Collings is an odd potato. As a critic, his gently ironic tone (masking a fierce intelligence) seemed perfectly in keeping with the Brit-Art explosion of the late-nineties. The book and TV series 'This is Modern Art' asked all sorts of awkward questions about what art did, what it was and who it was for. Yes, everything still seemed like a garish carnival of moral and aesthetic relativism - but Collings seemed more than happy to lead you through it - avuncular, charming and disarmingly willing to admit to his own worries and foibles.
'This is Civilisation' is in many ways a similar book - Collings doesn't answer the question suggested by the title, rather, he keeps asking it in interesting ways. Ironically, despite the epic scope of the project,this book is a great deal more intimate than anything he's done before. It begins with accounts of of his father's suicide and his mother's mental illness - 'civilisation' in this context implies an enlightened dream of redemption, the embodiment not just of what mankind is, but what it could be. Collings admits a parallel fascination with the surreal, the jarring and the disturbing - the yang to the enlightenment ying.
For the most part, Collings follows the classic western narrative through Greek classicism to Modernism (interposing arabic art) - though this is in no way pretending to be as comprehensive an overview as Kenneth Clark's study (or E.H. Gombrich's seminal 'History of Art').
He also presents a series of personal vignettes, mostly accounts of his adventures in the contemporary art world. The bemused flaneur of 'This is Modern Art' returns, deliciously opinionated, almost pitying in his assessment of the hyper-commercial world of the international art trade.
There's all sorts of engagement and provocation along the way - it's a testament to Colling's intelligence that he still manages to find new things to say about Greek and early Christian art. A notable high-point is his excellent consideration of Ruskin and the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood - humanist social values that we could well do with today. There is a little repetition from earlier books - though I thoroughly enjoyed his return to Goya. In fact it's Goya's sleep of reason that seems to triumph in the end - the overwhelming tone of the book is one of disillusionment.
It's not that Collings has ceased to find anything to enjoy in the contemporary art world (though it's noticable that craft and application are generally more important to him now than ideas), but there is a sense that the world is disappearing up it's own wotsit and there isn't much anyone can do about it, except worry about what opinion to have over dinner. Of course, this is more or less the message we queue up to be told over and over again at each exhibition of new art, so we've only got ourselves to blame........