Missing Caravaggio

Michelangelo Merisi "John the Baptist," 1604

Last September, during a brief stay in Kansas City, I had a chance to visit The Nelson-Atkins Museum. My intention was primarily to see their fine Caravaggio, "St. John the Baptist," which is the only work by the renowned Italian near where I live. I've seen the painting several times, but like all of the master's work it repays further study. Caravaggio's real name was Michelangelo Merisi, but he was from the town of Caravaggio, and so he was Michelangelo da Caravaggio to differentiate him from the Michelangelo, who was from Florence anyway.

So I walked the few blocks from my hotel through the beautiful wooded neighborhood around the museum. I spent some time reminding myself about the enormous badminton shuttlecocks that parade up the grand green vista before the main building. Those are by Claes Oldenburg and are supposed to be representative of a match, with three on one side and the fourth on the other side--the building being the badminton net. In any event, I went in with great anticipation, only to find that the painting is actually part of an exhibition in Milan. This particular full figure of the saint is an enormous work (life-size) showing a dark, brooding young man in a dark wilderness. It was painted in 1604 as a commission from an Italian noble, whose family owned it for generations afterward. In preparation for the exhibition the painting underwent investigation with careful restoration as part of the process. The Milan exhibition includes a number of other favorites of mine by Caravaggio, including his "Rest on the Flight Into Egypt," from the Doria Pamphilj Palace in Rome. In any event, the painting was in Milan for the exhibition, and I only had an hour or two.

So I spent the short time going from one remembered favorite to another. The Nelson-Atkins Museum is a treasure of a museum if only because of the Caravaggio. But there is more to enjoy there than one might think. For one thing, the collection is quite varied, comprising African, Asian and European concentrations and ranging from Ancient Art to Contemporary. The museum is quite strong in European Art and holds work by El Greco, Rubens, Rembrandt and Titian to name only some of the most familiar. And the museum is also exceptionally strong in American Art.

Thomas Hart Benton, "Persephone," 1939

Particularly important American works are the large group by Thomas Hart Benton, who was a Kansas City resident at one time, but it also contains works by John Singleton Copley, Thomas Eakins, John Sargent, and Winslow Homer. Always included as one of the painters in the 1930s movement called Regionalism, Benton was a Missouri native but lived a good portion of his life elsewhere. After studying at the Art Institute of Chicago he also studied at the Academie Julien in Paris, lived and worked in New York for two decades, and eventually settled into Kansas City, where he taught at the Kansas City Art Institute, which is near the Nelson-Atkins. I've always liked his "Persephone," which he painted while there. Even for those days (1939) it was considered scandalous in Kansas City and cost Benton his job. It has been called a great piece of soft pornography but I think it's much more than that. Benton's sinuous lines and curvilinear perspective are much in evidence, but in particular his skin tones are wonderful and his distortions make eminent sense in these days of fish-eye camera lenses. It's  big painting and the figures are almost life-size. The Greek tale of Persephone tells how the goddess of the harvest was abducted by Hades, the god of the underworld, and must remain with him for half of each year, making the earth infertile (and accounting for the seasons). In the picture Hades is in the guise of an old Missouri farmer with a wagon waiting to abduct a nubile Persephone (who resembles Hedy Lamar, the famous movie actress, to me), even as the harvest is being finished. The painting is a great retelling of the myth, and Thomas Benton is one of my favorite realist painters. I always visit her when there.

Another work I often visit, and spent a bit of time with this time was Claude Monet's "Boulevard des Capuchins," from about 1874 is certainly one of the most famous (and initially derided) works of Impressionism. Monet painted the street scene from a second-floor window in Paris, capturing the passing parade on the grand boulevard, the diffuse light, and the mist-like bare branches. At the time, work of this sort was considered unfinished--the figures were particularly criticized as little more than "black lickings," but today's experts claim that Monet was interested in showing the kind of blurring a camera with a slow shutter speed might record. Perhaps so. Or perhaps he was simply trying to evoke motion without thinking of cameras. The colors are muted and blued because the scene is winter. Although this work is somewhat like the darker works of the Barbizon School, a predecessor of Impresionism, the palette is quite different. Many in our present culture may find this particular work of Monet less attractive since the brighter palette of Impessionism is missing. Regardless, I enjoy this work almost as much as Benton's.

As always there is never enough time to savor everything that the museum has to offer. On the other hand it is close to home and no doubt I will be in Kansas City another day.

Winter in Art

The latest cold snap and snowy weather prompted thoughts of winter in art. Paintings of the winter season are fairly common in our time, but it wasn't always so. Painting and sculpture in Europe was devoted to religious topics and mostly paid for by the Church.

Pieter Breughel the Elder, "Hunters in Snow," 1565

Very few winter landscapes were made (in European painting anyway) until about the mid-16th century. In that century Pieter Breughel the Elder produced what is often considered to be the first winter landscape, "Hunters in the Snow." Breughel painted a series of images of the months, including this one, that year, commissioned by a wealthy patron, depicting village life. The hunters painting depicts a snowbound Flemish landscape and village, showing not only hunters with pikes trudging off with their dogs, villagers gathered around a fire, skaters on a frozen pond. There are houses and churches in the distance and all is set by a backdrop of snow-covered mountains--obviously invented, given the Flemish topography. Breughel made quite a few other snowy paintings, even a nativity scene. And since religious art was less and less important, especially in Northern Europe after the Reformation, secular landscapes of all kinds came to the forefront. Other genres of painting--still life, genres, portraits--became important as well.

Caspar David Friedrich, "Winter Landscape with Ruins" 1808

The German artist Caspar David Friedrich is a particular favorite of mine. He was part of the Romantic movement, whose approach to landscape was sharply different. Instead of the kind of bucolic prettiness that you might find in a work by John Constable, Friedrich painted mysterious, sometimes frightening landscapes, often with a single figure. He was interested in landscape as a way to explore the human condition, and used close observation outdoors to study various aspects, usually in graphite. He was particularly interested in metaphorical aspects, as you can see in Winter Landscape with Ruins from 1808. The monochromatic palette, bare trees, deep snow and obliterating winter atmosphere coupled with a ruined monastery evoke (for me at least) the depths of despair and loss. The evocation of mourning is almost unbearable. Friedrich, despite being famous as a young man, died in relative obscurity, as so many seem to have done.

Claude Monet, "The Magpie," 1869

During the 19th century, landscape painting evolved as painters spent more time outdoors, like John Constable in England and Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot in France. Their work, in turn, sparked not only depiction of reality (the Realism of Courbet) but eventually the work of Claude Monet. Quite a few of Monet's works are snowscapes one of my favorites being The Magpie, which was rejected by the Paris Salon but is famous today. It was painted on the spot after a big snowfall. Monet evokes the sunshine on new snow with multicolored shadows that many consider the beginning sparks of Impressionism. In any event, unlike Friedrich, there is light and hope and optimism in the image in a seemingly realistic landscape. The focal magpie--metaphorically perhaps despair or misfortune--is dwarfed by the hope and warmth of the yellow sunshine. Worth considering in view of today's political and cultural climate.
 

Christmas and Dickens

Today begins the long process of lengthening days and the return of the sun. For those of us in the northern latitudes, more sunshine is always welcome. In another day or two is Christmas, originally a Christian festival that's now taken over the world. The formerly religious holiday has become a general festival of good cheer and good will. Given that this time of year seems to have always spawned such, it's really not surprising to see Buddhist and Hindu nations celebrating. Christmas is celebrated in Japan with general fun, gift-giving, and fried chicken. In India where only 2% or so are Christian, the holiday is celebrated by many more with gifts and Christmas trees. The holiday is wonderful. It signals a return of light and a renewal of happiness in an otherwise dark time.

John Leech "Marley's Ghost," 1843

Surprisingly--or perhaps not--much of the art of Christmas is religious, devoted to the story of the birth of Jesus and the stories about shepherds and wise men (or maybe kings) and all of that. Much of that art was commissioned by the Church as narrative, of course, and the holiday itself wasn't all that popular in a large part of the world for several hundred years. So secular art about Christmas really doesn't start to show up until perhaps the mid-19th century or so. There are those who say that Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol," published just before the holiday in 1843 is most responsible for reviving Christmas, at least in England. Perhaps so. Certainly, according to biographers anyway, Dickens loved Christmas and was unfailing jolly during the season. That first Christmas offering, by the way, was followed by a Christmas offering every year.

John Leech, "Ghost of Christmas Present," 1843

The first edition of "A Christmas Carol" was illustrated with a series of steel engravings depicting various events in the story, from the appearance of Marley's ghost to the final denouement. The illustrator was a well-known English caricaturist, John Leech who had established himself as the main caricaturist for the English humor magazine, Punch. Leech had originally studied medicine, but art beckoned, and by his twenties he was published widely. 

The most interesting, perhaps, of Leech's works for Christmas Carol was his image of the Ghost of Christmas present who was shown in a green robe and surrounded by the makings of a giant feast. Dickens insisted that the robe be green because that's how he described the ghost. Leech had made the robe a bright red and grumbled but made the change. 

In any event, Charles Dickens, for perhaps a century or so at least, transformed Christmas into a snowy, cheery, wonderful holiday, aided in no small part by John Leech. 

Merry Christmas and may God bless us, every one!

 

Acrylic or Casein?

A few weeks back while discussing casein paint, someone asked, "why not just use acrylics?'

"Racing," 4x6, casein on panel

Why not indeed? After all, acrylics are water-thinned, dry very quickly, are widely available in good grades and many hues, and have the virtue of extensive experience among a wide range of artists. Acrylics have proven themselves as a plastic, easily-handled medium. You can paint thin and transparent or more thickly, like oil paint. The paint layers are flexible, probably very long-lasting and generally light-durable too. Many favor acrylic paint as a substitute for oils.

But casein has a lot of virtues too. Casein paint dries very quickly,

"The Silver Creamer," 4x6, casein on panel

allowing the artist to work at least as quickly as with acrylics. Casein is a water-based paint too, allowing thin and thick application. Casein dries matte, which allows for great photographs, so that in the middle 20th century (before acrylics) casein was the go-to choice for many illustrators. Casein dries to a more rigid film, so firm supports are necessary (wood, bristol board, etc.) but otherwise the paint is very durable, so durable in fact it is one of the most ancient kinds of paint man has invented. Unfortunately, casein paint is only made by a handful of companies worldwide. Casein is a bit like gouache but unlike gouache, once casein has dried it isn't dissolved by water.  One final point: casein is made from milk protein and is therefore a renewable item; acrylics are made from petroleum.

So how to choose? Why not try a few tubes of casein paint and see?

Portraits of the Family

Peter Paul Rubens, "Isabella Brandt," 1620

A lot of painters have made portraits of family. Everyone from Rembrandt to Rockwell produced at least a smattering or more of family portraiture. The thing that I find interesting about family portraits is what these works might be telling us about the family or the relationship between the sitter and the painter in any event. You get not only a look at the individual, you get a chance to see that person through the eyes of someone who knew them very well.

For example,  Rubens painted his wife Isabella with tenderness and affection, and gave her a certain mischievous and knowing look that charms us after four hundred years. You get a hint that she could be a bit of a tease, perhaps, but also rather sexy.

Vincent van Gogh, "Portrait of the Artist's Mother," 1888

 Vincent van Gogh painted a picture of his mother from a photograph, giving us a sense of innate kindness behind her poorly hidden frown. Knowing their relationship the way we do today, it seems a telling image of the artist's mother. She was terribly worried about her eldest son throughout her life, and seems to have suffered greatly. The greens in the painting seem a bit much, but I suspect they were countered by a red that has faded to transparency over the decades.

Paul Cezanne, "Portrait of the Artist's Father," 1866

Paul Cezanne painted his father large in a dark, heavily impastoed portrait, reading the newspaper, as one would expect of a banker and man of affairs. As you would expect, Cezanne's businessman father didn't approve of his son's devotion to painting, nor to the woman he would later marry. In this work M. Cezanne is certainly serious, even perhaps grumpy and it's not difficult to see that the relationship must have been a difficult one. Cezanne had defied his father's wishes and committed himself to becoming a painter only a few years before his made this enormous and forbidding picture.

Mary Cassatt, "Woman with a Pearl Necklace, in a Loge," 1879

Another painter who produced sensitive works of family members was Mary Cassatt. During the late 1870s and into the 1880s she painted numerous members of her family--sister Lydia in particular. They lived with their parents in Paris during those years while Mary exhibited with the Impressionists and was a dear friend of Degas. Strictly speaking, she painted scenes involving family rather than straight-on portraits. Nonetheless, in her images of her sister we see affection and even a kind of awe of her beauty. Woman with a Pearl Necklace is a striking image of her sister during an intermission of the Paris Opera.

Portrait of Bill, 2005

In my own case, I've done some family portraits too. Here is a portrait of Bill Barber, my mother's second husband and a thoroughly admirable guy. Bill was the definition of "salt of the earth," and was the best thing that happened to my mother in her old age. I worked up this 20x16 oil from personal references and life sketches. Someone else will have to say what they actually see in this portrait, but my intent was to show the warmth and deep goodness of the man, making his face that of a man of the land, with the kind of pale forehead that farmers' caps produce. His shirt wasn't gray but I wanted an effect of chiaroscuro with no distracting color.

When to Stop Learning

In education circles, especially at the post-graduate level, the term "lifelong learning" has become trendy. The idea in educators' eyes is to encourage the eventual graduate to continue to learn and investigate. These days, given the speed of information publishing and the unbelievable volume, it's critical to instill the habit of continued learning. The ideal is never to stop adding to one's fund of knowledge.

For artists, lifelong inquiry and boundary challenging should be the norm. Those in occupations that produce things--"makers" is the current buzzword--ought to investigate as many different materials, means, and methods of expression as possible. For me it's only through that kind of questioning and questing that advances have come in production of art. A new medium may send one off in the most productive direction, or facilitate new work in the medium originally chosen. A new genre may spark enormous creativity. It is the quest that provides the power.

So of course the answer to the question in the title of this post (when to stop learning) is: Never.

Here are few random lessons learned over several decades that have paid dividends and keep coming to mind:

• "Violate your edges" is a quote from my friend and mentor Bill Whitaker. What he means by

  

  Bill Whitaker giving a portrait demo, 2005

  that statement is just that you should paint across edges, then correct in order to establish depth and overlap. Without such treatment, edges are too often monotonous, uniformly hard or perhaps poorly-defined, and good edges make the painting sing. (Bill is a wonderful painter whose generous friendship and mentoring have been essential to me. I think of those words every day.)
• Spend more time looking than painting.  Another important lesson from Mr. Whitaker. A lot of people are eager to paint, to put down the ideas that are coming to them as they study an object or a person and try to translate paint into picture. Guilty. It isn't easy for me to slow my technique, spend time not just looking at something but actually studying it: how long is it? how tall? where are the angles and how do they relate? and so on. Spending the time to understand shapes, structures, light and dark, and all of the other aspects of an object actually shortens the painting time. And it can facilitate crisper brushwork since the artist has thought hard about the brush stroke to be applied. Overall, study of the motif makes it easier to paint.
• Paint like a millionaire. This one comes from a fellow student of art. The idea is to worry less

  

  "Secondaries," oil on panel, 2005

  about the cost of materials and more about learning how to use them. In that vein, it's important to use the best materials you can afford--top grade paint, durable and stable supports, and so on. Student grade materials are cheaper, yes, but may not perform to the necessary standards. That is, paint may have inert fillers (for example) that alter mixing properties or otherwise alter paint performance. Cheaper charcoal or graphite may have flaws or lack durability. And so on. A sports trainer of mine once admonished me to buy the best equipment I could afford. It's good advice and promotes learning. 

Favorite Artists 2- Jean-Baptiste-Simeon Chardin

Once in a while when thinking of artists, Jean-Baptiste-Simeon Chardin comes to mind.

Chardin, "Self portrait," pastel, 1771

Chardin was a lifelong Parisian and even lived the final years of his life in the Louvre as painter to the King of France. Although he was a contemporary of the rococo era of painters he was quite unlike them in his own work. In that century history painting was considered the pinnacle of art, but much of Chardin's work was still life or figures, neither considered to be as elevated. Chardin's work was hardly as flamboyant as that of others of his era (Watteau or Fragonard, for example).  Instead he dealt in common domestic subject matter.

For me, one of the chief pleasures of Chardin's work is a sense of quiet contemplation. Whether the work is a still life or figurative, the pictures become a source of meditation and sometimes even wonder.

While Chardin was influenced by the art world of his time and by his contemporaries, he was singular in many ways. Mostly self-taught, he did not absorb the working style of a personal teacher so much as he exemplified himself. For one thing, his subject matter was almost documentary rather than romantic and flamboyant in the rococo style. He painted the interiors of French homes, delineating common objects that his contemporaries generally ignored. He dealt with the world of children and domestics and food rather than romantic interludes of the upper classes. He was an integral part of the French Academy, was quite popular in his lifetime, and exhibited regularly in the Salon during his whole life, although by his last years he had faded into near-obscurity.

"Woman Sealing a Letter," oil, ~1734

Chardin began doing figurative paintings, the first maybe his "Woman Sealing a Letter," when in his mid-thirties and already an established painter. Most often he depicted women and children in various pursuits--blowing a bubble, setting up a house of cards, working domestically, and so on.

"The Soap Bubble," 1735

"The House of Cards," ~1735

"Copper Cistern," ~1735

Regardless, it is the still life work that I find most alluring. Some of Chardin's still life works seem completely prosaic. For example, his "Copper Cistern" shows us a vessel used t hold drinking water for the household. The cistern is a tall copper vessel with a tap, hovering over a mug and a dipper. The vertical composition and muted palette provide a sense of quiet happiness, at least for me.

"The Silver Goblet," 1768

"Portrait of Portrait of Françoise-Marguerite Pouget (Madam Chardin)" 1775

In the last years of his career, he turned to pastels, probably because of failing eyesight. Those works are among my personal favorites (see his pastel self-portait above and his portrait of his wife, right), but they were little-appreciated during his lifetime.

Regardless of medium though, Chardin has a special place in my pantheon of art because of his impressive craft and his humble yet moving subject matter.







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Previously:
Favorite Artists

Salmagundi 2017 Thumb Box Show

Happy to be included in the 109th Thumb Box Show by our club, Salmagundi Club of New York. The club has actually been in existence for 146 years, since it began as a sketch club comprising young artists and illustrators. This is the club's largest show, hung in both the large main gallery and the smaller one downstairs, spotlights small artworks, some even tiny. Submitted works may not exceed 108 sq. in., or about 9x12, and can be photographs, paintings, drawings, and so on. Three dimensional works are likewise restricted to smaller than 12 in. in all directions.

Painting small is a tradition that has been around for centuries. Think of the small and relatively dark houses in northern Europe during the 17th century, for example. Small works were more commercial and more common because they fit the homes of the time. In contrast, huge works were commissioned for palaces and ecclesiastical purposes (Caravaggio, Rubens) elsewhere. Today smaller works, priced accordingly, are a popular way to collect original art.

"And a clock," casein on panel, 6x8, 2017

Three of my own pieces were selected. Two are 8x10 watercolors and one is a smaller casein painting on panel. One watercolor depicts a restored John Deere tractor dating from the 1940s. I based the picture on a reference photo I took at the Iowa State Fair in August this year. The other 8x10 watercolor is based on reference pictures accessed online. Each was posted here previously (see the links below). The third painting is a 6x8 casein on panel, a still life of my studio work table, painted in morning light.

The show opened yesterday and runs until January in both galleries. Open to the public.

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Related posts:
Two Tractors in Watercolor
Fall Sketching

Studio 405 Open for Classes

Mainframe Studios is now about three months old. The building opened for occupancy the first week in August. So far the top floor, ground floor and lower level are open and all of the studio spaces are leased. My floor has over 60 artists and eventually the second and third floors will be similarly occupied. There are painters, ceramicists, photographers, a recording studio, and other less common disciplines including string art.

Office corner of Studio 405. Silverpoint drawings on display.

As part of its commitment, the management has been working hard to promote the studios and artists. Since opening in late summer, there have been two "open studio" events welcoming the general public (a third planned for about a week from now) and probably four or five private events for groups like the Chamber of Commerce and Meredith Publications. The public interest in the building and artists seems on the rise.

Wider view of the studio entrance.

My own studio continues to evolve. Besides setting it up as a work space, we've made the studio into a quasi-gallery. There are paintings, metalpoint drawings, and watercolor paintings available for sale. These are a few pictures.


Having more space will allow me to begin taking students individually or in small groups. One group will be starting this month, with more classes currently on the drawing board (literally!).

So if you live in Iowa or happen to be in Des Moines for some reason, feel free to stop in. If I'm working but welcome visitors, the door will be open.

Studio from the doorway.

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Previously
Studio 405
Studio 405 Again

Digital Dailies

Most mornings my first hour after waking involves cruising the world news sites and having a cup or two of coffee. Many times a news story or a news photo will trigger an urge to sketch. Over the past several months and several political controversies in this country, some of those sketches were worth keeping. Here are a few.

Senator Mitch McConnell hasn't seemed very happy these last six or seven months. The multiple failures of legislative initiatives as well as rumored feuding with the White House has made things more than a little uncomfortable, judging by the expressions I've seen. He has one of the most interesting and expressive faces in the Congress. In this particular sketch I was prompted by a sense of false happiness I thought was present.

Not everyone in the political news has seemed unhappy. A few (mostly in the opposition to the

current leadership in the legislative and executive branches) have seemed positively gleeful. One fellow, Mr. Mueller (the Special Prosecutor) has simply looked determined and solid, at least in the press. There is a visual hint of a firm integrity in most of the images I've seen online, which I tried to capture in this digital sketch, done with Sketchbook, as are the others.

Finally, this is an individual who is being prosecuted by the Grand Jury empaneled by Mr. Mueller. Mr. Manafort's image over the past months has always seems very smooth, very carefully managed. And from the sound of it his personal and professional affairs were very carefully managed as well. Little has come forward yet except charges, but the indictment only came a few weeks ago and he has pled not guilty.


Political cartooning isn't my forte, but simply trying to see into these political actors is a fascinating opportunity. I'll doubtless do more.

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Similar posts:
Digital Head Sketches
Doodles of the Day
Digital Doodles

Thankfulness

J.C. Leyendecker, Saturday Eve. Post cover, 1931

This week in America is when we celebrate Thanksgiving, a holiday that isn't precisely what I was taught in school. It isn't really about those starving settlers and their native friends and being thankful for survival. True, the Pilgrims (early settlers in Massachusetts Colony) did have a dinner of celebration that involved Native Americans, but probably no turkey was harmed, and they weren't the first who had such a celebration in the New World, nor indeed in the entire world. The truth is that there have been feasts and celebrations of thanksgiving for centuries and a number of other countries celebrate their own Thanksgiving as an official holiday.

The American Thanksgiving is mostly a family feast day punctuated with football games and cranberry relish. That isn't to say people don't "return thanks" as my grandparents used to phrase it. But our American holiday as we celebrate it was actually rooted in the American Civil War. In 1863 Abraham Lincoln, in an attempt to foster unity, issued a proclamation setting the holiday for the final Thursday in November of that year for all states, assuring the nation of its ongoing prosperity, growth, and external peace (he was ignored by the rebelling states). It was a plea for thanksgiving, yes, but also a plea for continued confidence in his government. The Thanksgiving holiday was later set into federal law in the 1870s and modified to the fourth Thursday of November during World War II, as it is today. It continues officially to be a day of thanksgiving for the blessings endowed on a grateful nation.

So the American Thanksgiving isn't actually about Pilgrims and turkeys and all that. To me, besides being a day of thankfulness for our lucky status it ought to be a national day of contemplation, a day to seek common ground and be thankful, a day to unify, and a day to be humble. Why not reach across to others on the opposite side of whatever divides us? Surely we are stronger together. Why not be thankful for the strength comes with connecting to one's fellow humans instead of fighting?

For so many, life is a zero-sum experience: you win and someone else loses. But that is the way we all lose.

$450 Million?

da Vinci, "Salvator Mundi," ca.1500

In the news lately has been the staggering auction price paid for a painting verified by many scholars as being by Leonardo da Vinci. The work, labelled "Salvator Mundi," was painted about 1500 and thought lost for centuries until discovered about a decade ago in a small auction in the United States. Apparently the picture had been overpainted and mis-attributed as a copy of the lost Leonardo.

It was auctioned at Christie's in New York not long ago and fetched $452 million, an enormous price for anything, let alone a ho-hum painting. (The previous record for an "old master" was a paltry $70 million or so, for a Rubens.) The astonishing price is probably because of supply and demand: this is the only work by this most famous painter that is in private hands. And there are fewer than 20 works by his hand at all. Nonetheless, the sale price touches on obscenity.

I have not seen the painting in person--it was recently on display in New York and has been exhibited previously at the National Gallery--but a high-resolution image is useful (right). Even if the painting was pristine, to my eye it isn't up to other works by da Vinci. Certainly it is no Mona Lisa, a work it can be compared with fairly readily. Salvator Mundi seems to lack the life and solidity that the lady embodies. Also, although the painting was said to be severely damaged the robe and parts of the hair look nearly pristine, making me wonder about how much restoration has taken place (a lot?). Even more useful is a close look at the eyes. They are faint and very soft--perhaps incomplete but more likely severely damaged by previous attempts at restoration. Maybe they were finished by another hand and those layers removed? Leonardo is of course also famous as the painter who could never finish anything, so it's possible that this work is an unfinished "masterpiece" that was overpainted and perhaps has been cleaned so much that the features--especially the eyes--are almost entirely eroded. Either way it's hard to know how much of this work is actually by da Vinci and how far it was toward completion.

The painting has a flat, full-frontal composition unlike other subjects by da Vinci ("Lady With an Ermine" for example) without the sense of motion and turning he often produced. The paint handling has been verified as daVincian--many thin layers--but while the garment is intriguingly painted, not much can be said about the features. The static head and shoulders, the enormously long fingers, and the overall palette are other features of the work that are unattractive to my eye. Still, it sold for an enormous sum and has been hailed by Christie's as a "masterpiece."

So was this sale about art or aesthetics? Not on your life. This was the sale of a rare brand-name commodity. Is it worth the price? Well, that depends. As a branded object it may be worth the money paid but as a painting it manifestly is not. It is a rare object with less aesthetic value than it has been assigned; an overpriced relic of a famous genius. Someone was willing to place it in a special category by paying an egregious sum. The Washington Post  seems to disagree and so does the New York Times.

In my view, as art, Salvator Mundi is a pedestrian example of Renaissance work. There are many many portraits and paintings of heads that are superior to this one. No one doubts that Leonardo was a brilliant man; he was a towering intellect who happened to paint sometimes but was actually more adept at other things. His curiosity and attention were easily diverted and he had trouble finishing. But even if this is a completed, finished work, ascribing such an astronomical value to it is outrageous.

The Museu Calouste Gulbenkian

I love museums. When I visit somewhere, my attention is always drawn to the city's art collections. The collection can be as enormous and bustling as the Louvre in high season or as small, quiet and contemplative as the Brandywine River Museum (Chadds Ford Pennsylvania); regardless of the size of the town or the facility, art museums beckon. Over the years I've been able to visit many of the major museums and collections in the world. From New York and North America to Europe and Asia, significant art collections have become fairly familiar to me. (Another of my blogs is devoted to some of the museums I've visited.)

These days then, it's rare for me to visit a new museum but during a recent visit to Lisbon we discovered the Museu Calouste Gulbenkian, a marvel of a museum, particularly since the entire collection, eclectic and magnificent, was accumulated by a single man. Everyone these days knows about J. Paul Getty, the American oilman who endowed the Getty in Los Angeles. But Mr. Gulbenkian was more wealthy and more widely accumulative than J. Paul Getty, if that is actually possible. To my surprise, Mr. Gulbenkian was an early oilman too--a petroleum engineer--and ethnic Armenian. He moved from Turkey in the early 20th century during repression of ethnic Armenians and became a naturalized British citizen. Later he was a resident of Paris and Lisbon and he eventually died in 1955. A quiet man, his collection reflects his interests, which were obviously wide, including antiquities (Egyptian, Greek, Roman), textiles (Chinese and Japanese) and carpets (Turkish, Persian, Caucasian) as well as ceramics, tiles, Islamic books and manuscripts, illuminated Gospels, Japanese and Chinese porcelains, many significant European paintings by masters such as van Eyck, Ghirlandaio, Mabuse, Hals, Rubens, Rembrandt, Rodin, Renoir, Degas and others. He loved the Venetian genre painter Guardi and owned 19 of them, displayed in a single room all their own. In all, his collection of European masters is the equal of the Frick, though smaller.

A few highlights:

The first is an Egyptian burial item, a sarcophagus. This "cat with kittens" dates to about 600 BCE and is remarkable in several ways. First, this particular scene of a cat with kittens is unusual in ancient Egyptian art. Second, unlike many other more stylized works of its culture, this one is more lifelike and hence more appealing. The rectangular base contained a mummified cat, sacred to the goddess Bastet. Like so much in succeeding galleries, the execution of the piece is sublime.

The Gulbenkian is remarkable because it's chronologic arrangement allows progression through centuries of civilizations of various peoples, locations and traditions. The ancient world is represented by Egyptian and Greek items but also Roman ones and Mesopotamian antiquities as well.

In one of the early galleries we found this low relief, showing the unbelievable craftsmanship of Egyptian artists. This dates from around 300 BCE and according to the museum is only a study or preparatory piece for a portrait of a pharaoh. This would have been made about the time of the death of Alexander and the installation of Ptolemy, one of his generals, as pharaoh. Study or not, the work is exquisitely detailed and has survived two millennia with only a few scars. The Egyptian collection is only something like 50 pieces, but each in its own way is simply exquisite, as is this one.

There are some amazing items in the collection of antiquities, including a collection of Greek coins and Roman medallions that is unparalleled in the world. The medallions are particularly fine and are the only gold medallions from the Roman era that have been discovered. These date from just after the time of Alexander the Great and tell the story of his life. The golden disc to the right is a particularly fine example of the collection. Mr. Gulbenkian was an avid collector of coins and many are on display.

A major strength of the Gulbenkian is a large collection of  Islamic art. The arts and crafts of the Islamic east are too-often neglected or shuttled aside, but here there is an extensive group of items dating from as long ago as the 12th century and as recent as the 18th. Mr Gulbenkian collected textiles, rugs, manuscripts, ceramics, and pottery from the Ottoman world (he was born in Turkey but was Armenian), including Persia, Syria and Egypt.
Rugs dating to the 16th century are shown in their entirety, rolled out.

Probably the most striking of the Islamic arts group is a cup or tankard of white jade. The museum guidebook says that it's the only one of it's kind. It dates from a time when its owner Ulugh Beg was a prominent government official. There is an equally beautiful handle, which was added later. This is known to have belonged to  Beg because of the inscription encircling the mouth of the cup. Later it belonged to a Mogul emperor.

A sequence of tiles salvaged from an Islamic building. The Gulbenkian features a number these beautiful tiles, installed as part of the museum walls. They are from several periods, as early as the 14th century and late as the 18th. These have been installed into the wall plaster, flush with the surface, as they would have been in an Islamic building or mosque. Many show beautiful repetitive patterns and motifs.

There are many examples of Chinese and Japanese porcelain and hard stone pieces, dating from as early as the 14th century. These were acquired by Mr. Gulbenkian as beautiful items without much regard to historical or artistic significance. Nonetheless they're well worth seeing and comprise a truly beautiful set of rooms. There are jars and pots of all sorts in many of the familiar shapes. The hand work and craftsmanship are simply beyond superior. There are matching sets, as shown to the right, that contain similar or identically-painted scenes, all in the same beautiful tradition.

Mr. Gulbenkian compiled his collection in the early and middle parts of the 20th century, probably always intending to donate the lot to a museum. Certainly his acquisitions of European art and crafts could support that, given his strong interest in other cultures and traditions. Still, the Gulbenkian Founders Collection is quite strong in European works. The first surprise was a pair of heads by Rogier van der Weyden, of all painters. These are fragments of a larger work, but still have the hand of the master--a real surprise but both beautiful, one St. Catherine and the other St. Joseph. There are also works by Mabuse, Ghirlandaio, and Carpaccio, among early masters. 

Later Dutch and Flemish painters including Hals, Rembrandt, vanDyck and Rubens are well-represented.  Here is "Portrait of Sara Hessix," ca1626, by Franz Hals. It hangs near a large painting, "Portrait of an Old Man," by Rembrandt, dating from about twenty years later. There are two small paintings by Rubens--therefore more likely to be by his own hand--in the same room as well as a fine van Dyck.

There are 19th century and 20th century works on display in the collection as well. Here is one of Rodin's justly famous Burghers of Calais. 
I've seen similar copies but this is actually the original, owned by Rodin and acquired in 1917 after his death, from his studio. It is Jean d'Aire, the largest of the group, carrying the keys to the city as he marches off to be a hostage.




In sum we spent around three hours in the Founder's Collection, as the original 6400 items are called. Only a thousand or so are on display at any one time, according to the guidebook. And we spent too little time with his period French furniture, his amazing silver collection, and several other collections (coins, medallions, and others).

We did spend quite a while in a small room completely full of beautiful Art Nouveau jewelry  by Lalich, who was a a close friend of Mr. Gulbenkian. The item that attracted my eye and that of nearly everyone else is a jaw-dropping brooch in the form of a dragonfly, once worn by Sara Bernhardt onstage. It was a delightful finish to an amazing smorgasbord of art and craftsmanship.



The architecture and surrounding gardens make a fine and leisurely finish to a satisfying and engaging visit to the Museu Calouste Gulbenkian. It is a delightful place from top to bottom, start to finish, and inside to outside. The architecture is top-rate and the cafeteria food was even good. Highly recommended.

Wide Horizons

One of the chief pleasures in making things is learning how to do it. Kids who tinker with machinery--motorcycles, or clocks or whatever--probably get as much enjoyment from learning how things work as they do from actual building or rebuilding the device. We've all known kids who loved taking things apart, of course, trying to see how they work. Learning the craft associated with art is like that. Finding out how oil paint behaves and how its properties can be modified drove many budding artists' interest. Technical matters are attractive for some. The "secrets" of the oil painter are sought again and again, generation after generation, and we love being seekers. Of course we learn soon enough that the magic of the masters was in their hands and heads and not their paint.

Lascaux Horse

"Folds on Seated Figure," (after Leonardo) charcoal, 2015

Making pictures is one of the basic things we do as humans, and we've done it for many millennia. A lot of early images are startling in their realism--for example the famous cave paintings of Lascaux. Learning to make pictures of the actual world--to make a picture look real--is probably an innate desire. It's not that we can make things innately, but we have the innate ability to learn skills of that kind.

That means we have to learn to see. Learning to see one's subject is the firm basis for realistic art. Most art teachers advocate drawing from life, although the atelier system also employs drawing from the work of others as well--plaster casts of sculpture, drawings of the masters and so on. Seeing and drawing is the beginning. For me, as for many, copying the masters from all eras let me find a way into their thought processes and methods. Copying is one way to learn.

Once a person can draw adequately you can apply those skills to a wider range of materials an methods and in that way broaden your vision. There are those today who find art in the conception alone, the idea, but for me art is also in the personal execution of one's vision. Ideas are great but until someone does something with the idea it is no more than that. Craft precedes and produces art.

If an artist becomes proficient or at least adequate with a medium, the artist may stick with that medium for all time. Oil painters continue to use oil paint and so on. The same goes for subject matter. Thomas Kinkade made a fortune painting cute little cottages with trees. Nothing wrong with that. On the other hand, seems to me that seeking wider horizons is a good idea.

One way to grow as an artist is to explore new media or new methods to use the old one. Drawing with charcoal is a start, but there are many other ways to make marks. Graphite, chalk, pastel, metalpoint, ink, and pixels are a few of them that can be explored. You can paint with oil, but why not try watercolor, acrylic, or casein? People carve wood, shape metal or stone, or even fold paper into shapes. The key is trying something new. It builds different creative muscles and stimulates different ideas. David Hockey, the famous British artist, has done that very thing in using digital programs on smartphones and tablets. Of course, none of these experimental journeys into the unknown has to be shown to anyone. Studies and sketches are only to extend knowledge. Show the ones that work out and ditch the others.

"Studio Bottles," oil, 6x8, 2013

Using different mediums teaches me new things. The medium may or not be the message, but the medium results in different ways of working and completely different results. Using paint and paper in a transparent way with watercolor forces a different kind of work flow (to use a contemporary term) than oil painting. The watercolor picture is brought together in a very different way than oils. Casein paint dries rapidly, which is a boon and a challenge. A charcoal drawing can be quick, spontaneous, and energetic while a metalpoint picture requires patience, planning, and a very gentle touch. Digital works allow easy revision, many shortcuts and exceptionally quick opportunities for manipulation. With digital works you can try out all sorts of ideas without ruining the work in progress, so digital work fosters experimentation and new horizons.

Watercolor sketch, 3x7, 2017

"Head of a Young Girl," after Couture. Digital, 2016

So why not explore?

Sketches of Lisbon

Strictly speaking, these sketches were made on our Spanish journey but not in Spain, in Portugal. Lisbon was the last stop after Tangier and we spent several days getting to know the city. Inevitably we left wishing for more time. I did a number of sketches but somehow didn't have time to add so much watercolor. Lisbon is hardly as drab as it might seem looking at these images. It's really bright and rather like a Mediterranean City, and as warm. The people are warm as well, and the city has much to recommend it.

We left our ship moored along the bank of the Tagus River, which flows into the Atlantic here. The Tagus originates far off in Spain and is the longest river on the peninsula. Here it's wide and flat and it is from here that the famous Portuguese navigator Vasco da Gama sailed to explore the coast of Africa and around the Cape of Good Hope. Magellan left from here too and so did quite a number of others. I drew one of the views in my pocket sketchbook and added a limited range of muted color.

Lisbon is very hilly and looms over the river. The streets of the old town are like a lot of old streets in this part of the world--narrow and twisting--opening here and there to spectacular views of the river and boats underway. Looking back up on of the precipitous streets, you can see the houses perched on top, where the most expensive views can be had.

We spent quite some time wandering the oldest part of the city, where little trams trundle through the steep cobbled streets. Eventually we settled down for a leisurely lunch under old plane trees while the trams rattled by. They're red or yellow, I suppose depending on the line. I made a little sketch of one of them. They only hold perhaps 30-40 passengers at most, but are very popular.

Entrance to Gulbenkian, Founders Collection

Without doubt the best thing about visiting a new city is the surprises you get. In this case it was the discovery of a truly memorable, world class museum which we'd never heard of, the Museu Calouste Gulbenkian. It is a museum comprising antiquities, textiles, ceramics, sculpture, painting and coins that surpasses anything I had ever seen, if not in quantity then definitely in quality. And it was owned by a single person, who donated it as a museum. He was Armenian but lived in Lisbon during World War II, and was a naturalized British citizen. The building is superb architecturally and the grounds are wonderfully landscaped parkland. (More about the wonders of the Gulbenkian in another post.) We spent a dazzled few hours there and had a bite to eat in the cafeteria. While we were having lunch I kept seeing interesting faces and managed to draw a couple of them in pencil in a pocket sketchbook. It being a weekend, the museum was full of families of all ages, some looking a bit sour (like these two) but many full of smiles and fun. Lisbon attracts many nationalities and the room was a gabble of languages and fascinating faces.

On our last day in the city we rode a bus out to a suburb named Belem, which is the actual launching place for the Portuguese navigators who explored so much of the world so long ago. These men set off in the 16th century and eventually went as far as Japan, opening sea trade from China as well. There are a number of monuments and buildings from the time, particularly the Monastery of Jeronimos which was once charged with praying for the seafarers who embarked there. One part of the monastery, which was deconsecrated in the early 19th century, is the Maritime Museum. While we had a coffee and some rest I did an ink sketch of the entrance, the old monastery. It's tempting to try to include as much detail as possible, but with this style of architecture I think it's better to suggest certain features and do one's best to stay loose.






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Previously in this series:
Sketches of Spain
Sketches of Spain Pt. 2