Sean Scully . . . Walls of Aran Thames & Hudson; 29.95 (The exhibition continues at the Kerlin until 2 June. )

Hockney's Pictures Thames & Hudson; 29.95 How to Read a Modern Painting Jon Thompson Thames & Hudson; 29.95

THE majority of art books tend to be flashy catalogues to accompany exhibitions, weighty coffee-table tomes or light introductions to the world of art. Sean Scully . . . Walls of Aran, however, is a curious book that is hard to categorise.

The book launch recent week coincided with the opening of an exhibition of the same name at the Kerlin Gallery in Dublin. It is not a mere exhibition catalogue, however, but seems to be a stand-alone text. I wonder, then, if the exhibition is the adjunct to the book, reversing the traditional exhibition-catalogue dichotomy?

Perhaps more curious, though, is the content of the book itself. It features a series of black-andwhite photographs of stone walls, taken by Scully while on a field trip to the Aran Islands with his class of art students in 2005. It is intended, no doubt, to show a different side to Scully's creative powers.

While he is widely considered to be one of Ireland's greatest living abstract painters, Walls of Aran reveals a lesser-known talent for photography. By including some small reproductions of his paintings in among these photographs, it also seems to draw a link between the pared down, balanced verticals and horizontals of his paintings and the simple, monumental stone walls with their sturdy yet fragile balance.

By visiting the Aran Islands and taking these photographs, Scully is also placing himself within a long line of Irish artists who have found themselves drawn to the west, all the way from Paul Henry and Jack B Yeats to Hughie O'Donoghue and Dorothy Cross.

The most curious thing about this book is that, while its full title is Sean Scully . . . Walls of Aran, with an introduction by Colm Toibin, it is Toibin's "introduction" that emerges as the most memorable feature.

His three-part personal essay recounts various trips he made to the islands, delicately weaving into the text the huge esteem he holds for JM Synge, as he loosely, obliquely follows in his footsteps . . .

on the island and in his writing. In essence, Toibin's subtle, masterful writing inadvertently outshines Scully's photographs.

While Walls of Aran offers a glimpse into what is essentially a secondary aspect of Scully's oeuvre, Hockney's Pictures could not be more different. Originally published in hardback in 2004, this paperback version contains an impressive 325 illustrations, 277 of which are in colour.

It describes itself as "the first definitive 'retrospective' to show the evolution and diversity of Hockney's prolific paintings, drawings, watercolours, prints and photography". And indeed, it does what it says on the tin, offering a bright, beautifully presented compendium of British painter David Hockney's multifaceted and extensive output.

While it features his most iconic works, such as 'A Bigger Splash' and 'Mr and Mrs Clark and Percy', it also includes many new and previously unpublished images.

The book is arranged thematically rather than chronologically, demonstrating his main preoccupations throughout his long career, from the vast landscapes of the Grand Canyon to intimate portrayals of friends and family, to experimentations with perspective and the picture plane.

It reveals how his art is, in essence, an exploration of ways of seeing.

An in-depth (or even a brief) account of Hockney's life and a critical analysis of his work are not what you will find in this publication. "This is a picture book, " the introduction unashamedly proclaims. In contrast to the typical text-heavy monograph Hockney's Pictures focuses on the work itself, peppering it with occasional, brief explanations and quotes from the artist. As an art book, it is a refreshing alternative.

But for those of you quaking at the knees at the mere thought of an uncritical, uncontextualised presentation of Hockney's pictures, it would be handy to have Jon Thompson's How to Read a Modern Painting on your bookshelf as an antidote.

With the subtitle "Understanding and Enjoying the Modern Masters", this book is yet another of those 'accessible, practical' guides to art. Indeed, if Hockney's book is a "retrospective", this could be described as a blockbuster exhibition featuring a broad overview of modern painting.

The book comprises of colour reproductions of some 200 paintings accompanied by short explanatory texts. The works are arranged chronologically, starting with Courbet in the mid-19th century and ending, somewhat arbitrarily, in 1986 with Andy Warhol. It features a veritable who's who of modern painting, from Monet to Picasso to Dali to Pollack to Bacon and including, of course, Hockney (but not Scully).

However, it is not intended as an encyclopaedic reference book, more a personal selection of Thompson's favourite "modern masters". Obviously female artists don't form a significant part of his canon, however . . . a paltry seven women make the cut. Neither are there full entries on such major figures of late 19th- and 20thcentury art as Renoir, Pissarro, Toulouse-Lautrec, Vuillard, Rivera, Albers, Chagall, Rauschenberg and Motherwell, to name but a few.

Each entry is a curious mix of the cursory and the microscopic, combining a brief overview of an artist's biography with an analysis of one or two of their paintings in considerable detail.

While the book is squarely aimed at the "casual observer", I am not sure how much of a help this format will actually be, or who, for that matter, the "casual observer" is.

It is useful for biographical details and as a quick reference guide, but will it help you to "read" modern paintings? Surely such an idea is in itself problematic: a painting cannot be read like a book, after all. And how much can you really learn about a painter from a glance at a couple of paintings and without much attempt to put their work into context?

If this book is aimed at those people who love to proclaim with cliched gusto, "A four-year-old could do that", it would probably be best served by simply using it to whack those tiresome types on the head.