Carmelina

We haven’t looked at a nude on this blog in quite some time. I used to feature a nude almost every three posts or so. But lately the nude-a-rama spirit of this blog has waned. As a nude model myself, I am contrite

So let’s check out a nude shall we? I’ve chosen a painting by one of my favorite artists, Henri Matisse. From 1903, it’s titled Carmelina. You can see that Matisse was experimenting here with composition, specifically the juxtaposition of round lines and shapes with straight, right-angled ones: the curvilinear against the rectilinear. The round, fleshy forms of the model’s figure contrast with the mostly squarish shapes of the surrounding objects, except for the blue bottle and decorative design on the mantel. Matisse also gives us the reflection in the mirror, which provides a small peek of himself and Carmelina’s back.

Carmelina, about whom I was unable to find any biographical information, is dominant and full-frontal. She serves as nude figure and nude figure alone. There is no narrative or discernible subtext. The set-up is simply one that Matisse found a pleasing and interesting visual arrangement. You know what I find the most quirky and interesting element in this painting? The blue ribbon on Carmelina’s ponytail. It’s a feminine, girly detail on a model with a serious no-nonsense demeanor. The ribbon also provides, along with the blue jug, a jolt of cool blue tone in a palette suffused by warmly lit ochres. Methinks old Henri knew what he was doing

Carmelina is in the collection at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

Horsing Around

“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!”

- Richard III, Act 5, Scene 4

Richard is in dire circumstances when he speaks those words. Knocked off his horse during the Battle of Bosworth Field, his fate is soon sealed. A cry of desperation, Richard is suddenly vulnerable and at the mercy of his enemies, all because he is without his horse.

Before I continue I should share the reason for this horse-inspired post. Tonight my Mom’s Mother’s Day gift will finally take place. I’m taking her to see the Tony Award winning play “War Horse” at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theater. She’s excited, I’m excited, excitement all over the place

Man and horse have an intimate relationship that dates back for many millennia. In battle, in work, in history and literature, horses have provided faithful companionship and been there for us through thick and thin. Don Quixote’s fictional horse was the skinny, emaciated Rocinante, whose fidelity and temperament made up for his lack of beauty and athleticism. In real history, Alexander the Great had an extremely close bond with his horse Bucephalus, a true “war horse” of ancient times. Alexander fell into a profound state of grief over the horse’s passing and even named a city in his honor, Bucephala. The mad Emperor Caligula treated his white stallion Incitatus as if he were a human of equal legal and social stature. Caligula had the horse attended by a team of 18 personal servants, threw birthday parties for him, and allegedly planned to make him a member of the Roman senate. But of course Caligula, notoriously, was not of sound mind. And that’s putting it mildly.

Beautiful, strong, elegant animals, horses are loved by almost everyone, and Edgar Degas was no exception. It’s even more perfect that my Mom is crazy about horses AND Degas. So this post is pretty awesome for her.

In this lovely horse study we can see that Degas is working it out, trying to get the anatomy, forms, and appearance of the horse just right. Horses have a very distinct bearing and artists should focus on capturing the horse’s posture and comportment if they want to depict the animal well:

Horse and Rider:

Degas was not a horseman himself. So why would he be so attracted to the subject artistically? The answer is clear when we consider Degas’ consistent pattern in his subject choices. Think about it. He liked movement. Ballet dancers, stage performers, nudes in active situations like taking baths, combing hair, toweling off, etc. With a few exceptions, like portraits, the vast majority of Degas’ work is focused on the gestural. It was his wheelhouse, so to speak. So the horse, with its majestic gait, agility, and strong movements, was a natural fit for Degas’ repertoire.

I love this one from the Thaw Collection at The Morgan Library. Racehorse, charcoal on brown paper, 1878:

This painting, Horses in a Meadow from 1871, looks less like a “typical” Degas. Still a beautiful scene though:

The horse is also in the news a lot lately. The racehorse “I’ll Have Another” has already won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, which means he has a shot at the Triple Crown on June 9th at Belmont.

Degas’ pencil sketch Jockeys:

I found this excellent article Degas at the Races for anyone who is interested. A very informative, interesting read about Degas’ experiences and evolution in painting and drawing horses.

Have a great weekend everyone! See you soon.

Pipe Dreams

Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi  . . . . I’m here friends! Once again I let the blog lag for days. Sorrrry!! Since I’m here now I must ask you all to please refrain from sending me hostile emails and death threats, ok? <—just kidding Anyway, allow me to redeem myself with a little Music Monday. Let’s do it.

So I stopped by the Met Museum on Saturday after modeling at the National Academy. The main purpose of my visit was to see the Rembrandt self-portrait that was temporarily on view at the Met while the Kenwood House, the portrait’s regular home, undergoes renovations. Afterwards, I wandered into the Musical Instrument galleries and, as usual, I was the only person in there besides the lone museum guard who seemed bored out of his mind. I’ve been going to the Met all my life, and I’ve noticed that people neglect this section of the museum. What a shame. Given that it’s adjacent to and overlooks the very popular American Wing, means there’s even less excuse to snub this fun treasure trove.

I was struck by this fantastic looking Great Highland Bagpipe from Glasgow. Constructed of ebony, ivory, silver, leather, cane, and MacGregor tartan cloth, it seemed to command attention so I took a picture. The bagpipe is in a glass case so there are some reflections in the photo:

Another bagpipe, this one from the Brittany region of France, mid-19th century. It’s played with a double reed and commonly used in Breton folk dancing:

Since it was Rembrandt, the king of all Dutch artists, who brought me to the Met on Saturday, I thought I’d post a bagpipe painting by another Dutch artist, Hendrick ter Brugghen. From 1624, this is Bagpipe Player. I love that it’s done in a profile view. Very effective:

Bagpipes today are commonly associated with parade marches, military ceremonies, police funerals, and the like. But the instrument – or some variation of a pipe attached to a bag – has existed for centuries on many continents. The sound of bagpipes is not loved by everyone, as it tends to be harsh, high-pitched, and reedy. And it is extremely loud. In fact, bagpipes have been the subject of much ridicule over the years. Famous figures from Alfred Hitchcock to Shakespeare have all taken jabs at the bagpipes. I believe it was either Oliver Herford or William Butler Yeats who made the crack that the Irish invented the bagpipes as a joke and gave them to the Scottish, who still haven’t figured out the joke. Aww, poor bagpipes!  I think it’s only fair to acknowledge that the bagpipe sound is also melodic and distinct. In a proper setting and in the hands of a skilled musician, the bagpipes are quite capable of transfixing the listener .

Let’s conclude this post with a bagpipe track. This is “Strathspey and Reel: John Roy Stewart/Thompson’s Dirk”, performed by pipe major Jim Drury and julia McGurk, from the album Highland Bagpipes.

Goya’s Fantastic Vision

What kind of a person would honor their friend’s birthday with a work of art that depicts a strange, harrowing nightmare? Me, that’s who Don’t worry. The birthday boy is my very dear friend – artist, photographer, and blogger Fred Hatt, and I know he won’t be offended. Happy Birthday FRED!!

After years of friendship, and god knows how many conversations about art, I’m well aware of Fred’s favorites. And I can say with 100% certainty that the great Spanish painter Francisco de Goya is on his list of those who most inspire him. Fred is not alone in his admiration of Goya. Minvera Durham, director of Spring Studio – the very place where Fred and I first met – is also a huge fan of Goya. I must confess that Goya is one of those artists for whom my respect grew after becoming an artist’s model. A long time ago, Goya’s macabre painting Saturn Devouring his Son had seriously creeped me out, so I was reluctant to explore his other works. But with little more maturity and deeper understanding of art, I’ve come to appreciate Goya’s work much more.

In his later years, after suffering from illnesses, deafness, and a tumultuous political atmosphere in his native Spain, Goya created a series of dark, terrifying, mysterious works known as the “Black Paintings”. He did not intend them for public consumption. Instead, he painted them directly onto the walls of his house near Madrid, revealing his disturbed and paranoid mental state. This was a man in fear. Confusion. Despair. Revealing a severe disillusionment with humanity.

For this post I’ve chosen the Goya piece Asmodea, or “Fantastic Vision”, circa 1823. It depicts two people flying through the air, possibly witches, with soldiers aiming guns at them. Though art historians have analyzed this work, along with all the other Black Paintings, and speculated about it’s “meaning”, the truth is we don’t really know what the hell is going on here. And I personally prefer it that way. Must we know? Of course not. Enlarge the file for a better view and let the man’s potent expression speak for itself:

Again, a very happy birthday to you, Fred. Thanks for enriching my knowledge of art, challenging traditional notions of “beauty”, and celebrating the powers of all forms of visual communication

 

Feeling the Funk

It will pass, it will pass, it will pass . . . That’s been my mantra for the past few days. And it looks like it will continue to be for at least a few more Hate these melancholy episodes, grrr. They suck, it’s as simple as that. But I’m still doing what I’m supposed to do – working my remaining few modeling jobs before the May break. Hopefully during that time I can regroup and snap out of it. For now I am a mushy, moody, pensive, wistful little weakling. I am lachrymose <— wanted to use the word “lachrymose”.

But my printmaking class is providing me with much delight and discovery, and my brother and I have planned a fun Mother’s Day on Sunday for our Mom. So there are things to look forward to, pleasures in life not to be taken for granted. Now if only this dark cloud would drift away and stop following me everywhere I go. Scram, dammit!

This is me, in an oil sketch by Daniel Schwartz. It was painted a few months ago but captures my mood of today perfectly.

I’ll see you all very soon.

Hugs and kisses . . .

Claudia

Levon’s Last Waltz

A couple of weeks ago I sent a text message to my friend Mark, an art teacher at FIT, to confirm that I was modeling for his Saturday class. I had been booked for that class many times throughout the semester and the frequent working together became a running joke between Mark and I. The week I texted him would be our final class of the year. My message, punched out in approximately six seconds, read as follows:

Mark . . I’ll see U Sat. @ 1. It’s our last waltz

Afterwards, I wondered why I had used the phrase “last waltz”. Then right away it hit me. Levon Helm, a founding member of the roots rock group The Band, had recently died and I, along with most other music fans, had been reading the tributes, articles, tweets, and listening to the songs. The Martin Scorsese directed film The Last Waltz documents The Band’s farewell concert, performed at Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco on Thanksgiving Day, 1976. It was referenced everywhere in the wake of Levon Helm’s death, and apparently slipped unconsciously into my text message to Mark.

Levon Helm was the sole American in an otherwise Canadian band, whose members included Ontario-born Robbie Robertson, Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, and Garth Hudson. Excellent musicians all. And together they produced rich harmonies and muscular rhythms. But it was Levon Helm who filled the role of bringing the distinctive musical voice of the American South – its rough bluesy poetry and down home expressiveness – to The Band’s memorable sound. Let’s put it this way; if you need a “country” influence, there is just no substitute for a guy who hails from a place called Turkey Scratch, Arkansas. That guy was Levon Helm. And he was the real deal.

What I didn’t know until recently was that Levon Helm was deeply unhappy with the final cut of The Last Waltz. I saw the film years ago and enjoyed it very much. But after learning more about the film’s backstory and controversies, I realize that Helm’s complaints were quite justified.

After a hard-fought battle with throat cancer, Levon Helm passed away on Thursday, April 19th at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. He was 71 years old. No doubt he was drumming and singing on his way home . . .

For Music Monday, this is The Band performing “Up on Cripple Creek”, one of their signature songs, from The Last Waltz. That’s Levon Helm on drums and lead vocals, sounding great as always – soulful, authentic, pure. RIP Levon, Arkansas’ native son. You will be missed.

Jessie and the Moon

Ehhh . . . grrr . . . moods. Perturbation. Agitation. Disquietude. Anxiety. Unease. Confusion. Bewilderment. Angst. Yes, it’s been a bothersome 36 hours. Mind cluttered, thoughts preoccupied, a little tense, a little sad, worries that are both real and (possibly) imagined. In other words, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. That pretty much sums it up in a nutshell.

But we pass through these things. Always. It’s important to know that. And the passing process can be facilitated by some strategically made choices. In my case, those choices usually involve receding in some way. I am a Cancer, which means we are crabs who will retreat into our shells if circumstances require it. We hide, and we like it dammit!

So on Tuesday I had only a morning job at FIT and promptly left Manhattan right afterwards. No shopping, no lunch, no walking around, no museum visits. I just hightailed it back to Queens, fleeing the noise, the chaos, the throngs of people, and the infernal police/fire sirens of midtown. Sure I still moped when I got home but at least I was moping in peace, and in private.

In the early evening I stepped outside to get some air, looked up and noticed the moon – a white half pearl nestled in the blue sky, underlined with a wisp of clouds. Pretty! So I went back inside, got my camera and took a picture with my Canon Powershot:

A short while later I checked on the moon again as the night started to fall. This time I had my good camera. The serious camera. My big Nikon. As I stood on the steps outside my kitchen door and prepped my settings for the picture, I suddenly felt warm, affectionate rubbing on my legs. It was my girl, the goddess, Jessie the cat, trying to divert my attention. And it worked. I knelt down and snapped her picture:

Yes, I’m wearing grey sweatpants, the official uniform of a depressed, leave-me-alone mood. Not very attractive or stylish. But at least we have beautiful Jessie. Here she’s thinking, “Can we go inside? I’m hungry. Open the door.”:

So because I have a Dr. Dolittle complex I spoke to Jessie and told her, “Just a minute, baby. Let me photograph the moon then we’ll give you food.” The clouds had long drifted away, the blue had gotten deeper, the moon was a lonely dot:

Jessie wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute. She kept purring and pacing, slinking, and rubbing all over me. This picture, well, just had to be posted

“Come on, man, I’m hungry! Where’s the food?”.

I’m sure many of you know what it’s like to deal with a hungry cat. They are tenacious. But I just needed one last shot of the moon. Why? I mentioned earlier about my zodiac sign of Cancer and how we are prone to moodiness. Well, most astrological signs have a planet as a ruling force. Cancers don’t. We are ruled by the moon. The moody moon. We are moonchildren. No wonder I was so drawn to it at that moment.