Feeling Like Art

I was recently contacted by ARTSY. NET and asked if I might wish to put a link to their site on my blog. A staff member there had read my three piece series about the work of Björk. Specifically I was asked if I would link to their profile on Matthew Barney, Björk's ex husband. My original assumption was that the entire website was devoted to Barney, whom I explained, I was not a big fan of, but this is not the case. They are devoted to a plethora of art from sculpture to paintings, from photography to glassworks.  Their goal is to bring art to the anyone with an internet connection.  As well, they have live auctions where one can buy art pieces online.

On principle I like and encourage people to expose themselves to art in any way possible. Look at it. Struggle to understand what is being conveyed. What is art? A statement without words? Something frivolous? Decoration? Or a visual mapping of history?

When I entered the website I was reminded of something important that was conveyed to me in graduate school and which at first I did not understand the why of the instruction: Go to the source material. While the internet is a grand tool, and my life would never be the same without it, the internet does not convey or translate well, to the actual viewing of art in person. Case in point: Van Gogh's The Starry Night, a painting most of us may be familiar with and is seen seemingly everywhere. Coffee mugs, posters, sheets, etc. Seeing it this way one never would imagine that it is a small painting, 2.5 feet X 3 feet. You would also not know that the paint itself is so thick in places that the painting is practically 3-D. When I first saw this painting I was almost shocked that it was so small and the paint technique that Van Gogh used helps explain why his art, (even in photographic reproduction), looks so textured. So while viewing art on the internet is a wonderful access tool, nothing replaces going and seeing art in the flesh. One will never see the absolute grandness and scale of a Tiepolo work from a picture on the internet and one will never understand the significance of Tiepolo Blue unless one stands near or below one of his masterpieces. I support the intentions of Artsy.net but nothing replaces going to the source. Scale plays an important role in the experience of viewing art and photography may be the only art that translates well to the internet.

This blog entry is meant to be whimsical. It is also meant to be an illustration of how the visual can represent the emotional. I look at art for inspiration. Too, one looks at art to find beauty, to meditate, to contemplate, to consider another viewpoint. Often art is simply a manifestation of what you yourself have no words for, or it touches a place in you that is a memory long forgotten. As many of my readers know I am also fascinated by canons. How an idea becomes expanded upon, over time, and which allows all voices to add another layer to that never ending disciplines that are contained in the canon.

Ariadne Abandoned by Theseus by
Angelica Kauffman. 1774

It was so overcast this morning that I almost felt like hiding. I felt alone and I felt like Ariadne. Though this painting depicts Ariadne waking from sleep to discover she has been abandoned by Theseus (Greek Mythology), her gesture suggests, to me, that the start of the day is difficult. When one thinks about it however, sleep is a type of death. We fall to sleep with a beloved beside us only to waken and find ourselves abandoned. This becomes a harsh start to a day. There is vulnerability in sleep. We slumber off into the unknown. Trusting in the concept of trust. What I also see in this painting is the gorgeousness of sleeping outside; an added layer of vulnerability.

The contrast between her sheets, what the French describe as 'old red', a color with an interesting history, and her gossamer clothing is striking, as well as the swell of her belly being echoed by the swelling of the tree in the background. What was kept in the box at beside? Is she reaching out to keep emotional pain away or to bridge herself back to her beloved? While we may not make these gestures in our lives at present, we understand instinctually that she is feeling a loss that we can identify with even if that loss stems from mythology. That, or an early rendering of: Talk to the hand, because I ain't listening.

Melencolia by Alessandro Sicioldr. 2015

Melancholia often feels as though something is lingering. A thing that is gentle and tender which stays close and speaks of sadness. When I imagine melancholia it also, like lachrymosity, seem to be made of water. It is damp in my imagination. The tip of the nose depicted here and the watery eyes suggest recent crying but the little figure, (ever present), soothing her brow, tends to her sadness. Is the figure a smaller version of herself, a guardian angel of sorts, or a representation of feeling small and tender when experiencing melancholia? I am moved by the classical style of this painting yet it was created in 2015. Sicioldr has taken renaissance and combined it with surrealism. The use of the color black, her robe and the seamless nature of the turban being connected to the ribs of the smaller figure suggest mourning; another type of melancholia. The slightly downturned corners of her mouth suggests a coming to terms with the sadness, a determination to accept her grief.

Whenever I see this painting by Matisse, I instantly, in my head, begin singing: All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air. With one enormous chair, Ahh wouldn't be lovely…

Woman Seated in an Armchair. Henri Matisse. 1940

All of Matisse's work always makes me think: Anyone can paint. It all looks so thrown together and unskilled as if he had no real talent but simply luck. But he was a master a color and of course he was skilled but none of his outlines or depictions of items ever look complicated or fussy. You can fall into his paintings and see yourself there. You can feel the air in the room, the breezes, the comfort. And there again is that wonderful red again on the table.

I've attend many staff meetings and conferences in my life. When I began work in virology I began as a volunteer. It was a time in history when we worked as pioneers; not always knowing where things would lead us, but enthusiastic and committed nonetheless. Volunteers are not held to the same restrictions that union members are. I was privy to intimate conversations and examinations that otherwise would have been forbidden to me. When virology clinics became established across the United States guidelines where put in place. Sometimes guidelines are a good thing and others times it's an indication of impending bureaucracy which can oftentimes remove the humaneness in a given situation. I often sat in staff meetings looking like this:

T.Blum. 1965

Overwhelmed by how bureaucratic everything had become. A supervisor, laughing, took me aside once and asked me if I could perhaps don another expression in meetings. God knows I tried but this expression is often found on my face. It shows up when I can't believe what I have just heard, or when I think you need a visual representation of what's in my head. It feels like a young expression. I feel young when it comes and I always hope those that see it see me as young. That's not always the case however. There are certain expressions and sentiments that we accept in the young but no longer tolerate in the adult. I am not sure why this is exactly other than to suppose that youth is not to be expected to be accountable, and adults are supposed to hide themselves. I like this little girl. Something about her conveys a mind of her own, a sureness, a right to be present. This painting is defined as Folk Art but when one reads the definition of Folk Art in the above link, one has to wonder why someone like Matisse doesn't fall into that category as well. His painting above does not follow any of the rules of proportion or perspective yet one is considered fine art and the other the art of the indigenous or primitive. This little girl looks Van Gogh-ish to me!

Tongues (Holy Rollers). Archibald J. Motley Jr. 1929

When I was wee I sometimes attended a COGIC Baptists church in San Francisco. When that congregation began singing and carrying-on the floors of that church, the windows, the pews began to tremble like God was on his way. People, when they felt the spirit to do so, would jump up and begin dancing and waving their arms about like they were trying to save laundry in a hurricane. The older people where the most inclined to get up and let loose. Everyone was dressed in their finest of clothing and the hats to be seen outdid QE11. Everyone got involved. The babies just learning to crawl, the preacher, everyone. The spirit of the Black Baptist church is so wonderfully captured here in this painting. I can recall my own experiences with ease when I see this painting. I can feel the rumble, hear the tongues, see the elders, smell the musty, and feel the musicians bringing God down for a long awaited reunion. I am also reminded, as a non practicing Catholic, that worship doesn't require ornamentation. This painting depicts a service in a nondescript room/building yet all the color of stain glass windows is instead seen in the congregants and clothing. I like the way the preacher is arching to his right almost like a Busby Berkeley choreographed shot for an Esther Williams film. He leans so far over that he appears ready to take flight.

Art, even when not created by you, can still have such a sublime impact. It's momentous. It is a record of where we have been, where we are going and what was important to us. As well it can be timeless and therefore never dated or obsolete.