Botanical art is enjoying a great resurgence in popularity and appreciation. The British, Australians and some Europeans had continued always to favour this form of art, partly, perhaps, because of the strong horticultural and plant collection/husbandry tradition. Kew Gardens and other important botanical gardens round the world had kept alive the tradition of fine art married to botany. However, with the founding of the American Society of Botanical Artists in 1995, this art form took off. Another decisive factor in this renaissance has been the enthusiastic and hugely influential support of Dr.Shirley Sherwood. Not only has she collected botanical art all over the world and helped artists most generously, but she has now enabled Kew Gardens to have the world's first gallery devoted to botanical art, the Shirley Sherwood Gallery . (I am proud to say that she owns one of my silverpoint drawings.)
With increasing interest in botanical art, the ASBA has been organising important exhibitions around the United States. The Society, to which I have belonged for many years, has become more and more imaginative in exhibit themes and attuned to today's environmental concerns. A show which has just opened at the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC, demonstrates this: "Losing Paradise? Endangered Plants Here and Around the World" shows art done by forty-one artists from the five continents. The exhibit has already travelled to the Missouri Botanic Garden, the Chicago Botanic Garden and the New York Botanical Garden.
Using the simplest of media - graphite pencils, pen and ink, coloured pencils and paint - the artists not only captured the essence of the plant but they document its structure, habit of growth, colouration and general characteristics in exquisite, accurate detail. Again, as with so many works of art done from real life, as opposed to photographs, each artist creates an individualistic interpretation of the subject matter, combining artistic skill with the energy and passion inspired by that plant. In the case of this particular exhibition, there was an additional energy. The Society posted the call for this exhibition about three years previously, so that artists all around the world could seek out endangered plants and help draw attention to their plight by the art created. What more enlightened role could art play!
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
The Lines progressed....
Well, the line-making slowly progressed on my Dendrobium Delight drawing in graphite and I eventually declared an end. By this time, the flower buds had opened and everything had moved around in the usual dynamic way nature has of reminding one who "rules".Yet the act of drawing made me reflect on how any drawing is really a voyage into ourselves, to bring out we know not quite what, ahead of time. As that wonderfully thoughtful artist, Luisa Rabbia, remarked about artists in general: "In the end, we all talk about life, death, time and our presence on Earth." This became even more pertinent a remark for me, for while I was drawing, I was listening to Senator Ted Kennedy's memorial service on television and reflecting on his life and the many acts of quiet kindness and compassion. As Placido Domingo sang Panis Angelicus, with Yo-Yo Ma accompanying him so sonorously on the 'cello, the beauty of the music seemed to flow into my pencils as I drew. Susan Graham's wonderfully serene Ave Maria was balm to the soul - it must have seemed so to the countless people listening around the world as well as in the spacious Basilica.
This drawing of the vibrant Dendrobium will, I know from other experiences I have had when painting or drawing, now always evoke for me this time of music, celebration and mourning for Ted Kennedy. Resquiescat in pace.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
The Magic of Art
Ever since man has been creating art, and especially for the last 30,000 odd years, magic and art are closely linked. Perhaps Marcel Proust said it best, when he wrote in Time Regained, "Through art alone are we able to emerge from ourselves, to know what another person sees of a universe which is not the same as our own and of which, without art, the landscape would remain as unknown to us as those that may exist on the moon. Thanks to art, instead of seeing one world only, our own, we see that world multiply itself and we have at our disposal as many worlds as there are original artists, worlds more different one from the other than those which revolve in infinite space, worlds which, centuries after the extinction of the fire from which their light first emanated, whether it is called Rembrandt or Vermeer, still send us their own individual special radiance."
You only have to leaf through any art magazine or go online to any gallery website to see how accurate Proust was about the multiplicity of optics and voices displayed in art. Magically we are transported to other lands and other ways of life. We see faces familiar and unfamiliar, fantasy upon fantasy, different approaches to objects that we have never thought about before... A visit to a major museum proves Proust's point about the longevity of great art down the ages. The masters know how to combine passion, subject matter, composition, colour, technique and the elusive wave of their "magic wand" to create art that withstands the test of time.
Ellen Lanyon, an American artist noted for her wonderful juxtapositions of fantasy and reality, calls upon this element of magic in her art. Using nature, everyday objects and intertwining living creatures and technology, she advocates for ecological balance. Her approach is joyous. As she says, "I become the magician who can transform flowers into fire, create the animals out of the inanimate, and utilise osmosis and gravity to create an illusion. Artists have the powerful tool of the imagination to make everything happen."
Call it imagination, call it magic, but so many artists spring to mind when one thinks about how art forces us to see other universes. Surrealist Salvador Dali is perhaps an extreme example, but Robert Rauschenberg, Mark Rothko or draughtswomen working today like Sky Pape or Carol Prusa all have shown me fascinating, magical worlds I had never conceived of. And those are but a small number of artists that come readily to mind - we can all make up our own list of magician artists.
You only have to leaf through any art magazine or go online to any gallery website to see how accurate Proust was about the multiplicity of optics and voices displayed in art. Magically we are transported to other lands and other ways of life. We see faces familiar and unfamiliar, fantasy upon fantasy, different approaches to objects that we have never thought about before... A visit to a major museum proves Proust's point about the longevity of great art down the ages. The masters know how to combine passion, subject matter, composition, colour, technique and the elusive wave of their "magic wand" to create art that withstands the test of time.
Ellen Lanyon, an American artist noted for her wonderful juxtapositions of fantasy and reality, calls upon this element of magic in her art. Using nature, everyday objects and intertwining living creatures and technology, she advocates for ecological balance. Her approach is joyous. As she says, "I become the magician who can transform flowers into fire, create the animals out of the inanimate, and utilise osmosis and gravity to create an illusion. Artists have the powerful tool of the imagination to make everything happen."
Call it imagination, call it magic, but so many artists spring to mind when one thinks about how art forces us to see other universes. Surrealist Salvador Dali is perhaps an extreme example, but Robert Rauschenberg, Mark Rothko or draughtswomen working today like Sky Pape or Carol Prusa all have shown me fascinating, magical worlds I had never conceived of. And those are but a small number of artists that come readily to mind - we can all make up our own list of magician artists.
Celebrating Drawing
I always love it when out of the blue, one learns of the celebration of the art of drawing.
Just a small entry in today's Spanish papers, but a good piece of news for all of us who think that drawing is just as important as painting. Miquel Barcelo, the highly successful artist from Mallorca, has just been awarded the Penages Award for Drawing from the Mapfre Foundation in Spain. In his acceptance speech, he talked of the fact that he finds that, " Es gracioso pensar que la pintura ha muerto y el dibujo no" -explicó en referencia a aquellos que dan por muerto este arte-. Como si muere Dios pero la Virgen María siguiese viva" ( a quote from the Diario de Mallorca, that it is somewhat ironic to think that painting has died whilst drawing survives, as if God had died but the Virgin Mary remains alive). He received the award in Madrid, with Princess Elena present at the ceremony.
Barcelo's drawings and etchings are indeed a delight with their fluid ease and grace.
This is an image courtesy of the website of Paola Curti/Annamaria Gambuzzi & Co. entitled Marche de Shange, la Jupe Verte (the Green Skirt), done with mixed media in 2000. Barcelo has spent a lot of tiime in Africa, especially in Mali, and his images capture the essence of Africa.
This 1999 etching is from his series of works from the Balearic island of Lanzarote, entitled Lanzarote XXV, courtesy of ArtNet.
This is another of the Lanzarote series, a wonderful depiction of dogs.
I delight when an artist celebrates drawing as does Miquel Barcelo. He inspires us all to keep drawing.
Just a small entry in today's Spanish papers, but a good piece of news for all of us who think that drawing is just as important as painting. Miquel Barcelo, the highly successful artist from Mallorca, has just been awarded the Penages Award for Drawing from the Mapfre Foundation in Spain. In his acceptance speech, he talked of the fact that he finds that, " Es gracioso pensar que la pintura ha muerto y el dibujo no" -explicó en referencia a aquellos que dan por muerto este arte-. Como si muere Dios pero la Virgen María siguiese viva" ( a quote from the Diario de Mallorca, that it is somewhat ironic to think that painting has died whilst drawing survives, as if God had died but the Virgin Mary remains alive). He received the award in Madrid, with Princess Elena present at the ceremony.
This is an image courtesy of the website of Paola Curti/Annamaria Gambuzzi & Co. entitled Marche de Shange, la Jupe Verte (the Green Skirt), done with mixed media in 2000. Barcelo has spent a lot of tiime in Africa, especially in Mali, and his images capture the essence of Africa.
This 1999 etching is from his series of works from the Balearic island of Lanzarote, entitled Lanzarote XXV, courtesy of ArtNet.
I delight when an artist celebrates drawing as does Miquel Barcelo. He inspires us all to keep drawing.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
The Gaze
Today was a day of rain that played perfectly into a plan of meeting fellow artists and talking about different aspects of art-making - a good 'shop" day. Later, however I walked through a local gallery full of decorative art of high caliber which did not call out to me very much. I started thinking about the curious alchemy of "the gaze" - that moment when one's eyes fall on a painting or drawing, and it almost impels one to draw closer and look harder. You can look at countless pieces of art, in a gallery, in a museum, where ever, and then suddenly, bam, there you are - summoned and enmeshed, in a completely unexpected fashion. The typical French "coup de foudre".
What is it about this business of "the gaze"? Amanda Renshaw, Editor at Phaidon and coordinator of the book, "30,000 Years of Art. The History of Creativity" was being interviewed in El Pais (in Babelia, on August 1st, 2009) and said, "I believe that the gaze is a form of language, and using that gaze is the best way to connect ever closer and more successfully with art. the connection between the eyes and the brain and emotions is absolutely fundamental." She went on to explain that text about art on a museum wall, in a book about art or elsewhere is secondary in importance to the actual art images.
It is true - the artwork calls out to one long before one thinks of reading a label on a wall. The more one looks at art, however, the more each of us can hone that gaze to be not only one of interest, pleasure, amazement, but also of informed, knowledgeable appreciation. Gazing, seeing, really looking at art is one side of the equation. As an artist, the other aspect is the equally important action of looking hard at whatever one is trying to draw or paint, not only to understand it and record it, but to filter it deep into one so that, somehow, the alchemy of the gaze helps create a viable piece of art.
What is it about this business of "the gaze"? Amanda Renshaw, Editor at Phaidon and coordinator of the book, "30,000 Years of Art. The History of Creativity" was being interviewed in El Pais (in Babelia, on August 1st, 2009) and said, "I believe that the gaze is a form of language, and using that gaze is the best way to connect ever closer and more successfully with art. the connection between the eyes and the brain and emotions is absolutely fundamental." She went on to explain that text about art on a museum wall, in a book about art or elsewhere is secondary in importance to the actual art images.
It is true - the artwork calls out to one long before one thinks of reading a label on a wall. The more one looks at art, however, the more each of us can hone that gaze to be not only one of interest, pleasure, amazement, but also of informed, knowledgeable appreciation. Gazing, seeing, really looking at art is one side of the equation. As an artist, the other aspect is the equally important action of looking hard at whatever one is trying to draw or paint, not only to understand it and record it, but to filter it deep into one so that, somehow, the alchemy of the gaze helps create a viable piece of art.
Welcome
Tanzanian by birth, European by heritage, British-American by nationality, Jeannine Cook is one of a small number of artists worldwide who specialize in silverpoint drawing. Her luminous watercolor paintings complement these shimmering drawings executed in silver. Cook's work is in many public collections in the United States and Europe.
We hope that you will enjoy Jeannine's blog.
We hope that you will enjoy Jeannine's blog.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Art and Immigration
As an immigrant first to Europe and then to the United States, I cannot help but feel sympathy and empathy for immigrants, be they forced or voluntary. Uprooting yourself from your home surroundings takes courage, energy and faith in the future. I have, however, also realised that I am fortunate to have become a de facto citizen of the world. That state makes life infinitely more interesting.As an artist, it also makes for complex influences that, willy nilly, show up in one's work. (Above, African Memories II). I think back to an interesting statement that Luisa Rabbia made during her time as Artist in Residence at the Isabella Gardiner Museum, Boston. Talking during an interview reported in Art in America in June/July 2009, she mused, "In the past couple of years, I have been thinking about roots and the idea of carrying yourself as you travel... It is one thing to be the immigrant (to New York) and another to see others immigrating (to Italy). It gives you two points of view."
Mindful of the charged discussions swirling in the United States, all over Europe and even in places like Israel today, I feel that it is indeed true about the two points of view. But it is also true that in all the arts, cross fertilisation between cultures is enriching and stimulating. Each immigrant-artist brings to the new setting a heritage from which to draw inspiration, the sustaining roots that allow fresh growth in the adoptive surroundings. This country, for example, has seen enormous artistic diversity, thanks to immigrants. Think of John J. Audubon (from Santo Domingo), Willem de Koonig (from Holland), Arshile Gorky (from Armenia), Shirin Neshat (from Iran), Cai Guo-Qiang (from China), Louise Nevelson (from Russia) or Claes Oldenburg (from Sweden) as random examples.
Personally, I find myself drawing on my past roots as well as trying to absorb the world around me for my art. It depends on the moment, but there will suddenly be a stream that bubbles up, from some bye gone source far from today's world. That perhaps is one of the magical things about being an artist - one is free to use whatever inspiration or source seems appropriate. Just as with a tree, one's own roots are wide-spreading, branching from the primary root of one's homeland into a myriad secondary roots of other lands one grows to know. Those experiences, shared by countless millions around the world today, are valuable for the immigrants' adoptive lands. It is up to artists to give visual validation to some of these experiences.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
A Progression of Lines
These hot, humid days make staying at home in air-conditioned coherence very attractive. This means that all of a sudden, I find that my "eye" spots potential drawings or paintings in places I normally don't expect. It is the bonus of quiet days at home mid-summer, I have learned.
Today's bonus was a beautiful dendrobium that obligingly reblooms on a regular basis - it has produced elegant, shapely flowers, but at the gravity-defying angles that hallmark my dendrobiums. Staking them, greenhouse fashion, doesn't seem to work for me! As I sat listening to music and starting to do a graphite drawing of the flowers and strange stem, I kept thinking back to remarks I had read by Luisa Rabbia when she was being interviewed in Art in America after her Residency at the Isabella Gardiner Museum in Boston. Talking about drawing, she said "Drawing is for me a way of writing, recording moments, the passing of time ... you change ideas so many times when you are working, and I like that. I start from something and never know where I am going to." It is true. I find the same thing. I might start drawing, say, the dendrobium, but by the time I have worked for a while, the flowers I am depicting not only have changed themselves, but I had also added, subtracted, moved and generally altered things substantially. I draw for a while, then stop and make a cup of tea... the perfect way then to return to the drawing with a fresher eye, to assess a little where I am going, what needs next to be done. The original idea that sparked the drawing is still there in its core, but the drawing itself has taken hold of my initial passion and made it its own.
Luisa Rabbia was accurate and eloquent about drawing - "A drawing itself is a record of the development of an idea. You change ideas so many times.... For me, the shape of each line is determined by the shape of the preceding line and determines the shape of the following line. There is this progression of lines, thoughts and moments." It does not really matter what you are drawing - a landscape, an abstract, a still life or a flower... the process of drawing seems to follow the same progression and development. The drawing medium does not alter this process either. As Luisa also remarked, line "is like breathing". One line falls naturally into place after the previous one, almost involuntarily, until suddenly, a little voice inside one's head says "stop" and you know that you have reached the end of that particular drawing journey.
Fascinating and addictive, this drawing process...
Today's bonus was a beautiful dendrobium that obligingly reblooms on a regular basis - it has produced elegant, shapely flowers, but at the gravity-defying angles that hallmark my dendrobiums. Staking them, greenhouse fashion, doesn't seem to work for me! As I sat listening to music and starting to do a graphite drawing of the flowers and strange stem, I kept thinking back to remarks I had read by Luisa Rabbia when she was being interviewed in Art in America after her Residency at the Isabella Gardiner Museum in Boston. Talking about drawing, she said "Drawing is for me a way of writing, recording moments, the passing of time ... you change ideas so many times when you are working, and I like that. I start from something and never know where I am going to." It is true. I find the same thing. I might start drawing, say, the dendrobium, but by the time I have worked for a while, the flowers I am depicting not only have changed themselves, but I had also added, subtracted, moved and generally altered things substantially. I draw for a while, then stop and make a cup of tea... the perfect way then to return to the drawing with a fresher eye, to assess a little where I am going, what needs next to be done. The original idea that sparked the drawing is still there in its core, but the drawing itself has taken hold of my initial passion and made it its own.
Luisa Rabbia was accurate and eloquent about drawing - "A drawing itself is a record of the development of an idea. You change ideas so many times.... For me, the shape of each line is determined by the shape of the preceding line and determines the shape of the following line. There is this progression of lines, thoughts and moments." It does not really matter what you are drawing - a landscape, an abstract, a still life or a flower... the process of drawing seems to follow the same progression and development. The drawing medium does not alter this process either. As Luisa also remarked, line "is like breathing". One line falls naturally into place after the previous one, almost involuntarily, until suddenly, a little voice inside one's head says "stop" and you know that you have reached the end of that particular drawing journey.
Fascinating and addictive, this drawing process...
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Backroom aspects of being an Artist
Whenever I paint a watercolour, I then record it in digital fashion and, frequently, I continue to use up my stock of Kodak ASA25 35mm slide film as I am still straddling the two systems. I far prefer the Kodak version because the slide film is superior for colour rendition on most watercolour paintings. As long as I use a grey card, a tripod and a decent camera, I can pretty well ensure decent photographs - the old-fashioned way.
Photographing digitally is another subject altogether and I know reams have been written about how to take good digital photographs of paintings. My personal experience is that the surface of most cold pressed watercolour papers bounces the light all over the place and consequently, photos come out pallid and with very unimpressive colour fidelity. I usually only photograph big watercolours, and then resign myself to a long session in Adobe Photoshop, with the painting beside me to guide me back to colour accuracy.
For smaller works, both watercolours and silverpoint drawings, I have been using a flatbed scanner for ages. I had a really good Epson scanner (courtesy of my husband's careful choice), but alas, it gave up the ghost and I had to replace it. Now I have a large format Mustek scanner installed, and it does help that I don't have to knit so many images together from several scans.
Nonetheless, I conclude that I am into the same unbelievably time-consuming colour adjustments that I endure with digital photographs. Somehow, even with the best settings possible, the scanner does not like that slightly rough paper surface and all sorts of odd colours appear. Pulling the work back to what it really looks like is almost a question of luck versus skill. It seems almost as labour-intensive as actually painting a watercolour, which is ironic. The image is a recent watercolour, The Bend in the Creek. It cost me too many hours of scanning adjustments!
I wonder if other watercolour artists have the same problems? These backroom aspects to art are definitely not my favourite pastimes, but are necessary in the business of art. Back to the old adage of there being "no such thing as a free lunch"!
Photographing digitally is another subject altogether and I know reams have been written about how to take good digital photographs of paintings. My personal experience is that the surface of most cold pressed watercolour papers bounces the light all over the place and consequently, photos come out pallid and with very unimpressive colour fidelity. I usually only photograph big watercolours, and then resign myself to a long session in Adobe Photoshop, with the painting beside me to guide me back to colour accuracy.
For smaller works, both watercolours and silverpoint drawings, I have been using a flatbed scanner for ages. I had a really good Epson scanner (courtesy of my husband's careful choice), but alas, it gave up the ghost and I had to replace it. Now I have a large format Mustek scanner installed, and it does help that I don't have to knit so many images together from several scans.
Nonetheless, I conclude that I am into the same unbelievably time-consuming colour adjustments that I endure with digital photographs. Somehow, even with the best settings possible, the scanner does not like that slightly rough paper surface and all sorts of odd colours appear. Pulling the work back to what it really looks like is almost a question of luck versus skill. It seems almost as labour-intensive as actually painting a watercolour, which is ironic. The image is a recent watercolour, The Bend in the Creek. It cost me too many hours of scanning adjustments!I wonder if other watercolour artists have the same problems? These backroom aspects to art are definitely not my favourite pastimes, but are necessary in the business of art. Back to the old adage of there being "no such thing as a free lunch"!
Art's Accessibility
Back in March 2009, famed art and culture critic and enfant terrible Dave Hickey wrote a long piece in Art in America about "Addictions". In it, he said that "in the last two centuries, the opportunity to make good art and literature has continuously expanded... In response to this broadening franchise, elite cultures have striven to defend their domain by escalating the level of 'difficulty' demanded from serious art and literature. The larger the field of runners, in other words, the higher the hurdles. Two centuries of expanding opportunities confronted by an escalating standard of difficulty have led to this consequence: today, anyone can make a work of art that nobody can understand..." He ended a long plaint about the opacity of many contemporary works, the suspicion that greets any efforts to explain such works, and even the dulling and homogenising effect of art school curricula with a plea to bring "the fire from wherever you find it to an art world that needs it."
Amongst the proliferating world of blogs about art and websites promoting every imaginable form and aspect of art, there is a new endeavour which brings more "fire" into the public discourse about art. Today, PBS announced the launch of a new website, PBS Arts, to diffuse to new audiences their work on visual arts, crafts, architecture....
It seems that the more the arts are "de-funded" by government, the more Public Radio and Public Television are taking up the challenge of informing the nation about artistic endeavours, accessible or opaque in nature. Awareness of what is happening in music, visual art, theatre, poetry, literature, crafts and architecture enriches us all, even if the coverage is, inevitably, only a small proportion of what is happening nationwide. Learning about the arts of today renders them much more accessible and interesting to everyone, negating to a degree the controlling influence Hickey ascribes to the "elite". There is another aspect of this wider accessibility: seeds are sown in people's minds which lead, later, to deeper interest and knowledge about the arts in many instances. More fire in the art world ...
Amongst the proliferating world of blogs about art and websites promoting every imaginable form and aspect of art, there is a new endeavour which brings more "fire" into the public discourse about art. Today, PBS announced the launch of a new website, PBS Arts, to diffuse to new audiences their work on visual arts, crafts, architecture....
It seems that the more the arts are "de-funded" by government, the more Public Radio and Public Television are taking up the challenge of informing the nation about artistic endeavours, accessible or opaque in nature. Awareness of what is happening in music, visual art, theatre, poetry, literature, crafts and architecture enriches us all, even if the coverage is, inevitably, only a small proportion of what is happening nationwide. Learning about the arts of today renders them much more accessible and interesting to everyone, negating to a degree the controlling influence Hickey ascribes to the "elite". There is another aspect of this wider accessibility: seeds are sown in people's minds which lead, later, to deeper interest and knowledge about the arts in many instances. More fire in the art world ...
Ironies of Art-making
Back on June 14th, Gloria Goodale wrote in the Christian Science Monitor about "Fleeting Architecture", saying that "we are becoming a temporary society". In a more recent article on July 20th, about museums and their future, she wrote, "It’s not about the collections anymore,”… “It’s about community.”
As an artist, I am left slightly nonplussed by these statements which I suspect are totally accurate about society in general today. For me, drawing in silverpoint has always implied a sense of heritage from the 12th century monks who started this medium rolling when they drew in lead (and later silver) in their wonderful manuscripts. There are still many illuminations and silverpoint drawings which have survived, despite the ravages of time. A respect for archival qualities of the materials and methods one uses in drawing and painting have always seemed to me to be necessary, given that collectors - individuals or institutions - normally don't want artworks they have acquired to self-destruct. Horror stories abound about disintegrating paintings, sharks not holding up in formaldehyde or drawings on acidic paper disappearing in yellowed slivers.
Nonetheless, as Ms. Goodale remarks, "We used to place a huge value on permanence and place, but that's gone... we want the novel, the next, and we're happy to throw away and move on in order to accommodate that." How to reconcile that trend and the need actually to have something in the museums, for the "community" to view, observe, learn from or celebrate...?
We artists still need to produce something. Granted, installation art, provisional structures, video art, performance art all abound. But at the end of the day, museums still have - usually - walls and something needs to go on those walls. Yes, the Christo events, like "The Gates" in New York's Central Park, are huge cultural events and money-makers and people are more willing to travel just to see temporary installations. Nonetheless, institutions like the Louvre, the Metropolitan Museum, the British Museum... still attract huge numbers of people seeking out the more permanent manifestations of art that have endured down the ages.
So as an artist, I have to decide, eventually, what kind of art to try and create - permanent or impermanent .. and just follow my passion. As Marina Abramovic remarked to Isabel Lafont in an article in El Pais in June 2009, "Art is like breathing, you just don't question that fact. You make art because life would be unlivable without doing so." ("El arte es como respirar, no lo cuestiones. Lo haces porque no puedes vivir sin ello.") She is completely right.
As an artist, I am left slightly nonplussed by these statements which I suspect are totally accurate about society in general today. For me, drawing in silverpoint has always implied a sense of heritage from the 12th century monks who started this medium rolling when they drew in lead (and later silver) in their wonderful manuscripts. There are still many illuminations and silverpoint drawings which have survived, despite the ravages of time. A respect for archival qualities of the materials and methods one uses in drawing and painting have always seemed to me to be necessary, given that collectors - individuals or institutions - normally don't want artworks they have acquired to self-destruct. Horror stories abound about disintegrating paintings, sharks not holding up in formaldehyde or drawings on acidic paper disappearing in yellowed slivers.
Nonetheless, as Ms. Goodale remarks, "We used to place a huge value on permanence and place, but that's gone... we want the novel, the next, and we're happy to throw away and move on in order to accommodate that." How to reconcile that trend and the need actually to have something in the museums, for the "community" to view, observe, learn from or celebrate...?
We artists still need to produce something. Granted, installation art, provisional structures, video art, performance art all abound. But at the end of the day, museums still have - usually - walls and something needs to go on those walls. Yes, the Christo events, like "The Gates" in New York's Central Park, are huge cultural events and money-makers and people are more willing to travel just to see temporary installations. Nonetheless, institutions like the Louvre, the Metropolitan Museum, the British Museum... still attract huge numbers of people seeking out the more permanent manifestations of art that have endured down the ages.
So as an artist, I have to decide, eventually, what kind of art to try and create - permanent or impermanent .. and just follow my passion. As Marina Abramovic remarked to Isabel Lafont in an article in El Pais in June 2009, "Art is like breathing, you just don't question that fact. You make art because life would be unlivable without doing so." ("El arte es como respirar, no lo cuestiones. Lo haces porque no puedes vivir sin ello.") She is completely right.
Friday, August 24, 2012
"Singing" of Spring
These days of warm springlike weather are absolutely irresistible! I should be doing all sorts of other things, but I find myself rushing out to paint - for the sheer joy of being outdoors as an artist!
Of course, it is then instant humbleness as I struggle to accomplish what I hope to paint. The wind blows, the gnats arrive and I can't believe that what I deemed to be straightforward has suddenly become complicated. But underlying the whole experience is harmony, of "singing true" and almost a sense of completeness: I am privileged to be doing what I love to do, in a beautiful spring world. 
Of course, it is then instant humbleness as I struggle to accomplish what I hope to paint. The wind blows, the gnats arrive and I can't believe that what I deemed to be straightforward has suddenly become complicated. But underlying the whole experience is harmony, of "singing true" and almost a sense of completeness: I am privileged to be doing what I love to do, in a beautiful spring world.
I think Ingres knew about this sense of plenitude and harmony, in his paintings but also when he was drawing his astonishing graphite pencil portraits or his landscape drawings in Rome. He wrote, "Everything in nature is harmony; a little too much, or else too little, disturbs the scale and makes a false note. One must teach the point of singing true with the pencil or with brush as much as with the voice; rightness of forms is like rightness of sounds."
At the left is Ingres' drawing of Ursin Jules Vatinelle and at left, is his drawing of The View of the Villa Medici. Both images are courtesy of the website, The Complete Works of Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres.
Somehow, the close observation of one's surroundings and an effort to create a harmonious composition and luminous painting help to make one grow as an artist. That always helps make life more fulfilling.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Silverpoint and graphite drawings from Sapelo
It is interesting how a beautiful place like Sapelo Island inspires one to do so many different types of art. Now that I have been able to look again at the work I produced last weekend on the Island as Artist-in-Residence, I realise that I managed to produce some very different pieces, ranging all over the place in subject matter and in approach.
"Long after the Storm", silverpoint drawing
It reminds me how one responds to places and situations in such varied ways. There seems, certainly in my case, to be some unspoken dialogue that goes on subliminally between what one's eyes are seeing and what one instinctively senses could become a drawing or a painting. It is almost beyond cogent thought. You just "know" that that will be a subject worth trying to tackle. It usually ends up humbling one, resulting in a somewhat different result that one visualised... in essence, the subject dictates the whole process. Scouting for possible subject matter is always initially instinctive. Only after one has decided that there is something there to be explored does one try to analyse what exact medium to use and how to go about actually physically doing the artwork. Often this whole process is rapid, because when working plein air, you know that the whole thing is fleeting. Light will change, the tide will alter, the birds will fly off, people might come along to fill the empty scene or whatever...
In any case, I found so many things of fascination to try and draw or paint. These three drawings I am posting are just examples. The Cedar Tree posted above, in silverpoint, was the crown of a huge old tree that had been blown down many years ago and was lying, burnished and reduced to its core, in deep marsh grasses. Sapelo Dunes was an early morning silverpoint study of the different parts of the dunes facing the restless waves that aided the wind to shape these dunes. Holding the sand against these forces, the sea oats cling tenaciously, their roots amazingly long and lying exposed at the eroded face of the dunes. The third drawing is a graphite drawing done as the sun was setting on the wide sweep of low-tide beach, the light glinting on the marvellous ridges left in the sand by the water's motion. I was racing the light and only had a very short time before darkness fell. No time for thought, just a fascination to try and make something of nature's marvellous complexity in Low Tide Tracery.
Art that alludes to the Sacred
Ephraim Rubenstein, a wonderful artist and fellow silverpoint artist, has just sent me the announcement for his forthcoming solo exhibition at the George Billis Gallery on West 26th Street in New York. Entitled Temples and Cathedrals, it is a show of large-scale mixed drawing media depictions of European Gothic cathedrals and massive Greek temple ruins. It will certainly be a dramatic and impressive array of drawings.
What I found interesting were Ephraim's concepts behind this body of work. In both the pagan temples and the cathedrals, he evokes the "magisterial quality of these sacred spaces". Scale, architecture, play of light are all devices used in sacred structures to impress and convey a sense of the presence of the divine. There can be few of us who have not been silenced in awe at the sight of the mighty harmony of soaring Gothic arches or the dazzling glory of huge rose windows enclosed by lacy stone. Similarly, Greek temples, no matter how shattered by time and man's depredations, evoke the centrality and the power of the gods in man's daily life by the extraordinary elegance and drama of columns, friezes, pediments...
By playing these very different types of structures off each other in his dramatic monochrome renderings of temples and cathedrals, Ephraim reminds us of man's perpetual quest for the sacred. As he points in his press release about the exhibition, the metamorphosis of man's religious beliefs, from paganism to Christianity, is echoed even in the stones of the different sacred structures. Many of the cathedrals were built with stones taken from earlier temples. Another form of Sic transit...
Knowing how beautiful Ephraim Rubenstein's art is, I am certain that this will be an exhibition well worth visiting if you are in Manhattan.
What I found interesting were Ephraim's concepts behind this body of work. In both the pagan temples and the cathedrals, he evokes the "magisterial quality of these sacred spaces". Scale, architecture, play of light are all devices used in sacred structures to impress and convey a sense of the presence of the divine. There can be few of us who have not been silenced in awe at the sight of the mighty harmony of soaring Gothic arches or the dazzling glory of huge rose windows enclosed by lacy stone. Similarly, Greek temples, no matter how shattered by time and man's depredations, evoke the centrality and the power of the gods in man's daily life by the extraordinary elegance and drama of columns, friezes, pediments...
By playing these very different types of structures off each other in his dramatic monochrome renderings of temples and cathedrals, Ephraim reminds us of man's perpetual quest for the sacred. As he points in his press release about the exhibition, the metamorphosis of man's religious beliefs, from paganism to Christianity, is echoed even in the stones of the different sacred structures. Many of the cathedrals were built with stones taken from earlier temples. Another form of Sic transit...
Knowing how beautiful Ephraim Rubenstein's art is, I am certain that this will be an exhibition well worth visiting if you are in Manhattan.
Art as a Mirror on the World
In El Pais of 1st August, there was a long review of two books which had previously appeared in English - Julian Bell's Mirror of the World and 30,000 years of Art by various authors and published by Phaidon. These weighty reviews and compendiums of what, today, is deemed the most important, the best art, started me thinking about art as a general mirror of the world.
What each of us does as an artist is mostly work that comes to us as an expression of individual passion and concern, sometimes steered in one direction or another because the work is commissioned. Generally, however, the work reflects firstly each artist and secondly, the world around that artist. So in a way, each of us mirrors our own world, for good or bad. Artists who are more tuned in to the natural world will tend more to emphasise natural subject matter, urban artists often find their inspiration elsewhere. Today's world, however, becomes much more mixed up as more and more artists tap into the "world's contents ... mingled in a vast collective potlach available by Internet, cell phone, TV, satellite and an ever-expanding inventory of connective gadgetry." (Art in America, March 2009) We can all avail ourselves of situations, sights, sounds, whatever, that we have never personally physically experienced. So the art-as-mirror idea potentially gets changed, perhaps distorted, potentially homogenised, worldwide.
Of course, you still have many, many artists quietly continuing to follow a personal vision and passion. Catherine Spaeth, art historian and art critic, in one of her pieces, talked of "the meanings generated by a work of art extend into the larger context of the world at large ... and it is here as well that you are becoming art historical..." Those meanings of the art generated reverberate out and speak to an audience willing to listen, to look, to ponder and evaluate. I am not sure artists set out always to address meanings/content to this end, but it happens nonetheless. As Emil Cadoo, the photographer working in the Sixties in Paris, once observed, "Only when an artist in any field touches universals can it last through time, can it survive the destruction of things..."
Ultimately, it is for us artists simply to go on trying to work seriously, follow one's passion in creating the art that is important to us, as best we can... We will, even today in our ultra-connected world, be mirrors on our worlds, willy-nilly. And it will fall to those, like Julian Bell (artist and critic himself), or those at Phaidon who have selected the best works to represent artists for the last 30,000 years (quite a job!), to tell the next generations who (perhaps) are the best artists mirroring the world in which we all live. One does however have to season the selections a little, mindful of "Chacun à son goût"!
What each of us does as an artist is mostly work that comes to us as an expression of individual passion and concern, sometimes steered in one direction or another because the work is commissioned. Generally, however, the work reflects firstly each artist and secondly, the world around that artist. So in a way, each of us mirrors our own world, for good or bad. Artists who are more tuned in to the natural world will tend more to emphasise natural subject matter, urban artists often find their inspiration elsewhere. Today's world, however, becomes much more mixed up as more and more artists tap into the "world's contents ... mingled in a vast collective potlach available by Internet, cell phone, TV, satellite and an ever-expanding inventory of connective gadgetry." (Art in America, March 2009) We can all avail ourselves of situations, sights, sounds, whatever, that we have never personally physically experienced. So the art-as-mirror idea potentially gets changed, perhaps distorted, potentially homogenised, worldwide.
Of course, you still have many, many artists quietly continuing to follow a personal vision and passion. Catherine Spaeth, art historian and art critic, in one of her pieces, talked of "the meanings generated by a work of art extend into the larger context of the world at large ... and it is here as well that you are becoming art historical..." Those meanings of the art generated reverberate out and speak to an audience willing to listen, to look, to ponder and evaluate. I am not sure artists set out always to address meanings/content to this end, but it happens nonetheless. As Emil Cadoo, the photographer working in the Sixties in Paris, once observed, "Only when an artist in any field touches universals can it last through time, can it survive the destruction of things..."
Ultimately, it is for us artists simply to go on trying to work seriously, follow one's passion in creating the art that is important to us, as best we can... We will, even today in our ultra-connected world, be mirrors on our worlds, willy-nilly. And it will fall to those, like Julian Bell (artist and critic himself), or those at Phaidon who have selected the best works to represent artists for the last 30,000 years (quite a job!), to tell the next generations who (perhaps) are the best artists mirroring the world in which we all live. One does however have to season the selections a little, mindful of "Chacun à son goût"!
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Creating art in beautiful places
Sometimes the stars all align, the weather goods smile benignly and one finds oneself able to create art in a truly magical place. That was what I felt about being on Sapelo Island this weekend, when I finally got to return as SINERR Artist-in-Residence with Marjett Schille.
For two days of glorious weather, (the azure cloudless skies and gentle temperatures type of weather...), we were free to go where we pleased and just devote ourselves to art. There is a marvellous transition: you get on a ferry and leave behind daily life. You only need to concentrate on choosing a site suitable for the next plein air painting or drawing. Considerations of light, time of day for that light, where the tide is (if you are working along the beach), what medium is suitable for the next project: those are the weighty matters to ponder! All against the backdrop of a most beautiful and ecologically diverse island that is protected and preserved...
Marjett and I tumbled out of bed early each morning and were hard at work by eight to catch the wonderful morning light raking the sand dunes or sculpting trees. We worked steadily until the picture got finished, or finished us for the moment. We both did about three pieces a day, with Marjett working larger scale than I did. As I had planned, I did mostly silverpoint drawings, which seemed to take an age to do compared to Marjett's swiftly executed watercolours. Later, we assessed what we had done and "titivated" anything that needed adding or correcting. Since we have worked together a lot, we both respect the other person's eye for critiques. For me, it is a wonderful opportunity, as I tend to work alone and don't often have another artist to assess what I am doing. It is always a perfect learning opportunity when one has that luxury. It is also fun to share ideas on what title to give the work done, for titles are an interesting and sometimes polemical subject.
Now we are back "on the hill" as the locals refer to the mainland... and the weekend remains glowing in my mind. The artwork needs to get scanned and catalogued, and life already begins to knock at the door again. Nonetheless, when one is lucky enough to be able to go off and create art in a truly beautiful and magical place, it is more than luck.
For two days of glorious weather, (the azure cloudless skies and gentle temperatures type of weather...), we were free to go where we pleased and just devote ourselves to art. There is a marvellous transition: you get on a ferry and leave behind daily life. You only need to concentrate on choosing a site suitable for the next plein air painting or drawing. Considerations of light, time of day for that light, where the tide is (if you are working along the beach), what medium is suitable for the next project: those are the weighty matters to ponder! All against the backdrop of a most beautiful and ecologically diverse island that is protected and preserved...
Marjett and I tumbled out of bed early each morning and were hard at work by eight to catch the wonderful morning light raking the sand dunes or sculpting trees. We worked steadily until the picture got finished, or finished us for the moment. We both did about three pieces a day, with Marjett working larger scale than I did. As I had planned, I did mostly silverpoint drawings, which seemed to take an age to do compared to Marjett's swiftly executed watercolours. Later, we assessed what we had done and "titivated" anything that needed adding or correcting. Since we have worked together a lot, we both respect the other person's eye for critiques. For me, it is a wonderful opportunity, as I tend to work alone and don't often have another artist to assess what I am doing. It is always a perfect learning opportunity when one has that luxury. It is also fun to share ideas on what title to give the work done, for titles are an interesting and sometimes polemical subject.
Now we are back "on the hill" as the locals refer to the mainland... and the weekend remains glowing in my mind. The artwork needs to get scanned and catalogued, and life already begins to knock at the door again. Nonetheless, when one is lucky enough to be able to go off and create art in a truly beautiful and magical place, it is more than luck.
Artists' Evolution
As the years pass and an artist continues to work and create art, it is often interesting to follow the evolution of what the artist creates. Sometimes an artist is "cursed with success" at an early age and is tempted to continue producing art in the winning formula, without much incentive to try new things and push for growth.
Every great artist shows change and development during his or her career - one only has to remember Vincent Van Gogh or Paul Gauguin, Claude Monet or Pablo Picasso, to name some artists rather at random. It should be axiomatic that artists evolve in their art for as human beings, we all change and develop as the years pass. Nonetheless, some artists are more dramatic in their evolution than others.
I was reminded about these potential huge leaps and changes that artists can make when I was reading about an exhibition running until 20th March at the National Portrait Gallery in London. Entitled Bridget Riley: From Life, it is a selection of the drawings that Riley did as a student at Goldsmiths College, London, in 1949-52. Most people think of Bridget Riley's work as the vibrant, brilliantly coloured, rhythmic compositions that dance and swoop in patterns in almost strobe-like fashion. An exhibition of such paintings, energetic and elegant, is also on view until May 22nd at the National Gallery, London.
Nonetheless, the drawings shown at the Portrait Gallery remind us that she started out very much involved and passionate about drawing from life, as well as closely studying the works of great artists - Raphael, Rembrandt, Ingres, Seurat, etc. - in the print room at the British Museum. Her drawings, such as this one on the right, Older Woman looking down, 1950 (image courtesy of the National Portrait Gallery), underscore the value she places on keen observation. She catches the sense of the body in space, how the head feels as the woman tilts her head reflectively, the resigned expression in the eyes. Riley's drawing practice helped her refine her immaculate sense of structure and taught her that there is a continuity in art's concerns down the ages. Her own drawing and her study of the Old Masters, she explains, "gave me the means to embark on my own work with confidence, and to this day this particular knowledge forms the basis of everything I do in the studio." As Andrew Lambirth also remarks in an article in the 5th February edition of The Spectator, "drawing gave her the necessary exercise in looking and organising information, and the means of bringing eye, hand and mind into fruitful relationship."
It is inspiring to measure the trajectory of such an artist: the serious art student carefully observing her portrait model at Goldsmiths evolves into a richly inventive, energetically wonderful painter, creating memorable abstract art, yet still closely linked to the great painters of the past.
Every great artist shows change and development during his or her career - one only has to remember Vincent Van Gogh or Paul Gauguin, Claude Monet or Pablo Picasso, to name some artists rather at random. It should be axiomatic that artists evolve in their art for as human beings, we all change and develop as the years pass. Nonetheless, some artists are more dramatic in their evolution than others.
I was reminded about these potential huge leaps and changes that artists can make when I was reading about an exhibition running until 20th March at the National Portrait Gallery in London. Entitled Bridget Riley: From Life, it is a selection of the drawings that Riley did as a student at Goldsmiths College, London, in 1949-52. Most people think of Bridget Riley's work as the vibrant, brilliantly coloured, rhythmic compositions that dance and swoop in patterns in almost strobe-like fashion. An exhibition of such paintings, energetic and elegant, is also on view until May 22nd at the National Gallery, London.
Nonetheless, the drawings shown at the Portrait Gallery remind us that she started out very much involved and passionate about drawing from life, as well as closely studying the works of great artists - Raphael, Rembrandt, Ingres, Seurat, etc. - in the print room at the British Museum. Her drawings, such as this one on the right, Older Woman looking down, 1950 (image courtesy of the National Portrait Gallery), underscore the value she places on keen observation. She catches the sense of the body in space, how the head feels as the woman tilts her head reflectively, the resigned expression in the eyes. Riley's drawing practice helped her refine her immaculate sense of structure and taught her that there is a continuity in art's concerns down the ages. Her own drawing and her study of the Old Masters, she explains, "gave me the means to embark on my own work with confidence, and to this day this particular knowledge forms the basis of everything I do in the studio." As Andrew Lambirth also remarks in an article in the 5th February edition of The Spectator, "drawing gave her the necessary exercise in looking and organising information, and the means of bringing eye, hand and mind into fruitful relationship."It is inspiring to measure the trajectory of such an artist: the serious art student carefully observing her portrait model at Goldsmiths evolves into a richly inventive, energetically wonderful painter, creating memorable abstract art, yet still closely linked to the great painters of the past.
Monday, August 20, 2012
The Power of Art
One of the most eloquent reminders I have met recently of the power of art to overcome even the most appalling of situations and experiences is the 1963 novel by the Czech writer, Josef Bor, entitled The Terezin Requiem. I found this slender book, republished in 2006 in French in the Libre de Poche edition, at Barcelona airport; it was a fortunate purchase. If you are lucky, I think it can be found in English, sometimes with the title, The Theresienstadt Requiem.
Although this is a novel, it is based on a true story. Josef Bor, a legal expert, was sent to Terezin, "the antichamber to Auschwitz", in June, 1942. Most of his family was killed in Poland, Terezin or Auschwitz. He was eventually liberated from Buchenwald in 1945, and in 1963, he published this book. It is about the Czech pianist and orchestra director, Raphael Schächter, who spent from November 1941 until October 1944 in Terezin; he was then transported to Auschwitz. During his time at Terezin, after eighteen months of the most determined and heroic work, he managed to put on a concert of Giuseppe Verdi's Requiem, with four soloists, a choir of one hundred and fifty singers and two pianos en lieu of an orchestra. To achieve that, he had to teach and rehearse with at least five hundred prisoners, because the Nazis kept sending off the singers to Auschwitz to be exterminated.
The book is a most beautiful and moving paean to the power of art to advocate for liberty and justice. Verdi's Requiem becomes the vehicle to assert the essence of human dignity, the absolute rejection of Nazi barbarism. Bor writes superbly, moving one through the incredible labours and odyssey of Schächter rehearsing and achieving the performance of the Requiem, which, as in real life, was ultimately produced - by a quirk of fate - with Eichmann, Moese and fellow SS high command in the audience.
Verdi's music is used to tell the story of the emotions, the suffering, the deeply shared empathies of the musicians. Aria by aria, the words, written by an Italian and rooted in the Catholic faith, are sung by Jewish prisoners as the ultimate resistance to their Nazi oppressors. Bor makes one understand just why this musical art can be so potent, so universal.
I don't think I will ever listen to Verdi's Requiem again without having in mind this beautiful account of music's redemptive, triumphant power in the name of freedom.
Although this is a novel, it is based on a true story. Josef Bor, a legal expert, was sent to Terezin, "the antichamber to Auschwitz", in June, 1942. Most of his family was killed in Poland, Terezin or Auschwitz. He was eventually liberated from Buchenwald in 1945, and in 1963, he published this book. It is about the Czech pianist and orchestra director, Raphael Schächter, who spent from November 1941 until October 1944 in Terezin; he was then transported to Auschwitz. During his time at Terezin, after eighteen months of the most determined and heroic work, he managed to put on a concert of Giuseppe Verdi's Requiem, with four soloists, a choir of one hundred and fifty singers and two pianos en lieu of an orchestra. To achieve that, he had to teach and rehearse with at least five hundred prisoners, because the Nazis kept sending off the singers to Auschwitz to be exterminated.
The book is a most beautiful and moving paean to the power of art to advocate for liberty and justice. Verdi's Requiem becomes the vehicle to assert the essence of human dignity, the absolute rejection of Nazi barbarism. Bor writes superbly, moving one through the incredible labours and odyssey of Schächter rehearsing and achieving the performance of the Requiem, which, as in real life, was ultimately produced - by a quirk of fate - with Eichmann, Moese and fellow SS high command in the audience.
Verdi's music is used to tell the story of the emotions, the suffering, the deeply shared empathies of the musicians. Aria by aria, the words, written by an Italian and rooted in the Catholic faith, are sung by Jewish prisoners as the ultimate resistance to their Nazi oppressors. Bor makes one understand just why this musical art can be so potent, so universal.
I don't think I will ever listen to Verdi's Requiem again without having in mind this beautiful account of music's redemptive, triumphant power in the name of freedom.
Art in the Supermarkets
I read of a wonderful, imaginative initiative for handicapped people to create art for supermarkets in Valencia and Palma de Mallorca, Spain. I think it is an example that bears copying, no matter where.
This was a report written by L.R. in the Diario de Mallorca on 19th February about about 200 people with learning disabilities who are creating a special Catalan form of mosaics (trencadis) for murals for the different branches of the supermarket chain, Mercadona. The idea was first put forward in Valencia by someone involved with polishing ceramic tiles: there are inevitably broken tiles and these have traditionally formed the basis of trencadis. The most famous exponent of the use of the irregular tile bits, set in mortar, was Antoni Gaudi. He began to use the brightly coloured, broken pieces of tile in his adornment of architectural elements in Barcelona's hillside garden, Parc Guell at the beginning of the 20th century.
This is part of a dragon at the entrance to the Parc, done in these broken ceramic pieces. Beyond, all over the Parc, there are wonderful combinations of brilliantly coloured tiles juxta-posed in joyous - often sinuous - configurations. One of the advantages of this trencadis form of ceramics is that the surfaces can indeed curve, something much more difficult with regular whole ceramic tiles.
Below, these are two other images of Gaudi's use of trencadis in Parc Guell, Barcelona.
Various non-profit organisations involved with caring for people with Down's Syndrome or other learning disabilities got involved in the Mercadona supermarket murals venture. The first mural was done for the fish section in one of Mercadona's supermarkets in Valencia. It was so well received that the meat sections were soon chosen as the next destinations for murals. From there, the idea has snowballed and many more people are involved in the creation of these murals.
Understandably, when they first learn they will be creating a mural some 5 meters long, the participants are somewhat daunted. But they are first taught to sort the ceramic shards by colour. Then comes the assembly of parts according to a design, and as the pieces are placed together on a flat surface, a mesh is then placed over them to secure them. Eventually everything is united in the overall design and mortared into place. In the execution of these murals, there have been many benefits for the participants. They are gainfully employed and taught a new skill, which involves concentration, coordination and application. At the end of the venture, the participants are able to see tangible results which give people pleasure and interest... and they have achieved something they thought initially that they could not do.
To me, it seems the most wonderful alliance of art and skills to enhance the buying experience for everyone in a supermarket, while uplifting and reaffirming the spirit of those who don't always have such opportunities. Good for Mercadona and all those involved in the trencadis murals!
This was a report written by L.R. in the Diario de Mallorca on 19th February about about 200 people with learning disabilities who are creating a special Catalan form of mosaics (trencadis) for murals for the different branches of the supermarket chain, Mercadona. The idea was first put forward in Valencia by someone involved with polishing ceramic tiles: there are inevitably broken tiles and these have traditionally formed the basis of trencadis. The most famous exponent of the use of the irregular tile bits, set in mortar, was Antoni Gaudi. He began to use the brightly coloured, broken pieces of tile in his adornment of architectural elements in Barcelona's hillside garden, Parc Guell at the beginning of the 20th century.
This is part of a dragon at the entrance to the Parc, done in these broken ceramic pieces. Beyond, all over the Parc, there are wonderful combinations of brilliantly coloured tiles juxta-posed in joyous - often sinuous - configurations. One of the advantages of this trencadis form of ceramics is that the surfaces can indeed curve, something much more difficult with regular whole ceramic tiles.Below, these are two other images of Gaudi's use of trencadis in Parc Guell, Barcelona.
Various non-profit organisations involved with caring for people with Down's Syndrome or other learning disabilities got involved in the Mercadona supermarket murals venture. The first mural was done for the fish section in one of Mercadona's supermarkets in Valencia. It was so well received that the meat sections were soon chosen as the next destinations for murals. From there, the idea has snowballed and many more people are involved in the creation of these murals.
Understandably, when they first learn they will be creating a mural some 5 meters long, the participants are somewhat daunted. But they are first taught to sort the ceramic shards by colour. Then comes the assembly of parts according to a design, and as the pieces are placed together on a flat surface, a mesh is then placed over them to secure them. Eventually everything is united in the overall design and mortared into place. In the execution of these murals, there have been many benefits for the participants. They are gainfully employed and taught a new skill, which involves concentration, coordination and application. At the end of the venture, the participants are able to see tangible results which give people pleasure and interest... and they have achieved something they thought initially that they could not do.
To me, it seems the most wonderful alliance of art and skills to enhance the buying experience for everyone in a supermarket, while uplifting and reaffirming the spirit of those who don't always have such opportunities. Good for Mercadona and all those involved in the trencadis murals!
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Our individual signatures in life
I was sent a wonderful quote recently in a newsletter from the National Association of Women Artists (of which I am a member). It is so interesting that, with a curtsy of gratitude to Nancy Coleman Dann who included it in the newsletter, I am going to reproduce it.
It was apparently dancer Martha Graham, speaking to Agnes DeMille, " There is vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action; and because there is only one of you at all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost. The world will not have it.
"It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other experiences. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open.
"No artist is pleased... there is no satisfaction at any time. There is only a queer, divine satisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others."
Interesting in every way, for an artist in any medium, and worth pondering....
It was apparently dancer Martha Graham, speaking to Agnes DeMille, " There is vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action; and because there is only one of you at all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost. The world will not have it.
"It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other experiences. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open.
"No artist is pleased... there is no satisfaction at any time. There is only a queer, divine satisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others."
Interesting in every way, for an artist in any medium, and worth pondering....
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Silverpoint drawing ahead!
I cannot believe it - the weather gods are finally relenting enough that I can get to Sapelo Island this coming weekend to be Artist-in-Residence again with my friend, Marjett Schille, courtesy of the Sapelo Island Estuarine Research Reserve. This is the third time we have planned this - third time lucky, I hope!
I have been packing my supplies for a plein air weekend, with lots of warm clothes as I don't think it will be that warm. But the main care has been to prepare enough paper so that I can get my teeth into some silverpoint drawing. I cannot wait!
Preparing smooth board or paper - archival of course! - with gesso, titanium white acrylic, Chinese white gouache or casein is the ritual one follows before embarking on a silverpoint drawing. The silver particles are pulled off the stylus by the very fine rugosity (fine, fine sandpaper, in essence) of the ground on the paper - that is how the silver marks are made.
Working outdoors, with shortened days at this time of year also means that I needed to prepare smaller sizes of paper for silverpoints. There just is not enough time to work on a large drawing, as this is a slow and meditative process. In order to achieve any serious darks in a silverpoint drawing, you need to let one layer oxidise, and then go back carefully over it again to lay down a slightly darker layer. All this takes time. If the weather is humid, there is always the danger of scoring the drawing surface when you go back over a previous layer of marks... so care is needed.
Nonetheless, silverpoint drawing seems to me to be an interesting vehicle to try and capture the luminous clarity of the marshes and vegetation in the salt-laden world that is a barrier island like Sapelo. Time will tell if I achieve any decent drawings... or perhaps I will have time too for some watercolour paintings. If the weather gods allow...
I have been packing my supplies for a plein air weekend, with lots of warm clothes as I don't think it will be that warm. But the main care has been to prepare enough paper so that I can get my teeth into some silverpoint drawing. I cannot wait!
Preparing smooth board or paper - archival of course! - with gesso, titanium white acrylic, Chinese white gouache or casein is the ritual one follows before embarking on a silverpoint drawing. The silver particles are pulled off the stylus by the very fine rugosity (fine, fine sandpaper, in essence) of the ground on the paper - that is how the silver marks are made.
Working outdoors, with shortened days at this time of year also means that I needed to prepare smaller sizes of paper for silverpoints. There just is not enough time to work on a large drawing, as this is a slow and meditative process. In order to achieve any serious darks in a silverpoint drawing, you need to let one layer oxidise, and then go back carefully over it again to lay down a slightly darker layer. All this takes time. If the weather is humid, there is always the danger of scoring the drawing surface when you go back over a previous layer of marks... so care is needed.
Nonetheless, silverpoint drawing seems to me to be an interesting vehicle to try and capture the luminous clarity of the marshes and vegetation in the salt-laden world that is a barrier island like Sapelo. Time will tell if I achieve any decent drawings... or perhaps I will have time too for some watercolour paintings. If the weather gods allow...
Lines and Swirls, Dots and Spashes
I am always fascinated to see the work of fellow artists in any group to which I belong in some fashion. The annual exhibitions of groups into which one has to be juried in some (often stringent) fashion are one example. The catalogues of shows by the National Association of Women Artists, the American Artists Professional League, Catherine Lorilliard Wolfe Art Club, the Pen and Brush or Georgia Watercolor Society, for instance, are wonderfully diverse, frequently of very high quality, and decidedly interesting overall.
Another group whose work I viewed today on the Web is formed by very distinguished artists whose work is in the New Hall Art Collection at Murray Edwards College, Cambridge, England. This is the pre-eminent collection of women's artworks in Great Britain. Artists in the collection were sent a small piece of paper and asked to create original art for auction on line to raise money for maintenance of the collection. I did a silverpoint drawing of an old cedar tree base, Cedar Lace.
Looking at the work now offered for auction on the New Hall website reminded me, once again, of the wonderful diversity of approach we all have as artists. Since each one of us had the same size piece of paper on which to work, it makes it even more interesting to see what each person has done. Lines and swirls, dots and splashes are indeed in evidence, with celebrations of so many different voices and ways of expression. New Hall has very sensibly made the initial bid very modest - £20 or $32.50 - and then you can bid in £5/$8 increments. Not bad at all as a way to own some of the top British artists' work.
I am reminded of the French exclamation: Vive la différence! It all makes for such an interesting world.
Another group whose work I viewed today on the Web is formed by very distinguished artists whose work is in the New Hall Art Collection at Murray Edwards College, Cambridge, England. This is the pre-eminent collection of women's artworks in Great Britain. Artists in the collection were sent a small piece of paper and asked to create original art for auction on line to raise money for maintenance of the collection. I did a silverpoint drawing of an old cedar tree base, Cedar Lace.
Looking at the work now offered for auction on the New Hall website reminded me, once again, of the wonderful diversity of approach we all have as artists. Since each one of us had the same size piece of paper on which to work, it makes it even more interesting to see what each person has done. Lines and swirls, dots and splashes are indeed in evidence, with celebrations of so many different voices and ways of expression. New Hall has very sensibly made the initial bid very modest - £20 or $32.50 - and then you can bid in £5/$8 increments. Not bad at all as a way to own some of the top British artists' work.I am reminded of the French exclamation: Vive la différence! It all makes for such an interesting world.
Friday, August 17, 2012
The Arts and Joy
I was listening to the BBC in the car today and heard a piece by the singer-songwriter, Tracy Chapman, talking of her acclaimed song,"Fast Car" and others. What I found interesting were her observations about the creative process being "very mysterious", in that she does not set out to deal with any specific issue. She apparently just sits down "for the joy of it" to create, using her love of music to develop whatever "inspires me". Although everything is autobiographical in some sense, she allows the creative process to evolve and lead her.
I kept thinking about the joy of the creative process, because of course, it resonates with me and every other artist in no matter what field. I could not help reflecting that it is indeed seldom that one hears of someone in business, finance or many other occupations who talks about experiencing "joy" in what he or she does. Perhaps that helps to explain why so many things go wrong!
For an artist, joy is an emotion that is complex, marvellous, fugitive and very precious. It is also highly unpredictable. Allowing time, space, quietness and personal happiness in one's life are all ingredients that feed into the joy of the creative process. Ultimately, for many people, creating is as simple as breathing, and as necessary.
From the perspective of someone whose mission it was to try and introduce people to this joy, awareness of the arts is key. Dana Gioia, former Chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts, said,"the purpose of arts educators is to create a complete human being who can lead a productive life in a free society...." To achieve a greater respect for the arts, he felt that experience was the best path. He evoked sitting in a concert hall and being "moved to the deepest centre of your humanity", going to a museum and being "simply ravished by what you see"...
Yet in order to be moved, ravished, uplifted, each of us has to benefit from fellow human beings who have experienced the joy and inspiration of creativity in some fashion and given us works of art. It is an extraordinary chain of gifts down the generations from time immemorial.
I kept thinking about the joy of the creative process, because of course, it resonates with me and every other artist in no matter what field. I could not help reflecting that it is indeed seldom that one hears of someone in business, finance or many other occupations who talks about experiencing "joy" in what he or she does. Perhaps that helps to explain why so many things go wrong!
For an artist, joy is an emotion that is complex, marvellous, fugitive and very precious. It is also highly unpredictable. Allowing time, space, quietness and personal happiness in one's life are all ingredients that feed into the joy of the creative process. Ultimately, for many people, creating is as simple as breathing, and as necessary.
From the perspective of someone whose mission it was to try and introduce people to this joy, awareness of the arts is key. Dana Gioia, former Chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts, said,"the purpose of arts educators is to create a complete human being who can lead a productive life in a free society...." To achieve a greater respect for the arts, he felt that experience was the best path. He evoked sitting in a concert hall and being "moved to the deepest centre of your humanity", going to a museum and being "simply ravished by what you see"...
Yet in order to be moved, ravished, uplifted, each of us has to benefit from fellow human beings who have experienced the joy and inspiration of creativity in some fashion and given us works of art. It is an extraordinary chain of gifts down the generations from time immemorial.
Charles Baudelaire et le Dessin
Étant donné que je me suis lancée dans la discussion des remarques de Charles Baudelaire sur le dessin, je dois quand même les reporter également en français, puis que la beauté du langage de Baudelaire le mérite. Selon Baudelaire, "un bon dessin n'est pas une ligne dure, cruelle, despotique, immobile, enfermant une figure comme une camisole de force. Le dessin doit être comme la nature, vivant et agité...la nature nous présente une série infinie de lignes courbes, fuyantes, brisées, suivant une loi de génération impeccable, où le parallélisme est toujours indécis et sinueux, où les concavités et les convexités se correspondent et de poursuivent."
En effet, j'ai repensé à ces remarques pendant que j'essayais de dessiner des paysages et nuages cette après-midi. Les nuages se formaient et se reformaient à une vitesse vertigineuse et tout changeait à chaque instant. Il fallait se concentrer sur la connexion oeil-main et ne pas penser d'une façon consciente pour arriver à faire même un croquis convenable. Baudelaire avait bien saisi l'essentiel de l'acte de dessiner quelque chose.
En effet, j'ai repensé à ces remarques pendant que j'essayais de dessiner des paysages et nuages cette après-midi. Les nuages se formaient et se reformaient à une vitesse vertigineuse et tout changeait à chaque instant. Il fallait se concentrer sur la connexion oeil-main et ne pas penser d'une façon consciente pour arriver à faire même un croquis convenable. Baudelaire avait bien saisi l'essentiel de l'acte de dessiner quelque chose.
A Dedication to Line-making
There is a very talented and dedicated artist whose work is currently on display at the Telfair Museums in Savannah, Georgia - Curtis Bartone. His ability to make lines sing and tell dense, thoughtful stories is remarkable.
I first met Curtis when we both were part of the 2006 Luster of Silver silverpoint exhibition at the Telfair Museum, and we later coincided with the second Luster of Silver exhibition at the Evansville Museum of Arts, Evansville, IN in 2009. When I first saw Curtis' fine lines in his silverpoint drawings, I was impressed and intrigued, for he uses his skills to make thought-provoking juxtapositions of human activity and nature.
In his current large exhibition at the Telfair, Domain: Drawings, Etchings and Lithographs, which runs from February 4th to June 26th, 2011, Curtis Bartone pulls one into realms that challenge one's assumptions about life on our planet, while leaving the viewer marvelling at his skills in etching and lithography, as well as in creating huge graphite or charcoal drawings and luminous silverpoints. Every work rewards careful study, like the print shown here, entitled "Election Day" (image courtesy of the Telfair Museums). In each drawing or print, dense lines build up compositions of flora and fauna against backdrops that jar, challenge and provoke our concepts of how we humans coexist with nature.
Domain is an exhibition that warrants repeated visits. The printer's skill and the draughtsman's skill, allied to an intense, informed series of disturbingly beautiful yet troubling messages, are such that you can't absorb everything all at one visit. Go and celebrate a master "line-maker" and draughtsman. Bravo, Curtis!
I first met Curtis when we both were part of the 2006 Luster of Silver silverpoint exhibition at the Telfair Museum, and we later coincided with the second Luster of Silver exhibition at the Evansville Museum of Arts, Evansville, IN in 2009. When I first saw Curtis' fine lines in his silverpoint drawings, I was impressed and intrigued, for he uses his skills to make thought-provoking juxtapositions of human activity and nature.
In his current large exhibition at the Telfair, Domain: Drawings, Etchings and Lithographs, which runs from February 4th to June 26th, 2011, Curtis Bartone pulls one into realms that challenge one's assumptions about life on our planet, while leaving the viewer marvelling at his skills in etching and lithography, as well as in creating huge graphite or charcoal drawings and luminous silverpoints. Every work rewards careful study, like the print shown here, entitled "Election Day" (image courtesy of the Telfair Museums). In each drawing or print, dense lines build up compositions of flora and fauna against backdrops that jar, challenge and provoke our concepts of how we humans coexist with nature.Domain is an exhibition that warrants repeated visits. The printer's skill and the draughtsman's skill, allied to an intense, informed series of disturbingly beautiful yet troubling messages, are such that you can't absorb everything all at one visit. Go and celebrate a master "line-maker" and draughtsman. Bravo, Curtis!
Baudelaire and Drawing
Charles Baudelaire, who prided himself on his abilities as an art critic, wrote a fascinating description of his concept of drawing for the 1855 Universal Exhibition in Paris. He said, "A good drawing is not a hard, despotic, motionless line enclosing a form like a strait jacket. Drawing should be like nature, living and reckless... nature shows us an endless series of curved, fleeting, broken lines, according to an unerring law of generation, in which parallels are always undefined and meandering, and concaves and convexes correspond to and pursue one another."
I was thinking about this definition of drawing today as I sat on a dock in the late soft afternoon breezes and tried to capture cloud formations as they waxed and waned in endless energy. Only by letting go of conscious thoughts and just trying to work the eye-hand connection could I get down anything that captured the endlessly majestic procession of the clouds. It was just as Baudelaire described the process of drawing.
I was thinking about this definition of drawing today as I sat on a dock in the late soft afternoon breezes and tried to capture cloud formations as they waxed and waned in endless energy. Only by letting go of conscious thoughts and just trying to work the eye-hand connection could I get down anything that captured the endlessly majestic procession of the clouds. It was just as Baudelaire described the process of drawing.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Annual Newsletters about Art
Writing a newsletter about one's activities in the art world is an interesting exercice, I have decided. For many years now, I have written one every summer, mostly just to touch base with my friends and art collectors. Many people who have collected my art have become friends, which is one of the nicest bonuses of all.
When an artist sits down and reviews what has happened during the previous year, it is sometimes instructive. You can assess clearly whether you are making an effort to put your work out in the marketplace and what the results have been. Measuring yourself against your peers is another important aspect of trying to grow as an artist: acceptance in shows that are juried or curated by respected authorities in the art world is always a plus, particularly for one's resume. But more than that, it is a benchmark in the quest to improve one's artistic skills.
A review of a busy year can yield clues as to what activities have been the most successful; it can also show up what lacunae may need perhaps to be attended to in the future. Outreach can take many forms, from exhibits to talks to articles in the press, or - as with this blog - on the Internet. All these can help foster the image/brand that you are endeavouring to present to the world as an artist. The philanthropic side of art shouldn't be forgotten either; art can help people and causes in many different ways.
Over the years, however, I have also realised that the personal side of being an artist needs also to be alluded to a little in a newsletter. Artists are human beings, with a personal life, and it influences hugely what sort of art is produced. I found that out very clearly earlier this year when illness and my husband's illness almost obliterated any energies for art for a while.
It can be very encouraging to see that despite the feeling that one has accomplished little in the previous twelve months, there are in fact exhibitions, actions and results to reassure one that, yes, I am a professional artist. Somehow, twelve months rush on in headlong fashion and it is easy to forget what has been accomplished. Try doing a yearly review and share your successes with your friends and collectors. It can be a worthwhile exercice.
When an artist sits down and reviews what has happened during the previous year, it is sometimes instructive. You can assess clearly whether you are making an effort to put your work out in the marketplace and what the results have been. Measuring yourself against your peers is another important aspect of trying to grow as an artist: acceptance in shows that are juried or curated by respected authorities in the art world is always a plus, particularly for one's resume. But more than that, it is a benchmark in the quest to improve one's artistic skills.
A review of a busy year can yield clues as to what activities have been the most successful; it can also show up what lacunae may need perhaps to be attended to in the future. Outreach can take many forms, from exhibits to talks to articles in the press, or - as with this blog - on the Internet. All these can help foster the image/brand that you are endeavouring to present to the world as an artist. The philanthropic side of art shouldn't be forgotten either; art can help people and causes in many different ways.
Over the years, however, I have also realised that the personal side of being an artist needs also to be alluded to a little in a newsletter. Artists are human beings, with a personal life, and it influences hugely what sort of art is produced. I found that out very clearly earlier this year when illness and my husband's illness almost obliterated any energies for art for a while.
It can be very encouraging to see that despite the feeling that one has accomplished little in the previous twelve months, there are in fact exhibitions, actions and results to reassure one that, yes, I am a professional artist. Somehow, twelve months rush on in headlong fashion and it is easy to forget what has been accomplished. Try doing a yearly review and share your successes with your friends and collectors. It can be a worthwhile exercice.
Travels and art
In the August edition of Arte, published in Spain, there is an interesting series of articles about travel's transformative power for artists, which ranges from David Roberts (Egypt) and Velaquez (Italy) to Klee (Tunis), Brassai (Paris)or David Hockney (California). Historically, artists have travelled to learn, to enquire, to expand their horizons or sometimes to flee. Think of Albrecht Durer, who so assiduously recorded his 1520-21 trips to the Netherlands in silverpoint journals. Remember Gauguin's trips to the South Seas, with extraordinary results in his art. But in more modern times, journeys have become easier and often swifter. Sometimes, that is all that suffices to allow an artist to make quantum leaps in his or her development. Other times, the results are not so felicitous.
It perhaps all reverts to that issue of a "sense of place". If you are somewhere new and trying to grapple with different conditions of light, topography, culture, colours..., it takes time to filter all that information into one's subconscious. The resultant art often shows up the learning curve, willy-nilly. In the Arte article entitled "Viajes Pintados" (Painted Journeys), the author, Raquel Gonzalez Escribano, posits that in the past, the slower tempo of journeys to other places allowed for a transformative depth and transcendence in work - paintings, architecture or sculpture - that is often absent today. She reminds us that Delacroix made one major trip in his life, through Spain to North Africa in 1832, and that time spent painting and drawing indelibly transformed his subsequent work. Indeed, Delacroix' journey influenced artists who followed him, and consequently changed the way we all view the world to some degree.
Ms. Gonzalez makes a persuasive case for all of us artists slowing down when we travel, allowing ourselves time to absorb and understand new horizons. Then, one hopes, we will be able to produce work of depth and quality. Returning to a place one enjoys and grows to know makes sense, in this context, even if it is travelling from one's home base. (Think of the summer art colonies in the North East for New York artists, for instance, which flourished from about 1900 onwards.) Plus ca change, plus ca reste la meme chose... Despite all our technology and speeded-up world, artists today still function mentally in the same way as in previous times. We still need to develop that sense of place.
It perhaps all reverts to that issue of a "sense of place". If you are somewhere new and trying to grapple with different conditions of light, topography, culture, colours..., it takes time to filter all that information into one's subconscious. The resultant art often shows up the learning curve, willy-nilly. In the Arte article entitled "Viajes Pintados" (Painted Journeys), the author, Raquel Gonzalez Escribano, posits that in the past, the slower tempo of journeys to other places allowed for a transformative depth and transcendence in work - paintings, architecture or sculpture - that is often absent today. She reminds us that Delacroix made one major trip in his life, through Spain to North Africa in 1832, and that time spent painting and drawing indelibly transformed his subsequent work. Indeed, Delacroix' journey influenced artists who followed him, and consequently changed the way we all view the world to some degree.
Ms. Gonzalez makes a persuasive case for all of us artists slowing down when we travel, allowing ourselves time to absorb and understand new horizons. Then, one hopes, we will be able to produce work of depth and quality. Returning to a place one enjoys and grows to know makes sense, in this context, even if it is travelling from one's home base. (Think of the summer art colonies in the North East for New York artists, for instance, which flourished from about 1900 onwards.) Plus ca change, plus ca reste la meme chose... Despite all our technology and speeded-up world, artists today still function mentally in the same way as in previous times. We still need to develop that sense of place.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Fragility in Time - an exhibit of antique glass
In Palma de Mallorca, at the Sa Nostra Savings Bank Foundation headquarters, there is the most exquisite and fascinating exhibition currently on display of antique glass from collections in Catalonia and from Sa Nostra's own collection. Diminutive, elaborate or simple vessels, of great variety and elegance, they spoke to one of an enormous span of time, made all the more eloquent by their fragility. Looking at these diverse pieces of glass, it seems nothing short of miraculous that such artistry could endure so long in pristine form.
As I find so often the case when looking at such an exhibition, this span of time brings one up short in salutary fashion about the so-called importance and skills of our own times. Glass was one of the very first materials that man elaborated - from earth, fire, air and water, the four basic natural elements. Not only does glass possess beauty, but it has certain unique characteristics - it is odourless, it does not confer any taste whatsoever, it is reusable and frequently can be recycled. The fact that glass was probably discovered, by chance, about 5000 BC and has not really changed at all, in its diverse possibilities of use, is an astonishing fact.
Pliny (AD 23-79) recounts that Phoenician merchants transporting stone were the first to discover glass, when they would go ashore and cook their food on circles of stones. The nitrate stones would melt in the fire's heat, mix with the beach sand and water to form an opaque liquid, the first glass. Stone Age man was also using natural glass or obsidian for his arrow heads. In the Book of Job, chrystal and gold are mentioned in the same verse (Job 28.17) as of great value. Cuneiform texts from Mesopotamia also talk precisely about how to make glass.
Certainly the first beautiful beads in the Sa Nostra exhibit were indicative of the luxury and value of these opaque small beads, made in Egypt and East Mesopotamia by 3.500 BC. Slowly, the glass makers developed hollow glass, and pieces from 1,600-1,500 BC have been found in North Syria and Mesopotamia, often using blue glass, with coloured glass strands applied, in their vases and other small pieces that imitated the shape of clay vessels. Apparently, there was already an example of the coincidence of discovery, so often seen since in many disciplines: hollow glass was independently being produced in Mesopotamia, Mycenae, China and the North Tyrol about 1.600 BC.
History does indeed repeat itself : Thoutmosis III, Pharaoh of Egypt (1504-1450 BC), brought Asian glass makers to Egypt as prisoners to develop the glass industry. His seal has been found on glass pieces. Glass remained a luxury item, however; it was regarded as important enough a commodity to have a glass making manual included in Assyrian King Ashurbanipal's magnificent library in 650 BC. From the archaeological finds and these documents, we know that the Eastern Mediterranean, was a major glass making centre, but that until about the first century BC, vessels were formed by rolling molten glass onto a clay/dung core. Despite that laborious process, the results are just as delicate and elegant as the later versions of blown glass. Glass blowing was developed in Syria and Babylonia during the period 27 BC - 14 AD, with glass blown through a tube, as today, but also blown into a mould. Sa Nostra's examples of both methods were memorable, mostly small but wonderfully diverse in colour and form.
The Romans of course were the magnificent propagators of the glass industry, spreading glass and glass making knowledge far and wide though their empire. Many of the pieces in the Sa Nostra collection came from finds in the neighbouring Balearic island of Ibiza, as well from the Spanish mainland. Sidon and Alexandria remained important glass centers and many of the pieces in the exhibition came from those cities. Blown glass permits more diversity of shape and thus allows glass to compete much more directly with metal and ceramic vessels, heretofore the only ones widely used in daily life. Glass became less of a luxury item, more useful for all, diverse yet standardised, and rapidly produced. As the Roman Empire waned, glass manufacture became more utilitarian and less diverse, whilst elsewhere, its elaborate manufacture continued, eventually to flower again in the Muslim world. The 13th and 14th century saw the apogee of Muslim glass manufacture and then glass making skills declined to the utilitarian once more. Later centuries brought more peaks and valleys in glass manufacture, until the revival of recent centuries. Today's wonderful glass artists, from Murano to Mallorca itself to individuals like Dale Chilhuly, William Morris and many others, have become the new alchemists of the glass world, fantastic heirs to those long-ago Mesopotamian and Egyptian artists of the small, the exquisite and the fragile. Go and see this exhibition at Sa Nostra if you are in Palma de Mallorca before August 26th. You will be entranced.
As I find so often the case when looking at such an exhibition, this span of time brings one up short in salutary fashion about the so-called importance and skills of our own times. Glass was one of the very first materials that man elaborated - from earth, fire, air and water, the four basic natural elements. Not only does glass possess beauty, but it has certain unique characteristics - it is odourless, it does not confer any taste whatsoever, it is reusable and frequently can be recycled. The fact that glass was probably discovered, by chance, about 5000 BC and has not really changed at all, in its diverse possibilities of use, is an astonishing fact.
Pliny (AD 23-79) recounts that Phoenician merchants transporting stone were the first to discover glass, when they would go ashore and cook their food on circles of stones. The nitrate stones would melt in the fire's heat, mix with the beach sand and water to form an opaque liquid, the first glass. Stone Age man was also using natural glass or obsidian for his arrow heads. In the Book of Job, chrystal and gold are mentioned in the same verse (Job 28.17) as of great value. Cuneiform texts from Mesopotamia also talk precisely about how to make glass.
Certainly the first beautiful beads in the Sa Nostra exhibit were indicative of the luxury and value of these opaque small beads, made in Egypt and East Mesopotamia by 3.500 BC. Slowly, the glass makers developed hollow glass, and pieces from 1,600-1,500 BC have been found in North Syria and Mesopotamia, often using blue glass, with coloured glass strands applied, in their vases and other small pieces that imitated the shape of clay vessels. Apparently, there was already an example of the coincidence of discovery, so often seen since in many disciplines: hollow glass was independently being produced in Mesopotamia, Mycenae, China and the North Tyrol about 1.600 BC.
History does indeed repeat itself : Thoutmosis III, Pharaoh of Egypt (1504-1450 BC), brought Asian glass makers to Egypt as prisoners to develop the glass industry. His seal has been found on glass pieces. Glass remained a luxury item, however; it was regarded as important enough a commodity to have a glass making manual included in Assyrian King Ashurbanipal's magnificent library in 650 BC. From the archaeological finds and these documents, we know that the Eastern Mediterranean, was a major glass making centre, but that until about the first century BC, vessels were formed by rolling molten glass onto a clay/dung core. Despite that laborious process, the results are just as delicate and elegant as the later versions of blown glass. Glass blowing was developed in Syria and Babylonia during the period 27 BC - 14 AD, with glass blown through a tube, as today, but also blown into a mould. Sa Nostra's examples of both methods were memorable, mostly small but wonderfully diverse in colour and form.
The Romans of course were the magnificent propagators of the glass industry, spreading glass and glass making knowledge far and wide though their empire. Many of the pieces in the Sa Nostra collection came from finds in the neighbouring Balearic island of Ibiza, as well from the Spanish mainland. Sidon and Alexandria remained important glass centers and many of the pieces in the exhibition came from those cities. Blown glass permits more diversity of shape and thus allows glass to compete much more directly with metal and ceramic vessels, heretofore the only ones widely used in daily life. Glass became less of a luxury item, more useful for all, diverse yet standardised, and rapidly produced. As the Roman Empire waned, glass manufacture became more utilitarian and less diverse, whilst elsewhere, its elaborate manufacture continued, eventually to flower again in the Muslim world. The 13th and 14th century saw the apogee of Muslim glass manufacture and then glass making skills declined to the utilitarian once more. Later centuries brought more peaks and valleys in glass manufacture, until the revival of recent centuries. Today's wonderful glass artists, from Murano to Mallorca itself to individuals like Dale Chilhuly, William Morris and many others, have become the new alchemists of the glass world, fantastic heirs to those long-ago Mesopotamian and Egyptian artists of the small, the exquisite and the fragile. Go and see this exhibition at Sa Nostra if you are in Palma de Mallorca before August 26th. You will be entranced.
Colour in art, colour in our eyes
The Louisiana Museum of Modern Art in Humblebaek, Denmark, has just opened an exhibit entitled Colour in Art. They combined works from their own collections with others lent by major collectors, Werner and Gabrille Merzbacher, to explore the role of colour in art and thus in daily life.
Colour underpins most artists' concepts in some form or another. The most obvious domain of colour in art is in paintings, done in many media. The perception of colour has changed considerably over the last 150 years or so, as societies and cultures have evolved. There has also been a huge evolution in the actual production of pigments and types of paint, which have increasingly allowed more brilliance and a more flexible approach to the creation of art.
Colour choices can be very personal, as we all know from the famous example of art to match the sofa demonstrates. Every choice we make in decorating our home is involved with colour in some way or another. So it is is no surprise that for an artist, the absence of colour (in a monochromatic work) or its presence - and in what fashion - both dictate a great deal about the creation of that particular work of art. Once created, artwork will then appeal to people through the colours used, to a great extent, whether the collectors and viewers realise it or not. Moods are created through a certain spectrum of colour, and people respond to those harmonies, even if only subliminally.
The Fauves - Andre Dérain, Henri Matisse, Raoul Dufy, Albert Marquet and others - used a bright, almost strident palette of broken colour to evoke the brilliant light and intensity of colour in the landscapes of the French Mediterranean coast. Nothing downbeat at all. By contrast, Picasso's Blue Period paintings are almost monochromatic and convey deeply gloomy and sombre sentiments. Picasso's close friend, Carlos Casagemas, had committed suicide in Paris in 1901. This affected Picasso deeply, and the resultant paintings of that period use colour to convey the melancholy and resignation he experienced.
The exploration of colour intensified as the artists of the mid-19th century began to move outdoors from their studios (mostly set up with northern constant light). They then got all excited about conveying the brilliance of light and its ever-changing qualities, when they worked plein air. After the Impressionists had pushed out the boundaries of colour use and perception, the field was wide open for everyone to experiment. Thus the Fauves and everyone else who followed, up to our time...
Meantime the development of new artificial pigments, types of paint binder and their presentation in the marketplace were following a parallel explosion. This is explored in the Louisiana Museum show, Colour in Art. There is also the interesting dimension evoked of the commercial use of colour, for logos, advertisements, etc., and the same colours used in art. As is cited in the article on this exhibit on ArtDaily.org, the blue which Yves Klein developed for his famous brilliantly intense canvases would be unlikely to be confused with the blue used in the logos and names of the United Nations, the European Union or even Nivea cream. In other words, context of culture influences our perception of colour. I am sure that in our digital (and globalised) age, where colour is intensified even more than previously, even cultural perceptions are constantly evolving.
Nonetheless, there is another dimension to colour, particularly in art. I found it an interesting juxtaposition to read about the Colour in Art exhibition and very soon afterwards, to find the following quote by Marc Chagall on Renée Phillips' Manhattan Arts International website: "In our life there is a single colour, as on an artist's palette, which produces the meaning of life and art. It is the colour of love (my emphasis)".
Something for us to think about....
Colour underpins most artists' concepts in some form or another. The most obvious domain of colour in art is in paintings, done in many media. The perception of colour has changed considerably over the last 150 years or so, as societies and cultures have evolved. There has also been a huge evolution in the actual production of pigments and types of paint, which have increasingly allowed more brilliance and a more flexible approach to the creation of art.
Colour choices can be very personal, as we all know from the famous example of art to match the sofa demonstrates. Every choice we make in decorating our home is involved with colour in some way or another. So it is is no surprise that for an artist, the absence of colour (in a monochromatic work) or its presence - and in what fashion - both dictate a great deal about the creation of that particular work of art. Once created, artwork will then appeal to people through the colours used, to a great extent, whether the collectors and viewers realise it or not. Moods are created through a certain spectrum of colour, and people respond to those harmonies, even if only subliminally.
The Fauves - Andre Dérain, Henri Matisse, Raoul Dufy, Albert Marquet and others - used a bright, almost strident palette of broken colour to evoke the brilliant light and intensity of colour in the landscapes of the French Mediterranean coast. Nothing downbeat at all. By contrast, Picasso's Blue Period paintings are almost monochromatic and convey deeply gloomy and sombre sentiments. Picasso's close friend, Carlos Casagemas, had committed suicide in Paris in 1901. This affected Picasso deeply, and the resultant paintings of that period use colour to convey the melancholy and resignation he experienced.
The exploration of colour intensified as the artists of the mid-19th century began to move outdoors from their studios (mostly set up with northern constant light). They then got all excited about conveying the brilliance of light and its ever-changing qualities, when they worked plein air. After the Impressionists had pushed out the boundaries of colour use and perception, the field was wide open for everyone to experiment. Thus the Fauves and everyone else who followed, up to our time...
Meantime the development of new artificial pigments, types of paint binder and their presentation in the marketplace were following a parallel explosion. This is explored in the Louisiana Museum show, Colour in Art. There is also the interesting dimension evoked of the commercial use of colour, for logos, advertisements, etc., and the same colours used in art. As is cited in the article on this exhibit on ArtDaily.org, the blue which Yves Klein developed for his famous brilliantly intense canvases would be unlikely to be confused with the blue used in the logos and names of the United Nations, the European Union or even Nivea cream. In other words, context of culture influences our perception of colour. I am sure that in our digital (and globalised) age, where colour is intensified even more than previously, even cultural perceptions are constantly evolving.
Nonetheless, there is another dimension to colour, particularly in art. I found it an interesting juxtaposition to read about the Colour in Art exhibition and very soon afterwards, to find the following quote by Marc Chagall on Renée Phillips' Manhattan Arts International website: "In our life there is a single colour, as on an artist's palette, which produces the meaning of life and art. It is the colour of love (my emphasis)".
Something for us to think about....
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