Showing posts with label degas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label degas. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Art from the Land of the Rising Sun

Japan, in comparison with many other countries, is rather small, though it ranks tenth amongst the world’s highest populations. More fascinatingly, it has one of the richest and most eclectic art histories to speak of when considering it on its own. Yes, various countries in Europe do this or that, and Africa has a slew of artistic variety, but we’re just talking one country – 6852 islands, if you really want to talk about how amazing Japan’s universally-acknowledged solidarity is.

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Utagawa (Ando) Hiroshige, Inside Kameido Tenjin Shrine, 1856.
Woodblock print, 34.1 x 22.2 cm.


Continuously infiltrated by other powers (China, Russia, Germany’s money, and the United States), art in Japan has successfully maintained a focused and healthy presence in the art world since the seventh century – which is not to say there aren’t older relics, but Buddhist art was the first to make an impact. From woodblock prints to Ukiyo-e, and calligraphy to shungas, at the end of the day I would argue that Japan had a larger influence on European art than the other way around. Just a few examples of this hypothesis include Degas, Van Gogh, Monet, and Mucha.

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Katsushika Hokusai, The Great Wave of Kanagawa, originally 1826-1833.
Part of the series Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji, no. 21.
Colour woodblock print.


Get over to the Tokyo National Museum to get a glance at the Highlights of Japanese Arts exhibition. Find yourself enthralled with mirrors, picture scrolls, and military attire. Can’t get enough art from The Land of the Rising Sun? Check out Hiroshige by Mikhail Uspensky or Forbidden Asia by Hans Jürgen-Döpp.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Monday, February 4, 2013

Join the Club

If I were to ask you what Camille Pissarro, Dermot Morgan (Ted), Abraham, Christmas, William, Steve Martin, God, Time, and Marlon Brando have in common, would you be able to come up with the solution? I’ll give you a couple of seconds...

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Young Peasant Girl Wearing a Hat, 1881.
Oil on canvas, 73.4 x 59.6 cm.
National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.


Father! They have all been referred to as “Father”. Many people (especially the British amongst us) will have heard of, and spent many an evening laughing at, Father Ted. Fathers Christmas and Time are personifications, both of whom appear in the Chronicles of Narnia interestingly enough. Father William is the hero of Lewis Carol’s satirical poem in Alice in Wonderland, and Father Abraham and God the Father are biblical references. Steve Martin and Marlon Brando have been “Fathers” in different ways: Father of the Bride, and the GodFATHER. “Father” is used as a mark of respect, as a title, and to indicate wisdom and age. Pissarro – nicknamed by his fellow Impressionists as Father Pissarro – falls into the “respect” and “wisdom” categories.

Considered to be the forebear of Impressionism, he began the process of opening up art’s eyes to the virtues of painting life as it was, rather than the idealised version. He would often paint a landscape in one sitting, outside at his easel, and capture life in the moment, rather than go back to his studio and romanticise the painting. Needless to say, this approach was looked upon with horror by many of his contemporaries. But then again, what new fad isn’t? Although Pissarro’s works were not held in high esteem by society until after his death, he found acceptance when he fell in with the Impressionists, artists such as Monet, Degas, Cassatt, and Renoir.

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L’Hermitage, Pontoise, Snow Effect, 1874.
Oil on canvas, 54 x 64.8 cm.
The Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University, Cambridge.


Like any good club, a President was chosen – and this happened to be Pissarro (I’m sure that in the Impressionist-code, “Father Pissarro” actually stood for President Pissarro.) He did not even need a “Vote for Pedro Pissarro” badge. Personally, I think Pissarro well-deserved his honorary title. Whilst his paintings did not change life as we know it, they certainly helped capture it, and thereby kick-started the progression of change in artistic perspectives of the time and ever since. Father Christmas on the other hand? He needs to come up with some better Christmas card designs!

To discover more about Pissarro, his prints, and his paintings, the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. is hosting a temporary exhibition Pissarro on Paper, hosted by the gallery until the 31st March 2013. Decide for yourselves whether his innovation and new techniques entitle him to be labelled as “Father Pissarro” or not. Otherwise, why not judge the complete picture with the help of Nathalia Brodskaya’s Mega-Square book, Impressionism?

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Can (and should) life truly imitate Art?

At first glance I thought this exhibition was about something else entirely – bodies covered in tattoos (to which I am entirely approving). But now that I am well informed, I’ve got some things to say. Are photographs art? Sure, sometimes, certainly not all the time, just have a look at my memory card. But are they Art, capital A, meant to be scrutinised, reviewed, and studied for centuries to come? I’m not so sure.

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(I’d rather see the Maja nude than, say, Kim Kardashian)
Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, The Nude Maja, 1797-1800.
Oil on canvas, 98 x 191 cm.
Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid.


Painting is an expression of one’s mind, heart, and imagination. The colours we interpret, the way things make us feel, whatever happens to be going through our heads at a particular moment in time. Paintings are created by hand and, arguably, soul. Photographs, on the other hand, are, while surely manipulated by a human force, created by machine. And so, does this pave a path for us to compare Delacroix’s images of rape and murder in Death of Sardanapalus to a photograph of a seemingly “broken” woman strewn across a bed (Tom Hunter’s Death of Coltelli)? I would say not.

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(Even I would model for Degas!)
Edgar Degas, Woman with a Towel, 1894 or 1898.
Pastel on cream-coloured wove paper with red and blue fibres throughout, 95.9 x 76.2 cm.
H.O. Havemeyer Collection, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.


A painting allows for the deepest expression of whatever feeling the artist wishes to convey. He can make a woman look desperate and torn apart, he can make a man look smug and in control (both references to Sardanapalus); he can make a troublesome child appear angelic and shade the curves of a woman just so to make her appear sensual rather than vulgar. A photographer can only hope to have such a good model to portray the image inside his mind, and even then, we know they’re just pretending – because, in all honesty, what cruel being would take a photo of someone that has been raped, murdered, or committed suicide and call it Art?

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(If you are going to photograph a nude, I’d prefer classy, not – uncomfortable.)
Julian Mandel, Early postcard of Kiki de Montparnasse, c. 1925.
14 x 9 cm.


I simply do not believe that a photograph, while worth 1000 words, has the chops to stand next to the great Masterpieces. Visit The National Gallery, London now through 20 Jan to see Seduced by Art. Let us know if you believe the Old Master’s can possibly be compared, side by side, to photographic imitations. Whether you have a penchant for photographs or painted landscapes, you’re covered: Erotic Photography by Klaus H. Carl, Still Life by Victoria Charles, Nudes by Jp. A. Calosse, Landscapes by Émile Michel.

-Le Lorrain Andrews



Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Zwischen Realismus und Impressionismus, zwischen privatem undöffentlichem Raum

Der französische Impressionismus hat viele große Namen hervorgebracht: Bazille, Cézanne, Degas, Gauguin, Manet, Monet, Sisley, Morisot, Pizarro und Renoir, um nur einige zu nennen. Sie alle waren Impressionisten, strebten nach einer Erneuerung der Kunst, waren der Freilichtmalerei verpflichtet und trotz gleicher Ziele war doch jeder für sich einzigartig. Ergänzen Sie der (Un-)Vollständigkeit halber diese Aufzählung noch um einen weiteren Künstler, der in der deutschen Kunstgeschichte erst in den letzten Jahren wirklich Beachtung fand: Gustave Caillebotte (1848-1894).

Der Künstler, der bisher noch mehr Bedeutung als Mäzen und Sammler erlangte und in enger Freundschaft zu Monet, Renoir und Sisley stand, wurde zum ersten Mal 1994 in einer größeren Ausstellung in Paris gewürdigt. Sein Werk ist ohne Zweifel impressionistisch. Doch ist es nicht nur seine Themenwahl, es sind nicht nur die alltäglichen Szenen, die unwillkürlich die Assoziation zum Realismus implizieren. Es ist auch seine fotografische Perspektive, mit der er das Leben in den Cafés, in den Straßen und auf den Pariser Boulevards auf die Leinwand bannt.

Den Stadtansichten stehen Porträts, Interieurs und Landschaften gegenüber, die ebenso zwischen fotografischem Realismus und malerischem Impressionismus balancieren. Der private Raum findet gleichermaßen zur Darstellung wie der öffentliche Raum – und immer wahrt Caillebotte eine gewisse hinreißende Intimität, in der wir uns gern verlieren.

 


Rue de Paris, temps de pluie
(Paris, an einem Regentag), 1877.
Öl auf Leinwand, 212,2 x 276,2 cm.
Art Institute, Chicago.


 

Caillebotte: Ein Künstler zwischen Realismus und Impressionismus oder eher zwischen Fotografie und Malerei? Die SCHIRN Kunsthalle Frankfurt am Main stellt ab dem 18. Oktober unter dem Titel Gustave Caillebotte. Ein Impressionist und die Fotografieden lange von der Kunstgeschichte vernachlässigten Künstler aus.

Sollten Sie keine Gelegenheit zum Besuch der Ausstellung haben, können Sie aber alternativ Caillebottes künstlerischen Werdegang auch von zu Haus aus nachverfolgen. Grundlage dafür kann etwa der vom Verlag Parkstone-International aufgelegte Titel Caillebotte mit seinen vielen Detailansichten im handlichen Druckformat sein.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Almuerzo sobre la hierba y ratones en la despensa

Con el afán de presentar sus colecciones al público de una forma diferente, el Nationalmuseum ha organizado una exposición sobre la Francia del siglo XIX y la vida moderna que surgió en ese convulso siglo, concretamente en el período comprendido entre la Revolución Francesa y el estallido de la primera guerra mundial.

Por algún motivo, lo primero que se me viene a la mente a la hora de hablar sobre este tema es la conocidísima fábula del ratón de campo y el ratón de ciudad. De forma resumida, con plena consciencia de que existen infinitas y sutiles variaciones, cuenta la historia de un ratón de ciudad que invita a un ratón de campo a participar de las exquisitas golosinas de su despensa urbanita, pero su festín es trágicamente interrumpido y el ratón de campo pone pies en polvorosa hacia su adorada campiña convencido de que ningún manjar es lo suficientemente delicado como para exponerse a los peligros de la ciudad.

¿Y qué relación puede guardar una fábula de la Antigüedad clásica con Francia y con la época de las guerras napoleónicas, la Declaración de los derechos del hombre y del ciudadano, los viajeros del grand tour, la industrialización, la primera proyección de los hermanos Lumière, la expansión del ferrocarril, los Salones, las Exposiciones Universales, las renovaciones artísticas y las revueltas de la recién constituida clase obrera? Pues bien, en primer lugar, en mi cabeza esos dos ratones son evidentemente franceses. No sé si será por el queso, pero Francia tiene algo (o mucho) de ratona; además, no puedo sino imaginarme al pobre ratón rural extasiado ante un despliegue de Comté, de compota de higos, de marrons glacés, de macarons, de milhojas, de magdalenas o de petisús salidos del horno del mismísimo Carême, cocinero de los reyes. En segundo lugar, el siglo XIX se caracterizó por las grandes migraciones del campo a la ciudad. Es el siglo en el que París se convierte en la ciudad por excelencia, donde la burguesía es la clase dominante, que pasea por las grandes avenidas y los bulevares, se entretiene en los grandes almacenes, va a la Ópera de Garnier o a los espectáculos de cancán, toma el metro o se reúne en los café-concerts más populares. (También fue una época marcada por epidemias devastadoras, como la del cólera, y los roedores se cuentan entre los transmisores de esta enfermedad, aunque esto le da un tinte algo macabro a la narración).

Los burgueses decimonónicos y las escenas cotidianas de su vida moderna nos resultan extremadamente familiares gracias al legado de los innovadores artistas que ejercieron de observadores e intérpretes de una era: los románticos, los realistas, los pintores paisajistas y los impresionistas. Gracias a ellos, la vida cotidiana se convirtió en el tema pictórico por excelencia y se desecharon los ideales academicistas por motivos más dramáticos que, en ocasiones, fueron objeto de burlas y suscitaron una verdadera conmoción. Un ejemplo es este Almuerzo sobre la hierba de Manet, que se exhibió por primera vez en el «Salon des Refusés» (Salón de los rechazados) autorizado por el emperador Napoleón III en 1863.

 


Edouard Manet, Almuerzo sobre la hierba, 1863.
Óleo sobre lienzo, 208 x 264,5 cm.
Musée d’Orsay, París.


 

Aunque Manet se inspiró en obras clásicas, los personajes son indudablemente modernos y los bruscos contrastes entre las luces y las sombras, así como la falta de perspectiva y de profundidad, suponen una ruptura con los convencionalismos técnicos. El artista trata simplemente de reflejar lo que su ojo ve, con sus limitaciones, y nos presenta una escena bucólica de belleza, tranquilidad y recreo. La bulliciosa modernidad del siglo XIX también supuso un resurgimiento del tema horaciano del Beatus Ille, la descansada vida alejada del mundanal ruido que alabó fray Luis de León. En definitiva, la misma cuestión vital que expone el ratón de campo, que estimó su grama y su abrojo «mucho más de allí adelante».

Hasta el 1 de enero del próximo año podrás explorar el siglo XIX tal como lo reflejaron los pintores, fotógrafos y escultores de la vida moderna. Y para abrir boca, deléitate con las «escandalosas» visiones de los artistas impresionistas que se recogen en esta obra de Nathalia Brodskaya.

 

Impressionist, and proud

Underdogs have taken note and reclaimed terms that were once hurtful or derisory: ‘queer’ has become a positive label for the LGBT community, ‘nerd’ and ‘geek’ are no longer insults but badges of honour (thanks in part to the Gleeks), ‘slut walk’ participants have tried to de-stigmatise the word, and the Tea Party movement’s ‘tea-baggers’…well, that’s a bad example. But this ‘current’ propensity for linguistic reappropriation is not such a modern phenomenon…

The Impressionists came to be known as such after a 10-year battle for recognition. In 19th-century France, artistic esteem could only be attained by recognition by the Academy of Fine Arts and the displaying of their artwork in the Salons, or yearly exhibitions in Paris. This new art movement was too mind-blowing for those stuffy old codgers – Manet’s Luncheon on the Grass didn’t make the grade because of the daring inclusion of a stark-naked lady frolicking at a picnic. I can’t imagine what they would make of Prince Harry’s trip to Las Vegas…

 


Reconstruction of Prince Harry’s trip to Vegas…
Edouard Manet, Luncheon on the Grass, 1863.
Oil on canvas, 208 x 264.5 cm.
Musée d’Orsay, Paris.


 

A brief glimmer of hope came in 1863 when Napoleon III, shocked by the quality artwork that was being sidelined, opened an exhibition alongside the official Salon, an Exhibition for Rejects. This group of artists received more visitors than the official Salon, but most came along for a good chuckle at these deluded ‘artists’ and their strange paintings. Requests for another exhibition were denied, until in 1874 they decided to take matters into their own hands…

Thirty artists including Monet, Renoir, Pissarro, Sisley, Cézanne, Degas and Morisot participated in a private exhibition, which was still too zany for many. Louis Leroy wrote a sarcastic, satirical review, coining the term ‘Impressionists’ as a play on words of the title of Monet’s painting Impression, Sunrise. The term caught on, and what was meant to be a moniker of derision became a badge of honour for the group. And Leroy must have been laughing on the other side of his face when Impressionism spread beyond France, paving the way for Modern art, and even becoming the long-lasting legacy of 19th-century French art.

So take a leaf out of the Impressionists’ book and wear those insults with pride. My suggestions for some topically beleaguered individuals include: Prince Harry – ‘The Naked Prince’, Todd Akin – ‘The Legitimator’, and I’m sure Julian Assange could put a positive spin on ‘coward’, ‘tool’ or ‘cyber terrorist’.

Sweden’s Nationalmuseum has an exhibit dedicated to 19th-century France and the beginning of the Modern era, until 3 February 2013. If you would like to read more about the peppy Impressionists, try this impressive art book or compact gift version, written by Nathalia Brodskaya.

 

Monday, July 23, 2012

Vollard y el desbordamiento de Picasso

Ambroise Vollard, considerado el principal marchante de arte contemporáneo de su generación, fue uno de esos hombres que se hacen a sí mismos. Llegó a París en 1887 sin apenas contactos ni referencias, pero su habilidad para los negocios y su visión artística le permitieron convertirse en el audaz impulsor de grandes artistas como Cézanne, Gauguin, Degas, van Gogh, Renoir, Bonnard, Vuillard y Picasso, que fueron subestimados en sus inicios.

Entre las arriesgadas operaciones que lo llevaron a ser quien fue, Vollard obsequió algunos cuadros a Pablo Picasso a cambio de una extensa colección de grabados que se conocen como la «Suite Vollard». Pocos son los museos que se pueden enorgullecer de poseer una serie completa de estos grabados. Por ello, el British Museum ha organizado la exposición «Picasso Prints. The Vollard Suite» para presentar al público los 100 grabados que ha conseguido reunir gracias a la generosa donación de la Hamish Parker Charitable Trust.*

Este «diario visual», de líneas sencillas y limpias y con un marcado estilo neoclásico, expresa los pensamientos, las ideas y las preocupaciones del que bien podría ser el artista más importante del siglo XX en la época en la que fueron realizados, entre 1930 y 1937. Con la guerra civil española como trasfondo, Picasso vivía en el castillo Boisgeloup, a las afueras de París, donde se dedicaba a realizar esculturas y a «hacer grandes cosas» junto a su musa y amante, la joven Marie-Thérèse Walter. Los grabados para Vollard reflejan la mitología personal del artista, que utiliza al minotauro, al toro-ganadero, como reflejo de sí mismo, de las emociones descontroladas y de la violencia y brutalidad que mueven el mundo.

La serie concluye con tres grabados del editor, sobre quien Picasso afirmó que «era un hombre tan vanidoso como una mujer», ya que «ni siquiera la mujer más bella del mundo había sido retratada con tanta asiduidad». En cualquier caso, este negocio no fue especialmente provechoso para Vollard, ya que falleció en un accidente de coche antes de que se realizaran todas las impresiones que había previsto.


Retrato de hombre con barba, Ambroise Vollard, 1937.
Grabado, placa 100 de la «Suite Vollard».
The British Museum, Londres.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

The Self-Indulgence of the Self-Portrait

The self-portrait: an frank insight into the soul of an artist or a web of lies?

Self-Portraits are the epicentre of the Metropolitan Museum's current exhibition: ‘Rembrandt and Degas: Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man’, presenting early self-portraits by the artists side by side for the first time. Featured below: left, Rembrandt van Rijn, Sheet of Studies with Self-Portrait (detail), 1630-1634 and right, Edgar Degas, Self-Portrait (detail), c. 1855-1857:



With the mass production of improved glass mirrors, the Early Renaissance in the mid-15th century saw a wave of self-portraits amongst painters, sculptors, and printmakers alike. A range of self-depictions were produced, from the humble sketch to extravagant biblical scenes, featuring, you guessed it, themselves. Francisco de Zurbarán’s 17th century painting Saint Luke as a Painter before Christ on the Cross is widely believed to picture himself as St Luke:



It is said that self-portraiture requires a great deal of artistic skill and self-awareness, while exposing one’s own vulnerabilities as both an artist and subject. But how accurate were these self-portraits?

I don’t claim any validity in comparing such a practice in the 15th century to today – photography means there is less need to spend months and years nurturing pictorial evidence of one’s own appearance for the sake of PR.

But producing such work in the 21st century would likely bring about accusations of self-obsession or even criticism for stretching the truth of our own good looks – was this really much different in the 15th century? The temptation to adjust the odd flaw must remain rife in such a practice – a slightly smaller nose or an eradicated mole can be yours at the mere flick of a brush.

Art critics have noted that a trait common to female self-portraits is that they are featured in much smarter attire than they would probably actually be painting in, perhaps indicating some deviance from the mirror image they saw before them. For example, this is a self-portrait by Adelaide Labille-Guiard, Self-Portrait with Two Pupils 1785 – would you want to splash your watercolours on that finery?



Self-portraits also range to the rather more controversial, such as those of Egon Schiele’s collection of self-depictions, which have led to countless medical diagnoses of his mental and sexual health. By this measure, self-portraits are more than paintings; they also provide insight into the artists themselves.

However, reminiscent of the Facebook profile picture (blasphemous!), self-portraits are, and have always been, what the artist wants us to see of them.  This is what they would like us to perceive of their personality and character, which by human nature is likely to differ from who they actually were.

Self-portraits provide a fascinating angle on a work of art.  We can undoubtedly take a lot more from a self-portrait than we can from one man’s portrait of another, but can we really believe what they convey?

For more information about the exhibition, please visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art's website.  For  high quality ebooks about Schiele, Degas and a host of other legendary artists, visit ebook-gallery.com.