with Margaret in a letter of 1900 — 'We are working on them together and that makes the work very pleasant. We have set ourselves a very large task...'”
And yet, the work is still formally attributed to “Charles Rennie Mackintosh” alone.
Another piece acknowledged Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh’s involvement in its making, noting that the panel was "one of a pair made with Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh" — and still, the artist credit reads “Designed and made by Charles Rennie Mackintosh.”
Why? If the gallery knows she worked on it — if the artist himself said they worked on it together — why not credit her? Why not say: Designed and made by Charles Rennie Mackintosh and Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh? It’s not hard. But it matters. It really matters.
A Glimmer of Recognition: The Macdonald Sisters
Just as I was beginning to despair, I wandered into a small display dedicated to the Macdonald Sisters — Margaret and Frances — who played a pivotal role in shaping the Glasgow Style.
“Two English sisters were central in creating the distinctive character of the Glasgow Style.”
The display included metalwork and watercolours, along with a refreshingly direct account of their careers. It acknowledged the ridicule Margaret and Frances faced when first exhibiting their work as students, and their enduring creative partnership as part of ‘The Four’ alongside Charles Rennie Mackintosh and James Herbert McNair.
The text also didn’t shy away from the tragic trajectory of Frances Macdonald McNair’s life and work:
“Frances won more awards than her sister… but after marrying James Herbert McNair in 1899, she never created art with Margaret again. Their marriage was said to be troubled until Frances’ early death in 1921. After this, McNair ceased painting — and destroyed much of her work.”
I’ve previously attended a lecture about Frances, where it was acknowledged that McNair was likely abusive and actively obstructed her ability to create. It’s a tragic, infuriating story — and seeing even a fragment of it acknowledged in a major gallery was powerful.
Among the few works displayed was Truth Lies at the Bottom of a Well (1912–15), one of Frances’ later watercolours. Her work, often interpreted as a commentary on women’s roles in society, deserves far more visibility than she’s been granted.
Colour, Emotion, and Forgotten Names
From the frustrating Mackintosh displays, I stepped into a standout photography exhibition by Karen Gordon, followed by a gallery dedicated to painting and colour. Here, the curation felt stronger — with several works that made a lasting impression.
Lesley Banks, The 39th Week Counting, 1993, Oil on canvas
A powerful portrait of a friend in late pregnancy, painted in soft browns and yellows to evoke calm reflection.
Avril Paton, Windows in the West, 1993, Watercolour
A stunningly detailed winter street scene painted from her attic studio.
Norah Neilson Gray, A Belgian Refugee, c.1915–21, Oil on canvas
A restrained, moving portrait of displacement and grief, painted by an artist who served as a WWI field nurse.
Annie Swynnerton, The Soul’s Journey – The Soul’s Awakening, 1922–23, Oil on canvas
Swynnerton’s story is remarkable. The first woman elected as an Associate of the Royal Academy in 1922 (aged 78!), she was also a suffragist, activist, and founder of the Manchester Society of Women Artists. This work — altered and expanded over time — reflects both her artistic evolution and her determination.
Rachel Ruysch (attributed), Flowers and Insects, c.1720–30, Oil on canvas
A classic Dutch still life, rich in symbolic beauty.
Anne Redpath, Pinks, 1947, Oil on canvas
A joyful exploration of colour’s emotional impact.
Joan Eardley, Two Children, 1962–63, Oil on collage on canvas
Unfinished at the time of her death, this mixed media work shows Eardley’s vibrant, tactile creative process.
Joan Eardley, Glasgow Kids, a Saturday Matinee Picture Queue, 1949, Oil on canvas
Bright, bold, full of life — capturing the thrill of childhood anticipation.
Floating Heads and Falling Standards
Up the grand staircase, I encountered Floating Heads, a dramatic installation by artist Sophie (or possibly Sophy?) Cave — more than 50 white ceramic heads suspended mid-air, each showing a different expression. I loved it.
Unfortunately, details about the work — and even about Cave herself — are surprisingly hard to come by. Installed in 2006, and still going strong, but the lack of information is frustrating. Even the museum’s own labels can’t seem to agree on the spelling of her name.
A Final Blow: The French Gallery
Last stop: the Fragile Gallery, where five quiet, lovely works by Margot Sandeman were displayed. But to reach them, I had to walk through the French Gallery.
Out of 44 paintings in that space, 43 were by men.
The single exception?
Mary Cassatt, The Young Girls, c.1885 — accompanied by the label:
“Mary Cassatt is famous for painting sensitive portraits of children.”
That was the final straw. Time to leave and find ice cream.
Kelvingrove describes its French Collection as:
“Glasgow Museums’ collection of French 19th and early 20th century paintings is internationally famous. You'll find many of the most important works here.”
What it should say is: You’ll find many of the most important works by men here.
Because yes, of course, plenty of talented men were painting in France — but so were many equally talented women. And once again, they’re nowhere to be seen.
The Verdict
So, a mixed bag of a day. Some truly wonderful artwork, moments of brilliance, glimmers of change — but still, an overwhelming focus on male artists, and a deep undercurrent of gender imbalance.
Glasgow deserves better.