eight by the eight on the eighth

They weren't the only artists to depict scenes of winter, but The Eight a/k/a The Ashcan School did seem to have a particularly fine ability to capture snowscapes and cities in the early 20th century.  As evidenced by these eight works, although I included George Bellows (an Eight associate and student of Henri but not an official member) because I wasn't able to find a snowy painting by Arthur B. Davies.  Davies was reportedly one of the least ashcanny of The Eight, however, and seemed to favor more lyrical inspiration vs urban realism.

 

 
Pictured:  Snow in New York -- Robert Henri (1912); Backyards, Greenwich Village -- John Sloan (1914); Cross Streets of New York -- Everett Shinn (1899); Old Grand Central -- Ernest Lawson; Sledding, Central Park -- William Glackens (1912); Winter Night, New York -- George Luks (1930); Snow in April -- Maurice Prendergast (1907); Blue Snow, The Battery -- George Bellows (1910)

painting of the month

 

Cherries in a Silver Compote with Crabapples -- Fede Galizia (1578-1630)

born today

Daniel Koerner -- November 16, 1909 - 1977

Pictured:  West Side Ramp -- circa 1935 (Smithsonian American Art Museum)

so said cezanne

 Painting from nature is not copying the object, it is realizing sensations. 

Pictured:  Le Lac d'Annecy -- Paul Cézanne, 1896 (Courtauld Gallery, London)

a bit of ruskin

Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather. 

This observation by British critic, author, poet and artist John Ruskin seems rather positive and pithy, but he obviously never lived in Chicago, particularly during this past "zero is warm" Polar Vortex winter.  Or in various other extreme arctic/desert climes. Weather forecasting aside, as a creative and critical being, Ruskin was diverse and prolific.  From Modern Painters to the autobiographical Praeterita, he clearly was a man who let little thought or time go to waste.  And then there was that whole nasty spat with Whistler.

Ruskin's life -- particularly the eventual love triangle of his ambiguous marriage  -- continues to inspire other artistic efforts, including two films made almost 100 years apart (1912's The Love of John Ruskin and 2013's Effie).  Love him or hate him, he's kept some people thinking since he first formed a cohesive opinion, which probably involved critiquing the arrangement of wooden alphabet blocks in his nursery.

What we think, or what we know, or what we believe is, in the end, of little consequence. The only consequence is what we do. -- John Ruskin

(Pictured:  Little Ruskin by John Nortcote, 1822; Ruskin by John Everett Millais, circa 1853; Self-Portrait from 1875; Ruskin by W.G. Collingwood, 1897)

will he was

Today brings the 450th birthday of William Shakespeare, or rather the day that Shakespeare's birthday is celebrated.  Actual birth records weren't always clear back then, but since Shakespeare was baptized around this time and died on April 23rd, the same date is used to mark his birth.  Nonetheless, Shakespeare was of course a poet, iconic playwright, perhaps a Taurus, and the man responsible for keeping generations of actors busy portraying characters in his major works, as well as portraying Shakespeare himself.   (Most of the actors have been British but then again, Shakespeare was a fellow Englishman.)

Shakespeare's plays have also inspired artists to paint scenes from his plays, several of which are featured below.  And personally my favorite Shakespearean passage is from Macbeth and found to be nightly true:  "Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care. The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath. Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast."

Pictured after Shakespeare:  Portia by John Everett Millais, 1886; The First Madness of Ophelia by D.G. Rossetti, 1864; Othello and Desdemona by Antonio Muñoz Degraín, 1880; and Miranda - The Tempest by John William Waterhouse, 1916

painting of the month

Still Life with Fruit and Flowers (detail) -- David de Koninck, late 17th century

beaux color

 

Nothing might seem more obvious than color, but one cannot reach

it as a subject without being led through interminable corridors of existence.  

-- Cecilia Beaux (1855-1942)

Pictured:  Man with the Cat (Henry Sturgis Drinker) -- Cecilia Beaux, 1898

painting of the month

 Early Spring -- Tom Thomson (1917)

[Wikimedia Commons/Art Gallery of Ontario ]

all in the family

 

Today would have been the birthday of Irish artist John Butler Yeats (1839-1922), who with his wife Susan brought to life six children, one of whom just happened to be poet William Butler Yeats and another the painter Jack B. Yeats.  The passion and words of William Butler Yeats sparked the Irish Literary Revival, and W.B. Yeats also was the first Irishman to win the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1923.  Jack B. Yeats developed a distinct artistic style during his long career while remaining strongly attached to his native Ireland.  John Butler Yeats' daughters Lily and Lolly were creative forces as well, Lily for needlework and textiles, and Lolly for art education, bookbinding and printing.  So without accusations of bosh or blarney, it can be claimed that the Yeats family truly did have quite an impact on Ireland's cultural heritage.

That said, a Happy Saint Patrick's Day to all....

I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world’s eyes
As though they’d wrought it.
Song, let them take it,
For there’s more enterprise
In walking naked.

William Butler Yeats, "The Coat" (1914)

Pictured:  Portrait of William Butler Yeats -- John Butler Yeats, 1900 and The Swinford Funeral -- Jack B. Yeats, 1918 (The Walters Art Museum)

moments of quiet desperation

Actor Bill Murray was recently promoting his latest film The Monuments Men with its art-related theme, and at a press conference at London's National Gallery he noted how at one point things were quite down and dark for him during the earlier years of his career in Chicago.  He was ready to pretty much end it all in Lake Michigan but wandered into the Art Institute instead, and while he was numbly walking around he came across Jules Breton's 1884 The Song of the Lark.  The peasant girl in the painting made him realize how life isn't always at its best, but the sun will rise beyond us and sometimes it's worth going on.  Click here for the whole article -- I think it's interesting how sometimes we can be moved deeply by a painting, whether you're just randomly walking through the halls of a museum or you specifically seek out a certain work when you need to feel centered.  I always head upstairs to see El Greco's Saint Francis Kneeling in Meditation at the Art Institute myself, and I like visiting that part of the museum because it's usually quiet and peaceful.  Other times it's fun to watch the crowds gathering around more popular paintings like the Monet series or Hopper's Nighthawks or Seurat's La Grande Jatte, because it shows the power of still seeing an actual work of art right there in front of you, even though we can look at any of these masterpieces instantly online.

"Well there's a girl who doesn't have a whole lot of prospects, but the sun's coming up anyway and she's got another chance at it...."  (Bill Murray, contemplating Jules Breton's The Song of the Lark)

painting of the month

The Octoroon Girl -- Archibald Motley, Jr. (1925)

the degas bowl

Today's the Super Bowl here in the United States, but for those not inclined toward things football-related, we have the Degas Bowl.  I would venture to guess that even if Edgar Degas were transported to modern times, you would never find him at any major sports event -- though he did go to New Orleans, where the Super Bowl has oft been held, to visit some Creole relatives in 1872.  Degas was a bit of a prickly pear, rather set in his ways with decided opinions and not exactly fond of loud crowd scenes.  Yet anyone who has studied ballet knows that it requires strength and grace, and can be grueling on the body.  And Degas' many depictions of dancers very much show that fact -- their athleticism and flexibility are parallel to the beauty and illusion of their performance.  So tune in to the Degas Bowl, and enjoy the half-time commercial as well!

painting of the month

Large Blue Horses -- Franz Marc, 1911

(Happy Chinese New Year -- Year of the Horse!!)

all about the benjamins

Benjamin Franklin -- politician, diplomat, author, inventor, sage, kite flyer and musician -- was born on January 17th, 1706 and lived a most impressive 84 years.  His best known and eagerly desired portrait is on the American $100 bill, but it should be of no surprise that many other artistic representations of Franklin were made throughout his lifetime (click on any of the paintings for a larger view).  Pictured here are Franklin's first portrait by Robert Feke in 1748, with young Ben seeming a bit dandified in his hand pose and sporting ruffly cuffs -- this in contrast to Benjamin Wilson's 1759 likeness of a more confident and assured Franklin, and if you look closely you can see a flicker of lightning in the background.  (The wild bolt is about to hit a church steeple, but the church is likely grounded by a Franklin lightning rod.)  The subtlety of Franklin's electrical experiment in Wilson's painting is the complete opposite of Benjamin West's 1816 Benjamin Franklin Drawing Electricity from the Sky, with our departed forefather in the midst of cherubs and divine guidance like a conduit between the heavens and earth. 


British artist David Martin's 1767 portrait of Franklin places America's wise man in a setting of lush knowledge, amid tones of red and gold and blue along with books and papers and a bust of Sir Isaac Newton looking on with further inspiration and approval.  Perhaps Franklin was pondering his 13 Virtues in Martin's painting, though Franklin was human enough to admit that even he had trouble putting all of the ideals into action simultaneously.  And finally, the elderly Franklin appears in Charles Wilson Peale's 1785 portrait, around the time that various health problems began to take their toll on Frankin's otherwise hearty being. 


I wish the Bald  Eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country; he is a bird of bad moral character; like those among men who live by sharping and robbing, he is generally poor, and often very lousy. The turkey is a much more respectable bird.  (Benjamin Franklin,  1784)

art and appetites

The Art Institute of Chicago's Art and Appetite exhibit is reaching its final weeks and closing up the visual kitchen on January 27th.  This is a sumptuous showing of American food-related art from colonial times to the late 20th century, with occasional social or satiric commentary -- but for the most part a fine spread that confirms the fact that Americans like their food and drink, and plenty of it.  Some of my favorite works are featured, like Willard Metcalf's The Ten Cent Breakfast, John Sloan's Reganeschi's Saturday Night and Richard Estes' Food City.  And the pictured Vegetable Dinner by Peter Blume, which I like even more because Blume was apparently a fellow vegetarian.  All in all an enjoyable show that includes some beautiful servingware as well, and a book of postcards available for sale in the gift shop with vintage recipes on the back.  (The corn "oysters" from Jennie June's American Cookery Book of 1870 fry up nicely and are especially tasty with a splash of green Tabasco.)  My only negative commentary on American appetite in general was in the Members' Lounge at the Art Institute, when the poor guy who works there was trying to bring out a fresh pot of hot chocolate and was descended upon by some rather aggressive persons.  Hot chocolate is free for members, but I've seen stock footage of Depression-era folks waiting in breadlines with more courtesy and patience than these supposed patrons of the arts.  Clearly paying for a membership to the museum entitles a body to shove ahead and cut in line and crab at student workers, all in pursuit of a the privilege of a cup of cocoa worth about $1.50. 


Pictured:  Vegetable Dinner (Peter Blume, 1927) Smithsonian American Art Museum