slacker art

Luohan are Buddhist disciples near or in enlightenment. There are multiple layers of expression here, that all combine to give that serene yet slightly mischievous look so many Buddhist monks and priests have. The eyes are relaxed, the lips have a subtle hint of a smile, veins are popping on the forehead. The only thing that jumps out is the swollen nose, as if he just got punched in the face. Maybe instead of figuratively, he should have literally turned the other cheek.  

The photo has tons of movement, but the first thing that jumped out to me was the statue that looks just like one I see daily as I take the #2 bus up and down Lake Shore Drive. All those vertical lines make me want to soar straight up into outer space (especially on that darn neck tie).  And what about the poor sap with his arm cut off? It opens the scene up to our imagination.

Notice the guard rails on the left side. Worry not about the crumbling architecture or cracks in the immense arches, just don’t walk off the ledge. I also like the optimistic take on the water works.  He obviously has not worked with pipes before or else he’d know that plumbing is the FIRST thing to go.

 The tiny splash of aqua and green in the lower left is mysterious in its own right. If this was a posed session, perhaps it is a window in the back of the room. But for some reason it creates a wonderful counterpoint to the black, white and browns in the rest of the painting. Without it, the painting would still be profound. But with it, the world in which this scene exists is expanded.

I found a high resolution photo of this one. Such a complex scene as this rewards closer inspection. Click to embiggen.

This is Self Portrait, painted by Georgette Chen in 1946. Chen was a pioneer of the Nanyang Style of art, describing a small school of southeast Asian artists in the mid 20th century. Based in Singapore, they reflected a  cosmopolitan nature of the city that was far more complex than a simple east meets west narrative. This meant combining elements such as classical Chinese ink with oil- on-canvas impressionism and a heavy emphasis on localized nature scenes. This self portrait is very close to an ideal painting in my eyes. Her personal beauty is apparent without the oversentimentality of other impressionists, like Renoir. The simplicity of the painting belies an artist on a mission to say “this is who I am” and nothing more. No contextual scene or complex clothing. There’s just the face, hair, and glimpse of a collar. Even the colors are grounded and unpretentious. Despite that, the expression is confident and no-nonsense. The eyes are wide open and pupils dilated, with just a hint of brown, letting you know that she sees you as well. The only spark of color is in the lips, adding a subtle romantic touch, but not enough to stir emotion or controversy. Most of all, this painting looks real but not without beauty.

This is The Wedding, painted by Jacob Lawrence in 1948. I love invading privacy. When driving at dusk I like to look in windows and judge people's décor and sense of design before they’ve had a chance to draw the shades and nestle into the bosom of privacy. And having no such sense of my own, it’s the height of hypocrisy. But, like many hypocritical things, I still do it because it’s fun. In this painting, the stained glass columns make us outsiders at the wedding. Positioned in the aisle, we are neither with the bride nor the groom – instead stealing a peak into someone else's lives.  The framing is almost journalistic in its formality. The solemnity of the occasion is defined by the serious, almost brooding minister. Everyone’s backs are hunched, humbling themselves before God. And the couple are as anonymous as can be, representing the everyman and woman. But once all the rituality is shed, it's time to partay. In the background begins a joyous celebration of life. The vases appear to be shooting their bouquets into the air like confetti cannons.  Shaped like feet, they give an appearance of a crowded house party. This marriage is starting with a bang and by the time this night is over I expect to find footsteps on the ceiling.

This is Agora, sculpted and forged by Magdalena Abakanowicz in 2004-2006. I’m not sure it is fair to post an image of such an immense sculpture that is meant to be experienced. I hope this representation works. I run/walk by this often as it is in the neighborhood in which I live. It is profoundly different viewed from the street compared to up close or within. From the street, it looks like some rusted, uninspired 1970s-style sculptures leftover from when this neighborhood was a combat zone. They are like discarded, hollowed out vessels of homeless memories. Lost, forgotten but at least not alone. They sit in the middle of a rectangle park with nothing around it but empty grassland, which is in the middle of an exploding downtown high rise neighborhood. These are castaways on an island within an island.   However, they come alive when you walk among them. Their distribution resembles a real crowd in that it is both chaotic but also not without a sense of order that can’t quite be described except by the most nerdy of civil engineers. As you turn, the sculptures tend to move with you like eyes in a haunted painting. Some of it is the sense of parallax and some of it is because all of the legs are all in a state of movement. No one here is standing around waiting for Godot. There are 106 sculptures and they have been allowed to deliberately rust, which also create eerie shadows as the rust runs off across the concrete pads. I took this photo at dusk so it is hard to see, but in the comments I’ll post a photo that shows it well.

This is Silver Batman II, painted in 2012 by Joyce Pensato. Batman is usually portrayed as much more Man than Bat. In the movies at least, he has evolved over time into less of a hero and more of a spoiled neurotic with a temper problem. At the museum where I saw this, the label says this painting is a dig at that  hypermasculinity of Batman. I don’t see it. On the contrary, I  could see this as an effective promotional poster for Batman vs. Radiatorman, or whatever the next installment is. Batman is dark, morose, brooding and too-cool-for-school. In fact, it could even be a dig at the romanticism of the famous Spiderman kiss-in-the-rain scene. Perhaps the label's author interprets the thick drips of paint as reminiscent of tears. But the drips are all over the mask, even above the eyes. The colors and shiny, silvery background are extremely masculine. And the artist uses this technique in many of her other works – including those of nonmasculine characters such as Felix the Cat. If forced to read into these drips, to me it looks more like he’s blowing his nose than anything else. This could be a popular t-shirt for scorned Oakland Raiders fans upset at the team’s impending move to Las Vegas. Interpreted through that lens I CAN see the sadness in the painting. Who knew the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art had a Raiders fan on their curatorial staff?

This is “St. Gerardo Sagredo, Bishop of Csanád” by Bernardo Strozzi, painted in 1633. The eyes are the windows to the soul. In this case, the soul is as black as sackcloth. In this otherwise realistic painting, the eyes are pure black with no pupils and just a hint of white sclera. In modern entertainment , this is often a trope used to portray evil  or possession. Nice to know it’s a timeless archetype. It contrasts nicely with a fairly benign facial expression. But it gives double meaning to the outstretched hand, turning what is normally a sign of blessing into a subtle threat. The arm seems impossibly long, with the glove billowing forward like a projectile. Most crosiers, the curves at the top of staffs, do not have that half curve at the bottom. Instead they have a straight spine. So I wonder of the artist chose this particular model to portray a question mark and uncertainty. The artist has a conflicted relationship with religion. He spent the first ten years of his life in a monastery. He left it to care for his mother when his father died. A decade later, when she died and his fame as a painter had grown, the monastery tried to force him to return. He eventually had to flee. I can see why that would create conflict in the soul.   What is most brilliant here to me is the ever so slight tilt of the head. Portrayed straight on, then the piece would be too over-the-top and aggressive. Too much tilt would age the bishop and give him some sympathy. This tilt, along with the expression, portrays some warmth. Like a good piece of art, it plays with you and changes over time. At first I saw the painting as mischievous and tricky. But over time, and as I wrote this, I see it as more of a reflection of a truly conflicted artist.

This is “Constellation of Orion, defocused trails” photographed by David Malin in 1985. This is a long exposure photograph of stars in the constellation Orion the Hunter. It was slowly defocused in a series of steps to bring out the differences in point sources of light that can look quite uniform at a quick glance. Time has a way of doing that with everything.  People, places and things differentiate over time. But here time is only responsible for the movement of the stars. Its partner in crime is focus, which spreads out much of the light that was wasted when concentrated allowing us to see these stars in their full beauty. Art can provide that defocus to life. And aging art is even better because it has that extra dimension of time. Art itself changes what we see in the world and time changes the perspective from which we see it. The star trails’ directions merge together, which takes what could possibly seen as a fast moving scene and turns it into something more like a dance.  To me, the red star is a celebrity chased by the blue paparazzi. The Hunter being hunted. Image © 1985-2002, Australian Astronomical Observatory.

I like to get a little bit of my philosophy in the title, and I like That Which I Should Have Done. It happens to almost everybody, almost every day.” - From http://caveat-lector.org/1402/rtf/Anthony_Albright.rtf

This is “Mrs. Darrow”, painted by Manierre Dawson in 1911. This one is all about control and power. This woman, let me go out on a limb and presume it’s Mrs. Darrow, is the architect of this scene. She reminds me of a cat perched atop a bookshelf, surveying her domain and deeming it satisfactory. The white middle of her blouse even resembles a cat resting on her chest. Here comes a paragraph of sci-fi references. Her ears could be Vulcan and her claw reminds me of Dr.  Zoidberg. Her smirk and wink are a tractor beam pulling us into her dominion. And finally, the way her body twists is an allusion to Jabba himself. It’s that twist that I love but really don’t get. Is she emerging from shadowy smoke or is she bending in an unholy, serpentine manner? The angles are all severe and her widow’s peak is sharp enough to cut diamonds. But it’s leavened with very warm colors, which are characteristic of this artist. She comes across as that fierce leader whose very ruthlessness makes you love her even more.  And, if you want it, there is something a little bit flirtatious here as well.

This is Pergola with Oranges, painted in 1834 by Thomas Fearnley (Norwegian). Oranges abound high and low like sprites in a Miyazaki movie. The brightness of the light and luminescence of the orange colors jump out immediately. In person, this painting practically glows. It’s joyous and carefree – until you look at the lines. The large, square columns exude strength and steep stone walls create an inflexible path down the middle towards a dark, gated doorway. You may gaily play in this world, but fate wins in the end. At first, I thought the guy in the middle was reading a newspaper. But a closer inspection reveals he’s sketching – or else doing the crossword.   The oranges fly high and crash down around him like a flock of Icaruses. (Speaking of Icarus, my brother and I spent a week playing the Kid Icarus video game as a kid simply because we thought it was funny that when you “died” you are turned into an eggplant.) It is intriguing how someone could include so much color and light into a painting while at the same time including so much linear structure. This painter's mind must be a complex place.  It is similar to a band like The Smiths who created such upbeat music and melody matched with terribly dour lyrics. The artist likely painted this while on a sojourn to southern Italy with some friends. It's impressionist 30 years before the impressionists. Click the image to embiggen and see the wonderful detail.

This photograph is “titled” Untitled #696-05 and was taken by Richard Misrach in 2005. This photograph captivates not only because of the beauty but also it is loaded with dichotomies.  First, there is the pair who, despite utter solitude on a large beach, could not be closer together. Then there are the chaotic footprints suggesting that not too long ago (a few hours?) this empty space was a super bustling and crowded beach. (One could write a nice short story around what these folk did to chase the others away.) Finally, look closely and you can see subtle lines in the sand heading to the water where they clash with perpendicular lines in the waves.   As far as I can tell, there are no footprints leading to the couple, suggesting they’ve either been there a very long time or this was super staged such that the beach was manicured after the models struck their pose. Google says the artist took the photo from a building, suggesting this is a hotel beach. In person, the wave action on the sand look like paint so while exposures can do tricky things, I do wonder if this is part photograph part painting. In any case, it’s a beauty.  Not to mention an idea of a dream vacation.

Everyone is having fun here except a couple of dudes about to pass out. Notice the lack of red solo cups, surely a statement about communist oppression of the bourgeoisie.   Motley felt like his works should be accessible to all races, so as to offer a glimpse into his own race.  He called it the “art approach” and I wonder if the hue was an attempt to remind everyone that life is always seen through filters. Differences remain, and here you still see a variety of skin tones, but they fade beneath a purple haze.   I especially like the three glowing drinks on the counter, which remind me of Flaming Moes. Notice how alcohol, not music, is the star of this party. You can barely see the jukebox but alcohol is exalted and held up high. Raise the roof? There is no roof.  And also, no distinction between the floor and walls, which give the room an infinite feel.   The artwork reminds me of the cover to the Marvin Gaye album “I Want You”. A great album, its cover has also been inspirational and I sometimes use it as my Desktop background at work – especially when I’m in the middle of writing a lengthy manuscript or spending days prostrate in front of the gods of statistics.   To sum it up: Got to get your drinks up in order to get down.

As part of a disengagement from news and such, I’ve been spending my lunches going through a Udemy art history course on the renaissance. I used to read the NYTimes and BBC web sites at lunch, but now find 30 minutes on Dante Aligheri’s view of Hell as being strikingly less grotesque.   This artwork cracks me up. The instructor of the course I’m watching argues that Giotto had a sense of humor that he’d slip into his paintings and fresco. St. Francis was rumored to believe that all of God’s creatures deserved to be served. So here Giotto has him preaching to the birds, literally.   This is not silly because it is ludicrous. I find the idea romantic and the fidelity to his faith to be a sign of courage and strength. It’s humorous because, frankly, the birds are just so darn into it.   The leaves and aura/halo really pop out. But that could be a result of differential aging upon the various types of materials used on this fresco. Different pigments and types of plaster were used throughout the fresco based on artistic and economic considerations. There is so much art I’d love to see in its original form and we’ll simply never know how it was intended to be seen. Also, what’s up with the shadow of the tree resting on the sky? To sum it up: Birds of a feather worship together.