Embrace your limitations: Why I love Chuck Close

I just finished reading an article in today's New York Times, Arts as Antidote for Academic Ills, (12/19/2012, your reading registration access may vary).

Self portrait, 1997


I love Chuck Close. (Charles Thomas Close; he apparently wished that he'd been able to use the professional name Charles, but everyone now knows him as Chuck...This link is to wikipedia which has done an excellent job of compiling links to interviews and pages.  I recommend the Pace Gallery page for an easy overview and the Smithsonian Archive of American Art for an oral history interview for biography/thoughts).

I'm not a tremendous fan of his art, though I appreciate the work that goes into the photo-realistic work that he does.  I find myself stuck usually at the point of "Wow, that's amazing drawing"; I like that the size of the work makes his subjects monumental  and uncompromising.  But I'm afraid that they don't move me to think about who the individual is as a personality, as a subject.

But Chuck Close as an artist moves me.

Close was born with prosopagnosia, a disorder where faces are unrecognizable.  One coping mechanism is often to work with small segments of the face, combined with other traits such as voice or walk, to help identify people.  Close's work, dividing the face into small parts to focus on it pore by pore almost, is a way to take that "disability" and turn it into art.

Many folks with prosopagnosia, and Close is one, also find that they also have trouble reading and writing; dyslexia is a common linked problem, perhaps because there is a certain amount of object recognition in language (?not an expert).  Close was lucky enough to have art as a way of going through school; in the article, he discusses turning in a mural design of the Lewis and Clark trail instead of a paper.

"I figured out what I had left and I tried to make it work for me.  Limitations are important."

Close is now in a wheelchair, stemming from an event in 1988 where a spinal artery collapsed.  He continues to work, using a tricked out wheelchair and specially designed brushes and hand supports.

The article is about him speaking to students at the Roosevelt School in Bridgeport CT.; the school uses arts programs (the Turnaround Program) to help develop students' academic skills.  In a place where 80% of students read or do math below grade level, this is a huge commitment to teaching and learning differently.  This is only something that can be done as a labor of love and belief, with lots of sweat and commitment.  Money.  It's a way of teaching differently, something that has been on my mind always and in particular with the focus on Adam Lanza as a student before the Newtown massacres (no links; I cannot bear it).

But part of what inspires me about Close is how art functions in his life.  "There is no artist who enjoys what he does every day more than I do. ...Inspiration is for amateurs.  The rest of us just show up for work."  He has found the way art expresses his very self, the way it stands in the "gaps" of how he functions, that helps him interact with the world.  I would argue that this is the inspiration in his work.  But in making art part of his person, it's work--every day is a joy and a chore.  The art is a thing he does that makes him happy but because it is part of his whole being he has days when it is work, when it is just the very same as being in your body and standing at a sales counter or on the factory floor or at the desk.

It seems to me that Close got lucky--a combination of perseverance and understanding on his own part, understanding mother, some sympathetic teachers (mixed in with the "sticklers", his word from the interview), finding art as an outlet.  I hope that because of his activism and public attention to learning and art other kids will "get lucky".  And it's important that kids find Close's ideas early--know what your limits are and use them, push them, and work at it every day.  It's hard for me--I teach kids who are often settled in their academic ways by the time they reach me and my own nature is to be what Close would call a "stickler"--I love words so it's hard not to embrace papers and reading and writing; I want my students to love to express art and art history but my natural inclination is for words.  I want my students to have that ability to read and write because the world is bigger for having stories to go with the pictures, if you see what I mean.   But maybe there's a place in between for being sensitive to students who have difficulty and finding ways to stretch the place where they struggle, while using art to inspire them (if there isn't, I'm in the wrong biz...)

Deciphering our Transition to the Undiscovered Country

I am fascinated by funeral practices.  This is an initial exploration...

It has often been said that modern Americans are not good at accepting death, in part because we cultivate better living standards, medicines, and cosmetics, reject the processes of physical decay and grief, and embrace a media culture of death as painless/quick/surrounded by family and friends in a halo of stage lights/a transitory moment ignored in the necessary welcome to the company of heaven.  There is no doubt that we individually recognize that death is a lot more real, often accompanied by shock and fear and anger and pain and mess.  And while there are some cultures that are “better” at death, I think it’s wrong to create an impression that this makes death any easier for the grieving. 

Funerary practices are the ritualization of death.  They may ostensibly be for the dead—to ease the transition to the next world—but they are constructed by the living for the living.  If we think of Sutton Hoo, the 7^th century boat burial was clearly about constructing a tableau for those remaining.  The mode of burial was meant to evoke Scandinavian boat burials, to emphasize the connection to this ethnicity and its heroic burial form.  The coins sent off the dead man in a way that also emphasized the connection to the Merovingian monetary cultures around them.  The metalwork was created in the local Hiberno-Saxon technique using the interlace of fantastic beasts but also using addorsed beasts on either side of a man, a motif taken from Scandinavian metalwork, and bird motifs from fibulae seen in cultures like the Lombards.  The silver bowls and baptismal spoons were about visible wealth, cosmopolitan interaction with established empires like the Byzantines, and perhaps a hedging against the possibility that the fledgling Christian culture was right about the afterlife.  It is entirely likely that the site remained uncovered for a time—a month?—for the viewing of the body and goods, before being covered by the barrow. 

This blog entry was sparked by a passing article about 12 pre-Hispanic burials from around 1000 discovered in Nayarit, Mexico.  (I want to specify that I know NOTHING about this period or culture and there’s little more info available about this site at this time.  I’m curious though)  The burials were in a volcanic area, covered by lava and hence preserved.  (Did they know that the site would be covered? Was this a deliberate choice?) The bodies were interred in basalt boxes built of 8 stones (why 8?); it interests me that there was intentional fragmentation of the stones on the tops (what does this mean? Fragmented before? Fragmented during the installation of bodies? After, perhaps to release the spirit of the dead?).  There were also bodies interred around the boxes and in clay vessels buried in the boxes.  According to the article, this kind of burial is unknown in the area—with shaft tombs and clay vessel burials the standard.  (Why change form?  This seems to suggest multiple status of burials—families? Gendered? Social rank?)   

image from: http://www.arqueomex.com/S2N3nMalinches108.html

Inside one of the boxes were found two Mazapan style figurines, about 11 inches tall, female, with blouses, skirts, headdress, earflaps, bracelets, with red pigment on them.  (Why only two? Were these bodies special? Were the deceased in these graves female? Are the figures just “standing figures” or the goddess Xochiquetzal (who seems to have been a fertility figure)? Protectors? Indications of larger cultural identity?  So much I don’t know.)  I did learn that there was a lot of commercial travel across Mexico at this point (ca. 800-1000), resulting in Mazapan style figures deposited as far away as El Salvador (which Cherra tells me tends to go south not north...).  I’ll undoubtedly go hunt down my friend and colleague Cherra Wyllie for some help (wow, do I have a lot more questions now, even though this isn’t her area.  Children buried with toys with wheels in an area where wheeled carts and pottery wheels aren’t used? Women’s goods and imagery vs. men’s…)

What we take with us in our graves tells something very important about the way others relate to us.  If we are buried with our wedding rings or without, it could be taken either way as valuing the marriage as valued to the death.  There's the issue of being buried in a way that makes the individual seem like his/her self--glasses on, favorite dress (interesting audio programme on this with Dr. Sheila Harper on BBC, about 13 min in).  We tend to want funerals/burials to erase the death--does this make the person complete for the afterlife?.  Perhaps because we don’t have a consistent practice of burial that says the same to all viewers. Perhaps because there are so many things that can be buried with us--there isn't a particular style of brooch or knife that resonates across cultures.  Perhaps because we're afraid of talking about what we want death to be socially...

I don't know much about art but I know what I like

The Art Genome Project
Like its musical sister, Pandora (of which I am a big user; happy enough though I wish there were more different offerings but it has been growing), the idea is that you input the name of an artist you like and the genome will link you with others who are similar.  The theory argues that there are defining characteristics of art that, like the instruments/beat/vocal quality/lyrics of music, if you quantify enough of the characteristics of enough of the input items you can create links.

Of course, the idea is not to leave it just in the theoretical "What kind of art do you like?" stage but to draw more folks in to the art world.  Just as with Pandora, the idea is to sell the work of the artists by expanding familiarity and expanding access.

I like the art of Roy Lichtenstein.  I "follow" him, as I would on Twitter (or choose him as a root as I do with Pandora).  In addition to being able to browse some of the works of his listed (and there's a good interface for basic info and zooming), I get linked to other artists.  The link now gives me updates for Jim Dine, William Eggleston, and Steve Lambert; I can see upcoming shows, thumbnails, and if there are works for sale, I can get in touch with MY DEDICATED SPECIALIST (yup, an art history major all my own who will help me begin my collecting.)

How does it make money? They're partnered with galleries directly (not with artists) and receive 3% of sales that come through their specialists/site.  (I don't know if they get that $ on the listing so that even if I walk in to the gallery and fall in love with a work and buy it on sight.  It would make some sense...)  Theoretically, the larger they grow, with connections to more and more galleries, they could make enough money to do well.

What do I like about it?
* They seem to have purchased/legally obtained their works on the site.  You cannot download the images.  Copyright of images is a tough legal area (and one with things I would like to change but for now, compliance with the law is good).

* I like the ability to both search and browse as I build my roots--there's a lot of paths one could take to building a personalized collection.

* I don't really know enough about computer engineering to get this but I am intrigued with the amount of open software they're using; interested folks should check out their blog.

What do I not like about it?
* I realize they're in invitation-only Beta mode but when I requested an invitation, the first e-mail I received was "Sign up 15 of your friends to get faster access".  I'm not going to spam my friends, folks. (though if you want an invite, ask me.)

* The interface is not exactly intuitive.  It can be difficult to navigate from one form to another, to go from search mode, to browse mode, to update page.

* I have limited access to changing my genetic offspring.  With Pandora, I may input "The Smiths" and get "Echo and the Bunnymen" as an offspring; I am allowed to vote thumbs-up/thumbs-down on each individual song so that I don't have to listen to a song by Echo that I hate but may still get others by them and may get offspring related to them as well as the Smiths.  Art.sy does not let me look at the connections and say "I hate Jim Dine (for example, not for true)" and block him from my update feed.  So currently: by inputting Ai Weiwei, I now have a calligraphic traditional Asian art show listed on my feed of upcoming shows.  The project gets better with more opportunities to refine it.

I find it an interesting project theoretically.  I find this logarithm of "If you like X, you might also like Y" a really fascinating aspect of modern consumerism.  I'm interested in the idea of traits that might help make connections between artists, especially when one goes circuitously from Jan Van Eyck to Gregory Crewdson (a connection made for me which has me scratching my head a little).

As Wired magazine pointed out, there's a lot of money potentially to be made here.

Farewell Ferragamos, Pensees about Prada

EDIT: In a twist, the day after the story of their destruction, the Philippine government issued a statement that the clothes were of no historical value except for some Philippine-designed gowns.  I find this interesting as a statement of political theatre--the left-behind excesses went on display as a statement of that abuse of power and the ruins of those excesses are dismissed to cover the larger problem of state underfunding of museums and disrepair of facilities.

There was a story today about the decay of Imelda Marcos' shoes and clothing in the National Museum in Manila. 

So much of this interests me:
I remember Imelda Marcos as beautiful and her husband's dictatorship in the Philippines as cruel and corrupt.  I remember the shopping trips of the 1980s as she came to America and bought her way across Manhattan.  I remember the People Power Revolution of Corazon Aquino.  And of course, I find her worming her way back into politics in 2010 House elections incomprehensible.

The culture of shoes is one that I stand (hee hee) on the outside of.  Part of me is the sturdy practical shoes that don't hurt my feet; part of me wishes Birkenstocks came with sparkly bows.  I cannot comprehend the fashion because I get stuck on how much my feet would hurt and how clumsy I would be.  I love that there is such a focus on footwear though as an aspect of our cultural and personal expression.

The issues of collection (not acquisition) are also interesting to me.  On the things abandoned: "Also listed were 508 floor- length gowns, 888 handbags and 71 pairs of sunglasses. The final tally on Imelda's shoes was 1,060 pairs, less than the 3,000 originally reported."  (1987; You can't read more unless you're a Time subscriber.)  Putting much of the collection on display was politically important for Aquino and they were taken down when Aquino stepped down in 1992, symbolic of moving on from the immediate politics of rescue.  The museum still has 765 pairs that are on display, part of maintaining that history of the Philippines dictatorship for national memory.  But the bulk of the collection was moved in 2010 when the Manila's National Museum had problems with termites, humidity and mold in the palace where they were kept.  Facilities are a major issue for museums: how much can you keep on display?  how much can you afford to store?  how much does it cost in terms of labor, effort, and time to move from storage to display to storage?  When museums take on objects that they cannot support in their facilities (storing or displaying them off site) the issues are multiplied: what does security look like? transport? daily care?

The issues of conservation are fascinating.  Shoes aren't necessarily made of leather any more.  Plastics and polyurethanes have really different problems as they begin to degrade: they discolor, crack and break as they lose flexibility, even turning completely to powder.  (See the Getty site for a good overview).  Barbie dolls (and shoes sometimes) use PVC (polyvinyl chloride) and this becomes sticky over time, attracting oil and dirt in a way that can be stabilized but not reversed.  Some mold can be removed; some can't.  The water damage here was extensive.  So it leads to questions of "what do you save? what do you toss?"  

How do you balance historical value against collection and conservation issues?  How do you sell history? (could/should the Philippine government legally have sold anything they weren't displaying? would opinion have allowed it?  would the pittance they would have made have offset the expenses of preparing them for sale and shipping etc.?  would it not have been unethical to sell collections for any other reason than for buying new collections?)

Just some thoughts.

Museums and Missions: IAE at WKU

Tony Hawk, skateboard

It's an interesting idea: collect and exhibit ordinary objects that have been used to do extraordinary things.  That's the idea behind the collection at Western Kentucky University's museum exhibit, Instruments of American Excellence.  They've got Sandra Day O'Connor's bound copy of the Constitution from her chambers, Jimmy Carter's hammer from Habitat for Humanity projects, Liza Minelli's shoes from "The Act" (1977-8) for which she won a Tony.  Among many other things.

I think that it's an interesting idea from a collection standpoint--ordinary objects made interesting by provenance.  Where the object has been and what it has done.  But that doesn't make it any different really than the Smithsonian's collection of things like Julia Child's kitchen or the muppets from Henson studios.

What makes this collection stand out for ME is the idea that it is a college collection.  The idea that it is deliberately aimed at students, trying to decide what it is that they want from their lives and what matters to them.  I think it's amazing to reach these students with a permanent collection based around aspirations and hard work--like Sara Means' ballet slippers, overcoming adversity--material from Temple Grandin's work, opportunity--a studio mic used by Sam Phillips to record Elvis Presley and Johnny Cash, unexpected paths and changes--the hammer that Jimmy Carter used (the idea of his post-presidency being a new direction and an area for recognition that few could have seen in the presidency years).  I hope they find ways to use it well as part of their teaching mission.

Gabriel Dawe: A new artist for me

Through the site Colossal, I found the work of Gabriel Dawe, whose thread installations

Gabriel Dawe, Plexus series (more at Dawe's own site)

remind me a lot of the work of minimalist art of Dan Flavin

I like the way the thread is itself sculpture and the way the space and light are transformed by seeing through the thread.

Though thread is Mr. Dawe's primary medium, the sculptural piece, Don't Ask Don't Tell, is very powerful--a visualization of how policies may seem normal on the exterior but the damage they do to the psyche is considerable:

Gabriel Dawe, Air Force/ Don't Ask Don't Tell, 2010, pins and boots

Artwork: St. Claire

Click here or the image to go to Met's entry. 

The Bishop of Assisi Giving a Palm to Saint Clare, 1350, German, tempera and gold on panel

This is a fine example of what I like in Gothic art--

1. highly narrative (the bishop extended the palm to her specifically on Palm Sunday, as part of her choice to enter communal life; it is clearly also meant as a reference to her future sainthood).

2. figures in the International Gothic Style: delicate, swaying bodies, elongated hands with thin curving fingers, sweet precious faces.

3. even the grotesque stigmata on St. Francis's hands are cute little red dots

4. the beautiful tooling of the gold in the background--heavenly setting, luxury cues

5. the introduction of naturalistic elements--perspectival rendering of the book that hangs over the edge of the table, shading in the folds of the altar cloth.

1350 is a pivotal artistic point: right on the wake of the devastation of the Black Death, situated in the luxury of the past (though celebrating here figures who gave up their wealth specifically to be part of the Church--and who worked for the institution itself) as well as the hinted styles of the Renaissance.

Ask the Art Historian: Framing History

Dear Ask The Art Historian,
Yesterday, I visited the smallish art gallery in the Bellagio in Las Vegas, which happens to be showing an Impressionist exhibit, mostly focused on Monet. I liked the art, I mostly liked the presentation (text, audio--the ordering/layout was a little odd, but not bad). But one thing in particular surprised me:

All of the paintings were framed in these big thick ornat e old-looking gilded frames, mostly covered in bas-relief leaves and vines. To my eye, the frames were both ugly and kind of in opposition to what the painters were trying to do.

Did they use those frames because those were the original frames or something? Do paintings keep their frames when they move from one collection or exhibit to another? Do curators decide what frames to use, reframing physically as well as metaphorically? Are frames chosen to complement the art?

Sincerely, Framed near Frisco

So my initial response when put to the research test seems to have been correct, so score one for me.
I am adding the short answer here, in case you don't want my dissertation on frames:

Frames were part of a separate but parallel decorative arts culture.  Frames are part of a legitimation of the work as "ART" and "WORTH", partly because they are part of this separate luxury arts economy.  I can't tell you if they're all the original frames but likely yes.  Frames are generally kept if they are in good condition: curators find them culturally interesting as part of a work's provenance, and are generally VERY conservative about touching a work (especially at edges where the work can be damaged).  Reframing now tends to follow the idea of being unobtrusive of the "WORK"; we tend to see the work as the art and the frame as a necessary tool.  

This was certainly not always the case.  Go back a little with me in the history of framing:

1. Medieval paintings were primarily altarpieces so the frame lent both structural support and shaped the composition in a meaningful interpretive way.  You could see the emphasis on certain saints or stories by their placement in the whole assemblage.  The frame served to give even more importance to these figures, setting them within elaborate arches.  The carving of frames was actually a fairly important (and therefore lucrative) artistic practice that went together with the painting process (i.e. Jan and Hubert van Eyck). 

I think in these cases it is really wrong to think of the frame as separate from the work--they are integral in form (and often in structure--being doweled into the panel themselves).  Think too about the ways in which these altarpieces opened and closed--the frame shaped the experience.  Finally--the opening and closing structure of altarpieces made the frame a part of the religious experience all the way through the early 16th century for sure (Matthias Grunewald, Isenheim Altarpiece, 1506-15) so it's wrong to think of framing experiences just dying out.

2. Prominent Renaissance artists (Leonardo for instance) worked elaborate frames for images.  There are a number of ways we could point to frames as part of Renaissance artistic culture.  Massaccio's Holy Trinity, 1425 is a fresco that creates a physical space to open the theological space for the external viewer.  And a frame is certainly part of the message of a marriage portrait such as Piero della Francesco's of Battista Sforza and Frederico da Montefeltro, 1472.  It sets them in a Classical/Classicizing context, highlighting the wealth of this marital alliance.  Think too about the development of the miniature in the Elizabethan courts--portraits that were highly personal, charged with associations of sexual attraction and/or political allegiance, that were encased in frames that signaled their personal nature (and allowed them to be carried or worn).

As painting moves from the sacred to secular venue, it doesn't lose the values of wealth associated with the frame, nor does the economy of frame makers disappear.

3. In the Baroque--as there was an increased interest in the drama and elaborateness of the interior, the frame was going to become even more elaborate.  Overlap between media is really clear: silver makers and frame makers use the same design motifs. 

4. These trends don't deteriorate over the Rococo, but intensify in 18th c. Europe.  British Grand Portraits often use the frame as commentary--pretty flowers for women, carved masculine items for men.  I was struck however that there is a tendency to tone down (but not eliminate all of the gaudiness) the frames in some 18th century images--especially Republican sentiment ones (David's Death of Marat, Oath of the Horatii; many Copley images); David's Napoleon images return to the frame as a sign of imperial status.  But the 18th century is difficult precisely because Rococo and the French elite style, the Enlightenment and the sparer style associated with the revolutions and science, the Romantic response are ALL current at the same time (and all seem to have effected frame styles).  Again, artists like Chippendale worked in furniture and frames, with substantial overlap in the decorative arts.

5. 19th century frames are coming out of a number of styles--Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood artists like William Morris, the Aesthetic movement, Art Nouveau, architectural works by folks like Stanford White.  These are somewhat allied with painting styles but also closely allied with decorative arts styles.  And you can never discount that the 18th c. traditions of framing hang around.

More than anything: I think the tradition of frame as signifying ART, and coming from the stylistic traditions of small scale precious furnishings is why you see these frames as not matching the works of the Impressionists.  Remember--they're a style outside the Academy/Salon.  They aren't what is familiar and desirable.  As a group at the time, their art sold poorly and outside the Salon system.  I'm advancing the idea here (and I'd need to dig a lot more to prove it) that the frames are chosen by patrons to match a tradition of ART display already established/entrenched, in part to create a pedigree that these artists were outside. 

Conservation and curatorial choices will have to be another post.  This is WAY too long already and nobody read this far.
Got a question? Ask the Art Historian for clarification and pontification!

Screaming Cupid

It is, in my humble opinion, a better name for a band than it is as a work of art by Hendrick de Keyser I, 1615, recently purchased by the Rijksmuseum.

image from Art Daily

I'd never heard of Hendrick.  I learned quite a bit about him--primarily known as an architect, he was also renowned as a portrait sculptor.  If you're interested, you can find some examples and an entry here at the Rijksmuseum.

I love the story--that Cupid, nosing around for honey is stung by a bee and sets up howling.  Venus comforts him but also reminds him that if a tiny bee causes so much pain for the sweetness of honey, how much more pain is caused by Cupid's arrow for the sweetness of love.

The art doesn't really work for me: these extreme emotional images were very popular in the 17th c.  Rembrandt, slightly later, makes etchings of his own face in exaggerated expressions.  I do like the mouth with its toothless gums and the chin(s).  But the ears strike me as grotesque distortions that distract from the roundedness of the head.

It's a particularly late Renaissance example--Classical story and some Classical naturalism but with all the drama and physical distortion of the Mannerist period.  This is the period known as the Dutch Golden Age--Amsterdam is an amazingly wealthy commercial center, a Calvinist but religiously tolerant community, coming to its own after the revolt against Spain.  I think something like this reflects this culture--Hendrick is primarily an architect but well known within the merchant oligarchy as a producer of cultured portraits; he's able to allude to the Classical past in a little moralizing tale without transgressing the Christian Protestant aesthetics (and the choice of Cupid as a child is clearly also part of this 17th c sensibility towards family, I think).

Social context and 2 works of art

Article

I was going to post about this doll, since I had similar story dolls (Wolf/Red Riding Hood, not Black/White) when I was a kid.  Also the narrative here seems so strongly one of our national context in the mid 19th c.  We could also put it into the context of art/kitsch that is part of our current blog conversation.  A (semi) mass produced doll, made to be played with not preserved.  But toys/low art have an important role in defining our lives: "The story is that these were made by black women working for white families, and which head was shown would depend on the race of any adult who was in the room" according to the curator.  Interestingly, the black doll in the case shown is nowhere near as exaggeratedly featured as some of the very racist kitsch of the day; we might think about how the work was made by blacks for white consumption as a subtle anti-bigotry influence on the children of the Civil War generations.  Now, what was cheap, low-culture, semi-disposable has become expensive art.

Metropolitan Museum, early 9th c. carved teak panel

This was on my art of the day feed from the Met.  Many of you might recognize it as a Jewish star.  What's complicated here is that the panel is an Islamic work, from Iraq (Baghdad or Takrit), in the early 800s.  I think it's an excellent reminder of what Islam was at that point--defining itself in relation to other monotheistic traditions of the time, where Islam came from--the image of the hexagram can also be seen in Jewish art of the 3rd or 4th century and Roman mosaics from as early as the 2nd c. BCE, and what Baghdad was--a thriving community in the ruins of the Sassanian Empire, in conflict with the Byzantines, a cosmopolitan city with Muslims, Jews, Christians of several different varieties, and a few pagans.  As an ornament, the hexagram is a lovely image of interlaced balance, fitting as a statement of God in any of these three monotheistic traditions and therefore appearing in all.  (And by the way, also in several Eastern religious traditions).

The story is that they were made by black women working for white families, and which head was shown would depend on the race of any adults in the room, said Stamps, who is African-American.

More Information: http://www.artdaily.org/index.asp?int_sec=11&int_new=56804#.UBahgpHkaSo[/url]
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Ring Dem Bells

Martin Creed, winner of the Turner Prize in 2005 for a conceptual work of the lights turning on and off in an empty gallery, devised a piece called "Work No. 1197, All The Bells In A Country Rung As Quickly And Loudly As Possible For Three Minutes" for the opening of the Olympics.

You can read about it here.  You can hear it here.

I loved the idea of it--as many people as possible ringing bells in participation.  Ringing in the celebration of the Olympics.  Bells are potently associated with England--John Donne poem, The Great Bells of Bow (bells and poem), carillons, change ringing, Westminster chimes.  I think the participatory aspect is awesome. 

Make a joyful noise.

Bizarre Kitsch

I am simultaneously intrigued and appalled by things like this:

Laura Bell, Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper, dryer lint, 2011(?) 
Article

Ripley's Believe It or Not! Museum has acquired this piece.  It joins their collection of Last Supper works on a grain of rice, on a dime, and made from burnt toast. 

It was not the Last Supper that inspired her so much as another dryer lint work.  The urge to make something significant out of something insignificant.  I also found it compelling to consider the work she put in to her art: purchasing the right towels to get the colors she wanted, 700-800 hours of laundry, 200 hours of assembly.  There's certainly no question that she was attentive to the process of her art as much as any other fabric artist (the crochet artist Olek or quilter Sue Reno).

But there's no question, in my mind, that it is kitsch.  It is a sentimentalized view of the Last Supper.  It remakes an iconic image in superficial form.  It derives its value solely from the novelty of its material.


We are a strange species. We take what we are moved by and remake it--to possess it.  Where art breaks new ground of understanding--and this is undoubtedly what Leonardo was doing in his composition by creating a human/Humanist moment of the spiritual moment--kitsch revisits old paths of understanding.  It traces old lines, old interpretations.  And I think there's no question that as a culture, we NEED kitsch.  It fills the mind just as easy starches fill the belly; we're emotionally drawn to these in the same way salt/sugar/grease became (an American?) biological imperative.  But if you cannot live on Pringles (which are made from potato slurry, which makes them the kitsch of the snack food world); you need complex proteins and salads made from fresh greens too.

When Renee Cox looks at the Last Supper,

there's a host of other issues being explored--the physical embodiment of Christ and the identity of that Body for the faithful, the consumption of bodies (especially gendered female bodies in both the sexualized gaze and pregnancy), the role of women in the Catholic/mainstream Christian denominations, the discussion/avoidance of race in religious context and modern culture.  It ain't just lint.

Interesting Artist for Friday

Today's artist is Sayaka Ganz.  You can check out her work here. 

Running Cat ("Fogo"), image from The Telegraph


What I find compelling is the way in which she uses materials that are discarded and sees them in new combinations.  In her artist's statement, she expresses the idea that these objects have a spirit, a history.  "I was taught in kindergarten that objects that are discarded before their time weep at night inside the trash bin."  I'm not a tremendous fan of the standard readymade--I tend to think that once you've looked at the object not as a urinal but as a fountain or the bottle rack as a sculpture--there's a limit to where the discussion goes.  Yes, you can talk about design, about lines, color, shape, material.  Marcel Duchamp started it off by getting us to think about the transgressive nature of all objects, that anything CAN be art; it's a tremendously powerful message for modern and contemporary art (and one which restructures the modern idea of WHAT IS ART?).  But I'm looking for ways that this dialogue can go further.  I think Sayaka Ganz has a strong message of beauty and structure in the creation of these works that strengthens that message of reuse/reimagining of the old object.

Book review: Framed by Frank Cottrell Boyce

In general, I liked this book but for the dynamics of this tiny Welsh town more than the writing about art, stored there when London faces terrible floods (a modern riff on the WWII evacuation of art from London).  Also liked the movie made from Boyce's book, Millions, which is what prompted me to pick up this one.

Without ruining the plot of the book, Boyce is arguing for the transformative power of art and its effect on the human soul.  There we are certainly agreed.  But Boyce has a terribly hard job: he needs to write about the power of the art but also preserve the voice of the 9 yr old protagonist through whom we see the art.  This is really difficult. 

The first piece Boyle writes about is the Manchester Madonna, by Michelangelo, ca. 1497.  The boy starts:

It was a picture, a picture of a woman trying to read a book.  The woman's face was in colour, but her clothes were in black and white and the top of her head was missing.  The most random thing though was that one of her boobies was sticking out of her dress, like you sometimes see on the front of the papers... (78)

 The art historian character provides the through-line of 'more sophisticated' opinion/knowledge about art: After discussing tempera, he says

As you can see the painting is unfinished.  The Madonna's clothes...' Madonna again. '...are blocked out in black, but one assumes they were going to be painted blue.  Somehow it adds to the drama.  As if the master was in such a hurry to capture the perfection of this girl's face, he couldn't wait for the paint to arrive. He knew that if he waited one morning, her beauty might have begun to fade.  Isn't that what Art is about?  Rescuing Beauty from the ravages of Time.  To save one moment from eternal silence. (79)

I get it--the point is to create a moment out of this experience, the dissonance of experience that then leads the boy to look up Michelangelo and the Madonna (as opposed to Madonna).  But there's more to the work than just the Madonna (and the parallels made to the Madonna in the Pieta of 1498-99 are unavoidable for me and unmentioned by Boyce).  It's as if Boyce fears that knowing more about the work will make it a lecture and take the magic out of the "moment".  So we can't talk about the muscular bodies, the twisting limbs, the gaze of the John the Baptist child.  We can't look at the pink reds and the shading that creates a welter of three dimensional folds.  We can't talk about the way Michelangelo thought of himself as a sculptor, even in paint, and how that comes out in technique. 

Dylan, the boy, says:

I know it sounds daft now, but it was only when he said that that I realized it was a painting.  It looked so real, even though it didn't look like a photograph. (79)

I have talked with actual 9 year olds about art.  They grasp--especially in person--that paint is different from photography.  They can tell you about lines and they notice details.  Sometimes Boyce's writing about the works feels as if he has only experienced them digitally or through books.  There isn't a feel of standing in front of the work (though he tries somewhat harder with the National Gallery's Sunflowers, by Van Gogh, which is the climax of the art discussion).

I don't want to make it sound like I didn't enjoy the book or the art or believe that art enriches our lives, which is at the center of Boyce's book.  I just want to point out how difficult it is to write about the transformative, spiritual nature in a way that conveys it to the reader.  But while "Tickets to London and the National Gallery in every book!" might sell copies, I doubt it would be feasible...

What's it worth?

One of the questions that always comes up when I'm teaching, especially when I show lovely gold things like this Mycenaean death mask

So-called Mask of Agammemnon, Mycenaean, ca. 1500 BCE, gold

is "what is it worth?".  The answer is obviously more complicated than "it weighs 6 ounces and gold is $1591.15 today so $9546.45."  That's the material cost.  Doesn't count artist's hours.  And since we can't pay the artist in this case, we're paying the associated costs: excavation costs, finder's fees, importation taxes, shipping and handling, restoration/conservation, insurance, dealer costs, etc. etc.

But the real truth is--Art is worth whatever some schmuck (and I mean that in the nicest possible way) will pay for it.  Because what you can't value is the connection that makes the work speak to the individual in the first place.  Arthur Evans and Heinrich Schliemann went looking for the actual sites because the Classical literature moved their hearts to belief.  I find the subsequent history of this piece particularly compelling since it was substantially changed to make it fit conceptual expectations of the death mask (which if you're interested, see this article by Kenneth Lapatin, who oversaw my MA thesis at BU).  There's age and rarity to factor in as well.

The reason this has come up is that a top story on GoogleNews today was that Bonnie and Clyde's guns were going up for sale; the expected sale could be anywhere between $100,000 and $200,000 but an expert quoted said "But really the sky is the limit for these types of guns."  What makes their value?  Is it just the artifact?  Clearly not.  If I wanted to buy a gun like Bonnie's Colt .38 caliber (of similar age) I could pick one up for a couple of thousands.  I don't want a gun like Bonnie's.  Even if I had a disposable sum for investment in an artifact.  There is no mystique for me in Bonnie and Clyde's early 30s robberies and murders against the national landscape of the Great Depression, illicit sex, dramatic end.  Makes a good story (against the realities of what that life must have been in reality--broken marriages, loneliness, failed jobs, the reality of murders, poverty between jobs).  These guns have the additional provenance of being their last guns--taken off of their dead bodies after the shootout in Louisiana in 1934.  Does the victory of lawfulness add to their value?  The bittersweetness of romanticized love and lawlessness coming to a tragic end? 

Depends on the schmuck with the checkbook, right?

Lego Bridge

Take a look!
This is what we should be doing.  Cities should be beautiful and fun.  Whimsy is a plus. 
It also takes so little to think about the aesthetics when one is adding to the design in the first place.  Concrete is easy to texture and to add to the surface with stones, added materials, paint.  It doesn't add a lot of money either, in terms of "payback".

Agreeing with David Brooks

It's not what I intended the first post of this blog to be but this is part of my story and what came up this morning.

Boy, it is not often that I agree with David Brooks of the New York Times.  But I suppose that this time I am REALLY agreeing with his reading of Robert Putnam's research on the "Requiem for the American Dream: Unequal Opportunity in America".  For Brooks' column: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/10/opinion/brooks-the-opportunity-gap.html?src=me&ref=general

What Brooks writes is: "Decades ago, college-graduate parents and high-school-graduate parents invested similarly in their children. Recently, more affluent parents have invested much more in their children’s futures while less affluent parents have not."

College educated parents are spending more time reading to their children, going to games, etc.  College educated parents (make more money so) spend more money on their children for opportunities like summer camp and sports and books and and and.

Robert Putnam: “It’s perfectly understandable that kids from working-class backgrounds have become cynical and even paranoid, for virtually all our major social institutions have failed them — family, friends, church, school and community.”
David Brooks: "As a result, poorer kids are less likely to participate in voluntary service work that might give them a sense of purpose and responsibility. Their test scores are lagging. Their opportunities are more limited."

Now Brooks can't resist putting in a dig at the decay of marriage and family that he sees in the poor.  His story further suggests that tax credits can help solve the money gap.  There we cannot agree.  But I value the story we share at the beginning: all kids need the world expanding opportunities that are open to the rich kids in America.  We all need the words of plays and poetry and books, the music of symphonies and music lessons, the thrill of whacking a ball and the pump of the blood as we run.  And the absence of those things creates a gap of experience that makes interactions harder between people.  We need, as a nation to make those things happen.

David Brooks: "Political candidates will have to spend less time trying to exploit class divisions and more time trying to remedy them — less time calling their opponents out of touch elitists, and more time coming up with agendas that comprehensively address the problem. It’s politically tough to do that, but the alternative is national suicide."

Welcome!

We all know that Art is not truth.  Art is a lie that makes us realize truth, at least the truth that is given us to understand.  The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies.  ~Pablo Picasso

We tell stories about our world and our understanding.  The stories reflect our concerns and fears, our loves and secret desires, our pasts and our futures.  

This blog is my story.  Mostly an opportunity to reflect on the things that concern me as a storyteller: as an art historian, as a teacher, as a liberal Democrat, as an Episcopalian Christian,  as a gardener, as a parent, as a wife.  It isn't necessarily about your stories but I hope as I read and learn from the readers that it will reflect some of your experience and teach me new stories.