Feline Inspiration

Cats. Like Marmite, Kanye West and reality TV they tend to polarise opinions. To detractors they're cold, calculating, sinister beings who use humans for food and attention. To cat lovers, the very traits that irk the haters – their cool countenance, air of superiority and unwillingness to be stroked if not in the mood – are all signs of character, which opposes the dogged subservience of their canine rivals (to the cat lover, dogs are just a little too...eager to please).

Paul Klee, Cat and Bird, 1928
Oil and ink on gessoed canvas, mounted on wood, 38.1 x 53.2 cm
Museum of Modern Art, New York

And perhaps this is why so many artists seem to be in league with moggies (especially 20th Century artists for some reason). You only need type in artists and their cats into Google and you'll be greeted by a slew of pictures of the most influential artists of the last century positively cooing over their cats - Picasso, Klee, Dali, Matisse...the list goes on. Perhaps these visionaries found a spiritual alignment with the feline aloofness, which mirrored their artistic detachment from the world; or perhaps cats represent an air of refinement so necessary to the development of some of the defining art movements of the 20th century. If Picasso, for instance, had looked to a dog for approval of one of his paintings, he'd have been greeted with a tail-wag at the earliest instance and perhaps stopped there... a cat on the other hand would turn its nose up at even the most incredible, awe-inspiring, mind-blowing painting, inspiring the artist to strive further, bigger, better, and before he and the world knew it, the inspiration for both the cubist and modern art movement Les Demoiselles d'Avignon was created... all because of the scorn of his pet cat (although this may not be proved, it certainly can't be disproved, which is good enough for me).

Left: Picasso’s nonplussed cat averts his gaze from the camera
Right: Could Picasso’s masterpiece and disputed inspiration for the Cubist and Modern Art movements itself have been inspired by a cat?
Les Demoiselles d’Avignon.
Oil on Canvas (244 x 234 cm).
Museum of Modern Art, New York

And then of course there's the Egyptians. Can you imagine the Pharaohs (and their thousands of slaves of course) going to all the effort of hauling tonne upon tonne of rock on top of each other (without a single crane in sight), and then carving said rock with their bare hands, to create a stone monument of a woman's head perched atop the body of a bugle or a sausage dog (' just doesn't work, does it?) And that's not to mention the scores of statues, carvings and engravings dedicated to them. Cats back then weren't just revered, they were worshipped.

Cat with Kittens (detail).
Reportedly from Saqqara, Egypt. Late Period to Ptolemaic Period, Dynasty 26 or later, circa 664–30 B.C.E.
Bronze, solid-cast and wood, 6.1 x 8.8 x 5 cm.
Brooklyn Museum, Charles Edwin Wilbour Fund, 37.406E

For proof of the Egyptians’ love for cats the Brooklyn Museum has a permanent exhibition of carvings and statues called Divine Felines: Cats of Ancient Egypt; cat lovers in the area can show their allegiance by stopping by. For all you non-Brooklynites, you can side with fellow feline fans by picking up a copy of any of the following ebooks: Picasso; Klee; Klimt; Dali; Bonnard.

Locos... ¿o no tanto?

El siglo XX fue un siglo de reivindicaciones en todos los ámbitos. El arte, por supuesto, no se quedó fuera de esta tendencia, tal y como demuestra un rápido vistazo a algunas de las obras maestras del siglo. Muchos de esos cuadros o esculturas que hoy tenemos por imprescindibles hubieran sido tirados directamente a la basura sólo medio siglo antes.

Antonio Ligabue, Autoritratto - inv.177, 1954.
Collezione Banca Popolare di Bergamo.

En esta sucesión de barreras derribadas, acaso la última y más radical fue la de llamar la atención sobre el potencial creativo de los enfermos mentales.

I’m not crazy; my mother had me tested.

Arguably, most forms of art worth lengthy discussion have a bit of madness behind them, whether it is a painting, film, or novel. Personally, I find that my creative work suffers a bit when everything in my life feels completely balanced. Think about the mental states of various actors, painters, and authors. Off of the top of my head, I can come up with Tilda Swinson, Tom Cruise, Charlie Sheen, Hemingway, Tolstoy, Poe, Wolfe, Caravaggio, (cough) Hitler… I could list tons and tons, but I’d much rather hear from you.

Gustave Courbet, The Desperate Man, 1843-1845.
Oil on canvas, 45 x 54 cm.
Private collection.

But madness is rather subjective, isn’t it?

Why We Owe Spain a Big “Gracias”

Villanueva Building, Velázquez Entrance (Paseo del Prado Facade).
Courtesy of the Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid.

This is how I started my office questionnaire (I take my research for these blogs very seriously):

“What has Spain given the world….go:”

These were the answers I received (and yes, some of the responders are Spanish):

• Helicopters


• “America”


•  “Hot men”


• Tortilla

Apadrina un Dalí

Dalí es el hombre de las mil caras, de la extravagancia como estandarte, de la controversia como modelo de vida, de la teatralidad como forma de promoción, del enfrentamiento con sus contemporáneos, de los exabruptos calculados, del culto al dinero por encima de todo y también,  afortunadamente, del surrealismo llevado al extremo. ¡Viva Dalí, muerte al pan!

Son muchos los textos que se han escrito sobre su persona y su estilo de vida, seguramente más en vida de él que después de su fallecimiento, aunque en verdad basta con acercarse a las conjugadas frases que nos dejó para tratar de entender su histriónico carácter. Ya a la temprana edad de 16 años escribió en su confitado diario: «seré un genio, y el mundo me admirará». Con esta declaración de intenciones es fácil comprender la fuerte voluntad de que hizo gala a lo largo de su carrera para ser tomado por un loco en un mundo que se caracterizaba de más en más por su inestabilidad. Y hablando de Gala, a quien amaba más que a las butifarras, uno de los argumentos que tuvieron más peso en las fuertes críticas que recibió de sus compañeros de movimiento estaba relacionado con la adoración biológica que sentía por el dinero,  no por menos, este fue el desencadenante de su expulsión del grupo liderado por André Breton, tras un juicio popular al que se presentó vestido de gala con una manta y un termómetro; sin embargo, Dalí tenía a gala presumir de esta afición desmesurada por el que otros consideraban vil metal, renegó del grupo que después le consideró su santo patrón y afirmó con galanía: «Amo a Gala más que a mi madre, más que a mi padre, más que a Picasso y más, incluso, que al dinero».

Dalí, Placeres iluminados, 1929. Óleo y collage en tabla. 24 x 35 cm. Musem Of Modern Art. Nueva York

Para poder admirar a este genio en todas sus acepciones y conocerlo por las conmocionantes obras que le lanzaron al estrellato, el Centre Pompidou en París le rinde un jondo homenaje para el que cuenta con algunas de sus mejores y más conocidas pinturas en una exposición sin precedentes que pretende aclarar toda la fuerza de su obra y todo aquello que esta debe a su personalidad, tanto a sus rasgos de genio como a sus excesos. En ella podremos ver de segunda mano, de primera sería imposible, Los relojes blandos, prestado por el MOMA de Nueva York, y otros préstamos de los principales museos de Dalí del mundo: Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía de Madrid, la Fundació Dalí de Figueras y el Dalí Museum de San Petersburgo. De esta manera nos podremos evitar unos cuantos viajes y con solo un pequeño desplazamiento a la capital de la barra de pan fina podremos disfrutar de uno de los artistas más populares y que sin duda más supieron hacer uso de la creciente proliferación de la auto publicidad. Habrá que darse prisa porque la exposición termina el 25 de marzo, pero hay tiempo suficiente y, además, el Centre Pompidou ha ampliado sus horarios gracias a la marcial afluencia de gente. No solo se puede asistir incluso los domingos sino que el museo permanece abierto hasta las 23h cada día. Un pequeño consejo, si os decidís a hacer una visita sacad la entrada con antelación pues os evitaréis unas colas miriamétricas, con decenas de miles de Miriams esperando su turno.



Cartel surrealista, 1934. Óleo. Colección privada.

Antes de empezar a preparar las maletas y obligar a tu pareja a que te acompañe, vete calentando motores con cualquiera de estos libros que presentan una extensa y magníficamente ilustrada colección de obras del artista, y con la que además será más fácil convencerla. Salvador Dalí y Dalí a secas, de Victoria Charles, o Life and Masterwoks of Salvador Dalí de Eric Shanes (en inglés). Si ya está de acuerdo, podréis compartir el placer de observar el despliegue de imaginación sin confines del que el maestro siempre fue adalid. Si no tienes pareja y te decides a ir solo, la buena noticia es que todo te saldrá a mitad de precio. Porque, eso sí, la entrada al museo no es gratuita, pero que mejor manera de contribuir al homenaje a Dalí, que colaborar a que la memoria del artista se siga enriqueciendo con aquello que casi más quiso.

Dalí, Centre national d'art et de culture Georges Pompidou, hasta el 25 de marzo de 2013.

Hallucinogens and Other Drugs

I will neither confirm nor deny any drugs I may or may not have experimented with in the past. In the present, I find many intriguing and interesting, despite being unsure of the things they’ll do to an already over-active mind and imagination – but again will not admit what they are.


(This is your brain … on drugs. Does anyone else remember that PSA from the 1980s/1990s?)
Salvador Dalí, Eggs on the Plate without the Plate, 1932.
Oil on canvas, 60.3 x 41.9 cm.
The Dalí Museum, St Petersburg (Florida).

Whilst bad, and mind altering, sometimes forever, various drugs are at the very forefront of the entertainment industry. Walt and Jesse are nearly household names because of their mad skillz (I hope you heard that in Aaron Paul’s voice) as meth cooks on Breaking Bad. Mary Louise Parker has given so many of us a soft spot for the middle-class single mother that is forced to sling drugs in Weeds. The Wire took a groundbreaking look at inner-city dealings and addictions (on all sides of the spectrum). And, of course, whatever the heck V in True Blood is meant to mimic. Meanwhile, Lindsay Lohan and Charlie Sheen are in and out of trouble for cocaine use. Whitney Houston MAY have overdosed from prescription pills or crack. But, friends, where are the hallucinogens?!


Salvador Dalí, Soft Construction with Boiled Beans (Premonition of Civil War), 1936.
Oil on canvas, 99.9 x 100 cm.
Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia.

Reviewing Salvador Dalí’s work, every single time, without fail, makes me question what’s been slipped into my beverage (or brownies). The melting and sliding images of obscure sizes and shapes make my skin crawl in a way that only a proper hallucinogen can – or so I imagine. Not to mention his bizarre obsession with ants, which appear so innocent as they skitter across our counters and up our walls that we don’t take them very seriously, but really – why don’t we? I cannot delve further into their utter disregard for human space and existence for fear of not being able to sleep tonight. But know that I do not find them harmless.


Salvador Dalí, The Temptation of Saint Anthony, 1946.
Oil on canvas, 89.5 x 119.5.
Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels.

Dalí made it very clear: “I don’t do drugs. I am drugs.” And fine, I respect that. But wouldn’t you agree that being as full of yourself as he was, perhaps he was his own drug? A bit too much serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, endorphins – simply too much everything? Get off of your ridiculously long-legged high horse, Dalí, and paint something the rest of us can relate to, you pompous, self-absorbed, egotistic maniac. Good day.

Feel like you’re on drugs without the terrible next-day comedown while getting your fill of melting clocks, long-legged horses, and women from behind at Le Centre Pompidou through 25 March. Bring my nightmares home with you in The Life and Masterworks of Salvador Dalí by Eric Shanes.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Dali et le Baby-Boomeur

Pendant les années 70, si ma mémoire ne me trahit pas, j’ai découvert le grand peintre Salvador Dali. A l’époque, je fuyais comme la peste les émissions culturelles - aujourd’hui aussi. Je ne m’attendais pas à voir à la télévision un homme avec des moustaches aussi ridicules que celles d’Hitler ou Napoléon III, déclamer avec force : «  Je suis fou du chocolat Lanvin. »

Plus tard, je fréquentais les endroits branchés – mais le mot n’existait pas encore – les lieux comme Castel où Jean nous accueillait avec tellement de gentillesse, ou Régine rue de Ponthieu, plus moyen-oriental dans le débordement de parures d’or et de diamant portées par de jolies femmes très accueillantes.

Je rencontrai Amanda Lear, l’égérie de Dali. Je ne lui ai jamais parlé, mais je la vis se mouvoir dans les tenus les plus sexys. A l’époque, nous nous posions tous la même question : homme ou femme ? Son visage permettait toute extrapolation. Peut-être le grand «  masturbateur » aurait-il pu nous donner une réponse. J’ai gardé associer cette belle artiste au peintre, allez savoir pourquoi !!

J’ai une seconde image de Dali en tête : un homme avec un bonnet de nuit que j’ai vu dans un magazine. Ce qui reste dans ma mémoire c’est le rythme de sa voix, saccadée comme le bruit d’une mitrailleuse dans les rues de Barcelone pendant la guerre civile espagnole. Une espèce de Malraux sans mouvements extravagants du visage.

J’ai découvert sa peinture plus tard, après son anagramme «  Avida Dollars ». Cet homme de la société du spectacle chère à Debord, avait réussi à se faire connaître d’une génération davantage par ses excentricités que par son talent. Son titre de marquis vint couronner le pitre plus que le génie de la peinture. J’ai beaucoup aimé le tableau de Gala vue de dos regardant à travers une fenêtre. Cette œuvre m’a toujours ravi. Elle est d’une simplicité déconcertante.


Salvador Dali, Gala nue vue de dos, 1960.
Huile sur toile, 42 x 32 cm.
Fondation Gala-Salvador Dalí, Figueras.

Plus tard lorsque j’allais déjeuner avec Gilles Neret, l’auteur d’un monumental ouvrage sur Dali, j’ai découvert un homme qui ne correspondait guère à son image télévisuelle. Et si derrière ses pantalonnades se trouvait un véritable créateur ? Dali était un peintre à l’imaginaire sans frontières.

Il est peut-être temps de redécouvrir le travail de ce touche à tout qui nous laisse une œuvre déconcertante. Entre le chocolat Lanvin et les dollars, il y a le Centre Pompidou, dans lequel a lieu la première rétrospective Dali depuis trente ans, du 21 novembre au 8 janvier 2013. Vous pouvez aussi parcourir le livre Dali de Victoria Charles présentant sa vie et ses chefs-d’œuvre.

Marmite and Klee

Let me steer you away from the realm of art for a moment, and instead let me ask you to consider the many love/hate relationships that we so often have.  Take chocolate for instance; LOVE chocolate, HATE myself afterwards (for all those who have consumed an entire large Galaxy bar in one sitting, you know what I mean….).  And then there’s Reality Television.  You know it’s wasting your life, minute by minute, and yet it can be so voyeuristically compelling.  And finally: marmite.  Of course, the old ‘you love it or you hate it’ phrase was seemingly created for this food product. Personally, I fall into the ‘love’ category, but I won’t judge if you don’t like it.  To each their own.  This leads me to… Paul Klee.
Apologies for the (apparent) abrupt change in topic, but bear with me.  If Klee were to create his paintings today, would he still be given all the acclaim that he received in the past?


Camel in Rhythmic Wooded Landscape, 1920. Oil on gauze with chalk, 48 x 42 cm. Kunstsammlung Nordrhein Westfalen, Düsseldorf











Klee deals with the abstract.  This is all well and good, but abstract art, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, is much like marmite. Ergo, Paul Klee is much like marmite.  Within the ‘pro-Klee’ camp, there will be abounding arguments such as ‘his work was groundbreaking’, ‘he offered a cuttingly sharp perspective on the events of his time’, ‘he was a creative genius, none of his works are the same’, and ‘his works almost talk to us, through them we can see his humour, his moods, and his beliefs’.  In the ‘anti-Klee’ camp, counter-arguments may well follow to include; ‘the “childlike simplicity” in his art is pretentious’, ‘he couldn’t decide which medium to work with, so he tried them all’, and ‘he couldn’t paint what he wanted to communicate straight out, he often hides his true meaning so it requires a fine toothcomb to uncover it’.


Departure of the Ships, 1927. Oil on canvas, 50 x 60 cm. Private Collection, Switzerland

Of course, if Klee were to paint today, his work would no longer be groundbreaking. Strike one.  On first impression, his work is simplistic to the point of that of a childish amateur.  It requires deeper understanding and analysis to see the depth that is actually in his work.  In today’s society, do we have the patience required to do this or have we become a ‘Banksy’ culture, where we require a message to be painted on a wall in order to appreciate it?  ...Strike two.

Thirdly and finally, are we still capable of appreciating abstract art in its pure form?  Having been to the Tate Modern and seen the nearly blank canvasses with squares of colour, and Dali’s lobster on the telephone, I have to concede.  Yes, the abstract is alive and well and living among us.  Welcome to the 21^st Century Paul Klee, it seems your art will always have a place within society.

For any Klee sceptics out there, allow me to point you in the direction of Dusseldorf’s Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, where the exhibition 100 x Paul Klee is ongoing until the 10^th February 2013. You may find yourselves acquiring a new taste for this particular artist, and as I always say to my non-English compatriots about marmite, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it!  Paul Klee aficionados will love the Klee eBook by Donald Wigal, or alternatively discover Klee in Beauty of the Beast, written by John Bascom.