Tag: Art

John Duncan– A lesson in inspiration

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Over the spring holiday, I had the pleasure of heading to Edinburgh, Scotland and coming face to face with both well-known and lesser-known artists, throughout the Scottish National Gallery, Museums of Modern Art, Portrait Gallery, and Royal Academy. There’s something special about going to a new place with nothing planned but museum visits. I’m glad I had the chance.

What I perhaps most enjoyed was the Scottish National Gallery, which was a relatively small, but diverse collection of paintings, drawings, prints, and a few sculptures. The full breadth of “Scottishness” was on display, and a bit more from artists with different national origins. What I perhaps liked best about the museum was the laid-back atmosphere and non-sequential room set-up. A class of older students gathered around a piece to discuss its formal qualities. The entire building was carpeted, so only soft thuds and softer voices could be heard.

Among the SNG’s collection was Scottish artist John Duncan, who is significant enough to be in the gallery’s collection, but not significant enough to have an online article longer than a few paragraphs. I think his art mostly speaks for itself. Duncan was born the son of a cattle merchant in Dundee, Scotland 1866, and subsequently led a life completely

John Duncan - "St. Bride" 1913
John Duncan – “St. Bride” 1913

separate from cattle merchantry. He allegedly tried his hand at illustration and entered the Dundee school of art. He is a Pre-Raphaelite, symbolist, and his work felt inspiring to me as an artist.

“Saint Bride” depicts two angels safely transporting the sleeping saint to Bethlehem to witness the nativity of Christ. The angels’ gowns depict happenings in Jesus’ life. The pink clouds suggest a setting sun, as gulls fly alongside the angels over the sea. In the lower right corner, one can see the skyline of the city that Saint Bride is being gently carried from, and it gives the work a sense of journey. The seal that’s maneuvering through the dark, glossy sea is really charming.

The best bits of this work are the details found in the angels’ robes, and the playfully colored wings of the angels. Unlike some Pre-Raphaelite painters, the angels and saint have faces that convey a sense of personality, and a variance of expression. This is a piece that feels very modern in its coloring and style, and one can see how Duncan may have been an illustrator before he turned to more typical art forms.

Detail and negative space make this work impactful, and it seems there much more to notice for every moment longer that you look.

 

That Which Lingers Long After – “Fountain”

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Marcel Duchamp’s “Fountain” is a urinal turned on its side and signed– and I can’t stop thinking about it. “Fountain” is a ‘ready-made’ piece of art, meaning that it is an ordinary object that has been selected by an artist to become art, assigning something mundane a grander meaning. The artist, in this sense, has not created a new object, but created a new idea for an object.

“Fountain” was initially submitted to the Society of Independent Artists in 1917 under the pseudonym R. Mutt, but was rejected for its alleged indecency. Duchamp, who was on the board for the society quickly resigned in protest. What Duchamp had endeavored to do was test this organization’s that claimed to accept any work of art for display, and frankly, it failed. The result of this failure, however, is the infamy of “Fountain” and the IMG_20190204_125131introduction of a wholly new idea to the art world, conceptual art.

When we look at “Fountain”, it is glistening white and generally curved. When viewed straight on, it is reminiscent of the seated Buddha, or a woman’s cloaked head. This may not be purposeful, but is relevant to the way the viewer experiences the piece. Above the aesthetic is the original purpose of the object, a urinal intended to collect waste and be observed in the private space of a bathroom, rather than in the scrutinous eyes of the public. Context is important. History is important. “Fountain” challenges the institution of the museum or gallery as a home for greatness at the discretion of an elite board. “Fountain”‘ is a house guest that scoffs at its hosts.

What is most essential to “Fountain” is the idea. This is an exemplification of the transcendental quality of art making. Even less conceptual pieces take pigments and cloth and turn them into works that we regard as masterpieces, but materials are ephemeral. Despite the best conservationist’s efforts, physical materials are only capable of lasting so long. The copy of “Fountain” that the Tate Modern has on display is but a copy of the original, which has been lost. Despite this, to see it is to experience the idea that the very first “Fountain” carried within it– that physical objects can be lost, but ideas last forever.

For more information on “Fountain”, check out this Art Assignment video “Art or prank?”

Rothko’s Seagram Murals

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The Rothko room at the Tate Modern is an underappreciated treat for gallery-goers. The room is dimly lit, and feels much like a dive into the depths of a somber maroon ocean– or at the very least, that is how I suspect the room is meant to feel. Instead, the central bench was filled with people on their phones, having lunch, or disciplining upset children. It felt like the gallery-goers were present because they assumed nothing important was in there, and thus it was an excellent place to take a break from all the art.

I suspect visitors would react in this way because Rothko’s later work is an expression of simplicity and monumentality that speaks to the human drama that Rothko became acquainted with over the course of his life. The murals of this room were designed for the Four Seasons restaurant in the Seagram Building in New York as a retort to the wealthy patrons that the Four Seasons would attract. Rothko intended for the deep blacks, reds, and maroons to make these bourgeois guests feel claustrophobic, as if the windows and doors had been sealed with brick. These swathes of color speak to a somber oppressiveness that gyrates and shifts along the blurred and uneven edges of each profound rectangle.

Ordinarily, stillness is attributed to Rothko’s later works, but the reflection of each spotlight transforming the color of Rothko’s work makes these in particular feel like they are writhing. Most of the works are simple and symmetrical, but they strike me as being an unexpected stroke of profundity in a museum that otherwise caters to movement and interaction.

I’m glad that Rothko pulled out of his deal with the Four Seasons and sent these works across the sea to London, as in New York they would have been pearls before capitalist swine (Rothko was very leftist in philosophy). However, I can’t help but think that there’s perhaps a better resting place for this set of holy ghosts. I think to the Rothko chapel in Houston, Texas as a proper place for somber contemplation, the sort that these pieces demand of the viewer. I know that this is wishful thinking.

For an excellent explanation of Rothko’s works, check out the Art Assignment’s “The Case for Mark Rothko”

The Best Part of Edward Burne-Jones: William Morris

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The most excellent portion of the Tate’s Burne-Jones exhibition was without a doubt the stained glass, furniture, and tapestries in the final room of the exhibition, which presented Burne-Jones as a designer, which in many ways he was. Burne-Jones was one of very few at his time to value “low arts” such as textiles and stained glass as equivalent to fine art. (Art vs. Craft is still heavily debated today.) That said, Burne-Jones has William Morris to thank for these strokes of inspiration, as Morris was a designer through and through.

Morris and Burne-Jones began as schoolmates and shared homes and studio spaces as they matured. Morris’ life is well chronicled on his gallery’s website, which details the overlapping of the two artists’ lives, and in many ways elucidates their differences. Morris was even further a proponent of craft as art, himself being a master of weaving, drawing on medieval designs for his own textiles. Similarly Burne-Jones was often inspired by Renaissance art or biblical/mythical imagery. (Source.)

Both artists saw decoration as a valid and accessible way to bring art to the public, though Morris was far more of a socialist than Burne-Jones, in that regard. Morris felt guilt for the price of his work, something no common person could enjoy, and envisioned a world in which everyone supports one another and creates art by hand. Burne-Jones, on the other hand, was comfortable retreating into fantasy for the sake of avoiding politics. Art was one thing, but social change was another. While Morris’ social views were not impressed upon Burne-Jones, luckily his interest in 3D works was.

Looking more closely at the “Graham Piano” that was part of the exhibition, it almost takes on a sculpture-like presence. The hard edges and curves provide a structured feel while the soft flesh depicted on the inside of the piano lies in contrast. A womanly figure directs the cherubs in a scene that would be considered a formidable painting if it were located on canvas, but is further enhanced by its location on the interior of a piano. A piano, as an object, carries with it the hope of music, and the promise of sound, which abstract art might later try to convey. The functional use of the object, in this sense, elevates the imagery and creates an even more heavenly atmosphere.

It is a personal opinion, of course, that art which fills space is more interesting than flat pictures, but I hope that a look at Burne-Jones’ Prioress’s Tale Wardrobe or Ladies and Animals Sideboard will convey some of my enchantment with 3D art. My mind associates these works with illumination, the art of decorating a text with visuals, that it be better understood. The furniture becomes “illuminated” and takes on a greater meaning than its functional purpose as a wardrobe, piano, etc, just as a manuscript becomes something greater than simply a text to read.

There lies the bridge between art and craft, as while “art” is created for the sake of contemplation, “crafts” have a meaning beyond their functional purpose, transforming an object into a thing to be contemplated. This isn’t a perfect delineation of the difference between art and craft, but I hope it’s a new perspective to contemplate. Likewise I hope that more artists become inspired by Burne-Jones’ work, just as he was inspired by Morris’. The world always needs more textiles, stained glass, and wacky furniture.

Dale Chihuly- A Sidenote

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As I headed for the exit after my visit with Turner and Constable, I happened to glance up, into the great dome of the V&A, and I was immediately glad that I had. A great blue and green glass chandelier loomed above, its organic tendrils reaching out and touching my memory.

I sent a quick picture to my mother, who informed me that the artist is Dale Chihuly, whose work I’d looked at a thousand times in my hometown museum, The Art Museum of South Texas. Everyone in town knows Chihuly’s glass, in part because it was on the museum’s promotional ads for many years, and as children, we all took our turns looking in awe at Blue Cascade, which I’ve always considered a small divinity.

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Blue Cascade, 1999 Credit: Corpus Christi Caller Times

 

However, when I looked up and saw the V&A rotunda chandelier, Blue Cascade became a mere anemone in the face of an entire reef. I had to make sure my memory did not deceive me, so I looked into the Art Museum of South Texas’ digital archives, only to come up with nothing. Sadly, the website doesn’t appear to have more than 100 or so works online, which is a real shame, particularly in this case.

I love Blue Cascade, and I love Dale Chihuly’s glass. From the Art Museum of South Texas, you can see the ocean, the Harbor Bridge, and pelicans floating on the sea’s surface. Underneath is the fish, the plants, and often, the glass. Broken bottles beat against the sand and the rocks until frosted, smooth, and safe to collect, which is just what my mother and I would do when I was a bit younger.

Glass and water have a special relationship as things that shine, refract, and hold one another. The glass may be full of water, but one look into the ocean and you’ll see that the water is also full of glass.

Chihuly’s work incorporates space, color, light, and the most whimsical forms. Like most art, his work is transformative, from sand to glass, and glass to art. Shadows and reflections cast onto walls and ceilings elevate Chihuly’s art even further, and so I must say that if you ever get the chance to see his work in person, DO IT! Without a second thought. Pictures simply can’t do it justice.