Category: Art

When I took my short jaunt to Atlanta, two weeks ago today, it was, ostensibly, to see an exhibit of works by Matthew Pillsbury.  It was well worth the effort for that reason alone, but of course the trip proved fortuitous on more than just that one level.

I had seen Pillsbury's work before, black and white photos taken over a long exposure period, sometimes of family and friends in a fixed room, sometimes in public spaces, photos much like the one shown above: Main Staircase, Kunthistorisches Museum, Vienna, 2014.  This was the first thing I saw when walking through the door into the gallery.  And it is stunning.  It captures what I love about the artist's work, the contrast of the space and the grand edifice in this case of the works of art made by human hands, shown in conjunction with the blur of human movement, and the struggle of humanity between our heroic struggle to be and create something lasting and permanent combined with the ephemeral nature of our own lives.

But this was only the beginning, for when I turned into the room, I was stunned by the exuberance of color.  I love Pillsbury's black and white work, indeed I have a fondness for black and white photography, but the color works seemed to bring an entirely different perspective and dimension to his work

 

.Although there were more photos of people looking at works of art, and photos of peoples in gardens that seemed almost otherworldly, two photos particularly captured my imagination. The first photo, Morning Rave, Judson Memorial Church, 2014, virtually buzzes with life and energy, and energy that seems to flow off the paper.  I love the contrast of the stained glass, the architecture, the joy of the many young people blurred together and moving, a mass of joy, and the sharp contact of the modern electronic equipment in the foreground.  In fact, it is almost too busy for me, too jangly to my nerves, but that is its very essence, and its beauty.  It seems to capture a sense of the high-speed overstimulated aspect of modern life, and aspect made ever more poignant by its setting within the calming edifice of this church.

 This second photo, Grande Palais des Glaces, Paris, 2014 is much more my speed, less jangly and more contemplative, and yet in no way passive. Once again there is the massive structure, but this one is filled with light, with hope with promise, and a fragile permanence, as if we can de defy fate.  Once again there is the blur of humanity, almost like a fog, figures occasionally emerging and almost disappearing again as one looks on, reminding us that nothing is permanent, nothing is as it seems, nothing except light and fog, and yes, perhaps hope.

I also looked at many black and white proofs.  Two in particular have remained firmly planted in my memory:

This one, Inflating the Balloons, American Museum of Natural History, 2011, once again capture something essential about modern life and culture, about the mix of pop culture, the edifices and structures of society upon which everyday life is built, and both the lasting impact and fleeting nature of every moment.  What seems so important in this moment may be lost to the next generation that passes by, and yet each and every moment has its effect on us, and others as we joint the flow, acknowledged and understood or not.

But this is my favorite: Patrice Boissonnas, Monday, December 1, 2008.  What appeals to me is the artist captures the sense of the public and the private and the way the artist captures the essence of our inner, intimate worlds, and our relationships with the great world through the glass, or through our eyes and beyond our hearts.

Matthew Pillsbury's work is in the collections of many museums.  I have previously seen his work at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, Tate Modern in London, and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.  I am sure there are many other places to see his work as well, and aside from the show in Atlanta which ends in 2 weeks, there is currently a show of his work in Vancouver, of different pieces than I saw in Atlanta, which I believe closes at the end of this week.  If you find yourself so inclined, I highly recommend seeking out his work and taking a look.  The physical presence of the originals is far greater than what is captured in these photos.

 

All photos courtesy of Jackson Fine Art, here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There has been an ongoing exhibit at the Knoxville Museum of Art called Higher Ground: A Century of the Visual Arts in East Tennessee.  Each time I have visited the museum I have stopped in to look at the exhibit and to take time to revel in the presence of one painting in particular, Trees and Sky by Joanna Higgs Ross.

The first time I saw the painting, I was just stunned.  I stood there and looked at it as G wandered around a corner to look at other paintings and wondered what happened to me.  Each time I go back I do look at other things, but I always return here.  This photo, downloaded from the internet, does not do it justice.  The piece was inspired by a drive through the Smokey Mountains and I feel the paintings perfectly captures the way the mind collates and superimposes a collage-like panoply of bits of mountain and trees with fleeting impressions of sky and weather forming them into a memory that is visually and emotionally rich, capturing the essence of the thing in a way that is not constrained by static form the way a photograph freezes an image but instead overlays what we think we see with how our mind tries to interpret and capture the physical moment into the complex amalgam of sensory inputs we call experience.

 

On Wednesday I went to a talk at the  museum, part of a series called Dine and Discover, where the artist giving the presentation happened to be Joanna Higgs Ross, the artist who painted this very painting.  I didn't realize that when I went, I knew there was a talk, I knew the artist was female, the only female member of the Knoxville Seven, but I did not connect her to this painting that continues to draw me in, even as I went upstairs and looked at the painting before the talk.  

 

As Ms. Higgs Ross showed us photo after photo and talked about her art I was awed and transported.  I've seen retrospective's of artist's work before, and I have been overwhelmed and awed, but this was different.  These paintings seemed personal to me, which is, I suppose the desired response, and I so wish I had photos to share.

 

When, for example, the artist talked about Mondrian's trees, and their increasing abstraction, and how students thought they always looked like trees I knew exactly what she was talking about.  I have studied those trees.  But when she said those same students did not think her trees looked like trees, as she showed a picture of a painting titled Red Oak, I was stunned.  It looked exactly like a red oak to me, or like the essence of Red Oak, capturing the colors and textures with a subtle interweaving of the shape of a red oak.  Perhaps my impression was more than just visual; the visual captured a sense of the thing that became almost palpable.

 

Another painting, a view of trees through a window was subtle in its colors and had circular shapes superimposed over the subtle verticle shapes of the trees.  It reminded me of the wind blowing through the trees, and the motions of air and trees, a thouusand instances of wind and trees all captures in one moment and held forever in memory.  I could feel my own memories of trees resurrected in my mind's eye, hear the rustle of the branches in the wind, see the movement, smell the air, the wood, the leaves and the earth.  Phenomenal.

 

I felt like my breath had been pulled out of my body and I was just entranced.  I wanted to see the actual paintings, to be able to sit there and absorb them and yes make them a part of myself.  I have long felt I don't understand art, and I probably don't, but I enjoy looking at it. I have long loved looking at paintings,  have often been stunned and changed by them. And yet I have rarely had such a profound reaction to an artist's retrospective.  I have always felt that art should be in public spaces where  it can be shared and enjoyed, but I admit that these paintings spoke so strongly to me that I wanted to se them all up close.  I wanted to spend time getting to know them.  I wanted greedly grab onto them and bring one home.

 

At the end of the talk Ms Higgs Ross said she would be around to talk during the afternoon.  I wanted to stay and talk with her about how profoundly beautiful and moving I found her paintings.  But I did not.  I ran out.  I was late.  G had a new caregiver that day and I had promised to be home earlier.  His memory is bad, but he often remembers when I am out and gets all caught up in his anger, gets caught up in a spiral of agittation.  As much as I wanted to revel in art, I needed to get home.  It was good I got home when I did.  G had finally dozed off and I was there when he woke.  Seeing me, he was content and calmer for the rest of the afternoon even though I had to go out again.  I hoped I could go back to the museum following my afternoon appointment and talk with the artist, I hoped that she would still be there, but everything ran late and it was very late when I was finally free and it seemed unreasonable to think she would still be hanging around 5 hours later.  Besides once again I was late and expected at home.

 

I never got back to the museum. But I will be there again.  I will see the painting again.  I thought I wanted to learn more about art but never found the time.  Perhaps the time is here.

It has
been a busy visit with step-daughter and grandson and I, grandma, have been too
busy or scattered to write in any lengthy or coherent manner.

 

The
original plan for today fell apart and instead we went to the Knoxville Museum
of Art where we saw a fabulous retrospective of Josh Simpson Art  Glass and we also looked at a
selection  of recent acquisitions
by the museum.

 

The
Knoxville art museum is a nice size with just enough to see without being
overwhelmed.  At least it is just
the right size that I am not overwhelmed.   I tend to be the kind of observer of art who can only
absorb a small amount on any given day and am prone to sitting for long periods
of time in front of a piece, letting it slowly sink into my consciousness.

 

I used to
feel that museum trips were rather wasted on me because after a limited number
of works I would grow restless and need a break, unable to absorb or look at
more.  But I have grown to accept
my slow looking even as a part of me admires the quick appraisal and stamina of
someone like G who can take a quick look and decide, like, don’t like, and move
on endlessly.

 

Today I
got stuck in the first gallery looking at a painting by William Wiley called
DOUBLE BASS FOR CB

 

I really
don’t know anything about the artist, and don’t recall that I have seen another
picture by him or at least not one that I committed to memory.  But this painting really struck my
imagination.

 

In the
painting, in the lower left corner there is a small portrait of a man playing a
double bass; apparently a portrait of Brancusi.  Surrounding the bassist was a large whitish gray area where
shapes and formulae and words were floating as if in a muddle of thoughts and
inspirations. I don’t really know what the artist intended and I did not read
the note until after I had looked at the painting for some time but it
initially struck me that this was the space of the mind as opposed to the
solitary musician and the solitude of the music and as opposed to the outside
portion of the painting which was an over-lush view of the natural world in all
its greenness and ruggedness.

 

My first
impressions were that the white rectangle represented the kind of random connections
the mind makes as it adjusts to the spell of music, or at least the kind of
random thoughts that flit through my mind as I make the transition from the
fragmentation and overstimulation of daily life and settle into the flow of the
music. As I looked further at the square I saw the formulae and the random shapes,
yes, some of which reflect Brancusi’s sculpture, and also the practical
problems of life, of at least man-made life in a man made world.

 

Contrast
this white space, this cloud of chaotic thought and inspiration and problems,
with the other two extremes of life: 
the other as represented by the world of nature, and the inner life as
represented by the musician and the world of art. I saw it as quiet
spirituality versus the violence of the wild, with the artificial construct of
the man-made world in between in which we live on a daily basis.

 

The
portrait of the bassist was so calm and composed, seemingly only a small part
of the whole, and yet it is this small core which supports all the rest.  The natural scene was overwrought,
reflecting more on that earlier view of nature as wild and uncontrolled and
dangerous, reminiscent more of the medieval view of the wild as dark and
dangerous than of the reflective embracing of nature that came out of the Romantic
movement.  Yet nature is still
uncontrolled.  And yet, in our own
artificially constructed world we need to experience and be aware of both the
need for art and occasionally the respect, love, and fear of nature.

 

It was
really a most thought-provoking painting. 
In my own greedy way, I feel I need to look at it more.  And yet those few minutes were enough

 

  

We drove up to Williamstown Massachusetts yesterday to see the Gerald and Sara Murphy exhibit at the Williams College Museum of Art.    All the pictures above are from the grounds of the Williams campus, courtesy of yours truly, except for the picture of the painting "Wasp and Pear" which is courtesy of MoMA.org, as I was naturally not allowed to photograph the artworks in the museum.

It was a lovely day for a drive and we had a great time. 

The exhibit was interesting.  I was admittedly mostly interested in the art even though Gerald Murphy only painted 14 known canvases and they have not all survived.  I thought the paintings were spectacular and I am amazed that he gave up painting after only 7 years because he felt he would never be more than "second rank".  Yes the pictures are somewhat autobiographical and they capture much of the spirit of cubism juxtaposed with an irrepressible American style and celebration of the good life.  But they are beautiful, sometimes stunningly so, and very powerful and evocative.  George and I were both taken by "cocktail":

Which is very modern, very American, very much a celebration of the glamorous life in the 20’s. 

I was also very much taken with "Wasp and Pear" (in the collage above).  The color are different, softer, and yet at the same time more threatening.  The painting celebrates the innocence and sweetness of the pear, but also the sting of the hornet, how sweetness often hides the pain of destruction.  It is both lovely and harbors a dangerous edge. 

Oddly, although the exhibit was far from empty, very few of our fellow museum-goers were spending much time looking at the paintings.  George and I were the only ones there when we were at the part of the exhibit, which was good for us because we spent more time looking at the paintings than almost anything else. Although we often had to jostle our away around other visitors to look at photographs, journal entries, and various memorabilia, we had the paintings to ourselves.

The letters, photographs, sketches, and various remnants of the Murphy’s lives did not interest us as much as the art.  I think this is probably what some would consider a character flaw of mine; I am not really interested in that kind of personal artifact.  There were fabulous and interesting sketches by Picasso and a nice group of cubist works, but it was Murphy’s art that attracted us, and it seems to me that the paintings were the most interesting part of the exhibit, both for their quality, and probably for what they tell us about the sophisticated artist who painted them.  It is a shame he gave it up. But we are lucky they survived.

I read this fascinating essay  on Roger Fenton’s photographs of the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  I’ve seen the one most published photograph but am not an expert on photography or Fenton.  Still the essay is quite interesting.  Although I do not, in principle, think that staging is a bad thing, I do not see the need to go back and try to determine what Fenton was thinking.  Can anyone know what someone else was thinking?  But I think there must be some human need to assign a purpose or a reason to the photographs, something to answer the "Why are there two" question. 

I have an opinion but I will wait to see what Morris learns as well.  My opinion is not learned and does not stem from any great knowledge or understanding of art or photography. 

I will tell you that it seems obvious to me that the lighting of the pictures is quite different, as one would  expect if Fenton took the pictures over a roughly 1 1/2 hour period in the late afternoon.  Depending on which way he is facing, I think the light can tell you a great deal, and there are obvious differences in light and shadow in these photographs as I see them posted on the web.  Of course I am not looking at the actual photographs, and I know nothing of the techniques and settings Fenton used.

Still, I will be intrigued to read the continuation.