Monica D. Murgia

Where art, creativity, and fashion meet

Archive for the ‘artists i love’ Category

May 17th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Textile Designs by Rockwell Kent

As promised, I wanted to write more about the textile designs I saw at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  This was the original drawing that caught my eye.  The design, entitled Swaying Trees, is by American artist Rockwell Kent.

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This was a big surprise for me!  Kent (1882 – 1971) studied painting under William Merritt Chase and Robert Henri.  I’d learned a bit about his paintings while working at an art gallery.  Henri encouraged Kent to paint landscapes of Monhegan island in Maine on his own.  This experience of painting directly in nature greatly affected Kent.  Whatever medium he chose, Kent’s work always captures the amazing power of nature.

Kent gained a reputation of a neo-Transcendentalist because of this.  Transcendentalism was a philosophy that originated in the 1830s and asserted that spiritual experiences could be observed in nature.  Time spent in nature often created a mystical or transcendental experience to those that followed this philosophy.

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You can see that his textile designs capture natural themes.  The other accompanying design is called Running Deer.  Both of these were realized in 1950.  Kent made a similar design for Bloomcraft Inc called Deer Season, which you can see below:

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Kent also completed a few other designs for Bloomcraft Inc, including Harvest Time:
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Harvest Time by Rockwell Kent.  Image courtesy of Boston Museum of Fine Arts
And Pine Tree:
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Pine Tree by Rockwell Kent.  Image courtesy of Boston Museum of Fine Arts

 Unless otherwise states, images courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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April 23rd, 2013 by Monica Murgia

The Prints of Mary Cassatt

There is a great exhibition currently on view at the New York Public Library.  It highlights the prints of famed Impressionist painter Mary Cassatt (1844-1917).  Cassatt was renown for her contributions to the Impressionist school of painting in France, but I knew every little about her efforts of printmaking.

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The Fitting by Mary Cassatt, 1891.  Color print with drypoint and aquatint.

Cassatt was from Pennsylvania, and studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts as a teenager.  Art schools were much different then.  Females were not allowed to draw the nude models in classes.  They instead were instructed to draw from mannequins and plaster casts.  In 1866, Cassatt moves to Paris to further her studies.

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She starts showing her work at the official Paris Salon, but was rejected in 1875.  This is the same year that she accepts an invitation from Edgar Degas to join the Impressionist group.

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The Coiffure by Mary Cassatt, 1891.  Image courtesy of NYPL.

I immediately noticed how much Cassatt’s prints looked like Japanese woodblock prints from the era.  The show went on to talk about how many of Cassatt’s early prints were influenced by the influx of Japanese art  that flooded Paris in the late 19th Century.  Many of her compositions mimic traditional Japanese art: the placement of the subject, the use of space, and the idea of capturing moments of daily life.

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Takashima Ohisa Using Two Mirrors to Observe Her Coiffure by Kitagawa Utamaro, c. 1795.  Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  

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Another observation that interested me was the representation of patterns on textiles and other decorative objects.  Patterns seemed to jump out at me: the  floral print on the carpet, the painted  pitcher, the stripes on the subject’s dress.

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I also enjoyed seeing several prints of with the same composition, but that had different layers of plates.  This was because Cassatt was experimenting with reworking her copper plates and perhaps which colors of acquatint  she would use.

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Afternoon Tea Party by Mary Cassatt, 1891.  Image courtesy of NYPL.

Seeing the various stages of Cassatt’s process is so interesting.  I love seeing work like this, because it allows you into the artist’s mind.  You can see how she dealt with challenges in depicting the image as it was in her mind.  Maybe she wanted more depth in the background, or the cups to be a darker blue.  It reminded me of the exhibition on Matisse – where you started to see how the artist revisited a composition again and again to perfect it.

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Again, you can see this evolution in The Letter.  One has a very plain background, while the other focuses on the pattern of the wallpaper.

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The Letter by Mary Cassatt, 1891.  Image courtesy of NYPL.

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If you can’t make it to the show, the exhibition catalog is available online.

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Mother’s Kiss by Mary Cassatt, 1891.  Image courtesy of NYPL.

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April 1st, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Joan Mitchell

Teaching doesn’t come with an instruction manual.  I’d never planned to be a teacher.  Yet almost four years ago, I found myself in front of a classroom.  To say that I was anxious would be an understatement.  Luckily, it got easier with practice.  The very first course I taught was called Fashion Seminar at FIDM.  Part theory, part portfolio development, I was responsible for teaching fashion theory along with art.  The portfolio consisted of a series of art assignments.  The learning outcome was to take an inspiration source and create new and meaningful artwork from it. Each week, we would have a new focus: collage, found object, textile design, and so forth.  There was one assignment that initially gave me any problems.  It was called multiple sensory.

 

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Untitled by Joan Mitchell, 1969.  Image courtesy of the Joan Mitchell Foundation, Cheim & Read Gallery, and Lehigh University.

I understood the concept.  Say your inspiration source is a tree.  How does it feel to touch its bark?  Try drawing that sensation.  Obviously, there is no “wrong” way to do this assignment.  Yet it caused so much confusion the first time I tried to explain this to the students.  For me, this was frustrating.  I didn’t seem to have the right words to explain the desired result.  But then, I remembered learning about synesthesia.  I decided to do a little research and present my findings to the class.

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Detail. Image courtesy of the Joan Mitchell Foundation, Cheim & Read Gallery, and Lehigh University.

Synesthesia is a neurologically-based condition in which stimulation of one sensory pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory pathway. Synesthetes, those that have synesthesia, will see colors when they hear sound or touch objects.  (I’ve written about this before!  Please read my post Synesthesia in Art & Fashion.  It’s one of my favorites!)  When I research, I go to libraries and book stores.  I build a sort of book fort around myself, and get lost in thought for hours.  I stumbled across several great books, but the best one was a small catalog called Synesthesia: Art & the Mind.  It’s fantastic, and I have a copy in my personal collection.

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Untitled by Joan Mitchell, 1978.  Image courtesy of the Joan Mitchell Foundation, Cheim & Read Gallery, and Lehigh University.

This catalog is how I became acquainted with Joan Mitchell.  And it was love at first sight!  There is a small essay by Patricia Albers in this catalog, and it explains all about Joan Mitchell and how her synesthesia influenced her paintings.  Albers explains:

Joan Mitchell had several forms of synesthesia, including personality-color synesthesia, in which other people induce colors . . .

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 Heel, Sit, Stay by Joan Mitchell, 1977.  Image courtesy of the Joan Mitchell Foundation, Cheim & Read Gallery, and Lehigh University.

It turns out that Mitchell also had “colored-hearing” synesthesia, or that she would see shapes and colors while listening to music.  She also has eidetic memory (aka photographic memory) which means that instead of remembering, she would quite literally relive the past.  Albers goes on to explain:

” ‘I carry my landscapes around with me’ she often said, in the form of images that ‘roosted inside’ her.   As involved as she was with trees, rivers, fields, clouds, weather, and so on, she did not work out-of-doors, but rather mentally ‘framed’ whatever spoke to her: ‘the motion is made still like a fish trapped in ice.  It is trapped in the painting.  My mind is like an album of photographs and paintings.’ “

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Tilleul by Joan Mitchell, 1978.  Image courtesy of the Joan Mitchell Foundation, Cheim & Read Gallery, and Lehigh University.

Lehigh University currently has a show on Joan Mitchell’s work.  It doesn’t touch on her synesthesia, but I sat in front of these large scale works and just marveled at them.  I really enjoyed the painting above. This canvas just looks like a tree to me.  I stared at it for a while, wondering if I was looking up at branches.  It was like going for a walk through Mitchell’s personal landscape.  This painting really made me happy.  And there was just so much to look at!  It’s even more magical up-close.  Look at the details:

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Details. Image courtesy of the Joan Mitchell Foundation, Cheim & Read Gallery, and Lehigh University.

 

When I explained synesthesia and showed Mitchell’s artwork to my students, I saw a drastic improvement on the work they produced.  There is a really freeing sense that developed in my classroom.  Everyone can experiencing a merging of the senses to some degree.  But the very idea stimulates creativity.  Sensations, emotions – they aren’t logical, nor do they possess a recognizable visual form.  So relating feelings and perceptions to colors and forms in art was almost liberating to the students.  Their creations didn’t have to look like anything, but there was always a recognizable correlation to their inspiration.

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Untitled by Joan Mitchell, c. 1952.  Image courtesy of the Joan Mitchell Foundation, Cheim & Read Gallery, and Lehigh University.

As I walked through the Mitchell exhibit, I had the real sense of experiencing nature.  A tree, a leaf, branches, flowers, rain, sunshine through a window – I had the sensations of experiencing it the way Mitchell must have.  This painting made me think of blossoming flowers.  At first, I saw one large flower.  But as I approached the canvas, it seemed there were small flowers scattered about.

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Detail. Image courtesy of the Joan Mitchell Foundation, Cheim & Read Gallery, and Lehigh University.

 

It reminded me of the critiques I had with my students in LA.  Somehow, it all makes sense.  If you are in the Bethlehem area, please drop in to see the show!  It is at the Zoellner Art Center until May 2013.

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Untitled by Joan Mitchell, 1992.  Image courtesy of the Joan Mitchell Foundation, Cheim & Read Gallery, and Lehigh University. 

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March 29th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Calder Bicentennial Tapestries

 

 

 

 

Making discoveries in your own back yard are so fun.  Today, I was at the Zoellner Arts Center at Lehigh University.  I went to their gallery to see the Joan Mitchell show, which I will be writing a post about shortly!  However, I was really surprised to see these tapestries hanging up.  They are by none other than Alexander Calder  (1898-1976).

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The Bicentennial Tapestries: La Poire, le fromage, et le serpent (The Pear, the Cheese, and the Serpent) by Alexander Calder, 1975.  Wool.  Handwoven the Atelier of Pinton Freres.

Calder was a famous sculptor.  You’ve probably seen some of his mobiles, which he started producing in the 1930s.  Calder was born in Philadelphia.  His father was a sculpter and his mother was a painter.  After studying engineering, Calder studied at the Art Students’ League in New York

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Mobile by Alexander Calder. Image courtesy of the LA Times
Calder was not limited to sculpture.  He experimented with various media: jewlery, paiting, drawing, tapestries.  Calder tried it all.  He was also very close friends with Vera Neumann, a fantastic textile and scarf designer.  (I remember a particularly fantastic post on this topic by The Vintage Traveler!)

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The Bicentennial Tapestries: La Tache Bleue (The Blue Blob) by Alexander Calder, 1975.

In celebration of the bicentennial of the American Revolution, Calder designed a set of six tapestries.  His designs were then handwoven by the Pinton Freres atelier in Aubusson, France.  A limited edition of 200 were produced.

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The The Bicentennial Tapestries: Le Sphere et les spirales (The Sphere and the Spirals) by Alexander Calder, 1975.      

Each of the tapestries are signed and have a number.  I wasn’t able to closely examine each of the tapestries, because they were hanging quite high on the wall.  Two of the tapestries were hung above benches.  So I stepped up to take a closer look (and a few photos).   Here is the signature and a mark that I can’t quite make out.  I suppose it is the number of the tapestry.

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I really loved the graphic quality of the tapestries.  The swirls and stripes are so interesting.  The Palms is a great example of what I’m talking about.

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The Bicentennial Tapestries: Les Palmiers (The Palms) by Alexander Calder, 1975.      

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Calder actually died the same year in which the tapestries were realized by the Pinton Freres atelier.  These tapestries were a gift from Philip and Muriel Burman in 1999.  The local newspaper, The Morning Call wrote more about the weaving technique when the gift was announced to the public:

 The panels were made in Aubusson, France, using a centuries old technique that takes the weaver a month to create a single square yard of tapestry. The Bicentennial Tapestries were woven at Pinton Freres, the same studio that converted the art of Picasso, Chagall and Miro into Aubusson tapestry.

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The Bicentennial Tapestries: Trois spirales (Three Spirals) by Alexander Calder, 1975.

 The sixth tapestry was in the permanent gallery downstairs, which I missed.  More reason to go back and take another look!

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March 25th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Monet & Etretat

Yesterday, I wrote a post about a vintage illustrated dictionary I found.  The little drawings pouring out from each page really captivated me.  I spent a few hours making my own drawings based on the illustrations in the book.  One, in particular, reminded me so much of paintings by Claude Monet (1840-1926).  The illustration of a bluff made me think of Monet’s series depicting the coastline of Etretat.
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Etretat is a small farming and fishing town near in the Normandy region of France.  It attracts tourist far and wide for the naturally formed bluffs and cliff formations.  According to the Musee d’Orsey, Monet first visited this area in the winter of 1868 and returned every year between 1883-1886.  Monet made countless paintings of this coastline, each showing a different time of day or weather pattern.
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Etretat in the Rain by Claude Monet, 1886.
I love this series of paintings.  When I find a really special place, I take endless photographs and make drawings and paintings of what I observe.  There is a small trail in the woods near my home that is really special to me.  This is what I base a lot of my own paintings off of, as well as a large portion of my Instagram feed.  Since this type of technology wasn’t available at the time, Monet had to paint rapidly to capture the ambient light and atmosphere.
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If you’ve ever painted or drawn landscapes outdoors, you know how tricky it is to capture the moment.  The wind blows, a cloud passes by – whatever may happen, the environment constantly changes.  The lighting may be different.  Leaves will scatter about.  People may enter the area.  The scene is in a constant state of flux.  If you sit outside and observe the same spot carefully for 15 minutes, you’ll see how rapidly that little spot will change.
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Etretat, La Porte d’Aval – Boats Leaving the Harbor by Claude Monet, 1885. Image courtesy of Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon via Wikimedia Commons.
If you observe the same place at different times of day over a period of time, you’ll start to notice so much more.  It’s a really extraordinary thing to see the environment change from afternoon to sunset.
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 Soleil Couchant à Etretat by Claude Monet,  1883.  Image courtesy of El Museo de Hipatia.
Each sunset is unique and different.  Look at the variation between these paintings.
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Etretat at the End of the Day, Claude Monet.  Image courtesy of Poul Webb.
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Cliffs at Eretat by Claude Monet, 1886. Image courtesy of The Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, Moscow.
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Sunset at Etretat by Claude Monet, 1883.
Weather patterns change the lighting and colors the eye perceives.  Here is Eretat during a particularly bad storm.  Look at how dark and dreary it is.  You can almost feel harsh winds whipping around you.
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Rough Sea at Etretat by Claude Monet, 1868.  Image courtesy of Wikipaintings.
Monet painted another storm at Eretat, but this one seems less alarming.  The sea seems to be more frenetic and turbulent.  The brushstrokes are more pronounced, which gives the sea a really harsh feeling.
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Agitated Sea at Etretat by Claude Monet, 1883. Image courtesy of Musée des Beaux-Arts, Lyon, via Wikimedia Commons.
And then, you can always observe the same place from a different vantage point.  Here is another storm, from the other side of the bluff.  Can you see the lone seagull?
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Amont Cliff with Rough Weather by Claude Monet, c. 1886.

 

 Eretat is a really beautiful place, and I hope to make it there some day.  Until then, I’ll have to enjoy these lovely paintings by Monet.
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The Cliffs at Etretat by Claude Monet, 1885. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

 

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March 24th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Find of the Week: The Art Spirit by Robert Henri

 

 

My previous posts about the “Find of the Week” have always been about clothing.  But today’s post is all about a wonderful book I discovered.  The Art Spirit by Robert Henri is a collection of the artist’s beliefs, theories, and teachings on painting.  I can’t tell you how excited I was to accidentally discover this book!

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Robert Henri (1865-1929) was an American artist, primarily know for his portraits, and the leader of the Ashcan School.  Around 1900, this group of painters focused on depicting scenes as they were (Realism) instead of in the dreamy, staccato way of the American (and French) Impressionists.

Henri attracted droves of students to The Art Students League of New York, including George Bellows. (New to my site?  Please take a moment to read my previous post on George Bellows) Henri was an excellent communicator, mostly because of the passion which drove him to create art.  He saw no separation between art and life, constantly stating that art is a matter in which everyone is vitally concerned.  Why?  Henri opens the book with the following:

Art, when really understood, is the province of every human being.  It is simply a question of doing things – anything – well.  It is not an outside, extra thing.  When the artist is alive in any person, whatever his kind of work may be, he becomes an inventive, searching , daring, self-expressing creature,  He becomes interesting to other people.

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Current course catalog for The Art Students League

The Art Students League is still in operation.  After finding Henri’s book, I took a trip to the school.  There classes are extremely flexible and affordable.  You simply select the type of class you’d like to take, and pay for a month of enrollment.  Classes offered range in price from $80  to $240 for the month, and meet either once, twice, or five times a week.  The Art Students League also offers workshops, as well!  I’m hoping to enroll in a class or two this summer.

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Classroom storage at The Art Students League.

The book is so inspiring.  It is no wonder to me that Henri had so many students.  When I read his words now, so long after they were written in the 1920s, I can feel this dormant creativity in myself waking up.  A particular passage in the book really touched me:

“There are moments in our lives, there are moments in a day, when we seem to see beyond the usual.  Such are the moments of greatest happiness.  Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom.  If one could but recall his visions by some sort of sign.  It was in this hope that the arts were invented.  Signposts on the way to what might be. Signposts towards greater knowledge.”

1908 Jessica Penn in Black with White Plumes oil on canvas 196 x 97 cm

 

Jessica Penn in Black and White Plumes by Robert Henri, 1908.

That is what made Henri such a great artist.  He could observe daily life in such extraordinary detail.  Looking at his portrait of Jessica Penn, I imagine that he captured her likeness very well.  Penn seems very self-assured with her bold pose: shoulders back, hip thrust back and jutted out to the side, arms positioning the fabric of her skirt to show her silhouette more closely.  She has that s-shaped silhouette so typical of the time period. But look at her face: doesn’t she look a bit, well, bored?  Maybe she is just tired – those extreme corsets of the day certainly made daily activities, like walking and breathing, difficult.

Her outfit is really skillful depicted.  It really reminds me a lot of this dress by Jaques Doucet from 1903.

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Dress by Jacques Doucet, 1903.  Image courtesy of The Kyoto Costume Institute.  

 

 

 

 

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February 25th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

William Morris & Co.

Back in January, I wrote about the Pre-Raphaelites.  The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood is one of my favorite groups of painters, mostly because of the way in which they depict ideal beauty.  Long, flowing wavy hair, big doe eyes, and a natural glow – I don’t think this could ever be considered anything other than beautiful.  So many Pre-Raphaaelite paintings depict gorgeous woman sitting in nature in billowing gowns.  The dresses are made of diaphanous fabrics with beautiful floral patterns.
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Boreas by John William Waterhouse
William Morris (1834 – 1896) was a textile designer that was affiliated with the Pre-Raphaelites.  He created the most beautiful and intricate floral textile patterns.  Really, Morris was more than a textile designer.  He wrote poetry and philosophy; drew and painted; and also did interior design.  I just think he was particularly gifted at creating beautiful, complex patterns for fabrics.
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William Morris. Wey, 1883-4.  Image courtesy of The Textile Blog
Morris was influenced by mediaeval art, particularly stained glass windows, tapestries, and murals.  He started to seriously study mediaeval architecture in 1855.  He inherited a large fortune, and took a walking tour through Northern France.  He spent a lot of time observing and sketching Gothic cathedrals there.
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Fruit by William Morris.
 The intricately carved doorways, the stained glass windows, and tapestries – these all created within Morris the desire to revive hand craftsmanship.  He believed that art suffered under the Industrial Revolution.  In 1861, he established the Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Company.  This was a commercial venture to encourage a revival of hand crafts and interior design.  (And a major contribution to the Arts and Crafts movement in England.)
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Pimpernel by William Morris.
So what exactly does this mean for all of these beautiful textile designs and wall paper patterns?  Well, Morris and other artists would first draw and paint the elaborate patterns on paper.   These designs, once finalized, would be carved into a block of wood for printing.  There are a few unfinished drawings below that are great examples of what I’m talking about:
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William Morris. Windrush, 1883-4.  Image courtesy of The Textile Blog

Tapestries were created with a similar method.  The sketches for a tapestry are called cartoons.  They must be drawn to size, and placed underneath the loom so that the weavers can follow the patterns.

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Drawing for block-printed fabric Tulip and Willow by William Morris, 1873.  Image courtesy of Wikipedia

Morris died at age 62, of what some believed to be exhaustion.  He was so prolific, and worked tirelessly on his many passions.  Morris really believed in what he did.  He so beautifully stated:

“My work is the embodiment of dreams.”  

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Jasmine by William Morris.  Image courtesy of The Textile Blog.
Morris & Co. still operates today, and many of the classic textile and wall paper patterns are available for purchase.  You, too, can order yardage and make a dress to look like a Pre-Raphaelite painting.  I know I’ll be saving my pennies to do that!
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February 21st, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Caio Fonseca

I love art in unexpected places. Last night, I was working late grading projects and printing handouts.  It seems like as soon as I wake up, my to-do list occupies me until I realize that it is 10:30pm.  Where does the day go?  I left the campus wondering what happened to my day.  I hadn’t even made the phone calls I was supposed to make in the afternoon!  The last thing on my mind was art.  I was mentally scolding myself for not accomplishing more.  Of course my train of thought was broken when I glanced across the street and saw this painting.

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The red foreground and dancing shapes were just too tempting.  I had to walk over and take a better look. What a spectacular choice to decorate this lobby.  The red is such a nice contrast to the green marble walls.  And the white shapes were so graphic and curvilinear, it seemed that they moving as I walked towards them.  Once inside the lobby, I thought the shapes comprised some sort of animal.  At first I saw a whale.  Then an elephant.  Then a rhinoceros.  That’s what I love about abstract art – what you see depends on what you’re looking for.

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I kept looking, and noticed tiny, whispering lines across the canvas.  It made me think of music.  Then I started to notice multi-hued drip marks all around the canvas.  Action painting always makes me think of a rhythm, too.  The people in the photo above were talking about how they saw a guitar in the center, and the whispering lines were it’s strings.

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The work is by American artist Caio Fonseca.  From the signage, it looks like the work is untitled.  Fonseca was born in New York and has a studio on Fifth Street.  He also has a studio in Pietrasanta, Italy.

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Fonseca’s website doesn’t mention much about what inspires him.  But if I had to take a guess, it would be music!  Everything about the painting reminds me of music – reading it, listening to it, creating it.

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The lines remind me of reading sheet music.  The splatters of paint make me think of a rhythmical application, and the colors sort of harmonize together.  I listened to a great interview.  Fonseca talks about how he applies the paint.  He lays down color and then subtracts it by layering white on top.  He also adds wax with pigment and smears it around the surface.  He explains that he likes abstraction, and that he likes to create scratches and lines on the surface to connect the shapes around the canvas to one another.  He said that these lines are “sort of like phrase marks in music“.

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Fonseca also goes on to compare abstract art to music.  (!!!!!!!!!)  He says that you can listen to music, and don’t ask what it means.  You allow yourself to experience the music, to allow it to make you feel something.  That is how we should experience art, too.

I really recommend seeing this painting in person.  It’s on 42nd Street between 5th and 6th Avenue in the Brookfield building.  The interview with Fonseca is also worth watching – he’s so interesting!

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February 18th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Significant Others: Vanessa Bell & Duncan Grant

Happily, I’ve finished another essay from Significant Others: Creativity & Intimate Partnership. This book is a series of essays that explores the relationships of great artists.  It is an attempt to understand how gender, creativity, and partnership influence art.  (New to my site?  You should also look at my previous posts on Robert & Sonia Delaunay, Lee Krasner & Jackson Pollock, and Robert Rauschenberg & Jasper Johns.  Each partnership was interesting and inspiring in their own ways.)
These are my impressions of The “Left-Handed Marriage” of Vanessa Bell & Duncan Grant by Lisa Tickner.
(c) Henrietta Garnett; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
Angelica Garnett as ‘Mistress Millament’ by Vanessa Bell.
I wasn’t familiar with either artist before reading the chapter, and had to do a little research to really understand them.  Vanessa Bell (1879 – 1961) and Duncan Grant (1885 – 1978) were members of the British circle of artists and intellects know and the Bloomsbury Group.  This group has been recognized mostly for it’s writers, which included Virginia Woolf and E. M. Forester.  This group was really progressive, and had modern ideas about sexuality, feminism, and art.
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Self Portrait by Duncan Grant, c. 1910
This spirit is what I really admire about the Bloomsbury Group.  They were completely unconventional.  The group was forming during the 1910s, a time when there were very ridged ideas about women’s roles in society were, and homosexuality was actually a crime in England.  Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell were sisters.  They were independent at a very early age, as their mother died.  As a result, Woolf and Bell were both sexually and professionally emancipated.  Woolf was a writer and very openly a lesbian.  Bell was a painter and entered an open marriage to Clive Bell in 1907.  While married to Clive Bell, Vanessa Bell began her lifelong relationship with painter Duncan Grant.
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Chattie Salaman by Vanessa Bell, c. 194o.
So, here is why the author chose to call this partnership a “left-handed marriage”:  Vanessa and Clive openly took other lovers.  Duncan Grant was openly gay.  Then right before World War I, Vanessa, Clive, Duncan Grant and Duncan’s lover David Garnett moved to the Sussex countryside and settled at Charleston farmhouse .  Vanessa had children by both Clive and Duncan. Pretty wild, no?  Ultimately, this unconventional living arrangement allowed Vanessa to continue her painting career.  There was always someone available to watch the children.  This was very uncommon for the time period!  Women, if permitted to paint or work, were always expected to stop their professional lives after having children.
(c) DACS/Henrietta Garnett; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
Julian Bell Reading by Duncan Grant, c. 1930
Vanessa Bell was described not as a bohemian, but as having “a kind of ruthless focusing on love and work that preserved her independence and her capacities for both.”  I really love this idea – I can relate to this idea.   I feel fortunate to be born in a time period where I have the freedom to do exactly what I want, when I want.  But there has to be a ruthless focusing in order to achieve this freedom.  You have to make your own rules.  You must eliminate distractions.  You have to have a real sense of clarity on the life you want.  My yoga teacher Sandra said this to me, and I’ll never forget it:

“Freedom through discipline“.

The Kitchen 1902 by Duncan Grant 1885-1978
The Kitchen by Duncan Grant, c. 1902.
I looked through paintings by each artist, and I saw a really rich dialog.  Their portraits capture a real sensitivity.  In their own ways, they are able to express the emotion of the sitter.  The portrait of Angelica Garnett  by Vanessa Bell is so sweet and tender.  She seems timid and almost embarrassed by all the attention focused on her.  In comparison, Duncan Grant’s Self Portrait is really jarring.  He eyes pierce  out from the canvas, through the viewer, in searching for some kind of answer or realization.  His gaze makes me think that while he was painting himself, he was forced to analyze himself.
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Dorothy Bussy at La Souco by Vanessa Bell, c. 1954.
There interiors and landscapes are equally beautiful.  The sense of light is really beautiful in the painting above.  The sunny garden, the french doors, the white transparent curtains fluttering in the wind . . . I almost feel like I’m there.  I really like the rapid, scribble-like brushstrokes that make up the the trees above the figure of Dorothy.
(c) DACS/Henrietta Garnett; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
The Doorway by Duncan Grant, c. 1929
Bell and Duncan focus a lot on fabrics and textures, which I love as a fashion and textile fanatic!  I’m absolutely enchanted by The Doorway by Grant.  The chair looks like it’s draped with a voided velvet fabric with a pattern of swirling flowers.  A sweater is placed over the top of the chair, incase the breeze gets to chilly.  And then there are the beautiful flowers and plants in the garden outside.  Look at all the carefully mixed colors – the pinks, yellows, lavenders, and greens, each applied with different brush strokes.  So lovely.
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Landscape View Near Guildford by Vanessa Bell, c. 1910.
Life on the country farm was really uninhibited.  Bell wrote: “We seem to be in the company of the young. All free, all beginning life in new surroundings without elders to whom we had to account in any way for our doings or behavior, and this was not common  in a mixed company of our class.” (72)  This freedom, I’m sure, made everyone who visited think.  Take a look at this portrait of James Strachey by Duncan Grant.  Sure looks like he’s lost in a world of ideas to me.
 
James Strachey 1910 by Duncan Grant 1885-1978
James Strachey by Duncan Grant, c. 1910
And this painting of Women and Two Children by Vanessa Bell.  The figure on the chair looks like she is contemplating something more pressing than the children playing with toys.
(c) Henrietta Garnett; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
Women and Two Children by French Windows by Vanessa Bell.
After breakfast, Bell and Grant would paint in the studio together.  The author talks about how Bell was in constant need of reassurance.  She painted to lose herself – to shed the gender roles, the definitions of femininity.  I guess in doing this she found something greater, the experience of being a painter.  But in an way where gender and sexuality didn’t define her.
(c) Henrietta Garnett; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
Henrietta by Vanessa Bell, c. 1950s.
Grant was a free spirit.  Compassionate, friendly, and unpretentious.  He was happy to paint, and live in the freedom that the Bloomsbury group afforded him.  He encouraged Bell, learned from her, and influenced her.  There relationship was described as the following:
Where Vanessa was timid and tentative, Duncan would be audacious, and when he was disoriented she would be authoritative.  She would straighten out his muddles, laugh at his perplexities, and when, as so often happened, her self-confidence failed her, he would support and reassure her.  The enterprise was never ‘art’ at the cost of a life lived or life at the expense of oeuvre.(81)
Lytton Strachey. Verso: Crime and Punishment circa 1909 by Duncan Grant 1885-1978
Lytton Strachey. Verso: Crime and Punishment by Duncan Grant, c. 1909.
 They also painted one another, which I think is so sweet.
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Portrait of Duncan Grant by Vanessa Bell 
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Portrait of  Vanessa Bell by Duncan Grant, c. 1917

 

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February 5th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Menswear: Shoes, 1888

Saturday was a really fun day.  I spent a few hours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art with my mom.  It was her first time there, so I had to show her around.  I’m lucky enough to know the Impressionist galleries pretty well.  I visit them almost every time I’m there.  (Second floor, Nineteenth Century European art!)

She absolutely loved it.  We dashed about, looking at different things, only to meet in front of paintings we mutually admired.  Like mother, like daughter I guess would sum the experience up, because we met up in front of this painting by Van Gogh:

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Shoes, 1888.  It’s a beautiful painting. Dazzling hues, strong brushwork, impasto layers of paint,  interesting composition.  We talked about this only after a good laugh- we love paintings of fashion.  We sort of marveled at how the shoes were timeless.  They could still be fashionable today, and here they were in a painting from 1888.  We wondered is they were Van Gogh’s own, or maybe they belonged to his friend and fellow painter Cezanne.

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My mom was really insistent that they looked like a pair of Vans. She probably made this connection because the soles of the shoes in the painting look white.  I wasn’t really convinced on this comparison.   To me, the shoes seemed like they were made of really nice leather.  Van Gogh took a lot of artistic liberty with selecting the color of the paint, so I guess everyone sees something different.  I imagined a soft, buttery leather, with an oval shaped toe cap.

We had lunch downstairs in the cafeteria, and I spotted these shoes on a passerby:

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Making these kinds of connections between fashion and art is practically what I live for.  Of course I was beside myself with excitement, and shouted “I love your shoes!”.  They were practically right out of my imagination of what I thought Van Gogh’s painting was trying to represent.  (These shoes, of course, have a few more eyelets than the painting.)

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The wearer almost escaped without further interrogation.  I sat and looked at the rest of my food, and the thought of not know more about the shoes made me lose my appetite.  So I ran after the gentleman to find out more about the brand.  Ian was kind enough to fill me in.  The shoes are by Clae, an Los Angeles based company.  Founded in the 1990s, the shoes are a take on merging casual silhouettes with the comfort of an athletic shoe.  Designer Sung Choi coined a term for this concept: “athleisure”.

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They certainly are perfect for a Saturday walking around Manhattan.  The style is classic and refined.  But they certainly look comfortable enough to trek around the city.  Definitely an updated take on what Van Gogh was wearing back in 1888!

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January 21st, 2013 by Monica Murgia

George Bellows & The Ashcan School

The George Bellows show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art really blew me away this weekend.  I worked at an art gallery for some time, and learned about the Ashcan School of painters.   Founded by Robert Henri (1865–1929) around 1900, this group of painters focused on depicting scenes as they were (Realism) instead of in the dreamy, staccato way of the American Impressionists.

Henri believed that painters needed to depict everyday subjects in an interesting and honest way: “What we need is more sense of the wonder of life, and less of this business of picture making.”  

George Wesley Bellows - Summer Night_ Riverside Drive
Summer Night, Riverside Drive by George Bellows, 1908.  Image courtesy of allpaintings.org

 

Members of the Ashcan School became instantly recognizable for their lavish use of black paint.  Black paint had pretty much been eliminated by the American Impressionist palette, although it was used heavily by the Old Masters like Rembrandt, Frans Hals, and Goya.  Contemporaries of the Ashcan school affectionally called them the “Revolutionary Black Gang” or the ” Ash Can Group” (hence the name).

 

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Stag at Sharkey’s by George Bellows, 1909.  Image courtesy of cleveland.about.com

George Bellows (1882-1925) was originally from Ohio.  He moved to New York to continue his study of painting.  Bellows met Henri shortly after arriving and started to study with him.  Henri encouraged Bellows to depict scenes of contemporary life, even if  the compositions and subjects challenge prevailing standards of taste. Bellows focused on impoverished immigrants in New York, especially children in “squalid and dangerous slums”.

 

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Cliff Dwellers by George Bellows, 1913.  Image courtesy of The Tenement Museum.

 

Bellows is really my favorite painter from the Ashcan School.  He has an amazing sense of value and color.  All of the paintings have so many harmonious colors, and really express a sense of light and dark.  The canvases are so luminous, they seem to have a radiant light source within.  One of my favorite paintings in the show was called Noon.  

Of course I’m partial to it because of all the blue paint, but you can definitely see how there are areas of light and dark.  The bridge and how it casts shadows over parts of the canvas, the dark areas with figures in the shade, and even the billowing smoke – just take a look at how masterfully they are all done:

 

 

1908 Noon oil on canvas 55.9 x 71.1 cm

 

 Noon by George Bellows, 1908.  

There were so many great depictions of New York City.  In addition to his sensitivity to color, Bellows was an amazing draftsman.  He carefully outlines shapes within the composition.  Almost all of the paintings have a balanced foreground, middle, and background.  And the subjects just seem to come alive, with all the care and detail with which they are painted.

 

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New York by George Bellows, 1911.

But really, the best part of seeing all of these paintings was the opportunity to look at Bellows’s brushstrokes.  It’s really difficult to see in photographs and images.  That’s why going to museums and galleries are so important.  There is a really, tangible experience of the painting that you just don’t get by looking at on the internet or in a book.  As someone that paints, it’s a special learning tool to see how other people push paint around the canvas.

 

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The Palisades by George Bellows, 1909.  Image courtesy of the Tate.

As I looked at certain paintings, I noticed that Bellows directed the paint to follow the specific object he was painting.  So for example, the water is painted horizontally and the tree is painted vertically.  Take a look at smoke in the upper right hand corner.  It’s really easy to see that Bellows swirls the paint around to mimic the way smoke billows in the wind.  So pretty!

 

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Snow Capped River by George Bellows, 1911.  Image courtesy of the Telfair Museum.

Snow Capped River was another favorite.  You MUST see it in person.  The image above doesn’t even hint at what a beautiful work of art it really is.  Bellows also changed the thickness of paint within his compositions.  Certain areas are very flat, with thin layers of paint, and others are thick and impasto.

The George Bellows exhibit is at the Metroplitan Museum of Art until February 18th, 2013.  Don’t miss it – the show is included with general admission!

 

 

 

 

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January 19th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Acanthus & Central Park

So much to do, so little time! I paint as a hobby, and am looking forward to getting some inspiration before going back to my studio.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art has two stellar shows right now, one on George Bellows, and another in Matisse.

I promise to write more about these exhibits after I take them in. I’m really looking forward to seeing how these two artists paint landscapes and other nature inspired scenes.

I’m not sure what paintings are in the shows, but Bellows painted many scenes of New York. When I spend time in the city, I always love going to Central Park and Riverside Drive. These are two places Bellows loved, and referred to park settings as an “urban oasis”.

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Matisse liked to paint in a completely different style, but I like his paintings of trees so much. (I’m really partial to painting trees. They are my favorite subject!). His Acanthus painting is really beautiful, such strong hues of green and purple paired together make me smile.

I’m hoping that both of these paintings are at the museum. They have a similar color palette, which would be interesting to look at in person.

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