Monica D. Murgia

Where art, creativity, and fashion meet

Archive for the ‘Great Museums’ 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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May 15th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Textile sketches by Sonia Delaunay

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is one of my favorite places to pass some time.  Earlier this week, I took a group of students to a special event celebrating Punk: Chaos to Couture.  As I wandered around the second floor, making my way to the exhibition, several sketches caught my eye.  The main corridor that leads to the special exhibition gallery is generally lined with works on paper – prints, drawings, and so on.  I noticed a lot of patterns, and knew they were textile designs.  (I’ll be writing more about those later!)  In the middle of this large corridor was a small table encased in plexiglass with the most wonderful sketches by Sonia Delaunay (1885-1979).

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These drawings are from 1925, and just darling!  I stood there a long time looking at them.  (They were a bit difficult to photograph without casting a shadow, as you can see.)  These sketches are simply entitled Sonia Delaunay: her paintings, her objects, her simultaneous fabrics, her fashions.  I think these are really prime examples of her design sensibilities, which included the art theory her and her husband Robert developed.  (New to my site?  You should take a look at my previous posts on Sonia & Robert Delaunay)

Sonia, along with her husband, painter Robert Delaunay (1885-1941), developed a color theory called simultaneity – the sensation of movement when contrasting colors are placed side by side.

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I love the geometry and color patterns in each of these sketches.  They clearly show a harmony between the fine and decorative arts movements at the time.  The green and black dress on the left is a nod to Cubism.  The middle dress looks uncannily like the interior of  an Art Deco building.  Perhaps it was inspired by a tiled floor.

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The silhouette is still column-like, which is a hallmark of the 1920s.  There is no defined waist, and the garments seem to hang vertically from the shoulders and obscure the shape of the body.   However, you can see that most of the hemlines are quite long – a definite contrast to the American flapper.  A nice alternative silhouette  to all The Great Gatesby buzz that’s been going around.

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All images courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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May 15th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Stephen Burrows: When Fashion Danced

This week, I’m taking my classes to see Stephen Burrows: When Fashion Danced.  It is currently on view at the Museum of the City of New York.  Last week, I went to take care of the paperwork and got a special preview.

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Stephen Burrows is an American fashion designer, and was very active in the 1970s.  He studied at FIT and was quickly hired after an internship.

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A few weeks ago, I found a great book The Fashion Makers by Barbara Walz and Bernadine Morris.  There was a great biography on Burrows.  It explained how his grandmother taught him to sew as a child.  He explained: “I was fascinated by the zigzag stitch.  I put it on everything.”  He liked to use this to finish the edges on jersey dresses, because hems would weigh the fabric down.  The zigzag finish makes the fabric light, and curl and wave at the edges.  This design signature started to be referred to as the lettuce edge, because it looks like the undulating wavy edges of lettuce.

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I just adore the dress above.  The combination of colors are stellar, and it looks so easy to put on and wear.  Another favorite of mine is the outfit below.  It’s two pieces, and just so fluid and romantic.

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As I made my way through the exhibition, I was really impressed with how beautiful and easy to wear most of the garments were.  Like the exhibition suggests, each of the designs encouraged movement.  The lightweight fabrics, fluid draping, and uncomplicated construction are just magical.  A majority of my time is spent traveling for work, so finding clothing with these characteristics are very important to me.
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I don’t wear pants very often, but was crazy for these tulip pants.  The loose cut and way the fabric envelopes the leg is so interesting.

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I also really liked the mannequins the museum used.  Their postures made the clothing come alive.  Most mannequins don’t gesticulate in this type of way.  Generally, they are ridged and are simply hangers for the clothes.  These are so different, and help in imagine the garments on a moving body.

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Burrows was also very fearless about pairing vivid colors together.  There is a whole section of the exhibit dedicated to color blocking.

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I’m not that adventurous when it comes to pairing intense hues in one garment, but I did really enjoy looking.  This type of color blocking was a signature of Burrows.

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This set against the wall was so intense!  It looked futuristic – almost like something by Pierre Cardin or Andres Courreges.  These garments were all available at the O Boutique, the first commercial venture Burrows launched to sell commercially.  He was later signed to make clothes for Henri Bendel’s in New York.

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There were also accompanying sketches.  These are always some of my favorite items to look at.  It reveals so much about the design process.

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If you’re in New York, be sure to see this great exhibit!  Museum of the City of New York.

 

 

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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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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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February 3rd, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Batik: Cloth as Art

Batik is such a magical textile.  It’s a special way of dyeing cloth.  Wax is applied to the surface of a cloth to protect certain areas from the dye bath.  The cloth is dyed several times to achieve a rich, artistic surface.  It is traditionally done by hand, and takes a very long time.  Resistance and Splendor in Javanese Textiles is a small exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art that explores this wax resist dyeing technique.

 

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So, for instance, let’s talk about the sarung above.  There are about 4 different dye colors.  Before the sarung was dipped in a red dye bath, all of the areas that were going to be a different color had to be covered in wax.  The wax prevents the dye from being absorbed in the fabric.  The cloth was dried, the wax removed, and the the process was repeated for the other colored dye baths.

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Batik is a traditional cloth from Indonesia.  There are many studios in Java that have historically produced batik cloth.  I wrote a lot about this in graduate school, and always admired how skillfully and artistically the cloth was decorated.  Some of my research is actually published in book  Encyclopedia of National Dress!  The book is available for pre-order on Amazon.  My mom (above) attended the show with me.  She knows how crazy I am about batik, but she had never seen any in person.

She was mesmerized by the level of detail in the cloth.

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One of the other aspects I love about Javanese textiles is that they are  spiritual objects.  Indonesia has a really rich and diverse religious community, but a large percentage is Hindu and Buddhist.  The cloth and how it is made is a representation of the universe (sort of like Tibetan sand mandalas).  

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The act of making these complex patterns is a sort of meditation.  Extreme care and mindfulness are needed, or else the design will not be executed properly.  The artists that make these clothes must be fully present in the moment of creating the cloth.

 

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Also, the colors of the dyes are a spiritual reference.  The traditional natural dyes indigo, brown, and white represent the Hindu gods Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva.    These three gods are a sacred trinity in Hinduism.  Brahma is the creator, Vishnu is the preserver, and Shiva is the destroyer.  You can start to see how traditional batik represents the larger idea of the universe, life, and death.

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 Most of the designs and motifs in batik show scenes from nature.  I think this really reinforces the spiritual element of the cloth.  It represents the impermanence of life.  Life changes.  It never stays the same.  Everything grows, changes forms, and eventually leaves the earth.

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Most Hindu and Buddhist art address these ideas.  Art from these spiritual traditions act as meditation tools.  They give viewers ways to understand and accept the greater truths and experience of life.  But most Buddhist and Hindu art is stationary and stays in one place.  Batik can be worn, and serve as a daily reminder of spirituality.

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All images courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  If you liked these images, I’ll be posting more to my Facebook page.  Please check it out!

 

 

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February 1st, 2013 by Monica Murgia

A Conversation on Social Interaction

Teaching is always on my mind.  I’m always looking for new and better ways to communicate with my students and those around me.  Worn Through allows me to share my observations and strategies I use for teaching.  One thing I always try to do when planning a lesson is create activities that encourage social interaction.

This term, I am completing a training to teach online.  I’ve been increasingly preoccupied with ways in which to engage and direct social interaction in a digital classroom.   This led me to contact Dirk vom Lehn.  Vom Lehn is a sociologist and lecturer at Kings College.  I was hoping he could share his experiences as an educator and expert on social interaction to shed some light on the matter.  He also invited his colleauge Will Gibson, lecturer at the Institute of Education at the University of London to join the disucssion.

A really dynamic conversation is unraveling as we discuss our interests and training in social interaction as a learning tool.  So for today’s post, please visit Worn Through and read On Teaching Fashion: A Conversation on Social Interaction, Part I.  Whether or not you are a teacher, vom Lehn and Gibson offer some wonderful insights on learning – something you should never stop doing!

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January 28th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Ode to Matisse

The Matisse show at the Met definitely was not what I was expecting.  Entitled In Search of a True Painting, the galleries are full of studies and series of paintings based around the same subjects.  After seeing the impressive paintings on George Bellows, it was a real contrast to see an artist’s studies and struggles with the canvas.

The truth is, Matisse really struggled with painting.  He never felt his work was complete, and wanted to push every painting to the next level.  This was really a surprise to me.  I’ve always considered Henri Matisse (1869–1954) one of the geniuses of the twentieth century.  I love his painting, Acanthus, which I am happy to report was at the Met.

 

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The curators at the Met go on to explain:

Unbeknownst to many, painting had rarely come easily to Matisse. Throughout his career, he questioned, repainted, and reevaluated his work. He used his completed canvases as tools, repeating compositions in order to compare effects, gauge his progress, and, as he put it, “push further and deeper into true painting.”

The show didn’t really make much of an impact on me until I got home to paint.  I sort of do the same thing with my own art.  Trees are really my favorite subject.  I spend a lot of time outdoors. I love to photograph, draw, and paint the beautiful trees I see while on my walks.  A few weeks prior to seeing the Matisse show, I’d done a few studies of the same tree:

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I do these kinds of studies a lot, especially when I’m not sure if I want to change the color palette.  I like to draw outside while I’m in nature.  I can see more colors than a photograph will capture, and I can play around with the intensity of the hues while drawing.  It’s a lot of fun.  But with the cold weather, I’ve been drawing more indoors.
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Since my visit to the Met, I really wanted to make a painting of a tree.  I love the bright colors of Acanthus, and wanted to incorporate them into my own work.  Since I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do, I made a few studies:

 

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Making a drawing or painting is like meeting a person that you like.  You just get a feeling that it’s a good fit – everything just seems to flow and there is a sense of harmony.  I definitely felt that in the last study I did above.  The composition worked, I liked the colors.  So I decided to try my Ode to Matisse out on the canvas.

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I mostly like to paint on the floor.  Standing at an easel at my studio doesn’t really give me the range of motion I like.  But when I paint with David Ohlerking, it’s especially helpful to have an easel.  The way he mixes his paints is so different – they’re sort of runny.  So the paint sort of drips down.  I love painting with him because of this!  It’s an entirely different experience.  I always learn so much.  If you paint, I really suggest venturing out of solitude once in a while.  Painting with someone else can really help you learn new techniques and ways to express yourself.

When I paint by myself, I try all sorts of things.  Sometimes I mix the paint directly on the canvas.  Other times, I use a palette to mix colors or revisit something I’ve mixed before.  (Oil paint never really dries!)  I’ll push it around with palette knives, brushes, and bits of cardboard.  My brushes are usually really dry.  I probably don’t get all of the paint off and it hardens.  So every time I use a brush, it manipulates the paint in a different way.  I didn’t get to finish yet, but here is what I have so far:

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January 24th, 2013 by Monica Murgia

Utah Tailoring Mills & The New Look

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Yesterday, I was at the Baum School of Art working on my cataloging project.  I’ve photographed and created a numbering system for over 100 outfits in the Stieg Collection.  This is a really important part of creating a fashion archive.  As I was checking that each garment had the right number, I kept getting distracted by this suit:

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Jane Stieg had her wardrobe custom made by the Utah Tailoring Mills from 1958 – 1968.  But this suit reminded me so much of Christian Dior’s New Look collection!  In 1947, Dior really revolutionized fashion.  Wartime restrictions during WWII had limited the amount of fabric used in individual garments.  Money was also tight for many people, so they simply had to “make do” with what they had.  Women altered and repaired their garments.  Hemlines were higher than in the 1930s to conserve fabric.  So when Dior introduced longer hemlines and full skirts, it caused an uproar.  Women were literally forced to buy new garments to keep up with trends.  After all, you can always shorten a skirt.  But making it longer usually won’t work.

 

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Bar Suit by Christian Dior, 1947. Image courtesy of The Jewelry Editor
The Bar Suit, above, was probably the most iconic piece from Dior’s 1947 collection.  Sloped, padded shoulders descend to a small, nipped in waist.  The coat then becomes full again and covers the hips – almost like a peplum.  The full, shin-length skirt is in a dark, contrasting color.
Jane’s suit was most likely made in 1958 or 1959, because it follows the silhouette of the New Look must more loosely.  Dior’s suits required numerous underpinnings to give it that sharp, sleek, and impossibly small torso.  Throughout the 1950s, women went on serious diets to try to achieve this ideal body.  Garments during this period were very structured, and very tiny!
Jane’s suit isn’t as structured, and has softer shoulders, too. It also doesn’t have a collar.  Her jacket does have a similar length, like Dior’s.  And the color combination is a nod to the Bar Suit, for sure!
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 The Met has a copy of the original Bar Suit in it’s collection (below).  They have great mannequins, and really emphasized what the outfit would have looked like on the body.  Jane’s suit (above) probably would have had a crinoline or tulle petticoat, which would have given it more shape.  The shot above is has no reinforcements, so it just hangs straight up and down.

 

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Bar Suit by Christian Dior, 1947. Image courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

And like Dior, Jane’s suit was custom made just for her based off of her measurements.

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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.”  

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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).

 

Stag at Sharkeys George Bellows

 

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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