Meeting Modigliani

I’ve always been ambivalent about the theory behind first impressions and the people we meet. It’s commonly believed that the first is one that sticks and proves accurate over time. While my personal experience has shown this to be largely true, I have known some exceptions. Conversely, I wonder about some first impressions I’ve given in my life. Wish I could take a few of those back! I try to consider that a person might be having the proverbial “bad day” on that first encounter, but I’m inclined to think that our “truth” – our inherent nature, habits, and tendencies – can never fully be disguised, good day or bad.

Beatrice Hastings (born Emily Alice Haigh) was an English writer and poet, raised in South Africa. Her works were published in the British literary magazine The New Age. Upon moving to Paris in the years before the war, she soon became a known figure in the Bohemian circles that frequented the cafes and cabarets of Montparnasse. It was inevitable that she would cross paths with the poster boy of Bohemian Paris life, sculptor and painter Amadeo Modigliani. In 1914, after meeting the then 30 year-old artist Beatrice wrote down her first impressions:

“A complex character. A pig and a pearl. Met in 1914 at a ‘cremerie’. I sat opposite him. Hashish and brandy. Not at all impressed. Didn’t know who he was. He looked ugly, ferocious, greedy.”

Beatrice sure didn’t mince words! But given what we know about Modigliani – his sickliness from tuberculosis, his hashish and opium addictions, and his violent temperament – Hastings’ initial impressions are not surprising. If anything, they’re spot on. Now look at what she wrote about her next encounter with him:

“Met again at the Cafe Rotonde. He was shaved and charming. Raised his cap with a pretty gesture blushed to his eyes and asked me to come and see his work. Went. Always a book in his pocket, Lautreamont’s Maldoror. Despised everyone but Picasso and Max Jacob. Loathed Cocteau.”

So Modi cleaned up a bit, extended himself, and confided feelings about his peers after spending time with his new acquaintance. These are the kinds of developments that naturally happen when people get to know each other better. Beatrice Hastings’ sharp eye for observation creates a portrait of an intense, complicated  man. But do her second impressions cancel out the first? Not necessarily. The second may simply augment the first. Sure Modigliani came across as more presentable and more well-mannered on the second meeting, but that does not mean the “ferociousness” he radiated the first time had evaporated. It was likely still there, only framed in a broader scope of reference. Or momentarily suspended. Or tempered by a shave

I met an artist a few years ago whose first impression struck me as snippy. Then I got to know her. We became friends and are friends to this day. She’s a wonderful person but she is, in fact, snippy. Snippy in a harmless, hilarious, sarcastic way that fits well in the context of her personality. Qualities understood in a person as a whole are different than qualities perceived in isolation, detached from knowing the total individual, as they are in first impressions. That’s my theory at least.

One of Modigliani’s many portraits of Beatrice Hastings:

As one would expect, Beatrice Hastings and Modigliani became lovers. They lived together for about two years until Beatrice broke it off. It seems that they were not well-matched and the relationship was doomed from the start. He was jealous and possessive, she was fiercely independent and opinionated. He had a shabby appearance, she was always well-dressed.  He used drugs, she preferred not to. He was driven by passions, she by intellect. They had vicious fights, often in public. But through it all, Beatrice sat for many Modigliani portraits and served as his muse.

After her affair with Modigliani, Beatrice Hastings’ life gradually spiraled downward over the course of many years. She traveled though Europe, broke acrimoniously from The New Age, and harbored bitter feelings about her former colleagues. In 1943 she committed suicide by filling her apartment with gas. In the years before her death, Beatrice had published some scathing pamphlets in which she ridiculed most of the people she had ever known and worked with, with one notable exception: Modigliani. Spared her attacks. Perhaps first impressions don’t stick after all?

Ladies at Auction

Warhol, Picasso, Van Gogh, Freud. It’s usually the same names shuffled around in rank each year, give or take a few tens of millions of dollars. They are traditionally the most in-demand powerhouses at art auctions, drawing the big bucks from collectors around the world. The artists are all great to be sure. They’re also all men. But the times may be a’changin’. An art market surge of women artists might be upon us prompted by, of all people, Berthe Morisot, an artist whose works can be described as unequivocally “feminine”. Centered on subjects of bourgeois ladies, domestic life, and Impressionistic outdoor scenes, Morisot’s paintings are visually pleasing, benign, almost soothing. In contrast to the candid realism of Lucien Freud, the macho prowess of Picasso, the slick commercialism of Warhol, or the intense, vivid palette of Van Gogh, Morisot was a genteel, civilized lady who sought neither to shock nor scream. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

In February, Berthe Morisot’s 1881 painting After Luncheon was purchased for $10.9 million at auction, setting a record for most expensive work sold by a female artist. A recent article in the Wall Street Journal, “Women on the Verge”, goes into some detail about the role of women artists in the auction scene and discusses the disparities that exist between women and their male counterparts in terms of sales. To her credit, Madonna has been collecting Tamara de Lempicka for many years, as has Barbra Streisand. According to the WSJ article, Helen Frankenthaler is starting to make a strong showing. And in the artistic photography niche Cindy Sherman does extremely well.

I am certainly no expert on the inner workings of the art market world, although I do take an interest in the articles about auction sales that pop up from time to time. Curiosity I guess. Also fascinating to learn how much a collector paid for a particular work and speculate as to why. Was it driven by pure admiration? Or shrewd investment? Maybe a bit of both. As far as the gender disparity goes, as a woman who avoids blaming sexism for everything (I don’t deny it exists of course) I confess that I’ve often wondered why you rarely see the names Frida Kahlo, Georgia O’Keefe, or even Alice Neel, appear in these big art sales stories. Hmm.

But here’s to Berthe Morisot, sending a feminine jolt into the stodgy, predictable art auction scene. Rock it, Ms. Morisot! You are a lady through and through

Here is a Morisot painting I happen to like very much. Young Woman Picking Oranges, 1889:

Glory to the Figure

In case I wasn’t clear enough in my previous post about preferring figure modeling to portrait modeling, I have some images that might express it more effectively than any words. I had written about the frustration I sometimes feel when I’m confined to sitting in a chair, clothed, when my natural impulse is to pose with my entire body and demonstrate a wider range of movement. From shoulders to hips, from head to feet, from arms to legs, the human figure is ready, willing, and able to show off its “intelligent design”. We can twist and turn, rotate and swivel, extend and contract, balance and shift our weight around, and put on a glorious show that merges both our physicality and our humanity. Muscles allow us to move, bones hold us together, and the whole sublime package provides a timeless source of inspiration to artists throughout history.

Mark Tennant is one of those artists. Recently, I had the great pleasure of posing for him privately. Mark has drawn me many times at Spring Studio, and I have modeled for his class at the New York Academy of Art. Our private collaboration was a marvelous extension of our professional relationship. Mark was kind enough to send along these images of our session together. You can follow Mark’s progress on these and his other works on his Facebook page. Long live the figure!

 

Supper at Emmaus

We had a lot of fun here on Museworthy a while back when I shared some of the bizarre search terms that brought visitors to this blog. Although that wackiness is still going strong, respectable inquiries still make up the majority I’m happy to say. Lately, my search terms column has been dominated by “Caravaggio” and that pleases me very much. Because Caravaggio is, well, Caravaggio – the Baroque master whose skills, technique, and commitment to “naturalism” continue to astound and inspire artists.

So I thought I’d be a good attentive blogger by responding in kind to the Caravaggio searchers and give them more of what they’re looking for. Let’s examine Caravaggio’s 1601 work Supper at Emmaus from The National Gallery in London. The painting depicts an event from the Gospel of Luke, in which two of Christ’s disciples discover that their resurrected lord had been in their dinner company unbeknownst to them, because he had taken on a “disguised” unrecognizable form. When Christ finally reveals himself to them, the moment is one of shock and disbelief. A very dramatic Biblical episode captured expertly by an artist who could do drama like no one else.

Artists who have struggled with foreshortening will no doubt marvel at what Caravaggio has done here. The gestural movements of the figures are done to perfection. The two outstretched arms are coming directly at us, and the figure on the left is pushing his elbows out as if to rise from his chair. Who needs 3D movies when we have Caravaggio’s masterful technique and visual acuity to draw us into the depth of the space. We feel like we are sitting right there at the table during the revelatory moment, or as if a camera snapped a picture and seized that one second of human reactions and gesticulations, both emotional and physical.

Also note that Caravaggio didn’t neglect the still life aspect of the scene – the meal on the table. That one basket is almost teetering over the edge. Throw in Caravaggio’s famously deft handling of light and shadow, and you have a stunningly powerful scene. For a little comparative art exercise, contrast Caravaggio’s piece with Velasquez’s version of the same story.

For more analysis of Supper at Emmaus, visit the Smarthistory video page of this work.

Edward and Edward

Yesterday, December 7th, marked eight years to the day that my father died. Can’t believe it’s been that long. Hard to grasp the passage of time. He’s been on my mind a lot lately. Those of you who have been following this blog for years have seen me write about him and are aware that he was a trumpet player. So here’s a wonderful Norman Rockwell piece that Dad would have loved. From a 1950 cover of the Saturday Evening Post, this is Boy Practicing Trumpet. Check out the dog!

My father’s name was Edward, but he went by Eddie. I’d like to bring another Edward into this post; once again, the American painter Edward Hopper, who I don’t believe went by “Eddie”. But hey, you never know Anyway, I shared recently with all of you my essay “On Life, Healing, and Edward Hopper”, which appeared on Ethika Politika. Mattias Caro, the managing editor of the site, was very kind to send me an article on Hopper that he thought would interest me. And it certainly did. James Polchin reviewed the Edward Hopper retrospective which is currently on view at the Grand Palais in Paris. His piece in The Smart Set is an outstanding read. I adore Hopper even more now, and I didn’t think that was possible.

Here’s a beauty from Edward Hopper that is especially appropriate because it shows a couple, and my Hopper appreciation has taken on a richer, more intimate, personal dimension these days thanks to my own coupling with the “old flame”

Sunlight on Brownstones, 1956:

So that’s our post for today, my dear friends. Works by two American artists, and honoring two Edwards. See you all soon.

The Other Giacometti

After several unreliable weeks, I shall attempt to get Music Mondays back on track. And geez people, you can knock it off with the angry, pissed off emails ok? Just kidding

A Google image search of the name “Giacometti” pulls up thousands upon thousands of results of those skinny, sticklike sculptures we know so well. They are of course the distinctive works of the 20th century Swiss sculptor Alberto Giacometti. Although easily the most well-known Alberto was not the only artistic talent in the Giacometti family. His father, Giovanni, was an accomplished painter. His brother Diego was a fellow sculptor and his other brother Bruno was an architect.

There was also Augusto Giacometti, a cousin of Giovanni which makes him Alberto’s cousin/uncle twice removed? I don’t know, but whatever. They’re family! I found this very beautiful piece by Augusto titled Die Musik (The Music) from 1898, done in pastel, tempera, and gold flakes in the decorative, art nouveau style popular at the turn-of-the-century. The gesture of the woman kissing the forehead of the young violinist is really lovely. Looks a little like a Klimt, yes?

If you visit the artnet gallery of Augusto Giacometti’s works you will see that he had quite the gift for color and worked in variety of media.

Milly and Maud

James McNeill Whistler may not have reached Picasso-levels of romantic entanglements and tempestuousness with his muses, but he sure gave Pablo a run for his money. No slouch in the messy private life arena, Whistler shared both his personal and artistic pursuits with many women.  Female subjects feature prominently in Whistler’s art as clothed figures and nudes, and he had no shortage of models willing to pose for him. They ran the gamut from mistresses, professional models, relatives, to the wives and children of patrons, friends and family members. Some of those ladies became his lovers, others did not.

In all the years of writing this blog I have found that biographical information is much more readily available of those muses who were, at some point, romantically involved with the artist. The models who simply posed as a platonic professional are given short shrift. We’re lucky if we even know the names of some of them. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve done searches to find out the identity of models in artworks, maybe some background information, only to come up with nothing. It’s disappointing. I guess if those gals had just slept with the artists then maybe we’d know their names today

This dearth of info problem occurred with our man Whistler and his female subject named Milly Finch. Apparently she was a professional model and that’s all we know. As evidence of Miss Finch’s mysterious and unrecorded life, check out her biography page from the University of Glasgow. Question marks and blank spaces. Poor Milly.

But she sure was an outstanding subject. Here, she rocks a fan and a bit of attitude as she reclines on a divan. You go girl! Milly Finch, 1884, by James McNeill Whistler:

Then there is Maud Franklin. Born in Oxfordshire, England, Maud began posing for Whistler, it is believed, around the age of fifteen. By the 1870s and 80s she was his steady model and also his lover. The affair produced two daughters and although they never married, Maud referred to herself as “Mrs. Whistler”. She was also an artist herself.

This is Maud in Whistler’s Arrangement in White and Black. Great gesture and posture.

Whistler’s treatment of Maud was contemptible. At the time of his libel suit against John Ruskin, he effectively abandoned Maud, who was pregnant with his child, alone in a London hotel room and misled her as to his whereabouts. But Maud stood by Whistler for a few more years, throughout his financial bankruptcy and a particularly difficult time in Venice during which Maud suffered poor health and societal rejection. Then in 1888, James Whistler married another woman, Beatrice Godwin, which was devastating to Maud. She later moved to Paris, married twice, and refused to speak publicly about Whistler. In an interesting anecdote, both Maud Franklin and Joanna Hiffernan, Whistler’s previous mistress and muse, attended his funeral in London in 1903. The two women, whose romantic relationships with Whistler had been over for decades, were witnessed in profound, open expressions of grief. Maud had traveled all the way from Paris to pay her respects.

Portrait of Maud Franklin by James McNeill Whistler:

And we go back to Milly Finch, the artist’s model about whom we know almost nothing, but at least didn’t have to endure an affair with Whistler and the insensitive treatment it brought. This is drama-free modelin’ Milly in Harmony in Coral and Blue:

The Painting Group

If you have any doubt as to an art group’s ability to meet on a steady, committed basis and sustain it over a long period of time, I have three words for you: The Painting Group. Established over 50 years ago – yes FIFTY- the Painting Group has met every week since it began in New York City in 1958. Its founders were some very accomplished men; renowned portrait painter Aaron Shikler , illustrator and legendary caricaturist for the New York Review of Books David Levine, who passed away in 2009, and one of my favorite people, realist painter Daniel Schwartz. Over the decades, as the American art scene veered further and further away from classical figurative art, the Painting Group doggedly persevered, against the prevailing trend of New York artists toward Abstract Expressionism and other modern art scene fads, to keep realism and the the figure subject alive. We models are grateful for that.

The Painting Group has an itinerant history, traveling from their original location in Brooklyn, to 54th Street in midtown, to the Upper West Side, down to Greene Street in SoHo, and now in their newest space in Chelsea off Seventh Avenue.

I have had the pleasure of posing for the Painting Group many, many times. In fact, I am one of their regular models, and am currently posing for the first half of the summer. It’s a wonderfully sociable group of artists, and the model is welcomed with a chorus of friendly hellos and cheerful greetings upon entering the studio.

Irene Vitale is a longtime member of the Painting Group. She has worked from my modeling both there and at at another private art group. She’s a lovely person of great warmth, humor and kindness. At last Wednesday’s session I admired the intermediate stage of her painting. I am posing for the group on a couch with a boring white wall behind me. So the artists are letting their imaginations run wild with the background, making it different colors and even patterns. Irene made the interesting choice of using green. I mentioned to her that it would look nice on the blog. But when I suggested that we should wait until the painting is finished, Irene happily said, “You can post it as a work-in-progress!”. Indeed, I can. Why not? As long as Irene at some point gives me a mouth I’ll be happy

Prismatic Perceptions

My friends!! Where the hell have I been all week? I know that pressing question has been nagging you for days, and that you’ve lost tons of sleep over it. Okay, maybe not. DOH! Actually I’m the one who hasn’t been able to sleep. Clearly I have a disorder, and I believe the clinical name for my condition is “lovelornitis”. But just to be sure, I’ll check with Johns Hopkins School of Medicine and get back to you

Also, we’ve had some hot flippin’ weather the past few days. As usual I worry about my cats who live outside and have to endure the scorching temperatures. We know of course that cats survive just about everything and worrying about them is a needless waste of time. Yet I do it anyway.

Now I bring the art, baby! I should say Francisco Malonzo is bringing the art. The last four Saturdays I’ve been posing for Dan Gheno‘s painting class at the National Academy. Francisco is a student of Dan’s and has painted me many times. He’s also a great guy. For the morning session I posed clothed, at Dan’s request, in a red tank top and grey cargo pants. Francisco created this dazzling piece and was kind enough to let me photograph it for the blog:

During the breaks, as I admired Francisco’s painterly style, he told me of some contemporary artists who inspire him a great deal. One is Alex Kanevsky, another is Mark Horst, and the third one is Paul Wright. I’m very glad Francisco introduced me to these three compelling artists.

Again by Francisco, my portrait which he completed today in one session:

You can see much more of Francisco’s work on his Flickr page and read his marvelous art and classical music commentaries on his blog Raeburn’s Ramblings.

Enjoy what’s left of the weekend everybody. I’ll see you all very soon. In the meantime, be happy, love life, and keep cool!

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

 

Birth of a Symbolist

Hello friends. I’m posting late on Friday night after a day of house chores, tidying up, organizing, and the first stages of a massive spring cleaning. And I do mean massive. I have tons more to do but am actually off to a pretty good start. Saturday is kitchen floor cleaning day. I’ve got my mop and bucket ready. Woooo hooooo!!

Thanks to Twitter and the abundance of information bits it showers upon its users, I learned that April 20th, my day of tedious housekeeping, was also a notable birthday date. Among the famous figures born on April 20th are the American sculptor Daniel Chester French, screen actor of the silent film era Harold Lloyd, Spanish surrealist painter Joan Miro, Star Trek actor George Takei, Latin jazz giant Tito Puente, and former Yankee first baseman Don Mattingly. Unfortunately, that marvelous diverse group also shares a birthday with Adolf Hitler. Ew. Doesn’t that just taint the whole thing? It would bother the hell out of me if I shared a birthday with Hitler.

Another April 20th birthday belongs to French symbolist Odilon Redon, whose work I absolutely love. He easily holds a spot in my top ten list of favorite artists. So in honor of Redon’s birthday, here’s a video montage of his work. Watch and enjoy the magical, fanciful beauty, inventiveness, and moody imagery of Redon’s work.

The Yellow Christ

Hello, helloooo dearest friends! Hope this blog post finds you well. Holy days are upon us: Passover on Friday and Easter on Sunday, in a rare occurrence of those two holidays coinciding on the same weekend. Cool!

So I was perusing art images of crucifixion and resurrection, the majority of which are faithful, reverent depictions of Biblical events. All brilliant, painstaking works of art that are masterpieces of traditional painting. But I decided to post a more unconventional work by an appropriately unconventional man – French Post-Impressionist/Symbolist painter Paul Gauguin. I always find it interesting when an artist gives a traditional, religious subject an unorthodox treatment. Not degradingly unorthodox, but something unique and unusual in how it employs artistic elements.

Gauguin’s 1889 work, The Yellow Christ, is an example of an artwork that boldly deviates from a realistic, “documentary” style recounting of an event, in this case Christ’s crucifixion. Instead, Gauguin depicts the scene using simplified shapes, bold lines, flat forms, and colors that are not naturalistic. He bathes the Christ figure, and much of the background, in yellow, a pigment one normally associates with cheerfulness and warmth. However, contrary to its reputation, yellow can also have an agitating effect when viewed with focus and intensity, which makes Gauguin’s choice even more intriguing.

Also, look closely at the face of Christ in this painting. It is the face of Gauguin himself. Now Gauguin was certainly not the only painter to insert his own likeness onto a figure. But this is no ordinary figure. This is Christ. Would it be unfair of us then to infer that Gauguin had something of a martyr complex? Probably not.

The Yellow Christ was painted in Pont-Aven in the Brittany region of France. Indeed, the women in the scene are portrayed by Gauguin as Breton women, not the Biblical Marys we expect to see in this narrative. And the landscape appears more like the French countryside than the rocks of Calvary. But accuracy was not Gauguin’s concern, nor should it be a concern of any artist. Gauguin’s sensibilities famously gravitated toward the primitive, the unrefined, the unspoiled. His version of the crucifixion here is both odd and striking. The Christ is disturbingly gaunt but he is also dominant in the setting. Some, not all, of the old masterworks of the crucifixion scene are cluttered and busy, whereas Gauguin’s is stark, direct, and vivid. Simplified.

You can examine, compare and contrast other art crucifixion paintings at this gallery. In the meantime, have a joyous weekend my Museworthy friends. Peace and blessings to each and every one of you. See you next week

Irish Joy

Ok, so I’m a day late with a St. Patrick’s Day post. And I have absolutely no excuse. I didn’t go to the parade, I didn’t drink beer or whisky, and I didn’t make out with any Irish guys. However, I did tweet some James Joyce, so that should count for something

Today is “the day after” and it’s so beautiful here in New York! Those with hangovers can’t enjoy it, the poor bastards. I’m heading to the park in a few minutes for an invigorating run. But before I go, how about a little art? An Irish painter of course. George W. Joy was born in Dublin in 1844. His work demonstrates an attention to detail, and frequently depicts narrative subjects drawn from historical and literary sources. I chose this piece, The Bayswater Omnibus. Nice composition. The well-to-do woman in the middle, in the green dress, holding flowers and an umbrella, is the focal point. She contrasts with the woman next to her, a poor mother huddled with her two children. Perhaps Joy was making a statement about class disparities in 19th century London:

I just realized something; James JOYCE. George JOY. Joy abounds in Irish surnames. Interesting!

Fleur de Lis

Hello friends! Happy Sunday! And what a beautiful Sunday it is here in NYC. I hope this blog post finds you all well.

A few days ago I found a little time in my busy schedule to stop in to the Metropolitan Museum for a quick visit. It was a Saturday, which at the Met means crowds. Major crowds. But no amount of crowds could stop me from seeing and enjoying the newly renovated American Wing Galleries, something I’ve been looking forward to for months. A more extensive blog post will probably be forthcoming. Until then I thought I’d share this one lovely work that is on display in the collection. The artist is Robert Reid, an American Impressionist painter who was born in Stockbridge, Massachusetts and studied in Boston and then New York. As with most American artists of the 20th century, Reid’s bio invariably mentions places where I have also worked as an art model. He studied at the Art Students League and later became a member of the National Academy of Design. By the early part of the century, Reid was focused on mural projects which might explain my attraction to his style. I adore mural painting and large panel works. On my trip to Boston last December, I was in heaven while viewing Sargent’s murals at the Boston Public Library. What I should have done was also visit Reid’s Paul Revere mural at the State House. I think another trip to Boston is in order!

This enchanting painting by Reid is called Fleur de Lis, ca. 1885 – 1900. I think one of the reasons it struck me was the exquisite color (I love purple) and depiction of irises, and the realization that those flowers will soon be blooming with the coming of spring! Can’t wait! I took this photo and decided not to crop out the frame, but it enlarges beautifully with a couple of clicks:

I also recorded the wall text for this piece that might be of interest. From the Met curators, this painting “suggests an analogy between his female figure and the fragile irises that surround her . . . His combining of a high-keyed palette and expressive brushwork with allegorical references reflects American artists’ concurrent interest, during the 1890s, in Impressionism and the universal imagery associated with the mural movement.”

A nice collection of Reid’s work can be found at Wikimedia Commons.

At the Theater with Everett Shinn

Hello friends. This post was supposed to go up yesterday for Music Monday. I planned to write it when I got home from work but something came up that put me in a crummy, unsettled mood. It’s not a big deal, I just have a sensitivity to old unwelcome emotions being stirred up. So I sulked most of the night and neglected my blog

I wanted to share these images of Everett Shinn paintings. Shinn was a member of the Ashcan School, a talented group of American realist painters who explored urban subjects and daily life in New York City. Although not an organized group in any official way, the Ashcan artists shared an interest in city life and the social conditions of the time. Portrayals of gritty, unvarnished realism was the driving focus for most of the Ashcan artists. Subjects such as tenement buildings, beggars, drunks, and street scenes were prevalent.

Although the great Robert Henri is considered the “founder” of the Ashcan school, its other members, many of whom studied under Henri, produced works of great atmospheric impact, authenticity, and skillful execution. Everett Shinn, the youngest of the group, was an impressive figure. Handsome, well-trained, and visually astute, he worked at various times as an illustrator, theater set designer, fine artist, and even an actor and playwright. It was Shinn’s extensive experience in the theater that allowed him to create marvelously vivid works of vaudeville scenes and downtown theater performances, all of which were thriving in New York City in the early 1900s. Shinn’s depictions really transport you into the seats, crowds, and intimate, informal atmosphere of colorful theater life.

This is one of my favorite Shinn paintings. Spanish Music Hall from 1902, oil on canvasboard. See the entry for this work at the Metropolitan Museum website for some nice zoom-in details. Love that dress!

The Orchestra Pit, Old Proctor’s Fifth Avenue Theater, from 1906. Interesting angle and perspective. It should come as no surprise that Shinn was a great admirer of Edgar Degas. Read more background about this painting at the Yale University site.

This is Revue, from 1908. Shin captured the performer’s gesture perfectly and gave the white costume, ornate hat, and woman’s face all the light and attention, yet his background darks are not so dark to appear muddy or dingy. It’s all beautifully done.

Check out this great platinum print of Everett Shinn. Kind of sexy Here’s another informative page and a terrific blog post on Everett Shinn. Very interesting guy in many ways. I think we’ll be seeing more of him, and his Ashcan buddies, on Museworthy again in the future.