Thank You, America

I want to thank America for restoring my faith in humanity and electing a man of intelligence and integrity to the Presidency of the United States last night. (Alex, above, thanks you, too.) The fact that he is a man of color just adds to the magic of this moment, perhaps the first time that our country has ever truly transcended the petty cruelty of racism. This is just the beginning of the beginning of a new era, but the idea that a new day is dawning on our country after the long night of the past eight years makes me excited about the future and proud of my country.

Sex and Magic

"For me, S&M means sex and magic, not sadomasochism,” the photographer Robert Mapplethorpe once said. “It is all about trust." Born November 4, 1946, Mapplethorpe became the poster child for cultural controversy in the 1980s as AIDS, the disease that claimed Mapplethorpe’s life in 1989, thrust homosexuality into the American spotlight and opened up discussion of all types of sexual conduct. Whereas most of us see violence in many of the acts Mapplethorpe alludes to in his photography, he saw intimacy—acts natural to his sense of sexuality. Mapplethorpe fostered through his work an ideal of male physical beauty to rival the traditional female ideal in art. Mapplethorpe’s Robert Sherman (above, from 1983) echoes Man Ray’s famous portrait of Lee Miller titled simply Neck. Whereas Miller embodied the idea of the female muse for Ray, Sherman’s bald pate and heavily muscled neck and shoulders does the same for Mapplethorpe. Personally, I find much of Mapplethorpe’s work disturbing, but that’s more of an issue of my own boundaries than of any failure on his part. Sexuality is perhaps the most deeply personal aspect of whom we are, so any judgment is by definition a personal value judgment and not, as many hold, some universal rule to which all must conform. Sadly, Mapplethorpe’s sexuality and his artistic exploration of his sexuality still overshadow his larger achievement as an artist.

Mapplethorpe knew and exploited the whole history of Western art, especially in the field of portraiture. He felt a special kinship with musicians, including Deborah Harry, Peter Gabriel, Grace Jones, and Patti Smith (shown photographed above, from 1976). Mapplethorpe also photographed Smith for the cover of her first album, Horses. During the days of disco, Mapplethorpe enjoyed the freer sexual and cultural climate that these musicians came to embody. Unlike so many other celebrity photographers, Mapplethorpe actually maintained his high art aspirations while climbing the social ladder. The photo of Smith above reflects the singer’s “naked” style of emotional singing and playing. Smith famous “unladylike” persona struck back against sexual stereotypes as much as Mapplethorpe did in his sexually charged photography. It’s fascinating to see how Mapplethorpe flourished during this period knowing in retrospect the struggles he faced in the American culture wars just a few years later.

With the possible exception of Brett Weston, Edward’s son, Mapplethorpe emulated the flower and vegetable studies of Edward Weston like no other. Mapplethorpe’s Calla Lilly (above, from 1988), one of a series of studies of that flower, captures all the beauty of the surfaces and folds in striking close-up. Like Georgia O’Keeffe, Mapplethorpe also clearly alludes to the sexual overtones of the flower’s shape, but by the fact of his sexual orientation turns those allusions on their head. Sexual politics aside, Mapplethorpe knew how to create striking images in any format. The fact that his name has become synonymous with controversy seems a sad legacy. However, the number of artists and curators who have risen to his defense in the name of artistic freedom gives one hope that one day Mapplethorpe’s work will hang beside that of his inspirations and bring a sprinkling of that sex and magic that pervades all his art.

Unfair Comparisons

Most visitors to Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome gravitate almost immediately to the paintings on the side walls—The Conversion of Saint Paul on the Road to Damascus and The Crucifixion of Saint Peter—works instantly recognizable as the work of the Baroque bad-boy genius Caravaggio. Between those two strikingly dark works of rabid realism rises above the altar the Assumption of the Virgin Mary by Annibale Carracci (above). Baptized November 3, 1560, Carracci’s crowded, light-filled composition actually was the plum job in the chapel, yet today it and Carracci’s work in general are overshadowed by Caravaggio’s dramatic shadows as much as by his tempestuous life story. Whereas Caravaggio took painting into a darkly realistic direction after the Renaissance, Carracci sought to salvage some of the lessons of Michelangelo and Raphael, his heroes, and adapt them for the Counter-Reformation age. While Caravaggio painted prostitutes and beggars as the Virgin and the apostles, Carracci looked to his heroes for models for his lofty vision.

From 1597 through 1600, Carracci worked on a series of frescoes for the Palazzo Farnese in Rome. Drawing inspiration as much from the Farnese Hercules in the owner’s collection as much as from Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling, Carracci painted such works as The Triumph of Bacchus and Ariadne (above, from 1597-1600). Using all the optical trickery of the new wave of perspective, Carracci kept his work up to date while still maintaining the grand fresco tradition of the Renaissance past. The hypermuscular figures ranging across Carracci’s frescoes recall Michelangelo’s beefed up Biblical figures and ancient sibyls while simultaneously honoring the classical sources Michelangelo and Carracci both knew first hand. The taste for grand fresco style, with the notable exception of Michelangelo’s work, no longer exists today, perhaps a side effect of the end of the age of kings thanks to the modern march of democracy. Caravaggio never worked in fresco, preferring to stay as earthbound as his style itself. Carracci, however, wanted to rise above and consort with his hero Michelangelo, at least metaphorically.

Towards the end of his life Carracci fell into a deep, paralyzing depression. His Self-Portrait of 1604 (above) reflects this dark mood. Did Carracci begrudge Caravaggio his fame and influence—the squadron of Caravaggisti that spread the style across all of Europe shortly after his death? Domenichino, Carracci’s prize student, carried on Carracci’s grand fresco style long after the teacher stopped working. Rubens and Poussin would later praise Carracci’s work in the next generation of European artists. After years of immobility, Carracci died in 1609. Per his request, his students buried Carracci’s remains near those of Raphael so that he could continue to mingle with genius for all eternity. Carracci’s face in the self-portrait on the easel in the larger self-portrait haunts in a way that a simpler self-portrait never could. By placing his portrait in the larger context of the studio, Carracci says that his studio is as much a part of him as his face. When changing tastes threatened to take away that essence from him, Carracci put down his brush and simply ceased to be.

Start Shouting

And the wise man say I don't want to hear your voice
And the thin man say I don't want to hear your voice
And they're cursing me, and they won't let me be
And there's nothing to say, and there's nothing to do

Stop whispering, start shouting
Stop whispering, start shouting

And the mother say we spit on your son some more
And the buildings say we spit on your face some more
And the feeling is that there's something wrong
Because I can't find the words and I can't find the songs

Stop whispering, start shouting
Stop whispering, start shouting

Dear Sir, I have a complaint
Can't remember what it is

It doesn't matter anyway
It doesn't matter anyway

— “Stop Whispering” by Radiohead

The main reason I’ll be voting today appears above and below. If you don’t have a youngster in your life right now, I ask that you think of a little boy named Alex who loves to ride the train at the zoo (above) and whose patriotically decorated wagon won the second place ribbon in the last Fourth of July parade (below). He and his friends will be the ones paying in treasure and, perhaps, blood someday for the mistakes of the last eight years. As some of my more vocal commenters know all too well, I believe that Barack Obama should be the man to lead us out of the darkness of this sad era. More than anything else, I want to believe that today’s election will end the years of whispers and begin the years of shouting—a regaining of our country’s true voice of reason, justice, and compassion. Misguided “wise men” have silenced true debate for too long in the name of false patriotism. True patriotism doesn’t fear anything, especially open debate and passionate questioning of what direction this nation should take.

Alex is still too young to understand what’s going on. One day I want to be able to show him this post and these pictures and tell him his parents voted for him, for his future. Like Obama, Alex is a mixed kid—half-Chinese and half-Irish/German. Obama, Alex, and all the other mixed kids represent the future of America, the next step in the grand experiment of democracy in which we recognize our differences as the essence of who we are. Today, we vote to take that step together for ourselves and our children and to leave the prejudices and injustices of the past behind.

Stop whispering. Start shouting.

A Celebration of Life

Stabiae, Seaside villa, probably 1st century AD, fresco, 25 x 25 cm (9 7/8 x 9 7/8 in.). Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli. Photography © Luciano Pedicini.

When the Roman senate recessed each spring, the elite members of society left the worries of the city behind for the pleasures of the countryside, specifically the land surrounding the Bay of Naples where they had built their sumptuous villas (above). “Wearied by the crowds and hectic pace of Roman life, they pined for greater leisure and the chance it gave to contemplate the finer things in life,” Sir Derek Jacobi narrates in Pompeii and the Roman Villa: Art and Culture around the Bay of Naples, the video accompaniment to the exhibition of the same name at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. Distributed by Microcinema, Pompeii and the Roman Villa visually recreates the playground of ancient Rome, where the Caesars and other wealthy members of Roman society indulged in the higher pursuits of life such as art. Surrounded by good fishing and good crops, including wine grapes grown in the rich soil near Vesuvius, Romans feasted upon the local bounty. The same geothermic activity that fueled Vesuvius heated the local baths where the elite eased their cares away. Satisfied in so many other ways, Roman citizens turned to the arts and set up a system of patronage unmatched in history that survives today mainly through the great tragedy of 79 AD.

Pompeii, Peacock on a garden fence, 1st century BC-1st century AD, fresco, 115 x 107 cm (45 1/4 x 42 1/8 in.). Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli. Photography © Luciano Pedicini.

Buried beneath volcanic debris for millennia, the frescoes of Pompeii and the region startle us with their vibrancy in terms of color and subject matter. The “playful and luxurious” style appears in works such as the fresco known as Peacock on a Garden Fence (above), which emulates the natural beauty of the region while capturing it for the indoor edification of the patron. Such frescoes allowed Romans to bring the pleasures of the garden inside while dining, unifying their home along the lines of pleasure and good taste. A cottage industry of artists developed around the region to meet the demand for such decoration. Pompeii soon became a flourishing artistic center of the empire, devising advances in painting, sculpture, glassware, and other arts to meet the ever growing market for beautiful things. Thanks to computer simulations and footage of restored ruins on site, Pompeii and the Roman Villa allows you to imagine in your mind’s eye what the region once may have been like. Amidst the brutality and warfare of empire, the villas of the Bay of Naples provided an oasis of art and refinement.

Pompeii, House of Fabius Rufus, Lamp-bearing youth, probably 1st century AD, bronze, 137 cm (53 7/8 in.). Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei, Ufficio Scavi, Pompei. Photography © Luciano Pedicini.

Much of this art fed the Roman mania for all things Greek. The Lamp-Bearing Youth of the House of Fabius Rufus (above) most likely is a reimagining of Apollo, the Greek god of light, as a decorative light source for the home. “Knowledge of Greek culture was a status symbol,” Jacobi intones, and anyone who was anyone filled their home with Greek style, from allusions to Greek myths in sculptures and frescoes to copies of Greek artistic motifs such as the Three Graces. When Pompeii itself became a congested, dirty city to rival Rome, such Greek-isms helped homeowners escape the toil and trials outside their walls. Courtyards in which Hercules and other Greek gods served as garden ornaments sat far within the home, insulated from the raucous streets. I remember when visiting Pompeii years ago being surprised at just how close to residential areas merchants would conduct their business. When the initial escape plan for Romans failed as urbanization pursued them, Romans learned to escape not physically but philosophically from the world.

Sir Edward John Poynter (British, 1836-1919), Faithful unto Death, 1865, oil on canvas, 115 x 75.5 cm (45 1/4 x 29 3/4 in.). Walker Art Gallery, National Museums Liverpool. Presented by Charles Langton, 1874.

“There have been many disasters in the world,” Goethe once wrote of Pompeii, “but few have given so much pleasure to posterity.” The second half of Pompeii and the Roman Villa recounts the second life of these treasures after the rediscovery and excavation of Pompeii during the 18th century. Sir Edward John Poynter’s 1865 painting, Faithful unto Death (above), showing a Roman guard remaining at his post as Vesuvius erupted, is just one example of the art inspired by the events of Pompeii and the art discovered in the ruins. Footage from the many filmed retellings of the story of Pompeii, starting in the silent film days, amuses us today. I found more stunning footage from 1944 of Allied troops, still weary from liberating Italy, anxiously staring at Vesuvius in the midst of “minor” volcanic activity. The video wonderfully connects the glory that was Pompeii with the neoclassical style of 18th and 19th century Europe as well as with such modern power spaces as the Grand Pavilion of Buckingham Palace and the Appropriations Conference Room of the United States Senate.

Vesuvian region, Bowl, 1st century BC-1st century AD, glass, 5.4 cm (2 1/8 in.). Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli. Photography © Luciano Pedicini.

Perhaps the most refreshing aspect of Pompeii and the Roman Villa is how it concentrates on celebrating the art of the region without dwelling too long on the tragedy that preserved it for us to enjoy. Derek Jacobi’s narration (100% I, Claudius stutter-free) adds the perfect light-hearted touch for us to look at such works as the beautiful Vesuvian bowl (above) that comes down to us in all its wonderful color despite its fragility. Pompeii and the Roman Villa maintains a fragile balance between fun and funereal and allows us to see past the death to the life these people once lived so colorfully.

[Many thanks to Microcinema for providing me with a review copy of the video Pompeii and the Roman Villa: Art and Culture around the Bay of Naples and to the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, for providing me with the images above from their exhibition of the same name.]

Society Painter

In the late nineteenth century in America, William Merritt Chase’s name was synonymous with the word artist. Born November 1, 1849, Chase garnered most of the awards, presided over most of the societies, and generally introduced his presence anywhere art was discussed. In retrospect, someone such as the withdrawn Winslow Homer may seem the greater artist today, but at the time, but Chase put himself forward as what an artist should look like and how an artist should relate with the public. As seen in Chase’s painting In the Studio (above, from 1882), Chase even decked out his home and studio in the mode of a fashionable society painter. Sumptuous carpeting and lavish décor seem out of place in the paint-spattered world of what we think of as a working studio, but Chase sought to create a mood in his sitters and patrons congruous with their own upper crust expectations. For an America still striving to forge a cultural heritage on the verge of the twentieth century, Chase stepped forward and assumed leadership of what direction that culture would take.

Stylistically, Chase greatly resembles John Singer Sargent in the lightness of his touch and flair for the theatrical in works such as Carmencita (above, from 1890). The label of Impressionism sticks better to Chase than it does to Sargent, however. Thanks to his friendship with John Henry Twachtman and other American Impressionists, Chase easily slips into the category of Impressionist, which was only then gaining in popularity in America. When Chase returned from his studies in Europe in 1878, Impressionism was “the new thing” and Chase a bold experimentalist. Success and recognition, however, froze Chase stylistically. As other artists moved past Impressionism into the movements that would mark the beginning of the twentieth century, Chase failed to keep up in his own art, more content to repeat the works of the past and rest on his hard-earned laurels. It’s easy to dismiss Chase as a fuddy duddy of sorts, but his importance in the development of an arts culture in America can not and should not be denied.

Despite his own artistic entrenchment, Chase taught young artists such as Georgia O'Keeffe, Charles Demuth, and Marsden Hartley who took his lessons and struck out on their own path with his blessing. While Chase taught his students the old ways of painting and thinking, rival teacher Robert Henri taught his charges the new ideas of a physical approach to art totally immersed in the life of the everyman that evolved into the Ashcan School. Things actually got physical as Henri’s students sometimes rumbled with Chase’s pupils over art. (I tend to imagine this as an artsy version of the Jets versus the Sharks.) Chase, however, never entered the fray, always floating above it all. In the 1890s, Chase summered at Shinnecock off of Long Island, rejoicing in the seaside beauty and painting his family in the open air in works such as The Fairy Tale (above, from 1892). In many ways, Chase lived a fairy tale existence, carefully constructing a persona as an artist and inviting young artists to indulge in that fantasy world momentarily while discovering their own creative reality.

Looking Presidential

In celebration of Halloween, the October Art Poll By Bob asked, “Which of the following paintings seems the spookiest?” You voted William Blake's The Ghost of a Flea (1819-1820) as the spookiest, with 17 votes. Arnold Böcklin's The Isle of the Dead (1880) and Salvador Dalí's Soft Construction with Boiled Beans (Premonition of Civil War) (1936) tied for second, with 15 votes each. Edvard Munch's Vampire (1893-1894) with 11 votes, Henry Fuseli's The Nightmare (1781) with 10 votes, Albert Pinkham Ryder's The Race Track (Death on a Pale Horse) (1895-1910) with 9 votes, and Andrew Wyeth's Jack Be Nimble (1976) with 5 votes rounded out the field. Suffering the indignity of the first shutout in Art Poll By Bob history, David Wojnarowicz's Fire (1987) came in dead last with the doughnut of shame.

In honor of the tomorrow’s United States Presidential Election, I’ve decided to ask “Which of the following official Presidential portraits seems the most presidential to you?” (The Obama carved pumpkin [above, from Yes We Carve] would be an unconventional, yet very cool choice.):

Gilbert Stuart, George Washington (aka, the Lansdowne portrait, 1796)

Rembrandt Peale, Thomas Jefferson (1800)

George P.A. Healy, John Quincy Adams (1858)

George P.A. Healy, Abraham Lincoln (1869)

Anders Zorn, Grover Cleveland (1899)

John Singer Sargent, Theodore Roosevelt (1903)

Aaron Shikler, John F. Kennedy (1970)

Simmie Knox, Bill Clinton (2000)

Stuart’s almost regal Lansdowne Portrait actually started the tradition of official presidential portraits. Little-known George P.A. Healy painted every official presidential portrait from John Quincy Adams through Ulysses S. Grant, so he made the list twice. (Plus, I think he captured the stiffness of J.Q.A. perfectly.) Peale, Zorn, and Singer all earned fame beyond their momentary brush with high office. Shikler’s haunting posthumous portrait of JFK is familiar to most Americans even if the artist’s name isn’t. Simmie Knox makes the list for being the first African-American artist to paint an official presidential portrait and for capturing the Big Dog perfectly. I wish I could have added Thomas Eakins’ lost portrait of Rutherford B. Hayes. Eakins reportedly painted Hayes working at his desk on a sweltering summer day as bullets of sweat streamed down his reddened face. First Lady and Temperance movement queen “Lemonade” Lucy Rutherford reportedly so hated the portrait that she had it destroyed. The idea of a hard-working president seemed uncouth, I guess.

So, rock the vote and vote for the most “presidential” presidential portrait. And, tomorrow, vote for the most presidential president!

[This is Bob of Art Blog By Bob and I approve this message.]