tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59356180809520417022024-03-19T15:56:23.848-04:00I Need Art and CoffeeYour Wakeup Call to the World of Artthomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.comBlogger154125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-91238560710183269002023-06-01T14:08:00.009-04:002023-08-08T11:28:48.531-04:00Hans Hofmann: The Apostle Of Modern Art<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHuTRmVeAjt2xpT6xTLEJBoduNRg4U0D8C7pHDOKlbwabzgxinpck2KlXjw2amXLSb7146TTz8gOCOgypPreYIqLrbZUbPs5FPIM6ZqEIpRlgUQMSXa19vJJfxQlVlSt9Qp_GLfOtpA108tDLHz3ETdRs6j7s0rsEFx2eLFftQBLE7XT7fl579HkWJw/s735/aaa_reynkay_4523.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="735" data-original-width="583" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHuTRmVeAjt2xpT6xTLEJBoduNRg4U0D8C7pHDOKlbwabzgxinpck2KlXjw2amXLSb7146TTz8gOCOgypPreYIqLrbZUbPs5FPIM6ZqEIpRlgUQMSXa19vJJfxQlVlSt9Qp_GLfOtpA108tDLHz3ETdRs6j7s0rsEFx2eLFftQBLE7XT7fl579HkWJw/w508-h640/aaa_reynkay_4523.jpeg" width="508" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hans Hofmann at work in his studio. (<a href="https://www.si.edu/object/hans-hofmann-work-his-studio%3AAAADCD_item_2503">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Art movements needs engines: people and organizations that energize, direct and inspire action behind the scenes. The artists who become famous through such movements provide a public face for the consumption of a mass audience. This has always been the case. In the Abstract Expressionist School, also known as the New York School, artists like Jackson Pollock and Willem de Kooning were the media stars of the movement. However, other actors exert enormous influence behind the scenes. Take teachers, for example. Throughout the long history of art, there have been a handful of legendary art teachers who became more famous for their teaching than they were for their art. Robert Henri, author of <i>The Art Spirit </i>and member of the Ashcan School during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, was one such artist teacher. Early in his career, Henri Matisse had his own academy from 1908 through 1912, long before he achieved world renown. However, in terms of sheer influence, there was one painter, in a career spanning forty years, whose influence as teacher and artist was so pervasive and profound that he actually changed the course of modern art as we know it. That man was Hans Hofmann. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNCu0vp3rQS2J-Hoa25MxZXNY4SEix32mXdIbOiyEvGUWGT2HkuI7g7-q_yaE-sYQEwFT1wXMmRlrst4oOL6BvOcWAODzrwdRCazve8RWxu8lUlO5HAvEWUfGq4FekNBqYlblD84TmnQzIiBVVjx64iPiEz-NJQiQ6Jld7_QGF7LHjroUbFCDuywTd9g/s831/default.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="831" data-original-width="783" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNCu0vp3rQS2J-Hoa25MxZXNY4SEix32mXdIbOiyEvGUWGT2HkuI7g7-q_yaE-sYQEwFT1wXMmRlrst4oOL6BvOcWAODzrwdRCazve8RWxu8lUlO5HAvEWUfGq4FekNBqYlblD84TmnQzIiBVVjx64iPiEz-NJQiQ6Jld7_QGF7LHjroUbFCDuywTd9g/w604-h640/default.jpg" width="604" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hofmann teaches at his Provincetown school. (<a href="https://www.artic.edu/artworks/143644/hans-hofmann-friday-critique-at-his-school-in-provincetown">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of art teachers working at the same time as Hans Hofmann. What distinguished Hofmann was that he was a passionate disciple of <i>Modern Art, </i>at a time when modernism was regarded with suspicion. Hofmann founded the first truly <i>modern</i> art academies in history, beginning first in Munich in 1915, before emigrating to the United States in 1932 and re-establishing his schools on these shores. His brilliance as a teacher, mentor, and ambassador-for-modernism were such that he inspired an entire generation of America's first modern artists, and helped birth the movement that became Abstract Expressionism. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIu5ptt0Ugq9P_TsuzxWWN8M9OdGabgz4DXrLjzYYRoh5iqu4DRzARYnL4yVQS1CDcjlY6UqNnuA4YguAH4o6B52tdbwNpERLYbbxlful29o7pho-W6ZHCbuQSsAjZbcsFwW1q-Ba1bKPDyBMs7WLQsk_quQB6auOUPr3UoAVatrA8C0hKr8-JGuenCw/s1600/4360%20Lee%20Krasner%2001a.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1263" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIu5ptt0Ugq9P_TsuzxWWN8M9OdGabgz4DXrLjzYYRoh5iqu4DRzARYnL4yVQS1CDcjlY6UqNnuA4YguAH4o6B52tdbwNpERLYbbxlful29o7pho-W6ZHCbuQSsAjZbcsFwW1q-Ba1bKPDyBMs7WLQsk_quQB6auOUPr3UoAVatrA8C0hKr8-JGuenCw/w506-h640/4360%20Lee%20Krasner%2001a.jpg" width="506" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lee Krasner at the Hofmann School, late 1930s. (<a href="http://atelierlog.blogspot.com/2019/12/lee-krasner-4.html">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A list of Hofmann's students reads like a Who's Who of modern art in America. Lee Krasner, Helen Frankenthaler, Joan Mitchell, Larry Rivers, Robert De Niro Sr., Mercedes Matter, Nick Carone, Wolf Kahn, and Perle Fine were just some of the alumni of the Hofmann School. So, incidentally, was future art critic Clement Greenberg, who did so much to shape and promote modern art and Abstract Expressionism in postwar America. Greenberg acknowledged later in life that Hofmann's teaching provided the foundation for his own art historical concepts and arguments, which he wielded with such unapologetic certitude. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8meVHF0Dpaz24Gr6Tq0U9tYJi1l4-Pl07fQxiuerP1GFOYRtfbauMBi2NK3GcRUJsYMEV-CZzsq7e5Gwm6m2GiQMtJ5YvHCSF5jIt0AdowYdtvWQrNWSacUz1WjIMr_nvdOMuo6pUwHyq1PtKw4yHHY76o093oAUPPiH6Ic9vt00jRZUX5vGF81-VEg/s700/self-portrait-1902.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="700" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8meVHF0Dpaz24Gr6Tq0U9tYJi1l4-Pl07fQxiuerP1GFOYRtfbauMBi2NK3GcRUJsYMEV-CZzsq7e5Gwm6m2GiQMtJ5YvHCSF5jIt0AdowYdtvWQrNWSacUz1WjIMr_nvdOMuo6pUwHyq1PtKw4yHHY76o093oAUPPiH6Ic9vt00jRZUX5vGF81-VEg/w640-h522/self-portrait-1902.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hans Hofmann, <i>Self-Portrait</i>, 1902. (<a href="https://www.wikiart.org/en/hans-hofmann/self-portrait-1902">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Hans Hofmann was born in Bavaria in 1880, and was initially drawn to a career in mathematics and the sciences before broadening his horizons; he took his first art classes at the ripe age of 18 years old. Developing rapidly as an artist, he acquired a patron in the person of Philipp Freudenberg, owner of a high-end Berlin department store, and himself an avid art collector. Freudenberg's support enabled Hofmann and his wife Miz to leave Munich, and to study modern art at its source: Paris. Hofmann and Miz lived in Paris for the next decade, immersing themselves in its lively art scene. They became friends with Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso, Georges Braque, and many others, making Hofmann an active participant and eyewitness to the very birth of modern art.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS5TA-vuCSSJ4p0oRG7jf2q5n9EFDiZS_Rk24Oy_Potj6-KjPpR6Uojy6RIJ26MovZiW-rhuZuPIkDcCvB8y-BN502FxnyJau5kL6a4k1YQWeqNnt71pTuNktsOf0jCAA40SoGy7YoXaAv5QGRbD3rokrllFTyC5VlWN260-ZraTb2pMfJXB5GjbSyWg/s736/AAA-AAA_vytlvacl_6510.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="736" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS5TA-vuCSSJ4p0oRG7jf2q5n9EFDiZS_Rk24Oy_Potj6-KjPpR6Uojy6RIJ26MovZiW-rhuZuPIkDcCvB8y-BN502FxnyJau5kL6a4k1YQWeqNnt71pTuNktsOf0jCAA40SoGy7YoXaAv5QGRbD3rokrllFTyC5VlWN260-ZraTb2pMfJXB5GjbSyWg/w640-h458/AAA-AAA_vytlvacl_6510.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hofmann teaching at his Munich school, 1926. (<a href="https://www.si.edu/object/hans-hofmann-and-students-hofmann-school-munich:AAADCD_item_4018">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately, the outbreak of World War I found Hofmann stranded in Corsica, forcing him to abandon any hopes of resuming his Paris studies. Exempted from military service due to an earlier bout with tuberculosis, Hofmann returned to Munich and opened his first school of modern art, initially providing art therapy to wounded veterans. It was here that Hofmann first showed his genius as a teacher, preaching the doctrine of artistic freedom exemplified in the art of fauvism, cubism, and expressionism. His reputation as an inspiring, dynamic teacher students extended to the United States, and an alumnus of his Munich academy offered Hofmann a teaching position in America in 1932. With rising political turmoil stirring in his home country, Hofmann eagerly accepted the opportunity to establish a new life on these shores.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7bYfI4kABGh07t91FjSBsu9cgZu79FeMVdGVED3vFF575xSo6u65adi8a3FnUFyi-auckpz8VtcUFH8uAnbaQ-kJfwyfHv155PXOEmTcLPvEEYrRwaFRLt761jRJ3JQLub3unZDRGLZaGFd4edP5nnNqtPZsDh9XPx1Zz5t3Cxhupdnhov8L8R-yFA/s854/SAAM-J0001705-000001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="701" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7bYfI4kABGh07t91FjSBsu9cgZu79FeMVdGVED3vFF575xSo6u65adi8a3FnUFyi-auckpz8VtcUFH8uAnbaQ-kJfwyfHv155PXOEmTcLPvEEYrRwaFRLt761jRJ3JQLub3unZDRGLZaGFd4edP5nnNqtPZsDh9XPx1Zz5t3Cxhupdnhov8L8R-yFA/w526-h640/SAAM-J0001705-000001.jpg" width="526" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hofmann in 1933, after his arrival in America. (<a href="https://www.si.edu/object/hans-hofmann-gloucester-massachusetts-photograph-photographed-peter-juley-son:siris_jul_1705">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When he arrived in the United States, Hofmann possessed a powerful and intoxicating pedigree. He not only taught the principles of modern art; he <i>embodied</i> them. Prior to Hofmann's arrival, American artists had little, if any, chance to experience modern art in person, even in places like New York City or Los Angeles. With his arrival, artists on these shores now had a living, breathing connection to the hallowed names of the new art. And Hofmann didn't just relate his conversations with Picasso, Matisse, and other luminaries. He initiated his students into the secrets of how to construct modern paintings, the elusive <i>mechanics</i> of modern art, which they could use to liberate their own work from older traditions of Western art. </span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJzCAEPFeIlE3f6gJoq1YcLO9RZ8uValF8i0eKNp5mtX6IB68KRXI16Jkl-3pZ_WJOJlvuHtLI9TcappyAehTBst5Zq_MaqA-pIZ3iWzhvmGOD5fzDEsQ4vJ2oj_tGqcMRZ4WzQowE9CbqVlkug7fHimVorWzdKeZdY6_gBvVaF8JWejveXcGhosxsNw/s671/91_28_cropped.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="671" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJzCAEPFeIlE3f6gJoq1YcLO9RZ8uValF8i0eKNp5mtX6IB68KRXI16Jkl-3pZ_WJOJlvuHtLI9TcappyAehTBst5Zq_MaqA-pIZ3iWzhvmGOD5fzDEsQ4vJ2oj_tGqcMRZ4WzQowE9CbqVlkug7fHimVorWzdKeZdY6_gBvVaF8JWejveXcGhosxsNw/w640-h534/91_28_cropped.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Apples" by Hans Hofmann, 1934. (<a href="https://whitney.org/collection/works/7713">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Hofmann's most famous theory was something he called "Push Pull", the term he coined to describe the dynamic elements that create space and tension in a painting. Those elements included directional line, the relationship between shapes, the juxtaposition of color, and the space between objects in a composition. Western art had traditionally used proportion, perspective, and and light and shade to create the illusion of space in painting. Modern painting rejected the idea of illusory space. Instead, modern artists used contrasting color and line to create dynamic tension that preserved the two-</span><span>dimensional character of the paint surface. </span></span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6T4_aEMh0d3zrcUR62-RB3PX3X836szzx3Y61Zs_a4J-c5HrFQ3TunQ3LEzh4HwnK-trovW7Hhtd0VZbgLNMC9d5H0Mk9Pa271vHipF_Y-cLgnk_5rJ4FVAwlE6oBbg_1Kcvqj5Y7oyAyMjkc7b76yKX1MK4oA--z_r8-5A9C71XZFtueu81wYo4jA/s883/INterior%20Composition.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6T4_aEMh0d3zrcUR62-RB3PX3X836szzx3Y61Zs_a4J-c5HrFQ3TunQ3LEzh4HwnK-trovW7Hhtd0VZbgLNMC9d5H0Mk9Pa271vHipF_Y-cLgnk_5rJ4FVAwlE6oBbg_1Kcvqj5Y7oyAyMjkc7b76yKX1MK4oA--z_r8-5A9C71XZFtueu81wYo4jA/w522-h640/INterior%20Composition.jpeg" width="522" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Interior Composition" by Hans Hofmann, 1938. (<a href="http://www.hanshofmann.org/image-gallery">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Hofmann was no mere theorist, however. He demonstrated his knowledge in his own art, and in the fervor of his teaching. He radiated <i>joie de vivre, </i>and his larger than life personality and exuberance intoxicated his students. The effect was further amplified by his thick German accent, which added to his mystique while simultaneously confounding those who listened. "We couldn't understand what the fuck he was talking about," painter and former student Nick Carone explained years later. "But you felt your life was at stake with every word he uttered. The atmosphere worked on you; it was serious, you were serious, and therefore you were an artist." </span><span>His classes in New York City and in Provincetown were usually filled to capacity, and those who studied with him were not merely his pupils; they became converts. Hofmann possessed that elusive quality common to great teachers everywhere: he made his students feel that their work, and their lives, truly</span><span> </span><i>mattered. </i></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9G24vCRODWQJaO6TA9Dk868cpyTWqzRE7toH8UNHyUFPxeH16eIXOG0RuXwFYk4yDStFWOkxmYKbf5iybNrSBTota4RK3zjVNYuymrL8Hk3PBxiO85rNl0_U77l5y0cCmORqntxWJwXDdw4pPp9QnuoC4EnNqTsHgMqVhwPa50qoP3gk-vOCVNBYg4Q/s1280/92.4044_ph_web-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1229" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9G24vCRODWQJaO6TA9Dk868cpyTWqzRE7toH8UNHyUFPxeH16eIXOG0RuXwFYk4yDStFWOkxmYKbf5iybNrSBTota4RK3zjVNYuymrL8Hk3PBxiO85rNl0_U77l5y0cCmORqntxWJwXDdw4pPp9QnuoC4EnNqTsHgMqVhwPa50qoP3gk-vOCVNBYg4Q/w614-h640/92.4044_ph_web-1.jpg" width="614" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Untitled</i>, Hans Hofmann, 1940. (<a href="https://www.guggenheim.org/artwork/1672">source</a>).</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Hofmann's seemingly boundless energy carried over from the classroom to his own studio. Despite the long hours he devoted to his students, he still found the time to create a prolific body of his own work. Consequently, he occupied a unique place in the movement that became Abstract Expressionism. As a teacher, he galvanized scores of young artists who themselves became key figures in the new American art. As a painter, he assumed a central place beside his young charges in the cultural fabric of the New York scene. A source of wisdom and inspiration in the classroom, he was an exemplar outside the classroom of what an artist could and should be. His art was tangible proof of the theories he espoused in class. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0TYNKKa9eQbHwNaWBdLPisjB97sEmjeZCwOurDx3AfGM_bzYWf6wwJCZ1OWibgWSwmSWbd3v1G8cEXPglIGCj1eI-2qRX72T4QdTxt8GCUF7hLUPxEhXXSk32zGP8_gGjSrDGuXkk8tl4Ow1ejFAIgYM8VQ3HVT83F8tGULfdtcbcTlH01qijDIppg/s1604/Plate-22_Fantasia-Phantasia-Full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1604" data-original-width="1140" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0TYNKKa9eQbHwNaWBdLPisjB97sEmjeZCwOurDx3AfGM_bzYWf6wwJCZ1OWibgWSwmSWbd3v1G8cEXPglIGCj1eI-2qRX72T4QdTxt8GCUF7hLUPxEhXXSk32zGP8_gGjSrDGuXkk8tl4Ow1ejFAIgYM8VQ3HVT83F8tGULfdtcbcTlH01qijDIppg/w454-h640/Plate-22_Fantasia-Phantasia-Full.jpg" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Phantasia</i>, Hans Hofmann, 1944. (<a href="https://www.incollect.com/articles/hans-hofmann-the-nature-of-abstraction">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Like most artists, Hofmann's approach to art changed over time. He had always preached the need to work directly "from nature": artists should be inspired by observing the world around them. However, as time passed he turned inward for inspiration. Perhaps his encounter with Jackson Pollock had planted the seed for change. </span><span><span>Lee Krasner, </span><span>Pollock's wife and Hofmann's student, invited her teacher to visit Pollock's studio, an opportunity Hofmann accepted. After looking at Pollock's work, Hofmann, always the teacher, said, "You need to work from nature, otherwise you will repeat yourself". Pollock's legendary retort: "I <i>am</i> nature." Krasner, embarrassed and appalled, considered the meeting a disaster. Hofmann himself did not. Years afterward, when someone referred to Pollock as Hofmann's student, he corrected them. " He was not my student, but the <i>student</i> of my student--Lee Krasner". After finally retiring from teaching in 1958, Hofmann fully embraced pure abstraction. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj182hsVRjmMws8PeA0qWeDLQolZ5gzOym6qbRHaWnZzvdZKlivaUGZIjkOlan-fau6ESw9u_sqSlGO8DIrgJQ_fDQ_8AzadyI48rix1lWm5n8HdAxM55eXY4smLfhadVny_p2Nx9c-0bUXAa0e6IrpaWIV00oVYNYDsyUotH9S-vOwvJgMFUNQgJR-sA/s1168/pompeii-1959.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1168" data-original-width="716" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj182hsVRjmMws8PeA0qWeDLQolZ5gzOym6qbRHaWnZzvdZKlivaUGZIjkOlan-fau6ESw9u_sqSlGO8DIrgJQ_fDQ_8AzadyI48rix1lWm5n8HdAxM55eXY4smLfhadVny_p2Nx9c-0bUXAa0e6IrpaWIV00oVYNYDsyUotH9S-vOwvJgMFUNQgJR-sA/w392-h640/pompeii-1959.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pompeii</i>, 1959. (<a href="https://www.wikiart.org/en/hans-hofmann/all-works#!#filterName:all-paintings-chronologically,resultType:masonry">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span><span style="font-size: medium;">Hofmann spent his remaining years in an astonishing burst of prolific creation, the results of which are nothing short of stunning. Rarely has an artist summed up his career on such a sustained high note. Hofmann's prodigious creative powers, fully unleashed in the studio, exploded to brilliant life on canvas. The result was a triumphant burst of luminous, sumptuous works that Hofmann referred to as his "slab" paintings. Materially speaking, these paintings may be<i> </i>slabs, but they are <i>glorious</i> slabs--thickly-painted building blocks of pigment, applied in alternating patterns of restraint, sensuality, and controlled abandon. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyaaBexMZ_SeC9qHE1iM3ia6dmbNSuP6flK1rM_0sbguDCWwHWgak67WaK0uG80PirovVdgz_ARW7QISSbDQ3Ego8QDsfjlOhzzxdLR1p0dGxf0xdJLR9VA_vX8Z8_ntMtCBS8xgFR_XmzoFx6k_enTC9jWnqMWiKq4dbSWlf_R9X4u4caV0M1FoOkw/s3254/hofmanncombinable-wall-i-and-ii.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2409" data-original-width="3254" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyaaBexMZ_SeC9qHE1iM3ia6dmbNSuP6flK1rM_0sbguDCWwHWgak67WaK0uG80PirovVdgz_ARW7QISSbDQ3Ego8QDsfjlOhzzxdLR1p0dGxf0xdJLR9VA_vX8Z8_ntMtCBS8xgFR_XmzoFx6k_enTC9jWnqMWiKq4dbSWlf_R9X4u4caV0M1FoOkw/w640-h474/hofmanncombinable-wall-i-and-ii.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Combinable Wall I and II</i>, 1961. (<a href="https://www.artnews.com/art-news/retrospective/hans-hofmann-fritz-bultman-1963-11999/">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>The paint is not so much brushed on as it is <i>sculpted</i> into exquisitely calibrated juxtapositions of shapes, textures and hues. Brightly-colored rectangles and squares are alternately joined together or suspended against shimmering shards of pigment. </span><span>Colors act with and against each other to create a glowing light emanating from within the paintings.</span><span> </span><span>These creations are, in essence, Hofmann's Push-Pull methodology brought to vibrant life. All of Hofmann's formidable artistic powers coalesced into masterful symphonies of substance, texture, and sensation. </span><span><span> </span><span>In these magnificent works, Hofmann distilled a lifetime of artistic exploration into pure visual expression. He kept working until his death in 1966. He was 86 years old. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVJBUqN3hvb-AJrY80OT9if-rENmOkTndDsYJJ0u9yq0Nub5h99fUXC87QA7G_d4wSb0bw1Mr74Vvq7Kk_y_yw50SRy1TNRvh5aoIzuEB70fkEyP0hpIGCOOshOH_WWo5CPMOj2Z9z-2RwV7GLq5iAoFN68AbfbRjcOHN571GFnJB9rIRnFbz9TgPrQ/s1600/4484%20Hans%20Hofman%2003.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVJBUqN3hvb-AJrY80OT9if-rENmOkTndDsYJJ0u9yq0Nub5h99fUXC87QA7G_d4wSb0bw1Mr74Vvq7Kk_y_yw50SRy1TNRvh5aoIzuEB70fkEyP0hpIGCOOshOH_WWo5CPMOj2Z9z-2RwV7GLq5iAoFN68AbfbRjcOHN571GFnJB9rIRnFbz9TgPrQ/w496-h640/4484%20Hans%20Hofman%2003.jpg" width="496" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hans Hofmann in his studio, 1957. Photograph by Arnold Newman. (<a href="https://atelierlog.blogspot.com/2020/05/hans-hofmann-5.html">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /><span><br /></span></span></span><p></p></div>thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-85485230870772056622023-04-24T00:27:00.002-04:002023-04-24T13:43:50.145-04:00Elizabeth Murray, Or, How I Learned About A Great Artist<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1alIjayLr0y9YuB65wkBbpy0VxxYDCQ0fhBkxu4t7WcM2Y44U1Chr8qtyEXL7sWKDkKqokzMVgLFCCF9MJEkc26VgzIYXG3_HhP1YsOr1Ql4IIVRjPbBN6-dPSpn5cokvh2Qw-m2QqDASmQj-fl2IHaTGJC_RoAgreSLqjty3nQhn4WaG4s8zsdACcQ/s8423/EM_SidneyFelson040_cpmpressed.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="8423" data-original-width="5728" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1alIjayLr0y9YuB65wkBbpy0VxxYDCQ0fhBkxu4t7WcM2Y44U1Chr8qtyEXL7sWKDkKqokzMVgLFCCF9MJEkc26VgzIYXG3_HhP1YsOr1Ql4IIVRjPbBN6-dPSpn5cokvh2Qw-m2QqDASmQj-fl2IHaTGJC_RoAgreSLqjty3nQhn4WaG4s8zsdACcQ/w437-h640/EM_SidneyFelson040_cpmpressed.jpg" width="437" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elizabeth Murray at work in her studio<br />(<a href="https://whitney.org/events/everybody-knows-elizabeth-murray">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I first became aware of Elizabeth Murray in 1985. I was a young, naive, wide-eyed art student, trying my damnedest to figure out what it meant to Be An Artist. For guidance, I used to devour anything and everything published about contemporary art back then. <i> </i><i>ArtNews</i>, <i>ArtForum</i>, <i>Art in America, Time</i> magazine, and any other periodical containing art reviews, articles, interviews, and features on artists living or dead--those were my bibles. I was reading Robert Hughes' latest scathing takedown of contemporary art in the form of his review of the 1985 Whitney Biennial. I took Hughes much too seriously, partly due to his authoritative voice, but also--regrettably--because his prejudices about modern art largely jibed with my own. My own biases stemmed from youth, close-mindedness, and inexperience. I'm not sure what Hughes's excuse was, other than just being a pompous dick. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jHoWxGnOD_Iy91NM7Mp5Z4HNyfWK0yXFOS5zBlISNan-cLDuTJxDaDb6hYPms1AMR2UlQOwpMgOSoQggpUVFcErFf4a0Kq0WyUnX59ZIlkZ99x3Z76ltwG6mqSAsfYY105Qxjwf-HhRVHGs-lGdhZa6RRLTkm3DmGTOvwUuxx-Cu7jJFH3BAJlrkrA/s2048/large_1141_Biennial_VW27_0027_adjusted.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1373" data-original-width="2048" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jHoWxGnOD_Iy91NM7Mp5Z4HNyfWK0yXFOS5zBlISNan-cLDuTJxDaDb6hYPms1AMR2UlQOwpMgOSoQggpUVFcErFf4a0Kq0WyUnX59ZIlkZ99x3Z76ltwG6mqSAsfYY105Qxjwf-HhRVHGs-lGdhZa6RRLTkm3DmGTOvwUuxx-Cu7jJFH3BAJlrkrA/w640-h430/large_1141_Biennial_VW27_0027_adjusted.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 1985 Whitney Biennial (<a href="https://whitney.org/exhibitions/biennial-1985">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>In the June 17, 1985 issue of Time, Hughes' review of the Biennial (entitled </span><a href="https://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,959210,00.html">"Careerism & Hype Amidst the Image Haze"</a><span> and still available </span><a href="https://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,959210,00.html">online</a><span>) was an early introduction to the critic's unmistakable contempt for the 1980s New York art scene, and indeed for most contemporary culture in general. All the complaints I would come to know all too well were there in full screed: 1) Artists today can't draw, and 2) The ones who can didn't learn in art school, because 3) Art schools nowadays suck, as does 4) Just about everything else about contemporary American culture. I didn't realize back then that you could be a nationally published art critic and be an asshole. I also didn't realize that you could be a nationally-published art critic precisely BECAUSE you were an asshole. Like I said, I was young and naive.</span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5kZ7nkmSD8boPp8qB8xwDW6GSOhLVw19GuJr_H2dzp7p7pG8rdq_fZmPcjnckRMrSPkrirjS5F7gVGv5D7Gj6r9ulv6YLcvjl6mkHqcRCBWkUMmZGHr7k0-Kv677huJ5bjPqiDHsS_02Kuz_wU-RWZhcKei1OzbN2JDKwC1Ljjp13NDOBSM3UiJC_5A/s640/robert-hughes.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="640" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5kZ7nkmSD8boPp8qB8xwDW6GSOhLVw19GuJr_H2dzp7p7pG8rdq_fZmPcjnckRMrSPkrirjS5F7gVGv5D7Gj6r9ulv6YLcvjl6mkHqcRCBWkUMmZGHr7k0-Kv677huJ5bjPqiDHsS_02Kuz_wU-RWZhcKei1OzbN2JDKwC1Ljjp13NDOBSM3UiJC_5A/w400-h251/robert-hughes.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert Hughes, art critic, professional crank (<a href="https://gerryco23.wordpress.com/2012/08/07/robert-hughes-greatest-art-critic-of-our-time/">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In Hughes' considered opinion, the 1985 Whitney Biennial was "generally agreed to be the worst in living memory". Whole sections of his screed became regrettably embedded in my memory. I was a sheltered 21-year-old child in 1985, with an unfortunate tendency to listen to the loudest voice. Growing up in an authoritarian household, itself nestled within an uber-conservative religious milieu, I was conditioned to be obedient and pliable. It took me years of therapy and life experience to shed this tendency. I hung onto my copy of the article for years, until I ripped it up in a fit of disgust with all things Robert Hughes. That, in itself, was therapeutic.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UWaH4rWECKEB1tMTcthExyeVoCfvTraZJdmqflCJphs8JU7hJ1jWbbaTba8hjl-dc2-rFoVAWnp_nqSxQczejTaeAi4ooxIXkKKEOOP1UpwIkSMrBAJfPgBCcvvyin81_01etQbe7jh3K6kDHqZ87xwQjpsOC8fxeAxp1OwsFX4E-eR-78SefTIPDA/s3000/EVERYBODYKNOWSELIZABETHMURRAY_BARRY_KORNBLUH_1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UWaH4rWECKEB1tMTcthExyeVoCfvTraZJdmqflCJphs8JU7hJ1jWbbaTba8hjl-dc2-rFoVAWnp_nqSxQczejTaeAi4ooxIXkKKEOOP1UpwIkSMrBAJfPgBCcvvyin81_01etQbe7jh3K6kDHqZ87xwQjpsOC8fxeAxp1OwsFX4E-eR-78SefTIPDA/w426-h640/EVERYBODYKNOWSELIZABETHMURRAY_BARRY_KORNBLUH_1.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elizabeth Murray (<a href="http://www.theartblog.org/wp-content/uploaded/2017/01/EVERYBODYKNOWSELIZABETHMURRAY_BARRY_KORNBLUH_1.jpg">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>I was amazed to note that certain contemporary artists escaped Hughes' declaration that Almost Everything In This Show Sucks. One of those earning Hughes' grudging respect was Elizabeth Murray, an up-and-coming 35-year-old artist who was just establishing her place in the national eye. I did not memorize Hughes' brief passage on Murray, but the fact that he had </span><i>anything </i><span>positive to say about her was enough to cement her name in my mind. If I remember correctly, Murray's painting entitled "Sleep", was reproduced in the article, but that reproduction did little to clarify why Hughes deemed Murray a Good Artist, while painters like David Salle and Julian Schnabel supposedly embodied The Worst Of The '80s, not to mention that Hughes claimed they were poseurs who simply sucked ass. I didn't understand a lot of things back then.</span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogT74I4ozzRv70ii_XLrUJ9WtiD3VsbCTcGYxqMRxaKFjbHdva0PokpQc_Xmdu3QOapPiZ1up1hcCX1gFDO_OH6MoiGrJS8E4D8ulbNhuubUZgdnNlqf86z-o-LwM2B5IWG-d8mSQA1EqRxWXOXEAIOLKh6S_1O5dt8XUakRKXzQp45daPHFk038evA/s864/murray-humor-still-web-013.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="864" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogT74I4ozzRv70ii_XLrUJ9WtiD3VsbCTcGYxqMRxaKFjbHdva0PokpQc_Xmdu3QOapPiZ1up1hcCX1gFDO_OH6MoiGrJS8E4D8ulbNhuubUZgdnNlqf86z-o-LwM2B5IWG-d8mSQA1EqRxWXOXEAIOLKh6S_1O5dt8XUakRKXzQp45daPHFk038evA/w640-h360/murray-humor-still-web-013.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Murray at work on <i>Bop</i>, in a still from <i>Art:21</i> (<a href="https://art21.org/gallery/elizabeth-murray-artist-at-work/">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Fast forward to 2004 or thereabouts, when my sister Joan sent me a DVD set of the first two seasons of the PBS show </span><i>Art:21</i><span>. I had seen tantalizing glimpses of the first season, but had never been able to view the entire series. Lo and behold, Season Two's segment entitled Humor featured a wonderfully warm, funny vignette on Elizabeth Murray, who comes off as goofy, down-to-earth, and self-deprecating. However, what made a lasting impression were the things she said about painting, both her own and about the art of painting in general. Her remarks struck home and rang true, undoubtedly because I myself had been painting steadily for fifteen years, and was wrestling with the very trials, dilemmas, and rare triumphs in my own work that Murray spoke of in hers. (Watch an excerpt <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uy3_7mWu3IE">here</a>)</span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHy9FpYYovNwlST61CNupUSE40pVA4unygi-sTnxNK4jwD3DYZP80IIRgXuUfPcxpPcmwh4mZfXu0N0ydxPZFyVhVS-_91gZ39HbhZJAubSL2-2aa1Zl3pKbwTijGcW-TZtQ8L4sMBlb4AkgsE8liAIy4YCiPP9XSKJJOweMtqW0HhmWpJVvvq1X4MZQ/s864/murray-paint3-003.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="775" data-original-width="864" height="574" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHy9FpYYovNwlST61CNupUSE40pVA4unygi-sTnxNK4jwD3DYZP80IIRgXuUfPcxpPcmwh4mZfXu0N0ydxPZFyVhVS-_91gZ39HbhZJAubSL2-2aa1Zl3pKbwTijGcW-TZtQ8L4sMBlb4AkgsE8liAIy4YCiPP9XSKJJOweMtqW0HhmWpJVvvq1X4MZQ/w640-h574/murray-paint3-003.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Bop", oil on canvas on wood. Elizabeth Murray, 2003. (<a href="https://art21.org/read/elizabeth-murray-bop-and-the-process-of-painting/">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>What struck me even more than her personality and wisdom was her work. Her paintings were large, goofy, cartoonish, brightly colored, and--for lack of a better word--ZANY. I simply fell in love with them. Clearly, my brief early introduction to Murray hadn't even </span><i>begun</i><span> to describe what a tremendous talent she was, and how incredible the paintings were. Composed of multiple, shaped canvases stuck together in what she called "bloopy, cartoony" forms, these works were both painting AND sculpture. Houses, clouds, zigzags, curved pathways, and other cartoonish entities were visually mashed together into tightly grouped configurations which were rhythmic, playful, and brightly colored. Somehow, everything meshed seamlessly, due to Murray's mastery of shape, rhythm, and color. Her deceptively effortless-looking compositions were the result of endless trial and error. </span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg08KL8fe4CAY9rFWChx50E5VXzWLvZJxiFGCX2JNSwgNLB2WOtztVAgVz8x5_QzDmDXRED10nZ91S_7OKtHJk0RoW3UDoPTFzXc33gFtkK1TxSw5TkT35Tj3h-cuKidUZHksyR3doCIWBcCW5PqhRpyiz0eZ4UnGVPwtlFiXtXrrCAwI-zsZRuUqbnbA/s750/Murray_1999_Back-In-Town_31804_4x4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg08KL8fe4CAY9rFWChx50E5VXzWLvZJxiFGCX2JNSwgNLB2WOtztVAgVz8x5_QzDmDXRED10nZ91S_7OKtHJk0RoW3UDoPTFzXc33gFtkK1TxSw5TkT35Tj3h-cuKidUZHksyR3doCIWBcCW5PqhRpyiz0eZ4UnGVPwtlFiXtXrrCAwI-zsZRuUqbnbA/w640-h640/Murray_1999_Back-In-Town_31804_4x4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Back In Town", oil on canvas on wood. Elizabeth Murray, 1999. (<a href="https://elizabethmurrayart.org/1990s">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Even though she had been painting for nearly four decades, Murray spoke of the relentless struggle necessary to bring her paintings to fruition: <i>"</i></span><span><i>Sometimes it’s felt really like that, like I’m just painting and painting and painting until the right thing happens. And with all of my work (I think every artist has this): you leave it at night, and you come back and you think, “Wow, I’ve got it. I’ve got it!” And then you come back in the morning, and it’s gone; it looks awful." </i>The reward, of course, comes when "the right thing happens", and the disparate elements of the painting become unified, and the elusive harmony and balance are achieved. </span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPt6bfFJAmLkYNqw5I3n41xBy86nGF6PGsFfFEwTTkehxXvuERNOLjEcEcSV_YotqOB68AlxHTpalFbTiM4sR52FK264cXHgPlXKiaCeLMXVwZmKTIoH0tLiaBdGS_mZxerZPd5g0nB7iX06R1D49666xWCB1OfhUOjgEAZ6XgamHYOPUUK4bhl6PtSg/s1500/FB_Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPt6bfFJAmLkYNqw5I3n41xBy86nGF6PGsFfFEwTTkehxXvuERNOLjEcEcSV_YotqOB68AlxHTpalFbTiM4sR52FK264cXHgPlXKiaCeLMXVwZmKTIoH0tLiaBdGS_mZxerZPd5g0nB7iX06R1D49666xWCB1OfhUOjgEAZ6XgamHYOPUUK4bhl6PtSg/w640-h640/FB_Cover.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Flying Bye", oil on canvas on wood, 1982. (<a href="https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-elizabeth-murrays-rule-breaking-paintings-continue-inspire-younger-artists">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Elizabeth Murray, who died in 2007 of lung cancer, was remarkably consistent and inventive in her long quest to make the right thing happen on canvas. For her, the rewards and satisfactions of making art far outweighed the frustrations and setbacks. When asked how she would describe the process of painting, she said this:</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><i><span style="font-size: medium;">"Well, I think it’s really like playing. Really very similar to how a kid plays, somehow. You’ve got so many toys around. Carol Dunham was in the studio a couple days ago, looking at this painting, and he said, “You know, it’s like you are in your playroom, and you are just picking up these different shapes and throwing them on the wall and then putting them together and seeing what kind of a game you can make out of them.” I think that’s pretty explanatory of what it feels like to make them—and very close to the kind of feeling that I want to get out of them and I think I want you to get out of them, too."</span></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvRtsUaIwcmkNpg-8RlJ-MFH0OErufnClzxCkhZyDxEJB70psb-iY8PQ48BaLID6B5bqrs8BWKVTQqadrR6s40JJ3-3Y234yX49qqh_1mRa-X0Ku1WHO-r_cfpQTz0P6Yyorz0vw-O7G1JuTgdHokst-iKDopPcy4BPbPxmOA_zo-gfIXGNpH9uqw2A/s882/Murray_1981_Just_in_Time.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvRtsUaIwcmkNpg-8RlJ-MFH0OErufnClzxCkhZyDxEJB70psb-iY8PQ48BaLID6B5bqrs8BWKVTQqadrR6s40JJ3-3Y234yX49qqh_1mRa-X0Ku1WHO-r_cfpQTz0P6Yyorz0vw-O7G1JuTgdHokst-iKDopPcy4BPbPxmOA_zo-gfIXGNpH9uqw2A/w544-h640/Murray_1981_Just_in_Time.jpg" width="544" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Just In Time", oil on canvas on wood, 1981. (<a href="https://elizabethmurrayart.org/1980s">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table>thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-27059292989549929702019-09-01T23:46:00.007-04:002023-01-07T23:05:09.915-05:00Picasso and Women, Part Two: Death Comes Calling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A young Pablo Picasso in Paris (<a href="http://www.lifebuzz.com/history/4/">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Passionate, dark, superstitious, and swaggering, Pablo Picasso was the quintessential Spaniard. With his intense gaze, virility, charisma, and fiery temperament, he embodied the characteristics of <i>machismo</i> that we've come to associate with Spanish manhood. Nowhere is this more evident than in his art, which is charged with the same apocalyptic darkness, brilliant sunlight, and incipient violence we see in the art of his fellow Spaniard, Francisco de Goya. Like Goya, Picasso painted tender portraits of his female subjects, while simultaneously depicting the tragic side of life. In fact, in Picasso's life and work there is often a direct and/or thematic connection between the women in his life and life's ultimate tragedy: death. It is this deep-rooted connection that largely (though not solely) informs Picasso's complex, haunted, conflicted view of women in his work.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Greedy Child by Pablo Picasso (<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Gourmet-Greedy-Child-Picasso-Printing/dp/B01MXSXDC6">source</a>)</td></tr>
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That connection formed early, and was reinforced with tragic regularity throughout his life, beginning in childhood. Picasso, the first child born to his mother, Maria Lopez Picasso Ruiz and his father, artist and teacher Don Jose Ruiz Blasco, was followed by two sisters, Lola and Conchita. Lola, the second child, was closer to Picasso in age; like her brother, she inherited their mother's dark coloring and short stature. Lola grew up, married, had a family, and lived to a ripe old age. Pablo's baby sister Conchita, whom he adored, was not so fortunate. A blond, slender, beautiful child, six years younger than her older brother, Conchita contracted diphtheria when she was seven years old. Pablo vowed to give up painting if God let his little sister live, a vow he then apparently broke shortly thereafter. The only cure was a serum manufactured in Paris. The family doctor sent for it immediately, but it arrived too late to save the child, and Conchita Ruiz died. Her older brother was devastated, haunted with guilt by his broken vow. He would carry this guilt for the rest of his life. While he never painted a portrait of Conchita, he seems to have memorialized her image, and possibly tried to exorcise his guilt, in a Blue Period painting called <i>The Greedy Child. </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(L-R) Pablo Picasso, Angel De Soto, and Carles Casagemas, circa 1900 (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carles_Casagemas">source</a>)</td></tr>
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When Picasso reached adolescence, he was initiated into the rites of passage for young Spanish men. First, he became sexually active and began frequenting brothels. Second, he slowly gathered a cohort of male friends, known in Spain as a <i>tertulia</i>, and began making a name for himself in artistic circles in Barcelona. A young writer named Carles Casagemas became one of his closest friends in the tertulia. The two friends were so close, in fact, that it was Casagemas who accompanied Picasso on his first trip to Paris. The two young men--Picasso was all of nineteen--reunited with expatriate friends from Barcelona, who were only too happy to help their friends establish a foothold in the art capital of Europe. Before long, Picasso and Casagemas were installed in a large, ramshackle studio in Montmartre, had each acquired girlfriends, and were living <i>la vida loca</i>, bohemian style, which included regular bouts of painting, partying, carousing, and of course, sex.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carles Casagemas, painted by Pablo Picasso (<a href="https://www.cleveland.com/arts/2012/12/the_cleveland_museum_of_art_pr.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Unfortunately for everyone involved, Carles Casagemas was an insecure, sexually conflicted manic-depressive who fell hard for his Montmartre mistress, Germaine Gargallo. While Picasso kept his relationship with his girlfriend Odette casual and open-ended, Casagemas mooned helplessly over the promiscuous Germaine, whose sexual demands he found impossible to fulfill. The relationship was doomed from the start, causing the emotionally unstable Casagemas considerable anguish. That anguish soon bloomed into full-blown suicidal depression, which only exacerbated Casagemas' addictions to alcohol and other drugs. Attempting to rescue his friend from this hopeless situation, Picasso took Casagemas on a visit back to Barcelona with him. Casagemas, moody and distraught, made a difficult traveling companion. Eventually, even Picasso lost patience with his old friend, and fled to Madrid, leaving the lovelorn Casagemas in Barcelona.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5O3m_gbKOImSQEDBFm2dkJMSHw-eUdiv0WNs_VvGN4CN5gH8-_co_YrDtIEximU2869q0KSYvrLyQtqVmJCvmoD3F6iy5IoAzBYQ3AG42zD-qttZB93IztPnXH_KK9SKz5fIPP2U2kvI/s1600/94d490ba827c21f126938b3fb8115077.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1006" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5O3m_gbKOImSQEDBFm2dkJMSHw-eUdiv0WNs_VvGN4CN5gH8-_co_YrDtIEximU2869q0KSYvrLyQtqVmJCvmoD3F6iy5IoAzBYQ3AG42zD-qttZB93IztPnXH_KK9SKz5fIPP2U2kvI/s640/94d490ba827c21f126938b3fb8115077.jpg" width="508" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Germaine Gargallo, circa 1901 (<a href="http://www.elpuntavui.cat/article/5-cultura/19-cultura/778976-la-musa-mes-enigmatica.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Casagemas stayed in Barcelona, mailing postcards to Germaine on a daily basis, imploring her to marry him. After two months, he returned to Paris to persuade his girlfriend in person, only to be met by her final refusal: she would never marry him, but they could remain friends. Casagemas seemed to accept this setback surprisingly well. He calmly announced he would return to Barcelona. Before he left, however, he wanted to throw a celebratory, farewell dinner for all their friends. The dinner would take place at a favorite neighborhood bistro, L'Hippodrome. On the evening of February 17, 1901, Casagemas, Germaine, and their closest friends gathered for what began as an enjoyable, convivial occasion. Unbeknownst to his guests, Casagemas had a far darker farewell planned: he arrived at dinner with a suicide note and a pistol in his coat pocket. Just as coffee was served, he stood up, drew his weapon, aimed at Germaine, shouted "This is for you!", and fired. Seeing his ex-lover crumple to the floor, Casagemas pointed the gun at his right temple, shouted "And this is for me!", and pulled the trigger again. As it happened, the would-be murderer had missed his ex-girlfriend (she threw herself to the floor, narrowly escaping the bullet) but--at that range--could not miss shooting himself. He died within the hour.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzeC3T4R59EKfSkCia7kAZK6cl-QE7v1NEuF7_WExdY_GlZytHK_UJaiimrd6zS8pmIviXEm6Hn3j_B0_kouzCejoNgf0xrg2FNlOB8pgxfNYToQACCxIplb4gJH2-et15afGS6i9sQ1i/s1600/299296_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="320" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzeC3T4R59EKfSkCia7kAZK6cl-QE7v1NEuF7_WExdY_GlZytHK_UJaiimrd6zS8pmIviXEm6Hn3j_B0_kouzCejoNgf0xrg2FNlOB8pgxfNYToQACCxIplb4gJH2-et15afGS6i9sQ1i/s640/299296_orig.jpg" width="408" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Casagemas in death, by Pablo Picasso (<a href="https://aweseomespanishartproject.weebly.com/featured-art-work.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Picasso, still in Madrid, received the appalling news in a letter from a Barcelona friend. He was, understandably, devastated and guilt-ridden for having abandoned his friend in his hours of need. Death had once again taken someone he loved, and once again, Picasso felt complicit. What if he had stayed in Barcelona? What if he had gone back to Paris with Casagemas? These unanswerable questions tormented the young artist. Picasso coped by telling himself that he knew how self-destructive his friend had been, that he instinctively knew Casagemas was beyond help. Picasso also took refuge in his belief in his own destiny, and felt beholden only to himself and his art. His flight to Madrid was the act of a man who would not allow himself to be dragged down by the needs or problems of anyone, not even his best friend. There was nothing to be done now except exorcise his guilt the only way he knew how: by painting his way out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9JC9h_M5tvWuvZ1L3QVoNAb18WS5zX1redyyNmrPqc7E35CCR5S4bFh0XWcnLfSStdvY-fUltCxR0CLzJIYzaxg2Gm_6vhfhd9cc_As7W9rUcbk2DYCxbjmV9GjiJu6mMtb1f68DLQuR/s1600/paris_mort-casagemas_musee-picasso_lac_232x300mm.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1600" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9JC9h_M5tvWuvZ1L3QVoNAb18WS5zX1redyyNmrPqc7E35CCR5S4bFh0XWcnLfSStdvY-fUltCxR0CLzJIYzaxg2Gm_6vhfhd9cc_As7W9rUcbk2DYCxbjmV9GjiJu6mMtb1f68DLQuR/s640/paris_mort-casagemas_musee-picasso_lac_232x300mm.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>The Death Of Casagemas</b></i>, by Pablo Picasso (<a href="https://artblart.com/tag/pablo-picasso-the-death-of-casagemas/">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Picasso had portrayed Casagemas many times when he was alive, often in profile from the left side. Now, eerily, he always memorialized his friend in painting after painting, depicting his right profile, always showing the fatal wound to the temple. He depicted his friend lying in state, a martyr to love, his sharp, now lifeless profile lit by a brightly lit candle painted in the shape of a woman's sex (Picasso biographer John Richardson refers to it as an "incandescent vagina"). Even in death, Casagemas cannot escape the passion that doomed him in life.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Evocation</b></i>, by Pablo Picasso (<a href="https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/102386591500043908/">source</a>)</td></tr>
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In further paintings, Picasso wrings every ounce of drama from this tragedy, portraying his dead friend surrounded by mourners, recalling pictures of grieving disciples surrounding the body of Christ. In a poignant final funeral painting entitled <i>Evocation</i>, Picasso releases Casagemas from his anguished life and death. Casagemas' spirit, riding a white horse and embraced--one last time-- by a nude woman, ascends to Heaven while bereft mourners surround his enshrouded body.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHInUbSqcHe3UAaXerFOxHd5x5F4S734rJqYM-p0HjKmV_I0o2jArLf0UxkQbQ0w-NusIxonf8mRCOu_bZT5zT0WFwKVsV-rgbY-UWSRNZDdu4FA63vu_kQuvL2t09mVbmXkhlUSO9J-EP/s1600/paris_la-vie_lac_475x300mm.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1050" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHInUbSqcHe3UAaXerFOxHd5x5F4S734rJqYM-p0HjKmV_I0o2jArLf0UxkQbQ0w-NusIxonf8mRCOu_bZT5zT0WFwKVsV-rgbY-UWSRNZDdu4FA63vu_kQuvL2t09mVbmXkhlUSO9J-EP/s640/paris_la-vie_lac_475x300mm.jpg" width="420" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Vie, by Pablo Picasso (<a href="https://artblart.files.wordpress.com/2019/04/paris_la-vie_lac_475x300mm.jpg">source</a>)</td></tr>
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<i>Evocation</i> was the last memorial image Picasso painted of his friend, but Casagemas' likeness would reappear in later paintings, most notably in the enigmatic Blue Period masterpiece <i>La Vie</i>. In it, Casagemas and a woman embrace, in the nude, on the left. On the right, a clothed mother and child stand facing the nude lovers. Casagemas lifts his left hand and points at the mother as if in reproach. In between the two pairs, a drawing of two nude women embracing hangs above a ghostly image of a crouching single woman, also nude. The faces of each character, except the sleeping baby, are etched with sadness. The exact meaning of <i>La Vie</i> has been debated and discussed for years, but the mood is unmistakable. The painting seems to say that love--any kind of love--is inherently tragic, and that love, suffering, and womanhood go hand in hand.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgRvjzX9oEbU0i7WXaOP6IklBgNqZQDDN0qWXxevQ9EGyqp-fW3kwtgbOlxfyEU5oZtLVBQPWHGoPBwp1iDESMygrtrYgVl5U_8zHBIABVkbIuhDPJzcus8Ar7cWG426fTV69r4PqsuVU/s1600/PABLO-PICASSO-DEATH-OF-THE-HARLEQUIN.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="800" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgRvjzX9oEbU0i7WXaOP6IklBgNqZQDDN0qWXxevQ9EGyqp-fW3kwtgbOlxfyEU5oZtLVBQPWHGoPBwp1iDESMygrtrYgVl5U_8zHBIABVkbIuhDPJzcus8Ar7cWG426fTV69r4PqsuVU/s640/PABLO-PICASSO-DEATH-OF-THE-HARLEQUIN.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Death Of Harlequin</b></i>, by Picasso. The dead Harlequin is said to strongly resemble Casagemas. (<a href="https://en.artsdot.com/@@/8EWMYH-Pablo-Picasso-Death-of-the-Harlequin">source</a>)</td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-86502417815328515632019-05-12T12:07:00.021-04:002023-01-07T22:48:31.572-05:00Picasso and Women, Part One: The Dilemma of the Feminine Mystique<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pablo Picasso, photographed by Alexander Liberman (<a href="http://identicaleye.blogspot.com/2009/07/images-from-artist-in-his-studio-by.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Pablo Picasso needs no introduction. He was a genius, frighteningly inventive, and ferociously gifted. Working in an astonishing range of media, he produced over 50,000 works of art in his lifetime. He was not just extraordinarily productive; he succeeded in transforming the language of art itself. His drawings, paintings, etchings, lithographs, sculptures, ceramics, and stage designs redefined the possibilities of each medium and influenced generations of artists. Picasso's reputation as a fiery, passionate painter of strange, revolutionary pictures is exceeded perhaps only by his reputation as a womanizer. Picasso lived an infamous and complicated love life. In the course of his existence, this stocky Spaniard with the strangely magnetic eyes had two wives, half a dozen long-term mistresses, and countless affairs. He fathered four children by three different women. His artistic productivity seemed to mirror his virility, and his life and legacy simultaneously fascinate and, in the enlightened age of the #MeToo movement, horrify to this day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Artist Watching Fernande Sleeping (Meditation)</i> 1904 (<a href="https://arthive.com/pablopicasso/works/196373~The_sleeping_woman_Meditation">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Women were central to Picasso's life and work, both as subject and as inspiration. They were so important that one must examine his relationships with women in order to achieve any understanding of his work. With other artists, one can separate the artist's work from the circumstances of an artist's life, at least to a degree. In Picasso's case, this is nearly impossible; his art was fed by the people in his life, especially his closest friends, male and female. They appear as the subjects of his greatest works, and the nuances of their colorful personalities resulted in emotional and stylistic revolutions in his art. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ppY6vBFvzsVNS4QiAVLr2xFyOG2JFCArVSj2GM2km6_OJ1Sy3C332-Hdc-IBUehEmdk0ZleEu20izIf4WUUweu8mj6QwYeJz6a76AfPoAueNwjIOd5Vo9gODoQd6b47iLglREe9Nvji2/s1600/370683.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="900" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ppY6vBFvzsVNS4QiAVLr2xFyOG2JFCArVSj2GM2km6_OJ1Sy3C332-Hdc-IBUehEmdk0ZleEu20izIf4WUUweu8mj6QwYeJz6a76AfPoAueNwjIOd5Vo9gODoQd6b47iLglREe9Nvji2/s640/370683.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picasso, center, with (L-R) daughter Maya, second wife Jacqueline, and Jacqueline's daughter Catherine (<a href="https://www.anothermag.com/art-photography/10285/the-show-exploring-picassos-relationship-with-his-daughter">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Contemporary critics sometimes tend to minimize the art, and criticize Picasso the man, or at least, castigate his behavior. He is labeled many things: a misogynist, an adulterer, a manipulator and abuser of women, not without reason. After all, this was the artist who said, "Women are either goddesses or doormats." One can hardly misinterpret the misogyny in that statement. The array of personal tragedy in the lives of his companions--illnesses, breakdowns, early deaths, and suicides-- are cited as proof of his cruelty and callous behavior towards the fairer sex. Make no mistake: Pablo Picasso was often selfish, cruel, manipulative, conniving, and blind to the needs of others in his life, particularly women. Paradoxically he could also be generous, affectionate, kind, thoughtful, funny, and loving. The reality of a person's life, of course, is always complex. Nothing in Pablo Picasso's world was simple, pedestrian, or commonplace, and his life is perhaps more understandable when viewed when one takes his origins, and his era, into account. Pablo Picasso was a man of a former time, and the world into which he was born was almost unrecognizable from the one we know today. One might say that Pablo Picasso is an avatar of patriarchy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3osM9OPqx8ZbzT7w2PZc3Gx2OfK1rQZf-Saj8ASH2KQ1iqOoKpy7sAj8wv2RJsbh_H8ZeKu83TAVvEgu0_x9RRGYFZgG1Jsu6P8LfjGtfCnvIcCCRwsW4maWUnc5od7fJKuXM062g_F8I/s1600/Picasso+As+Child.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="438" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3osM9OPqx8ZbzT7w2PZc3Gx2OfK1rQZf-Saj8ASH2KQ1iqOoKpy7sAj8wv2RJsbh_H8ZeKu83TAVvEgu0_x9RRGYFZgG1Jsu6P8LfjGtfCnvIcCCRwsW4maWUnc5od7fJKuXM062g_F8I/s640/Picasso+As+Child.jpg" width="466" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picasso as a child, 1884 (<a href="https://24celebs.com/celebrity/65522-pablo-picasso.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Let us consider his birthplace: Spain. Pablo Picasso was born in the city of Malaga in 1881. In social and cultural terms, late 19th century Spain had more in common with 17th century mores and attitudes than most of its European counterparts. Spain in the 1880s was a thoroughly Catholic, patriarchal society ridden with contradictions, hypocrisies and social tensions. It was a culture where men ruled, and women were either revered or scorned, or both, sometimes simultaneously. And while the monarchy and the church may have appeared on the surface to rule Spanish society, that same society embraced another age-old tradition: that of institutionalized prostitution. Brothels flourished, and it was the customary rite for married men to visit the whorehouse, sometimes even on Sundays after mass. Male chauvinism was the norm--in fact, was admired--and men were unquestioningly granted the sanction of this flagrant double standard of behavior. Women, on the other hand, enjoyed no such privileged latitude. Their lives were defined by the dichotomy of that simple equation: women were either saints who kept their virtue intact until marriage, or they were whores. It was as stark and simple as that. Men had the power. Women lived to serve (or service) them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picasso with his sister Lola, 1889 (<a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pablo_Picasso_with_his_sister_Lola,_1889.jpg">source</a>)</td></tr>
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That is not to say that women had no power, however. Men may have ruled society, but women, especially married women with families, ruled the household. As a child, Pablo Picasso was surrounded by women: his mother, his sisters, his aunts, cousins, and servants. As the firstborn son, he played an important familial role, and the women in his family would have doted on him. In essence, he grew up with a ready-made harem at his beck and call. It was a dynamic he would recreate throughout his lifetime, with himself at the center as the patriarch, pasha, lord and master. Many men of his time did the same. They were lords of their own castles and did as they pleased. And brothels did a brisk business.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7gNGo6S9M6-bkObSroAO61hbpED4GZP3W4wh7fTZ_s1WEUBWlTNxYLvHr86CUTxx0MY-Ibs-OVgv_OFvralxE9Kbhil0BTjejdHX9c9D6eab8YQoV89Y5KcnQwcRIBR83jdWLEROgbnS/s1600/431afbf89b945bc7b0c04648010ef5a3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="467" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7gNGo6S9M6-bkObSroAO61hbpED4GZP3W4wh7fTZ_s1WEUBWlTNxYLvHr86CUTxx0MY-Ibs-OVgv_OFvralxE9Kbhil0BTjejdHX9c9D6eab8YQoV89Y5KcnQwcRIBR83jdWLEROgbnS/s640/431afbf89b945bc7b0c04648010ef5a3.jpg" width="422" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picasso at age fifteen (<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/6262886969071938/">source</a>)</td></tr>
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What may have made Picasso unique in this respect was his lack of Victorian hypocrisy, and his conviction to live his life honestly and openly. He embraced the permissive and promiscuous Bohemian milieu that he would come to dominate. This openness was captured in the intensity of his work, and in and the subjects he portrayed. Contemporaneous critics declared Picasso's work--and by extension, the artist himself-- to be demonic, blasphemous, insane, and/or immoral. It was not in Picasso's nature to be bothered with conventional or bourgeois morality. He lived his life unapologetically, warts and all. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPeSs2uRrVZH6mFeUvd-yBZVbTEgr4F0oZUPvAyxPe8FyZMFv8ipLA5YjC4Pgq2l8NujvQuXC0n0R3jd5G28bAhXuTx1A6dT_ffV2GLUhaca4BzOS2w8TQYYHhkZCjFPgHdEnbC5TPHl6/s1600/il_794xN.1311521436_4t05.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1059" data-original-width="794" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPeSs2uRrVZH6mFeUvd-yBZVbTEgr4F0oZUPvAyxPe8FyZMFv8ipLA5YjC4Pgq2l8NujvQuXC0n0R3jd5G28bAhXuTx1A6dT_ffV2GLUhaca4BzOS2w8TQYYHhkZCjFPgHdEnbC5TPHl6/s640/il_794xN.1311521436_4t05.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cover of the American edition of <i>Picasso: Creator and Destroyer</i> (<a href="https://www.etsy.com/hk-en/listing/561713925/picasso-creator-and-destroyer-by-arianna">source</a>)</td></tr>
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The risk in writing about Picasso's relationships with the women in his life is that the writer risks perpetuating well-worn stereotypes of Picasso. I cannot condone the double standard of his behavior towards women. Conversely, I do not wish to contribute to the well-hashed tropes of Picasso as sexist pig/buffoon/asshole. I refer specifically to two allegedly factual accounts of his life that distorted and sensationalized his personal life to prurient effect. The first was a biography written by Arianna Stassinopolous Huffington--yes, that Arianna Huffington--entitled <i>Picasso: Creator and Destroyer.</i> I tried reading it when it was released in 1988, and, initially found it fascinating in a cheap, titillating sort of way. It quickly became apparent, even to my 24-year-old mind, that the book was titillating and superficial. Huffington portrayed Picasso as a one-dimensional monster in a tawdry soap-opera. She sensationalized his sexual life while misunderstanding, misinterpreting, and mostly ignoring his art.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-F-N9heabWtfc6se1wCXX5iD6AA4kBS3F4oKr5Gsdi5LCHIwQV0urv-_FuFiT6UB6AxtcPZCAtHZlTqs1FwOPcrTrcrQFc-8PmFJVCOIXnfvHVdxv3vIWAc27YDlpae99g1FVgY3zXqLi/s1600/MV5BMjEyNzQzNjgyM15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwOTc2NDM5MDI%2540._V1_.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="688" data-original-width="1024" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-F-N9heabWtfc6se1wCXX5iD6AA4kBS3F4oKr5Gsdi5LCHIwQV0urv-_FuFiT6UB6AxtcPZCAtHZlTqs1FwOPcrTrcrQFc-8PmFJVCOIXnfvHVdxv3vIWAc27YDlpae99g1FVgY3zXqLi/s640/MV5BMjEyNzQzNjgyM15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwOTc2NDM5MDI%2540._V1_.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Francoise Gilot (Natasha McElhone) and Pablo Picasso (Anthony Hopkins) in <i>Surviving Picasso</i> (<a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117791/mediaviewer/rm1927756544">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Her book was said to be the basis of the movie <i>Surviving Picasso, </i>though the film actually portrayed Picasso's relationship with Francoise Gilot as she chronicled it in her book <i>Life With Picasso</i>. Unfortunately, even with a cast that includes Anthony Hopkins, Julianne Moore, and Natasha McElhone, the film is a flat, uninspired dud. Hopkins' Picasso captures some of the artist's wit and mischief, but he cannot rise above the mediocre script. The movie turns one of the great artists of the century into a one-dimensional, cartoonish, boor. Picasso's heirs refused to allow reproductions of his work to appear onscreen. Consequently, the viewer is deprived of any sense of the complexity and fascination of Picasso's art.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Two Women Running </i>(1922) (<a href="http://art-picasso.com/1920_48.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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In calling this series <i>Picasso and His Women</i>, I refer not only to the living flesh-and-blood women in his life, but to the portrayals of women in his art. As biographer John Richardson has amply illustrated in his ongoing multi-volume biography of the artist, Picasso rewrote the language of portraiture, and the visual syntax of painting. He created new visual archetypes that literally illumined and transformed the way we view humanity. He enlarged human consciousness, and gave us a new mirror in which to see ourselves. Only the greatest artists have proved capable of such transformation of perception. Pablo Picasso, for better and worse, was one such artist. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGoBsCnDRq-fLxkHHyaP4IUwKdFhgetbFldKuqrXRdlxrFk780aF42cSGfNew1qXKp09fctBwxYQ0nKF7q8HwVgwX5qu1NCV2b4XcKDvmbkqbResu-lmIJL5ntm3dkZUN4heuDXJRkICaCxRsPZt7S6nY5p_l0ZF9ou9rvEJuXEqawYU8K-AXabnHiQ/s811/102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="811" data-original-width="580" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGoBsCnDRq-fLxkHHyaP4IUwKdFhgetbFldKuqrXRdlxrFk780aF42cSGfNew1qXKp09fctBwxYQ0nKF7q8HwVgwX5qu1NCV2b4XcKDvmbkqbResu-lmIJL5ntm3dkZUN4heuDXJRkICaCxRsPZt7S6nY5p_l0ZF9ou9rvEJuXEqawYU8K-AXabnHiQ/w458-h640/102.jpg" width="458" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Portrait of Olga in an Armchair", 1917 (<a href="https://www.pablo-ruiz-picasso.net/work-102.php">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Perhaps it is best to illustrate the paradox of Picasso by letting him do it himself: in his work. The painting above is among the earliest of Picasso's many portraits of his first wife, Olga. It was painted in 1917, thear before the two were married. Picasso was deeply in love with the Russian-born ballerina, and this portrait shows Olga in all her dignified beauty. Their marriage would produce Picasso's first child, Paulo, born in 1921. After their happy early years together, the marriage began to unravel, not least due to Picasso's continued womanizing.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRE4CzTTe0PByKrB0gW1fFQDLvzan3uQKj-AMRp3GxoYkfG3_pguSlUWCu9yHhpCKPEpyXr0MI8xK5jcwKgHleXUWl9otFUjgs0FJLl3UlntKSxdLjwdSrdFWxxNwcLrQeXvrcDlwKG9KW3CxsUh3ah0KMmN2uR-rDzGKFS9a382ObJURk2Moqs3LRNw/s800/190119_jpeg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="532" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRE4CzTTe0PByKrB0gW1fFQDLvzan3uQKj-AMRp3GxoYkfG3_pguSlUWCu9yHhpCKPEpyXr0MI8xK5jcwKgHleXUWl9otFUjgs0FJLl3UlntKSxdLjwdSrdFWxxNwcLrQeXvrcDlwKG9KW3CxsUh3ah0KMmN2uR-rDzGKFS9a382ObJURk2Moqs3LRNw/w426-h640/190119_jpeg.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Large Nude in Armchair", 1929. (<a href="https://arthive.com/pablopicasso/works/196996~Nude_in_a_red_armchair">source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">In 1929, a mere 12 years after the earlier painting, Picasso depicted Olga in a far different fashion in the painting above. Any trace of the earlier portrait's love and affection are long gone, replaced by a palpable loathing and disgust. Picasso's marriage to Olga, such as it was, was essentially over, their bond having deteriorated to a permanent state of mutual antagonism and hostility. Olga's mental health, never stable to begin with, had gradually deteriorated, partly due to the leg injury that ended her ballet career, along with a series of other unnamed maladies which have never been specified. The decline of his wife's health was no doubt exacerbated by her growing awareness of Picasso's constant infidelities. The two were never divorced, since French law decreed that Picasso would have had to surrender half his assets, including the artwork in his possession, to his wife, a prospect he could not tolerate. Their marriage ended only with Olga's death in 1955.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjab-wQdvGHPmsWurp9uX9mvAf6bpi_fJJ3dy7LuL4b4L8YQH9sOiq72Z2HbgKNx19uU35iu7wyJXT7XI1F5VNjcL0VJ-K-y-A9gYXibwGbCYVD1a6ayakTHpP00ok33FeEOEfnEdgTYKk5/s1600/08da0f1ca6e4bdea5f6ee3c2e79c401d.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="876" data-original-width="470" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjab-wQdvGHPmsWurp9uX9mvAf6bpi_fJJ3dy7LuL4b4L8YQH9sOiq72Z2HbgKNx19uU35iu7wyJXT7XI1F5VNjcL0VJ-K-y-A9gYXibwGbCYVD1a6ayakTHpP00ok33FeEOEfnEdgTYKk5/s640/08da0f1ca6e4bdea5f6ee3c2e79c401d.jpg" width="342" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Seated Woman</i> (1938), by Pablo Picasso. (<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/6262886969071727/">source</a>)<br /><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I end this entry with another portrait of another, later mistress, the Argentine-born photographer Dora Maar. Again, the mood in this depiction is affectionate and tender, the drawing having been done early in their relationship. Their relationship, too would eventually cool and founder, though not to the degree that his marriage to Olga did. What is one to make of this? How can we reconcile the magnificence of the art with the personal anguish that, so often, lay behind it? Is it even possible to do so? Should we even try? I have no answers to these questions. And I cannot stop looking at Picasso's art, which has had such an enormous impact on mine. Perhaps that is the unanswerable, irreconcilable quandary of Picasso and his work. Perhaps therein lies the fascination.</div>
thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-49200870801594039412019-04-05T13:43:00.000-04:002019-05-07T22:03:02.071-04:00Like No Other: Stuart Davis, Part II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>New York Mural</i></b>, 1932 (<a href="https://www.incollect.com/articles/new-york-new-york-the-20th-century">source</a>)</td></tr>
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When Stuart Davis returned to New York City in 1929, he was 37 years old, and was starting his third decade as a professional painter. He had spent the previous two decades honing his craft, schooling himself in the rapidly evolving styles of modern painting. Beginning with the dark realism of the Ashcan School, he absorbed the styles of Van Gogh, Matisse, Munch, Picasso, and Leger to arrive at his own idiosyncratic style. After his year in Paris, the Philadelphia-born Davis returned to his adopted home city of New York ready to further refine his art into one of the singular sensibilities of 20th century American art.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-YVhixvYRgXYnr03L5PNqBxid1qS0zuHBLGB0nq-ysZNAfRkZX5Rj6TEh6jrTXpYEKv9YSabefttHaP3xWIB99ItxNR6Iyp0y_L6_743b8zNJmsMHi9bQ0vvc6pQkt9dXalKxRBB309q/s1600/32640403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="1024" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-YVhixvYRgXYnr03L5PNqBxid1qS0zuHBLGB0nq-ysZNAfRkZX5Rj6TEh6jrTXpYEKv9YSabefttHaP3xWIB99ItxNR6Iyp0y_L6_743b8zNJmsMHi9bQ0vvc6pQkt9dXalKxRBB309q/s640/32640403.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis and Roselle Springer march in the 1934 May Day parade. (<a href="https://www.harvardartmuseums.org/art/310777">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Davis returned to New York in August 1929. It was the calm before the storm. America and the rest of the world were about to experience economic catastrophe: the stock market crash in October, followed in turn by the decade-long economic cataclysm of the Great Depression. While the miseries of that time did not cause a darkening of Davis' vision, they nonetheless exerted profound pressures on his life, not the least of which was economic. He was forced to take a teaching position at the Art Students League, depriving him of precious studio time. Galvanized by the massive societal crisis at hand, Davis devoted even more of his time to intense, sustained political action. His innate social and class consciousness, jolted in response to the
all-but-total collapse of capitalism, re-emerged with a vengeance.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzSA4BeXt7M-qV3RQu5nQCtGYB2hT8feiaFnUmiWgy-72qBu3IlFylbS1VbZlOZICYmHyD3kzTxNLUQIDiFp0TZexYC-wM79qvqay3KEGxqOmpcrARObX97cIdA7Y0mNB7lwKxRmL4Hx3Z/s1600/DGUVAUUVoAA9Ird.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="885" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzSA4BeXt7M-qV3RQu5nQCtGYB2hT8feiaFnUmiWgy-72qBu3IlFylbS1VbZlOZICYmHyD3kzTxNLUQIDiFp0TZexYC-wM79qvqay3KEGxqOmpcrARObX97cIdA7Y0mNB7lwKxRmL4Hx3Z/s640/DGUVAUUVoAA9Ird.png" width="494" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--Cover Illustration for <b><i>Art Front </i></b>Magazine (<a href="https://twitter.com/austinkleon/status/893143474207432704">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Davis had always been politically and socially aware. As a young artist, he had contributed drawings to the political magazine <i>The Masses, </i>as had many of his Ashcan School colleagues. Now, as the awful magnitude of the Depression became apparent, Davis chose other avenues of political engagement. He joined the Artists's Union, enlisted in the Federal Arts Project, and helped found the American Artists Congress. He was deeply involved in the day-to-day administration of these organizations, serving as secretary to the Artists Congress, organizing meetings, attending rallies, giving speeches, and writing articles. He also became the editor of <i>Art Front</i>, the official magazine of the Artists Union, to which he contributed writing, editing, illustration, and the cover of the first issue.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbToqsDCGYuWHaPq9FnRIM6458d4525X0CYmZ1r11dohNFb6JN6RWdQ9uFs3sczXiCniYZeYJftSIqGirnc_igsDhjj7rNAs_dsWyAc9x75w1eYg9rDn6bH4tbaalRKQAzIN9L8rvnBYl7/s1600/Archives_of_American_Art_-_Stuart_Davis_-_2053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="1280" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbToqsDCGYuWHaPq9FnRIM6458d4525X0CYmZ1r11dohNFb6JN6RWdQ9uFs3sczXiCniYZeYJftSIqGirnc_igsDhjj7rNAs_dsWyAc9x75w1eYg9rDn6bH4tbaalRKQAzIN9L8rvnBYl7/s640/Archives_of_American_Art_-_Stuart_Davis_-_2053.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis working on a Federal Arts Project mural, 1939. (<a href="https://pl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stuart_Davis#/media/File:Archives_of_American_Art_-_Stuart_Davis_-_2053.jpg">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Organizing, unionizing, and protest marching not only provided an outlet for his progressive social ideals; they also put him at the middle of the creative cauldron that was the 1930s New York art scene. Political and social upheaval often go hand in hand with artistic fervor. New York, particularly Greenwich Village was a textbook example. A new generation of artists was living in the Village's crazy-quilt zig zag streets. Stuart Davis counted Arshile Gorky, Willem de Kooning, Jackson Pollock, Lee Krasner, and Milton Resnick among his friends and neighbors. Already bound together by art and by temperament, they were further bound by economic hardship, which was relieved for a time when most of them joined the Federal Arts Project. The Project, as it was known, futher solidified the group of American artists who would one day make New York City the world art capital. However, that was years away.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22CdNKBtg1s1jdfW2qB1HS1FKLO5kM2C-N0tI9mAG_GL1uVJsJdyrJLLkFV3EQXmqbwneTjyVAR9GDQmhuKIdbV7E7Q9ntwTt2DPAuYht-dUEkJg5_D365BLzH7kbe5uGVo2QQGQxSSgg/s1600/Stuart-Davis-Summer-Landscape.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="800" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22CdNKBtg1s1jdfW2qB1HS1FKLO5kM2C-N0tI9mAG_GL1uVJsJdyrJLLkFV3EQXmqbwneTjyVAR9GDQmhuKIdbV7E7Q9ntwTt2DPAuYht-dUEkJg5_D365BLzH7kbe5uGVo2QQGQxSSgg/s640/Stuart-Davis-Summer-Landscape.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<i><b>Summer Landscape</b></i>, 1930 (<a href="https://en.wahooart.com/@@/8LT7YS-Stuart-Davis-Summer-Landscape">source</a>)</td></tr>
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A lively and contentious topic of debate in Davis's milieu was the artist's proper role in times of political turmoil. Should the artist struggle for a better world inside the studio, or outside of it, in the streets? While Davis focused on the politics of street-level action during the Thirties, he kept his painting and his politics separate. In his words, "Art is not politics nor is it the servant of politics. It is a valid independent category of human activity." Art was too important to let it be sullied as a tool of propaganda. To Davis, his paintings were a kind of reordered reality, as alive and as vital as the scenery which inspired it. He remained committed to making art, even in the midst of his myriad political activities. He maintained a regular studio schedule, refining the advances he had made in Paris.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7pNT4m_KkVboqCZAS4s86kop938t-cgkWpb9YxSgYp3S239MJ9BmqNogTZvdJvDvjPJKpH51oS78N0PqFi2FpOLZdvlAkhqQzeKWXQcC65ACWV_fvDsGXlgkLUG1y1_nkIlJ8GsOdfLw/s1600/stuart-davis-bg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1440" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7pNT4m_KkVboqCZAS4s86kop938t-cgkWpb9YxSgYp3S239MJ9BmqNogTZvdJvDvjPJKpH51oS78N0PqFi2FpOLZdvlAkhqQzeKWXQcC65ACWV_fvDsGXlgkLUG1y1_nkIlJ8GsOdfLw/s640/stuart-davis-bg.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<i><b>Garage Lights</b></i>, 1932. (<a href="http://delagar.blogspot.com/2017/12/friday-links-and-stuart-davis.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Landscapes, whether seaside, rural, or urban, remained a key subject in Davis's work. The other was the still life. During the next two decades, Davis developed a painting language that was far head of its time. Retaining the flat planes and bright color of his year in Paris, Davis adapted his style to the grander, grittier scale of modern New York. The city provided an endless parade of subjects. He once listed many of the <b><i>"things which have made me want to paint, outside of other paintings: </i></b><br />
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<i>"American wood and iron work of the past; Civil War and skyscraper architecture; the brilliant colors on gasoline stations; chainstore fronts and taxi-cabs; the music of Bach; synthetic chemistry; the poetry of Rimbaud; fast travel by train, auto, and aeroplanes which brought new and multiple perspectives; electric signs; the landscape and boats of Gloucester, Mass.; 5 and 10 cent store kitchen utensils; movies and radio; hot piano and Negro jazz music in general, etc."</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--House and Street (1931) (<a href="https://curiator.com/art/stuart-davis/house-and-street">source</a>)</td></tr>
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In Paris, Davis had stepped back from the realm of pure abstraction that he'd explored in the <i>Eggbeater</i> series, depicting recognizable scenes and objects, albeit through an intensified modernist lens. When he returned to New York, he continued this approach to composition, but he changed his palette, employing greater contrast and brilliance in his tones and colors. The lighter, brighter gaiety of his Paris work no doubt reflected his feelings for that city's beauty. Paris, he once said, was built on a human-size scale. New York represented something else: skyscrapers, fast-paced rhythm, non-stop spectacle, and 24-hour-a-day intensity. It was a city that dwarfed the people who lived in it. Davis's work inevitably reflected the concentrated furor of living in the Big Apple.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpmCsoSBDy8kXVNz3sp-jfCd7dm6bnhSubjGRbecdVsmvewe5risjmDzCcSseln6X4BlF6nHfu_kHyjXQjjKiMz2k-oe4hwO0rqPw0LAcCUU3ewzOgpj7aeq6SKdGvE16Up9PEM4fETbXm/s1600/cri_000000161297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1004" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpmCsoSBDy8kXVNz3sp-jfCd7dm6bnhSubjGRbecdVsmvewe5risjmDzCcSseln6X4BlF6nHfu_kHyjXQjjKiMz2k-oe4hwO0rqPw0LAcCUU3ewzOgpj7aeq6SKdGvE16Up9PEM4fETbXm/s640/cri_000000161297.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Men Without Women</i></b> (1932) (<a href="https://www.moma.org/collection/works/80650">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Much of his income--aside from his time on the Federal Arts Project--came from teaching jobs. However, he began to receive commissions, notably one from the interior decorator of Radio City Music Hall. The result, Davis's monumental painting <i>Men Without Women,</i> graced Radio city's lobby for nearly forty years before taking up residence at its current location, the Museum of Modern Art. The 10-foot-by-16-foot painting represents a major artistic evolution for Davis. Its grand scale, condensed imagery, clean lines, flat planes, and simplified graphic imagery, displayed in such a prominent, public space, solidified Davis's name and reputation among a larger audience as an American modernist of the first rank.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraEgkeY-ZHyg4HWUS8yEi9zhvtaIYk8Y8Lx3I99s0WOAzhlQZmnqlUmh1Zw1dD37V1oK7ky9JhzSS8HPgk1s5IhVHlWd9DhiqApVtkqHNSxHUxHilYcQnWX7jfO2gEHWq1n0Eu9ooGOtq/s1600/85262f518d32ea8a539e53d75122b93d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraEgkeY-ZHyg4HWUS8yEi9zhvtaIYk8Y8Lx3I99s0WOAzhlQZmnqlUmh1Zw1dD37V1oK7ky9JhzSS8HPgk1s5IhVHlWd9DhiqApVtkqHNSxHUxHilYcQnWX7jfO2gEHWq1n0Eu9ooGOtq/s640/85262f518d32ea8a539e53d75122b93d.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Men Without Women</i> in situ, Radio City Music Hall (<a href="https://www.rockefellercenter.com/blog/2016/08/30/stuart-davis-whitney/">source</a>)</td></tr>
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The mural's colors may have dulled with time (along with likely long-term exposure to cigarette smoke), but the work still stands as a testament to Davis's evolving vision and talent. Other murals and mural-size works followed, wherein Davis further condensed the imagery and pictorial space into dense, tightly packed constructions of geometry and bold color. His paintings once more verged on the realm of pure abstraction. Objects were abbreviated and compressed, lettering and text became larger and bolder, and colors brightened to the point of electric intensity.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwaATquqfiFQ-NJWzM-1t4SL0jXjLJhA_NSGb0Fd-dyawrsejMhyphenhyphenSORKjXCpNWzw8r8uOdfmHJtqvkE_YHr5fL_zPuNpMhvkvhzZt8dx8zT-BBqT-biBqDBTb3bGOCmiujLIX5urXd4Si/s1600/Swing_Landscape.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="800" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwaATquqfiFQ-NJWzM-1t4SL0jXjLJhA_NSGb0Fd-dyawrsejMhyphenhyphenSORKjXCpNWzw8r8uOdfmHJtqvkE_YHr5fL_zPuNpMhvkvhzZt8dx8zT-BBqT-biBqDBTb3bGOCmiujLIX5urXd4Si/s640/Swing_Landscape.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Swing Landscape</i></b> (1938) (<a href="https://theartstack.com/artist/stuart-davis/swing-landscape">source</a>)</td></tr>
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During Davis's last two decades, he was a dynamo of invention and productivity. He referred back to the sharply angled rhythms of his Egg Beater paintings. This time around, he packed the formerly spare Cubist grids with sharper colors, visual accents, counter-rhythms, and stylized text that created pictures full of pulsating energy and jumpy syncopation. His paintings became visual expressions of the jazz music he loved. Even his titles: <i>Owh! in San Pao</i>, <i>Something on the 8 Ball</i>, and <i>The Mellow Pad</i>, hint at the hipster sensibility and wiseacre irreverence of American slang and popular culture.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnxyRMM7xhCX9aiJ_n9dkEBP2aUXi4dQPDvSUD997Jy40NZC7DN5GzI5sKsKrLjyilF818ATjr6DDFSh3B7p9V7ByPFaCtqD9XnoMpfSaBpdVC_0lkBOhVOV0-hPEVJLod60dbWWDsxQp/s1600/report-from-rockport-1940.jpg%2521Large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="749" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnxyRMM7xhCX9aiJ_n9dkEBP2aUXi4dQPDvSUD997Jy40NZC7DN5GzI5sKsKrLjyilF818ATjr6DDFSh3B7p9V7ByPFaCtqD9XnoMpfSaBpdVC_0lkBOhVOV0-hPEVJLod60dbWWDsxQp/s640/report-from-rockport-1940.jpg%2521Large.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Report From Rockport</i></b> (1940) (<a href="https://www.wikiart.org/en/stuart-davis/report-from-rockport-1940">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Ironically, while Davis's work pushed the sharp-edged, brightly-colored flattened late-Cubist aesthetic to the limit, his younger contemporaries pursued a very different path. Abstract Expressionism was becoming the dominant style of younger postwar American artists. Influenced by Surrealism, automatism, and existentialism, entranced by the sensuality and spontaneity of improvisational mark-making, and suffused in the postwar gloom of the Holocaust and the atom bomb, painters like Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, and Arshile Gorky broke free of the grip of the objective visual world and turned inward, expressing the angst of the nuclear age in epic, mural-sized canvases. While they respected Davis as a trailblazer and elder statesman, they were a different generation shaped more intensely by the turbulence of the 1930s and '40s. Their formative years had been rocked by the Depression, and by the war, in a way that Davis was not and couldn't have been.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7VQmSpiTXganDjxr6ZoDU2GI3mpycbApEPA38cPpy5VBln4ief-9um3oo4rPNitC-PsYBZwWGT7kXsDlAqahPyXz2G0JqJ2ZQkRvm5fZovzmdxZE-NOSQUB0rIDyQdJX5MnBEruAP5QS/s1600/rapt_at_rappaports.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1048" data-original-width="801" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7VQmSpiTXganDjxr6ZoDU2GI3mpycbApEPA38cPpy5VBln4ief-9um3oo4rPNitC-PsYBZwWGT7kXsDlAqahPyXz2G0JqJ2ZQkRvm5fZovzmdxZE-NOSQUB0rIDyQdJX5MnBEruAP5QS/s640/rapt_at_rappaports.jpg" width="488" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Rapt At Rappaport's </i></b>(1951-52) (<a href="http://www.acamedia.info/photos/residence/rapt_at_rappaports.htm">source</a>)</td></tr>
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However, an even younger generation was watching, absorbing, and waiting. As the uneasy peace of the late 1940s morphed into the relative stability and consumer-driven opulence of the 1950s, younger artists used advertising imagery and pop-culture references to create art that echoed Davis's colorful, colloquial sensibility and clean technique. However, their brand of zaniness, tinged with more than a touch of acidic irony, differed markedly from Davis's idealistic and romantic energy and optimism. The new style, soon to be christened Pop Art, was as coolly removed from the physical world as Davis's work was intensely engaged with nature, and with the object. Ignoring the shifting winds of style and fashion, Davis continued mapping his own way, and painted--literally--to the end of his life. On the evening of June 23, 1964, he added the French word <i>Fin</i>--meaning " the end"--to what would be his last painting. It was almost as though he knew his life's work had reached its course. Stuart Davis died the next day, June 24, 1964, of a stroke. He was 71 years old.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7fTOTtSBADf47GebaOunjDiD0bsaAfo0Q-YfBeONlrnOA6mB92rISB5rqMkO7_7Ocw4T3uXypiDPWHT97-Yvkg78i5Q9Lq3LgCuyP4w5DtoueAuuNuFFIwwW1N6lge_c0vQS0YwsKAX5/s1600/fin_1962-64_private_collection_1140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1560" data-original-width="1140" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7fTOTtSBADf47GebaOunjDiD0bsaAfo0Q-YfBeONlrnOA6mB92rISB5rqMkO7_7Ocw4T3uXypiDPWHT97-Yvkg78i5Q9Lq3LgCuyP4w5DtoueAuuNuFFIwwW1N6lge_c0vQS0YwsKAX5/s640/fin_1962-64_private_collection_1140.jpg" width="467" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Fin (Last Painting)</i></b>, 1964 (<a href="http://www.twocoatsofpaint.com/2016/08/stuart-davis-the-last-painting.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-78486623078015638442019-03-09T14:11:00.005-05:002019-03-09T15:42:03.814-05:00Like No Other: Stuart Davis, Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis in his studio in 1947, photographed by Ralph Morse for Life Magazine. (<a href="http://images.google.com/hosted/life/9fb707df7a794a50.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Stuart Davis did not look like an artist. Or, rather, Stuart Davis didn't look like the "typical" bohemian artist. In the popular imagination, bohemian artists were thought to be tall, gaunt, bearded, brooding, tormented, erratic, and melancholy. If Davis's friend Arshile Gorky embodied the bohemian stereotype, Davis resembled its diametric opposite: the Everyman. He had a round, bright-eyed face that shone with intelligence and wit and wore a mischievous look. He was a savvy New Yorker with street smarts, always ready with the snappy wisecrack. People seeing Davis at first might have assumed he belonged to a more mundane profession: a bartender, perhaps, or maybe a barber. They probably didn't realize he was a painter, and a <i>modern </i>painter at that. They certainly had no way of knowing that Stuart Davis was one of the most original, iconoclastic, unique artists America has ever produced.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNVQbH2cfViF2i_8GTNeVQZEL8HYVn46yKnHzzXnEJKRsxhydfWKE3-AXm2nx0DjsSGh7LLHXE427vgRUSEo1WJJ_6E2aH_xMn15Umjd6Ewun1ddDNU5WqbRNyhBgmBy6bo5OLOfIlCdAU/s1600/img-stuart-davis-6_133904367712.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="779" data-original-width="1000" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNVQbH2cfViF2i_8GTNeVQZEL8HYVn46yKnHzzXnEJKRsxhydfWKE3-AXm2nx0DjsSGh7LLHXE427vgRUSEo1WJJ_6E2aH_xMn15Umjd6Ewun1ddDNU5WqbRNyhBgmBy6bo5OLOfIlCdAU/s640/img-stuart-davis-6_133904367712.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis: <i><b>Hot Still-Scape For Six Colors</b></i> (1940) (<a href="http://educators.mfa.org/americas/hot-still-scape-six-colors-%E2%80%94-7th-avenue-style-21259">source</a>)</td></tr>
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This is not hyperbole. No American artist before or since created art that looks anything like Davis' work. He combined cubist space and rhythm, bright color, and other disparate sources--signage, advertising, packaging, commercial logos, industrial architecture, text, and American slang--to create a vibrant predecessor to the Pop art of the late 1950s--a kind of proto-Pop. Long before the Abstract Expressionist movement made New York City the world's art capital, long before Pop Art "dethroned" Abstract Expressionism, Stuart Davis and a small community--a very, <i>very</i> small community indeed-- of avant-garde artists were creating advanced art that laid the groundwork for the triumph of American painting in the Fifties.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTANFfo9m8P3_1Jy8yf12BrWQDQMKERc2c7o9Mf8xFJxvUSec97bWJcWlLYpHQQpors8jM4zBd70xvRNGcj6LDfJ84ibuwM6chwVi4K0ONyAT09tobdNdaF92nSop1V-5IPd8rCmpp8rg6/s1600/robert-henri-1865-1929-the-american-everett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="674" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTANFfo9m8P3_1Jy8yf12BrWQDQMKERc2c7o9Mf8xFJxvUSec97bWJcWlLYpHQQpors8jM4zBd70xvRNGcj6LDfJ84ibuwM6chwVi4K0ONyAT09tobdNdaF92nSop1V-5IPd8rCmpp8rg6/s640/robert-henri-1865-1929-the-american-everett.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Davis' teacher Robert Henri, photographed by Gertrude Kasebier in 1900 (<a href="https://pixels.com/featured/robert-henri-1865-1929-the-american-everett.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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For years--decades, actually--the American art world was considered Europe's inferior backwards country-bumpkin cousin: provincial, imitative, unoriginal. Europe, and particularly France, was where art history lived and where masterpieces were made. Renaissance art was the standard against which all other subsequent styles were judged. Baroque, Neo-Classicism, Realism, and Impressionism each established in turn what art could and ought to be. American artists could only imitate. This was the art scene that greeted Davis in 1892 when he was born in Philadelphia. His parents were both trained artists. His father worked as an arts journalist, and his mother was a sculptor. Their backgrounds made Stuart Davis's childhood a breeding ground for aesthetic savvy. It comes as no surprise to learn that his parents enthusiastically encouraged their talented, precocious 17-year-old son Stuart to go to New York City to study art. In 1909, New York City was where the action--such as it was, at least on this side of the Atlantic-- existed. True to his rebellious, iconoclastic character, Davis chose to study with upstart teacher, painter and Ashcan School leader Robert Henri.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg288Kg2P8nFIKVPlupP45tjBoguolTroBGsCL7kU9Qs-a6HQzbnnA8p_65OMXagaQeWba-hao3PXkZhvM4mwLl09yvpO4SHZkD0Vxe3u-eDlnlle7dur6Z1Ns8_xOY0hK23Whq_HV6eR6Y/s1600/stuartdavistenementscene1912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="768" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg288Kg2P8nFIKVPlupP45tjBoguolTroBGsCL7kU9Qs-a6HQzbnnA8p_65OMXagaQeWba-hao3PXkZhvM4mwLl09yvpO4SHZkD0Vxe3u-eDlnlle7dur6Z1Ns8_xOY0hK23Whq_HV6eR6Y/s640/stuartdavistenementscene1912.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Tenement Scene</i></b> (1912) (<a href="https://ephemeralnewyork.wordpress.com/tag/stuart-davis-early-work/">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Davis's choice of school and teacher is very telling. Henri and his Ashcan School compatriots (so-called because they eschewed polished academic painting for rougher, lower-class urban subjects) were themselves rebels. Established American artists like William Merritt Chase and John Singer Sargent lived abroad and worked in a polished Impressionist style. The Ashcan School painters--Robert Henri, John Sloan, George Luks, William Glackens, George Bellows, and Everett Shinn, to name a few--chose the big, bad grimy city and its less-polished denizens as their subject. They painted dirt, soot, poverty, and city-slum squalor, and dared to call it beautiful. Their realism didn't look away from the underbelly of the Gilded Age. Their literary cohorts were Upton Sinclair, Theodore Dreiser, and Jack London, who also depicted lives lived on the far edges of "respectable" society, challenging the Puritan repression and hypocrisy prevalent in late 19th-century America.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9O5A7KOMi4MmqCOU1Je1DOPpMij4_WvJAsWXhxcN-lKcob-IH376LbMudGZiNEqUBvcMzNy_rIWCKH_RiIEVLS0WEpbAhN656IuL-hlNJHXxPfpgKrxtLtJgLcDLoiVCNUqPcWRK_SpTx/s1600/begley-cu0234-armory-main-tease.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9O5A7KOMi4MmqCOU1Je1DOPpMij4_WvJAsWXhxcN-lKcob-IH376LbMudGZiNEqUBvcMzNy_rIWCKH_RiIEVLS0WEpbAhN656IuL-hlNJHXxPfpgKrxtLtJgLcDLoiVCNUqPcWRK_SpTx/s640/begley-cu0234-armory-main-tease.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Armory Show, 1913 (<a href="https://www.newsweek.com/2013/09/27/armory-show-100-how-1913-exhibit-changed-art-world-badge-art-238034.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Stuart Davis showed precocious talent, and his Ashcan-style work is as assured and unsentimental as that of his older colleagues and teacher. By 1913, after four years of arduous study and constant work, he was one of the youngest artists to submit five watercolors to the International Exhibition of Modern Art, held at the enormous 69th Regiment Armory in lower Manhattan. The Armory Show, as it came to be known, brought American viewers face to face with actual paintings--not reproductions-- by Henri Matisse, Vincent Van Gogh, and Pablo Picasso. The effect on American artists was electric. It must have been daunting indeed for Americans to see their work side by side with the already legendary names of European art. Davis himself was awestruck, calling it "...the greatest single influence I have experienced in my work.". After the Armory Show, he never looked back.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_yrsFfY4_7_1eXPz_pN-xfRGLOIdbO6bNp3dNgxZ8M6FaveOsPEJlxzEVImRs3zoYMaQuQ8PILLviEWf4dOoN2Sdcu7tdpggNx8yL3Kr92iA1a8cmX45IrfBq5m33TiaLIP-w8AXCG5FK/s1600/3052931259_009ebf88f3_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="812" data-original-width="1024" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_yrsFfY4_7_1eXPz_pN-xfRGLOIdbO6bNp3dNgxZ8M6FaveOsPEJlxzEVImRs3zoYMaQuQ8PILLviEWf4dOoN2Sdcu7tdpggNx8yL3Kr92iA1a8cmX45IrfBq5m33TiaLIP-w8AXCG5FK/s640/3052931259_009ebf88f3_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Gloucester Landscape</i></b> (1919) (<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tomsaint/3052931259">source</a>)</td></tr>
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The first, and most immediate influences on his painting was the work of three artists: Vincent Van Gogh, Paul Gauguin, and Edvard Munch. Davis's paintings adopted the same emphatic, bold brushwork as the Dutchman, the bright, vibrant color of the Frenchman, and the dramatic shapes and jagged, dramatically-stylized compositions of the Norwegian. Growing rapidly and absorbing the revelations from the Armory, Davis incorporated Fauvism, adopting Matisse's lush color harmonies, flat surfaces, and simplified notations. He traveled to New Mexico, whose brilliant light-and-color-saturated landscapes were the ideal fodder for Davis's growing modernist sensibility. Finally, Davis schooled himself in the revolutionary space of Cubism.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjybR1G7iIT74hb70_7wneXp0lIbVW_2HjlxiPUEdZ9vbqKLgjOL6iwLywJidyXlebk2g0IHZXRDED6zMzDsx2qui0s9DvD4Woxm0vYVz64UrKqaOLNo9NHP9x4YtOow892wKOPS6laOJP_/s1600/2003.02.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1026" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjybR1G7iIT74hb70_7wneXp0lIbVW_2HjlxiPUEdZ9vbqKLgjOL6iwLywJidyXlebk2g0IHZXRDED6zMzDsx2qui0s9DvD4Woxm0vYVz64UrKqaOLNo9NHP9x4YtOow892wKOPS6laOJP_/s640/2003.02.01.jpg" width="410" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Still Life With Dial</i></b> (1922) (<a href="https://www.vilcek.org/collections/american-modernism/american-modernism-featured/still-life-with-dial.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Cubism, particularly its fractured planes, geometric form and flattened space, gave Davis the means to break free of the rules of representational painting, and launch himself, and American art, into brand-new territory. From this point on, Davis made art that looked like no one else's. Using kitchen utensils, city architecture, newsprint, advertising slogans, tobacco packaging as source materials and visual cues, Davis assembled them into radically flattened, brightly colored compositions enlivened by intensely jumpy visual rhythms that echoed the urban rhythms and jazz music that Davis loved.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGSRmF2x8GqjLFZKBU6NsSY3Mb-uytMYffQxyLgpBJtFCq5Du2PfY3RbdvME7RiMjQb-KyrYwvC8GlIfaSbIXDaeEafcO3HmsiBo5oM_7Pap5Iha8Fn6Lkk_TVCfv1MTlPWS5iMHqWoqS/s1600/F.LuckyStrike.Davis_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="900" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGSRmF2x8GqjLFZKBU6NsSY3Mb-uytMYffQxyLgpBJtFCq5Du2PfY3RbdvME7RiMjQb-KyrYwvC8GlIfaSbIXDaeEafcO3HmsiBo5oM_7Pap5Iha8Fn6Lkk_TVCfv1MTlPWS5iMHqWoqS/s640/F.LuckyStrike.Davis_.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Lucky Strike</i></b> (1924) (<a href="https://creativepro.com/typetalk-stuart-davis-and-his-love-of-letterforms/">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Restlessly inventive, Davis did not stop there. He continued to push the envelope. The pace of his artistic growth was--and still is--astonishing to behold. Forms bent and contorted, space flattened, and color brightened to mostly primary colors. Finally, in a series of four paintings based on a still life composed of a fan, a rubber glove, and egg beater nailed to a table, Davis distilled his still life arrangement down to its bare-bones essence. For a year, he revised, edited, painted over, and simplified the composition until he had reduced the image into the realm of pure geometric abstraction.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf7O8yXOa6lOn21oal9XyD335-f2Z-0MQzUSL_FIAscV-YsWN8vIU2J_bzrRKPmSqOP47i6wS95vTHSbQ-q_Z1IASLdbdZy2V-KjNJBI6RxYirTY9fT3_AsPAhAJjhvSF3ByOZNAnA2c9X/s1600/160620_r28304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="1023" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf7O8yXOa6lOn21oal9XyD335-f2Z-0MQzUSL_FIAscV-YsWN8vIU2J_bzrRKPmSqOP47i6wS95vTHSbQ-q_Z1IASLdbdZy2V-KjNJBI6RxYirTY9fT3_AsPAhAJjhvSF3ByOZNAnA2c9X/s640/160620_r28304.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<b><i>Egg Beater No. 4</i></b> (<a href="https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/06/20/stuart-davis-modern-man">source</a>)</td></tr>
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The resulting Egg Beater series are a revelation. Each of the paintings, from which all trace of recognizable imagery has been removed, have a taut, coiled-spring visual rhythm that enlivens the flat surface with energy and tension. Each composition looks as solid and stable as a dovetail joint, yet the appearance of solidity is deceptive. Each element of the painting is as essential as a load-bearing wall in a building--remove it, and the composition falls apart. With these paintings, Davis had found the basis of what would become his trademark style. Having reached an important crossroads in his work, Davis decided he was ready to visit Europe in person. Funded by the proceeds of the sale of two paintings, in 1928 Stuart Davis went to Paris.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RSzCOd2p9fP7wYEU37bmw9eMkD7xN6qpyPV7BKryZRPl9NteDKmVjlkPmJAL8KmWzo0rh7JDN4wR5gkH268LBiDZcGOrvFyPGO16nGhcvnXQIjlBIQwUvoQDgFecRjjeFOHmH6PgdWQM/s1600/ced54185376f962bcfbadd2c43185fff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="983" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RSzCOd2p9fP7wYEU37bmw9eMkD7xN6qpyPV7BKryZRPl9NteDKmVjlkPmJAL8KmWzo0rh7JDN4wR5gkH268LBiDZcGOrvFyPGO16nGhcvnXQIjlBIQwUvoQDgFecRjjeFOHmH6PgdWQM/s640/ced54185376f962bcfbadd2c43185fff.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--<i><b>Place Pasdeloup</b></i>, 1928. (<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/656329345664550217/?lp=true">source</a>)</td></tr>
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Between the wars, the City of Light was at its cultural and artistic height, and artists flocked there from all over the globe. To artists and art lovers, collectors, and the culturally minded, Paris was their Mecca. Davis was no different. He stayed there a year and feasted on the visual beauty of the city. True to his rigorous work ethic, he was ferociously productive. While in Paris, he utilized the flatness and rhythm of the Egg Beater series to depict the evocative, picturesque architecture and local scenery of Paris in his own unique way. His Paris pictures radiate a sense of joy and playfulness, built on their flat, bright color harmonies and compacted space. He was rewriting the pictorial language of the visible world, making the paintings themselves as dense and "real" as the city that inspired them. When he returned to New York City in 1929, he was ready to remake the Big Apple in his own image.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKUg8qohpJ9OpIktTUm23laJHbmKtLv_m7TEbv4KX8oqlO6FwyeFsDxKGDbJ-yzNfR2V0Zbz8eYex_g0w9DBkizrNsNgiWj7ns_IvGMPa-A0XNSqrH-B6e6cfs7ru6N2P2cGlW5NbmHNZ/s1600/nga-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="956" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKUg8qohpJ9OpIktTUm23laJHbmKtLv_m7TEbv4KX8oqlO6FwyeFsDxKGDbJ-yzNfR2V0Zbz8eYex_g0w9DBkizrNsNgiWj7ns_IvGMPa-A0XNSqrH-B6e6cfs7ru6N2P2cGlW5NbmHNZ/s640/nga-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Davis--Place des Vosges No. 2, 1928 (<a href="http://artdaily.com/index.asp?int_sec=11&int_new=91831#.XIQPPrhOmM9">source</a>)</td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-58389735418302571552018-11-30T21:21:00.000-05:002018-11-30T21:23:32.199-05:00"Put Paint On and Let Paint Do The Talking": Milton Resnick On Film<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/euFTYZ93XFk" width="560"></iframe><br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/p8wy6gZf9B8" width="560"></iframe>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-42744901527087823422018-04-21T18:07:00.000-04:002018-04-21T18:07:01.497-04:00A Body of Work: Abstract Paintings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYTmxKeOLUVMmfKFXN8yRejLuOaq04Pur_-_rMdIVqMHiBvhjaQxb1Dn0lmuO1m1AszRqpgut5Dp7CunjIyfVw3YB6kPo2vN6PPAAIoUgcKBjapndnOd76vmBo9Ze27u07bO6ABU2K5FIF/s1600/Tapestry+Copyright+Print.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1230" data-original-width="1223" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYTmxKeOLUVMmfKFXN8yRejLuOaq04Pur_-_rMdIVqMHiBvhjaQxb1Dn0lmuO1m1AszRqpgut5Dp7CunjIyfVw3YB6kPo2vN6PPAAIoUgcKBjapndnOd76vmBo9Ze27u07bO6ABU2K5FIF/s640/Tapestry+Copyright+Print.jpg" width="636" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Tapestry</i></b>, oil on canvas. 48" x 48"</td></tr>
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I have posted some of these paintings before while they were in progress. Here they are as a (hopefully) cohesive body of finished paintings, Enjoy!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1u0Cb7KXEC7L-2kDS_YksTY4WjdwINuALEBvXe5fVa1GS1zRKF8QryPrTw62zNsM7r5ioxtqopnlXF9JEtHZb8q6-Hq8SL9gY-p7ifD5vcz_7mstsJ963JIHksQe1WX9v_Rcqfr54VPYg/s1600/Neon+Cosmos+Copyright+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1204" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1u0Cb7KXEC7L-2kDS_YksTY4WjdwINuALEBvXe5fVa1GS1zRKF8QryPrTw62zNsM7r5ioxtqopnlXF9JEtHZb8q6-Hq8SL9gY-p7ifD5vcz_7mstsJ963JIHksQe1WX9v_Rcqfr54VPYg/s640/Neon+Cosmos+Copyright+2017.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Neon Cosmos</i></b>, oil on canvas. 32" x 40"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWLaeIJD7SpPFoPaDOYe0w32e4TSRcgGTGOgH4L7vh0_wKM9SIQPcHX14sHd4wPXe7Bdn0FFtiDf30g-Abu2OLvcm-NcMqbTFtwMcq60IEwIQOGDfNKyzMmiWh6ceBb96A-EuuXpfQi4oK/s1600/Arcade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1204" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWLaeIJD7SpPFoPaDOYe0w32e4TSRcgGTGOgH4L7vh0_wKM9SIQPcHX14sHd4wPXe7Bdn0FFtiDf30g-Abu2OLvcm-NcMqbTFtwMcq60IEwIQOGDfNKyzMmiWh6ceBb96A-EuuXpfQi4oK/s640/Arcade.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Arcadia</i></b>, oil and acrylic on paper, mounted on canvas. 22" x 30".</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnwaG8RMQOZsSrTnc8d5DqDuSCdNTiMdJ6tYnVSp4A27bzVTkYJsCMqRowA1cnHLV_yL2nRp5BN_D1eG-EBY17QMxnCmSnKmr81Qf5LAXFz00taKMFmNahYCmduDZMQk4Ew1El5PZNSln/s1600/Six+Ways+Copyright+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="1139" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnwaG8RMQOZsSrTnc8d5DqDuSCdNTiMdJ6tYnVSp4A27bzVTkYJsCMqRowA1cnHLV_yL2nRp5BN_D1eG-EBY17QMxnCmSnKmr81Qf5LAXFz00taKMFmNahYCmduDZMQk4Ew1El5PZNSln/s640/Six+Ways+Copyright+2017.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Six Ways Of Sunday</i></b>, oil on canvas. 36" x 48"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExNcbOHmO2Fbn2FpYYOOzSOKZAT1OQPEOqeTB6oPgVsuuRFYJZeWzX2MqPUdCUe_0aB4j9Ll_1ecnkmfYj5y_et76IylI__MvoxvzO2atfjl79EoKCAOkCBmkD3XHp6_3HBTieBXCjMl4/s1600/Free+For+All+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1383" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExNcbOHmO2Fbn2FpYYOOzSOKZAT1OQPEOqeTB6oPgVsuuRFYJZeWzX2MqPUdCUe_0aB4j9Ll_1ecnkmfYj5y_et76IylI__MvoxvzO2atfjl79EoKCAOkCBmkD3XHp6_3HBTieBXCjMl4/s640/Free+For+All+Copyright.jpg" width="552" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Free-For-All</i></b>, oil on canvas. 32" x 38"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AMVtev5ODfRN2qPFmaVeAl5LJZBQkdC7NfcS6gl276FI0ZkbOFWILtYvA2T2DR9R-hrYjDWQ6gCRiE-qxWo81MXwKoHE0NnZNU37GrntxXVgijrKOP8zHhNHh5BBKaYmc07fI1GR6Ipt/s1600/Oracle+Copyright+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1287" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AMVtev5ODfRN2qPFmaVeAl5LJZBQkdC7NfcS6gl276FI0ZkbOFWILtYvA2T2DR9R-hrYjDWQ6gCRiE-qxWo81MXwKoHE0NnZNU37GrntxXVgijrKOP8zHhNHh5BBKaYmc07fI1GR6Ipt/s640/Oracle+Copyright+2017.jpg" width="514" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Oracle</i></b>, oil on canvas. 34" x 40"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWP6I_JLLkl2aOz7hbUy1bZ59sNtCJPHKPln8hN9rz-DAXJb7BVYPEP7WF5bGds9cljS1IfbbqM4FKg9kgPwDFeD5zcGuw2upXkjONMrQRvq8t3qO8XjvxBWdjc_dOkReForueiJJVKTz/s1600/Event+Horizon+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1190" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWP6I_JLLkl2aOz7hbUy1bZ59sNtCJPHKPln8hN9rz-DAXJb7BVYPEP7WF5bGds9cljS1IfbbqM4FKg9kgPwDFeD5zcGuw2upXkjONMrQRvq8t3qO8XjvxBWdjc_dOkReForueiJJVKTz/s640/Event+Horizon+Copyright.jpg" width="474" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Event Horizon</i></b>, oil and acrylic on paper, mounted on canvas. 22" x 30".</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8tb0-is4HUn0X1Vsc9DBNAcQTnsWtfQ8FlsWx3322X2zl10KnsUTy8cyRoa4eyCXEnG6dPLjeo7Nbq-WRzN_83fJCfH6xxBs2DnzN1WwwHGTg0R9B11fY7tqx4oT3QmitbeaJ3Sc31jfj/s1600/Treasure+House+Print.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1124" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8tb0-is4HUn0X1Vsc9DBNAcQTnsWtfQ8FlsWx3322X2zl10KnsUTy8cyRoa4eyCXEnG6dPLjeo7Nbq-WRzN_83fJCfH6xxBs2DnzN1WwwHGTg0R9B11fY7tqx4oT3QmitbeaJ3Sc31jfj/s640/Treasure+House+Print.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Treasure House</i></b>, oil and acrylic on paper, mounted on canvas. 22" x 30".</td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-68950577403973038122018-04-18T12:29:00.002-04:002018-04-18T15:59:57.007-04:00Me And My Studio<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3b8mgy3I90KltU8zCFA9eXCYv_AkePA18HiRCvvjxvuNnudanbsjrir_znRrSkfdbYn7hnNXjjpWiZRJ4ExIEeZY1nYA3r4uVnHJg8B7AGfAWHYHv2S0iLwhIsXIaeCJGgCe7D5IMc9i6/s640/Tom+In+Studio+001.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One end of my painting studio. It's small, but it's home.<br />
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I don't get to spend nearly as much time in my studio as I'd like to. I have a day job to pay the bills, which leaves precious little time and energy for art. Nevertheless, if I get there once a week at least, I'm happy. Here are some self-portraits of me in my work space. Enjoy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spend a lot of time in that chair looking at a painting-progress. That's my "What's wrong with this picture, <br />
and how do I fix it?" expression. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have a ways to go on this one, but it's coming along.</td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-2119236409462341602017-12-19T14:15:00.002-05:002017-12-19T14:15:48.359-05:00Written In My Soul: The Replacements' Music for Misfits<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnx4jxUwlgriGvS2aKfckln2b10BiYcSLVm-_s9XEsc6Np0CYObISv82IiQrZEeOiFhs2OwXIVrtP6UFKt17Z68BKpIXoGHAX7Nry8SHSQTR-hPb82WfBTaY15iqv1ZLH_MqnwV6QSvlm/s1600/R-391888-1303510793.jpeg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnx4jxUwlgriGvS2aKfckln2b10BiYcSLVm-_s9XEsc6Np0CYObISv82IiQrZEeOiFhs2OwXIVrtP6UFKt17Z68BKpIXoGHAX7Nry8SHSQTR-hPb82WfBTaY15iqv1ZLH_MqnwV6QSvlm/s640/R-391888-1303510793.jpeg.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Replacements, <i>LET IT BE</i>, 1984<br />
source: <a href="https://www.discogs.com/Replacements-Let-It-Be/release/391888">discogs.com</a></td></tr>
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The Replacements were MY band. Not in the sense that I was a member--(if <i><b>only</b></i>)--, but in the sense that they sang loud, catchy, hook-laden rock and roll songs about what they felt, and in doing so articulated what I felt. And, they said it LOUD with riffs and choruses and lyrics that wouldn't let go of you once you heard them. I found this out kind of late in their career--early 1987. One of their songs hit me in the gut, stole my heart, and made me realize they <i>knew</i> me, and I knew them. I identified with them, so they became "my" band in a way that my other favorite '80s bands--U2 and REM--weren't. I have been addicted, smitten, and happily in thrall to their music ever since.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwA-UEodVEu52PneQkCOqfL4A2TIIdas3lKnVVFMvhDJUo0tSQFZllhbk3W45mMfT0WgH9_QeK-BsP18wRLgFtWaALC6eGUg_KsQpru8pVVfDLM6tL7i9SXH7IvuCjpSH50YLSI_7h-O-/s1600/70z95di.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1339" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwA-UEodVEu52PneQkCOqfL4A2TIIdas3lKnVVFMvhDJUo0tSQFZllhbk3W45mMfT0WgH9_QeK-BsP18wRLgFtWaALC6eGUg_KsQpru8pVVfDLM6tL7i9SXH7IvuCjpSH50YLSI_7h-O-/s640/70z95di.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Replacements, circa 1984. L-R: Chris Mars, Bob Stinson, Paul Westerberg, Tommy Stinson<br />
source: <a href="https://www.thecurrent.org/feature/2013/08/21/the-replacements-landmarks">thecurrent.org</a></td></tr>
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The 'Mats (short for "Placemats", the in-the-know fans' nickname for the band) had been a going concern since 1981, but I didn't hear about them until 1985, which was something of a watershed year for me. I broke up with my girlfriend, suffered through my first experience with deep clinical depression, and barely stumbled through my classes in art school. Music was what kept me sane. I was thumbing through Rolling Stone magazine, one of my required-reads back then, when I stumbled on the record review for <i>Let It Be</i>. Wait, what? Not the one by the Beatles. This one was by some group out of Minneapolis. The review began, "This is a brillliant rock and roll album...". That was all it took to get my attention. I read the review, utterly rapt. Debby Miller raved about the brilliance, anger, and heart pouring out of this, the Replacements' fourth album. Somewhere in there she mentioned a sparkling 12-string guitar intro for a song called "Unsatisfied". That stuck in my head. I have a thing for 12-string guitars, so I made a mental note about this other <i>Let It Be</i>, and kept reading. And looking.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEing_2P4eT5RkfFDfy45WwEzYq_5lsZqOHHVhVGVfGpfmnWRK0jcAcJDbUeYVhzV1nWoeWBzjxxtCUhUES9G-nGee81ABYtf_z42Cz3D7S-pjQA_E7oM4ITGX2y-cX6zw_f9vUFc8_eH7yg/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEing_2P4eT5RkfFDfy45WwEzYq_5lsZqOHHVhVGVfGpfmnWRK0jcAcJDbUeYVhzV1nWoeWBzjxxtCUhUES9G-nGee81ABYtf_z42Cz3D7S-pjQA_E7oM4ITGX2y-cX6zw_f9vUFc8_eH7yg/s640/maxresdefault.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outtake from the photo sessions for Let It Be.<br />
Original photograph by Daniel Corrigan.<br />
source: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a43QWMhHemo">youtube.com</a></td></tr>
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The cover of <i>Let It Be</i>, Replacements-style, was a black-and-white photo of four Midwestern scruffs wearing blue-collar jackets and jeans, sitting bunched together on some slanted shingle suburban rooftop outside a bedroom window. Three of them smirked at the camera. The guy nearest the lens had his face turned away. These guys would have looked at home in <i>my</i> Midwestern hometown, perched on any one of hundreds of lookalike suburban slanted shingle bedroom roosts. I recognized the types. They looked underfed, unkempt, smart-alecky. They looked like troublemakers. I did not run right out and buy the record. I was intimidated. I knew I wasn't quite ready for this.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDDsF_HXtLr23opNuite0IwrqQBrzecFG-VCQJjM2PV817u84TU_RE4PU-nXM9zr_FGMCTgjUjp2eZJYCb595H8QY_8rO6sneTDwLPRaTunx3caI2dcxHqFFclMV5UPyW9u5UetRMs9aS/s1600/Replacements276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="460" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDDsF_HXtLr23opNuite0IwrqQBrzecFG-VCQJjM2PV817u84TU_RE4PU-nXM9zr_FGMCTgjUjp2eZJYCb595H8QY_8rO6sneTDwLPRaTunx3caI2dcxHqFFclMV5UPyW9u5UetRMs9aS/s640/Replacements276.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Replacements, circa 1984. Original photo by Laura Levine.<br />
source: <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2013/aug/26/replacements-reunion-gig-toronto">theguardian.com</a></td></tr>
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Some time later, I'm not sure when, I was listening to the Sunday-night college rock feature on WLAV-FM, the local AOR station. My generation called independent music "college rock" back then, in the long ago 1980s. College radio stations were the only channels brave enough and independent enough to play raw, uncommercial music released on small independent labels. As such, this Sunday night show was a fixture in my listening routine, a welcome break in LAV's usual blend of what is now called "classic rock". I first heard REM's "Radio Free Europe" on this same show. I was about to hear more genius.<br />
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This particular night, I missed the introduction to the show when the DJ announced the names of the records he played, but it didn't matter. The first song opened with a gorgeous crystalline 12-string intro. My heart leapt. "Holy <i>shit</i>," I thought. I just knew it had to be THAT record. The singer's ragged voice kicked in--"CHA!"--along with the rest of the band, and Paul Westerberg snarl-sang: "Look me in the eye, then tell me that I'm satisfied...are you <i>satisfied</i>?" Paul's cigarette voice, that 12-string, those searing lap steel notes at the end all captivated and frightened me. It was so raw, and gorgeous, and honest. A week later I had the album.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPelN9_XBoghWLmnE_B_m6FJjy2iJiwGCzYwsgINXzRe6EuIf6T4dzKOc0dqaP3sTELLqZTNp_tjP1DCqq2xv8bxjwOOlkwRE9wWRjxMOkuKWyQGcyYGKacc2reSo_J44YpdiITbChvHf/s1600/mats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="980" data-original-width="1378" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPelN9_XBoghWLmnE_B_m6FJjy2iJiwGCzYwsgINXzRe6EuIf6T4dzKOc0dqaP3sTELLqZTNp_tjP1DCqq2xv8bxjwOOlkwRE9wWRjxMOkuKWyQGcyYGKacc2reSo_J44YpdiITbChvHf/s640/mats.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Replacements, NYC 1985. Original photo by Stephanie Chernikowski<br />
source:<a href="https://www.morrisonhotelgallery.com/photographs/TDe7Iy/The-Replacements--New-York-City-1985"> morrisonhotelgallery.com</a></td></tr>
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I confess I didn't quite get "it" at first. I loved "Unsatisfied" and the opener, the jangly upbeat "I Will Dare". Everything else was...unlike anything I'd ever heard. My sheltered ears had not yet heard the Sex Pistols, or the Damned, or The Ramones. My loss, too. I had heard the Clash and Patti Smith, but I didn't get it. Yet. I was too attuned to, and addicted to, radio polish. Years of indoctrination to slick, safe, corporate dreck like Journey, Styx, and the like had warped my sensibilities. The Replacements were melodic, distorted hardcore mainstream punk, if there was such a thing. Frankly, it scared me. I wasn't quite ready to let them in, yet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaboiTeW1J5sn2VqMBBj5-L5PDLIbvlVxeL1isNKFKHXBHzhhAoxHS9S65hbD85p5Qyv3gvivjL42QRwENiacUp_Kg0mAnxmmm4915sYDY8egh0x9ZNdDCLq9JgifIvbfMYKv0mk7IMNHz/s1600/R493247138234582.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="790" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaboiTeW1J5sn2VqMBBj5-L5PDLIbvlVxeL1isNKFKHXBHzhhAoxHS9S65hbD85p5Qyv3gvivjL42QRwENiacUp_Kg0mAnxmmm4915sYDY8egh0x9ZNdDCLq9JgifIvbfMYKv0mk7IMNHz/s640/R493247138234582.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Replacements perform on <i>Saturday Night Live</i>, 1986<br />
source: <a href="https://pitchfork.com/news/the-replacements-announce-1986-live-album/">pitchfork.com</a></td></tr>
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It took two more years, <i>much</i> more life experience, and a lot of loosening up before I bought the 'Mats major-label debut <i>Tim</i>. If anything, <i>Tim</i> was even less polished than <i>Let It Be</i>, but something in me had changed. I was less uptight, I had moved out of my parents house--a huge change in my limited experience--and I had finished, but not officially graduated, from college. I was feeling lost, disillusioned, disoriented and afraid. Which is probably why, when I finally bought a cassette copy of the The Replacements' major-label debut <i>Tim, </i>the first listen hit me in a way that <i>Let It Be</i> had not.<br />
This time, for a change, I was ready, primed, and waiting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPab6zW1l0MMilETTjJ706MRLhOg44_Wq7VplBJ5NJP2tpITQyxezN3kLE3lUPhtOOe1kfrj0XAnNY0Vo83majhnvUaEGNjuqp1CEIbP0AwUVE3nrGlcJ-oGCW0tIkfsEf70x8Czoeq35/s1600/91fIORxdXcL._SL1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPab6zW1l0MMilETTjJ706MRLhOg44_Wq7VplBJ5NJP2tpITQyxezN3kLE3lUPhtOOe1kfrj0XAnNY0Vo83majhnvUaEGNjuqp1CEIbP0AwUVE3nrGlcJ-oGCW0tIkfsEf70x8Czoeq35/s640/91fIORxdXcL._SL1500_.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Replacements <i>Tim</i>, released in 1985<br />
source: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tim-Replacements/dp/B001CSNZ0G">amazon.com</a></td></tr>
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I don't think <i>Tim</i> was necessarily a better record. No sirree Bob (Stinson). It just possessed a distinctly different flavor: more expansive, more angry, more epic, more melancholy. The 'Mats had clearly stretched their wings for this one. <i>Tim</i> roared out of the gate with "Hold My Life", the definitive "holy-shit-what-do-I-do-now" song for people my age who suddenly got something in life that they didn't know they wanted. The album was masterfully paced: the music went from tunefully wry hardcore"I'll Buy" to the bouncy pop of "Kiss Me On The Bus", to the anthem-for-a-generation "Bastards of Young" to the yearning "Left Of The Dial" to the majestic acoustic lament of "Here Comes A Regular".<br />
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The one that hit me the hardest, the song that epitomized this album's heart, was a song called <i>Swingin' Party</i>. "Bring your own lampshade, somewhere there's a party, here it's neverending can't remember when it started..." Paul sings those opening lines almost like a lullaby, with a lilting folk-rock melody to carry him along. But it was the chorus that stabbed me through the heart and gut: "...if bein' afraid is a crime, we'll hang side by side at the swingin' party down the line." It's not about a celebratory bash; it's about a <i>necktie party</i>, the bad kind, the kind you never want to see, and certainly don't want to be the guest of honor at. Paul was admitting, with his heart on his sleeve, that he was scared, flawed, and human. Just like I was. Guilty as charged, yer honor.<br />
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And that did it. I was a fan for life. And life had a lot more in store for The Replacements, and for me. For the band came lineup changes, more records, legendary excess, and finally a breakup in 1991. The Replacements went their separate ways for awhile, and the first chapters of the band were history. For me, there would be more heartache, heartbreak, depression, confusion, despair, and yes, fear. Lots and lots of fear. The rescue, redemption, and deliverance would come later. Through it all, the music of The Replacements helped me get through it all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshgR4bskrmO0cfmw9HperDdY1Y-LqdeFa6jGTvLkOBWY4nG-7wHWRVI1iIEOBHAUr1vobqLSKZC5uoyMfOFwMerZQJqIXEFrKeC2qukPVCB7GkhuMbnhjFHVLMPSdRklsf0gZqQpnXDUF/s1600/9a3bbe840b0d8e197dca4a081d7dd3fd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="1000" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshgR4bskrmO0cfmw9HperDdY1Y-LqdeFa6jGTvLkOBWY4nG-7wHWRVI1iIEOBHAUr1vobqLSKZC5uoyMfOFwMerZQJqIXEFrKeC2qukPVCB7GkhuMbnhjFHVLMPSdRklsf0gZqQpnXDUF/s640/9a3bbe840b0d8e197dca4a081d7dd3fd.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Replacements onstage. Photograph by Daniel Corrigan.<br />source: <a href="http://tumblr.first-avenue.com/post/108092287641/throwback-thursday-the-replacements-in-the">first-avenue.com</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-6770433736587470232017-12-17T23:23:00.000-05:002017-12-17T23:33:43.933-05:00Black Is A Color: New & Recent Drawings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3wfnhvJLtVfy10nSgNzEAYMPINepmS1UyyVBBMyFStnwzNRHEvRhmj-HympNzXS8TmxrmZZskjKXayjwm3wHR5T9AWMNjJaXkP10GC0voANGef_46IsMNZvdHbYrbwPsVXRHKyQlmUW2/s1600/Coffee+Grinder+Still+Life+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1247" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3wfnhvJLtVfy10nSgNzEAYMPINepmS1UyyVBBMyFStnwzNRHEvRhmj-HympNzXS8TmxrmZZskjKXayjwm3wHR5T9AWMNjJaXkP10GC0voANGef_46IsMNZvdHbYrbwPsVXRHKyQlmUW2/s640/Coffee+Grinder+Still+Life+Copyright.jpg" width="498" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Still Life with Coffee Grinder</i></b>, pen and ink. 11" x 14".<br />
Copyright Tom Ganzevoort 2015</td></tr>
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Here is some recent pen and ink work from the last couple of years. Enjoy!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWRAp03hATRT3kOT5YQSUiibcbztGT-vWyGo7TUYvEt3F8DSdxoe2Mm9UuiMn6N5DW8FEn8Ky6QxX0pCf64uIsh-hoN0H9dUmwMWHd1r1ZYTWZVMbd-PrwCV4bhDf10Vgu_mqiu-6lFdV/s1600/Still+Life+With+Wine+and+Bread+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1252" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWRAp03hATRT3kOT5YQSUiibcbztGT-vWyGo7TUYvEt3F8DSdxoe2Mm9UuiMn6N5DW8FEn8Ky6QxX0pCf64uIsh-hoN0H9dUmwMWHd1r1ZYTWZVMbd-PrwCV4bhDf10Vgu_mqiu-6lFdV/s640/Still+Life+With+Wine+and+Bread+Copyright.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Still Life with Wine & Bread</i></b>, pen and ink. 11" x 14"<br />
Copyright Tom Ganzevoort 2017</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHJcS__u_XLLbJnT-I1YHpVz8YaiwFQfEQNrLn6aTSSiRnyEGxlSysXddgPLT_GeMpwzuwXCoz1fW4nNPK-a33PVkSBNmZj6Y_Rqq9Pfmov3TFW1AGGeZjyIK6ajzy_wR5XtK-BaFD__6/s1600/Violin+One+Drawing+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1179" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHJcS__u_XLLbJnT-I1YHpVz8YaiwFQfEQNrLn6aTSSiRnyEGxlSysXddgPLT_GeMpwzuwXCoz1fW4nNPK-a33PVkSBNmZj6Y_Rqq9Pfmov3TFW1AGGeZjyIK6ajzy_wR5XtK-BaFD__6/s640/Violin+One+Drawing+Copyright.jpg" width="470" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Violin I</i></b>, pen and ink. 11" x 14"<br />
Copyright Tom Ganzevoort 2015</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8KOd76Z56EFcq-LlWB4nAocA7DbEOf2cY9fxBRIHYvYxc0evkAwo1JgOzFVZGEMujQZeoKnn3AhWIz3fBBoZ65srR1E1mvp9N1NLhtlE1gbpolCuWHgNYdfKktDuK6V6gI8gPlWjnUo8/s1600/Marxophone+Violin+Drawing+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1248" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8KOd76Z56EFcq-LlWB4nAocA7DbEOf2cY9fxBRIHYvYxc0evkAwo1JgOzFVZGEMujQZeoKnn3AhWIz3fBBoZ65srR1E1mvp9N1NLhtlE1gbpolCuWHgNYdfKktDuK6V6gI8gPlWjnUo8/s640/Marxophone+Violin+Drawing+Copyright.jpg" width="498" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Still Life with Violin and Marxophone</i></b>, pen and ink. 11" x 14"<br />
Copyright Tom Ganzevoort 2016</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtl96nqCHwa5ctnOdbZjxH81N9yjIGNRdSOFJ-LLGLJaT84Xl5RwRGtNTfbKtYllUBGFeCHc-0uLYR6RUQHubNVAoiiQDTmkW8Ot_gz1zTBcIf1P5Jz8d6d0C5PmH8VNyppHH6RzkRQJq/s1600/Still+Life+with+Carafe+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1256" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtl96nqCHwa5ctnOdbZjxH81N9yjIGNRdSOFJ-LLGLJaT84Xl5RwRGtNTfbKtYllUBGFeCHc-0uLYR6RUQHubNVAoiiQDTmkW8Ot_gz1zTBcIf1P5Jz8d6d0C5PmH8VNyppHH6RzkRQJq/s640/Still+Life+with+Carafe+Copyright.jpg" width="502" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Still Life with Carafe</i></b>, pen and ink. 11" x 14".<br />
Copyright Tom Ganzevoort 2017</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhQM39Vr8JgCFCgtMiB3XEqtlb4Clr49IiKWzyOk4r0N7hdWxpRCbDd-h3FqsTM7zKbq1Hz5VpgrmFCXbTuYeyW5UJ5FsNYPmNLiIGmFJZ4dEPPExczrX-AWepdW_xnU-oeRb6yIK17iy/s1600/Violin+Two+Drawing+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1256" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhQM39Vr8JgCFCgtMiB3XEqtlb4Clr49IiKWzyOk4r0N7hdWxpRCbDd-h3FqsTM7zKbq1Hz5VpgrmFCXbTuYeyW5UJ5FsNYPmNLiIGmFJZ4dEPPExczrX-AWepdW_xnU-oeRb6yIK17iy/s640/Violin+Two+Drawing+Copyright.jpg" width="502" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Violin II</i></b>, pen and ink. 11" x 14".<br />
Copyright Tom Ganzevoort 2016</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNYWJLyajOkcLUItJ5l3s07S9OFhwgCUfBIMx95DdyDKa7wO9SIka9xkDggSN0ek9gc6jS-4g5RHxY0OSMWpN99SpbBM-MhO8IWyMP7vEt5-avAjLf0budmMuMP5eK8yMJcG1FnAdn5Hz/s1600/Peripheral+City+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1251" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNYWJLyajOkcLUItJ5l3s07S9OFhwgCUfBIMx95DdyDKa7wO9SIka9xkDggSN0ek9gc6jS-4g5RHxY0OSMWpN99SpbBM-MhO8IWyMP7vEt5-avAjLf0budmMuMP5eK8yMJcG1FnAdn5Hz/s640/Peripheral+City+Copyright.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>City of Dreams</i></b>, pen and ink. 11" x 14"<br />
Copyright Tom Ganzevoort 2017</td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-61212480109279306532017-05-08T15:05:00.006-04:002017-11-11T15:52:31.517-05:00Art Spiegelman and the Maus That Roared<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Si7ZjxV1DiuPkObwNnKzM6AmtvfnrQ2qMZkMqxbpNJe2jAuaJi8vjAsu-air-n78rXsiEgpp58Rw9NnaGBrumU2ESfZbMj7u3aGOlFbV7oPYLU46YoZY2Mmc1gQqXSnISRK6UgQWVYpT/s1600/maus-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Si7ZjxV1DiuPkObwNnKzM6AmtvfnrQ2qMZkMqxbpNJe2jAuaJi8vjAsu-air-n78rXsiEgpp58Rw9NnaGBrumU2ESfZbMj7u3aGOlFbV7oPYLU46YoZY2Mmc1gQqXSnISRK6UgQWVYpT/s640/maus-cover.jpg" width="444" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Maus</i>, cover image<br />
source: <a href="https://www.bleedingcool.com/2014/02/27/its-time-to-study-social-issues-through-comics-the-bleeding-cool-interview-with-christina-blanch/maus-cover/">bleedingcool.com</a></td></tr>
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In this age of revisionist history coupled with surreal political shenanigans, it is genuinely alarming to see various white supremacist scumbags "rebranding" themselves as the "alt right". <i><b>Alt right</b></i> --very catchy, isn't it? It certainly lacks the sinister odor of criminality and that the word <i>nazi </i>conjures for most people. As if a cosmetic name change will erase history. Up until recently, it seemed that the career trajectory of the typical nazi, whatever their label, usually ended in one of two places: the penitentiary or an early grave. Maybe both in quick succession. For some reason that I have yet to fathom, though, nazis, white supremacists, and their ilk, have lately been making a resurgence of sorts. Historically, many very bad things happen to lots of innocent people when nazis/nationalists/white supremacsists/klanspeople get near the reins of actual power. We've seen it all before. We have the original Nazis to thank for that. Their collective hatred and plans for world domination caused World War II, killing 50 million people in the process. Six million people died merely for being Jewish. The echoes of the Holocaust still ripple through history, casting shadows on the lives of survivors and their families. A few eloquent writers and artists have, somehow, borne witness to the unspeakable, and given the countless victims both faces and voices. One such classic happens to be, of all things, a comic book.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art Spiegelman<br />
source: <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01bkym0">www.bbc.co.uk</a></td></tr>
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I speak specifically of the graphic novel entitled <i>Maus</i>. I remember clearly the first time I heard, or, more precisely, read about <i>Maus</i>, and its author, Art Spiegelman. I subscribed to <i>Rolling Stone</i> magazine at the time, and sometime in 1987 or '88--I forget which, those years are fuzzy--Spiegelman and his just-published first volume of <i>Maus</i> was the subject of a lengthy feature article. Artist and history buff that I was, the article captivated me with its account of Spiegelman, child of Holocaust survivors, wrestling with the elephant in the room--the Holocaust--and his parents' resultant survivor traumas. Growing up with this dark legacy stomped on the young Spiegelman's psyche, for better or worse. <i>Maus</i> was his way to make sense of it all. As storytelling, as graphic art, as autobiography, and as history told in the first person, it is an undeniable masterpiece.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULti_9qbNm6pVvPZFPxpqxW3TwriXgtx1UOMygS7aB5Gg5BNSL5e9Lf1_xfyscSZgak3RRlIc0e7fitQMjgvwn0X3Ts8ohafrrwm9oQcyZJxDx8XaVhyphenhyphen1BAwZ4N3SgtQmX4qjhr5HmEIh/s1600/Maus+Intro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULti_9qbNm6pVvPZFPxpqxW3TwriXgtx1UOMygS7aB5Gg5BNSL5e9Lf1_xfyscSZgak3RRlIc0e7fitQMjgvwn0X3Ts8ohafrrwm9oQcyZJxDx8XaVhyphenhyphen1BAwZ4N3SgtQmX4qjhr5HmEIh/s640/Maus+Intro.jpg" width="430" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Maus</i>: opening scene<br />
source: scan from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Complete-Maus-Art-Spiegelman/dp/0679406417/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494267295&sr=1-1&keywords=maus+complete">Maus</a></td></tr>
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<i>Maus</i> is actually two stories intertwined. In one, Spiegelman interviews his father Vladek in present-day: about his life growing up in Poland, about meeting Art's mother, about their prewar life, and ultimately, getting caught in and surviving the Holocaust. Art's interactions with his father reveal the underlying tensions in their relationship. The second story is Vladek's narrative, told through flashbacks as he and Art converse. The flashbacks make vivid Vladek's horrrific Holocaust tale. Vladek describes horrors upon horrors in a matter-of-fact manner. He has seen things no human being should ever see. However, neither Art nor his father are saints. The author lays bare their respective character flaws. Vladek is a stubborn, know-it-all penny pincher, an utterly unsentimental, pragmatic man given to obsession over the myriad practicalities of life. Art, on the other hand, is a self-obsessed, anxiety-ridden neurotic, still wrestling with feelings of guilt, anger, and inferiority regarding his controlling, practical-minded father.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUUS01QucimALyQayMjBeECtB51XLBsImO2-NC8j3ClJIv1m_jqQeQTkT89RYDqFN00pTyXIrER4fWlF8wE2ZiMtpgX_kDdjYlptRmoKbmmfd3U5uPgHuWAeqF3ZgFSkt9FR-zmNKOUFC/s1600/Maus+Page+One.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUUS01QucimALyQayMjBeECtB51XLBsImO2-NC8j3ClJIv1m_jqQeQTkT89RYDqFN00pTyXIrER4fWlF8wE2ZiMtpgX_kDdjYlptRmoKbmmfd3U5uPgHuWAeqF3ZgFSkt9FR-zmNKOUFC/s640/Maus+Page+One.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art visits his father<br />
source: scan from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Complete-Maus-Art-Spiegelman/dp/0679406417/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494267295&sr=1-1&keywords=maus+complete">Maus</a></td></tr>
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In 1992, Spiegelman won a much-deserved Pulitzer Prize for his astonishing and gut-punching masterwork. Simply put, <b><i>Maus</i></b> had reinvented and reinvigorated the comics medium, revealing its potential for relating narratives of great depth and complexity, equal to that of the traditional literary novel. That it received such an award, in hindsight, seemed obvious. <i>Maus</i> broke new ground on so many levels that I couldn't assimilate it all at once. It was one of the early book-length comics, a complex, layered story, and the first which addressed the unspeakable: the genocidal Nazi crusade to rid the world of Jews. With its narrative length, complex characterizations, and resistance to easy answers, it was the first graphic <i>novel</i> that really met the challenge of the long-form narrative. And, upon its publication in book form (Part I was published in 1986; Part II appeared five years later), Maus made its way to a broad audience.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT94TOx67vg0QHYZu-5wrSW05TSN02Uk8N3XFcemSOYzeDSnnHvv7nFX9xuaaNHTVSvn0I-GqZsz5kBCDvnHTntCHxBk8SAIflXeR4MyevxBocMZlqbV8_lHPgCOB-EIdCBFtL0GU-nx0/s1600/Maus+Revenge+Panel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT94TOx67vg0QHYZu-5wrSW05TSN02Uk8N3XFcemSOYzeDSnnHvv7nFX9xuaaNHTVSvn0I-GqZsz5kBCDvnHTntCHxBk8SAIflXeR4MyevxBocMZlqbV8_lHPgCOB-EIdCBFtL0GU-nx0/s640/Maus+Revenge+Panel.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Maus Panel: Art interviews Vladek<br />
source: scan from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Complete-Maus-Art-Spiegelman/dp/0679406417/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494267295&sr=1-1&keywords=maus+complete">Maus</a></td></tr>
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<i>Maus</i> justly earned overwhelming the critical accolades, and the Pulitzer. For the first time, it became obvious to a mass audience that the comics medium was more than equal, and indeed uniquely suited, to telling difficult, lengthy, complex stories on disturbing themes. I think most of the reading public now considers that <i>Maus</i> was predestined for this success. In point of fact, <i>Maus </i>nearly<i> </i>wasn't published at all.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKr4gDZfcLCjbMxf3cANbFUqRXUngV1BgmkUiIxzZUcFVjkM-PVdN-I8wKuJU3K3roM5DEZWvXo5ZILnPReNd1ceIYK6QX78BTgKU8kwusmQ1NCy1awlpHu5DaaixY4j_5uYXcZYdx9xm/s1600/1007157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKr4gDZfcLCjbMxf3cANbFUqRXUngV1BgmkUiIxzZUcFVjkM-PVdN-I8wKuJU3K3roM5DEZWvXo5ZILnPReNd1ceIYK6QX78BTgKU8kwusmQ1NCy1awlpHu5DaaixY4j_5uYXcZYdx9xm/s640/1007157.jpg" width="474" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cover, <i>RAW</i>, volume 1, issue 2<br />
source: <a href="https://www.mycomicshop.com/search?TID=21841243">www.mycomicshop.com</a></td></tr>
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The truth was, Spiegelman had one hell of a hard time convincing a publisher to take a chance on <i>Maus</i>. By the time he finished <i>Maus </i>and began shopping it around, he was no Johnny-cum-lately to the publishing game. Spiegelman had been producing comics since he was a teenager. Starting with his school newspaper, the young artist soon found himself working for the Topps Chewing Gum Company, after which he moved to San Francisco as the burgeoning underground "comix" scene took off. After contributing to various underground publications like <i>Gothic Blimp Works,</i> <i>Bijou Funnies</i>, and <i>Arcade</i>, he returned to New York, where he eventually met his soon-to-be wife Francoise Mouly. Together, they began co-producing the groundbreaking comics anthology <i>RAW. </i>which became a showcase for unknown avant-garde comics artists like Charles Burns, Lynda Barry, and Gary Panter.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW7W5MfQkFte_noBwN9Hc45MJXIZ2fj54mkTlXF3nUMCAShuITPFNkZuaC8OB4I6gjHx5B9eszIriJT-cgfEfOP7o0cmLb8dXPpRNrdt5YG2_ca0dN6xAMAAtFVb9dPnGDB4SZXdp4jvCf/s1600/Prisoner+on+Hell+Planet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW7W5MfQkFte_noBwN9Hc45MJXIZ2fj54mkTlXF3nUMCAShuITPFNkZuaC8OB4I6gjHx5B9eszIriJT-cgfEfOP7o0cmLb8dXPpRNrdt5YG2_ca0dN6xAMAAtFVb9dPnGDB4SZXdp4jvCf/s640/Prisoner+on+Hell+Planet.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opening panel of <i>Prisoner On The Hell Planet</i><br />
source: scan from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Breakdowns-Portrait-Artist-Pantheon-Graphic/dp/0375423958/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494269143&sr=1-1&keywords=breakdowns+art+spiegelman">Breakdowns</a></i></td></tr>
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In the process, Art Spiegelman became a master of the formal complexities of the comics syntax. Much of his work published at this time, including <i>Ace Hole, Midget Detective</i>; <i>Nervous Rex, The Malpractice Suite,</i> and an early snippet of<i> Maus</i>, deconstructed the formal and narrative strictures of the comics medium. In one gut-wrenching early work, <i>Prisoner on the Hell Planet</i>, Spiegelman relayed the story of his mother Anja's suicide, which happened when Art was in his early twenties. He included <i>Prisoner</i> in its original form in <i>Maus. </i>The story, depicted in a stark Expressionist style, conveys the anguish, depression,and guilt experienced by so many Holocaust survivors and their children, and serves as an emotional anchor in the larger narrative. Having grappled with this dark legacy from such a young age, Spiegelman felt ready in his thirties to finally tell his parents' story in its entirety.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJy0-e9ckaVfRhHyU_H8194tVrxjtb8hQeL5r_rb6QUsQizOAgiEXSIfufoPKMKxB2e77OCf0WASJ3PVfnUk-DL6GGkYCjsMmpGU91WX01P6lbdW61vySXKbTHHT0JuZ_np9Z1AibGq7uD/s1600/Art+Drawing+Board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJy0-e9ckaVfRhHyU_H8194tVrxjtb8hQeL5r_rb6QUsQizOAgiEXSIfufoPKMKxB2e77OCf0WASJ3PVfnUk-DL6GGkYCjsMmpGU91WX01P6lbdW61vySXKbTHHT0JuZ_np9Z1AibGq7uD/s640/Art+Drawing+Board.jpg" width="404" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spiegelman working on <i>Maus</i><br />
source: scan from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/MetaMaus-Inside-Modern-Classic-DVD-R/dp/037542394X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494269307&sr=1-1&keywords=metamaus">MetaMaus</a></i></td></tr>
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Spiegelman recently published <i>MetaMaus</i>, his once-and-for-all account of the makings of <i>Maus</i>. Reading <i>MetaMaus</i>, it's clear just how daunting, frightening, and labor-intensive the creation of <i>Maus</i> really was. From an artist's perspective, the enormous quantity of preparatory drawings alone is awe-inspiring. Spiegelman painstakingly considered every possible aspect, every drawback, every nuance of what he was doing. He was entering unexplored, untested, and possibly transgressive territory. Yet, he pressed on, and finished <i>Maus</i>, initially publishing the first six chapters in serial form in <i>RAW</i>. What he really wanted, though, was to publish it in book form. So he approached, one publisher, then another, then another. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8a7QnZD2d3-W3CAVELi1K7FwIMFft97GlmzbjtO-5NulwNwgGp8PRZcmh3speOLG1h4sqX9dATGa8224AaITBmqfUSWT-NqFGNyIXIDlWiFU1Y4ecpL4d_RjsRs49W-D7UiQrSMcnhxo/s1600/Maus+Rejection+Letters+I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8a7QnZD2d3-W3CAVELi1K7FwIMFft97GlmzbjtO-5NulwNwgGp8PRZcmh3speOLG1h4sqX9dATGa8224AaITBmqfUSWT-NqFGNyIXIDlWiFU1Y4ecpL4d_RjsRs49W-D7UiQrSMcnhxo/s640/Maus+Rejection+Letters+I.jpg" width="604" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rejection letters from various publishers<br />
source: <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/MetaMaus-Inside-Modern-Classic-DVD-R/dp/037542394X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494269307&sr=1-1&keywords=metamaus">MetaMaus</a></i></td></tr>
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His reward, at first, for this excruciating, soul-searching journey was, at best, puzzlement, and at worst, incredulity. Spiegelman received dozens of politely-phrased refusals from major publishing houses, and while the language may have varied from letter to letter, the gist of the problem was clear:<i> </i>Most of them simply had no idea what to make of <i>Maus. </i>Nothing<i> </i>even remotely like it had ever been created before, much less submitted to publishers. Looking back, one can imagine the publishing world's befuddlement. What <b><i>was </i></b>this? What was it supposed to be? Jews as mice? Nazis as cats? An anthropomorphised comic about history's greatest crime? Wasn't that inherently disrespectful? Or even blasphemous? Was Spiegelman commercially exploiting millions of murdered Jews? (Spiegelman himself agonized over this very question). Who knew? <br />
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Fortunately for Spiegelman, and us, and posterity, Pantheon Books published <i>Maus, Part One </i>in 1986, followed five years later by <i>Part Two</i>. I will not spoil the book for you. All I can say is, if you have not yet read <i>Maus</i>, do yourself a favor and borrow, buy, or rent Maus ASAP. It's an amazing, tragic, funny, honest, unflinching look at one family's amazing story of resilience and survival in the midst of history's greatest crime. You won't regret it, nor will you forget it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnj6V_Lszk5Mtvawpxm7Ye6aoOp7ifZ4vCePtF96rtvEGOHtNBAz2vgX1iW582vab6JN9VQByxcmtMgWi4iWVI6jcnmLK4c8HdJ4_4pdxtV5VWgAM5daYtw5IBzFDkNAOHXInMngouIjKN/s1600/Art+and+Vladek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnj6V_Lszk5Mtvawpxm7Ye6aoOp7ifZ4vCePtF96rtvEGOHtNBAz2vgX1iW582vab6JN9VQByxcmtMgWi4iWVI6jcnmLK4c8HdJ4_4pdxtV5VWgAM5daYtw5IBzFDkNAOHXInMngouIjKN/s640/Art+and+Vladek.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art and Vladek Spiegelman, mid 1950s<br />
source: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/MetaMaus-Inside-Modern-Classic-DVD-R/dp/037542394X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494269307&sr=1-1&keywords=metamaus">MetaMaus</a></td></tr>
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</div>
thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-31690061778364099022017-05-04T15:46:00.002-04:002017-07-19T00:34:28.953-04:00Interesting Times: The Unspeakable Donald Trump<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrtnqxMMYbcXwq6OVY5sYXnuNIyrA2si-Ggligouv67r10GLzomwx0iJZXETUfDW3-9WZasY533V_HqdWSIVwk3cKhkhFhliBhq8IdkIwHbeoTkTr7oNa5Je5e0Qw-6c7W_VSAdrMgummC/s1600/unnamed4Trump+Statue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrtnqxMMYbcXwq6OVY5sYXnuNIyrA2si-Ggligouv67r10GLzomwx0iJZXETUfDW3-9WZasY533V_HqdWSIVwk3cKhkhFhliBhq8IdkIwHbeoTkTr7oNa5Je5e0Qw-6c7W_VSAdrMgummC/s400/unnamed4Trump+Statue.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Believe me, the statue is preferable to the real thing.<br />
source: <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2016/08/18/anarchists-unveil-naked-donald-trump-statues-in-several-u-s-cities/?utm_term=.254f4c70dbb2">Washington Post</a></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>May you live in interesting times.</i></div>
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--ancient Chinese curse</div>
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As I write, Donald J. Trump now occupies the Oval Office. Yes, <i>that</i> Donald Trump; the one who rose to some absurd kind of prominence in the 1980s because he was rich, brash, arrogant, was supposedly successful, and "wrote" a bestselling book about how rich and successful he was. That was the image he sold, anyway, or tried to sell until his four bankruptcies, two divorces, and an increasingly elaborate combover tarnished what was left of his reputation. The legend lives on, though, at least in his own mind. The reality has proven to be as counterfeit as his success.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMqHF1XRUJC_wpvmrjcUZsDgHpOZCs14lVPXDdG1ukn9hQpJf79VKisHyBiVhmmdp9RNXfV7ebHF6DAMSFcI9SpN8WAfGGWVRCmMkFT_YXj0ldqaGzItdUDIsBgj2yU5siOkC30sTmP9ZS/s1600/https-%25252F%25252Fblueprint-api-production.s3.amazonaws.com%25252Fuploads%25252Fcard%25252Fimage%25252F88619%25252Flovewins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMqHF1XRUJC_wpvmrjcUZsDgHpOZCs14lVPXDdG1ukn9hQpJf79VKisHyBiVhmmdp9RNXfV7ebHF6DAMSFcI9SpN8WAfGGWVRCmMkFT_YXj0ldqaGzItdUDIsBgj2yU5siOkC30sTmP9ZS/s640/https-%25252F%25252Fblueprint-api-production.s3.amazonaws.com%25252Fuploads%25252Fcard%25252Fimage%25252F88619%25252Flovewins.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't sue ME, a$$w!pe, I didn't paint it.<br />
source: <a href="http://mashable.com/2016/05/14/vladimir-putin-kissing-donald-trump/#iyA6Mx1Z4aqb">mashable.com</a></td></tr>
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It is perverse to call him the "President". I prefer more apt alternatives: <i>Toddler-in-Chief</i>, <i>SCROTUS</i> (So Called Ruler Of The United States), "Orange Julius", etc. Most rational people cannot fathom how this garbage-dump of a human being like this wound up in the most powerful office in the land, except by nefarious means. Rumors swirl about possible Russian collusion, vote tampering, FBI interference, malfeasance (moral and financial), and other monkey business. Somehow, Republican politicians once so passionately concerned about Barack Obama's supposed assault on democracy show no interest in investigating an <i>actual</i> assault on our democracy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIDOzemw6DdKM0BUlf0YARRnMvvwZR7tEIpAevi4WUO8ilT6VQW1hBJNQVziw0PHrvJAKJfbNQ6_7Q8_BHTFuWd1r4LMUHD8icaCNuprEzRIF73OfpcdK0bjGYNixCbPB-PD9v2-z2Itr/s1600/aa44ee3aaad7d9548b7ef36f8af105d4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIDOzemw6DdKM0BUlf0YARRnMvvwZR7tEIpAevi4WUO8ilT6VQW1hBJNQVziw0PHrvJAKJfbNQ6_7Q8_BHTFuWd1r4LMUHD8icaCNuprEzRIF73OfpcdK0bjGYNixCbPB-PD9v2-z2Itr/s640/aa44ee3aaad7d9548b7ef36f8af105d4.jpg" width="416" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> The bigliest winner of all time<br />
source: <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/172896073173995839/">pinterest.com</a></td></tr>
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Donald Trump is more than just the Ugly American personified, though he is certainly that: he is supremely ignorant, arrogant, crass, hateful, a relentless self-promoter, endlessly selfish, a shameless bully, a pathological liar...the list is endless. Of course he was born wealthy, and thinks he's earned it. To paraphrase Ann Richards or Molly Ivins, he was born on third base and thinks he hit a triple. He's a buffoon with a big mouth, a human hot-air-balloon suffering from verbal flatulence. He appears to be fundamentally incapable of uttering a truthful word. His skin is thinner than an onion's. He is one insufferably smug, self-obsessed a$$h0le.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirlRH6QcH-OBTvnmJUOTcIo1N438HqlpkJNicAa9sLATDFXfVD63IFzpaW4-4w88I5gRZ3dLtftKIVSKj8WEHMGUOZLbDkqteV-eo4jAcnO7NzT7nAGyvrGcVb9oTibrA-740e6ueZKBcp/s1600/AP110416145537+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirlRH6QcH-OBTvnmJUOTcIo1N438HqlpkJNicAa9sLATDFXfVD63IFzpaW4-4w88I5gRZ3dLtftKIVSKj8WEHMGUOZLbDkqteV-eo4jAcnO7NzT7nAGyvrGcVb9oTibrA-740e6ueZKBcp/s640/AP110416145537+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Them there are some upstanding 'Muricans, you betcha<br />
source; <a href="https://www.theshadowleague.com/story/white-house-silence-on-terrorist-attack-is-deafening">theshadowleague.com</a></td></tr>
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Wait...it gets "better". He encouraged violence at his campaign rallies, boasts the KKK and various white supremacist miscreants as fanboys, hired a neo-Nazi as his campaign manager, and was caught on tape bragging about sexual assault. Throughout, he revealed such a repugnant smorgasbord of character flaws, it defies logic to think so many people thought he was the superior candidate.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNG6m4jCsD6ycymYyHSkM2nrUcqF0y-AAukNm9HTCMQAcyjFqQ2vXUsvF7yBRM487oWOzf-elDxqxuK3Jvfm73VHsrjQ4MMpRjpZTYPLr73j9-yVT7p3Z3nkfY2Mp_uBcBkWNA0-In9Mjs/s1600/donald-trump-election-caricatures-582450ec49347__700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNG6m4jCsD6ycymYyHSkM2nrUcqF0y-AAukNm9HTCMQAcyjFqQ2vXUsvF7yBRM487oWOzf-elDxqxuK3Jvfm73VHsrjQ4MMpRjpZTYPLr73j9-yVT7p3Z3nkfY2Mp_uBcBkWNA0-In9Mjs/s640/donald-trump-election-caricatures-582450ec49347__700.jpg" width="474" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lady Liberty meets the Orange Dumpster<br />
source: <a href="http://www.boredpanda.com/donald-trump-election-caricatures/">boredpanda.com</a></td></tr>
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But the trouble only starts there. It's not just that Donald Trump is an arrogant entitled frat boy living in a rich-boy's fantasy world. The United States has an unfortunate tendency to vote freakish jackasses into the White House on a disturbingly regular basis. Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan are but recent examples. The real trouble is that 1) since Donald Trump has never been held accountable to anyone or anything in his life, he is 2) a monstrously flawed man who has, at best, a most tenuous grasp of the gravity of his current responsibilities.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVycNM1tM5Z5tZo3WZ_-mJwsRJl92OoveE1LHNt_zmNWq92ZTuppzH0nW0ABR4CfZfdrms0xtBnIsCYmuqiWKdJTeUFV8GPNWo88Yf24O-3xSzlvc4jAmz6tBzIew0S-UxcqpMMQUmitB6/s1600/Trump-caricature-by-Drew-Sheneman.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVycNM1tM5Z5tZo3WZ_-mJwsRJl92OoveE1LHNt_zmNWq92ZTuppzH0nW0ABR4CfZfdrms0xtBnIsCYmuqiWKdJTeUFV8GPNWo88Yf24O-3xSzlvc4jAmz6tBzIew0S-UxcqpMMQUmitB6/s640/Trump-caricature-by-Drew-Sheneman.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ThisDrew Sheneman image pretty much nails it<br />
source: <a href="http://www.maryscullyreports.com/high-season-for-trump-caricatures/">maryscullyreports.com</a></td></tr>
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This is not good. Donald Trump has sworn to uphold the Constitution of the United States, a document he seems never to have read, much less understood. He has access to the nuclear codes, yet lacks a fifth-grader's basic knowledge of government, history, diplomacy, or foreign relations. Incredible power coupled with blithe ignorance, with a dose of truly daunting megalomania thrown in. What could go wrong? Most of us are very afraid of the answer: pretty much everything.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Ug8JlI_bRiiQP8Lyz6kks3k6nTixZOUVbLZRiNDecZYwo5CLcuL4OX9tc2dgxF4DdrpKd2Ps9PWsk7jMpPkNhDV0KqgTc7M9yG61zkVsLSgQgIvH4mQk5-zuDpmbjWeq6rkPh1BB44Zr/s1600/trump-tweeting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Ug8JlI_bRiiQP8Lyz6kks3k6nTixZOUVbLZRiNDecZYwo5CLcuL4OX9tc2dgxF4DdrpKd2Ps9PWsk7jMpPkNhDV0KqgTc7M9yG61zkVsLSgQgIvH4mQk5-zuDpmbjWeq6rkPh1BB44Zr/s640/trump-tweeting.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Twitter-In-Chief, winning bigly again.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.politicususa.com/2016/08/20/bad-twitter-skills-backfiring-donald-trump.html">politicsusa.com</a></td></tr>
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Because of his pathologically thin skin, his inability to STFU, and his overriding paranoia about his image, Donald Trump cannot let even the lightest criticism pass unchallenged. While he should be, y'know, governing the country, protecting the interests and citizens of the United States--minor matters, really--he attends instead to the really important stuff: burnishing his tarnished image. He sends out 3 a.m. tweets griping about anything and anyone who dares challenge his notion that he is infallible Golden Boy who "wins" at everything. Everyone else is a "loser": Barack Obama, Stephen Colbert, Paul Ryan, Bill Maher--hey, everyone is fair game. If you have tweeted the slightest mockery of the freakshow that is Donald Trump, he's going to let you have it with a humdinger of "I know you are but what am I" taunt of schoolboy profundity. That'll show 'em, Donnie-boy. And if that doesn't work, he'll sue you. Hell, I half expect to get sued just for posting this. Failing that, I expect at least some hate mail from his fanboys.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyJ_nAoOZ7yB6SS0S1sIa87bGfnRm8bae0tBJVIrVGQvKgYRtVU7poJmIHmf1zQfxDvJVB-BFUjHopDVAyD2EU1oKmbFvJtypjlLLUdmU6RJIFD9X-GoF57ycNzV3E6rTXxF6onv3CpMQ/s1600/donald-trump-large_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqK0yZontbxCZs9bJrrsaLbn66AbE2io_iZ8wrRFUsCw0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyJ_nAoOZ7yB6SS0S1sIa87bGfnRm8bae0tBJVIrVGQvKgYRtVU7poJmIHmf1zQfxDvJVB-BFUjHopDVAyD2EU1oKmbFvJtypjlLLUdmU6RJIFD9X-GoF57ycNzV3E6rTXxF6onv3CpMQ/s640/donald-trump-large_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqK0yZontbxCZs9bJrrsaLbn66AbE2io_iZ8wrRFUsCw0.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't know those were actual facts. I thought they were <i>alternative</i> facts.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/business/2017/01/06/app-warns-investors-donald-trump-tweets-companies/">telegraph.co.uk</a></td></tr>
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During his recent failure to dismantle the Affordable Care Act, he lamented that "no one knew" how complicated health care really was, except that everyone else really did. He was just revealing what a clueless dunce he truly is. Recently he complained that being president was "much harder" than he thought it would be. Gee, governing the world's largest democracy was a challenge--why didn't somebody warn him?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"And you may ask yourself, 'How do I work this?"<br />
source: <a href="http://theweek.com/articles/623043/donald-trumps-catastrophic-ignorance">theweek.com</a></td></tr>
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I have not posted on this blog in nearly a year. The current state of political affairs, and the grinding shitstorm of a "campaign" that led up to it, were--I now realize--largely responsible for much of my apathy, lack of energy, shortage of passion, and poverty of engagement. I have not been working as much in the studio, either. I feel spent. I feel like I'm taking crazy pills. Most of the country does, I think.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzojz5MC3MBxoID6st_ijtFXPks4wWmCK8VoyBwZ8qm4rdCKibwVTjMCgq4eQcfrq3m6Ql972VVVH-55BZzgfhXDkEwdgDKt5kzAZhpwZ8MEMVJkzdUnJ3V0Zg-xrPhpbVAPtMnM4vLcbw/s1600/796286133420392448-1-png__700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzojz5MC3MBxoID6st_ijtFXPks4wWmCK8VoyBwZ8qm4rdCKibwVTjMCgq4eQcfrq3m6Ql972VVVH-55BZzgfhXDkEwdgDKt5kzAZhpwZ8MEMVJkzdUnJ3V0Zg-xrPhpbVAPtMnM4vLcbw/s640/796286133420392448-1-png__700.jpg" width="490" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"My god...what have I done?"<br />
source: <a href="http://www.boredpanda.com/donald-trump-election-caricatures/">boredpanda.com</a></td></tr>
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This election, if that's what it was, has <i>changed</i> things. Most Americans realize that we cannot take our democracy for granted anymore. Our country's truly pathetic voter turnout--48% for this election, not even half the eligible population--confirms that we have done exactly that: taken this system, however flawed, for granted.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OK, it's NOT just me, then...<br />
source: <a href="http://boldtypemag.com/btm/trump-anxiety">boldtypemag.com</a></td></tr>
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As we've all found out to our sorrow, anxiety, and rage, all it takes is one deranged charlatan in power, and the foundations of society feel much more shaky. People are well and truly frightened for our country and our world in way I've not seen before. Which makes it all the more imperative that people act. It's time for people, especially artists, to speak up. I don't think it's any accident that I'm listening to a lot of punk rock, or that protest street art seem more vital and <i>necessary</i>. Something stinks to high heaven about this odious monster. It always has. Let's hope we can ameliorate the damage before the smell rubs off on all of us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdcRbNo0TySJIrB6TBWK9DQJI7juYWI6-yFveMyC0VBTDmWFfd0GNKX12-jWHvhH70JqVERby3d84EqlHBuZFZQKnu65PNq0CVcIDIBQINrU_GjQW3-iuSQrYwABmqzoDpiKpxCVWSiGw/s1600/160112190734-trump-young-voters-nebraska-exlarge-169.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdcRbNo0TySJIrB6TBWK9DQJI7juYWI6-yFveMyC0VBTDmWFfd0GNKX12-jWHvhH70JqVERby3d84EqlHBuZFZQKnu65PNq0CVcIDIBQINrU_GjQW3-iuSQrYwABmqzoDpiKpxCVWSiGw/s640/160112190734-trump-young-voters-nebraska-exlarge-169.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frat boys, voting for one of their own. Thanks, a$$h@ts.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2016/01/28/politics/common-core-donald-trump/">cnn.com</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-18733934052802460682016-06-16T12:52:00.000-04:002016-06-16T12:52:03.135-04:00Gary Panter: From Punk Rock To Pee Wee...And Beyond<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>Frank Zappa: Sleep Dirt</i></b> album cover by Gary Panter.</div>
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source: scanned from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Studio-Visits-Contemporary-Cartoonists/dp/0300110162/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1466093807&sr=1-1&keywords=in+the+studio+visits+with+contemporary+cartoonists">In The Studio</a></i></div>
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You may not have heard of Gary Panter, but chances are you've seen his work somewhere. Just by way of a for instance, if you're a Frank Zappa fan and own the records <i>Studio Tan</i> and/or <i>Sleep Dirt</i>, well, Panter did the covers for those. His paintings also grace the covers of albums by Yo La Tengo and Red Hot Chili Peppers<i>. </i> You might have seen his now-iconic logo for the American punk band The Screamers, which now shows up on street graffiti the world over. Perhaps you've run across his pug-nosed doofus-with-a-heart character Jimbo, either gracing the pages of <i>Slash</i>, legendary magazine of the L.A. punk-rock scene, or appearing in Panter's re-worked version of Dante's Inferno. Or, you may have read some of his comics in Art Spiegelman's <i>RAW</i> magazine.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pee Wee Herman (Paul Reuben) in <i>Pee Wee's Playhouse</i><br />
source: scan from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Gary-Panter-Karrie-Jacobs/dp/0979415314/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1466093629&sr=1-1&keywords=gary+panter">Gary Panter</a></i></td></tr>
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Or maybe, just maybe, you used to watch a little television show called <i>Pee Wee's Playhouse</i>, starring one Pee Wee Herman, bow-tied man-child who inhabits a goofy, Mister-Rogers-on-acid world peopled by talking furniture like Chairy (a doe-eyed overstuffed chair that gives hugs), Clockey ("D'you know what time it is?"), and Globey (who spoke with a French accent, and was, incidentally, a globe.) And who was the uninhibited genius, tuned into Paul Reubens' goofy aesthetic, who designed the sets for the wacky world of Pee Wee? None other than Gary Panter, who, along the way, picked up three Emmys for his trouble.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7oEntzjl3Rm58SWZNnKbMgV2vJvbEaCyF5QhXJ0CMpkDtcAlQoysjL7gtOj0iY1JBf2b8BpJOm-iTDfs1RjyphB90D9B2pjNlp4x5I1wmAPRFpRx8DPvXzjOg_yptBrvEKJPJBFkAGwu/s1600/Pee+Wees+Playhouse+Set.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7oEntzjl3Rm58SWZNnKbMgV2vJvbEaCyF5QhXJ0CMpkDtcAlQoysjL7gtOj0iY1JBf2b8BpJOm-iTDfs1RjyphB90D9B2pjNlp4x5I1wmAPRFpRx8DPvXzjOg_yptBrvEKJPJBFkAGwu/s640/Pee+Wees+Playhouse+Set.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gary Panter's set design for <i>Pee Wee's Playhouse</i><br />
source: scan from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Gary-Panter-Karrie-Jacobs/dp/0979415314/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1466093629&sr=1-1&keywords=gary+panter">Gary Panter</a></i></td></tr>
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Not bad for a guy out of Oklahoma who studied art in Texas and got his start with the Los Angeles punk scene in the mid 1970s. Gary Panter puts the lie to the idea that artists have to specialize, have a recognizable "brand", or paint in only one style in order to be recognized. Panter is one artist who, literally, has done just about every type of creative work possible: comics, posters, graphic design, illustration, album covers, painting, performance art, textile design, printmaking, sculpture, music, and last but not least, television. Even more remarkable is that his work in each medium bears the recognizable stamp of his do-it-yourself, zany, cartoony, pop culture-cum-punk rock aesthetic. Once you've seen an example of Panter's work in one medium, you can detect his characteristically quirky style in another. <br />
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<i><b>Gripping Typos</b></i> comic book cover</div>
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source: scan from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Studio-Visits-Contemporary-Cartoonists/dp/0300110162/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1466093807&sr=1-1&keywords=in+the+studio+visits+with+contemporary+cartoonists">In The Studio</a></i></div>
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Panter was born in 1950 to religious parents immersed in an evangelical Church of Christ tradition. Despite this conservatism, they nevertheless encouraged his drawing abilities and interest in comics. His father Mel was and is an amateur painter whose stylized, brightly colored depictions of Native American subjects (no coincidence--Panter is part-Choctaw) were a major influence on his son. Watching his father paint and draw made art-making seem a normal activity, and Panter made his first childhood painting with some of his father's leftover paints. Panter's family moved to the border town of Brownsville, Texas when Gary was 4 years old. Brownsville's brightly colored Mexican signage and commercial art left a vivid impression on Panter's developing psyche. (Interesting side note: Julian Schnabel spent much of his childhood in Brownsville, which also markedly influenced his sensibility). Panter's vivid imagination was also stoked by the monsters-and-space-aliens aesthetic of 1950s comics and pop culture.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Godzilla Versus King Kong</i></b><br />
source: scanned from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Gary-Panter-Karrie-Jacobs/dp/0979415314/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1466093629&sr=1-1&keywords=gary+panter">Gary Panter</a></i></td></tr>
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Art school proved to be a heady, liberating experience. Panter attended East Texas State University in the early 1970s, and flung himself headlong into the open-minded, experimental approach embraced by the art department. Displaying the drive and unflagging energy that would characterize his career, Panter made large paintings, built installations, and created environments and happenings, moving quickly through the usual student explorations of abstraction, pop art, conceptual art, and collage. He moved to Los Angeles in the mid-1970s, landing there just as L.A.'s burgeoning punk rock scene was ready to erupt.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>The Screamers</b></i> logo<br />
source: scan from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Gary-Panter-Karrie-Jacobs/dp/0979415314/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1466093629&sr=1-1&keywords=gary+panter">Gary Panter</a></i></td></tr>
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Bands like The Germs, Black Flag, and X were blazing their way into unexplored musical territory, incorporating elements of garage rock, surf music, and even country. Panter's style, a melding of zany atomic-age comic-book monster goofiness with graphic, punchy nihilist irony, seemed custom-made to provide the visuals to California punk's raw buzzsaw sound. His most widely known, widely copied image is the iconic logo he created for the Los Angeles proto-punk band The Screamers. Panter's wild-eyed, spiky-haired ne'er-do-well, rendered in razor-sharp black and white, bellows an almost audible scream of rage from his menacing sharp-toothed mouth. Visually, the Screamer epitomizes the manic energy, anger, speed, and volume of the jarring new music, and the image still has the power to shock and frighten. Graffiti artists the world over have appropriated it for its simple, high-intensity graphic punch. There's a good chance you'll see this image on street corners from L.A. to New York to London to Moscow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMLQydvAhr-jJdpJjK1ENZM8SpoZRvbmpRpGtcgLq_7nQLxI_SADwBYyrkW7ZH-3Q2kplR5Z964aN3km22DPymxUwA7m6HfpCSugHLXU75E2NrEQ_jNta4I5GHyqIRexqSgGvp8BoqMPa/s1600/Slash+Jimbo+Anthology.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMLQydvAhr-jJdpJjK1ENZM8SpoZRvbmpRpGtcgLq_7nQLxI_SADwBYyrkW7ZH-3Q2kplR5Z964aN3km22DPymxUwA7m6HfpCSugHLXU75E2NrEQ_jNta4I5GHyqIRexqSgGvp8BoqMPa/s640/Slash+Jimbo+Anthology.jpg" width="484" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Jimbo </i></b>on the cover of <i>Slash</i> magazine<br />
source: scan from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Studio-Visits-Contemporary-Cartoonists/dp/0300110162/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1466093807&sr=1-1&keywords=in+the+studio+visits+with+contemporary+cartoonists">In The Studio</a></i></td></tr>
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Jimbo, Panter's other indelible punk rock icon, appeared at about the same time as the Screamer but possesses a completely different character. The Screamer looks like a psychopath on a speed binge who'd just as soon stab you as look at you. By contrast, Jimbo is likable but pugnacious, a foul-mouthed Everyman who ambles through the California punk wasteland trying to make sense of it all. He's perpetually frustrated and bewildered, offering wry, sarcastic running commentary wherever he may find himself. He first ambled through the pages of <i>Slash </i>magazine,<i> </i>unofficial chronicler of the California punk scene. Eventually, Jimbo wandered off the pages of <i>Slash</i> and into even more bewildering territories, like Panter's long-running comic strip <i>Dal Tokyo</i>. Recently, Jimbo has been seen traipsing through an even more infernal landscape in Panter's reworkings of Dante's <i>Inferno</i>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNNcqpbdazJaFk1pq5cLVj27Mea_kYFO7FMlP3mvB995WAhyntAaP6DDXL7fgCKhYNZrnZCExm2VWUT2y1vUwvZ32bEiOCjAdZwG_9BS8xcnemLrkhyQYKmpVv3MXvUuxhahMLgFpViCD/s1600/Dal-46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNNcqpbdazJaFk1pq5cLVj27Mea_kYFO7FMlP3mvB995WAhyntAaP6DDXL7fgCKhYNZrnZCExm2VWUT2y1vUwvZ32bEiOCjAdZwG_9BS8xcnemLrkhyQYKmpVv3MXvUuxhahMLgFpViCD/s640/Dal-46.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Dal Tokyo</i></b> panel<br />source: <a href="http://www.tcj.com/the-mental-life-of-dal-tokyo/">The Comics Journal</a></td></tr>
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It is no exaggeration to say that Panter's <i>Dal Tokyo</i> is at least as complex and ambitious as Dante, and possibly more frightening. Dal Tokyo is a bewildering, dystopic city-colony of the future, peopled by punks, monsters, and mutants, with the occasional manga character thrown in for good measure. It has been described as a "future Mars that is 'terraformed' by Texan and Japanese workers", but that description misses the multiple storylines and dense mythologies underlying the narrative. Panter began the strip in 1983 and has been adding to it ever since. While I have not yet immersed myself in its labyrinthine world, the few panels I have seen suggest that one doesn't read <i>Dal Tokyo</i> so much as fall into its densities and live in it for awhile. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1OUm8yyqKk0l1Fib-ljpNCfagzqNjfz3jn3F8K1XvBHZk-TaN_Q5Fu6BMf43Y4FeFRPgKfr5POKA9L9SrVQ7BsPZ8r431H1GSuUwOWdnwZM2N1ma91wIufpWtEA10p7fn5s-JEOEhZBW/s1600/bio_garyphoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1OUm8yyqKk0l1Fib-ljpNCfagzqNjfz3jn3F8K1XvBHZk-TaN_Q5Fu6BMf43Y4FeFRPgKfr5POKA9L9SrVQ7BsPZ8r431H1GSuUwOWdnwZM2N1ma91wIufpWtEA10p7fn5s-JEOEhZBW/s640/bio_garyphoto.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gary Panter in his Brooklyn studio.<br />source: <a href="http://www.garypanter.com/site/index.php?/about/biography/">garypanter.com</a></td></tr>
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At age 66, Panter shows no signs of slowing down. He continues to paint, draw, publish, and exhibit at a dizzying pace. He lives and works in Brooklyn, New York, and following his muse wherever it might lead. In an interview with the online magazine <b><i><a href="http://www.believermag.com/issues/200906/?read=interview_panter">The Believer</a></i></b> in 2009, he summed up what might be called his creative philosophy: "I'm trying to think of what I can do that other people aren't doing, and what other people can't do. Cartooning is the same. People like being alike, joining up, and being part of something. I think it's more interesting to find a new ecological niche. I'm into experimenting, like Duchamp, or Oldenburg, or Karl Wirsum. They are all unlike anyone who came before them." <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGXvoEVmM4HZJXljEO-xs6fF4LQ8_m6SDIXmII8QHNNDFgHy6o34S7HQr2Tm5AVFy1Cm2AukSAcmpI3SfbLfX3i7VfdQ_33aLY364eq1ks4fCJI2tj2xp8LtDdhEwBUxYpa8jZ_4SC4zN/s1600/Killbilly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGXvoEVmM4HZJXljEO-xs6fF4LQ8_m6SDIXmII8QHNNDFgHy6o34S7HQr2Tm5AVFy1Cm2AukSAcmpI3SfbLfX3i7VfdQ_33aLY364eq1ks4fCJI2tj2xp8LtDdhEwBUxYpa8jZ_4SC4zN/s640/Killbilly.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Kill Billy</i></b>, acrylic on canvas<br />source: scan from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Gary-Panter-Karrie-Jacobs/dp/0979415314/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1466095731&sr=1-1&keywords=gary+panter">Gary Panter</a></i></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-16325311317344737742016-05-23T17:04:00.002-04:002016-05-23T17:04:30.729-04:00The Errant Surrealist: The Excommunication of Alberto Giacometti<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alberto Giacomett, photographed by Ernst Scheidegger in 1960.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.ernst-scheidegger-archiv.org/en/photos-of-artists/alberto-giacometti/?id=444">www.ernst-scheidegger-archiv.org</a></td></tr>
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The painter and sculptor Alberto Giacometti occupies a unique place in the annals of modern art. He was truly <i>sui generis</i>, an artist who was indeed one of a kind. He possessed a vision so unique, so otherworldly, so at odds with the prevailing trends of his time that he fit into no school, and couldn't be summarized with any one label. His later work resembles that of no other modern artist. Earlier in his career, when he did work according to certain styles--Post-Impressionism and Cubism, for example--he placed his own unique stamp on the results.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Self-Portrait</i></b> (1921) by Alberto Giacometti<br />
source: <a href="http://vijaysimhadridigitalart.weebly.com/alberto--giovanni-giacometti-swiss.html">vijaysimhaddigitialart.weebly.com</a></td></tr>
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He was also famously independent, and possessed a character of unassailable integrity. He was honest, frank and forthright. He was incapable of lying, posturing, or pretending, and had little patience for small talk. He spoke his mind and didn't mince words. At the same time, he was naturally friendly, open, sociable, and accepting of others. For an artist of such formidable gifts, he was appealingly humble and modest. He lived simply, occupying the same ramshackle studio in Paris for nearly forty years.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgps-RF_l1cnuHXvrEiPn94llCInqvsqaDAKpb_IOJZkV4hepPPJzrwzPwv0xr8LJH7okKsHBjvWUU7Fc-G_RojrIsl_mQ0IbyZUVv5BEClNXlqRlhvfFtD5e4oKBydzA1gbtDYMupPjBBG/s1600/giacometti_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgps-RF_l1cnuHXvrEiPn94llCInqvsqaDAKpb_IOJZkV4hepPPJzrwzPwv0xr8LJH7okKsHBjvWUU7Fc-G_RojrIsl_mQ0IbyZUVv5BEClNXlqRlhvfFtD5e4oKBydzA1gbtDYMupPjBBG/s640/giacometti_1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti drawing in his Paris studio, 1953.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.ernst-scheidegger-archiv.org/en/photos-of-artists/alberto-giacometti/?id=445">Ernst Scheidegger Archive</a></td></tr>
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He disliked art world politics, cared little if at all for prestige or power, and focused his relentless energies and rigorous intellect on one thing and one thing only: his art. So it seems out of character with what we know of him that, at one time, he was a bona fide and highly respected member of the Surrealist group.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti in 1927, shortly before joining the Surrealists.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.fondation-giacometti.fr/en/art/16/discover-the-artwork/">Giacometti Foundation</a></td></tr>
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This is even more remarkable when one considers that the Surrealist group, as a whole, were one of the most fractious and combustible collectives in art history. Almost to a man, they were careerist, extraordinarily ambitious, and astute art world politicians. They were given to making outrageous gestures and staging flamboyant publicity stunts. At the height of their acclaim and influence, their ranks included Salvador Dali, Yves Tanguy, Max Ernst, Man Ray, Paul Eluard, Joan Miro, Tristan Tzara, Jean Arp, and even Pablo Picasso. To top it off, they were led by the poet Andre Breton, a man so commanding, so magnetic, and so enamored of himself and his authority that he was called--not as a joke--"the Pope".<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andre Breton, with Giacometti's <i>Suspended Ball</i> behind him.<br />
source: <a href="http://mamellesdetiresias.blogspot.com/2013/03/manifeste-du-surrealisme-andre-breton_6927.html">mamellesdetiresias.blogspot.com</a></td></tr>
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Breton, a former medical student turned poet and philosopher, was an imperious and brilliant man, possessed of enormous charisma and self-confidence. He was fascinated by the new field of psychology, meeting Sigmund Freud in Vienna, and unreservedly subscribed to Freud's theories of the unconscious. In the cultural ferment of post-war Paris, Breton met up with like-minded intellectuals Louis Aragon and Paul Eluard. These three men became the central triad of power within the Surrealist group, with Breton its undisputed leader. The group attracted other artists and writers to their ranks, and soon became the dominant intellectual force in French arts and letters.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBB_0EYrMvmJuXnFhy3s8Y6uI9Ra1qEXxTv22jd_F3vvkh-5mJwOXRSpCkrbu8yWzje_JvmtbrYfZZGCtFtxrm8We2u7Jy0p96LHHyfbfrvY1rMQwRYpl0iwPfmztlLsnPV5RheNFsE3FE/s1600/giacometti2-770x439_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBB_0EYrMvmJuXnFhy3s8Y6uI9Ra1qEXxTv22jd_F3vvkh-5mJwOXRSpCkrbu8yWzje_JvmtbrYfZZGCtFtxrm8We2u7Jy0p96LHHyfbfrvY1rMQwRYpl0iwPfmztlLsnPV5RheNFsE3FE/s640/giacometti2-770x439_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Woman Dreaming</i></b>, 1929, by Alberto Giacometti.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culturaeculture.it/cultura/mostre-galleria-borghese-sculture-giacometti/">culturaeculture.it</a></td></tr>
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Characteristically, Giacometti did not seek out the Surrealists. Instead, they sought <i>him</i> out, due to the haunting, enigmatic nature of his sculpture. His most recent work defied conventional description. He had left behind the language of Cubism for something altogether different. His new sculptures featured roughly-hewn geometric shapes and figures, posed singly and together. Phallic and vaginal shapes abounded. The sculptures, though structurally simple, were formally sophisticated and emotionally powerful. Some pieces evoked dream states, others symbolized sexual violence, menace, and the war between the sexes. As it happened, these were exactly the themes the Surrealist group had championed in their own work.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdi9_V5PTONeBMfIR9zuQe53HlNdEd8zmMaXbMIvkmKkc00UrsrRVRyQWc0kBC6Fjyz-1yZv7rc_rNuiMwboBxI2nH-nnJCX6f9_RrOj1VgQ2CuWEhCkqoL3emNbBZCt9bViqB1zO4eI_/s1600/wpid-photo-10-jul-2010-0138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdi9_V5PTONeBMfIR9zuQe53HlNdEd8zmMaXbMIvkmKkc00UrsrRVRyQWc0kBC6Fjyz-1yZv7rc_rNuiMwboBxI2nH-nnJCX6f9_RrOj1VgQ2CuWEhCkqoL3emNbBZCt9bViqB1zO4eI_/s640/wpid-photo-10-jul-2010-0138.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Suspended Ball</i></b> (1930)<br />
source: <a href="https://biadcoursework.wordpress.com/2013/05/23/giacometti-suspended-ball-1931/">biadcoursework.wordpress.com</a></td></tr>
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Through a chance meeting with ex-Surrealist Andre Masson--he had left the group over a disagreement with Breton--Giacometti was taken on by the Pierre Loeb Gallery, the unofficial exhibit space for the Surrealists. Loeb included some of Giacometti's recent work at an exhibit in 1930, where it caught the attention of Breton and Salvador Dali, another prominent Surrealist. One piece in particular, <i>The Suspended Ball</i>, aroused particular admiration. Shortly thereafter, Breton visited Giacometti at his studio and invited him to become a member of their elite cohort. Giacometti agreed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Palace at 4 a.m.</i></b> (1932) by Alberto Giacometti<br />
source: <a href="https://bookhaven.stanford.edu/2012/10/william-maxwell-in-talking-about-the-past-we-lie-with-every-breath-we-draw/">bookhaven.stanford.edu</a></td></tr>
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Joining the Surrealist movement proved to be a major coup for the young sculptor. He now had the backing and visibility afforded him by the Surrealists' imprimatur. He threw himself zealously into the Surrealist cause: publishing in their journal, participating in exhibits, espousing their philosophy, and incidentally, producing some of the most haunting, affecting, and mysterious work of any artist in that group, except perhaps Joan Miro and Pablo Picasso. Giacometti's Surrealist period proved most fertile for the artist, and the sculpture he produced during this period still has the power to shock and disturb. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Femme Egorge' (Woman With Her Throat Cut), </i>1932</b><br />
source: <a href="http://www.artfund.org/news/2015/10/14/five-giacometti-pieces-to-see-around-the-uk">artfund.org</a></td></tr>
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Take, for example, his most notorious work of this period, <i>Femme Egorge'</i> (<i>Woman With Her Throat Cut). </i>This thoroughly unsettling object depicts an insect-like creature--evidently female, judging from her breasts and rounded belly--splayed on her back, a small slit visible in the curved, multi-vertebrate neck. The jagged back shell, claw- and club-shaped appendages, and spindly, splayed legs appear to equate Woman with a kind of hideous insect: dangerous, bizarre and repellent, like a praying mantis who devours her mate. This particular insect, however, has met its match. The theme of the sexual violence, and woman-as-victim is a common one in Surrealist lore, but Giacometti has taken this idea to an utterly original and highly disturbing extreme.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Hands Holding the Void</i></b> (1935) by Alberto Giacometti<br />source: <a href="https://www.slam.org/moderneuropean/works/20.html">slam.org</a></td></tr>
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It should be remembered that in creating his Surrealist-period work, however, Giacometti was following his own muse, not someone else's. He always had and always would create out of inner necessity. The Surrealists had sought him out, not the other way around. It was inevitable, therefore, that an artist as original and independent as Giacometti would always choose to follow his own path, whether the Surrealists liked it or not.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alberto Giacometti, photographed by Man Ray in 1934<br />source: <a href="http://www.scottzagar.com/arthistory/images_gallery/man%20ray%201934%20alberto%20giacometti%20.jpg">scottzagar.com</a></td></tr>
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As it happened, after almost five years as an official Surrealist, Giacometti experienced an episode that would recur several times in his life: he had what might be described as a type of visual and sensory epiphany, wherein his sense of visual perception changed and sharpened. He no longer perceived objects in space the way he had before. Reality itself was transformed and intensified. He realized that in order to apprehend this new vision of reality, he needed to begin drawing from the model again, which is exactly what he did. When he showed these drawings to the "Pope", Breton reacted with exasperation and contempt. "Everybody knows what a head is!" he exclaimed. Giacometti replied, "I don't."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alberto Giacometti, 1935.<br />source: <a href="https://circarq.wordpress.com/2016/01/23/alberto-giacometti-y-su-familia/">circarq.wordpress.com</a></td></tr>
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After a few weeks, it became clear that Giacometti was not to be dissuaded from this new path. Breton could not tolerate this challenge to his authority, and attempted to issue an ultimatum to the sculptor. He confronted Giacometti over dinner at a cafe, with several other Surrealists in attendance as witnesses to Giacometti's insubordination. Despite being outnumbered, the Swiss artist asserted his moral right to work in the manner he saw fit, Surrealist doctrine be damned. Breton was aghast. "I think this needs to be cleared up once and for all," he declared. Giacometti's patience for Breton and his Surrealist parlor games was at an end. He retorted "Don't bother. I'm leaving." He walked out of the cafe, out of the Surrealist circle, and away from his former life.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alberto Giacometti, circa 1946<br />source:<a href="https://jennadecker.wordpress.com/2013/09/23/artist-portraits-self-portraits/alberto-giacometti/"> jennadecker.wordpress.com</a></td></tr>
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With that, Giacometti found himself <i>persona non grata</i> among French artistic and intellectual circles. Almost all of his former associates were either members of the Surrealist circle, or were associated with it. Aside from his brother Diego and a few loyal friends, he found himself exiled and treated as a nobody. As it happened, World War II was looming, and most of the Surrealists were soon themselves exiled to America to escape German-occupied France. Alberto Giacometti spent the war years in Geneva, where he further pursued the elusive vision of his epiphany. That vision led him to create work of such gravitas and distinction that he occupied, and continues to occupy, a singular place in the modern art landscape. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alberto Giacometti, 1954. Photograph by Sabine Weiss.<br />source: <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/409053578628047541/">pinterest.com</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-63826993958402221152016-05-18T14:24:00.000-04:002016-05-20T23:01:12.345-04:00Milton Resnick: The Man Who Wasn't There.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milton Resnick, photographed by Arthur Mones<br />
source: <a href="https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/106868/Milton_Resnick">Brooklyn Museum</a></td></tr>
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There is a famous photograph, taken by LIFE magazine photographer Nina Leen in 1950, of seventeen men and one woman, all American artists, all New Yorkers, standing together in a room, dressed in suits and ties, staring formidably at the camera. The article headline accompanying this image ("Irascible Group Of Advanced Artists Led Fight Against Show") referenced their protest of their exclusion from a show of American art at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and created the photograph's unofficial title: <i>The Irascibles</i>. Among the artists pictured are Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, Robert Motherwell, Mark Rothko, Barnett Newman, and Clyfford Still. The iconic image is considered an unofficial portrait of the Abstract Expressionist movement. However, many major New York School artists were missing from the picture, among them Franz Kline, Philip Guston, Hans Hofmann, and Lee Krasner. Another missing artist, lesser known to the public at the time, but a well-respected and central figure in the New York art world, was a painter named Milton Resnick.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Irascibles</i></b>, photograph by Nina Leen.<br />
source: <a href="https://bob520.wordpress.com/2010/09/14/abstract-expressionists/">bob520.wordpress.com</a></td></tr>
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That he was missing from that iconic photograph would come as no surprise to those who knew him. Famously independent, stubborn, iconoclastic, argumentative, and uncompromising in his views on art, or, for that matter, anything else, Resnick was not a joiner. He disparaged groups. He deplored the politics of the art world. He wasn't interested in material success, and had no respect for those who were. All he cared about was art, artists, and the elusive metaphysics of painting. If you weren't an artist, he didn't want to know you. A revealing anecdote from Geoffrey Dorfman's excellent book <b style="font-style: italic;">Out Of The Picture: Milton Resnick and the New York School </b>illustrates this perfectly. As he was walking the streets of New York one day, a young man recognized him and asked if he might join him on his stroll. Resnick asked, "Are you a painter?" The young man said no. "Then you can't," said Resnick, and kept going. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Resnick teaching, at the New York Studio School, 1968.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.artinamericamagazine.com/news-features/magazine/milton-resnick/#slideshow-1">artinamercamagazine.com</a></td></tr>
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For Resnick, painters were a special breed, drawn to a higher calling and practitioners of a mysterious, arcane ritual akin to alchemy. Paint was not just pigment: it was a mystical, stubborn, maddening substance with an essence all its own, and the act of painting was as mysterious and transformative as any religious experience. Painter David Reed, one of Resnick's students, and author of a moving article about his teacher in <b><i>Art in America</i> </b>(September 2011), quotes many of his elliptical aphorisms. For example: "Follow the painting all the way. Be in it; forced along with it, you will change. That is art." Or: "Get on the moving belt, just move, you and the painting which equals your brain." And this: "Willpower must be separated from painting. Get inside and let the painting grow."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1uWl9yyC2Ef0lrFRd3Kw0sGiBLlRkYCoeJCk0gQmGR5sC3XDa8UcPdwPcj5izoCIuaJ7b4W6oYvCRbdJ4Lm21edkzt4Q0vVcyt60haRaotf-R4kGzQwUwk4KlqYzQAq86x62rIR7PSvL/s1600/bwaystudioDUOTONE+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1uWl9yyC2Ef0lrFRd3Kw0sGiBLlRkYCoeJCk0gQmGR5sC3XDa8UcPdwPcj5izoCIuaJ7b4W6oYvCRbdJ4Lm21edkzt4Q0vVcyt60haRaotf-R4kGzQwUwk4KlqYzQAq86x62rIR7PSvL/s640/bwaystudioDUOTONE+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Resnick in his Broadway warehouse studio, 1960.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.logosjournal.com/bwaystudioDUOTONE.jpg">logosjournal.com</a></td></tr>
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Like many of his fellow New York avant garde painters, Resnick was a Russian Jewish immigrant. Born in 1917, Resnick and his family left an anti-Semitic country inn the throes of revolution in 1922. While America was not exactly utopia, it was full of promise and relative peace. And, there were no pogroms.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Resnick (center) in his 10th Street studio with Willem de Kooning (left) and wife Pat Passlof (right).<br />
source: <a href="http://images.google.com/hosted/life/8ac112a9c2812cb6.html">LIFE Magazine</a></td></tr>
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Resnick's independent character asserted itself early. He almost certainly inherited it from his father, who urged his son to pursue a practical career, such as engineering or architecture. Milton preferred art. They compromised: Milton began studying illustration at the Pratt Institute. While there, he became ensnared by the beguiling pull of painting and fine art. When his father found out, he kicked his son out of the house. From then on, Resnick was on his own.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPopQqn1kwfBt7NOF31Tjcqvlg4ecqeUfEOXJw__N5jGjzC5TiAWilmIYYclwgOCwlPrU0NqqvPdBNgE-cduikHAolGnN16c1OIpdIEEHycaqsOIwYbV21L6hXmPqM6bN7KFGAX1NIHi3/s1600/H0027-L04023085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPopQqn1kwfBt7NOF31Tjcqvlg4ecqeUfEOXJw__N5jGjzC5TiAWilmIYYclwgOCwlPrU0NqqvPdBNgE-cduikHAolGnN16c1OIpdIEEHycaqsOIwYbV21L6hXmPqM6bN7KFGAX1NIHi3/s640/H0027-L04023085.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>BB</i></b> (1957)<br />
source:<a href="http://www.invaluable.com/artist/resnick-milton-i470qe3d9e"> invaluable.com</a></td></tr>
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Like most other New York artists in the 1930s, Resnick scraped and scrambled to get by. He worked odd jobs, including one as a janitor at an art school. He joined the Federal Arts Project, dated Elaine Fried and then befriended her soon-to-be-fiance Willem de Kooning, served in the Army during World War II and survived combat, returned to New York City and painting in 1946. He studied in Paris for a time, returned to New York City, met and married fellow artist Pat Passlof, and wound up living a floor below de Kooning on Tenth Street. Along the way, he slowly, agonizingly developed his own utterly unique way with paint.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuwpVH80OLuxiAb1imXGCI0U6y2xYVqsdIB047F8YTLveMs-fVYUOCwKd0fjHtshniwuaFXbm6mMQK3lJw60sv3vuY2AAVFYHExW1F1XQI-Glr4ztYzKBc7DzpW00zAYLwUGOOAPgAT4ae/s1600/H0027-L14860076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuwpVH80OLuxiAb1imXGCI0U6y2xYVqsdIB047F8YTLveMs-fVYUOCwKd0fjHtshniwuaFXbm6mMQK3lJw60sv3vuY2AAVFYHExW1F1XQI-Glr4ztYzKBc7DzpW00zAYLwUGOOAPgAT4ae/s640/H0027-L14860076.jpg" width="526" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Hydrogen</i></b> (1961)<br />
source:<a href="http://www.invaluable.com/artist/resnick-milton-i470qe3d9e"> invaluable.vom</a></td></tr>
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Resnick's early work emphasized broad shapes with gestural brushwork in deep, bold colors. As the years went by, however, color and shape took a back seat to texture. The paint gradually became weighty and impenetrable, the brushstrokes became interwoven and less distinct. The canvases became larger. Eventually, even individual brushstrokes became indistinguishable in the finished work. The monumental canvases appeared to be not so much painted as <i>sculpted</i> from paint.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Straws</i></b> (1981)<br />
source: <a href="http://resnickpasslof.org/selected-works-milton-resnick">resnickpasslof.org</a></td></tr>
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One could describe Resnick's later paintings as large, all-over abstractions, and technically, that would be correct. However, this description misses the heft, texture, and multi-layered density of his brushwork. Standing in front of one of his paintings, one is struck by the weightiness of oil paint as sheer matter. The paintings are not so much images as monoliths, thick slabs of pigment that seem to possess their own gravitational pull. The paintings are packed, scarred, cratered with thick impasto. There are glints of color in amidst the turbulent monochrome that cannot quite escape the dense matter. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp98hmM1bfTz3_0hgNbWNdQmDyNHFKMsSS-FXYaeJrzT9cXgQXLhCZjTcovJJ1pA4Zuge9R_NKkDf7Fpe58VjVqD5m-nnJu0C2VdeHPiDNN_R6v5q1EhvIM6s4pr9TQ3dmrS36ULFA6f_r/s1600/DSC_0123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp98hmM1bfTz3_0hgNbWNdQmDyNHFKMsSS-FXYaeJrzT9cXgQXLhCZjTcovJJ1pA4Zuge9R_NKkDf7Fpe58VjVqD5m-nnJu0C2VdeHPiDNN_R6v5q1EhvIM6s4pr9TQ3dmrS36ULFA6f_r/s640/DSC_0123.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painting detail<br />
source: <a href="http://structureandimagery.blogspot.com/2011/10/milton-resnick-cheim-read.html">structureandimagery.blogspot.com</a></td></tr>
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Financially, Resnick struggled over the years. His huge canvases did not sell easily, if at all, and he took teaching gigs at various times all over the country to make ends meet. His wife Passlof, no less committed to art as a way of life, followed him from place to place on his peripatetic journey, all the while keeping up her own painting. Eventually, he again landed in New York City, this time for good. In his later years, Resnick found, to his astonishment, that indistinct figures and shapes began appearing again in his work. Characteristically, he let the paint do the talking, and left the figures as they appear. He bought an abandoned synagogue in New York in 1976, and used it as his permanent studio. His wife Pat lived around the corner from him in his former studio. Resnick lived an ascetic life, working in his rustic synagogue atelier and sleeping on a cot behind a partition. He tirelessly practiced his mystical, metaphysical calling, until his death in 2004. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3M0yWOYrVMToSFqq_4eQAATPiLVr3rP2nUID0Qcz7EAg9r3JTpskba4xtRQO_KLrdHZi5ETEbTISqpLXGdb6KKMVQ95V8MoiAwbns5m30yVsvdFj8SlLaft2XMgf4Mjl3_jgdnRuH_JL/s1600/resnick-mones-bklyn-museum-624x484.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3M0yWOYrVMToSFqq_4eQAATPiLVr3rP2nUID0Qcz7EAg9r3JTpskba4xtRQO_KLrdHZi5ETEbTISqpLXGdb6KKMVQ95V8MoiAwbns5m30yVsvdFj8SlLaft2XMgf4Mjl3_jgdnRuH_JL/s640/resnick-mones-bklyn-museum-624x484.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Resnick in his synagogue/studio.<br />
source: <a href="http://resnickpasslof.org/the-artists/milton-resnick">resnickpasslof.org</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-34713234097462793692015-12-14T14:10:00.003-05:002015-12-14T14:10:43.592-05:00De Kooning's Women: The Bawdy Wenches of American Art<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Woman I</i></b> by Willem De Kooning<br />
source: scan from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Willem-Kooning-Paintings-David-Sylvester/dp/0300060114/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1450109815&sr=1-1&keywords=willem+de+kooning+paintings">Willem De Kooning--Paintings</a></td></tr>
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In 1950, artist Willem de Kooning did something that threatened to send his hard-won reputation, and his burgeoning career, crashing to the ground. It doesn't sound like much now, but at the time, many people in the know found it shocking. And what was de Kooning's act of artistic apostasy? Only this: he began work on a large painting of a female figure.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxeBAePy90s3dHNal-r0Q0KJto01QrFg_TzTVDe_zynI4-94OfvAH_2n3AVSSMiEbFesZSU0sxjXSKJILZ03PBKsxu62ZOK9Sl5xodeODmNagC4pl2RinGoUkfhcFRy7Wf4hpDXgJSSio/s1600/dekooning1950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxeBAePy90s3dHNal-r0Q0KJto01QrFg_TzTVDe_zynI4-94OfvAH_2n3AVSSMiEbFesZSU0sxjXSKJILZ03PBKsxu62ZOK9Sl5xodeODmNagC4pl2RinGoUkfhcFRy7Wf4hpDXgJSSio/s640/dekooning1950.jpg" width="534" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Willem de Kooning, circa 1950<br />
Photographer: Rudolph Burckhardt<br />
source: <a href="http://www.phaidon.com/agenda/art/articles/2014/june/19/the-strange-story-behind-de-kooning-s-woman-i/">phaidon.com</a></td></tr>
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This was no small thing. De Kooning had been a respected figure in the New York art scene for nearly twenty years. An artist of prodigious gifts, possessed of dogged determination and a fierce desire to follow his own muse, he was just beginning to see the fruits of years of intense labor. After his first one-man show in 1948, the prominent New York critic Clement Greenberg pronounced de Kooning "one of the four or five most important painters in the country". Coming from the formidable Greenberg, who had helped establish Jackson Pollock's reputation as one of America's greatest modern artists, this was high praise indeed.<br />
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<b><i>Excavation</i></b> by Willem de Kooning</div>
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source: <a href="http://counterlightsrantsandblather1.blogspot.com/2012/01/willem-de-kooning-melodrama-of.html">counterlightsrantsandblather1.blogspot.com</a></div>
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De Kooning's fellow painters already respected him, but such acclaim from an authoritative voice in a national publication signaled de Kooning's growing prominence. Two years later, he produced two of his greatest abstractions to date: <i>Attic</i> and <i>Excavation</i>. <i>Attic</i> was chosen by Alfred Barr, director of the Museum of Modern Art, to show in the the United States pavilion of the Venice Biennale. <i>Excavation</i> was awarded first prize in a juried competition in Chicago, and purchased by the Art Institute of Chicago. De Kooning's reputation as an <i>abstract</i> artist of the first rank was thus firmly established. It was at this point that de Kooning turned back to his obsession with the figure. Characteristically, he started with drawings.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">De Kooning works on a study for Woman<br />
source: <a href="http://artistandstudio.tumblr.com/post/43661672877/laflaneuse8-willem-de-kooning">artistandstudio.tumblr.com</a></td></tr>
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The scandal of a leading abstract artist drawing and painting the figure is hardly apparent today. In 1950, however, many people in the art world considered figure painting done, finished, a dead issue. Abstract art was IT. Clement Greenberg, who assumed he knew more about art than anyone else, declared that de Kooning's return to the figure was a colossal disaster. Many of the art-world cognoscenti agreed with him. Now that de Kooning's reputation was established, painting the human figure was seen as a regression, or worse yet, a betrayal.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graphite and pastel study for <i>Woman</i><br />
source: <a href="http://lostprofile.tumblr.com/post/69732702974/nine-drawings-of-women-by-willem-de-kooning-and">lostprofile.tumblr.com</a></td></tr>
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De Kooning would have none of it. After all, he had spent years in dire poverty, choosing to preserve his aesthetic and spiritual freedom rather than surrender to the tyranny of a nine-to-five job. He certainly wasn't going to surrender to the tyranny of critical opinion, least of all that of Clement Greenberg, someone de Kooning intensely disliked. It may have been around this time that Greenberg told de Kooning that, at this point in history, it was "impossible" to paint the figure. De Kooning's reply? "Yah, and it's impossible <i>not </i>to."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Excavation</i></b> detail, showing hints of faces, mouths<br />
source: <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/13792342579354640/">pinterest.com</a></td></tr>
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The artist knew that abstract paintings often contain hints of shapes, figures, or bodies. Art was not a doctrine, to be predetermined by someone else's dogma. For de Kooning, art was full of impurities, contradictions, and layers of fragmentary meanings and associations. "Art never seems to make me feel peaceful or pure" he once said. Come what may, he was going to follow his muse. He forged ahead with his paintings and drawings of the female figure, Greenberg's opinion be damned.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">State One of <b><i>Woman</i></b>, showing attached paper collage elements<br />
Photographer--Walter Auerbach<br />
source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Willem-Kooning-Paintings-David-Sylvester/dp/0300060114/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1450109815&sr=1-1&keywords=willem+de+kooning+paintings">Willem De Kooning--Paintings </a></td></tr>
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De Kooning was legendary for his ferocious struggles with his art. He accepted no easy pictorial solutions, and followed no stylistic program. His process involved and endless cycle of painting, sanding down, and re-painting images until the canvas at last yielded that impossible "it" that he was seeking. If parts of a canvas pleased him, he would trace them on paper, transposing them onto different parts of the canvas in pursuit of unusual compositions. If this didn't yield what he sought, he scraped and sanded down the surface and began over again. Sometimes, he destroyed the painting. His relentless quest for perfection often caused intense bouts of anxiety and insomnia, which he sought to defuse by walking the streets at night. At the time, no one yet knew about panic attacks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxT7Kxtyh7y475hOyofvgwCht475GtF6hl3Db3J00_EcHozYGtppUjJwxGq0Xro0W8f2sJrjrNRflVm-tssbXQLnuQresRzXKWCQ7ymuXH0Z2uhRttWm9ou0hnPc3vAN_DcjWktTIwioCA/s1600/Woman+1950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxT7Kxtyh7y475hOyofvgwCht475GtF6hl3Db3J00_EcHozYGtppUjJwxGq0Xro0W8f2sJrjrNRflVm-tssbXQLnuQresRzXKWCQ7ymuXH0Z2uhRttWm9ou0hnPc3vAN_DcjWktTIwioCA/s640/Woman+1950.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: 12.8px;">
<b><i>Woman, 1950, </i></b>with cutout mouth.</div>
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source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Willem-Kooning-Paintings-David-Sylvester/dp/0300060114/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1450111257&sr=1-1&keywords=willem+de+kooning+paintings">Willem De Kooning--Paintings</a></div>
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At one point, seized with despair over his constantly shifting image, the artist cut out a woman's smiling mouth from a toothpaste ad, pasted it onto a piece of paper, and built a painting around it.<br />
The fixed mouth image became the one stable element in a painting that refused to keep still. De Kooning cut out other mouths and affixed them temporarily to his large paintings. The cut-out mouths provided a focal point as the artist revised, scraped, and shifted the composition of his imposing goddesses. As de Kooning later put it: "The smile was something to hang onto."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Woman II</i></b> in progress, with unfinished <b><i>Woman I </i></b>beside it<br />
Photographer: Robert Rauschenberg<br />
source: <a href="http://sanfrancisco.moma.museum/explore/collection/artwork/25846/research_materials/document/EDeK_98.298_048">sanfrancisco.moma.museum</a></td></tr>
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True to practice, his new Woman painting did not come easily. In fact, the image put up a ferocious struggle. As we now know from recently discovered photographs taken in his studio at this time, de Kooning was actually working on several other large Women paintings simultaneously, well before he finished the first. Surrounded by images of these menacing harpies, de Kooning felt besieged. At some point, he became so discouraged with the original that he threw it into his back hallway, where it sat unfinished.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meyer Schapiro<br />
source: <a href="http://www.aarome.org/event/avinoam-shalem-passages-meyer-schapiros-early-travels-and-united-mediterranean-sea-0">aarome.org</a></td></tr>
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It took a serendipitous visit from legendary art historian Meyer Shapiro, a Greenwich Village neighbor, to convince de Kooning that perhaps his painting wasn't the colossal failure he imagined. Shapiro had heard about de Kooning's problematic painting, and asked to see it. The artist retrieved it from its exile in the back. The two men had a long discussion. De Kooning never revealed what Shapiro said to him, but it galvanized the artist into re-assessing his difficult work. With renewed conviction, he resumed work on it, and soon declared it finished. Five more monumental <i>Woman</i> paintings completed the series shortly thereafter.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gallery poster for de Kooning's <i>Woman</i> exhibit<br />
source: <a href="https://www.artnet.com/auctions/artists/willem-de-kooning/'painting-on-the-theme-of-the-woman'-sidney-janis-gallery">artnet.com</a></td></tr>
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De Kooning's paintings, the result of monumental effort, went on display at the Sidney Janis Gallery in March 1953. To say that the exhibit was a hit would be an understatement--it was more like a <i>smash </i>hit that took the art world by storm. De Kooning's monstrous ladies exhilarated, shocked, unnerved, repulsed, and disturbed people, depending on who was doing the looking. Major collectors came calling: the Museum of modern Art purchased <i>Woman I</i>, and Blanchette Rockefeller bought <i>Woman II</i>. Rather than scuttling de Kooning's career, as conventional wisdom had asserted only a year before, the Woman series brought the artist greater renown and acclaim than before. <br />
De Kooning's gamble to follow his muse had paid off, quite handsomely. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Willem de Kooning in his studio, with <i>Woman II </i>in progress behind him.<br />source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/items/detail/willem-de-kooning-his-work-4768">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-42001429357035133512015-10-29T11:27:00.000-04:002015-10-29T11:27:10.616-04:00Art On Film: "Basquiat" (1996)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeffrey Wright as Jean-Michel Basquiat in <b><i>Basquiat</i></b> (1996)<br />
(source: <a href="http://www.iheardthatmoviewas.com/netflix/celebrate-black-history-month-with-these-10-netflix-instant-play-titles/">iheardthatmoviewas.com</a></td></tr>
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Many moviegoers are familiar with what is often known as the <i><b>biopic</b></i>: fictionalized depictions of actual historical figures. The characters in these movies are based, sometimes loosely, on real people who've made a mark on history. It's an irresistible formula for a film producer: <i>already-famous-person</i> equals <i>guaranteed publicity</i> equals <i>box office gold</i>. That's what I imagine goes through a movie producer's head when they conceive one of these things. Unfortunately, the imagined box office gold often becomes fool's gold. Turns out, it's a very tricky thing for a filmmaker to make a truly <i>good</i> biopic, which is why so few of them actually stand the test of time to become great movies.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5mslVIGBv_Jj6WegRwYE5e6-eZhXpL-6ZxTpXCEpw2uz5YKojTNEU7UyM83_QitV7OkDMf4tKiDk5oN6LDaUiEfjEh-voodMUooeWEKO1Q-YB4Tp4riU9sWm-Y4_e7YVO05V3lHqG8fsy/s1600/large_48EthEnRNzBRNUzhqYWJ2kUPxwU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5mslVIGBv_Jj6WegRwYE5e6-eZhXpL-6ZxTpXCEpw2uz5YKojTNEU7UyM83_QitV7OkDMf4tKiDk5oN6LDaUiEfjEh-voodMUooeWEKO1Q-YB4Tp4riU9sWm-Y4_e7YVO05V3lHqG8fsy/s640/large_48EthEnRNzBRNUzhqYWJ2kUPxwU.jpg" width="416" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poster and box art for <b><i>Basquiat</i></b> (1996)<br />
source: <a href="http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/basquiat-1996">rogerebert.com</a></td></tr>
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Art lovers are further familiar with a <i>sub</i>-heading of this genre: the <b><i>artist </i></b>biopic. There are some good ones, but somehow Hollywood often manages to mangle, trivialize, or completely miss the essence of being an artist. For that reason, it was with trepidation a few years ago that I decided to watch <b><i>Basquiat</i></b>, directed by Julian Schnabel. I had misplaced misgivings, but no idea what to expect. I hadn't read any reviews, and I was still--by choice--unfamiliar with both Schnabel's and Basquiat's art. I was delighted--intoxicated, in fact--to discover that <i style="font-weight: bold;">Basquiat, </i>released in 1996<i style="font-weight: bold;">, </i>is one of the best movies I've ever seen about art, artists, and the art world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfaiuZPTd-dt7oOnGfifTm5rafdCJ_SBIU-1LWt8Ay6LCDRa6Uok6omLzKGQFLETtJEMKuI3vnIh1KGx_xDXnMy6oQC8YJ2S3i4mfE9BX4kqudZpPuCmxyN3zxtQPqR2V2ajkUCIgWSnws/s1600/basquiat-1996-02-g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfaiuZPTd-dt7oOnGfifTm5rafdCJ_SBIU-1LWt8Ay6LCDRa6Uok6omLzKGQFLETtJEMKuI3vnIh1KGx_xDXnMy6oQC8YJ2S3i4mfE9BX4kqudZpPuCmxyN3zxtQPqR2V2ajkUCIgWSnws/s640/basquiat-1996-02-g.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basquiat (Jeffrey Wright) during his grafitti period<br />
source: <a href="http://thecinephiliac.com/2015/02/11/basquiat-1996-and-the-whitewashing-of-black-culture/">thecinephiliac.com</a></td></tr>
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So what makes it such a good movie? Here's the short list: masterful acting, deft narrative, beautiful imagery, and fantastic use of energetic early '80s punk to charge the film with the excitement of the period. Filmed on location in the Big Apple, Schnabel ably conveys the grimy, vibrant New York/SoHo art and club scene of the early Reagan-era. What struck me most powerfully on first viewing was the director's narrative and cinematic mastery, evident from the very first frame. Some movies I need to work to get into. However, the <b><i>Basquiat</i></b> draws you in, in a way that seems effortless. You can't help but watch, and stay with it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young Jean-Michel and his mother view <i>Guernica</i> in <b><i>Basquiat</i></b> (1996)<br />
source: <a href="http://subwaytiles.tumblr.com/post/99691977975/basquiat1996-directed-by-julian-schnabel">subwaytiles.tumblr.com</a></td></tr>
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The opening scene, accompanied by the Pogues' elegiac <i>Fairytale of New York</i> is a poignant flashback of a young Jean-Michel Basquiat accompanying his mother to see Picasso's <i>Guernica</i> at the Museum of Modern Art. The plaintive melody heightens the power of Picasso's monumental masterpiece. Jean-Michel is a wide-eyed youngster captivated by the painting. As his mother looks on, a golden crown appears on the child's head, a portent of the fame that will overtake him, as well as a foreshadowing of one of the most frequent motifs in his art: that of the oversize crown, sometimes empty, sometimes sitting uneasily on some martyr's head.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Claire Forlani as Gina, in <b><i>Basquiat</i></b> (1996)<br />
source: <a href="http://onthesetofnewyork.com/basquiat.html">onthesetofnewyork.com</a></td></tr>
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Schnabel doesn't have to distort the facts to make his protagonist interesting. Basquiat actually was the ragged, charismatic, strangely elegant street waif we watch on film, who drew and painted with disarming originality. We see him sleeping in a cardboard box in Tompkin's Square, crashing at friends' apartments, and eventually hooking up with Gina (Claire Forlani), a composite of several women who became his muses and companions. Basquiat's meteoric rise from homeless graffiti artist to art-world celebrity happened within the space of about three years, the result of the artist's own driving ambition, savvy self-promotion, and not least, his unnervingly beautiful, spiky art.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEpALJBoG5yx-zRK2hX2onRaGWTlM2JxQ4MiNERPkZeHX2n6TCamt8nWc3iix8Z_wT1Aj7nU6D7ayqhm9GluKkGISAVmCTWuzfNaFauTz7eslbaU1ZLveIjccN65MRidKRg-3Jbz5u_QXh/s1600/surfingsky.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEpALJBoG5yx-zRK2hX2onRaGWTlM2JxQ4MiNERPkZeHX2n6TCamt8nWc3iix8Z_wT1Aj7nU6D7ayqhm9GluKkGISAVmCTWuzfNaFauTz7eslbaU1ZLveIjccN65MRidKRg-3Jbz5u_QXh/s640/surfingsky.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Film frame from<b><i> Basquiat </i></b>(1996)<br />source:<a href="https://ashantimiller.wordpress.com/2008/12/02/"> ashantimiller.wordpress.com</a></span></td></tr>
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Schnabel does not gloss over Basquiat's dark side: his narcissism, selfishness, and obsession with fame, not to mention the truly staggering drug use that would eventually take his life. What makes <b><i>Basquiat</i></b> unique as a biopic is its emotional resonance. The director uses unusual cinematic devices: stock footage of a surfer superimposed above the Manhattan skyline is a metaphor for the way Basquiat navigates the vagaries of his ragged life. Clips from older movies (such as Fritz Lang's <i>Metropolis</i>) woven into narrative scenes add layers of association and texture, much the same way Schnabel uses collage, text, and random imagery in his painting to increase its depth of feeling.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1S598L6oim067KEhsFFayfdS_ms5WCDsdMMr5WYr2WJQx_g_cStiDZFd6JVMJgsHpExWVvDGi4oQVedZ8O7oNlZVEkU7gHGnlQlwRt6hW_yl2dKAXXvPfbTGmCb61WS343xI0jzcJBzbS/s1600/seeing.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1S598L6oim067KEhsFFayfdS_ms5WCDsdMMr5WYr2WJQx_g_cStiDZFd6JVMJgsHpExWVvDGi4oQVedZ8O7oNlZVEkU7gHGnlQlwRt6hW_yl2dKAXXvPfbTGmCb61WS343xI0jzcJBzbS/s640/seeing.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basquiat (Wright) surveys the New York skyline<br />
source: <a href="https://ashantimiller.wordpress.com/2008/12/02/">ashantimiller.wordpress.com</a></td></tr>
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Jeffrey Wright is truly astounding as the titular character in this, his first major film role. He captures the artist's waiflike charm, his ambition, his wide-eyed wonder, and self-absorption, not to mention his considerable talent. Wright nails Basquiat's uniquely hesitant rhythm of speech, an endearing trait that magnified his shyness and sensitivity. <br />
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My favorite scene in the film shows Basquiat in his studio painting pictures for his first major gallery show. As first jazz, then hip hop plays on the soundtrack, the artist creates sophisticated improvisations of bright color, primitive figures, and language fragments to capture the syncopated rhythms of New York street culture. Besides Wright, other standout performances include Dennis Hopper as collector Bruno Bischofberger, David Bowie as Andy Warhol, and Gary Oldman as Albert Milo, a kind of surrogate stand-in for Schnabel, who grew out of the same '80s art scene as did Basquiat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UUSdmHyRZ9kBwQufAJQMhL6hRge3DlbPAMGO23PSxnYh02LvygyPMiJx0h5gg8AJp0luX-umo9Of_u2XiOEqmpgaJKMyHRJ_hXM2hyFDMmcpC1CjynMZGkvrf0NCyfMKCRvAT43aHn4q/s1600/JeanMichelBasquiatbyLizzieHimmel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UUSdmHyRZ9kBwQufAJQMhL6hRge3DlbPAMGO23PSxnYh02LvygyPMiJx0h5gg8AJp0luX-umo9Of_u2XiOEqmpgaJKMyHRJ_hXM2hyFDMmcpC1CjynMZGkvrf0NCyfMKCRvAT43aHn4q/s640/JeanMichelBasquiatbyLizzieHimmel.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The real Jean-Michel in his New York studio, 1985.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.afropunk.com/profiles/blogs/feature-black-like-basquiat-jean-michel-basquiat-the-black-kids">afropunk.com</a></td></tr>
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Julian Schnabel, in his debut as director, avoids the cliches and pitfalls that plague other film biographies, and instead delivers a poetic, emotionally-resonant portrait of a troubled, highly original artist. Bowie and Wright perfectly capture the touching surrogate father-to-orphan-son dynamic of Warhol's and Basquiat's relationship. Like Martin Scorsese, Julian Schnabel uses music to emotionally devastating effect, especially during scenes of loss or trauma. This film remains, almost 20 years after first seeing it, my favorite cinema portrayal of the artist's life and sensibility. Lovers of contemporary art should see this movie. I think you'll enjoy it. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSpT7wyJFE2KSHsoa_wqfKkhn2fjpuC9wIRFYtgpa06igl0gLMBb9QLRISQ2VgCUStfnC_Veuwrn2AbzS_YEtmhhLji104ayyo55efQ-uCR_84XDtV_82xFBzlslhYIgVwhhXPcnisxlPk/s1600/idealbasement.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSpT7wyJFE2KSHsoa_wqfKkhn2fjpuC9wIRFYtgpa06igl0gLMBb9QLRISQ2VgCUStfnC_Veuwrn2AbzS_YEtmhhLji104ayyo55efQ-uCR_84XDtV_82xFBzlslhYIgVwhhXPcnisxlPk/s640/idealbasement.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basquiat (Wright) painting in his studio.<br />source: <a href="https://ashantimiller.wordpress.com/2008/12/02/">ashantimiller.wordpress.com</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-78605253812468555532015-01-16T12:32:00.003-05:002015-01-16T12:32:37.398-05:00Romare Bearden: The Art of Rhythm, the Rhythm of Art<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcC8SXSEoYL6VEB77on8TKaCGs7Vzxi4QfWn1n4lDetqXiBSP-T-u53L6Ucr-emRuPo_Ci_MP9XI1mBE8hbRyAulcmJj7A-iFj5zDFM__5-xpmqo6J6YCxYjBwkZrcxDubL2Tvu9u59od/s1600/Wrapping+It+Up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcC8SXSEoYL6VEB77on8TKaCGs7Vzxi4QfWn1n4lDetqXiBSP-T-u53L6Ucr-emRuPo_Ci_MP9XI1mBE8hbRyAulcmJj7A-iFj5zDFM__5-xpmqo6J6YCxYjBwkZrcxDubL2Tvu9u59od/s1600/Wrapping+It+Up.jpg" height="640" width="492" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Wrapping It Up at the Lafayette</i></b><br />
source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romare-Bearden-His-Life-Art/dp/0810931087/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421429486&sr=1-1&keywords=romare+bearden+his+life+and+art">Romare Bearden--His Life and Art</a></td></tr>
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Romare Bearden loved jazz and the blues. Music and musicians were among his favorite subjects. His compositions capture the syncopation, the rhythm, the concentration, and the passion of blues and jazz performers. Here are just a few of my favorites.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxi4axI396Y9o-qpRz5DCk_T_DxJCGSz-Up7j7ujNdo4tvQoif836pSsEiuFuQW1PncELGkZaOtELwNL-vtaHQlinUNXFnwSleEiUlhT3Cp_xx__Tg4WsNXWZ9ELK2fPjFr4Jz2nBuVCFl/s1600/Jazz-big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxi4axI396Y9o-qpRz5DCk_T_DxJCGSz-Up7j7ujNdo4tvQoif836pSsEiuFuQW1PncELGkZaOtELwNL-vtaHQlinUNXFnwSleEiUlhT3Cp_xx__Tg4WsNXWZ9ELK2fPjFr4Jz2nBuVCFl/s1600/Jazz-big.jpg" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Jazz II</i></b><br />
source: <a href="http://www.nelson-atkins.org/art/exhibitions/bearden/thematicmotifs.cfm">nelson-atkins.org</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhre6NGu_tODGtYb1hJn2NjnUkqbv8KuLIuz-nsqZdGgjKV6Dt_3joPP_HE269kPp5zzE9RX7rZpNB0g8iT3_P1d6fUIWePaea3M3hIj0eClQeJK1OTyqveuaPZSUa9yEonqOqQ5q9iRuej/s1600/Jamming-at-the-SavoyBig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhre6NGu_tODGtYb1hJn2NjnUkqbv8KuLIuz-nsqZdGgjKV6Dt_3joPP_HE269kPp5zzE9RX7rZpNB0g8iT3_P1d6fUIWePaea3M3hIj0eClQeJK1OTyqveuaPZSUa9yEonqOqQ5q9iRuej/s1600/Jamming-at-the-SavoyBig.jpg" height="378" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Jamming at The Savoy</i></b><br />
source: <a href="http://www.nelson-atkins.org/art/exhibitions/bearden/thematicmotifs.cfm">nelson-atkins.org</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlH-Gq5Dl64iUwS58x_YGoyKJGOgV2VamrOg7P9fRraXU30kx_CS5fVTwtZNZ_bDBGBUvmGp2K1TO7LT2UwA5XozU1_pKzjlcddChqMsMCS9Lre23cnC7gpPJXfMipRvl_rSCwKvlWLNjl/s1600/At+the+Savoy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlH-Gq5Dl64iUwS58x_YGoyKJGOgV2VamrOg7P9fRraXU30kx_CS5fVTwtZNZ_bDBGBUvmGp2K1TO7LT2UwA5XozU1_pKzjlcddChqMsMCS9Lre23cnC7gpPJXfMipRvl_rSCwKvlWLNjl/s1600/At+the+Savoy.jpg" height="640" width="474" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>At The Savoy</i></b><br />
source:<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romare-Bearden-His-Life-Art/dp/0810931087/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421429486&sr=1-1&keywords=romare+bearden+his+life+and+art"> Romare Bearden--His Life and Art</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-9zbh1eUx14T277ViqQ70DMrOopFRJdYyGFOYrMcH9OwaUjuU6rrZwOd5X_sKaIaK7HgsiMtVK9eXqrISVN8RnEbNrqFpuKBaiJFEpTakzD23obOMwFmaWHzqTnZp7mkTfEe4CKyUe1VV/s1600/empress-of-the-blues-romare-bearden-1024x768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-9zbh1eUx14T277ViqQ70DMrOopFRJdYyGFOYrMcH9OwaUjuU6rrZwOd5X_sKaIaK7HgsiMtVK9eXqrISVN8RnEbNrqFpuKBaiJFEpTakzD23obOMwFmaWHzqTnZp7mkTfEe4CKyUe1VV/s1600/empress-of-the-blues-romare-bearden-1024x768.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Empress of the Blues</i></b><br />
source: <a href="http://www.dailyartfixx.com/tag/romare-bearden/">dailyartfixx.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYdkQz8NO9jbuvvB29sFVCg1TsRHCuluOyJYDsB7NzdmVtkNBDsE-cs7rxJzqAk5daN3sY3Uhu7O3YxpFN-M7xhpJydsq4LRAoRxjuzWrs-wzXE3qjbEc7fMSFPBdpD_jMdx4QnrAGaxr1/s1600/romare-bearden-9-one-night-stand-1974_jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYdkQz8NO9jbuvvB29sFVCg1TsRHCuluOyJYDsB7NzdmVtkNBDsE-cs7rxJzqAk5daN3sY3Uhu7O3YxpFN-M7xhpJydsq4LRAoRxjuzWrs-wzXE3qjbEc7fMSFPBdpD_jMdx4QnrAGaxr1/s1600/romare-bearden-9-one-night-stand-1974_jpg.jpg" height="552" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>One Night Stand</i></b><br />
source: <a href="http://www.dailyartfixx.com/tag/romare-bearden/">dailyartfixx.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvfnOLD_sAWPPxVtWt4hPOGurFmzzLMrX44KMCJcW5QSUUkWS_mo9A1kM5CKv9yvvk9CWWbpSfWRpv_aLD_yryBbs1clwgpnRAWUFJP8DkaUBcjE9ebIRzuos1mPPlqjsSt1sjKfTXZox/s1600/bp078509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvfnOLD_sAWPPxVtWt4hPOGurFmzzLMrX44KMCJcW5QSUUkWS_mo9A1kM5CKv9yvvk9CWWbpSfWRpv_aLD_yryBbs1clwgpnRAWUFJP8DkaUBcjE9ebIRzuos1mPPlqjsSt1sjKfTXZox/s1600/bp078509.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Time For Bass</i></b><br />source: <a href="http://images.businessweek.com/ss/06/02/africanamericana/source/6.htm">images.businessweek.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLTCSoxP2uZuZpwWT-xiI_PmRJ5VYhDu9HUPRlk_LoaA0tu1qNw24kLKh_UzmpLFpus37HxDq8JegtKWWg2a4Uzfo7ojCfbloCaPI7FS43nk3p3Hgq3qUp3cNRzE7j4CzaIX-N00Hnijb/s1600/parham_bearden_post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLTCSoxP2uZuZpwWT-xiI_PmRJ5VYhDu9HUPRlk_LoaA0tu1qNw24kLKh_UzmpLFpus37HxDq8JegtKWWg2a4Uzfo7ojCfbloCaPI7FS43nk3p3Hgq3qUp3cNRzE7j4CzaIX-N00Hnijb/s1600/parham_bearden_post.jpg" height="312" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Uptown Sunday Night Session</i></b><br />source: <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/03/the-man-who-spurned-a-baseball-career-to-become-a-renowned-artist/254451/">theatlantic.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdqVxkBiKG6moHioipvF0OAJsgOdojESd84N7Loc7C3nKrKFyMIq9lcfntcRuG3WHfZnc25Gr97S2sq6Y0-pTeUUOdMvHBzaVyJfmh-pWDUQKjoFuwjqeFnWL7pjG8T9YLfMrJ-wYhS9l/s1600/-79b95e06389dff29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdqVxkBiKG6moHioipvF0OAJsgOdojESd84N7Loc7C3nKrKFyMIq9lcfntcRuG3WHfZnc25Gr97S2sq6Y0-pTeUUOdMvHBzaVyJfmh-pWDUQKjoFuwjqeFnWL7pjG8T9YLfMrJ-wYhS9l/s1600/-79b95e06389dff29.JPG" height="432" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Untitled</i></b><br />
source: <a href="http://imgarcade.com/1/romare-bearden-jazz/">imgarcade.com</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-22961570642989295352015-01-14T15:51:00.001-05:002015-01-16T12:33:37.660-05:00Romare Bearden: An American Original<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZrRsDpD5oQwRICCYt7YQt9gSJHflQi_dz9Y06RVavbuPueN3tjRnd2pCMGa8Ql6dv4Zi9zRTUw6fXGc0p5xbTb6aK4U-gTv_fJdPnecD2S4E4liHsbDecjFxJatuyJpijR6XqwdV4Y87/s1600/The+Street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZrRsDpD5oQwRICCYt7YQt9gSJHflQi_dz9Y06RVavbuPueN3tjRnd2pCMGa8Ql6dv4Zi9zRTUw6fXGc0p5xbTb6aK4U-gTv_fJdPnecD2S4E4liHsbDecjFxJatuyJpijR6XqwdV4Y87/s1600/The+Street.jpg" height="462" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Street</i></b> by Romare Bearden<br />
source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romare-Bearden-His-Life-Art/dp/0810931087/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421265814&sr=1-1&keywords=romare+bearden+his+life+and+art">Romare Bearden--His Life and Art</a></td></tr>
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As with most other aspects of American life, racism blights the visual arts. African American visual artists have rarely received their due recognition here, and, not surprisingly, many of them leave. Artists like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Ossawa_Tanner">Henry Ossawa Tanner</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lois_Mailou_Jones">Lois Mailou Jones</a>, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beauford_Delaney">Beauford Delaney</a> lived abroad, mostly in France, and achieved the international acclaim they deserved. In France they were treated as equals, human beings worthy of respect. Sadly, contemporary news reports tragically demonstrate that basic respect and dignity elude African Americans to this day. Happily for some black American artists, there have been exceptions to this rule, and Romare Bearden is one of them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6dxY4hQ5wEyexkxSMu_8uRthbZYjpHg06rdmt1hqNz7Tvi2C3BaxQiBns_tE2sXVS5YkWCVoxk4TDi5TMi3n9eOm7lfP29MVB8k2vpTjpL-qWVm-hU-NVToqYYYXW3xedzjb0yZ_g09Nf/s1600/Romare+Family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6dxY4hQ5wEyexkxSMu_8uRthbZYjpHg06rdmt1hqNz7Tvi2C3BaxQiBns_tE2sXVS5YkWCVoxk4TDi5TMi3n9eOm7lfP29MVB8k2vpTjpL-qWVm-hU-NVToqYYYXW3xedzjb0yZ_g09Nf/s1600/Romare+Family.jpg" height="512" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A young Romare Bearden, front, surrounded by his family. <br />
His parents Bessye and Howard stand directly behind him.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romare-Bearden-His-Life-Art/dp/0810931087/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421265814&sr=1-1&keywords=romare+bearden+his+life+and+art">Romare Bearden--His Life and Art</a></td></tr>
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Bearden was born in the Deep South, and his life exemplified the 20th century black American experience. Born in Charlotte, South Carolina in 1911, Bearden ("Romie" to his friends) was raised in a proud, self-sufficient family, part of the new African American middle class that appeared in the post-Civil War American South. His great-grandparents, born into slavery, had literally and figuratively pulled themselves up by their bootstraps to build lives of social and economic stability. These strong family and community ties insulated Bearden from the perils of Jim Crow, but did not protect him altogether. Eventually, the Beardens went North to find a better life. New York City and Harlem would be Romare Bearden's home base for the rest of his days.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Untitled, gouache on brown paper by Romare Bearden<br />
source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Art-Romare-Bearden/dp/0894683020/ref=sr_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421266488&sr=1-9&keywords=romare+bearden">The Art of Romare Bearden</a></td></tr>
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The Harlem Renaissance was then in full bloom. Bearden's mother Bessye, extrovert extraordinaire and social mover and shaker, wasted no time making an impression in Harlem's lively social and cultural whirl. Young Romie grew up in a household visited by the likes of Fats Waller, Duke Ellington, Langston Hughes, and on at least one occasion, by Eleanor Roosevelt.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9JZAibqtlvrnyS8riky2UMVZlQjvNUXOlETFAxH0neQ2HJKPuoo6rpchx2G3hPMDvXGXA96cUVKskprYgv8yRXywHBw_u1qxzrZlg2beah4m6CLuxqVLeJiQBjDk-IEXAFlaadVgqKvn/s1600/Bearden+Cartoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9JZAibqtlvrnyS8riky2UMVZlQjvNUXOlETFAxH0neQ2HJKPuoo6rpchx2G3hPMDvXGXA96cUVKskprYgv8yRXywHBw_u1qxzrZlg2beah4m6CLuxqVLeJiQBjDk-IEXAFlaadVgqKvn/s1600/Bearden+Cartoon.jpg" height="640" width="444" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Political Cartoon, 1937<br />
source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romare-Bearden-His-Life-Art/dp/0810931087/ref=sr_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421266488&sr=1-8&keywords=romare+bearden">Romare Bearden--His Life and Art</a></td></tr>
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What intrigues me about Bearden--actually, one of many things-- is that when it came to professional recognition, he was something of a late bloomer. Even though he painted and drew consistently for decades, his work didn't find widespread renown until the early 1960s. His was a long, arduous, dedicated apprenticeship, exploring disparate styles and media to find his voice. He produced political cartoons in an expressionist style protesting racism and social injustice. In this he was influenced by his teacher George Grosz, with whom he studied at the Art Students League. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9d2C34EPfz_Z0JmwQyAIb_JAJy-7ZsSbj8qAonkunE2xVQVtVTfOJdnoSKxI6wlEKPZ5ykwTehglAGXHgXOR-gvYJ7AKEbQaZ97y_a4cJ_V1HAjTiAZF-VDk4acFWxJ7Dnj5VoNGbLO0/s1600/Two+Figures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9d2C34EPfz_Z0JmwQyAIb_JAJy-7ZsSbj8qAonkunE2xVQVtVTfOJdnoSKxI6wlEKPZ5ykwTehglAGXHgXOR-gvYJ7AKEbQaZ97y_a4cJ_V1HAjTiAZF-VDk4acFWxJ7Dnj5VoNGbLO0/s1600/Two+Figures.jpg" height="466" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Two Figures</i></b><br />
source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Art-Romare-Bearden/dp/0894683020/ref=sr_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421266488&sr=1-9&keywords=romare+bearden">The Art of Romare Bearden</a></td></tr>
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He progressed to learning the complex arcana of painting and modern art as well. His academy for this was the best kind: the artists communities in Harlem and lower Manhattan. He lived, worked, and socialized with figures like Carl Holty, Stuart Davis, and William Baziotes, among others. He explored abstract art, cubism, Byzantine art, and primitivism, slowly weaving these different aesthetic strands together into his own unique language.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrk394LVdPTuiDbTeuY2o4ur6xO15aS0I8lt62ONVu-TbcJuOCgk_a3SxLtgoPrLARP4lJsqkQt1j8pmaaw9mSJYANBDOELS8W5Tbl8bbMW8KixPvt1hLn7r1CayoyFwjC2iTYqPsqtYn/s1600/Walk+in+Paradise+Garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrk394LVdPTuiDbTeuY2o4ur6xO15aS0I8lt62ONVu-TbcJuOCgk_a3SxLtgoPrLARP4lJsqkQt1j8pmaaw9mSJYANBDOELS8W5Tbl8bbMW8KixPvt1hLn7r1CayoyFwjC2iTYqPsqtYn/s1600/Walk+in+Paradise+Garden.jpg" height="640" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Walk in Paradise Gardens, 1955<br />
source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romare-Bearden-His-Life-Art/dp/0810931087/ref=sr_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421266488&sr=1-8&keywords=romare+bearden">Romare Bearden--His Life and Art</a></td></tr>
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As it happened, he found his unique style as the American civil rights movement moved to the front of the nation's consciousness. His return to figurative imagery after working mainly in abstractions for so long produced images that portrayed black American life in a strikingly new way, with clear-eyed dignity, beauty, and pride. Using the syntax of cubism, African art, and collage, Bearden produced powerful pictures that radiated grandeur, and pathos.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii0K1mhm4c0G4csrFcbeOasi40VpotKHQyQA76mmkkuGYn8viNR4gsro-SG618H0jF5-3rq0seuiMVYlouLGqjEnqpsAMYEgGAdn-B6AHPNrBgyWRuvpJFxw6unaoRSaUGSKbBnTdys76J/s1600/taft_bearden_train-783x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii0K1mhm4c0G4csrFcbeOasi40VpotKHQyQA76mmkkuGYn8viNR4gsro-SG618H0jF5-3rq0seuiMVYlouLGqjEnqpsAMYEgGAdn-B6AHPNrBgyWRuvpJFxw6unaoRSaUGSKbBnTdys76J/s1600/taft_bearden_train-783x1024.jpg" height="640" width="488" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Train Whistle Blues, photostatic reproduction (1964).<br />
source: <a href="http://www.taftmuseum.org/?attachment_id=1045">taftmuseum.org</a></td></tr>
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From the early 1960s on, collage served as Bearden's principal medium. Since the original collages were quite small, Bearden enlarged the first originals into large 3 x 4 foot photostatic prints. The resulting black-and-white images were intense, dramatic, and packed a graphic punch that the subtler originals lacked. Bearden's dealer commissioned twenty more of these photostats after viewing the original five, and the groundbreaking exhibit <b><i>Projections</i></b> was born.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJ1_PkqrIsXnejey-d_dYUlzQ52xjqH-aoDGz9BO0fPsIcEhWzLhp-xzYFLBRjQ7TIxQ5_p2ZIGRBniwvyAIjDQ0ej6VEF9TuPID2rHprEO9c3A-nWHwYFtJKFfcOTPIMg9UMaVF1MnVL/s1600/pittsburgh-memory-1964.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJ1_PkqrIsXnejey-d_dYUlzQ52xjqH-aoDGz9BO0fPsIcEhWzLhp-xzYFLBRjQ7TIxQ5_p2ZIGRBniwvyAIjDQ0ej6VEF9TuPID2rHprEO9c3A-nWHwYFtJKFfcOTPIMg9UMaVF1MnVL/s1600/pittsburgh-memory-1964.jpg" height="506" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Pittsburgh Memory </i></b>by Romare Bearden<br />
source: <a href="http://www.wikiart.org/en/romare-bearden/pittsburgh-memory-1964">wikiart.org</a></td></tr>
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Besides their size and graphic impact, what made these pieces so unique and powerful was Bearden's unique combination of Cubist structure, torn and re-arranged source photos, and the resulting narrative of African-American life. Bearden portrayed black life from the Deep South to urban Harlem, from the distant nineteenth century past to the vivid, gritty present. His energetic pictures used Cubist juxtaposition to visually emulate the syncopated rhythms of jazz. Unlike other politically-conscious work of that era, Bearden's collages and Projections retain their freshness, originality, and power.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFzVWaaY653vml4rtbo9JbPgcp1BP6s0hvChFgWDz9Isvl-1Q6x_HmAoLAWgOoyNfeufWRQrQ-a9NgfN06ZAJv5e7RG6ofug2mOr9OKiy6r8c8GQfAfKR6P39Oe22JnXRVCQn5RXC_5_Vu/s1600/The+Blues.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFzVWaaY653vml4rtbo9JbPgcp1BP6s0hvChFgWDz9Isvl-1Q6x_HmAoLAWgOoyNfeufWRQrQ-a9NgfN06ZAJv5e7RG6ofug2mOr9OKiy6r8c8GQfAfKR6P39Oe22JnXRVCQn5RXC_5_Vu/s1600/The+Blues.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Blues</i></b><br />
source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romare-Bearden-His-Life-Art/dp/0810931087/ref=sr_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421266488&sr=1-8&keywords=romare+bearden">Romare Bearden--His Life and Art</a></td></tr>
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Having found his true voice, Bearden made monumental art for the next twenty-five years of his life, producing collages and prints that bear witness to the life and heritage of African-Americans. When I see his work in person, I'm always struck by how physically small they are, by their monumentalality and emotional impact, and by the way they glow like gems.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivbm6I0nd5ORpyoEVJDJZGEI2phbmE4VcrPqCy2uxYAo_8PKYbEA_O7IkSxnh6X71zDOyIL3mCBaGxjPgfQlECOmA6_Utrh4bEX8URxzY4XTSP28Cf-92kByQexFEu2LyVAKHbx7i2Y2c9/s1600/Fig3BeardenTheDove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivbm6I0nd5ORpyoEVJDJZGEI2phbmE4VcrPqCy2uxYAo_8PKYbEA_O7IkSxnh6X71zDOyIL3mCBaGxjPgfQlECOmA6_Utrh4bEX8URxzY4XTSP28Cf-92kByQexFEu2LyVAKHbx7i2Y2c9/s1600/Fig3BeardenTheDove.jpg" height="454" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Dove</i></b> by Romare Bearden, 1964.<br />
source: <a href="http://nonsite.org/article/conjure-and-collapse-in-the-art-of-romare-bearden">nonsite.org</a></td></tr>
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<br />thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-46304163619249040952014-08-30T14:49:00.000-04:002014-08-30T14:49:09.407-04:00Alberto Giacometti At Work<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrO_AZP_bevrfh4pYck_M3IebmpNG5NAVO6aPCVajtigCUdc_uhASnSpwUBQeIo_BS4Li9lI52eX9unQEHpJeAyToKEpZYXonfvbfbl-4wwEkx4yXGO11XZQHFgoRuTTvvOFkqyZoixUZa/s1600/tumblr_n6otkfrtxP1rj6fy8o1_1280.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrO_AZP_bevrfh4pYck_M3IebmpNG5NAVO6aPCVajtigCUdc_uhASnSpwUBQeIo_BS4Li9lI52eX9unQEHpJeAyToKEpZYXonfvbfbl-4wwEkx4yXGO11XZQHFgoRuTTvvOFkqyZoixUZa/s1600/tumblr_n6otkfrtxP1rj6fy8o1_1280.png" height="640" width="438" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alberto Giacometti working on a sculpture, ca. 1954<br />Photograph by Sabine Weiss<br />source: <a href="http://europeansculpture.tumblr.com/post/87879261620/sabine-weiss-alberto-giacometti-ca-1954">europeansculpture.tumblr.com</a></td></tr>
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For me, the phrase "artist at work" most often conjures the image of Alberto Giacometti painting, drawing, or sculpting in his spartan, otherworldly studio at 46 rue Hippolyte-Maindron. Giacometti was a tireless laborer, a workaholic and night owl who often worked past dawn, not stopping until he collapsed on his bed from exhaustion. His life revolved around his art, and his unique spirit truly manifests itself in his paintings, drawings, and sculpture. It's been a while since I posted about him, so here are some fresh images of one of my heroes at work. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti next to one of his works in progress<br />Photograph by Denise Colomb<br />source: <a href="http://varietas.tumblr.com/post/46584603940">varietas.tumblr.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4n9bHcpC1KwV2Uy_PhwSGewDGp0hNns0QjNhBmiCN4lAC4at86DSsZbxR7pJwlR4jNv6JNbVDlJF42CJgBn51xvJTOEi0wKfB_sgGxdBovWR3Jmis1p7lxzioMEB-QhABnu0h95ek-VJj/s1600/tumblr_m9kqfxyaw21r1bfd7o1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4n9bHcpC1KwV2Uy_PhwSGewDGp0hNns0QjNhBmiCN4lAC4at86DSsZbxR7pJwlR4jNv6JNbVDlJF42CJgBn51xvJTOEi0wKfB_sgGxdBovWR3Jmis1p7lxzioMEB-QhABnu0h95ek-VJj/s1600/tumblr_m9kqfxyaw21r1bfd7o1_1280.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti painting from a model<br />Photograph by Ernst Scheidegger<br />source: <a href="http://artistandstudio.tumblr.com/post/30954579247/alberto-giacometti-in-his-paris-studio-1954">artistandstudio.tumblr.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti working on a plaster figure<br />Photograph by Ernst Scheidegger<br />source: <a href="http://gallowhill.tumblr.com/post/59626573632/alberto-giacometti-working-on-the-plaster">gallowhill.tumblr.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti, photographed by Ernst Scheidegger<br />source:<a href="http://www.craigkrullgallery.com/Scheidegger/"> craigkrulllgallery.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti, photographed by Cecil Beaton<br />source: <a href="http://www.beetlesandhuxley.com/gallery/all-stock/alberto-giacometti-paris-october-1956.html">beetlesandhuxley.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYlxy8Hkt9gZzirBggISX5oNCSbbPaq0ksAlulDqWHxYCjCvwG5Bs2aJOhukOmuHjPq4w__K2KUQLAuDvHT4VlGNpid2WgQw-U_6pUJtl4KHvNkUpDJEOjxjL9xZMDkriGxfQQdHfwavM/s1600/456838-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYlxy8Hkt9gZzirBggISX5oNCSbbPaq0ksAlulDqWHxYCjCvwG5Bs2aJOhukOmuHjPq4w__K2KUQLAuDvHT4VlGNpid2WgQw-U_6pUJtl4KHvNkUpDJEOjxjL9xZMDkriGxfQQdHfwavM/s1600/456838-5.jpg" height="640" width="422" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti sculpting, by Sabine Weiss<br />source: <a href="http://www.dreweatts.com/cms/pages/lot/36093/57">dreweatts.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAg6jzKuCcGuUKgP1SLtulUp-yWMI8H66pXeiDu4beRm73n7VNhpEEvEjrVwek8dLhN2MJUyVcISLyMDJ9Z0dIkes9csCRUA5yDqFyo8zSePPf7JxNOHqm00nLz9MYaAXa2BhmjN7FocB/s1600/795+Alberto+Giacometti+07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAg6jzKuCcGuUKgP1SLtulUp-yWMI8H66pXeiDu4beRm73n7VNhpEEvEjrVwek8dLhN2MJUyVcISLyMDJ9Z0dIkes9csCRUA5yDqFyo8zSePPf7JxNOHqm00nLz9MYaAXa2BhmjN7FocB/s1600/795+Alberto+Giacometti+07.jpg" height="432" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti contemplating a figure in progress<br />Photograph by Inge Morath<br />source: <a href="http://atelierlog.blogspot.com/2013/09/alberto-giacometti-8.html">atelierlog.blogspot.com</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giacometti seated<br />Photograph by Henri Cartier-Bresson<br />source:<a href="http://atelierlog.blogspot.com/2013/09/alberto-giacometti-8.html"> atelierlog.blogspot.com</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-75499983912562621622014-07-29T13:06:00.002-04:002014-08-02T23:06:49.979-04:00Montparnasse Montage: Photographs by Andre Kertesz<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs-dDXb2fqmo4inMh9TL3p1HpgKBHkAvQ4ohV5yVm5K2UUznMllvL8TQ8JWZuUTjBHFKyanvdHk2rbcrRlAGrdzW9ha56jmmf9HQgQuqxYZ2KeDli1OQZnM7doylX_uhvlE8LzLvrb9qa-/s1600/sap56_72l003281_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs-dDXb2fqmo4inMh9TL3p1HpgKBHkAvQ4ohV5yVm5K2UUznMllvL8TQ8JWZuUTjBHFKyanvdHk2rbcrRlAGrdzW9ha56jmmf9HQgQuqxYZ2KeDli1OQZnM7doylX_uhvlE8LzLvrb9qa-/s1600/sap56_72l003281_p.jpg" height="640" width="484" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andre Kertesz, self-portrait.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/2711/sap56_72l003281_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></td></tr>
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Andre Kertesz was one of hundreds of emigre artists who flocked to Paris after World War I to make a life in art. A native of Hungary, a veteran of the War To End All Wars, he and his wife Elizabeth blended easily into the artistic community centered around Montparnasse during the 1920s and 30s. Kertesz was a tireless photographer, documenting the people, places, and events that drew the world's artists to the City of Light. Fortunately for us, and for posterity, he donated his vast archives of photographs and negatives to France upon his death. Fortunately for us, France's national <a href="http://www.mediatheque-patrimoine.culture.gouv.fr/">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a> has digitized a large portion of Kertesz's vast collection, making it possible to revisit the cultural milieu that was Paris between the wars. I've included few of my favorites here. I hope you enjoy them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8I3x8tYjJH8JhUPSV3DAX5XdPfzIo5Faybuxn6VVdL8-1p5FRlnltfQzmCc82QuvHZEZ2xP5tmMN-aQkxkYRma_R2Fs4G70PDVFaXgOkpgOYMGCx2U9HZUROP9MB-Gib3dbIH68DeFzW/s1600/sap56_72l000832_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8I3x8tYjJH8JhUPSV3DAX5XdPfzIo5Faybuxn6VVdL8-1p5FRlnltfQzmCc82QuvHZEZ2xP5tmMN-aQkxkYRma_R2Fs4G70PDVFaXgOkpgOYMGCx2U9HZUROP9MB-Gib3dbIH68DeFzW/s1600/sap56_72l000832_p.jpg" height="492" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painter Gyula Zilzer, photographed in his room by Kertesz.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/1854/sap56_72l000832_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkBqsK9OFEjn4V-PYnXSJaxJHS9m_uSStywFaVXFXkQricubYixpXJcdXW44QTgeBLC_BBvW5xTfYQ5QtMaaZX5NrhZUiDxpbq8W2FsFVzPhtBI_icIcr1av6Ja4tFs6dTAgoZAQi5-H2l/s1600/sap56_72l003491_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkBqsK9OFEjn4V-PYnXSJaxJHS9m_uSStywFaVXFXkQricubYixpXJcdXW44QTgeBLC_BBvW5xTfYQ5QtMaaZX5NrhZUiDxpbq8W2FsFVzPhtBI_icIcr1av6Ja4tFs6dTAgoZAQi5-H2l/s1600/sap56_72l003491_p.jpg" height="640" width="488" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marc Chagall, wife Bella, and daughter Ida.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/2711/sap56_72l003491_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3-P5SEy8CZ1aRuMZuDsU5lZq8WY42AZQd7-OETkgUTPwdO3vgFLChA-_ZkLYfGedZe50fcCebLm2ogXzxTiwYacq0fbumbF9MceZgllzjtp3SeDtcPaYoPuTACno9GTCNPdT881vHHnc/s1600/sap56_72l003640_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3-P5SEy8CZ1aRuMZuDsU5lZq8WY42AZQd7-OETkgUTPwdO3vgFLChA-_ZkLYfGedZe50fcCebLm2ogXzxTiwYacq0fbumbF9MceZgllzjtp3SeDtcPaYoPuTACno9GTCNPdT881vHHnc/s1600/sap56_72l003640_p.jpg" height="486" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painter Andre Lhote in his studio.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/2712/sap56_72l003640_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvq9BmgTszc-d80kWLKYetPhczHhSgbt9PkWsT0MRXryWMd4QXZW9egOCt35Y0YJkZBLfCZ_Vz1Z_CoIKSqSDnZHl-eZJrYBRc4-FGdRfExPZH6osj7pbc7N76vfr8WMWeHU9LUWd-vmrG/s1600/sap56_72l000246_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvq9BmgTszc-d80kWLKYetPhczHhSgbt9PkWsT0MRXryWMd4QXZW9egOCt35Y0YJkZBLfCZ_Vz1Z_CoIKSqSDnZHl-eZJrYBRc4-FGdRfExPZH6osj7pbc7N76vfr8WMWeHU9LUWd-vmrG/s1600/sap56_72l000246_p.jpg" height="640" width="462" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A night view of Montparnasse.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/1853/sap56_72l000246_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdu19uyZ7Ze76tK9hIOjY88WTYDDlsgPq-6Z4xyEUGsaEEdVaEfxYCodb3hEs2oBMX9xI9RoRh3diYnBvZjNtJOiPZByZTqZ2KVlwRZffGGp2rELGPMTKplmimIXBtH3OtoVeZktkP8GTz/s1600/sap56_72l000701_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdu19uyZ7Ze76tK9hIOjY88WTYDDlsgPq-6Z4xyEUGsaEEdVaEfxYCodb3hEs2oBMX9xI9RoRh3diYnBvZjNtJOiPZByZTqZ2KVlwRZffGGp2rELGPMTKplmimIXBtH3OtoVeZktkP8GTz/s1600/sap56_72l000701_p.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A convivial gathering in a cafe.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/1854/sap56_72l000701_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxIe0J2mnHaf6QK0A4qjXrKXGUeY2HN-1qnhatkEg_TGRhOGx7Bow-VbNAniaOzSCBDJX0R52p2DntxLTK6VC1RU3R_Uvnsg8OtlwBJVrIIsXh3iBIpctdcSKNyv_zwPLPvr1_-4uEXRp/s1600/sap56_72l000700_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxIe0J2mnHaf6QK0A4qjXrKXGUeY2HN-1qnhatkEg_TGRhOGx7Bow-VbNAniaOzSCBDJX0R52p2DntxLTK6VC1RU3R_Uvnsg8OtlwBJVrIIsXh3iBIpctdcSKNyv_zwPLPvr1_-4uEXRp/s1600/sap56_72l000700_p.jpg" height="640" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sculptor Ossip Zadkine relaxes in his studio.<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/1854/sap56_72l000700_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcGcu9scRRZ6oDjq6KAz4z6GT3qhOQYb1pFCFEam_uTb5AKQGgPzXZfd2R50jsvTuUdXFOCCHPDLg_NPskHR4-hP58jxcMEMbLI7YpPqsnaaf64lNXYDenfhYm0FA_lPxXQ2HPIW4VQ7m/s1600/sap56_72l002995_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcGcu9scRRZ6oDjq6KAz4z6GT3qhOQYb1pFCFEam_uTb5AKQGgPzXZfd2R50jsvTuUdXFOCCHPDLg_NPskHR4-hP58jxcMEMbLI7YpPqsnaaf64lNXYDenfhYm0FA_lPxXQ2HPIW4VQ7m/s1600/sap56_72l002995_p.jpg" height="474" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Group portrait at a cafe.<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/2710/sap56_72l002995_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKjbbWRZliKiKFfPciWIO2lo0Lc2OS-n5x3Dn3Qjinr97nitU845qlvxjW9KRIU5CCJ6tuC1HCt2E-i2QOwZal0S1EBF7xwA3EhAQsXwWp_AgaNLN4l5dAzByrCIKS5QiH3mn-BtmeXGt/s1600/sap56_72l003458_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKjbbWRZliKiKFfPciWIO2lo0Lc2OS-n5x3Dn3Qjinr97nitU845qlvxjW9KRIU5CCJ6tuC1HCt2E-i2QOwZal0S1EBF7xwA3EhAQsXwWp_AgaNLN4l5dAzByrCIKS5QiH3mn-BtmeXGt/s1600/sap56_72l003458_p.jpg" height="488" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Japanese painter Foujita in his studio, 1928.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/2711/sap56_72l003458_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVx04NDTCZjToL2-UAbin_kvO0x5eRiy-jy6zYLcZcYoDnRpJ8abV0DTS77PjTTOUIBbuUt0VvZCa2g49uFfOOViVhu82LLkAsgDD3sd5pnFvFJ_PLeIYgWeozEsT9luywsQrx-1g-ZxcI/s1600/sap56_72l003502_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVx04NDTCZjToL2-UAbin_kvO0x5eRiy-jy6zYLcZcYoDnRpJ8abV0DTS77PjTTOUIBbuUt0VvZCa2g49uFfOOViVhu82LLkAsgDD3sd5pnFvFJ_PLeIYgWeozEsT9luywsQrx-1g-ZxcI/s1600/sap56_72l003502_p.jpg" height="486" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princess Faucigny-Lucinge and Valentine Hugo<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/2711/sap56_72l003502_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4slT_JJhKdZTLJ708-6cRrXo7FKVRgYAC-MgIj-yg3MZXB-WzYo6jt77DBichM4_LO5SrY_thfgC3OUp13NJ3LS_5Q8GBPBi_NPrM6MHSlc-CglVGIZKr9PCAhLv1v2tY-PzE15DHJV9H/s1600/sap56_72l003449e_p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4slT_JJhKdZTLJ708-6cRrXo7FKVRgYAC-MgIj-yg3MZXB-WzYo6jt77DBichM4_LO5SrY_thfgC3OUp13NJ3LS_5Q8GBPBi_NPrM6MHSlc-CglVGIZKr9PCAhLv1v2tY-PzE15DHJV9H/s1600/sap56_72l003449e_p.jpg" height="442" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kertesz and his wife Elizabeth huddle in a local cafe, 1931<br />
source: <a href="http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/2711/sap56_72l003449e_p.jpg">Library of Architecture and Heritage</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-63321455877428036192014-07-20T16:27:00.000-04:002014-07-25T21:38:53.573-04:00New Deal Artists At Work<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifD7e_cp6hiOHg23HM3GdonMppxqcFFiIMpUzBJxBI06kiNWpxR4s5Bij0o1vbOmkNZ9gxOvDwiI1sGFgN68UQjZs9H6vpuRWH1fODuflFN_IY3EZ3P1ntfwqXugHRJLmpjxudKLPMF82F/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifD7e_cp6hiOHg23HM3GdonMppxqcFFiIMpUzBJxBI06kiNWpxR4s5Bij0o1vbOmkNZ9gxOvDwiI1sGFgN68UQjZs9H6vpuRWH1fODuflFN_IY3EZ3P1ntfwqXugHRJLmpjxudKLPMF82F/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4050.jpg" height="640" width="528" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painter Nathaniel Dirk, next to one of his WPA paintings<br />
source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/images/detail/nathaniel-dirk-2063">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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It is our great good fortune that artists not only worked on New Deal projects; they documented their fellow artists doing the work as well. Here, courtesy of the Smithsonian's <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/federal-art-project-photographic-division-collection-5467">Archives of American Art</a>, are beautiful images of some Federal Arts Project artists and their contributions.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbwRBFeC3PM5bTvDmNeQeIkNJGWOUqtRsq6L8KBXMnHFO1LFmA1p8yj2vC6wICLjjT5dyM97z5l4zijevwxjlFRgaKb9PzXKlmZsZbV49l-M6hlw1pIHF1Ks1qkZ1MC6vp-2gW5VAZEa-/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbwRBFeC3PM5bTvDmNeQeIkNJGWOUqtRsq6L8KBXMnHFO1LFmA1p8yj2vC6wICLjjT5dyM97z5l4zijevwxjlFRgaKb9PzXKlmZsZbV49l-M6hlw1pIHF1Ks1qkZ1MC6vp-2gW5VAZEa-/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4621.jpg" height="640" width="408" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sculptor Oliver Drone in his studio<br />
source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/images/detail/oliver-lagrone-2214">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf0LfYOXQL5unI3M-wKqyhKjCODbEA7UQ5wWDGQZfPArcsRSTX6CsDczkLcXXYd223bzURD9opNEYKKg_oQTgVdlx7ojnuU35d6Aw5mfzbI8uxu-jk_b-jSZjQir8CKubjWBlMbLauMbog/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_3736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf0LfYOXQL5unI3M-wKqyhKjCODbEA7UQ5wWDGQZfPArcsRSTX6CsDczkLcXXYd223bzURD9opNEYKKg_oQTgVdlx7ojnuU35d6Aw5mfzbI8uxu-jk_b-jSZjQir8CKubjWBlMbLauMbog/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_3736.jpg" height="512" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painter Julian E. Levi at work in his studio<br />
source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/images/detail/julian-e-levi-2226">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRTlRxug56crLs9oxiLMVQprM_8rYxegTdhO_wQgo3wJlgxRUF5xtSTE1na62vvwBwIZRSikYTG5JdykUHscEBcMWqjFFhG5PKxM7kijDLhVC1rylYugQ4wOTRhed1DybZzXxlLSo5qZ9/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_5459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRTlRxug56crLs9oxiLMVQprM_8rYxegTdhO_wQgo3wJlgxRUF5xtSTE1na62vvwBwIZRSikYTG5JdykUHscEBcMWqjFFhG5PKxM7kijDLhVC1rylYugQ4wOTRhed1DybZzXxlLSo5qZ9/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_5459.jpg" height="640" width="504" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sculptor Augusta Savage with her sculpture entitled <i>Realization</i><br />
source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/images/detail/augusta-savage-her-sculpture-realization-2371">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdW2j95tDUnHlMHYupYli9PoqIcfahkQq7ji3JgvwXk5HUP21ohmHlbOH2wlKNvlzHtfXmvMgEKcmk_dyj7i883Y4PEKrtluxKefRbvRgpFCqyl2ZN9KKny2FOxon2Nl_4zpQr7_hwfsF/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_3748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdW2j95tDUnHlMHYupYli9PoqIcfahkQq7ji3JgvwXk5HUP21ohmHlbOH2wlKNvlzHtfXmvMgEKcmk_dyj7i883Y4PEKrtluxKefRbvRgpFCqyl2ZN9KKny2FOxon2Nl_4zpQr7_hwfsF/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_3748.jpg" height="640" width="506" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muralist Anton Lishinsky at work<br />
source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/images/detail/anton-lishinsky-work-2917">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxJnXlJHAOjJH_HfC-06DIFYE1vJabxjl8AAJNYfb8i0WPuxaoRdP8U10_9hLQtRWbrn1QiwuOhWVXV1_l3gQ7l3L-oddxqmMzyIEy4c8k-1wm3qqqTvCVwJ6kgNj65YPViy_KmvLfsVj/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxJnXlJHAOjJH_HfC-06DIFYE1vJabxjl8AAJNYfb8i0WPuxaoRdP8U10_9hLQtRWbrn1QiwuOhWVXV1_l3gQ7l3L-oddxqmMzyIEy4c8k-1wm3qqqTvCVwJ6kgNj65YPViy_KmvLfsVj/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4662.jpg" height="640" width="466" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painter Marion Greenwood works on a mural<br />
source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/images/detail/marion-greenwood-3040">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavwTTxdx8gvMhbX624QpnEtcXmiqsQhFgi6wpd3m2yQDb1q3T6KSenCWLoozNFdD8tqd-288NUZlcozJw42JSD16egOeIz_nlI8rPiO4LRyX5421UtipklMhF_Bv73L362vSusGvib7xK/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavwTTxdx8gvMhbX624QpnEtcXmiqsQhFgi6wpd3m2yQDb1q3T6KSenCWLoozNFdD8tqd-288NUZlcozJw42JSD16egOeIz_nlI8rPiO4LRyX5421UtipklMhF_Bv73L362vSusGvib7xK/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4028.jpg" height="640" width="508" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painter Pat Collins at work<br />
source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/images/detail/pat-collins-2041">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QP_5gEFRiEgH-J_YO_F_39AtYH-RKCH0CfMtt1CCZkP2oYlGDRnEfABYaiGx79pMffjv6P7dlP9XYaXslyzQ6eZaBlBHK6cNwmBAUw6mlWwbngPyk3d3URDP0v00Qq_zns7BZT3qn0Ms/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_3722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QP_5gEFRiEgH-J_YO_F_39AtYH-RKCH0CfMtt1CCZkP2oYlGDRnEfABYaiGx79pMffjv6P7dlP9XYaXslyzQ6eZaBlBHK6cNwmBAUw6mlWwbngPyk3d3URDP0v00Qq_zns7BZT3qn0Ms/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_3722.jpg" height="512" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painter Yasuo Kuniyoshi in his studio<br />
source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/images/detail/yasuo-kuniyoshi-his-studio-2585">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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<br />thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-71534711422012357722014-07-20T15:29:00.001-04:002014-07-21T18:12:05.220-04:00A New Deal for the Arts: FDR and The Federal Arts Project<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRuyEnYvmeFfj8daIhKJMx90eQyhjsT3gbPucsy6W0B_yb4KmOZel5g0be3qK80vZ-2LGrVfJbKhqgj6q3Ejt3kD48-r6jdCqDbYxay4PZe_8Nkrgf_9OzUVmMNR90uqR-zPhgrw8Vq-KT/s1600/02895r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRuyEnYvmeFfj8daIhKJMx90eQyhjsT3gbPucsy6W0B_yb4KmOZel5g0be3qK80vZ-2LGrVfJbKhqgj6q3Ejt3kD48-r6jdCqDbYxay4PZe_8Nkrgf_9OzUVmMNR90uqR-zPhgrw8Vq-KT/s1600/02895r.jpg" height="640" width="524" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Herbert Hoover at FDR's first inauguration<br />
source: <a href="http://memory.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/r?ammem/pin:@field(NUMBER+@band(ppmsc+02895))">Library of Congress</a></td></tr>
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<i>"Here and now I want to make myself clear about those who disparage their fellow citizens on the relief rolls. They say that those on relief are not merely jobless--that they are worthless. Their solution for the relief problem is to end relief--to purge the rolls by starvation. To use the language of the stock broker, our needy unemployed would be cared for when, as, and if, some fairy godmother should happen on the scene.</i></div>
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<i>You and I will continue to refuse to accept that estimate of our unemployed fellow Americans. Your government is still on the same side of the street with the Good Samaritan, and not with those who pass by on the other side."</i></div>
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--Franklin Delano Roosevelt</div>
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In thinking about this post, I recalled a news item from a few years back. Comedian and now-Democratic Senator Al Franken and conservative commentator/windbag Ann Coulter, appearing on some public forum panel together, were asked something like, "If you could be anyone in history, who would you be and why?" Coulter answered that she wanted to be FDR so she could cancel the New Deal. Because, apparently, it was so evil and un-American, or something. Franken, after a comically timed pause, said--"Uh, I would be Hitler...Well, y'know, you get to call off the New Deal, I'd like to call off the Holocaust...World War II...the <i>Anschluss</i>. (pause) But I'd keep the Volkswagen!" Cue audience laughter and applause. Note to Coulter: it's not a good idea to be a smart-ass political hack when you're onstage with Al Franken.<br />
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Contrary to what Coulter likes to believe, America would most certainly <b><i>not</i></b> have been better off without the New Deal. Had FDR not created his New Deal, the United States of America might not have survived. If by chance it had, it would certainly look very very different, and not in a good way. Coulter, who's never met a fact she couldn't ignore, bend, or lie about, would do well to revisit some history without her partisan blinders on. Then again, what would be the point? She's famously immune to those pesky things called "facts". A history lesson would be wasted on her.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMz0PjP6OqPFj1dQPvw_j7pOq6R9lv2iZBEKsfXJmtkjG24UDHNUZB-hIn2QxXAE5gqUKzbg6OWbg7n_KeuVE-mlllh6F2Rsx0DKNX7lUJg-h1phVssiuacz0qkxYF0KJKOYJfRuLPSROq/s1600/8a18458r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMz0PjP6OqPFj1dQPvw_j7pOq6R9lv2iZBEKsfXJmtkjG24UDHNUZB-hIn2QxXAE5gqUKzbg6OWbg7n_KeuVE-mlllh6F2Rsx0DKNX7lUJg-h1phVssiuacz0qkxYF0KJKOYJfRuLPSROq/s1600/8a18458r.jpg" height="450" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Child resident of a central Ohio Hooverville, 1938<br />
source: <a href="http://www.loc.gov/pictures/collection/fsa/item/fsa1997018390/PP/">Library of Congress</a></td></tr>
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When Franklin Roosevelt took office in 1933, the United States of America was quite literally on the verge of anarchy. The 1929 Wall Street Crash triggered an economic disaster of such enormous magnitude that it all but destroyed, almost overnight, the American economy. Businesses and banks closed, fortunes were lost, livelihoods ruined, and the party atmosphere of the Roaring Twenties became the gray, grim hangover of the Thirties. Within months, unemployment stood at a staggering 25%. Yes, you read that right: one-quarter of the country's workforce was jobless, not to mention homeless and starving. The desolate took to living in tin- and cardboard-shack shanty towns called "Hoovervilles", so named in honor of the prior Republican president, who believed that all the country needed to do to recover was pull itself up by its bootstraps. (Some things never change, do they?). From 1929 until Roosevelt took office in early 1933, Hoover did next to nothing, while the country spiraled further out of control. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZYTXyX35CVxbq9QJILlskuK1bTbK-9M1cQVuMpRhh7-ll8eyCEEBjGVcn0unmMwLy7kvYyUQJbZmnBCu3Ylgwn3RtGyn7miZpPzm2LXq5iHQdUVw7nt9tvlay8qrXv8MgQGYhYNLtQlp2/s1600/8e03000r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZYTXyX35CVxbq9QJILlskuK1bTbK-9M1cQVuMpRhh7-ll8eyCEEBjGVcn0unmMwLy7kvYyUQJbZmnBCu3Ylgwn3RtGyn7miZpPzm2LXq5iHQdUVw7nt9tvlay8qrXv8MgQGYhYNLtQlp2/s1600/8e03000r.jpg" height="418" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colorado Dust Bowl cloud, 1935<br />
source: <a href="http://www.loc.gov/pictures/collection/fsa/item/fsa1998018175/PP/">Library of Congress</a></td></tr>
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The Wall Street crash was bad enough, but it was not the only cause of economic misery occurring at the time. At the same time, a large swath of the Great Plains, after being "developed" and sold by unscrupulous real estate shysters to unsuspecting farmers, was wreaking a different kind of havoc across the Western U.S. The tough prairie sod, which anchored the soil for centuries, had been broken apart for farming. Stripped of its leather-tough top layer, wind and drought turned the Plains' nascent farmland, literally, into billowing clouds of doom. The Great Plains became the Dust Bowl, sending massive storms of windblown topsoil into the sky (above). Massive dust storms buried towns, blackened skies, blotted out the sun, and rained ruin on states from Idaho and Colorado to Iowa to Illinois. Farmers in the Dust Bowl, needless to say, were ruined. Some were literally buried alive. A few went mad and killed themselves and their families. The only thing left for the survivors to do was to get the hell out of Dodge, if they could, and move to a Hooverville.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik8frazXRXlGiW7VYDfoeJBYYcRKAGhyphenhyphenwjHlNeyDrj3q9A8Zfv6EyrhdlpbjQtUaadXXrDuJkb-sfOxjnSat_LKcPSmVMmbs3ju4bhw9MxaOzGI5YeqsO3bjbkoqU8JKPiCE2TTC-LM0mt/s1600/31916r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik8frazXRXlGiW7VYDfoeJBYYcRKAGhyphenhyphenwjHlNeyDrj3q9A8Zfv6EyrhdlpbjQtUaadXXrDuJkb-sfOxjnSat_LKcPSmVMmbs3ju4bhw9MxaOzGI5YeqsO3bjbkoqU8JKPiCE2TTC-LM0mt/s1600/31916r.jpg" height="634" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oklahoma farmer digging out his fence, 1936.<br />
source: <a href="http://www.loc.gov/pictures/collection/fsa/item/fsa1998018982/PP/">Library of Congress</a></td></tr>
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Something needed to be done, and fast. Franklin Roosevelt campaigned on a platform of a "new deal for the American people", and once elected, he wasted no time fulfilling his promise. In what has become famous as the "First Hundred Days" of his administration, FDR stabilized and re-opened the banks, instituted the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, and laid the groundwork for the massive national rehabilitation effort that became known, simply, as the New Deal. People joked about the "alphabet soup" of new federal bureaus and departments, from the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), to the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA), to the Works Progress Administration (WPA). The CCC employed thousands of young men to labor on much-needed ecological and conservation projects. The TVA built dams and other structures to modernize the undeveloped Tennessee valley. And the WPA employed people to develop, improve, and modernize America's infrastructure: building roads, schools, bridges, and other projects. The section of the WPA assigned to beautify those and other projects was the Federal Arts Project.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsEU63ZRlcJRMxhavHiBfu0AMgAQSf4khf38buXYXdCjeXUVy4F8lv54NEt_pDCGIr1MQTXYZ7u31R_TSPsLmfX4zBV6wCg06MOTPbh2knR0l9RB1Hc3tRmssnOZb7NKbAU16ohEkMPLkO/s1600/Hopkins-Harry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsEU63ZRlcJRMxhavHiBfu0AMgAQSf4khf38buXYXdCjeXUVy4F8lv54NEt_pDCGIr1MQTXYZ7u31R_TSPsLmfX4zBV6wCg06MOTPbh2knR0l9RB1Hc3tRmssnOZb7NKbAU16ohEkMPLkO/s1600/Hopkins-Harry.jpg" height="640" width="510" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry Lloyd Hopkins, New Deal architect<br />
source: <a href="http://www.christiebooks.com/ChristieBooksWP/2014/01/high-treason-the-plot-against-the-people-albert-e-kahn-book-3-the-war-within-8-new-deal-1-f-d-r/">christiebooks.com</a></td></tr>
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The Project, as it came to be known, might not have gotten off the ground at all were it not for FDR's tireless right-hand man, Harry Hopkins. There was deep political resistance to the idea of paying artists to paint pictures. In the public eye, artists were shiftless, hedonistic bohemians, little more than troublemakers, and worse yet, probably Communists. Fortunately, Hopkins was deeply committed to the idea of work relief for writers, musicians, actors, and visual artists, seeing them as a vital and integral part of the national and social fabric. (He summed up this attitude when he said bluntly, "Hell, artists have got to eat, just like other people.") Using his vast political and administrative skills, he quashed resistance to the Federal Arts Project and maneuvered the pieces into place to make the Project a reality. For the first and last time in U.S. history, thousands of America's artists went on the federal payroll.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJtGOWNEvCZ1enjQI9ITNHT95yNmT0L7XYTkcGMA_PGDH4hYUNXmWZW4d98cKLft8-qekGAgb6qd_90F6yx7f_KNacqeMZ4wSuRhl0mhTVNcGe5c33dQIrBKFuylhO6Qp7C40pfu9MmQk/s1600/3b48878r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJtGOWNEvCZ1enjQI9ITNHT95yNmT0L7XYTkcGMA_PGDH4hYUNXmWZW4d98cKLft8-qekGAgb6qd_90F6yx7f_KNacqeMZ4wSuRhl0mhTVNcGe5c33dQIrBKFuylhO6Qp7C40pfu9MmQk/s1600/3b48878r.jpg" height="640" width="410" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National Art Week, Federal Art Project poster<br />
source: <a href="http://www.loc.gov/pictures/collection/wpapos/item/98513130/">Library of Congress</a></td></tr>
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What followed was a public arts project the likes of which this country has never seen, before or since. Artists painted murals, sculpted monuments, decorated public buildings, documented the New Deal, and became part of the massive national development program that saved a country from descending into social chaos. The Project not only beautified a nation, it became a gathering point and training ground for actors, musicians, writers, and artists. It provided a feeling of community, became a rallying cry, and validated the artist's role in society. Why was this important? Beyond the immediate benefit of helping creative people avoid starvation, the Project planted the seeds for America's postwar cultural flowering. Whether it was method acting, American theater, cinema, or Abstract Expressionism, none of this would have happened as it did without the intervention of the Federal Arts project.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAz55bJtYSWDRHLd6EdxCDybJuxFBtaWxwM_gU0uKNWhOqXCHnOFXdIO0528iVw0FQYgONThAPWmpMSVNl8W_dfVP7x6QU8NyL3lgMeYxLF1vb5Rgjb_-Dv7qb1s-KNOtGjbLHHKIhcMhY/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAz55bJtYSWDRHLd6EdxCDybJuxFBtaWxwM_gU0uKNWhOqXCHnOFXdIO0528iVw0FQYgONThAPWmpMSVNl8W_dfVP7x6QU8NyL3lgMeYxLF1vb5Rgjb_-Dv7qb1s-KNOtGjbLHHKIhcMhY/s1600/AAA_fedeartp14_4114.jpg" height="518" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arshile Gorky and NYC Mayor Fiorello La Guardia view Gorky's mural study, 1935<br />
source: <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/viewer/arshile-gorky-and-fiorello-la-guardia-opening-federal-art-gallery-2127">Archives of American Art</a></td></tr>
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Of the 5000 artists enrolled in the Project, half of those lived and worked in New York City. Every major artist of the New York School, not to mention many of the lesser known figures, worked on the Project at one time or another: Willem de Kooning, Arshile Gorky, Jackson Pollock, James Brooks, Lee Krasner, William Baziotes, Stuart Davis, and Philip Guston are just a few major figures who come to mind. In fact, think of <i>any</i> name of that generation of American artists, famous or obscure, and chances are they were involved in some way with the Project. Project artists created posters and graphics for the New Deal. They designed and decorated buildings. They documented works projects across the country in paintings, drawings, prints, and photographs. They taught art to disenfranchised urban and rural children who previously had never had an art lesson in their lives. The Project truly made art an integral part of the American social fabric, just as FDR had envisioned.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixG2ODfkAx8-EJXkdcZtilCXNZFHDSYS3ajNvUvfaYWS30XgPRMmZ9uiVZay8a5Fxu5peNooqKIZi9KwyTeKR27d1O8xLZxzo9G3ESlNw9jVWQQ1ZSldqqdioEM2M4AUy1vKHsSxzU5yc2/s1600/MURALS-articleLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixG2ODfkAx8-EJXkdcZtilCXNZFHDSYS3ajNvUvfaYWS30XgPRMmZ9uiVZay8a5Fxu5peNooqKIZi9KwyTeKR27d1O8xLZxzo9G3ESlNw9jVWQQ1ZSldqqdioEM2M4AUy1vKHsSxzU5yc2/s1600/MURALS-articleLarge.jpg" height="332" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restorer Ellizabeth Kolligs works on a WPA mural at Harlem Hospital, NYC<br />
source: <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/17/arts/design/murals-at-harlem-hospital-get-a-new-life.html">New York Times</a></td></tr>
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Two of the largest sections in the Project's vast operation were the Mural Division and Easel-Painting Divisions, overseen by Holger Cahill, acting director of the Museum of Modern Art. Federal Arts Project painters in these two sections created over 100,000 paintings and murals, many of which<a href="http://www.wpamurals.com/"> still exist</a>. WPA murals graced post offices, schools, and other municipal buildings in all 48 states. A network of supervisors, mostly artists themselves, labored to maintain a balance between creative freedom and quality control. Artists were encouraged to incorporate themes and stories from local histories into the work they created. Tragically, many of these works were lost, stolen, or destroyed over the years, mostly through neglect. Yet enough of them survive intact, allowing viewers to travel back to a desperate yet more idealistic time. During the Great Depression, the New Deal demonstrated that government could be a nurturing and constructive force for good, benefiting the common citizen in a time of great need. Artists were seen not as cultural elitists, but as active and integral participants in a democratic society. They proudly did their part, documenting and depicting a struggling nation taking charge, and getting back on its feet. (For more on this topic, check out David Larkin's excellent and authoritative <a href="http://www.amazon.com/When-Art-Worked-Deal-Democracy/dp/0847830896/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1405883875&sr=1-1&keywords=when+art+worked">When Art Worked</a>, which provides a comprehensive look at the WPA and the New Deal).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgee9A4cz55pEax9uVqjueRyK_jnTJGlRw52gmOM4Vcq2cDnm2LONwQasVMd4KZbvOoJjvvMu3WMJn5PaDStjvNURMTmYe1dkN5uvRSRupzlckFLQK3FdjU1HzobS5sZ9zcQzhfkli3YQHh/s1600/DSC_5358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgee9A4cz55pEax9uVqjueRyK_jnTJGlRw52gmOM4Vcq2cDnm2LONwQasVMd4KZbvOoJjvvMu3WMJn5PaDStjvNURMTmYe1dkN5uvRSRupzlckFLQK3FdjU1HzobS5sZ9zcQzhfkli3YQHh/s1600/DSC_5358.jpg" height="474" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WPA Mural in Coit Tower, San Francisco CA<br />
source: <a href="http://www.artandarchitecture-sf.com/category/san-francisco/coit-tower/page/2">artandarchitecture-sf.com</a></td></tr>
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<br />thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5935618080952041702.post-16807417793501094102014-07-16T09:23:00.001-04:002014-07-16T09:23:09.742-04:00Louis Marcoussis: An Underrated Master<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIHuo0-H-UtGhAnoWA1A6YHqH94jr9_Uzpah3QPUcYm4L7UvXV5VeRFrlajkXzrfmtPBj9keztXwl5objAHMv9eVx0e61jNkgOJ4mHOWCrLh_b9oJ-gnX1QyNKy_zZa1moithzRILWure/s1600/pht-0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIHuo0-H-UtGhAnoWA1A6YHqH94jr9_Uzpah3QPUcYm4L7UvXV5VeRFrlajkXzrfmtPBj9keztXwl5objAHMv9eVx0e61jNkgOJ4mHOWCrLh_b9oJ-gnX1QyNKy_zZa1moithzRILWure/s1600/pht-0009.jpg" height="640" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cubist painter Louis Marcoussis, 1930s.<br />
Photograph by Aram Alban.<br />
source: <a href="http://lusadaran.org/collection/image/?image=132&artist=Alban%2C%20Aram">lusadaran.org</a></td></tr>
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In art, as in any other field, people tend to talk about the "big shots", the big names, the towering figures. This is entirely natural, actually. Picasso, Matisse, Pollock, De Kooning: these men rightfully deserve the attention they get. They <i>were</i> geniuses after all. They changed how we <i>see</i> things. They affected our vision of life, and of ourselves. They re-wrote rules, set new standards, and expanded the possibilities of how art was made. Given the outsize footprint they leave on human history, it's only fitting that we study and re-study what the giants did. I'm not complaining about it: I myself do it on this blog.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hypsovWb5f-qOOiqu2rWNFh8BAwQWV2xM-wTr7ps6JmbVFqqKGcKDfzwccjALH59aNipfUBA6kKHtcyl0Nxqq4y5Sp7UkBAq-axEI5O__oKyr4Yn4l5avPL5ZvzP8cfA9PnUemQ8IkAv/s1600/display_image_Still+Life+with+Checkerboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hypsovWb5f-qOOiqu2rWNFh8BAwQWV2xM-wTr7ps6JmbVFqqKGcKDfzwccjALH59aNipfUBA6kKHtcyl0Nxqq4y5Sp7UkBAq-axEI5O__oKyr4Yn4l5avPL5ZvzP8cfA9PnUemQ8IkAv/s1600/display_image_Still+Life+with+Checkerboard.jpg" height="640" width="544" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Still Life with Checkerboard</i></b> (1912)<br />
Oil on canvas by Louis Marcoussis<br />
source: <a href="http://www.the-athenaeum.org/art/detail.php?ID=139501">the-atheneum.org</a></td></tr>
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Lately, though, I find myself drawn to the not-so-big names, the people who don't get books written about them, people who worked and lived in close proximity to--sometimes, literally right alongside--the so-called big names. Some people, critics mostly, refer to these artists as "lesser" artists. I hate that term. It's demeaning, and it impugns the artists and their work to whom the term is often applied. "Lesser" implies poorer quality, diminished value, and a kind of unworthiness of larger consideration. Instead, for these folks, I prefer the term <i>under-rated.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDq1LuY4WoSo5BPR8qg2aEn12a_bHTq5FYfh7J-2YonopYnaDQLS2GZihvyBjpVyBmeCNLH44C_hZ7LSiacv0GdP4j6GyX562bJBpJU5OZVIgjyimOadWQXmTP0QXnkixl0Dvb7czBhcNt/s1600/display_image_Still+Life+with+Ace+of+Spades.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDq1LuY4WoSo5BPR8qg2aEn12a_bHTq5FYfh7J-2YonopYnaDQLS2GZihvyBjpVyBmeCNLH44C_hZ7LSiacv0GdP4j6GyX562bJBpJU5OZVIgjyimOadWQXmTP0QXnkixl0Dvb7czBhcNt/s1600/display_image_Still+Life+with+Ace+of+Spades.jpg" height="640" width="456" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Still Life with Ace of Spades</i></b> (1921)<br />
Oil and gouache on glass, Louis Marcoussis<br />
source: <a href="http://www.the-athenaeum.org/art/detail.php?ID=63130">the-atheneum.org</a></td></tr>
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Louis Marcoussis is one of these under-rated artists. I first came across his name--ironically--while reading volume two of John Richardson's ongoing Picasso biography (which, by the way, is the best biography I've ever read on anyone. Period. If you haven't read it, do so immediately.) Marcoussis was a painter living in Paris, moving in the same bohemian milieu as Picasso, and in fact met the Spanish artist through Gertrude Stein. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyB7tUYO78jDpGJE1NBLgEyZZxMG5v9IlSCshtU5DjU2EuVaJbo7Dg0ZW6TOWoEhLcoiYiWGwwtDRjdt3HPo33nc9b0XpmNgXiCWvm0BZEncJwjuCJtZdXyxowOZL36T_0ypm4Yf8ad-9Y/s1600/display_image_Still+Life+in+Front+of+Window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyB7tUYO78jDpGJE1NBLgEyZZxMG5v9IlSCshtU5DjU2EuVaJbo7Dg0ZW6TOWoEhLcoiYiWGwwtDRjdt3HPo33nc9b0XpmNgXiCWvm0BZEncJwjuCJtZdXyxowOZL36T_0ypm4Yf8ad-9Y/s1600/display_image_Still+Life+in+Front+of+Window.jpg" height="640" width="456" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still Life in Front of Window (1920)<br />
Gouache and crayon on paper, Louis Marcoussis<br />
source: <a href="http://www.the-athenaeum.org/art/detail.php?ID=79286">the-atheneum.org</a></td></tr>
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Born Ludwig Markus in Lodz, Poland, he moved to Paris as a young man to make his fortune as an artist. He changed his name to the more French-sounding Marcoussis, and fell in with <i>la bande Picasso</i>, the gang of poets and painters who hung around the Bateau Lavoir studio complex in Montparnasse. Picasso must have liked the Polish painter's taste in women, because Marcoussis' girlfriend Eva Gouel, a.k.a. also known as Marcelle Humbert, eventually moved in with Picasso. <i>C'est la vie.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-_KU9ml0USFNaShKBjuoC3qPYAi7MHrT-GFgL1-JiUvxHuE7vLCHj8G4ndtqgkuiZah8Ql64qE80JQbjAAyi6sLm0yTtMob5rcSCViTS8o114H6V2T9UUHQhCDuS8h-CCcRShXVP0e_PU/s1600/display_image_Still+Life+with+Ephemaris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-_KU9ml0USFNaShKBjuoC3qPYAi7MHrT-GFgL1-JiUvxHuE7vLCHj8G4ndtqgkuiZah8Ql64qE80JQbjAAyi6sLm0yTtMob5rcSCViTS8o114H6V2T9UUHQhCDuS8h-CCcRShXVP0e_PU/s1600/display_image_Still+Life+with+Ephemaris.jpg" height="640" width="504" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Still Life with Ephemeris</i></b> (1914)<br />
Oil and collage on canvas by Louis Marcoussis<br />
source: <a href="http://www.the-athenaeum.org/art/detail.php?ID=76013">the-atheneum.org</a></td></tr>
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See, there I go again, talking about Picasso. <i> </i>Sorry, Louis. I want to talk about you, and your art, which I'm pretty sure most people don't know about. I certainly didn't. As it turns out, he was <i>very</i> good, which demolishes yet another assumption people seem make about under-rated artists, which is this: the reason they're not well-known is because they weren't any good. Marcoussis was a cubist with a deft graphic touch and wonderful sense of color. You can find examples of his wonderful work online, but details of his life story are not nearly as easy to find. Thank God for Wikipedia.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmNVNMjVgubeDamQLh0GSCiZKvKjDlbC8rKywmISrU1AUqDtg4Rie4EypXUQnLrD7jM1NIv7Ai9WXcpZ-y7nq9_wdf5gM4aCZJg-q7hu4JvC5QHZlAS5JJq10FeHlu_G7kwjWbb1GZaIwZ/s1600/Louis_Marcoussis_-_Le_Comptoir_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmNVNMjVgubeDamQLh0GSCiZKvKjDlbC8rKywmISrU1AUqDtg4Rie4EypXUQnLrD7jM1NIv7Ai9WXcpZ-y7nq9_wdf5gM4aCZJg-q7hu4JvC5QHZlAS5JJq10FeHlu_G7kwjWbb1GZaIwZ/s1600/Louis_Marcoussis_-_Le_Comptoir_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" height="640" width="498" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Le Comptoir</i></b> by Louis Marcoussis<br />
Etching and aquatint on cream paper<br />
source: <a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Louis_Marcoussis_-_Le_Comptoir_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></td></tr>
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Not long after Pablo Picasso stole his girlfriend, World War I broke out. Marcoussis served in the French Foreign legion throughout the war. I don't know if he saw combat, but in any case, he survived the war years. He eventually married fellow Polish artist Alice Halicka and had a daughter, Malene in 1922. Born Jewish, he converted to Catholicism. He lived in France for the rest of his life, making a living as an illustrator, printmaker, and teacher. The outbreak of World War II and the occupation of his beloved Paris by the Wehrmacht drove him to Vichy, France, where he died on October 22,1941.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdOeqSuZcEztBO0MIW0S509ZPo-VWcjunId4Gmy9s6yn5G5t7-7KXyYJfw1qCzIZUH1TyjqvsZDZjw9v060thPpS2lA7NGiQmSfQGTMLpwZDdSoaTX-I9d2i74CX4XBopodMmfCLyNeXb/s1600/display_image_Lulli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdOeqSuZcEztBO0MIW0S509ZPo-VWcjunId4Gmy9s6yn5G5t7-7KXyYJfw1qCzIZUH1TyjqvsZDZjw9v060thPpS2lA7NGiQmSfQGTMLpwZDdSoaTX-I9d2i74CX4XBopodMmfCLyNeXb/s1600/display_image_Lulli.jpg" height="640" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Lulli</i></b> (1919) by Louis Marcoussis<br />
Oil and gouache on glass<br />
source: <a href="http://www.the-athenaeum.org/art/detail.php?ID=78697">the-atheneum.org</a></td></tr>
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According to <a href="http://alceste.over-blog.com/article-26652012.html">this blog</a> (the original is in French--thank god for Google Translate), Marcoussis died of either lung cancer or pulmonary congestion or a combination of both (the translation is a bit unclear). Given the ultimate fate of most European Jews, it is almost certainly a mercy that he succumbed to illness. Engraved on his tombstone are words by his friend, the poet Guillaume Apollinaire: "We do not see on this earth. And remember that I am waiting."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeX4UgJ5TLe5fGVDTKT8cd3A2iIzDcUEVVvHbF1CeoZb3JyU8wGK4hdEGLCBaY9AELIGw5fkg9P7_-urjvJjpjnj5Vf1yjo-xLVByOzxNH7Yk7-qufcKtl3vXnHlVDJdXN4UBKs4TlOkj/s1600/179235_2969906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeX4UgJ5TLe5fGVDTKT8cd3A2iIzDcUEVVvHbF1CeoZb3JyU8wGK4hdEGLCBaY9AELIGw5fkg9P7_-urjvJjpjnj5Vf1yjo-xLVByOzxNH7Yk7-qufcKtl3vXnHlVDJdXN4UBKs4TlOkj/s1600/179235_2969906.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Portrait of Guillaume Apollinaire</i></b> by Louis Marcoussis<br />
source: <a href="http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/180674">Art Institute of Chicago</a></td></tr>
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Marcoussis certainly saw on this earth. He was gifted with vision and talent, and his work attests to it. He may not have been one of Cubism's inventors, but he certainly brought his own unique twist to it. His paintings exude a somber clarity and calm, entirely different from Picasso's fiery, revolutionary canvases or the sober glow of Georges Braque. Perhaps what I respond to is a type of gravitas and melancholy that I find in other eastern European artists like Brassai or Andre Kertesz. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4EmerfBTL9xBRKufzD2QTQS3ypsgeeWfWASTiPr8C9pT90qEWpEz1ph79dwhOIor-58kSsjxhLXklAdE0RJjB9m-sWG1OREt_7kBIx9gIkNvPh_B_o_5ijncxOeQg9lp5suP04rN6Dkk/s1600/guggenheim_marcoussis_habitue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4EmerfBTL9xBRKufzD2QTQS3ypsgeeWfWASTiPr8C9pT90qEWpEz1ph79dwhOIor-58kSsjxhLXklAdE0RJjB9m-sWG1OREt_7kBIx9gIkNvPh_B_o_5ijncxOeQg9lp5suP04rN6Dkk/s1600/guggenheim_marcoussis_habitue.jpg" height="640" width="384" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Habitue</i></b> by Louis Marcoussis<br />
source: <a href="http://notesfromthewest.wordpress.com/2013/08/07/venice-saturday-15-2013-continued/">notesfromthewest.wordpress.com</a></td></tr>
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To my knowledge, there is no museum dedicated to the work of Louis Marcoussis. I've never seen a biography about him. People don't make movies about him. He did not live the kind of dramatic, charismatic life that lends itself to a screenplay. Nevertheless, seeing Marcoussis's work has deepened my understanding of Cubism and modern art. My own work as an artist would be the poorer had I not been able to experience his. Marcoussis loved art, pursued it his whole life, and left a body of work bearing his unique stamp. For that and that alone, he deserves to be remembered, and honored. <i>Merci, Louis.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjoM9O4_tY4pOpfIDNKpbvJAf0yTZG-Knoaphj58bIsdiClrW_82w6xo-ZdCUVwTvBdCH-y32IFbcspSSdGbxG724ZWWR-Iq-z2edHFeHV4oIouqzMnAnqaL8-J9TTGIb59jdh3HOmzLd/s1600/display_image_A+Table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjoM9O4_tY4pOpfIDNKpbvJAf0yTZG-Knoaphj58bIsdiClrW_82w6xo-ZdCUVwTvBdCH-y32IFbcspSSdGbxG724ZWWR-Iq-z2edHFeHV4oIouqzMnAnqaL8-J9TTGIb59jdh3HOmzLd/s1600/display_image_A+Table.jpg" height="640" width="402" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>A Table </i></b>(1925-27) by Louis Marcoussis<br />
Gouache on paper on canvas<br />
source: <a href="http://www.the-athenaeum.org/art/detail.php?ID=85057">the-atheneum.org</a></td></tr>
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thomasghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05213938334744310251noreply@blogger.com0