Shostakovich Ignored...

Well, I would like to report on my presentation for a class, Psychology of Creativity. The presentation itself went off without a hitch.  The problem began when class drew toward a close, the students became restless. I knew that the material selected to conclude the presentation was deep and required attention. Looking back, I should have just dropped it. However, I put my faith in my fellow students--they let me down. Teacher evaluations had to be done, and while was setting up for a clip of his opera, Lady Macbeth, they started the forms. This was fine... but they continued to chatter even through a rape scene. This startled me beyond my wildest fancies. HOW in the hell can you ignore something like that. No disgust, no interest, no attention at all. I have lost some hope, but I will still fight the battle.

Eurythmics: Here Comes the Rain Again.

Igor Stravinsky, 1968

Here comes the rain again...

Lets get the car fixed, and a number of other crazy things, that happen to go wrong with a normal college son.

Oh well... enjoy.

The fog settles...

George Inness. The Monk, oil on canvas 38.5"x64.1" 1873

George Inness was a deeply spiritual American landscape painter born in 1825 in Newburgh, NY. I find a sort of comfort in seeing a more sophisticated representation of his subjects that I found earlier in Bierstadt. It appears that the line has become more poetic than simply descriptive. Inness wants the viewer to gain a sense of a landscape, than just be able to recognize it if they went on a field trip. This particular landscape will combine the familiar religious figure with a serious landscape. Though, it is not in the conventional sense, religious, it is still very spiritual. This spirit permeates his development later on into an interesting impressionist that refuses to settle, ultimately becoming a tonalist. 

The Monk:

In this fantastic feat of composition, Inness has ultimately found a staging that sets him apart from many 19th century landscape artists.  The monk in this painting is said to be the pope, taking a stroll at Villa Barbarini, just south of Rome. The wall of the villa divides the compositional space in such a way that affords one to be aware of the solitary figure, yet basque in the shimmery light of the sunset. This same wall controls the perspective and importance of the monk, almost shrinking him into non-existence.  The Roman pines will substitute, making a commentary on the church's magnitude.  These pines have often been painted, by Inness as well, but never have they substituted for the entire vertical space of a skyline. They are the objects that ground the heavy horizon, and make the ultimate commentary: it is not the pope, it is nature, moreover, God.

George Inness. The Home of the Heron. Oil on canvas, 30"x45" 1893

Inness has moved on from the realistic depiction of a monk strolling through a garden. The solitary figure has been replaced with a subtle representation of nature, the heron. According to his spiritual beliefs, it is that representation of nature that defines God. The fog has settled on the ground, where his realism, symbolism, and spiritualism meet.

George Inness, Sunrise. Oil on canvas, 30"x45.25" 1887

An early work in the same vein shows an everyday person, unidentified, substituting anyone of spiritual significance. The composition is similar, yet the sky is more open... not through the absence of trees as much as the brightness of the sun's rays.

George Inness, The Trout Brook. Oil on canvas, 30.25"x45.5" 1891

Inness reaches a new height in composition and organization of space into quadrants of interest.  Like the divisions of space in Renaissance works, he uses the giant oak tree to divide the space in nearly half, while the vegetation leads to the open sky providing a horizontal division.  The figure to the right of the giant tree is carrying a fishing pole, possibly followed by a dog.  The woman to the right of the brook and giant tree seems content to watch the ripples pass by.  

Not entirely what it seems...

Joseph L. Edwards, Art is useless. 

2009

There are several contradictions in my piece.  

Swiss Army knives strive to be the most useful tool that fits in your pocket.

It also happens to be a great feat of engineering. Art can be useful.

However, this piece exists only in cyberspace and my hard drive...

So in this case:

Art is useless.

Pay no attention to the man behind the canvas!

Velasquez, Las Meninas. 

1656-7

This painting has always fascinated me... for apparent reasons. In the age of portraiture, one can find similar styles, layout, and structure. The often centralization of the model and standard pose can become monotonous.  

This time, Velasquez, destroys what we know of portraiture. At first, we are the models. The court watching as the master applies brush to canvas. The thousands that have stood before the company have essentially been painted by him.

 

Yet, it is not what we think. The mirror in the background gives it away. Velasquez is painting a portrait of Philip IV and his wife, Mariana.

Michael Foucault, in a stunning display of observation, gives a detailed analysis in his book The Order of Things. It touches every brush stroke, as well as the empty space between canvas and viewer. Its depth is intriguing. 

Excerpt from Chapter 1:

But the relation of language to painting is an infinite relation. It is not that words are imperfect, or that, when confronted by the visible, they prove insuperably inadequate. Neither can be reduced to the other's terms; it is in vain that we say what we see; what we see never resides in what we say.

The startling truth found here can make even the most devoted art historian/writer shutter. It does not mean, that the words are meaningless. It simply means that words are not all that we see. It would be an infinite novel if we captured everything. The room around the canvas--the frame--the light outside--the dust between us and the paint--inside the canvas--behind the canvas--our very own eyelids--the faint ghost of our noses, that which we take for granted, because it is always with us; there before us. This is only the surface... it gets much deeper, deeper still to infinity. If we begin to think about what we "imply" from seeing, the list is two-fold. 

There seems no end to what words could possibly do. And yet, one can assume that even this would not be enough. The words are not seeing; no matter the apparent accuracy. Still the exercise of writing about what we see is priceless. It affords us a grid of layers, once organized, we can move on to the next, returning as needed to reevaluate. We can disassemble, move around, mix up, reorganize, and then reassemble these pieces until a sufficient understanding has been reached. Then, and only then, can we begin the process of discovery and understanding. We can finally begin the journey of enjoying the moment caught on canvas, its meaning, its purpose, and where it fits within our own canvas. 

Landscape and fire

Valerei Hegarty, Fallen Bierstadt, 2007
Foamcore, paint, glue, gel medium, wire, canvas, paper, wood.

I begin with the destruction. I am fascinated by those artists that feel the need to speak through the destruction of others work. However, it seems completely valid form of expression. 

This work by Valerei Hegarty, born after Albert Bierstadt's Bridal Veil Falls at Yosemite, comes to a violent end. It dangles from only one anchored corner. Many things can go into its interpretation: it can tell of the death of the genre; the slow death of museums (either through negligence or starvation); destruction of the artist...

The original possesses an original beauty. Bierstadt will always hold a unique place in my mind. As will Hegarty, because I found the destruction first. I see a distant connection in the falls to Turner, yet the clarity in the actual landscape moves too far from his fading wisps of color. Following in Bierstadt's foot steps, Hegarty performs a perfect execution of illusionism. Her work is centered on decay, fire, water, rust, and death. 

Gianlorenzo Bernini

Bernini betrays!

His very medium of stone seems to disappear under his hands.  There is a certain concern that the flesh might be cut or even bruised.  The delicateness masking the sheer masculine power carves a perfect divide between man vs. woman in his Apollo and Daphne.  

The comfort found in Daphne's pending escape is absent in his Rape of Proserpina.  Bernini seems to have captured the moment a respectable film maker would cut the scene (even if only to preserve an R rating).

Through complex staging of the characters, unlike Michelangelo, Bernini implies the presence of the evil serpent. The draping of fabric, almost gleams like the reptilian scales of the monster.  He is there to witness the heinous crime of rape. Pluto's wisps of hair, the tongue tasting the rancid air finding sweat, fear, and desperation.

The effective absence of the serpent only strengthens the realism that has been breathed into the mythology.  It depicts the moment of capture, with Pluto's hands dug deep into her side. Proserpina seems fearful, yet her face also holds a bracing acceptance of the inevitable - 

she will be raped; she will be taken away; her freedom has already been lost.