Final Days for the Flowers; Go for a Ride in the English Countryside

New year, new creativity, right? Best to stoke the creative fires with a good museum jaunt. First outing of 2019: a trip to to the Toledo Museum of Art to find out whether Rebecca Louise Law's "Community" exhibit is as magical as all that ("It was magic?" asked my 3 1/2 year old. Well, no, not technically). It definitely falls in the category of more than the sum of its parts and good lord, it had a TON of parts. An attendant opens the frosted door as you draw near, so you glimpse the room only at its threshold. Hundreds (thousands?) of dangling garlands of local flora create pathways within the bare white gallery space. The flowers themselves (or seedpods, wheat stalks, berries etc.) were strung by kind, creating areas of suspended color, swaying ever-so-slightly. The beauty/sweetness is balanced by the dried/decaying aspect, though any decay falls into the faded/desiccated variety. I was too late to catch the "fresh" part of the fresh and floral exhibit (it went up in June 2018) -- I imagine it was initially verdant, lush -- but the delicately dried curtains were still rich. 

 

 

 

 

First reaction: quiet delight. I wandered about, grinning like a fool -- and making vain attempts to capture the wonder with mediocre picture taking. Second reaction? "How LONG DID THIS TAKE??" Even the more masochistic artist types would lose it before stringing a third of the room's garlands. And this, naturally, was the community aspect of the installation, which I failed to grasp until I watched the artist conversation video back home: Law invites local volunteers to participate in garland creation, so that her vision is collectively brought into reality. Back in the exhibit, you can see everyone else shuffling through, craning their necks upward, partially obscuring themselves for floral portraits. On this Friday, the audience is overwhelmingly female, barring a couple seeming boyfriends. A couple women tick off Latin plant names to each other; a handful of older women joke about their rowdiness (minimal); a young man and woman in matching blue "Dunder Mifflin" tee shirts come off as generally embarrassed. At the same time I lose my will to wander,  the gallery room strikes me as newly small. My picture taking isn't going to improve, and I'm not suddenly going to possess a deeper knowledge of flora and fauna. Do I feel more connected? Not so much to the community, possibly to the moment, or at least the day overall -- the freedom of being able to wander without hurrying to chase a child.  

"You're just so tickled!" says the woman at the door.  She extends her hand toward the door handle.

"Oh, it's delightful."  She asks if I'm related to someone who works there. No, I say, but it's a lovely place. Is she a volunteer, or staff?


She leans in conspiratorially: "I'm security. I'm the one whose supposed to break your bones if you get out of line!" As Rick often says of me: she fails to intimidate.


"...Wellll, I'll try to be good."


"Yeah," she says gruffly, "Tone it down."

--> This exhibit closes January 13th.


****
Next up is a short walk to the "Sights & Sounds" exhibit in the newly renovated contemporary art gallery. I am rarely drawn to, or have the patience for, extended video pieces, so I'm surprised to immediately get sucked into David Hockney's "Woldgate Woods, Winter 2010," a nine screen video showing an English road and woods from his childhood. It's 52 minutes long, silent, and hypnotic. The screens are displayed in a tight 3 x 3 square; and everything almost-but-not-quite lines up. Despite the deliberate jarring, and the ongoing driving forward of the camera/car,  it remains calm. 
 

The tire tracks ahead are deep, the tree branches and underbrush are all coated thickly with snow. It looks cold, but feels cozy with the trees on both sides. The sky lightens. A car pulls ahead, on our right, and travels far down the road, before mysteriously stopping. To what end? Eventually they pull away and dwindle to a dot. Birds dart in and out of frame. It's like front porch neighbor-gazing, without the pleasantries; fireside snoozing, barring the crackle and snap. 

Suddenly, the trees open up the left: And now! Such a feeling of freedom and space! And then, someone walks toward us. Obviously we don't know him, but will he interact somehow? But no, he tucks his head down, hands pocketed, and passes to the right. Second piece at the museum, second time being mesmerized,  contented. A voice inside me sneers: "Are you just predisposed to LOVE everything today?" in the tone usually reserved for "WHAT IS *WRONG* WITH YOU?" Maybe so, maybe not. Maybe I'm more open than I tend to be, but it's also a strong opening exhibit for this refurbished gallery. Artist-takes-on-nature is a classic, and as a classic, is in danger of falling into the trite. I haven't thought deeply enough to comment on the cohesiveness of the exhibit, but I will say the artist roster is impressive, as are the number of appealing, engaging pieces. 

From the Woldgate Woods, one also hears the ocean, and possibly sitar music.* Takashi Ishida's fantastic "Wall of the Sea" is responsible for the ocean's intrusion into the British countryside. Three screens, three identical white rooms. A projector in the middle shows a seascape on the far wall, which quickly overflows its smaller screen and pools out across the floor. Each room is rapidly consumed by different depictions of water -- calligraphic ink swirls in one, broad watercolor splashes, white paint on black surface; each screen is overtaken, before all recedes, the space is new again, then overtaken. Photographic footage of the sea is grey, grainy, blurry vs. the rich blue pigments used by Ishida. I love the whole experience of it, without fathoming intended messages.

Other favorites: "Frank," by Robert Longo (ESPECIALLY his process, haha!), Kiki Smith's "Seated Nude"** (clearly not a child's figure, but the overly large head is still so endearing to me. Creepy, but endearing), the elegance of Maya Lin ("Dew Point 18," "Silver Erie"), Jonathon Borofsky's business men screenprints ("2740475"), "Mount Rainier, from The United States" (gorgeous woodblock print from 1925, by Hiroshi Yoshida).

Definitely worth a trip. This exhibit is up through February 24, 2019. 


*Nope. Just a guitar. But very plinky!
**this leads me to a SUBfavorite, particular to all the 3D works: the overly large ALL CAPS


Signs. Hard to not imagine the total aggravation behind it. ...For the love of God, you're in a museum, people!! WHY MUST WE ALWAYS STATE THIS. People, people, people.

You Know What Would Fix that Neckline? A Huge Napkin. I'll Just Tie it Around Your Neck.

No museum day tomorrow, but luckily I have more to think about from last week at the Toledo Museum of Art.

   

1.)                                Portrait of a Young Woman, Horace Vernet, 1831

For me, this painting called Bouguereau to mind, though the sitter is stiffer, more heavily rouged, less lithesome than his mythological figures. The longer I look at her, the more fond I become, though what if she wound up resembling one of Jane Austen's more aggravating characters? Potential character flaws: arrogance, smugness, rigidity. And on what visual basis do I theorize? That she is painted with a direct gaze? As she was most certainly directed. Bahh.

But here we are meant to focus on other aspects of "feminine character." How does she feel about being the embodiment of purity and innocence? Stuffed and bowed, be-ribboned and be-gloved! Even the foliage -- much too aggressive to be called background -- is in on it, being juniper (or chastity, in Victorian flower parlance). DO YOU GET HOW UNBLEMISHED SHE IS, SHE IS A VIRGIN TO THE POWER OF THREE. And they aim to keep her that way until marriage, if the wilty violets indicates her betrothed status, as TMA suggests (Victorian flower dictionary=faithfulness). They are so tiny and limp to indicate something that must be hardy to be of any use, though. Easily dropped and trod underfoot.




2.) But earlier in the day, the first thing I saw after the welcoming Matisse ceramic mural was Paul Manship's charming Dancer and Gazelles on the second floor. The sculptor's "Moods of Time: Evening" knocked my socks off at the DIA a few years ago, so it was refreshing to encounter his work at another museum. {--> see blog post for photos of piece, which was created for the 1939 World's Fair, more on Manship's career}

3.)                                                 BEST FOR LAST
The MOST EXCITING art moment came at the end of the day, in the museum store. I was leafing through a Kehinde Wiley coffee table book when a staff member sidled up to me. He leaned in with a conspiratorial air: "We're getting this exhibit!"

"WHAT, NO!" KEHINDE WILEY. I actually got head chills*.

"I know"

"REALLY??? Like this exact one~"

"YES~~"

"It's locked in, solid~"

"February 2017." He nods, triumphantly before whisking himself away. I felt giddy in the moment, and giddy now, in the typing. I can't really explain the visceral quality to my reaction, but maybe that's unnecessary. I love that Wiley uses traditional European portraiture as a springboard, captures its essence and re-envisions them with African Americans at the center. I love that his painting is masterful, so its technique can not be dismissed. I love that he usually opts for massive scale, so the beauty and strength and dignity of his models are unavoidable. I love that when he reduces the background to a design element, those elements never remain solely in the background, but merge/interact with the subject. I love that he usually collaborates with his subjects and tells them (the guys, at least): "You're going to be in a painting, so wear something you're excited about"

Sleep, 2008, DIA in their "30 Americans" exhibit

Same exhibit

So the exhibit that will be coming to Toledo ("An Economy of Grace") was first shown in Brooklyn, and featured the series of portraits featuring female models. He tracked down models for photoshoots by stopping pedestrians near a shopping district. For this series, he determined he would have Givenchy couture pieces created specifically for them, which initially gave me pause in terms of representation -- so the guys wear their own clothes, and in so doing show more of their personality, i.e. personhood? And the women? Get dressed again, prepared for the artist and viewer's gaze?... But essential to his portraits for both genders is the lifting up, the giving/claiming of dignity that is often denied by the larger culture. And dressing the women in bespoke clothing most certainly speaks to that (Wiley relished the sense of "untouchably beautiful" as conveyed by haute couture). Flip your calendar to 2017, pencil in TMA in February! In the meantime check out the PBS documentary about Wiley's creation of this exhibit.

From the video:

"I always think about the exotic. Sometimes the exotic can be right in front of you, I think that when I watch television, participate in the media culture in America, sometimes the way that I see/have seen black people portrayed in this country feels very strange and exotic, because it has nothing to do with the life that i have lived or people that I've known..." -- Wiley

"[In classic European portraiture] The painting is there to reinforce that sense of belongingness --  for Kehinde's subjects it's the complete opposite. These people were not supposed to be there." -- An art critic within documentary, sorry! watch it and find out...

***

*This weirdness is usually reserved for something which scares the pants off me, or shocks me. I know I *want* to see a horror movie, but absolutely should not see that horror movie, if I watch a trailer and get headchills. Applied when I was 7, applies now. Don't look under the bed and get the hell out of the house. But for an art exhibit? Never.

Museum Break Over, I Hear the Pagoda Chimes Ringing

...There once were three goats from Pawtucket*

Several weeks after I broke cover to check out "Indigenous Beauty" at the Toledo Museum of Art, I returned to reacquaint myself with its permanent exhibits. Wednesday's trip was a gratifying and luxurious solo jaunt. Surprising, too, in that while I vaguely remembered liking the museum from decades past (eesh), I didn't recall specific works. This, sadly, no longer surprises me -- but what did give me a jolt was the repeated experience of approaching a painting, recognizing it, and thinking,"Oh, I used to like this one." It was never with the excitement of continued pleasure, or familiar resonance, but only a past affinity, paired with its present lack. Odd. I stood before several of these, trying to puzzle out why they reached me before no longer held appeal. One was an El Greco -- I realize the absurdity of jill schmoe blogging,"But seriously? El Greco isn't all that~"...but nevertheless I stood before it (and others) only to be nagged by an odd wonder.

Where did the connecting threads go? We know that tastes develop and our life experiences impact us. But to what degree? How differently was the younger M fueled? If you were to ask me whether my visual artistic tastes have changed *significantly* over the years, I would have said no; but this experience stands in opposition. But maybe, too, it's the same thing as revisiting a novel and finding sympathy with characters who seemed unlikable or unneeded before; or becoming impatient with a prose style that once seemed masterful. The changing reader focus strikes me as right and good, so I guess it's less disquieting in that context.

That said, an unencumbered museum day is a lovely day! I wandered through galleries, running my phone battery down with excessive photos, while Javier texted me photos from his office, of Oyo hugging and touching a boy roughly her age, who looked confused, if not anxious. I wouldn't be surprised if the future little girl strides up to peers, telling them: "Hello! We're friends."      

New Favorites, Hello New Friends:

1.                                   The Shepherd's Star, Jules Breton, 1887

An Idealized image, sure -- but the quality of light, her erect bearing and beauty, the curved metal blade completely believable. I love all of it. A French painter depicting agrarian scenes from his native region. From museum label: "Breton's paintings present a romanticized view of the French peasant as the heroic embodiment of a traditional, idyllic, and noble way of life." As always, much more enjoyable to watch someone carrying a sack of potatoes while barefoot, than to actually do it.

2.                        Don Giovanni de Medici, by Agnolo Bronzino, about 1551

A 1500s portrait of a child that looks like a child. It is impossible to go museuming without seeing creepy children on the walls. Wooden children. Strange little alien children. Possibly happy children, but weird, skewed, off. Babies with elderly faces** and plank-like elongated torsos; babies and children that clearly predate the modern conception of childhood.

But here, Don Giovanni, son in a prominent family, looks solemn -- already weighed down by some adult-sized responsibilities -- but look, too, at the soft roundness of his cheeks, his bow lips. I could see him spouting some adultish remarks before doing something contrary; or running off in fear of punishment. Do you see what I see?  Museum label tells us that he was destined for the church at 7 by his parents; admitted to the clergy at 8 (reputed time of painting). Made a Cardinal at 17, and dead from fever by 19. So, take a moment to bask in the child's beauty, where there was not much childhood to be had; and this from a very privileged family.

Bronzino, a Florentine mannerist painter, served as the court painter for Cosimo I de Medici, Grand Duke of Tuscany, starting in his late thirties. If you're like me, his most famous painting is one you know without knowing you do:

 

not quite creepy. child in upper left in ecclesiastical dress. odd dog from same painting.

3. And now for something completely different. This doesn't qualify as a favorite in the same sense as numbers 1&2 -- it doesn't resonate -- but its stunning ostentation stopped me in my tracks. I leave you with the...

                                                          Pagoda Organ Clock 

                                                        see also: Too Much Money, What to Do?

TMA tells visitors this British clock from the 1780s reflects "the popular taste for Chinese design...a pipe organ inside played exotic tunes while tiny ships sailed across the landscapes on the sides of the clock. Bells struck the hours and quarter hours." My first thought was that this would have been a blast to play around, to construct stories with diminutive dolls. On second thought, however, such a mansion to house such a clock would likely have a nursery floor, much less ornate dollhouses. But myyyyy goodness, such golden intricacy! Did the homeowners order this specially, after a trip abroad? Or did inspired clockmakers construct them and bring them to prospective customers? Were servants in awe of it, or did they loathe its need to be dusted? Or possibly under glass even while new? Curious for backstory.

In terms of cultural misappropriation, the museum's website noted the misconceptions flew both ways, as wealthy Chinese bought these European-made clocks: "The Chinese viewed these chinoiserie clocks as typical examples of European manufacture and taste, whereas the Europeans misinterpreted the Chinese enthusiasm for them as testimony to their 'Chinese' qualities and appropriated them as decorations for fashionable chinoiserie interiors."

*Edward Lear actually a painter by profession!
**Yes, that DOES happen all the time, in life. but no, these would be babies remarking, "I told Ezekiah not to go into the barn," and "Twenty years hence you shall burn and in the burning, be reborn" and "Mother, separate me not from my twine; and do not gawp so."