The Art I Saw in 2011

I just finished my tally of all the art I saw last year, which was a lot.  Too much for one blog post, frankly.

The year started out with a visit to the uber-packed blockbuster Van Gogh, Gauguin, Cezanne & Beyond at the DeYoung Museum. The stand out for me was the glaringly offensive lack of attention by museum goers to the four or five **amazing** works by Henri Toulouse Lautrec. This was of course in favor of three or four paintings by Van Gogh.  Of course. Why the museum decided to group all of Van Gogh's work into one corner is a mystery to me. There were some interesting Symbolism and Les Nabis paintings in the show too. Highlights are on this blog post.

I took my beginning art students to see Eva Hesse Studio Works at Berkeley Art Museum. It was a small show featuring some of the relics from her studio, and revealed a truly honest process. Her work is so corporeal. I'm always intrigued by it. It's also interesting to see how the synthetic materials, like the latex and resins, break down over time. It's even a growing field for conservators!

By FAR, the highlight of last year was Charlotte Salomon's Life or Theatre at CJM! I feel really fortunate to have gotten a chance to see this Magnus Opus in person, especially during a time when I was working on my own personal narrative. Her work, and writings, and story provided a lot of information to draw from. Although the 300 or so paintings in the exhibit only covered about 20% of the entire Opus, it was still amazing and eye-opening.

I got a chance to visit Philadelphia to catch the Barnes Collection in it's original location, before it gets transferred to Museum Row. What can I say about this place, and this work? It's CRAMMED with paintings, furniture and Pennsylvania Dutch metalwork. The highlight for me was the sheer volume of Renoir paintings that alerted me to a level of grotesqueness that I had never realized before, and that caused a nauseating sensation. Also, I felt that many of the truly interesting paintings were placed in obscure places, like in corners or above doorways or friezes.  It also reinforced my love for Degas.

While in Philadelphia I also got the chance to visit the Philadelphia Museum of Art - specifically to see, for the first time, the amazing Marcel Duchamp installation, Étant donnés: 1° la chute d'eau, 2° le gaz d'éclairage. The word mind-blowing doesn't do it justice. My advice to any travelling to Philly: go in the back entrance of the museum and make a bee-line for Modern Art.  Skip it all and head to the last room, where all the Duchamp work is. Tucked in the rear corner is the permanent resting place for Étant donnés: 1° la chute d'eau, 2° le gaz d'éclairage.  Stick with the work for a while.  One look through the peep-hole isn't enough (that's the amazing genius of this work. It requires us to complete it in our minds).  Then, wind your way back through Modern Art, which will take you in a somewhat backwards chronology. The way you will experience the rest of the work in the museum is dependent on seeing Duchamp FIRST.

At the Philadelphia Museum of Art I got a chance to see Whistler's Nocturne painting. It's really small, about 5" x 10".  Funny, I just saw another Whistler painting at the Legion that was about 3" x 5" and it was dear!

Back home there were some gallery shows that really stick out in my mind. One was a collection of Jay DeFeo works at Hosfelt Gallery and the other was Lynn Hershman's solo show at Gallery Paule Anglim. Of course, there were dozens of great contemporary art shows, but those were the two that really nailed it for me.

I did see the Stein's Collect show at SFMOMA, and the coinciding Seeing Gertrude Stein show at CJM. Big year for Gerty. Maybe now I'll hear less of "There's no There There". To be clear,  I'm not annoyed at what she said, it's actually not important at all. I'm annoyed at the incessant use of it! Anyhow, the work in Steins Collect was very difficult to see through the throngs of people, so I kinda rushed through it. Although, I was glad to see a Balthus painting in person.

I saw two master painting shows: One was the Dutch and Flemish Masterworks at The Legion of Honor, and the other was Masters of Venice at the DeYoung. The similarities were that they were both rather small exhibits, but the museums charged extra to see them anyway. In fact, every "special show" charged extra admission, rendering it impossible to actually go to a museum for free, even on free day.  Grrrr...  I think that's the way things are going to be from now on. I wrote a piece on Realism in this blog post, sort of a response to SF Chronicles only art critic, Kenneth Baker, using the phrase Realism incorrectly. The Venetian Masters show was, sad to say, a little lackluster - mostly in scope, and not in the works themselves.  But well curated shows make a difference for the work.

Oh, also Berkeley Art Museum had a show of etchings by Whistler. This is the stuff to study, study, study, and absorb.  ... and there was Create! which I thought was good too.

It's a gift to get to pick and choose to do the things that interest us, and inspire us to put our best foot forward, and to make our best work.  With enough planning, we can go on Free Day, or simply visit galleries and see everything for free.  It's important for artists to see work in person.  Remember that, and get out to see some art!

And on that note, my next trip in the very neart future will be to the San Jose Museum of Art for Joan Brown's show, This Kind of Bird Flies Backwards, and to the Rosicrucian Museum to look at Egyptian Art.

Mrs. White, 2011, oil pastel on paper, 11 x 11 inches

Flash Flood

study for Flash Flood, 2011, pastel on paper, 22 x 22 inches

Yesterday's NYT promotional bit on Hirst outlines his plan to showcase only spot paintings at all eleven Gagosian locations. Granted, it's fluff, but it is problematic because Hirst doesn't say much anything about his spot paintings as legitimate works. I mean, he has an eleven-gallery, one-man show, and the best description he has for them is that "they're not easy to look at". All coyness aside, doesn't that essentially mean they amount to Op-Art? And how does that justify their importance? Understandably, a lot of what he does is about making people uneasy, but optical uneasiness is quite different from social unease, the latter being what's hinted here.



Damien Hirst with one of his spot paintings, courtesy of The New York Times

Hirst says this is like "having a Museum Retrospective"... in eleven places. Hirst has a museum retrospective coming up next spring at the Tate Modern already. Gagosian's explanation for what makes this grand showcase worthwhile is that they "have entered into popular culture". Therefore, this Gagosian version is not at all retrospective, but rather Franchise Branding, to a T. The spot paintings are the (really expensive) gift shop accompaniment to the museum show: superfluous yet ubiquitous. 

Still, examining it under that lens is more interesting than "they're not easy to look at", and sparks an interesting thought process - one that may lead to questions about art that is fully absorbed into popular culture. But have the spot paintings actually done that, and if so, why?

There is obvious potential for interesting dialogue around this topic, and it IS taking place, just on the margins of art, not in the big box stores. I suggest reading Bourdieu's "The Field of Cultural Production" as a starting point.

I've heard the notion that some day Damien Hirst's spot paintings are going to reveal themselves as a form of subversive art. I believe I read that a while ago in his book On The Way To Work. Personally, I don't see it, and yesterday's article confirms my position. Their potential to reveal themselves as TRULY subversive would have to be in their commercial worth, first. Pictorially, they do not have much significance. So hypothetically, if the paintings did perform some subversive function, Hirst would have to figure out a way to completely DE-value the paintings after his death. The whole would take on the form of an intervention of sorts, or institutional critique, and the joke would be on the Gagosian brand and franchise for once and for all.

"She walked the walk, but she didn't talk the talk." (Jodi Throckmorton on Joan Brown).

The premise of the discussion in the video is that Joan Brown "walked the walk (of the Women's Movement), but didn't talk the talk".

Throckmorton mentions that Joan Brown held conflicting views of the Women's Movement. What were those conflicting views? Maybe they don't matter in the show over all, but I think they matter, so long as we are discussing an artist's parallels with the movement, or view her work in this context. I could surmise that perhaps one conflict could have been that she shared the goals, yet could not sacrifice studio time in favor of being on the front lines, but that may have meant not having a full voice within the movement? It could have been not wanting to fully conform to any specific gender-role, or the dismantling of ALL gender identity roles, and that perhaps had been painted as a black and white issue?

Perhaps we can examine it by remembering the climate around Women's Liberation at the time, and differentiate it from the climate today. It was a vilified movement in which an individual, especially a woman, could have easily been isolated in her own home for participating. The movement was seen as a threat to what society saw as good and normal, so to be a vocal participant would have meant taking risks among family and household first, then workplace, school, and then social groups. Therefore, the common mantra "I don't label myself a feminist" was something a woman would say, so she could live her life freely and openly, embrace the ideals and goals of feminism, and avoid the very real social stigma of the F-word.

For me, that she "walked the walk" but didn't "talk the talk" is a non-issue, given the complexities of the history of the Women's movement and the social constraints that were palpable to everyone at the time. And while a woman may have had good reason to avoid being labeled, there's a suggestion here that labels are still something to fear today. Throckmorton sort of hints at this with her gesticulating while using the saying "shouting from the rooftop", as if it's something silly or extreme. Is this a necessary discourse for an institution to embark upon?

Maybe Joan Brown didn't "talk the talk", and Joan Mitchell never wanted to be called a "Lady Painter", but that doesn't really mean much, except the desire to avoid being pigeonholed. We all know that transcending marginalization and tokenism takes delicate maneuvering. But let's not forget those who did talk the talk, and with full awareness of the societal factors, because they too have done us a great service. The work of quiet trailblazers wouldn't have gone very far without the loud, vocal call for social change.

Okay, next up: visiting the show!

And, if you are in Miami for the art fairs, stop by Andrea Schwartz' booth at Red Dot Miami.

Frederick Judd Waugh 1860 - 1940

Frederick Waugh, At the Base of the Cliff

and here's a link to a blog Marine Oil Paintings

Thanks for the tip about FW, Kathryn!

The Ocean

What does water do when it's moving?

These breaks - moving really fast, and with many yards of foam - had just the right kind of physics I was looking to study for some new paintings I'm working on. I'm noticing the long shadow cast by these foamy breaks, creating good contrast between the white-white foam and the water getting sucked under it.

I keep hoping (in vain) to commit each wave to memory. I do this with a lot of things I see in the world. Although I often fail, I do find the excercise of trying to be a worthwhile pursuit. And luckily we have snapshots to work with. What in the heck did the maritime painters do before it?

The Gleaners

Jean-François Millet (II) (1814–1875), The Gleaners, 1857, 84 × 111 cm

The Wave

Whoa


Gustave Courbet, The Wave, 1870, 80 x 100 cm, oil on canvas, courtesy of Museum Oskar Reinhart am Stadtgarten

Ella Woodhead, age 7

Seven year old, Ella Woodhead swam the length of the Golden Gate Bridge a few days ago. This video captures her final minute or so before she reaches the finish.

I'm working on a lot of water in my paintings lately, and I love the vantage point in this video, and it triggers personal memories for me, although far, far different ones. I'm also just interested in it visually–the grey sky, dark grey choppy water, her green cap popping up above the horizon, which is framed low so the view can imagine being in the water with her.

Here's a link to the article about this fantastic swimmer.

The Mill and The Cross

The Mill and The Cross is a movie out in theaters that attempts to conceptualize a "moment frozen in time" through the lens of this painting.



Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Way to Calvary (or The Cross of Christ, or Die Kreuztragung Christi), 1564, oil on wood, 124 × 170 cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum

Also, look at The Triumph of Death:

The Triumph of Death, 1562

Oakland artist John Casey opens his solo show today: "Tall Tales: Collaborative Projects by John Casey & Friends"

Here's a preview of my contribution to his epic collaboration:

Photos from Altered Ground

Some images from the show I am participating in:













Altered Ground
Work-Ann Arbor
University of Michigan School of Art + Design

goes until October 7th

Participants:
Robert Platt
Janie Paul
Joel Wellington Fisher
John Ganis
Aaron Bobzien
Virginia Calwell
Monique Jansel-Belitz
Cythia Brinich-Langlois
Sung Rok Choi
Michael Ambron
James Nakagawa
Joe Lingeman
Zane Davis
Simon Mennar
Shelly Given
Ryan Boatright
Anna Collette
Ali Taptik
Jason Nein
David Lefkowits
Autumn Wetli
Mike Shankman
Adam Weir
Naragkar Glover
Osamu Nakagawa
Paola Vezzani

Black

Black Pigment.

It's on my mind. Heavily.  Do you know how many black pigments are manufactured these days?  It's hard to say, but here's a comprehensive list of black pigments.  That's a website I use to search the index codes for pigments, and comes in handy when looking at mixtures from the tube.  Anyway, most of us usually only go out and get Mars Black (PBk11), Ivory Black (PBk9, or Bone Black), or Lamp Black (PBk7 or Carbon Black), and each manufacturer usually makes a black mixture or two.  Williamsburg makes about 8, Gamblin about 4 or 5, Old Holland actually only 3, and so on.

Mars Black is opaque and matte and has a high tinting strength.  Ivory Black is transparent and shiny with a low tinting strength.  Lamp Black is also called Carbon Black, and is derived from, you guessed it, lamp soot (traditionally at least).

So, we have these pigments, that have been available since humans have been able to mix charred carbon material with a binder.  But then in art school we are told not to ever use them. If you want to use black, mix chromatic, transparent pigments until you get a black.  While a mixed black can be controlled by the painter, therefore it's good to know and understand that technique, a carbon black will have different physical properties all-together, which should be discovered and enjoyed as well.


My hunch is that the rule against black pigment, specifically carbon black, is that it's a more difficult paint to control and to dictate the terms, and that the rule against pure black paint is derived from the school of representational painting, or a foundation course so to speak, and only exists to avoid pitfalls.  Bah!  An advanced painter must treat painting not in the binaries of representation versus abstraction. My sense is that the old masters didn't even look at it like this. It frees us up for the larger scope of opportunities that lie before us. And since we have been fortunate enough to have living painters like Gerhard Richter spell it out for us, we may as well utilize this information and take advantage of it.

I just saw DEFEO at Hosfelt Gallery, SF.  My thoughts on black pigment had already been percolating, and after this became ever more pronounced.  Hooray for that!  The show has paintings on canvas, on paper, and xerox art (carbon!).  This small-ish survey show, that intends to pre-empt a travelling retrospective of Defeo's beginning at SFMOMA next year, exemplifies a serious investigation into black, and black pigment.  (Obviously there are many more facets in her investigations, but you can read about all that in the show catalogue).  The large painting, titled Bride, struck me in a profound way.  What she does in this painting, with so much deftness, is lay different black pigments, some pure, some mixed, some glossy, some matte, over one another to discuss form, both literal and not, and therefore to reveal not deftness, or virtuosity, but a sincere corporeal curiosity.

Jay Defeo, Bride, 1986. Courtesy of Hosfelt Gallery

I think black pigment challenges us to grapple with the physical characteristics of an ancient material, and therefore forces us to forgo a sort of ego driven virtuosity too.  To be able to command a material that we are told never to ever use is a remarkable thing.  To be up to the challenge of it, and to conquer the so-called pitfalls of it, is something I personally want to embrace, and get better at.

Here's a painting I did months ago, and had in my MFA show.  The whole top half has a lot of varying thicknesses of Ivory Black.  The bottom half, the yellowish part uses Ivory Black mixed with Dyarlide Yellow.

Shangri-La Girls School: Vincent Hill Dirty Socks, 2010

I'll end the conversation with a painting by Kerry James Marshall, who used pure black pigment in his figures as a rhetorical statement for blackness. I guess I can go into more of that later. Until next time, thanks for reading

Kerry James Marshall, Lost Boys aka Black Johnny, 1995