ART: Maira Kalman - Illustrator of Wit and Joy Droll, whimsical, adroit perspectives on the macro and micro realities of contemporary living: the bounty of 25 years of Maira Kalman illustrations, designs, and textile work. Now delightfully, a frothy yet grave retrospective is given us at the “other museum” in the Sepulveda Pass, Skirball Cultural Center, West Los Angeles, CA.

Droll, whimsical, adroit perspectives on the macro and micro realities of contemporary living: the bounty of 25 years of Maira Kalman illustrations, designs, and textile work. Now delightfully, a frothy yet grave retrospective is given us at the “other museum” in the Sepulveda Pass, Skirball Cultural Center, West Los Angeles, CA.

 

We’ll all recognize her when we recall the singular covers for The New Yorker Ms. Kalman has illustrated over the years. Her style, though maybe we don’t know her name (yet) is one we rely on for those tickles and barbs that our reading may not otherwise provide.

 She combines a colorful graphic style that melds Matisse’s “decorative” sheen with the uplifting daily joy of Chagall.  Her preferred medium is gouache (those deadlines dictate fast-drying paint). Then a reminiscence of Saul Steinberg’s visual intelligence, and the comfy barbs of James Thurber (see dog-lover).  Pop-culture grazing and folk Americana add a post-modern New York polish.  A rapier text darts at us, but freed of any known type style.  It’s hand-written (usually on vellum overlaid onto the illustrations digitally) in a leisurely printed scroll, across, through and around the fresh, bright paintings.

Ms. Kalman declares herself in love with Abraham Lincoln, this squinting, unprepossessing woman, whose latest victory was a guest invitation to The Colbert Report (October 28).  Unfazed by media or an auditorium of fans, funny light takes come quickly, with incisive sincere affirmations of life’s astonishing experiences slipped deftly between, like an omelet being flipped.  She’s that transient – quick, you will miss something.  She slyly illustrates us back to daily awareness.  

She tried to wear shoes that were too big “…to slow down time”, she tells us.  (It didn’t work.) Reading the daily obituaries each morning “…sets the tone of her day”.  She’s Israeli-born, and has lived in the United States since she was 4, her immigrant parents escaping the Nazis.  It’s this experience, it seems, that offers a perspective on American values that enriches us, obliquely warning of the “fear of fear itself”.

A most singular book is Fireboat, a children’s book about 9-11.  It required Kalman to paint the planes approaching the Twin Towers and the explosion of the buildings.  After “Maus”, by Art Spiegelman, using one’s style in a one-size-fits-all manner can’t be discounted.  Nonetheless, it’s a difficult book and it’s a difficult book to choose to give a child.  But it teaches that we must not deny evil or give in to despair, but “keep calm and carry on” (a parody of an aggressive Barbara Kruger graphic).

The portraits of people and dogs both have a flattened Hockney neutrality, with memorable eyes gazing deeply out at us.  Surely the sitters must have said, like Gertrude Stein when she saw the portrait Picasso made of her, “It is I.”  Sitters have included Pina Bausch, Laurie Anderson and Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

Skirball’s gallery is “…a jewel box of an exhibition”, said her curator, Ingrid Schaffner, of the Institute of Contemporary Art at the University of Pennsylvania.  Deep cadmium red-orange walls background plaques and text, written in Kalman’s distinctive scroll, making the walls journal-pages to background an installation of glassed display tables, ladders, and memorabilia.  Kalman is a collector who permits herself to be edited, and the objects are funny and poignant:  odd onion rings (fast-food snowflakes?), stolen hand towels smeared with paint from her brushes. 

Hand-typed (old Courier-equipped typewriter) index cards affixed with thumbtacks identify many of the artworks, turning down the volume on serious, yet reversing it back up in a nod to memory and elegy.

A reading room, also painted that vibrant red-orange, invites further grazing among her children’s and adult’s books, along with some videos.

Ms. Kalman’s stitched textiles give her a medium and textural refreshment from paint and brushes.  Americana samplers, they needle us to strive for virtue and offer comfort. Ensconced in humor as she is, yet there’s a wee moralist in Ms. Kalman.  The textiles are also her most overtly feminist work, reminiscent of Orly Cogan, another New Yorker.

ART: Ynez Johnson, Ruth Asawa, Bettye Saar

 Now go figure - how did our little local junior college make this fine exhibit of great women’s art that isn’t to be classified as women’s art?

I loved Inyz Johnson, though the work I saw looked a bit dated, but it was 1950’s, after all.  

I love Johnson’s synergy - grazing on the iconography of many cultures and bringing them together in a lively, graphic, almost graffiti-like manner.

Bettye Saar is iconic Black Earth Mother, snycretizing black iconography and stereotypes to serve their dismantling.  She summons memory.

Ynez Johnson, Vessel

ART: Hiroshige Prints

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Monet’s dining room at Giverny photo credit: http://giverny-impression.com/category/monets-house/

Got it. I’ve learned how influential Japanese prints were to Impressionism. I love the story that says they were discovered used as packing for “Oriental” objects shipped from Japan favored by been “pop culture” in Paris.  For Degas, it was about the perspective use and the formatting, never mind that he used a camera with facility, and that the camera was, and is, the transformative power behind modern art.  When I visited Giverny, I found that in Monet’s house over 230 Japanese prints hang.  Why did he and the other Impressionists  love them so much?

Why do I, too, respond with such alacrity to them?  They are powerfully colorful, graphic, lyric, filled with narrative, flattened and modern, like grown-up coloring books. Composition is superb, and certain stylistic features are beguiling. There’s a rich narrative in each one, too.  And I love the landscape genre, and the veneration of land itself that’s integral to “ukioy-e”, the Japanese woodblock tradition of the Edo Period.  Then I saw that I could understand the connection to Impressionism, another long-favored style, more fully.

Claude Monet, Haystacks at Chailly, Sunrise, 1865 San Diego Museum of Art

Image credit cantseetheforest.com

French and Japanese Landscape Identity

The French  love their land deeply; the haystacks of Monet are nurturing breasts of French identity. For the Japanese, the animism of ancient Shinto belief connected them to the spirits present in the features of their islands.

Hiroshige, Futamigara in Ise Province, 1858

photo credit: Wikipedia Commons  

This view of Futami Bay shows the “Wedded Rocks”, a sacred Shinto shrine. They symbolize the “Adam and Eve” of Japan, and the union of the Japanese people with the tangible “land of the Rising Sun”.

Pierre Auguste Renoir, The Champs-Elysee during the Paris Fair, 1867

photo credit: www.renoir gallery.com 

The Floating World and  the Belle Epoque: Seminal Cultural Events

For the Impressionists, who searched to capture the transitory moments and images of light and shadow, the “Floating World” of “ukioy-e” depicted the fleeting pleasures of leisure in Edo’s red-light districts, gardens, restaurants, theatres, and by-ways. It captured the daily activities of a culture and city yet to become modern, and with a growing affluence rooted in deep connection to nature and country.  This describes the French in Paris at about the same period, as they took their leisure in the delights of the city and its environs.

Hiroshige, Temple Gardens at Nippori, 1857

photo credit:

Brooklyn Museum The Floating World and European Vanitas

The term “floating world” seems well-struck to us; the world of play and enjoyment lightens burdens, and yet it was an allusion to the Buddhist term “sorrowful world”, the earth and our material bodily existence on it.  For the West, still life and flowers summon “vanitas”, the knowledge of waiting death.  Both attitudes accept a heavenly destiny at the end of time served.

Hiroshige: Sea of Satta in Suruga Province, 1858

photo permission: Norton Simon Museum of Art  

Pictorial Space: Perspective, Cropping, and Formatting

This one is already well recognized and accepted, but still worth revisiting.  What were some of the “tricks” of composition that were used by Hiroshige and other printmakers?

Hiroshige, The City Flourishing, Tanabata Festival, 1857        Claude Monet, Rue Montargueil with Flags, 1886

The compositions are inventive, balancing broad horizontal areas with vertical crossed elements and then energized with diagonals, reversing curves, and graphic, decorative textural details.  Hiroshige frequently used a high, angled point-of-view, looking downward onto unusual landscape features, a very large foreground object or feature framing the scene dramatically.

The last series he designed was “One Hundred Famous View of Edo”, published in 1856. Though the subject was landscape, he used the “portrait” (oban) format, which was more novel.   More brightly colored, in this series his bold framing devices are solutions for most of the 118 compositions.

Hiroshige,Tajima Province, Iai Valley, Kannon Cave, 1856, from Hiroshige’s Journey in the 60-odd Provinces

Landscape features are often flattened, simplified, and integrated one into another with a curving shape or line. Horizontal hatching shades and grounds figure groups and adds texture. Tree shapes and simplified and decorative.  Use of repetitive lines for waving grasses, tree limbs, and leaves adds textural emphasis.  Tonal gradation creates recession and distance to an invisible horizon line.

It’s easy to see how the Impressionists melded the compositional lessons of the printmakers into their own work.

Kazuo Oga, animator-artist for Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro 

Landscape features themselves have a pictorial logic of their own: almost caricatured, distorted, exaggerated trees, water, waves, rocks and mountains thrust powerfully up and through the compositions.  In this stylistic form, we see the seminal forms of anime and manga to come.

I have loved “Evening Snow at Kanbara”  all my life, and finding “Sunken Road” to pair with it seems very appropriate.  A scene of quiet dailyness, lonely calm, still, and luminous, the composition taking us deep into a quiet world. 

 Hiroshige made many bird-flower prints, the bird-flower pairing carefully composed with a poem. The birds’ poses are animated, while the flower rests open, each captured in a second of passing time.  another form of printing were “pasted” images, intended for cutting or collage - what were they affixed to, I wonder?  A most wonderful new series for me was”Scenes from Legend and History”, a detailed, refined group with decorative borders printed. This print is from “Old Edo Tales”.

Hiroshige appropriated freely. This practice was common and seemed not to raise issues of originality, copying, or copyright, nor did it seem to devalue or deluster the appropriating artist.  Probably this was due to the apprentice system practiced in Japan, in which budding artists worked in other established artists’ studios, copying their work, and taking their master’s name when deemed “ready”.The image/literary base was ancient, magnificent, and freely available to artist/artisans in Japan, and the printmakers borrowed most freely from each other and the past.  Hiroshige used old travel/guide books, gazetteers, and older prints as sources.  Sometimes he extrapolated from the illustrations in them, changing the point of view, simplifying, re-arranging and excluding features. Some features were copied almost exactly.  It is thought that Hiroshige actually visited very few of the spots he portrayed.  And how plein-air is vital for some painters!  

 

Above we see how Hiroshige copied the earlier master, Hokusai, who probably used earlier sources based on yet older images.  The contrast between the West’s prizing of the originating seminal master and Japanese artist synthetic process is startling, forcing a re-thinking of value placed on artistic stature and accomplishment, and of the bitterness accompanying our accusations of imitation,  artistic pirating, and image ownership.  In “Common as Air”, Lewis Hyde’s new book on corporate ownership of culture and scientific property, questions raised in his last book, “The Gift”, about intrinsic value in advanced/post-industrial capitalism are examined.  Should scientific, intellectual, and artistic patrimony by “owned”?  What ultimate value is there in a proprietary structure such as ours?

A Western artist cringes when he is called out by art critics for seminal and derivative connections, or criticized. More dramatically he is sued for copyright infringement, as Shepard Fairey was for his poster of President Obama.  A western artist must take on an “outlaw” situation in order to do this, while other cultures view the process as neutral, acceptable, offering a kind of “genre-continuity” and preservation of cultural legacies, and hold the artists/artisans themselves  as “national treasures”.

The example of a communitarian appropriation process offered us by Japanese printmaking certainly offers a fresh perspective on how we hold our art and artistic heritage, and make ongoing use of our cultural treasures.  Certainly value is added by access to it.  The major issue is the quality and shape of the synthesis devised by the artist.  Perhaps cultural diversity should model the biological in this regard.

The refreshing perspective I arrive at has to do with the conclusions of a revisionist valuing. The intention of the Impressionist painters was to create “the new”. Their stance was a model for artistic reform, though their antecedents aren’t hard to locate.  The establishment, because of their proprietary paradigm, attacked the new, unable to make a consideration of possible value. They were left looking a bit foolish as history and media-availability forced a re-evaluation of the Impressionists’ accomplishment.

In Japan, woodblock prints were enjoyed and valued at many economic levels, but their homogeneous culture would have to wait for a Western perspective to be layered onto their own valuing.

For both cultures, the historical and economic process resulting in an enriched, reflexive valuing of mutual heritages, one of the many stories of globalization and its consequences.

FILM REVIEW Never Let Me Go

SPOILER NOTICE:  This film review might tell you more than you want to know.

An exquisite, understated film, eerie and haunting. John and I were both very moved - the poignant story is still floating in and out of my consciousness several days later.  In the future, which has already arrived, and is our current day, society breeds cloned humans in order to harvest body parts and organs for certain unnamed others. 

This is not a science fiction tale.  It’s much too gentle and small in scale.  The author and director have discussed the novel’s theme in larger terms, as a story about the experience of parents who must teach their children about the inevitability of death. 

It could also be read as a story of class.  The privileged owe their health, as well as their rank and status, to the classes below them whose daily work sustains their wealth.  Though body parts may not be the tender, certainly hard labor, lack of access to medical care and education are the price paid by the poverty-stricken. 

I also think it speaks to the issue of the value of human life - as we learn about new genocides, sex slavery, bodily mutilation, death sentences by stoning, and abusive child labor practices world-wide.  We don’t really care, do we.  They don’t really care, do they.  Exploitation is so acceptable. Explain it as meritocracy, theocracy, Hobbes-ian politics, democratic capitalism.

The clones believe all sorts of things about the outside world they will never experience, including that true love between them will buy them a few more years before they must begin their donation schedules. Most of all, the film is about love, perennial as the grass.

The artwork of the clone children in the orphanage is collected for a mysterious “Gallery”, whose purpose is never known.  The children never see an an actual exhibit, just as they never experience the great world and its treasures. The final use of the work, when we finally learn it, reduced me to tears upon the hearing. 

The actors are all superb. Keira Knightley, Carey Mulligan, and Andrew Garfield play the three clone children, whose lives are intertwined until each “completes” his or her donation schedule. Charlotte Rampling, in a chilling cameo role, is the Matron of Hailsham.

The critics haven’t liked it much: think it’s slow, cold, gives away the surprise too soon, as the novel did not. Pair this with “The Road”, for another dystopian view and a beautiful dark starkness.

The sadness of this film hasn't left me yet. 

ESSAY/ARTWORK:My Sister-In-Law's Art

I have a Birthday Twin, bestowed upon me as an extra gift from my husband when we married and I took his name 15 years ago. She is Peggy, my sister-in-law. We are married to brothers, John and Dayton, singular and distinctive each, an Ogden tendency, as I was to learn.

Now, a Birthday Twin is someone who is born on the same day as you, but our Twinship has a few extra features, which amuse, please, and cause us to marvel, no matter that one doesn’t comment on Fate, lest he knows we’re gossiping about him.  Besides the same day coincidence, we were born in the same year, and each of us has a beloved first child born on the same day.  And we are both artists, drawing, sculpting, loving nature, families, animals, travel, children, concerned about the world and our grandchildrens’ future.

 We discovered that the use of our middle initial, “R”, gave us the same signature for our artwork - “PRO” .  Now, when I sign an artwork, I always think of the other PRO and wonder what new work she is creating or finishing, wishing a little blessing for her and it. In her houses I feel such a familiar comfort; filled with heritage and charm, they satisfy much of my East Coast shelter/residency fantasy.  

These years have gone by fast, and we’ve got timely mileage now, resonant with the shared perspective of our generation, family ties, and similar energies, concerns, and sensitivities.  

We went back to the East Coast for an over-due visit last weekend, and what was she doing but painting stones and little rocks!  

I thought about all the artists in time who’ve sought out stone. They all will talk someday,on a single Heavenly cloud, about what they see animate in the closed form, what they release from the rounded volumes.  From Lascaux to Michelangelo to suiseki, the enduring material, so shaped by the powerful universe, holds some child-like wonder, like cloud-gazing, intuitive, and self-reflective at once; and the magic happens each time one walks a beach or trail, wades in a stream or hikes among erratic boulders or climbs a mountainside.  

And sometimes, truth be told, we take away a stone. The impulse to collect, cherish, and remember, so powerful that we carry it away and keep it.  What becomes of it, each only knows. 

A woman who is passionate about animals, the spirits she sees in the stones are revealed by her paintbrush: the humour, sweetness, vulnerability.  Here is her menagerie:

I think that each stone must have a voice that only those who are listening can hear as they walk.  And this is what they have become.  I’m smiling. 

PHOTO ESSAY: House of the 7 Gables, Salem; Boston MA