Modern Spirit: The Art of George Morrison, is amazing for the variety of works produced by the late native American and Minnesotan.
March 17, 2015
Modern Spirit: The Art of George Morrison, is amazing for the variety of works produced by the late native American and Minnesotan.
November 4, 2010
Of course, he wasn’t talking about the archbishop of Barcelona. He was taking about God, and that’s how he viewed his imaginative, soaring work — as something built for God, not man. Gaudí was known for piety, and he’s been dubbed “God’s architect.” A cause is underway for his sainthood, which is pretty impressive, since few artists have been given the honor.
Now, almost 130 years after Gaudí began his church, it’s finally being consecrated — and they pulled in the big guns to do it. No less than Pope Benedict XVI himself will pray the ritual Nov. 7 for its consecration during a papal trip to Spain.
The consecration of a church formally distinguishes the space as sacred, rather than “profane,” or common. Usually, churches are consecrated at the beginning of their use, after the buildings are finished. Although Sagrada was dedicated to the Holy Family, it was never consecrated, probably because it was never finished.
In 1926, Gaudí was hit by a tram, and he died a few days later. His art nouveau church was unfinished, and his vision was so grand that its actual completion was no small task. It remains unfinished today, although it’s hoped to be finished in time for the 100th anniversary of the architect’s death in 2026.
If you’ve never seen it with your own eyes, the thing worth knowing about Sagrada Familia is that it’s absolutely wild. I mean it — it’s the kind of thing that gives the imagination of Zaha Hadid a run for her money. With its eight telescoping spires, flying buttresses and sculptural forms that look like wax sliding down a 394-foot candle, it’s simultaneously grotesque and beautiful, medieval and futuristic. If completed according to Gaudí’s plans, it will have 18 towers, the tallest of which could soar to 560 feet.
Mass has been celebrated in the cathedral despite its construction status, and it draws an estimated 10,000 visitors each day. It’s also an UNESCO World Heritage site. People are attracted to the cathedral’s harmony, beauty and symbolism, Cardinal Martínez Sistach, the archbishop of Barcelona, told Zenit. It also converts, he added.
“I think the church evangelizes. Gaudí wanted all his buildings to lead people to God. I think he has more than achieved this with the Church of the Holy Family. There have been conversions, and we know some of them.
“The building of the church increasingly converted the architect himself, until he gave himself completely to this work, refusing proposals for new buildings offered to him in Paris and New York.”
According to the cardinal, Japanese sculpture Etsuro Soto, who was working on the church, and his wife, became Catholic because of Gaudí’s work in 1991.
“We know other examples of conversion, but no doubt they happened because a visit to the church helps to reflect on creation and salvation as works of God,” the cardinal added.
It’s hard to judge what’s going to be more impressive — the pope’s Nov. 7 consecration Mass, which is expected to include 1,100 concelebrating priests, or the cathedral itself when it’s completed in 16 years.
October 18, 2010
A few weeks ago, I was in D.C. and decided to join those wandering through the Smithsonian American Art Museum on their lunch hour. The big exhibit was Telling Stories, which linked Norman Rockwell and his snapshot style to major motion pictures. The painting and sketches on display were from the personal collections of filmmakers Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, and the placards included their take on the tales the artworks conveyed.
It’s no surprise that Rockwell’s illustrations have inspired Hollywood. Most of them convey with a single frame a raw experience of humanity — the same experience, or maybe even broader, than what a movie does in 106 minutes. Rockwell’s brilliance lies in his ability to set the scene, incorporating details like an unruly hat or earned pilot wings pinned just so, so that the viewer can look at the still life and she her own life reflected back at her. People see themselves — or their neighbor, their father, their hero — in Rockwell’s work. He captured an era in an incredible way.
For me, the most profound part of looking at Rockwell paintings is that you’re invited into a silent moment with the people depicted. Often, the subjects are not speaking, and it as if the viewer is stealing a look, like glimpsing a scene through a door accidentally left ajar. In “Girl at Mirror” (1954) a barefoot girl about 11 practices a pout in front of a large mirror, her chestnut hair maturely twisted back, and a picture of Rita Hayworth on her lap. A doll is tossed to the side; uncapped lipstick suggests haste. But there she sits, looking at herself, and — at least for any woman — the image resonates. You can read her thoughts on her face because they’re your thoughts: Am I pretty? Could I be glamorous? When will I grow up? Why do I have to be young? Am I anything at all like my hero?
Rockwell himself said, “In my opinion nothing should ever be shown in a picture which does not contribute to telling the story the picture is intended to tell.”
In “The Storyteller’s Art” from the May issue of America, Terrance W. Klein calls Rockwell’s oeuvre “incarnational” and “art that reveals” — a body of images that accurately expresses the human condition while nourishing the spirit. This is what is so enduring about Rockwell’s illustrations, which included covers for The Saturday Evening Post from 1916 to 1962. Rockwell’s straightforward approach, rather than simply painting a scene, tells a story, and this method of giving the message, rather than hiding it, has friends like Michelangelo, Giotto, and other greats. And, it’s for exactly this — the “unsophistication” of direct storytelling — that critics have belittled his work.
Yet, Norman’s art deserves a much deeper — and longer — look, Klein argues.
“Unlike conceptual art, which seeks to evoke only a notion or an emotion, the nature of illustration embraces narration and storytelling, an attribute it shares with medieval stained glass windows, which taught the Gospel my means of imagery,” he writes.
“Good art helps us to perceive something of this world’s truth and, this world’s beauty,” he adds.
The author links this idea to Los Angles’ Cathedral of the Angels presence within the city sprawl — the real, gritty, beautiful presence of art in the real world. This comment reminded me of that cathedral’s saint tapestries, showing holy men and women lined in a perpetual procession toward the altar. The artistry itself is astounding, but what I found most compelling is the way the saints were shown — not airbrushed, effeminate or aloof, but real, worn, and lifelike. Totally Rockwellian.
They could have been the kid next to you at Mass, or the woman you passed on the street. For once, it really struck me that saints were real — are —people, and they didn’t walk around with light emanating from their heads. And in that moment, when one thinks, “They were like me,” he is simultaneously impelled to ask, “So, could I be like them?”
I think it’s the best contemporary Catholic artwork out there right now.
And, it’s good because it’s incarnational. And its artist John Nava could say the same thing Rockwell did: “I paint human-looking humans. . . . All of the artist’s creativeness cannot equal God’s creativeness.”
October 11, 2010
Man, oh, man. First of all, thank you, readers, for tolerating my hiatus. Suffice it to say, due to a few changes around the office, there were not enough hours in the day for my regular writing, so this had to take back burner. I missed it (and hopefully you did, too).
Second, despite the city’s idyllic name, there’s a mess to be addressed in Loveland, Colo. On Oct. 6, a truck driver drove from Montana to the Loveland Museum Gallery, where she approached a hanging lithographic print, smashed its protective glass with a crowbar, and ripped the print to pieces.
And she did it in the name of Christianity.
The print depicted Jesus in a lewd act. Its creator, Stanford prof Enrique Chagoya, intended it to be a commentary on the corruption of the Catholic Church, not a sex act involving Christ, he said in a New York Times story.
But that’s not what 56-year-old, crow-bar wielding Kathleen Folden and others who protested the surrealist piece saw. After Folden had destroyed the lithographic print, she told onlookers why she did it. “Because it desecrates my Lord,” she is reported to have said.
Of course, Folden’s action has stirred the timeless vat of controversy involving free speech, censorship, indecency in art, and the use of religious symbols. Those who opposed the artwork’s display, including a local deacon, called the piece pornography and “deeply offensive.” Those who supported it called it activism, and creative expression.
The print was part of a series the artist called “The Misadventures of Romantic Cannibals,” an obvious insult to Catholics, who, since the first century, have been accused of cannibalism for believing the Eucharist is Jesus’ actual body and blood.
According to the NYT, Chagoya has been getting hate mail for a week, and said he fears for the safety of the museum and those who associate with it.
“I think religion should be about peace and loving, especially Christianity,” it quoted him saying.
And so, it seems to me that Chagoya’s unspoken assumption is this: He can use his art to offensively depict Son of God, and because Christians profess peace, they’ll turn the other cheek.
It seems to me that Kathleen Folden had enough, and, with the vigor of a knight defending his king, went out to slay a dragon. She was wearing a T-shirt that read, “My Savior is Tougher Than Nails” when she went to get rid of the art, and she proved she was pretty tough, too.
I’m conflicted about the righteousness of Folden’s action, but it stirs within my mind an image of Jesus in the temple, overthrowing the moneychanger’s tables, chasing them out of the most sacred place, and making a generally raucous scene.
This incident, known as the Cleansing of the Temple, is recounted in all four Gospels. He was appalled at the profane act, and he did something about it. He didn’t approach the head moneychanger and ask for a dialogue. He didn’t start a petition with the pious Jews, or make a sign and stand outside in protest. He went in and got rid of the profanity.
And it seems that Folden did kinda the same thing.
What do you think? Did Folden defend the church’s honor, or did she violate free speech?
August 19, 2010
This is so tempting — “Spontaneous Hooky,” ala MinnPost. Stop what you’re doing this afternoon and get down to MNartists.org Field Day at the Minneapolis sculpture garden (it starts in 39 minutes!). So much more interesting than anything else you’re doing right now, like working at a desk. And if you go, take a moment to appreciate the Basilica’s mansard dome on the skyline. Pretty impressive, if you ask me.
August 18, 2010
Summer at least has the reputation of being this lazy season of laying by the lake, reading paperbacks and consuming copious amounts of barbecue. But, as you and I know, summer is a liar, because the only thing I’ve had in that list is a copious amount of barbecue, and that was a lot of work to prepare.
Now, like every good Minnesotan who suddenly realizes it’s August and the impending gloom of winter is glowing on the horizon, I’m looking back on these few months of warm-weather bliss and wondering where it all went.
Unlike most good Minnesotans, I can tell you exactly where it went: to researching and writing papers for my summer graduate school class and internship.
Yes, I spent summer inside a library.
However, should the day ever come that something called “reading for fun” is part of my life again ( I have a vague memory of this from my high school years), I’m going to pick up this book that Dan Browning reviewed in the StarTribune. It’s called “Priceless: How I went Undercover to Rescue to World’s Stolen Treasures” by Robert K. Wittman, and Browning describes it as exactly the kind of book you’d want to read lying by the lake.
It’s not just about art and artifacts. It’s a memoir about (FBI agent) Wittman’s experience, and it’s apparently hard hitting on the the federal investigative agencies, and it also explores the racial prejudice the author, who has a Japanese mother, felt after WWII.
It was this graph in the review that piqued my interest, however:
Hollywood depicts art thieves as debonair cat burglars — think Cary Grant in “To Catch a Thief” — or as techno-sleuths — Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta-Jones in “Entrapment” come to mind. “Priceless” introduces the reader to some thieves like that, but also to simple fools who snatched an opportunity. The one thing that ties them together, Wittman writes, is “brute greed.”
“They stole for money, not beauty,” he said.
What? An unromantic heist? Could it be? Either way, this one looks worth a read.
If you pick it up, let me know how it turned out. I’ll be in the library.
August 9, 2010
Funny today, when, after spending my weekend paging through stacks of books on the relationship between two American Catholic monuments and their role in their civic societies that Catholic New Service would feature this story.
It looks at the statues and symbols of Catholicism scattered around Washington, D.C., like the statues of St. Damien de Veuster and Blessed Junipero Serra, who symbolize Hawaii and California, respectfully, in the Capitol’s National Statuary Hall.
The story focuses on the role of Knights of Columbus played in creating Catholic institutions of learning and worship, like Catholic University of America’s Columbus School of Law and the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.
However it also addresses the role of religious art in DC broadly. The writer interviewed Father Eugene Hemirck, who published “One Nation Under God” in 2001 on the religious symbolism found in Washington, D.C. (It’s already on my Amazon wish list.) The story goes on to say:
There are all kinds of religious symbols integrated in the art, architecture and statues in the capital, according to Father Hemrick.
“They are inscribed in halls, painted on ceilings, represented in wall panels, enshrined in lunettes, and pieced together in mosaics,” he wrote in his book.
When asked the motives people have for contributing to public memorials, he said sometimes it is to reconcile America’s past mistakes or to honor influential people who have helped shape our nation.
While this is certainly true, and it is also the case that many of America’s founders held Christian beliefs, and that the artists were Christians as well, this also points to the idea of civil religion, a sociological phenomenon best explained by Robert Bellah. In one of his famous essays, Bellah points out that although our nation’s founders often referred to God, or Providence, or the Creator, they never refer to Jesus Christ, even if they themselves were Christian. Unlike today, when such a generic term might be used so that Americans of non-Christian faiths do not feel discrimination, this was not the purpose of this rhetoric. Rather, the god described by our nation’s leaders from President Washington through JFK to this present day is one concerned with virtue, social action, and abiding by right law — and not so interested in mercy, compassion and meditative prayer. In sum, it’s a god who fits America’s progressive, active vision, which may be a distortion of the God who actually Is. Whether you buy it or not, Bellah’s a fascinating read.
Anyway, I’ve been spending quite a bit of time in D.C. these past months, and I plan be spending quite a bit more in the future, so I’ll have to be on the lookout for these religious representations as I go about town. The city was a forerunner in the City Beautiful movement, which promoted the building of classically inspired (European like) monuments as a means for encouraging citizens to act in a virtuous manner.
August 6, 2010
Tuesday’s New York Times ran a piece on two art historians’ quest to restore “old-fashioned connoisseurship” among art historians. As a graduate student of art history myself, I give a hearty “hear hear” to their cry.
From the story:
“Art history has been hijacked by other disciplines,” said Mr. Kanter, who teaches a connoisseurship seminar to Yale graduate students. “Original works of art have been forgotten. They’re being used as data, without any sense of whether they’re good, bad or indifferent.”
He added: “No one wants to turn art history back 150 years. But we’re lacking an important tool that we threw out the window 70 years ago.”
The outspoken Mr. Feigen, who graduated from Yale in 1952, went further. “There isn’t a single art history department in the world that I consider first-class,” he said, as he toured the exhibition earlier this year. “I’m hoping Yale will develop a focus on objects instead of theories.”
The idea is a simple one: If Mr. Feigen can spot Fra Angelico-level quality by closely looking at art with his well-trained eye, perhaps students too one day can learn to tell gold from dross.
Mr. Kanter and Mr. Feigen do have allies in their cause, though it is a small club, many of whose members are white, male and over 40.
“It’s not uncommon to encounter bright students who are able to express the most abstract ideas with ease and who, when faced with actual works of art, are tongue-tied,” said Keith Christiansen, a curator of European paintings at the Met and Mr. Kanter’s former colleague there. “Connoisseurship needs to form an alliance with the very academic approach. They inform each other.”
Like most (all?) graduate art history students, I took a required theory class my first semester, and now I regularly apply some aspect of some theoretician’s thought to my own research. However, I totally agree that this doesn’t promote an intimacy with art itself — in fact, theories can exhaust the art, boiling it down to semiotic mush. Recently, I wrote on frescoes in San Clemente in Rome depicting St. Catherine of Alexandria attributed to Renaissance painter Masolino da Panicale. It was clear from my research that the verdict is still out whether or not these were Masolino’s works for certain, or whether they could be attributed to his teacher Masaccio. Frankly, as a graduate student focusing on architecture, and not Renaissance frescoes, I don’t feel qualified to make my own judgement, but it illustrates the need for connoisseurship — someone has to have the skills to decipher the difference between a master and his student, and if it’s not the historian, who will it be? Students of art history need to get out of the classroom and into the museums, churches and private collection to see the art itself, and spend time in studios of artists who have mastered the craft.
Mastering feminist theory, hermeneutics or iconographic analysis is not knowing art. To put our focus there, as we have for decades now, means we risk missing both the trees and the forest.
July 28, 2010
Next year we’ll be celebrating Emmanuel Louis Masqueray‘s 150th birthday — at least, we should be.
He’s responsible for some seriously notable midwest ecclesiastical architecture. The man designed the Cathedral of St. Paul; the Basilica of St. Mary; St. Louis King of France; the Thomas Aquinas Chapel at the University of St. Thomas and the university’s Ireland Hall; Keane Hall at Loras College in Dubuque, IA; Holy Redeemer in Marshall, MN; St. Joseph’s Cathedral in Sioux Falls, SD; and Immaculate Conception in Wichita, Kan., — just to name a few.
Yet, he’s, at best, a footnote in the tomes of American architects.
And I cannot figure out why.
I’m pursuing a master’s degree in Art History from the aforementioned University of St. Thomas, and my thesis focuses on Archbishop John Ireland‘s patronage of the Cathedral and the Basilica. This includes the choice of Masqueray as the architect and his Ecole des Beaux Arts-influenced design.
But digging stuff up on the man is proving frustrating. Apparently, Masqueray and Ireland were in personal contact almost daily, so little written communication between the men existed. And I’ve heard rumors that there once WAS an archive of Masqueray’s papers held by the Catholic Historical Society of St. Paul, but they have mysteriously disappeared.
To make matters worse, efforts to locate Eric Hansen, the author of The Cathedral of St. Paul: An Architectural Biography, which the Cathedral published in 1990, have also failed (trust me, the Cathedral’s tried). Hansen may be the only one who can give me more insight into an intriguing fact he added to the first page in his book: That Archbishop Ireland kept scrapbooks with ideas for a Cathedral long before he actually commissioned it.
FASCINATING! Now, where the heck are they?
They’re NOT in the Cathedral archives, or the archdiocesan archives — at least not obviously. I spent an hour last week going through five boxes absolutely crammed with Ireland’s scrapbooks. He kept newspaper clippings on every topic of importance to him — the Catholic church in America, the temperance movement, the current pope, the church in the Philippines, the plight of Irish immigrants — and they’re absolutely incredible. With each box I opened and each book I wedged out, I deeply hoped I would open the pages to a clipped photo of an old French church or the Baltimore Cathedral. And with each turn of the page I grew more and more disappointed.
I know research shouldn’t be easy, but dead-ends are getting a bit old.
Somewhere out there, somebody has seen these scrapbooks, and someone else knows where Masqueray’s letters are. I’m counting on Providence to make our paths cross.
July 20, 2010
As long as we’re on an Italian kick, I thought I’d throw one more in with your spaghetti and meatballs. Any of you traveling to Rome in the near future have a chance for a visual treat — Raphael’s only tapestry series and its preparatory drawings will be displayed side-by-side in the Sistine Chapel, the site for which the tapestries were made. London’s Victoria and Albert Museum will also hang companion tapestries and cartoons in the same way.
For a historian, this is totally sweet.
Most artists don’t intend their preparatory drawings, known as “cartoons,” to be art objects. Think of them as sketches, oftentimes very good ones, to guide the artist — or, more likely, his apprentices or workshop artists — toward the artist’s final vision. Raphael didn’t weave these himself; rather, he created the drawing, which the Flemish weavers followed.
However, over the years, surviving cartoons have become important in their own right. They indicate an artist’s original thought and reveal change to the plan as the actual artpiece is executed. They serve as a record for otherwise lost or destroyed works.
According to Mark Evans, senior curator of the Victoria and Albert Museum, as quoted by CNS’ Carol Glatz:
Reuniting the two halves will help people “contrast the two designs” and help them “understand how (Raphael’s designs) matured, developed and were finalized over time,” he said.
More from the story:
Because the designs would be sent off to famed tapestry artisans in Belgium, Raphael had to color them exactly like a painting so weavers would know what precise hues to use. That unique kind of detail meant the cartoons eventually became prized works of art in and of themselves.
Once in the hands of Flemish weavers at Pieter Van Aelst’s workshop in Brussels, the cartoons were cut into strips. They were copied and woven from behind so the cartoon displays the reverse image of what’s on the tapestry’s front.
Flemish weavers were highly regarded artists and had no qualms about “improving” Raphael’s designs, said Evans.
For example with the design, “Feed My Sheep,” the weavers did not like having Jesus wear a plain white robe as Raphael had indicated, so they embellished the robe with gold stars, said Evans. They also did not think Peter should be wearing blue and yellow, so they made his garment a rich red, which was considered a much more regal and sumptuous color, he said.
The tapestries cost 1,600 gold ducats a piece — an enormous amount of money because of intense labor involved and the expensive materials used like real gold and silver thread. The total cost for the 10 designs and tapestries were five times the amount Michelangelo was paid for decorating the Sistine Chapel ceiling.
Read the whole thing here. It includes some fascinating history about their commissioning by Pope Leo X and their history after their completion, which includes multiple thefts and owners.
Again from the story:
Coinciding with Pope Benedict’s visit to England in September, the exhibit is meant to be a visible sign of the coming together of the two countries’ common cultural heritage, said Arnold Nesselrath, director of the Vatican Museums’ Byzantine, medieval and modern collections.
Seeing the cartoons alongside the final product is considered to be a once-in-a-lifetime event, he said; “it was something not even Raphael ever got to see.”
Worth a plane ticket over the pond? I think so.