Should Museums Stop Teaching?

When the Tate Britain recently revealed the latest rehanging of their astounding collection of British art, many long unseen works found a new place in the galleries, but one long-standing feature was not to be found—explanatory wall text. The Guardian’s Jonathan Jones hails this rehanging as “a radical rethink at Tate Britain that also sees more paintings on its walls, sculptures on its floors and history in its bloodstream than ever before.” Is this rethinking of the role of the explanatory wall text the first step in a rethinking of the role of a museum itself? Would it be a good or a bad thing if museums no longer supplement our direct, naked experience of the art? Should museums stop teaching?  Please come over to Picture This at Big Think to read more of "Should Museums Stop Teaching?"

Here Comes the Sun

For the July 2009 Art Poll By Bob, I got scientific and asked, “Which of these science-related works of art make you wish you had paid more attention in high school lab?” In a runaway, Joseph Wright of Derby's An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump (1768) nearly lapped the field with 17 votes. Albrecht Durer's Melencolia I (1514) and Thomas Eakins' The Gross Clinic (1875) tied for second with 9 votes each. Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man (1487) came in fourth with 8 votes. William Blake's Newton (1795) won 5 votes to edge out Jacques-Louis David's Portrait of Antoine-Laurent Lavoisier and His Wife (1788) and Erich Mendelsohn's Einstein Tower (1920-1924) with 4 votes each. Charles Willson Peale's The Artist in His Museum (1822) with 2 votes and Thomas Eakins' Portrait of Professor Henry A. Rowland (1897) and Charles Willson Peale's Exhuming the First American Mastodon (1806) with 1 vote each rounded out the field. Thanks to everyone who participated in my art experiment.

For the August Art Poll By Bob, to celebrate our annual trek to the New Jersey shore for fun, sun, and surf, I’m asking the following, “Which of these classic paintings of sunlight lights up your life the most?”:

Caspar David Friedrich, Woman before the Rising Sun (aka, Woman before the Setting Sun) (1818-1820)

Edward Hopper, Morning Sun (1952)

Frida Kahlo, Sun and Life (1947)

Henri Matisse, Luxe, Calme et Volupté (1904)

Michelangelo, Creation of the Sun, Moon, and Planets from the Sistine Chapel Ceiling (1511)

Claude Monet, Impression, Sunrise (1872)

Edvard Munch, The Sun From the Oslo University Aula Decoration (1911-1916)

J.M.W. Turner, The Angel, Standing in the Sun (1846)

J.M.W. Turner, Regulus (1828-1837)

Vincent Van Gogh, Olive Trees with Yellow Sky and Sun (1889)

So, put on your shades, slather on some sunscreen, and vote!

Scientific Method

For the June 2009 Art Poll By Bob, I indulged my inner comic geek and asked a summer blockbuster of a question: “Which of these great comic artist’s work would you want to see on the big screen?” You picked Steve Ditko’s Doctor Strange (1960s) with 7 votes, just edging out Jack Cole’s Plastic Man (1941) with 6. Dave Cockrum’s X-Men (1975) came in third with 5 votes, ahead of fourth place Jack Kirby’s Captain America (1976) with 4. Neal Adams’ Batman versus Ra’s al Ghul (1971), Frank Frazetta’s Conan the Barbarian (1970s), and Todd McFarlane’s Spider-Man (1990) all tied with 3 votes each. Joe Kubert’s Hawkman squeeked out a single vote, but John Romita, Sr.’s Spider-Man (1967) and Joe Shuster’s Superman (1938) found no love. Thanks to everyone who shared in my comic book fantasies.

Inspired by Iris Schaefer, Katja Lewerentz, and Caroline von Saint-George’s Painting Light: The Hidden Techniques of the Impressionists (my review here), I decided to tap into my inner Beaker (above) and use the scientific method to find the best science-related art. For the July 2009 Art Poll By Bob, I ask, “Which of these science-related works of art make you wish you had paid more attention in high school lab?”:

William Blake. Newton (1795).

Leonardo da Vinci. Vitruvian Man (1487).

Jacques-Louis David. Portrait of Antoine-Laurent Lavoisier and His Wife (1788).

Albrecht Durer. Melencolia I (1514).

Thomas Eakins. The Gross Clinic (1875).

Thomas Eakins. Portrait of Professor Henry A. Rowland (1897).

Erich Mendelsohn. Einstein Tower (1920-1924).

Charles Willson Peale. The Artist in His Museum (1822).

Charles Willson Peale. Exhuming the First American Mastodon (1806).

Joseph Wright of Derby. An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump (1768).

Eakins and Peale get two mentions each because they did so many science-related paintings. Durer’s Melancolia I makes the cut because I can’t think of a single image in art history that contains more references to mathematics. Please feel free to include any favorites that I may have missed in the comments. But now put on your lab coat, strap on those safety goggles, fire up the Bunsen burners, and vote!

And Did Those Feet…

Joseph Mallord William Turner (1775-1851), The Chancel and Crossing of Tintern Abbey, Looking towards the East Window, 1794; pencil and watercolor on paper, 38.5 x 25.5 cm (15 3/16 x 10 1/16), Tate, London, Bequeathed by the Artist, 1856, © Tate, London

And did those feet in ancient time

Walk upon England’s mountains green?

Beginning with the instrumental strains of Jerusalem, Charles Perry’s setting to music of William Blake’s Preface to Milton, J.M.W. Turner: A National Gallery of Art Film Presentation transports you back to England of the early 1800s and lets you walk with Turner “upon England’s mountains green” and recreates the deeply intertwined histories of the artist and his country. This 30-minute film, available on DVD from Microcinema International and to be aired in the United States on PBS in conjunction with the National Gallery of Art’s J.M.W. Turner exhibition, magically presents Turner as a man of his time, taking in all the poetry, natural beauty, and Romanticism and creating timeless works of art. Works such as The Chancel and Crossing of Tintern Abbey, Looking towards the East Window (above) translate into paint the poetry of William Wordsworth as only Turner could.

Joseph Mallord William Turner (1775-1851), Nant Peris, Looking towards Snowdon, c. 1799-1800; watercolor on paper, 55.2 x 77.1 cm (21 3/4 x 30 3/8), Tate, London, Bequeathed by the Artist, 1856, © Tate, London

Actor Jeremy Irons, in a majestic British accent, narrates the story of Turner ascent as an artist and Turner’s lifelong desire to raise the then-lowly genre of landscape above all others. Placing Turner within the Romantic context of other artists such as Caspar David Friedrich and Joseph Wright of Derby, the film draws a direct link between the spirit of the age and such atmospheric works of Turner as Nant Peris, Looking towards Snowdon (above). The light in Turner’s paintings shines even more stunningly through director Carroll Moore’s use of panning about the paintings, removing the framework and inserting us into the scenes, almost putting us into Turner’s mind itself. A DVD extra featuring readings of poetry by Lord Byron, Samuel Rogers, and even Turner himself that Turner linked to several of his paintings adds an extra dimension to this presentation, a transcendent multimedia experience that may actually come close to Turner’s original intention. By the end of the film, you understand how landscape rises to the head of the class thanks in large part to Turner, setting the stage for the Impressionists and other modernists who dare to follow Turner’s bold example.

As I was watching Turner, I couldn’t help but compare it in my mind with the NGA’s DVD for the Edward Hopper exhibition (reviewed here). Although both directed by Moore, the differences in tone show a diversity and great understanding of the subjects. Whereas Hopper featured talking heads, film clips, and other modern trappings, Turner features mostly the paintings themselves, interspersed with momentary clips of the natural settings that inspired Turner, free of talking heads and other signs of the world today. Even the DVD extra of on-location still photographs includes only a handful with the crew visible, as if the film was shot by the landscape itself. Another DVD extra features a slideshow of Turner paintings accompanied by seven minutes of classical music that alternates between the soaring and the pensive, another sensual fireworks display free of intrusion.

Although the pace of the information provided in Irons’ narration may overwhelm the total newcomer to Turner, the beauty of the images should induce repeated viewing. This film introduces Turner in all his beauty, wonder, and courage and will entertain and enlighten even the most devout fan.

[Many thanks to the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC for providing me with a review copy of this DVD and the images above from the exhibition J.M.W. Turner.]

Lunatic Painter

Hailed as the painter of the Industrial Revolution, Joseph Wright of Derby painted some of the most memorable scenes of the sciences taking hold on the popular imagination, such as his famous An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump (above). What makes Wright, born September 3, 1734, more than just a documentarian are the human elements he adds to the experiment taking place at the center of the action. To the left, two young lovers exchange glances beside the older gentleman caught up in the excitement of the moment. On the right, a father consoles his children, concerned over the fate of the bird. Add in the masterful, Caravaggio-esque chiaroscuro by candlelight and Wright becomes a painter to be reckoned with.

After studying with masters in England, Wright traveled to Italy and witnessed an eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 1774, which he painted multiple times, including An Eruption of Vesuvius Viewed from Portici (above). To use Edmund Burke’s phrase, Wright painted nature both “sublime [i.e., capable of inducing terror] and beautiful,” capturing the Romantic spirit of his age. While in Italy, he may have seen some of the works of Caravaggio and copied the master’s use of chiaroscuro to great effect in the portraits he later painted to support himself and in the scientific images he painted out of his own interest in the sciences, spurred on no doubt by his friendship with great scientific minds of his age such as Erasmus Darwin, James Watt, and Joseph Priestly, all members of the famed Lunar Society. (Anyone interested in learning more about the “Lunaticks,” as they called themselves, should read Jenny Uglow’s entertaining history The Lunar Men: Five Friends Whose Curiosity Changed the World.)

Wright painted nature’s sublimity equally well, as in scenes such as Bridge Through a Cavern, Moonlight (above), from 1791, which parallels many of the Romantic, moonlit scenes of Caspar David Friedrich. Wright painted scenes of Rydal and the Lake District at the same time that the Romantic poets William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge were walking over those fields and composing their masterpieces. Wright stands as a great parallel to the Romantic poets, imbibing much of the same philosophical currents they did and translating them into works of his own medium. The Lunar Men loved to pun on the name “lunatic” for their members, jokingly questioning the sanity of their pursuits. There is no questioning of the sanity and downright majesty of Wright’s portrayal of his age in all its imaginative and intellectual pursuits.