Olympia in Venice

Remember the first time you went away from home for an extended period of time? Your mother made sure you packed warm socks and clean pants, even if it was going to be 40 degrees Celsius in your final destination. She called and wrote you often, making sure you were eating your vegetables and brushing your teeth. She loved and worried about you. I imagine this is what the Musée d’Orsay is going through at the moment, having sent one of its most precious babies off to Italy for the summer.

Édouard Manet, Olympia, 1863.
Oil on canvas, 130.5 x 191 cm.
Musée d'Orsay, Paris.

What is Love?

Love.

Love is, waking up late on the weekend.

Love is, frosty, autumn mornings, breath fogging the air.

Love is, smelling the cut grass on a hot summer’s day.

Love is, feeling the steam rise off the ground after a tropical rain storm.

Love is, laughter.

Vampires: dark and evil or sparkly and romantic?

When thinking of dark romanticism, I am plagued with thoughts of dark, sultry mystery. Especially encompassing the supernatural, dark romanticism is essentially the humanising of all things evil and hellish. This includes vampires, werewolves, ghouls, devils, the whole gamut. Having just come off of a most epic two month Buffy-binge, I get it. But authors like Stephanie Meyer, have taken what was once the essence of evil and torture and literally turned them into shiny, happy beings.

Franz von Stuck, The Kiss of the Sphinx, after 1895.
Charcoal, black stone and white highlights on light-brown paper,55 x 48.5 cm.
Private collection.

The Good, the Bad, and the 17th Century

Here we are again at the 17^th century, the time of Master Rembrandt and his many self-portraits. But, frankly, when I consider wanting to go back in time, I don’t fancy returning to the 17^th century. There were a tonne of wars. Famines in Russia, France, and Finland and a plague in both Seville and London. Shakespeare died, for crying out loud – I’m still mourning this loss.

 

Rembrandt van Rijn, The Landscape with the Three Trees, 1643.
Etching, drypoint, and engraving, 21.3 × 27.8 cm.
Collection of Marie and George Hecksher.

 

The Good:

• Jamestown, Virginia was established – which later led to a massacre of 347 English settlers by the natives (essentially score one and only)
• St Peter’s Basilica was completed
• Torture was outlawed in England (we’re still waiting for that in other countries)
• Cape Town was founded
• New Amsterdam was founded and soon thereafter renamed New York – I wonder what it would be like if it were still named as such?
• The Taj Mahal was started and completed
• The steam engine
• Bach and Monteverdi
• Rubens
• Donne and Milton
• Galileo and Newton
• (As discussed before) Ice cream

 

Rembrandt van Rijn, Self-Portrait with a Velvet Beret and a Jacket with a Fur Collar, 1634.
Oil on oak, 58.4 x 47.7 cm.
Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Berlin.

 

The Bad:

• The pilgrims arrived on the Mayflower
• Aurochs became extinct (I bet you don’t even know what they are)
• Mount Vesuvius erupted
• The Great Fire of London (which might be good because it got rid of that pesky plague)
• The Ottomans
• Louisiana was claimed by France
• Salem witch trials
• Calculus

 

So maybe a fair amount of interesting and positive things occurred, but the bad here weigh rather heavily. I’m much happier in the 21^st century, with the ability to look back smugly and mock.

 

Rembrandt van Rijn, Portrait of Hendrickje Stoffels with a Velvet Beret, c. 1654.
Oil on canvas, 74 x 61 cm.
Musée du Louvre, Paris.

 

Visit the de Young Museum in San Fran to see Rembrandt’s Century, through 2 June, whilst still enjoying all of the luxuries of today. Also, keep an eye out for Rembrandt by Émile Michel, out soon from Parkstone!

 

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Thank You Hiram Bingham

The life of Marc Chagall was not an easy one. Nor was it uneventful. It was however, filled with enough drama to delight even the most seasoned and skeptical of Hollywood producers. He perceived the events of World War 1 from afar, saw the hopes and disappointments of the Russian Revolution, barely escaped the onslaught of World War 2, was revered for his artistic prowess, admired by Picasso, and left behind a rich artistic legacy.



The Fiddler, 1912-1913.
Oil on canvas, 184 x 148.5 cm.
The Royal Collection, The Hague.

In effect, Chagall’s life and success was the result of many fortuitous encounters… the first one primarily being the encounter with art at school, which led to his illustrious career path. A meeting later in life would prove to be truly life-changing however. He encountered Hiram Bingham IV when he was living in France, who was able to procure for him an American visa so that he and his family could flee Vichy France, and near-certain deportment to a concentration camp.

So, the art world, and in fact, society in general, has a lot to thank Hiram Bingham IV for. Not only was he responsible for guaranteeing that the life and remaining works of Chagall would be preserved, but he also helped to save the lives of over 2,500 Jewish refugees by ensuring they received visas (against official government policy of the time) to the United States out of Vichy France.

The events of World War 2 were to haunt the artist, as his later paintings show. Themes of war and the crucifixion play across several of his post-war works, giving a voice to those who were silenced. We can go so far as to say that whilst Chagall was the one who directly painted the Paris Opera House ceiling, designed the stained glass windows for the Metz Cathedral, and produced countless stunning artworks, Hiram Bingham IV was the one who made it possible.



The Circus Horse, 1964.
Oil on canvas, 49.4 x 61.8 cm.
Private collection.

So whilst we are grateful to Bingham for the brave and heroic decisions that he made, let us take a moment to think of the millions who did not have such a lucky escape. And upon seeing the works done by Chagall, take a moment to think about the masterpieces of art, concertos, ballets, theatre, etc. which the world will never see. In celebrating Chagall, we remember.

The Musée de Luxembourg, in Paris, will soon be hosting an exhibition dedicated to the works of Marc Chagall, looking especially at the relationship between war and peace within his art. The exhibition, Chagall entre Guerre et Paix will be held between the 21^st February and the 21^st July 2013. Otherwise, be sure to peruse a copy of Sylvie Forrestier’s Chagall.

El doloroso arte del retrato

Escoge una postura. Practícala hasta que te salga natural. Ahora quédate así durante horas. Este era el proceso del retrato hasta que se inventó la fotografía (gracias, Niépce y Daguerre) y, sinceramente, no sé cómo la gente se prestaba a ello. Más sorprendente aún, ¡repetían! Cierto es que solían ser personajes «importantes» henchidos de ego que pensaban que la humanidad entera quedaría agradecida por tener su retrato (en fin) o bien familiares y amigos del artista (muy buenos amigos, supongo). Espero que al terminar el artista les invitara a un masaje (pasa unas horas como la pintura de abajo y tienes sesión de fisio asegurada).


Pompas de jabón, 1867.
Óleo sobre lienzo, 100,5 x 81,4.
Fundación Calouste Gulbekian, Lisboa.

Si bien es cierto que todo retrato es testimonio de una época (dime cómo te pintaron y te diré cuándo viviste), es especialmente a partir del siglo XIX cuando se combinan el retrato personal con el de sociedad. Y el precursor, Édouard Manet, hizo un buen trabajo. Gracias a él y a sus amigos impresionistas, empeñados en retratar la vida urbana moderna, podemos hacernos una idea bastante exacta y conocer a los personajes «in» del París del Moulin Rouge. A esto por supuesto ayudó el hecho de que la mayoría de ese grupo procediera de familias acomodadas y no tuvieran demasiados problemas para dedicarse a una actividad no precisamente lucrativa (hasta que la familia les retiraba el apoyo económico, claro).


Música en las Tullerías, 1862.
Óleo sobre lienzo, 76,2 x 118,1 cm.
The National Gallery, Londres.

Si te interesa conocer la moda y la sociedad del siglo XIX, el origen de la pintura moderna, o simplemente eres un enamorado de los retratos, pásate por «Manet: Portraying life» en la Royal Academy of Arts, en Londres (26 de enero - 14 de abril). Si quieres estudiar las posturas con más detenimiento, mejor hazte con este libro de Nathalia Brodskaya, ¡quizá saques algunas ideas para tu próximo retrato!

Van Gogh - délit de copie japonaise

Non Van Gogh n’est jamais allée au Japon, même si les plaisirs asiatiques (opium et autres geishas), auraient certainement convenu à sa nature artistique. On connaît bien sûr les épisodes scandaleux de sa vie : sa mélancolie/folie, son oreille coupée, son alcoolisme, son errance à la recherche d’un havre de paix. On sait moins spontanément qu’il a trouvé une source d’inspiration formidable dans les estampes japonaises qui arrivent en Europe avec les expositions internationales. Après les impressionnistes, le japonisme a engendré une seconde mini-révolution artistique en France.

Quelle ironie : l’Asie est aujourd’hui accusée de plagiats, de copies et de produire de nombreux faux. À l’époque au contraire ce sont les Européens qui s’inspirèrent un peu trop librement de l’art japonais, n’hésitant pas parfois à recopier sans vergogne des tableaux entiers. Van Gogh ne s’en est pas privé, comme le prouve l’exemple ci-dessous. Simplicité et pureté asiatique face à la complexité et au bouillonement de Van Gogh.


Hiroshige, Le Jardin de pruniers à Kameido, extrait de Cent-une vues célèbres d‘Edo, 1857.
33,7 x 21,9 cm.
The Brooklyn Museum, Brooklyn.

Vincent van Gogh, Japonaiserie : pruniers en fleurs (d’après Hiroshige), 1887.
Huile sur toile, 55 x 46 cm.
Musée Van Gogh, Amsterdam.

Le côté asymétrique, la couleur en aplats, les vues construites selon des angles complètement tordus, cela ne pouvait que plaire à l’artiste torturé et en quête de renouveau. Cependant il faut admettre que les copies européennes comportaient un petit plus : de la vigueur, de la chaleur, des paysages qui paraissent en feu, beaucoup plus mouvant. Quelque chose de moins figé et de plus torturé, allant au-delà des conventions japonaises et de leurs douces couleurs pastels.


Vincent van Gogh, Vignes rouges en Arles, 1888.
Huile sur toile, 75 x 93 cm.
Musée Pouchkine, Moscou.

Pour choisir et décider vers qui se porte votre préférence entre le champion japonais et le maître impressionniste, vous pouvez vous déplacer à l’exposition de la Pinacothèque de Paris, ou simplement consulter ces livres sur Hiroshige et Van Gogh.

Don’t just do something – sit there.

In theory yoga is this beautiful, wonderful, spiritual experience that is meant to cleanse mind, body, and soul. In practice yoga causes a slew of frowned upon words to come flying out of my mouth at record speeds. It is a deep, dark torture which we, as masochists, inflict upon ourselves day after day of shaking cores, trembling arms, and ready-to-collapse legs. We stretch ourselves in ways we never thought possible, only to discover they are possible, but will we be stuck this way forever?


“Son, if you don’t finish this portrait soon…”
Édouard Manet, Mr and Mrs Auguste Manet, 1860.
Oil on canvas, 110 x 90 cm.
Musée d'Orsay, Paris.

The idea of sitting still long enough to have my portrait painted makes my muscles ache in a way that I’ve only known through Downward-Facing Dog (the most bastardly position of all yoga forms). Though I have flirted with the idea of recreating the nude sofa scene in Titanic, I’m just not sure I could take the prolonged torture of not only remaining still, but also keeping my face from contorting or appearing as bored as I imagine I would feel. (Fun fact: Leonardo DiCaprio did NOT sketch Kate Winslet; those are James Cameron’s hands!)



Édouard Manet, Street Singer, c. 1862.
Oil on canvas, 171.1 x 105.8 cm.
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Without portrait painters and patient subjects, prior to the 1840s, we would have no idea what people of the past looked like. While, for some people, we are likely better being unaware of their looks (or odours) – considering the slow advancement in personal hygiene and photoshop – it would be more difficult to learn from the fashion faux pas of history.


Now, that’s a portrait I could easily pose for.
Édouard Manet, The Dead Toreador, probably 1864.
Oil on canvas, 75.9 x 153.3 cm.
Widener Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

I certainly would not recommend being painted in Downward-Facing Dog; all of your blood would pool in your brain and you would assuredly die. See Manet: Portraying Life at the Royal Academy of Arts London from 26 Jan through 14 April for some postural suggestions concerning your next portrait painting. Also admire the intense richness of Édouard Manet’s many portraits in Manet by Nathalia Brodskaya.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Living Marble Masterpieces

I grew up about an hour outside of Philadelphia – a hub of culture, art, and United States history. Being introduced to the arts and science (I still, in my late twenties, love to touch things in the Franklin Institute) at a young age, Auguste Rodin’s sculptures are amongst my earlier memories. I always stared at them the longest and hardest, waiting for them to breathe. You should also know I stood quite a distance away because works like Adam (bronze, modelled 1880-1881) are fairly frightening for a ten year old.

It’s said that marble is the most flesh-like material; naturally cold and hard, it needs to be warm and supple to produce the desired effect. An effect which Rodin always managed to take a bit further in all of his works, whether marble, bronze, or plaster. Viewing the lovers of Eternal Springtime (Philadelphia Art Museum, plaster, modelled 1884), it appears as if they are simply holding their breath for passers-by because they’ve been caught in a private moment and hope to be ignored so they can continue with their business.


(Okay, not the one in the Philadelphia Art Museum of which I boasted, but equally good!)
August Rodin, Eternal Spring, or Eternal Springtime, probably modelled 1881, executed 1906-1907.
Marble, 71.1 cm.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Greatly admiring Michelangelo, Rodin strove to equal his mastery of the human body so far as giving life to his statues. I would argue that Rodin accomplished this goal many times over, before even travelling to Italy to better study Michelangelo’s works. Depending on the piece, sadness, happiness, strength, despair, or love exudes from Rodin’s masterpieces.

The Danaïd daughters, subsequent to murdering their husbands after betrothal (49 of the 50 girls), were sentenced to the Underworld and forced to carry a jug of water to fill a bottomless bath to wash away their sins. In Rodin’s recreation, the back is beautifully rendered, as is the nape of her neck, but most of all she oozes despair at the profound error of her sin.


Auguste Rodin, Danaïd, 1889.
Marble, 36 x 71 x 53 cm.
Musée Rodin, Paris.

The Musée Rodin, already a breeding ground for magnificence and splendour, is exhibiting Rodin, flesh and marble now through 1 September 2013. You’ve got plenty of time to go and experience all of the emotions and see the intricacies of Rodin’s masterworks. Also, Auguste Rodin by Rilke is sure to be a much appreciated gift this holiday season! Wonderfully written and breathtakingly illustrated, don’t miss out on these books (Rodin by Rilke) about nearly-modern day Rodin!

-Le Lorrain Andrews

A solas con Hopper

Para una amplia mayoría de historiadores del arte y críticos, la obra de Hopper está necesariamente ligada a la soledad. Así pues, ya que debemos hablar de Hopper, hablemos de soledad. Y ya que estamos, hagámoslo de la soledad llevada al extremo, que es el solipsismo. Este término alude a una forma extrema de subjetivismo que afirma que lo único que existe es el propio yo o, al menos, lo único que puede ser conocido. Cualquier noción externa a uno no tiene entidad sino como producto de nuestra mente. Bueno, de «mi» mente, ya que estoy yo sola. Sería algo así como Juan Palomo in extremis.

Realmente se presenta como una idea desoladora, pero podría verse como la única forma de preservar la singularidad ante un mundo cada vez más masificado. En este sentido, la obra de Hopper se podría calificar de solipsista, porque las figuras que representa parecen elegir estar solas, incluso aunque aparezcan en compañía de otros. La soledad es su forma de no participar de la modernidad, del optimismo generalizado, de las incongruencias del mundo; es una forma de ensimismamiento. A este respecto, Hopper declaró que la abstracción que se desprende de sus cuadros tal vez no fuera otra cosa que un reflejo de su propia soledad, o quizá un elemento característico de la condición humana.

 


People in the Sun (Grupo de gente al sol), 1960.
Óleo sobre lienzo, 102,6 x 153,4 cm.
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington D.C.

 

En People in the Sun, por ejemplo, vemos a un grupo de personas orgullosas de su propia soledad, con la mirada fija en el horizonte o en una hoja de papel, sin establecer ningún tipo de contacto entre ellos. La absoluta falta de comunicación acentúa la sensación de soledad. Esta obra reúne todos los elementos característicos de Hopper: las grandes formas geométricas, la aplicación de colores planos, la presencia de elementos arquitectónicos y, por supuesto, el protagonismo de la luz, que al proyectar las sombras sobre el pavimento parece ser lo único que tiene movilidad en la composición.

 


Two Comedians (Dos comediantes), 1966.
Óleo sobre lienzo, 73,7 x 101,6 cm.
Colección de la familia Sinatra.

 

En una de las biografías de Hopper se afirma que se identificaba con la marginalidad de los payasos y otros artistas igualmente ajenos al mundo real. Así, en su última obra, Two Comedians, vistió a su mujer, Josephine, y a sí mismo de pierrots que saludan al público al final de su actuación. Hopper hace una reverencia al espectador y lleva de la mano a aquella que lo acompañó en todo. ¿Qué significa esto? ¿Acaso trataba de decirnos que la soledad que pintaba no era más que metafórica, pues siempre la compartió con Jo? ¿Tal vez es una broma de mi mente solipsista que trata de hacerme entender que el Hopper del que hablo no era más real que este que se despide vestido de comediante?

 

Tanto si existes fuera de mi mente como si no, no te pierdas la mayor retrospectiva dedicada al artista que acoge el Grand Palais de París hasta el próximo 28 de enero ni desaproveches la oportunidad de llenar tu soledad con esta monografía en formato electrónico de Gerry Souter.

 

 

Gustave Caillebotte, mécène bourgeois impressionniste

Caillebotte est mort jeune, à 46 ans, et n’est pas particulièrement connu du grand public bien qu’il ait fait partie des impressionnistes. Issu d’une famille bourgeoise parisienne, il n’a jamais eu à se soucier des lendemains, se tenait loin de Montmartre et des cocottes parisiennes et ne peignait pas pour vivre mais pour son plaisir personnel. Fasciné par la vie citadine, par la modernité qui envahit Paris, ses toiles sont simples, sans artifices et sans cette sensation d’esprit tourmenté qu’on rencontre chez Van Gogh par exemple.

Peut-être sont-elles trop simples. Qui serait réellement intéressé aujourd’hui par des vues de maisons campagnardes bourgeoises entourées de fleurs ou de couples se promenant dans un Paris au ciel gris ? Caillebotte a essayée de contrebalancer l’influence de ses origines sociales en représentant ponctuellement des ouvriers au travail, des raboteurs de parquet en plein effort, dont les muscles tendus prouvent l’effort accompli.

 


Gustave Caillebotte, Raboteurs de parquet, 1875.
Huile sur toile, 102 x 147 cm.
Musée d'Orsay, Paris.

 


Gustave Caillebotte, Rue de Paris. Jour de pluie, 1877.
Huile sur toile, 212 x 276 cm.
Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago.

 

Caillebotte pourtant est à redécouvrir pour deux raisons. D’abord, ses tableaux sont si précis et leur angle si inhabituels, que l’on ne peut s’empêcher de faire le rapprochement avec la photographie ou des plans cinématographiques. Le peintre avait un regard sur la perspective qui est digne du cinéma actuel. La deuxième raison est le scandale provoqué par le legs de sa collection impressionniste à l’État français, qui n’a pu qu’accepter ses œuvres choquantes tout en les maintenant à l’abri des regards pendant plusieurs années. La richesse du peintre a finalement profité à ses compagnons peintres. Sans lui qui sait si les plus grands tableaux impressionnistes n’auraient pas fini chez des collectionneurs américains friands d’art français à l’époque ?

Pour redécouvrir le travail de ce peintre, vous pouvez vous rendre à l’exposition Caillebotte de la Schirn Kunsthalle de Francfort jusqu’au 20 janvier 2013, ou consulter les livres L’Impressionnisme et Caillebotte (en allemand seulement).

Del cielo, de la tierra y de las estampas que los conectan

Aún conservo una serie de estampitas de cristos, santos y vírgenes que mi abuela me animó a reunir cuando era niña. Todas las noches, quizá no todas, pero al menos tres o cuatro seguro que sí, las extendía sobre la cama y a ellas les dirigía mis oraciones. ¡Cuál no sería mi sorpresa cuando en la larguísima Los diez mandamientos vi cómo Dios castigaba a los adoradores de ídolos! Me sentí terriblemente ultrajada. Pero, ¿cómo no estarlo? Las imágenes no sólo pueblan iglesias, santuarios, templetes, monasterios, etc., etc., sino que incluso salen a la calle en procesión, y las vemos en edificios públicos, en escuelas y en incontables viviendas particulares. Más aún, una gran parte de estas obras sagradas son verdaderas obras maestras de la pintura y la escultura. No podía entender cómo tanta belleza podía tener algo de malo.

En Francia, las imágenes de devoción cristiana florecieron especialmente durante el siglo XVII, cuando la construcción de edificios religiosos aumentó exponencialmente y fue preciso decorarlos. El mes pasado, el Musée Carnavalet de París inauguró una exposición que constituye una verdadera retrospectiva del arte parisino del siglo XVII y que reúne más de un centenar de imágenes de carácter religioso que sobrevivieron a la Revolución y a las reformas urbanas del siglo XIX. Permanecerá abierta hasta el 24 de febrero de 2013 con el nombre de «Les couleurs du ciel» (Los colores del cielo).


Hans Memling, panel central del tríptico El juicio final, c. 1467-1471.
Óleo sobre tabla, 221 x 161 cm.
Muzeum Narodowe w Gdańsku, Gdańsk.

En la Biblia, la palabra «cielo» (o su variante «cielos») aparece en más de 700 versículos, incluidos los dos en los que Dios condena la realización de semejanzas de las cosas que están allá arriba (Éxodo 20, 4 y Deuteronomio 5, 8), y el firmamento juega un papel crucial en las representaciones de escenas bíblicas. El cielo es la morada divina, tal como invoca el Padrenuestro; el arco iris simboliza el nuevo pacto con todos los hombres tras el diluvio universal; del cielo abierto descendió el Espíritu Santo sobre la tierra; las estrellas caerán en forma de ángeles y la de oriente anunció el nacimiento del Rey de los Judíos, y un cielo críptico y amenazante como el de Memling puede estar extraído del Apocalipsis.


Ivan Nikolaevich Kramskoi, Cristo en el desierto, 1872.
Óleo sobre lienzo, 180 x 210 cm.
Galería Estatal Tretiakov, Moscú.

No obstante, por encima de todo, para un creyente el cielo es el lugar en el que Cristo intercede por la humanidad y de donde volverá para juzgar a vivos y a muertos cuando se acabe el mundo (sea el 21 de diciembre o cualquier otro día); el lugar donde reposan sus seres queridos y aquel al que un día retornaran al estado anterior a la caída. Así pues, el cielo, como las demás imágenes sacras, no es el objeto de la adoración; el culto de la religión no se detiene en las imágenes, sino que se dirige al Dios encarnado, tal como escribió santo Tomás de Aquino en su Summa Theologiae.

Yo sigo en mis trece de que algo tan bello como el Cristo en el desierto de Kramskoi no puede conducir a nadie a la condenación eterna y, por ello, seguiré guardando esas estampitas y me descoyuntaré las vértebras cervicales en éxtasis el día que tenga la fortuna de visitar la Capilla Sixtina.

Si planeas una visita a París próximamente, no pierdas la oportunidad de admirar en detalle los cuadros que han descolgado de los museos más antiguos de la ciudad para la ocasión. Y si la exposición llega tarde y ya tienes tortícolis de tanto mirar hacia arriba, ¿por qué no aprovechar el obligado reposo para ampliar tus conocimientos sobre el arte sacro con las imágenes de Cristo de este magnífico eBook de Ernest Renan?

Die Geschichte zum Bild

Ein gutes Buch zu lesen, sich in seinen Charakteren zu verlieren, ihnen gedanklich ein physisches Äußeres zu verleihen, Emotionen nachzuvollziehen und sich mit ihnen zu identifizieren, bedeutet, einen Moment der Kurzweil genießen.

Doch was uns bei der Metamorphose der Geschichte in Bilder so einfach fällt, scheint umgekehrt mitunter abwegig. Gemälde und Skulpturen werden betrachtet, für schön befunden oder auch nicht, analysiert und interpretiert, die technische Meisterleistung wird gelobt und Details werden bewundert. Doch in all der mehr oder weniger wissenschaftlichen Auseinandersetzung scheint es absurd, die Kurzweil zu genießen, zum Dargestellten auch eine Geschichte zu erfinden, das Bild aus seiner singulären Stellung als plane kolorierte Leinwand in die Komplexität der Künste und Imagination zu überführen. Wir können ein Kunstwerk analysieren, den Goldenen Schnitt finden oder vielleicht sogar die Intention des Künstlers entschlüsseln, aber wir könnten uns ebenso gut die Zeit nehmen, dieses Werk zu betrachten und ihm eine Geschichte zu geben.

Jan Vermeer (1632-1675) und Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841-1919) sowie viele andere Künstler verleiten geradezu dazu, sich zu fragen, was Vermeers Mädchen mit dem Perlenohrring (um 1665; Den Haag, Königliche Gemäldegalerie Mauritshuis) dazu bewogen hat, sich noch einmal umzuschauen oder ob sich Renoirs Mädchen im Tanz in Bougival (1883; Boston, Museum of Fine Arts) doch noch küssen lassen wird.

Einer der wohl geeignetesten Künstler für ein solches „Experiment“ ist Edward Hopper. Seine von den Kritikern häufig als Entfremdung des Individuums in der Einsamkeit der Großstadtmetropole charakterisierten Darstellungen bieten der Fantasie aufgrund der minimalistisch ausgestatteten Interieurs, der übersteigerten Lichtregie und der Momentaufnahmen der Figuren einen weiten Spielraum.

 


Edward Hopper, Western Motel, 1957.
Öl auf Leinwand, 77,8 x 128,3 cm.
Yale University Art Gallery, Bequest of Stephen Carlton Clark, B.A. 1903.

 

Die Dame im Western Motel beispielsweise schaut erwartungsvoll in die Richtung des Betrachters, ihr Koffer ist bereits gepackt, das Auto vorgefahren. Wird sie sich von dem Mann, der nichtsahnend auf dem Zimmer noch im Bett liegt und schläft, verabschieden oder wird sie dem Fahrer des grünen Wagens ihr Gepäck überlassen und wieder in ihren Alltag, in ein Großraumbüro nach New York zurückkehren?

 


Edward Hopper, House by the Railroad, 1925.
Öl auf Leinwand, 61 x 73,7 cm.
The Museum of Modern Art, New York.

 

Oder was verbirgt sich hinter den halb geöffneten Fensterläden der ersten Etage von Hoppers House by the Railroad? Hitchcock nahm es als Inspiration für seinen Film Psycho.

Schlagen Sie ein Buch auf, fangen Sie an zu lesen und lassen Sie sich in die Geschichte um die Helden und Heldinnen der Erzählung entführen. Zeichnen Sie in ihrem Kopf die Charaktere nach, erwecken Sie sie zum Leben, geben Sie ihnen in Ihren Gedanken Persönlichkeit – aber geben Sie auch den Persönlichkeiten auf der Leinwand Ihre Geschichte.

Verfolgen Sie noch bis zum 28. Januar 2013 im Grand Palais in Paris die Ausstellung Edward Hopper mit all den interessanten wissenschaftlichen Aspekten, die seine Kunst zu bieten hat oder genießen Sie die Kurzweil, wenn Sie zu Hause Ihrer Fantasie mit dem Buch Edward Hopper von Gerry Souter aus dem Verlag Parkstone International freien Lauf lassen.

 

 

Edward Hopper: The Man, The Mystery, The Muse

Edward Hopper, the man of many movements.  Whether it be romanticism, realism, symbolism, or formalism, Hopper has covered them all.  I am not going to analyse which oeuvre he was best suited to, nor to which he owes the most allegiance.  Instead I am going to try and find the man behind the paintings....

Ok, let’s fast-forward Hopper’s life a little... and hello Josephine!  A fellow artist and former student of Robert Henri (a past teacher of Hopper’s), Josephine Nivison was ‘The One’.  She was the Simon to Hopper’s Garfunkel, or the Kate to Hopper’s Wills if you want to be a little more current.  Model, Manager, Life-Companion, she truly supported her husband (publicly) in every way, which can be seen in the numerous paintings in which Hopper uses her to model various characters and figures.

Hopper has been pigeon-holed several times, from being the illustrator of the all-American way of life (Four Lane Road) to the more complex, dark, detached painter of the more sinister ‘Nighthawks’.  However, when asked about his paintings and his particular style of painting, he was noted to reply: “The whole answer is there on the canvas.”

 


Four Lane Road, 1956.
Oil on canvas, 68.6 x 104.1 cm.
Private collection.

 

If I can refer you to another statement made by Hopper, we can look at this further:

“So much of every art is an expression of the subconscious that it seems to me most of all the important qualities are put there unconsciously, and little of importance by the conscious intellect.”

He moves us here away from the subconscious of the audience but, instead, to that of its creator – the painter himself.  Such being the case, Hopper’s choices and preferences for light and dark are filled with new meaning.  If you have a look at one of his more well-known works, ‘Nighthawks’, the dark palette of the street scene combined with the shadows of the well-lit interior presents a  sinister tone.  No longer do the figures within the diner possess a careless, lonely air, but rather, they become more predatory in appearance. We, as the audience, cannot tell whether Hopper identifies with one of the inner characters, one of the predators, or instead with us, the viewer – always on the outside, looking in.

 


Nighthawks, 1942.
Oil on canvas, 84.1 x 152.4 cm.
The Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago.

 

Indeed, this seems to be a recurrent theme with Hopper.  The audience of his work is often treated to the image of a solitary figure, either through a window, or in a state of undress, to which we then have the impression of being voyeurs.  The figure (or figures) in the painting is often portrayed as being unaware of the artist/audience.  As an example, take a look at ‘Morning in a City’, as modelled by Hopper’s wife Jo. The idea of voyeurism continues.  But, with the question of the subconscious ever present, we may start to wonder at this being Hopper’s go-to perspective.  Does this mean that Hopper himself feels voyeuristic in painting, or is this a reflection of his feelings when he was amongst his peers in society; that he was on the edge, forever looking in?

We can but guess.

 


Morning in a City, 1944. Oil on canvas, 112.5 x 152 cm. Williams College Museum of Art, Williamstown, Massachusetts.

 

So, the mystery of Edward Hopper will have to go a little longer with being unanswered I think.  However, one thing we do know for certain is the regard that he bore his wife Josephine.  As I have previously mentioned, she was with Hopper for nearly every step of the way; his painting career, his public career, his life!  Although perhaps not the most tranquil of marriages (perusal of her private diaries would no doubt lead many stable couples to run screaming ‘divorce! divorce!’ down the streets), it is all the more touching to view Hopper’s final work, ‘Two Comedians’.  It shows two actors on the stage of a theatre, taking their last bow.  This is increasingly more poignant due to Hopper’s life-long love of the theatre, and upon closer inspection of the figures, we can see that the models are Hopper and Josephine themselves. After Hopper’s death in 1967 (1 year after the completion of ‘Two Comedians’), Josephine confirmed the suspicions of many, that her husband had intended it to portray the end of their life together.

In the end, this is the story that will stay with me from Hopper’s paintings.  Outsider or keen observer, it doesn’t matter, what remains in his work is the love story he wrote together with his wife.  Tumultuous and stormy maybe, but it is a love story that remains unending.

 


Two Comedians, 1965.
Oil on canvas, 73.7 x 101.6 cm.
Collection Mr and Mrs Frank Sinatra.

 

Venturing to the Grand Palais in Paris between the 10 October 2012 and 28 January 2013 will afford you the chance to catch up with the iconic painter that is Edward Hopper.  Discover the early and the mature works of one of America’s finest painters.  See for yourselves where his mastery truly lies; with the lighter style of the Impressionists, or with the darker palette of his Rembrandt-fascination. Discover, if you will, his life with Jo, as depicted in his art.  Alternatively, feel free to peruse at length ‘Edward Hopper’, written by Gerry Souter.

Van Gogh: Genius and Covetous?

Vincent Van Gogh: A man of many talents...and many mysteries.  Here’s a small list of ‘did you know...?’:

• That he was a teacher?


• That he was a missionary?


• That he was a late-bloomer, artistically?  (He didn’t start painting until his late-twenties.)


• That he was an extremely dedicated worker...he produced around 2,100 artworks in about ten years.  That works out to 210 sketches/paintings/watercolours/doodles per year!  (If you happen to be in possession of any of them, you’d be guaranteed to be an owner of a valuable piece of art!)


• That he was named after his stillborn baby brother?


• That he suffered from mental illness...leading up to the supposed self-inflicted shooting?


• That after he shot himself, he was able to walk back to his hostel, and was left smoking a pipe by two physicians who told him they couldn’t remove the bullet?


• That he survived for 29 hours after he was shot?


• That there is a theory that somebody else shot him, because the gun was never found?

And, for the purposes of this article:
That he was a ‘the grass is always greener...’ sort of guy.


Japonaiserie: Flowering Plum Tree (after Hiroshige), Paris, 1887. Can you tell it’s a copy?


The Courtesan (after Eisen), Paris, 1887.

Allow me to explain.  For me, it’s usually: ‘I wish I was taller.  Then I’d be able to wear those shorts, that dress, yadayadayada.” You know what I mean, everybody has something they wish was different, or wish they had.  Van Gogh, or Vinnie to his friends, was no different.  But for him, the green-eyed monster appeared through an unlikely source: that of Japanese ukiyo-e wood block prints.  About the time that he was in Paris, Vinnie discovered this form of Japanese art, and fell in lust.  He collected hundreds of these prints, but collecting wasn’t enough.  He wanted to own this form of artwork, and create it himself.  So, Vinnie did the equivalent of what I do to make myself taller. (No, he didn’t buy a new pair of ultra-high stilettos.) He copied existing Japanese wood-prints!  Now, some people might want to throw the word ‘plagiarism’ around, some may want to commend him on his source of inspiration.  Whatever, I’m not judging.  I will say, that Vinnie’s three notable works in the ‘Japonisme’ style are incredibly detailed, bold and masterfully executed.  Of course they are – it’s Van Gogh!


Portrait of Père Tanguy, Paris, 1887. Look how many copies of ukiyo-e he has painted!

However, finding out that one of the greats was as susceptible to a bit of peer-envy as I myself can be, well, I just find that selfishly reassuring.

But, please, don’t just take my word for it!  If you want to get up close and personal with Van Gogh and his work, and sneakily compare his take on Japanese ukiyo-e with the real deal, I strongly recommend that you make a trip to the Pinacothèque de Paris.  The dual exhibition of ‘Van Gogh et le Japonisme’ is on display from 03 October 2012 to 17 March 2013.  If Paris isn’t your scene – or you simply would rather wait until springtime (although Frank Sinatra does then go on to sing about how he loves Paris in every season), then you may be interested in looking up Vincent Van Gogh, written by Victoria Charles. 

Let them eat ice cream!

The 17^th century was a busy one. Full of territorial disputes around the world, English colonisation of the Americas, Japanese isolation, the fall of the Ming Dynasty in China… I could go on. But I won’t. More importantly, the world was (still) heavily focused on religious art, though many artists started to branch out and become a bit more narcissistic, here’s lookin’ at you Rembrandt and your many self-portraits.

Do you know what else came to be in the 17th century? Ice cream. You (probably) read it here first! No proper recipe for ice cream, though various other versions previously existed in Persia, China, and Italy for example, appeared until 1674 in France.

 


“Welcome back! Could we get a little creamed ice after this lovely meal, JC?”
Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, Supper at Emmaus, 1601.
Oil and tempera on canvas, 141 x 196.2 cm.
The National Gallery, London.

 

Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Surely the invention of ice cream stirred a deeper belief in God and Jesus Christ – who or what else could inspire such a cold, creamy, delicious treat? Could it be that artists of the time were so overjoyed with appreciation that they could find no other way to express their praise except to paint on the canvasses closest to the Heavens at the time: ceilings?

 


“Bless you, child. Go forth and enjoy ice cream; but eat slowly or you will get a brain freeze.”
El Greco, The Saviour, 1610-1614.
Oil on canvas, mounted on wood, 100.4 x 80.2 cm.
Museo del Greco, Toledo.

 

The Musée Carnavalet is exhibiting The Colours of Heaven now through 24 February 2013, a collection of paintings, drawings, and engravings devoted to Paris’ many churches. Don’t worry; you won’t have to crane your neck to look upwards too much. And if you’d like to see more religious devotion, check out the beautifully illustrated ebook, Christ in Art by Ernest Renan.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Impresionismo y la moda

Ahora que están tan de moda los blogs de estilismo y las egobloggers son las nuevas estrellas de la red, no está de más recordar que ellas no son las primeras ni las últimas en interesarse por la moda ni retratar el estilismo contemporáneo.

Haciendo un trabajo a medio camino entre los paparazzis y los cazadores de tendencias, los impresionistas, en su afán por retratar la vida urbana de la época, se convirtieron en pintores de la moda (que no de moda, la mayoría del público los denostaba). Desde los bailes de Renoir a las noches de ópera de Mary Cassat, podemos encontrar en sus cuadros a la gente «in» del París del Moulin Rouge y sus distintos modelitos de día y noche. ¿Os recuerda a algo?


Mary Cassatt, Lidia en el teatro, , c. 1879.
Pastel, 53,3 x 43,2 cm.
The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art , Kansas City, Missouri.


Mary Cassatt, Mujer con collar de perlas en un palco, 1879.
Óleo sobre lienzo, 81,3 x 59,7 cm.
Philadelphia Museum of Art, Filadelfia

Y es que el ansia de retratar la vida cotidiana segundo a segundo nació mucho antes de que se inventaran los móviles con cámara (sí, esos que te bajas un programa y ya te crees que eres fotógrafo profesional). Visto el éxito y la estima en que ahora tenemos a estos reformadores de la pintura, ¿sería posible que en un par de siglos que viene se expusieran en los museos esas fotos que tanto nos molestan ahora en las redes sociales? (desde aquí quiero hacer un llamamiento: sí, es posible comer sin hacerle una foto al plato, ¡no todo el mundo quiere ver el aspecto de tu comida por más que el restaurante tenga estrellas Michelín! Fotos gastronómicas en revistas gastronómicas. Gracias.) Por nuestro bien, espero que no y que recuperemos el sentido común en algún momento.


Pierre August Renoir, Baile en el Moulin de la Galette, 1876.
Óleo sobre lienzo, 131 x 175 cm.
Musée d’Orsay, París.

Si te interesan estos «pioneros» del papel couché, o la vida y moda del París del XIX, acércate a «L’impressionisme et la mode», en el Musée d’Orsay del 25 de septiembre de 2012 al 20 de enero de 2013 o, si prefieres disfrutar a tu aire del encanto y la elegancia del siglo XIX, llévate a casa el estudio de Nathalia Brodskaya sobre el Impresionismo en forma de ebook.

Impressionably Fashionable

Where do you go when you are looking for the latest fashion designs? Or want to see what is à la mode on the High Street? Or perhaps, just want to see what’s going on in the city? Well, the internet.  Right?  Or a fashion magazine. 

 


At the Theatre, c. 1879. Pastel, 53.3 x 43.2 cm. The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art , Kansas City, Missouri.

 

I think that if we were to be suddenly transported to the 19^th Century we would be in for a big culture shock! No internet, no modern conveniences...and yet, society of the 19^th Century, in some respects, is considered to be more cultured and sophisticated than our own.  More genteel, certainly!  Impressionists such as Renoir, Cassatt, and Monet: these were the people who were responsible for providing society with images of the latest fashion trends.  Cassatt, for example, painted theatre-goers.  The who’s who of Paris fashion attended these soirees, so it is not far out of the realms of possibility that these paintings would be consulted by the fashionably elite to check out what was being worn, where and by whom...remind you of any of our celeb magazines now? 

 


The Ball at the Moulin de la Galette, 1876, Oil on canvas, 131 x 175 cm, Paris, Musée d’Orsay

 

Pierre Auguste Renoir was busy capturing life in the moment – the lively scene in the ‘ball at the moulin de la gallete’ is so busy, you can practically see the movement and hear the buzz of conversation.  The impressionists were offering an alternative to the black and white photography of the day.  It was not a direct competition, but what they could do that the photographers couldn’t was to offer a subjective, colourful view of day to day life.

 


Woman with a Pearl Necklace in a Loge, 1879. Oil on canvas, 81.3 x 59.7 cm. Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia

 

Final thought before I finish:  In their day, the Impressionists were viewed contemptuously by the members of the jury of the Salon.  Their work was rejected and ridiculed due to the colours that they employed and the thick brushstrokes that they used.  Mary Cassatt was even criticised for painting her subjects too realistically to be flattering.  This makes me wonder – we now rely on the Impressionists’ work for a sense of the culture, fashion and way of life in the 19^th century.  In another couple of centuries, are today’s paparazzi going to be admired as much as we admire the Impressionists?  Because, let’s face it, they too offer a glimpse into culture, celebrity fashion and day-to-day activities.  They are also not highly regarded by many people in today’s society... so you see, there are links to be made between the two!

 

For a broader look into 19^th Century life and fashion, check out the ‘L’impressionisme et la mode’ exhibition at the Musée d'Orsay, being held between the 25^th September 2012 and 20^th January 2013.  Or, if you just want to be enchanted by a simpler time and appreciate the elegance and gentility of the 19^th Century from the comfort of your technologically advanced home, take a look at Nathalia Brodskaya’s Impressionism.

 

 

Entre naturalismo e impresionismo: Caillebotte

Debo admitir que cuando, hace no mucho, mi jefe me nombró a Caillebotte, no sabía de quién me estaba hablando, mucho menos su nacionalidad o el movimiento estético al que pertenecía (y no digamos cómo escribirlo). Pero Google existe por una razón, así que hice una búsqueda y me quedé sorprendida al ver que, aunque no conocía el nombre del artista, las imágenes me eran muy familiares. Y es que con Caillebotte pasa como con las canciones clásicas, que todo el mundo las conoce pero poca gente es capaz de decir el intérprete/autor.

Este acaudalado impresionista tuvo parte de culpa del éxito de sus compañeros y luego cayó en el olvido (¿quizá por su toque naturalista?). Y digo que tuvo culpa porque se convirtió en su mecenas, además de amigo y colaborador, y no contento con eso, a su muerte donó su colección al Estado.


Calle de París, día lluvioso, 1877.
Óleo sobre lienzo, 212,2 x 276,2 cm.
Art Institute, Chicago.

Es precisamente esta mezcla de impresionismo y naturalismo lo que, a mi parecer, lo hace interesante y le da ese aspecto de fotografía a sus obras. Eso, además de los temas elegidos, claro, ya que como buen impresionista se dedicó a retratar el París urbano, pero lo hizo con un aire más del siglo XX que del XIX (hay quien afirma que le recuerda a Hopper, y no me parece una comparación desacertada).

La exposición «Gustave Caillebotte. An Impressionist and Photography» del Schirn Kunsthalle de Fráncfort del Meno hace especial hincapié en este aspecto fotográfico; tanto que expone, junto a las obras de Caillebotte, fotografías de finales del siglo XIX y principios del XX. Si tienes un rato, puedes acercarte y maravillarte con la obra de este no tan conocido pintor. O si lo prefieres, puedes hacerte con este libro de Nathalia Brodskaya.

Impression, Sonnenaufgang – Frankreich im 19. Jahrhundert

Als Edmond Renoir, Journalist und Bruder des Malers Auguste Renoir (1841-1919), an einem begleitenden Katalog für die erste im Jahr 1874 stattfindende Ausstellung der – wie sie sich selbst nannten – Société anonyme des artistes, peintres, sculpteurs, graveurs (Die Anonyme Gesellschaft der Künstler, Maler, Bildhauer und Grafiker) arbeite, fiel ihm auf, dass Claude Monet (1840-1926) viele seiner Werke einfach mit dem Titel Le Havre versehen hatte. Auf einem dieser Gemälde ist eine diesige, in grau-blaue Nebelschwaden gehüllte morgendliche Flussszenerie dargestellt. Die Umrisse einiger kleiner Paddelboote im Bildvordergrund und größerer im Hafen liegender Segelboote zeichnen sich im Bildhintergrund ab. Der Hafen selbst und die normannische Stadt Le Havre sind im dämmrigen Morgenlicht und aufgrund der dichten Nebelschwaden jedoch nicht zu erkennen. „Schreib Impression“ lautete daher Monets Vorschlag für eine Neubetitelung des Gemäldes, nicht ahnend, dass damit die Bezeichnung der neuen Stilrichtung gefunden war.


Claude Monet, Impression, Sonnenaufgang, 1872.
Öl auf Leinwand, 48 × 63 cm.
Musée Marmottan Monet, Paris.

Am 25. April 1874 erschien in der Zeitschrift Charivari ein satirischer, von dem Kritiker Louis Leroy geschriebener Artikel über die Ausstellung aus Sicht eines akademischen Besuchers: „Impression, da bin ich mir sicher“,lässt er den vor Monets Gemälde stehenden Akademiker murmeln „[...] welch Freiheit, welch Gewandtheit in der Ausführung! Die unvollendete Tapete ist vollendeter als dieses Seestück hier!“ (Charivari, 25 April 1874). Seinem Artikel überschrieb Leroy sarkastisch mit dem Titel Die Ausstellung der Impressionisten – ein zunächst durchaus negativ gemeinter Neologismus, der aber so geläufig wurde, dass er sich als Epochenbegriff durchsetzte.

Mit der ersten Ausstellung der Impressionisten war ein großer Schritt hin zu einer Kunst getan, die das moderne, die Künstler umgebende Leben widerspiegelte. Paris gehörte schon im Mittelalter zu den größten Städten Europas und gilt als die erste Großstadt des Westens. Hier entwickelten sich typische städtische Lebensformen: Elegant gekleidete Fußgänger schlendern den neuen durch den Architekten Georges-Eugène Haussmann (1809-1891) geprägten Pariser Boulevard entlang, die kleinen Straßencafés sind gut besucht, im Park wird getanzt und gepicknickt. Das moderne Paris lieferte den Impressionisten viele Motive, und die Anonymität der Großstadt brachte gleichzeitig viele Freiheiten mit sich: „Das Paris zwischen den Weltkriegen“, bemerkte Simonetta Fraquelli, „[...] war die hedonistische Metropole Europas, Kreuzung und Testgebiet der Kunst von unvergleichlicher Vitalität, das Ziel von Künstlern auf der Suche nach Freiheit und Inspiration. Paris verkörperte einen Traum.“

Der Entwicklung der Gesellschaft und der Entstehung des modernen Lebens in den 1800er Jahren widmet sich auch die aktuelle Ausstellung Modern Life – France in the 19th im Century Nationalmuseum in Stockholm. Noch bis zum 3. Februar 2013 werden dort Gemälde, Zeichnungen, Skulpturen, Fotografien und Werke der angewandten Kunst präsentiert. Von der klassisch inspirierten Kunst der napoleonischen Ära, über die neue Freilichtmalerei, vom kurvigen Jugendstil bis hin zum Impressionismus sind Werke von Claude Monet, Emile Gallé, Edouard Manet, Berthe Morisot, August Rodin, Gustave Courbet und vielen anderen Künstlern ausgestellt.
Der Impressionismus ist eine der Epochen, die in der Kunst einen großen Umbruch auslösten, eine Epoche, die es zu entdecken lohnt.

Einen weiterführenden guten Überblick können Sie sich mit dem im Verlag Parkstone-International erschienenen und als E-Book oder Druckausgabe erhältlichen Titel Impressionismus verschaffen.

 

-C.Schmidt