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

Sketches of Spain Part 2

Last post included watercolors from several places in Spain, but didn't include other destinations or other media, so this one includes images from farther along in Spain as well as a few from Tangier, where we touched briefly.

After Cartagena we visited Almeria, a beautiful small town on the southern coast of Spain. As we entered the port, just after dawn, I happened to peek out of our porthole and saw the harbor light on the point. I snapped a couple of reference photos with my smartphone, and used those plus memory to make this 3.5x5 sketch. I did a larger postcard with a different viewpoint as well because I liked it so much.

Cool light at the bottom of Mojacar

From Almeria we too a day trip into the Tabernas Desert (the only true desert in Europe, according to our guide) and visited a medieval village called Mojacar. The trip was fairly long, but along the way were a number of small villages and as a fillip you could see from a distance several movie sets that have been used over the decades for all sorts of films, from Lawrence of Arabia to Sergio Leone's "spaghetti westerns."

Bright sun at the top of the town

Mojacar is a truly ancient place, built on a defensible spot overlooking the desert floor. Occupied since the Bronze Age and modified by all of the succeeding civilizations (Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Greeks, Romans, and more), Mojacar simply feels ancient. It's streets are barely navigable by cars because of their narrow, steep, cobbled nature. The town actually has an elevator. Dazzling white buildings and houses are everywhere, their light reaching into the shadows. The photo came out a bit more blue than the shadows there, but it's close. We spent some time just wandering, loving the views and the town, sitting in the high town square and sipping wonderful coffee.

If you travel anywhere in southern Spain, Morocco is an easy side trip, only a handful of miles across the Strait of Gibraltar. For another day trip we visited Tangier and the old city or Kasbah. From our few hours there it became obvious why American expats and others chose to live in such a hospitable climate and city. Like every other place we visited, this is a very old place. Like so many too, it has been occupied by many, subjugated or otherwise. It was once an "international city" in the early 20th century, which supposedly made it a haven for spies and foreigners. In any event, it retains a flavor of France and Spain as well as many who speak those languages. Cats are everywhere because of an admonishment in Islam to feed them but allow them to roam. I caught sight of one of them on a doorstep at a turning of the way and turned it into a 4x6 watercolor.

Like Mojacar in Spain, the Kasbah is a warren of twisting narrow lanes, often dimly illuminated even in daytime. There are parts that are homes of expats or have been gentrified into expensive bed and breakfast accommodations. Nonetheless, the exotic flavor is distinct and tangy. There are tiny shops, less than 10x10 with half doors opening to the street selling small items; community ovens that bake for others who have no ovens; tiny food or drink stands, all mixed into a community looming above the very narrow passageway. Some of the larger, outer streets can allow a single car to pass, but most are foot traffic only. We met a snake charmer, complete with cobra, along the way. Our guide gave him a few coins to show us his snakes. Earlier, our guide (who spoke perfect colloquial English) bought a warm loaf of pita to share. Like the whole city, he was delightful.

From Tangier we went to Lisbon, but sketches from there will have to wait for next time.


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Previously
Sketches of Spain

Sketches of Spain

A few days ago I posted some watercolor postcards painted while on holiday, cruising the coast of Spain. A mentioned in other posts, sketching while on vacation is a great way for me to keep working, doing my best to not only sight-see but also to look while seeing. And the sketches can serve as fodder for more ambitious works later. This time I'm posting a few more sketches, both watercolor and ink and ink along. I did these (as well as others) during the same trip.

The first is a view of La Rambla, the well-known pedestrian boulevard in Barcelona. We spent several days there (in the midst of political turmoil), including some great times in the outdoor cafes that line the street. The light is soft and dappled, owing to the enormous plane trees that provide welcome shade. Some may remember the terrible carnage of a terrorist attack there a few weeks ago. You wouldn't know it today; the streets are peaceful and filled with walkers. Terrorism simply doesn't work.

The next is a sketch of the roofline of one of Antoni Gaudi's famous designs from over a century ago, Casa Mila or La Pedrera ("the open quarry"), which was shockingly new and even ridiculed when built. Time didn't permit a visit to the interior but you can see a great deal more of Gaudi's aestheic in the museum it houses. It was originally built as a residence for a wealthy couple. You can read all about it, and see some great photos, here.

From Barcelona we sailed along the Spanish coast to Tarragona and then Cartagena, with a stop in to the famous Balearic Island, Ibiza, aboard a big contemporary four-master. The two cities are ancient, dating to pre-Roman times with heft overlays of Roman, Visigoth, Islamic and other civilizations in over two millennia of existence. Each of the two was beautiful and fascinating, and we regretted only having a day in each port--they merit longer.

Tarragona is perched on the coast and was an important Roman town. The ruined amphitheater that overlooks the sea. You can visit the theater or simply look down into it from a beautiful esplanade above. We spent some time up there, taking in the Mediterranean view. Tarragona is much smaller than Barcelona, but even in the fall of the year there are many visitors.

Although much of our visit in Cartagena was spent visiting a succession of tapas bars and restaurants--tapas being a wonderful Spanish tradition, along with a glass of wine--I did manage to visit a recently-excavated Roman theater. The theater was discovered beneath several other layers of the city. The theater dates to the time of Augustus but was covered by a later Roman market (burned by conquerers), then a Byzantine market and then a 13th century church. According to our guide, the whole thing was forgotten beneath a hillside that was eventually excavated in the late 20th century. I took some time to sketch a part of the theater.

Sketches like these can accumulate quickly. They're small but preserve enough color and detail (along with judicious reference snapshots) to provide fodder for larger work.