Victor Rerick

Professor Graff

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 1940 Piet In  Mondrian not only moved to a new continent in 1940, he also transitioned from a traditional style of landscape painting to an increasingly abstract approach.  Fleeing the Netherlands just before Europe was consumed by the darkness of World War II, Mondrian was eager to shift the focus of his artistic material.  He was fascinated by New York, the city in which he settled.  The fast pace of life, the commotion and confusion of a simple walk down the street, and diversity of the city all captivated Mondrian.  He also happened to take a liking to a new form of jazz known as Boogie Woogie.  He combined his new interests in the title, and style of his penultimate painting Broadway Boogie Woogie.

The painting is minimalistic in nature, and is what Mondrian described as his “neoplastic” style.  The painting is mostly white space, covered in a pattern of grid-lick structures.  The intersecting, multi-colored lines reflect the overlapping streets that criss-cross Manhattan. Anyone who has ever visited the city will be familiar with the sight of a long straight Avenue, stretching miles in either direction.  A blurred mixture of lights, both bright and dull, overwhelm the viewer.  So it is with Broadway Boogie Woogie.  On first glance, the painting seems to consist of countless colors, all interwoven in an overwhelming pattern.  Yet there is only a mixture of subtle tones. Yellow, light blue, and red are the only colors present in the painting.  There are also several gray blocks, used to break up the longer yellow streaks.  The gray and yellow blocks have the same luminance.  This means that if the color was drained of color, and only seen in black and white, the gray dots would become indistinguishable from the yellow lines. By contrast the Red and blue dots would still be of a noticeably different shade.  I believe this was a commentary on how the smallest aspects of the city (its people) begin to blend with the larger more noticeable aspects of the city (its architecture, streets, infrastructure etc.).  The city than begins to function in a way similar to that of the human body. The living parts, which are the minority in both cities and bodies, come to define the larger parts, in this case either organs or buildings. Most of a city is made of lifeless objects as most of the city is made of lifeless buildings.  But the multitude of bright little squares the would seem insignificant alone, come to dominant the viewer’s understanding of the painting.  The rhythmic “stop and go” aspect of the small square’s placement also reflect the tempo of boogie woogie jazz that Mondrian came to admire.

Salvador Dali’s The Persistance of Memory, is one of the strangest paintings I have ever seen, on par with most of Picasso’s more interpretative pieces.  But unlike the work of both Picasso and Mondrian, Dali’s work is less minimalistic. The canvas is almost completely covered in color. Very little white space is visible.  There is only roughly four distinguishable figures in the whole painting, and the rest is covered in a drab brown hue.  Melting pocket watches dominant the foreground, one noticeably covered in tiny ants.  Another flops on a dead tree branch. In the center of the painting a large indistinguishable oozing figure seems to be sleeping.  In the distance a scenic landscape is bordered by a large, possibly metal reflecting object.   Fortunately, like Mandrian’s Broadway Boogie Woogie , the title provides some insight into the paintings meaning.

The painting is meant to evoke the world of dreams that takes over the mental process of each human as we drift to sleep each night.  As it is in our dreams, the painting makes it difficult to distinguish between what is real and what is pure fantasy.  Dali placed the objects at distances from eachother that are hard to measure.  The ocean, mountains and sky are impossibly placid and empty.  A tree grows (or perhaps dies) on a perfectly shaped and seemingly man made brown rectangle.  The ghost-like, pillow shaped being in the middle of the paintings calls to mind the antagonists that haunt or nightmares. They are large adversaries, yet they are difficult to measure.  The fear of the unknown nature of the bring increases our discomfort.  The watches show a meaningless passing of time.  Dreams, which often only last a matter of seconds, or minutes at longest, feel to a waking human as if they were day long events.  Each watch shows a different, but equally meaningless time.  The colors are hazy, brighter in the distance than in the immediate vicinity of the viewer.  The curious dreamer walks forward toward the sunrise, unsure of what lays ahead.

Victor Rerick
Artist Letters

Dearest Anselm Hüttenbrenner,

I am sorry to trouble you at such a time dear Anselm. I know you are madly dedicated to your requiem in C Minor as of late, but I must interrupt your workings if only for a moment. A hope, that perchance it will be a welcome reprieve from your hours of banging wildly on your wine-stained piano. You know of course I jest. But now to the matter!
You know me, I suppose as well as any man, so you most recollect what others consider my peculiarities. My obsessions. My intricacies of character, shall we call them? But no I speak not of my trouble of the ear of even that of my abdomen. This time my struggles have transcended the physical. They are of an entirely different nature. It is society dear Anselm that drives me to the edge of madness. Society! And you had thought I had been troubled enough with my ears to put a knife to my own throat. Why as of late I consider myself blessed that I am spared of hearing what this world has to offer. From the highest kings to the lowest beggars on the streets of Bonn, the whole city has gone to ruin!
What is this talk I hear of grand plans by our Little General, or our Little Emperor should I call him, to conquer the whole of Europe. I thought I was alone in my madness, but it appears that even royalty has joined me. What has the man to gain? In his eyes I suppose he sees the world before him open for conquest. But are these lands not filled with humans like us. Maybe they do not march under the French flag, but who is to say which race is superior. Can Napoleon take their lands from under their feet as if they are animals? Will he try to conquer us as well? The Holy Roman Empire already stands on the brink of collapse, and now we have a madman roaming our lands, seeking whom he may devour. It would not surprise me if he brings destruction on this entire continent. And perhaps he shall travel further. Is he mad enough to venture into the bitter Russian cold (Although I don’t believe such a climate would trouble his already numbed brain).
This is what troubles me dear Anselm. A man I once admired for his leadership, now seems aimed to take the civilized world by its throat. All in the name of country! Of conquest! I think you will remember my Third Symphony. I should hope you would, as you were indeed the editor! As such I trust you remember to whom it was dedicated. It pains me to say it but yes! It was to the very same Napoleon Bonaparte that now seems poised to undue all of humanities progress in the last century. He treats the world like his sandbox, as if life is a game to be one by consumption of land and dominance of the masses. What makes him so different from us? Is it his swords? His uniformed men who relieve themselves only at his command? They are like finger puppets on his child-sized hands. Is mastery over another truly the path to satisfaction? No, I prefer a different kind. Mastery of the bow is to be envied. Of the piano keys. Of the harps cords. Of the quill which composes. Of the rod which conducts. These are the objects we must display mastery over. Not our fellow humans.
As a man of Enlightenment thinking you know I cannot help but hate what this grave man has become. When I heard of his imperial ambitions, I spent the week furiously clawing his name from my symphony. I suppose I shall rededicate it to a man more worthy of my composition, that is, if can find one on the depraved streets of Bonn. You know I jest again of course dear Anselm. But of this I make no sly remarks: write soon. You must settle me my Anselm, I can stand my current company no longer. I must hear your voice of reason through these dark times. As a blind man I assure you the world can no longer hear the warnings of napoleons coming destruction. Will they really let this tyrant come to power? The thought sickens me. They are deaf to wise words. I hope my music shall shake them to action. Again, write soon!

Regards,

L.V. Beethoven

Josh Sloan

 

 

Josh Sloan

 

 

Light, color and form are used in every piece of artwork, although the methods in which they are used vary, providing art with limitless possibilities.  The two works that I chose are: Matchpoint by Kristen Bratsch and an untitled artwork by Josh Smith.  While both pieces of art are comprised of various geometrical figures that have little to no relation to extant objects, they both still differ tremendously. The piece by Kristen Bratsch uses color to give the painting an additional vibrancy that the painting by Josh Smith lacks – being a black and white painting. Kristen Bratsch adroitly uses light and form together to give her painting a 3-dimensional perspective. Josh Smith uses light and form also, but to give his painting a flat 2-dimensional perspective. The use of color in Matchpoint groups different aspects of the painting together, implying a consistency in direction amongst cylinders of the same color. The use of color is seemingly arbitrary in Josh Smith’s work; the figures of the same color still lack a consistency in shape or direction.  Consistency in form – cylinders of varying size- throughout the entire piece by Kristen Bratsch gives her painting a sense of deliberateness, while the inconsistent shapes that are portrayed in Josh Smith’s piece make you question what he actually intended his work to be. I believe that the consistency lends Kristen Bratsch legitimacy to her artwork, and the converse detracts from the potential appreciation one could have for the artwork.  Due to the more random forms portrayed in Smith’s work, it leaves the painting open to further interpretation of what is being portrayed, although in Bratsche’s illustration, even though the forms seem to represent an abstract image, the lack of randomness restricts the creative interpretation that is replete in Smith’s work. The influence of these 3 imperative components of art – color, light and form – is evidenced through comparing these two paintings. Although, the substance –the figures- differs only slightly, the two pieces of art significantly differ; something only attributable to color, light and form.

The Funeral of the Anarchist Galli (1911) by Carlo Carrà

Still Life with Old Shoe (1937) by Joan Miró

Carlo Carrà, a leading figure of the futurist movement, and Joan Miró, a surrealist artist, are remarkably similar artists in that each utilizes dark shades, lack of bright light, and intense exclusive colors to convey the emotions or meaning of the subject in their respective paintings. Although the works of art, The Funeral of the Anarchist Galli and Still Life with Old Shoe, created by Carrà and Miró respectively, were made almost three decades apart, each painting depicts a grim scenery with the help of expressive color choices.

The painting The Funeral of the Anarchist Galli by Carlo Carrà was painted in 1911 in Italy. As a leader of the futurist artistic movement, Carrà created works of art centered on concepts of the future, one of them including violence. The subject of this piece of artwork, as the title suggests, is the funeral procession of the Italian anarchist Angelo Galli. Police in fear that the event would become a political protest barred anarchist mourners from entering the cemetery. Thus a chaotic clash ensued between police forces and anarchists. Carrà illustrates the tension and hatred apparent in the scene. The shades and hues of the color red convey the feelings of aggression and act of war apparent in this scuffle between police and anarchists. The artist relies on dark shadows, the dark color of the black anarchist flag, and lack of bright colors to express the idea of death and the danger in the violent gathering.

Although the subject matter of Joan Miró’s painting, Still Life with Old Shoe, differs from the clearly gruesome nature of Carrà’s art, the two artists each employ specific colors and dark shadows to embody a sorrowful message. During his stay in Paris in 1937, in the midst of the Spanish Civil War, Miró created this particular still life of a table with an old shoe. As it is understood, in this painting Miró expresses his anguish over the war-ridden situation in his homeland of Spain. The artist detailed the rise of evil in Spain through the use of the color green, which often exudes a sinister feeling. This inclusion of different shades and tints of green as well as the use of black and lack of light further portrays the declining and monstrous nature of Miró’s Spain. The color is acidic, highly saturated, and, in correlation with the other colors such as muted red, yellow, blue, and brown, somewhat dissonant.

As the futurist movement influenced the surrealist artistic movement, Carlo Carrà and Joan Miró produced similar emotional, oil on canvas, art pieces. Despite the fact the paintings were produced 26 years apart, each artist uses specific colors to portray tension and war, as in the red used in The Funeral of the Anarchist Galli, and as in the green used in Still Life with Old Shoe.

 

Edvard Munch’s The Scream, is arguably one of the world’s most famous pieces of art. It appears in multiple forms of media, and while not many people know of the work itself, they have seen a form of it somewhere. The scream itself is representative of Munch’s attitude toward a single moment of his life. As he walked along a path and saw the sun setting in such a perfect manor, it for some reason gave him the urge to scream. The work itself consists of one clear figure in the foreground, with a series of swirls and flares in the background. It’s unclear where the sky meets the water, and yet you can clearly tell what is what. It’s almost as if Munch created a perfect balance between abstract and realism.

In comparison to Munch’s The Scream, we have Vincent van Gogh’s The Starry Night. This is another example of mixing abstract with realism. We can clearly tell what is the sky, what is a mountain, and what is a building, and yet all of these finite objects seem to mix and swirl into one another in a sense where they all seem somewhat connected. To contrast the two works, here in The Starry Night, we see a more dominant use of deep blues and greens; darker colors, while there are warm accents of yellow and orange mixed in. While looking at The Scream, the flaming orange background clearly dominates the work, almost to make it just as predominant as the main figure standing in the dead center of the piece. There are also accents of cool blues and darker pastels running through out the piece, yet none as dominant as the bursting sky in the background.

The two works The Scream and The Starry Night share very similar features, in that they both use a combination of both realism and abstract. Where in both works, there is no trouble seeing what objects are within them, the boundaries of these objects can be argued. What is sky, what is water, what is a person, what is a building, what is a mountain? All of these questions are easily answerable, however these objects flow into one another in a sense where you begin to doubt yourself.

Dear Old Friend,

I know it has been long since we last spoke, but for that I beg your sympathy. As you may or may not know, my life has taken twists and turns in which no one can understand. My life has become my work; a passion that will never fill my true beliefs. I am writing to you because of the history we share together. The time we spent when we were younger is time I truly cherished. No one else can fill this space in my heart that is currently occupied by your being. We formed a bond, one that cannot be replaced easily, if at all. You see, like I said, my life has become my work. The problem is, the world isn’t ready for the work I produce. However, I can personally guarantee that one day it will be. In the future, people will appreciate what it is I do, unlike the society I live in today. With this information, I ask you to not invest in my work, but in society’s future. Work is not easily made. It takes time, patience, and most of all, skill. Qualities I possess, but qualities that are not observable by those who surround me. Mark my words, I will repay any and all investments made in the work I produce, but it is unfortunate that for now my work does not gain as much income as it is worth. It pains me to ask for money, especially from such a valued friend, but I fear this is my only choice. If you are unwilling, I understand, but as a friend, I hope all is well.

So long,
Wolfgang Mozart

 

Boccioni’s States of Mind I: The Farewells is an abstract piece of fine art dealing with themes of the psychological dimension of modern life’s transitory nature. This singular piece is actually a series of three paintings set within the confinement of a train station. Through the piece, Boccioni sought to capture “loneliness, anguish, and dazed confusion.” The painting depicts the movement and the fusion of people swept away in waves at the train station as the train’s steam bellows into the sky.

Orozco’s The Subway is an expressionist painting depicting three rather shadowy figures riding the subway. Through this painting, he sought to capture his early New York experience and the bleak and pessimistic view he had of mankind. Orozco completed the painting within his first seven years living in the United States, and he conveyed his feelings of isolation and the grim and brutal conditions he witnessed in New York City by depicting himself in a near-empty subway car.

Both Boccioni and Orozco target the same subject matter with very different depictions. The two artists sought to capture the loneliness one felt in the dawn of the industrial revolution, when cities such as New York were becoming so crowded and no one really cared to get to know each other. They both felt the perfect setting to depict this was in the subway: a new invention widely used by New Yorkers yet kept them very divided within its confinement.

In his painting, Boccioni makes use of oblique lines, bold vivid colors, and an abstract following of form. The oblique lines in the painting hint at loneliness, anguish, and dazed confusion. They keep the viewer in the unknown, and makes them feel solitary and confused, much like the subject matter Boccioni wanted to depict. The vertical lines convey the weight of sadness carried by those left behind. The vivid colors allure the bright city lights of New York City, and add a level of profoundness to the subject matter. The very abstract shapes really do not define anything specific in the painting. In fact, the only thing in the painting that is easy to spot is an antenna tower at the top left of the painting.

With his subway cart interior, Orozco targets the same idea of loneliness within the subway, but he depicts it with more realism. This expressionist work is highlighted by dark flat colors, heavy shadowing, and long gloomy figures. The dark colors give a pessimist vibe within the train, and also serves to show the profoundness of space. The darkness makes the cart seem bigger and even more emptier. The heavy shadowing gives the painting the grim and brutal tone that Orozco hoped to capture. It seems almost like a film noir in the dark alley where the thief comes and beats the man for his wallet. The tall gloomy figure behind the man standing in the cart is almost ghostly: it seems as if someone is watching.

Deanna Maravel

The Arts in New York City

Professor Graff

1 November 2012

 

Mozart Styled Letter

Dearest little wife,

I write to you from the bottom of my heart. Oh how I miss you! Things have been so hectic over here, and I offer you my sincerest apologies for not writing sooner. My days have been long and filled with many a sleepless night. I pray that I grace your thoughts as much as you do mine. It has been so lonely over here without you and the children to brighten things up. I hope this letter finds you all in good health. Make sure to give the children a kiss from me. Alas I will keep this letter short as I am having lunch with the Archduke Franz to discuss an inquiry I had posted a month ago. If all goes well, then I must remain here in Vienna but don’t fret! This wonderful opportunity will hopefully be the key to all of our financial troubles! When I find the time, I shall send you a note on the results.  A thousand kisses to you, my dear.

Your Ever-loving Husband,

Mozart

 

Dearest friend Franz,

I cannot find the words to express my gratitude for the loan you have given me. This small sum of 100 florins has made a world of difference to me, and I will be forever indebted to you. You are a true friend, coming to my rescue in my desperate time of need. I’m still so ashamed that I had let myself slip into a situation such as that, but it is now over as a result of your wonderful help! It is much to my despair that I shall not be able to return the favor as quickly as I thought. Hard times have struck, and unfortunately, this lovely gift was unable to cover all of the expenses. No worries though! I promise to keep my word, and you will receive your payment as soon as I can get my next salary. I wish you all the very best!

Your Grateful Friend,

Mozart

 

Dearest Daughter,

Just writing to inform you that your Brother is doing exceptionally well at the moment. I could not be more proud of him. Seeing his opera played to the joy of hundreds of listeners brings tears to my eyes. If he maintains this wonderful level of hard work, then he shall never fall into the pit of despair I have found myself trapped in quite a few times. Give my love to the rest of the family. I will write as soon as I reach my next destination.

Mozart

Joshua Sloan

June 10th 1781

Dear Long Lost Companion,

It’s been too long since our last encounter. It pains me to know that you are alive and living while I am not privy to the happenings of your life. I hope all is well by you. I hope the memorable landscape of Salzburg is as beatific as I remember it. I recall when we were merely boys running over the bridges that cross the spectacular Salzach River. Those scorching hot days where the stifling heat practically pushed us into the river with the other children – the most memorable times of my life I must concede. As your long time friend, I believe I must inform you of some bad news. The musical compositions I’ve been working on have refused to gain the popularity intended for them. The financial burden I’ve been suffering with has forced me to move from my home in order to support my family and myself. It’s an emotional affliction no man should suffer being separated from your family. After all those conversations as boys we had concerning the fame, power, and respect we would one day receive, you would not be impressed with the man I have become. I am forced to humble myself before people who do not deserve respect from ants, although I suppose one could find some respect in doing what’s necessary to provide for your family and pursuing one’s passion. I would love for you to reply to this letter and to come visit me; I am lonesome and dejected and any form of communication illuminates my measly abode with joy. I’ve included some of my most recent works. Perhaps you could give me your opinion on them? When I think about the complexity and originality of my music, I refuse to relinquish the though that it will one day be revered worldwide.
Your Friend,
Wolfgang Mozart

Bleron Samarxhiu
Comparing and Contrasting two works of art from the Museum of Modern Art.

Rue de la Santé by Yves Tanguy and The Wedding by Louis Vivin are two paintings created on the same year: 1925. Despite this remarkable similarity, they are significantly different in the amount of detail, the colors used, and the overall subject shown. Rude de la Santé combines color and the use of light to portray a modern and secular view of a city. The Weddings uses cliché colors and simplicity to depict an average wedding that took place a few centuries ago.

Rue de la Santé by Yves Tanguy can more be recognized as modern. Clearly, there is no mention of religion in it whatsoever. The oil on canvas features a conspicuous avenue that leads up to another street and that is very wide and centered in the painting. This modern road or street obviously is in a city and it makes use of different shades of gray along the road. Because of this, one can also make note of Tanguy’s strokes on the street. The use of light in the painting is odd but interesting. On the left side, lighter shades of gray are used, and most likely the sun is shining on each building on this side of the street, clearly allowing to distinguish the buildings. Each building in this case clearly has its own color and height and few have shadows. On the right side, the avenue uses darker shades of gray and the large building that encompasses the entire block is blacked out. It is unknown if a large cloud is causing this blackout or if the artist is proposing that this side of the street is under nighttime.  Yet the entire sky is cloudy and appears to be still under daytime. The perspective is somewhat distorted in the painting, not making it clear if the viewer is looking at a hill or if the buildings have been crookedly built. Tanguy in his artwork pays less attention to detail and focuses more on use of color and light.

In The Wedding by Louis Vivin, the viewer can immediately notice the amount of time it took to paint every visible brick of the structures. The roads on which pedestrians walk are a simple, dull color. Yet this painting uses a perspective that is more realistic and more appealing to the human eye. There are much more people on the street, probably because there is a wedding, and because the painting shows a scene from more than three hundred years ago, the scene portrays the center of a small town that is heavily involved in religion. The colors used for the buildings and used in general are less varying. In other words, colors were reused for other buildings, making the work of art less appealing to the other one. In fact, the reusing of the color yellow throughout the buildings and the windows hurts the eyes. Almost every building is identical; that includes windows, chimneys, and height. Furthermore, there is no notice that the painter put significant effort to the amount of light in the painting. It seems that this is an average wedding taking place in the town square with the sun shining at the entire scene and revealing no shadow. Vivin maintains simplicity throughout his artwork by reusing standard colors and plain structures.

Possible reasons why the two paintings are significantly contrasting is because Tanguy was born about four decades later than Vivin was. Other reasons include that fact that the works of art were possibly painted at different locations, one in the United States and the other in France. In addition, the fact that this is modern art gives the artist practically less restraints on what to create.

In comparison, both paintings are oil on canvas finished in 1925. In fact, Yves Tanguy and Louis Vivin are of French descent, Vivin being French and born in France and Tanguy being American and born in France. The two works of art show these significantly large buildings or structures that tower over pedestrians. Visually, both are nearly the same general dimensions. Within the actual painting, neither of the artists concentrated on creating a impressive sky. Both artists use a simple color for the sky and cover it with clouds. Each artwork’s features are more contrasting than similar.

November 1, 1790

Most honourable O.B.!

Dearest of all friends,

I am sorry to present such a dire situation to your hands, but I have no other choice, and I have to do what is a must to survive. All I ask from you, brother, is nothing but a fair amount of money that I need to support myself away from home and a little for my ill wife whom I had left alone a short while ago. She can barely walk by herself and has been at the baths recently to try and treat her terrible illness. I have myself been somewhat ill these past few days, but I am terribly worried for her. May God watch over her and do the baths for her good!

There is no doubt that you have heard of my success in my latest pieces lately and I am looking forward to continue this success in the future, but all that is required that is just the financial support of a moneylender. I am obliged to moneylenders to live and to continue my musical works. I am so obliged that I have to beg you, most honourable brother, at this very moment. Do not withdraw our friendship due to this inhumane begging which society forces me to do. As soon as I make significant amounts of money, I will repay you, despite I have already been long indebted to you. All I need my brother is the time to accomplish this!

Oh, I have already asked you too much, but I cannot help it but ask of you just one small favor. I will not be able to write letters in the upcoming month due to my busy schedule, and therefore I oblige to ask you this favor. I have a score of one of my early works in my house. All I ask of you to do is ask my lovely wife for it; she knows exactly which one it is as I have already mentioned it to her to give it to you. Ask her for it after she finally comes back from the baths. Afterwards, give it to Lord Henry and he will pay you a relatively significant amount of money. That will at least pay back some of my infinite debt that I owe you. May God never ruin our dear friendship!

In the meantime, offer some support to my wife, as she needs the money to live and to treat her terrible illness. At the moment, I have two pupils and am planning on increasing that number to eight to lower the number of expenses I have. Issue it abroad across the towns that I give lessons. I have talked enough of my indebtedness to you, and I would like to discuss with you of my recent travels and success here near this town.

I have through many towns. Last night, I had the most splendid Moselle wine and the sweetest coffee to fill our stomachs. Throughout my travels, I have had nothing but very fine and beautiful weather except for one day, during which it was raining and gave me irritable discomfort. I have finally secured a room here in this town; the inn is not too dear, but still requires a decent amount of money for which I am unable to pay at the moment.

My quartet and my sonatas are ready to be performed, but what I desire is the ability to pay for the expenses. If you could do so, oh how much it would overflow me with happiness. My pupils here are learning quite quickly and in the meantime I am currently working on my latest pieces and am in need of relieving my anxiety and stress. Send anything that you could to me. Anything will be appreciated! I am very most grateful to you, brother!

Thank you,

Every thy your best of friends

W.A. Mozart

 P.S. I will be around town very soon and look forward to having dinner with you. Be sure to respond to this letter as soon you finished the favors.

June 1788

My most estimable friend, Michael Puchberg!

I feel it has been ages since we have last corresponded. I have not had a moment to myself to finally respond to your letters and convey my happenings. At any moment when I attempt to continue my communication with you, there is but another task I must tend to. As you know, my compositions and traveling have kept me very much occupied, but as you also know my Brother, I have the utmost dedication to you. I do pray that your trades in Vienna have been successful ones. I myself have been hoping to confirm an orchestra in the Prince’s court. As I spoke of earlier, I was in correspondence with Sebastian Winters, Royal Groom-of-the-Chambers, to settle this arrangement.

As such close friends – in all honestly, you are in fact a brother to me – I must ask for your quick reply and acceptance of the request I know leave in this letter. With such a close bond, as brothers do have, I must now be frank with you. You know me of a man of honor and loyalty. But I now must ask you for a small sum to ease my financial situation. I ask for a mere 1000 florins. This sum would at last give me the opportunity to focus on my music. I apologize for this imposition, but I assure you I will repay this loan with interest. My brother, as you know, whoever lends to me is secure enough by reason of my character.

You do not understand how this small contribution will be the greatest of comforts to me. My mind can be at rest, and I can once again compose to earn my salary. I hope you receive this letter in good health and with an open heart. You generosity is very much appreciated.

Your true friend,

W. A. Mozart

June 1789

Honorable Michael!

Oh my brother, how I do hope my last letter found you in good health. I cannot express enough my gratitude for your generosity. However, I must show regret in writing you again. It torments me, but I must ask again for further funding. My circumstances have worsened, as my father, wife, and child have fallen ill. I still continue to work on my own to earn money; however, my ventures have proven fruitless. Your further contribution would be very helpful and so very much appreciated.

Oh how horrible fate has been to me. I face many a misfortune and grovel in desperation. I profess, with all my heart, my thankfulness and I again assure you the good of your generosity will outweigh the bad.

Ever yours,

W. A. Mozart

June 1790

Dearest Brother!

Oh truest of friends! Brother dearest! I am so very grateful for your earlier services to me. However, I regret to inform of further personal tribulations.

My misfortunes have only multiplied and I now beg so shamelessly for your help and money. Although I see possible lucrative opportunities in the future, I must now rely on you, my faithful friend. Please excuse my persistent demands – it is just that I am so confident in our strong bond. I am forever in your debt, most gracious brother.

Your humble servant,

Mozart

 

Hello and my name is Maria and I am struggling as a single mom. My husband had passed away after my child’s first birthday from fighting a nearby village. He had a sword go right through his heart, a friend of his mentioned to me. Ever since this tragedy, things have not been the same. It is very difficult for me to feed my child and still watch over our house. I also have high hopes for our child, as I want him to go to school and hopefully avoid being drafted to become a soldier. I would not want him to have the same fate as his father. I also want him to start a family and be able to enjoy spending time with his kids. Winter is coming soon and I am still not sure how I will take care of little Nicholas.
Aside from the tough life I lead, it is my dream to break free from my shell and make something of my life. I would have loved if I had the opportunity to have fought in the army instead of my husband. I have troubling thoughts in my brain that propel me to move forward and attempt to make a better life for myself. I only dream of getting an education, but I know under my living conditions, it is almost certainly impossible. The only work that is left for me in this world is to cook, make clothing, and raise my son.
The ladies in the village have been talking to me recently and discussing the possibility of finding me another man. I loved my husband but at this point, I feel like I need a man just to make it through the day. My garden is getting overfilled and the trees need to be uprooted or else they risk collapse. My son will be growing up without a father and I feel like he should have a strong make figurehead in his life to show him the ropes of life. Theresa is attempting to set me up with William, who had become a widower quite recently after his wife had given birth to a little girl. I feel sorrow for those women who do not get to experience raising a child and holding their child in their arms after such a long period of carrying. However, William is also going through a tough time. He must raise the little girl all by himself. I think it would not be too great of an idea to combine our families, but Theresa has been really worried about me lately and says that both William and I could benefit from such unity. He could help me around the house and be a father figure for my son and I could cook and clean for him and his daughter. At this point in my life, I doubt there is any other choice for me. Maybe I’ll even have some time to spare and form a class in the village that can teach women archery. I’ve always wanted to learn archery and I feel like it’s about time women also got involved in things outside of the kitchen. For now I guess all I can hope for is the best.

Paris was a beautiful city heading towards modernization, for the most part, that is. Its trains were filthy. They were dirty and disgusting, yet they were the fastest available mode of transportation available to everyone. The Parisians had no other choice, and the trains were full of the third class. The conditions that the lowerclassmen was in were as worse as those of the peasants outside the city. These people could not afford first- or second- tickets.  As a result, these poor people were sitting in cramped, dirty, open compartments. The benches were hard and uncomfortable. Without a doubt, no one wanted to ride these rough trains, but then again, it was not a choice, especially to one Parisian woman.

This Parisian woman was hardworking; she worked at a newly opened bakery from dawn to midday in order to support her kids. She lived on the outskirts of Paris, having to take the railroad everyday at least twice. The woman was approaching her late fifties, and she was widowed mother of two. Along with her son and daughter, she just had left the market, where she had bought bread and fruit. Her daughter was a single parent and had an infant in her hand. Lines to enter the train were too long, and upon entering the last train cart, a gruesome stench was in the air.

After finally finding a place to sit down in the crowded compartments, the odor was almost unendurable. People were having such loud conversations, and as the last passenger sat down, the train engine kicked off and released a high-pitched screech. All of this, the odor, the noise, and the stuffiness were all a part of the typical day of this Parisian mother.

Her daughter always carried her infant in her hand. No one sat next to her except her mother and brother. The single parent had become an outcast in society, because she was not married before having her infant nor does she know who the father of the child is. Almost no one in Paris admired to have such a daughter. The old woman, on the other hand, cared less of these traditions and took care of her daughter.

There was nothing to do on these trains. Men dressed in black and their wives had gathered as a group to initiate a conversation and spread the latest rumors of Paris among themselves. The woman faced forward and blankly stared. Her ten-year-old son was tired and fell asleep very quickly.  Her daughter was breastfeeding her child amidst the annoying noise.

“Hey, have you heard how Napoleon III’s power is weakening over the recent years?” said one man.

“No, his power is not weakening. It’s just that he has become lazy and hasn’t done any recent changes to Paris.” replied another.

“Well, it almost seems as if he put a complete halt to his plans to modernize Paris.”

“At least he kept so many of the Medieval structures. It is a good thing he preserved the cathedral of Notre Dame.”

“No one really cares about religion any more,” radically announced a wife of one of the men. Everyone stared at her, even her own husband. What she said could have been reported and have her exiled.

Nevertheless, someone disregarded her and continued the conversation. “Moving on. All I care if they would just improved the transportation around here, but no one cares about our class.”

“I sure hope so. We need improvement in our lives,” whispered the old woman. No one heard her.

The woman’s tiring day of work was approaching an end. The train was finally slowing down and arriving on the outskirts of Paris. The train came to an abrupt halt, and the ride was over. The woman’s son immediately woke up and mostly everyone was knocked off his or her seat because of the abruption. The woman gathered her two children together and left for her house as a group. As the passengers exited the train car, they groaned and complained. All these Parisians asked for was an improvement of their daily lives, and this daily train ride definitely needed improvement.

Story inspired by The Third-Class Carriage by Honoré Daumier

Before me stood a massive figure, with hair so gray it seemed to suck the happiness out of the environment.  His eyes were open so wide, it seemed as though they would never blink.  He consumed his sons, one at a time, tearing their flesh apart as the blood of his victim streams down its body.  I walk up to the terrifying sight, as he tears the arm off of its body.  I ask him, “Who are you?”

“My name is Saturn,” he replied, “and I am here to devour my sons.”

“But why are you devouring your sons?” I would then ask, as his hands clenched the back of his victim so tightly you can hear the bones cracking within.

“The throne is mine,” he boldly stated, “and no son of mine will ever come to replace me.”  He started to chew the flesh of his victim, almost as if he enjoyed the taste of his own son.  He never blinked.

He then went on to tell me of his life as a titan.   He, in fact, dethroned his own father, only to live in fear of his own actions.  He took a pause from his snack, and looked down upon me.  Fear was stricken in his eyes, as he grew paranoid of being replaced.  I ran as fast as I could, while he grabbed his infamous sickle that he used to slay Uranus, the father who preceded him.

As I sprinted away from this gigantic figure, I looked for safety wherever it may be found.  Eventually, I found a building in which I found a woman, who’s identity was never made clear.  She handed me a wrapped gift, and told me to use it to my advantage.

I wondered what was in the wrapping, but there was no time to spare.  Those giant legs began to chase towards me once again, and so I continued to run away.  He drew nearer and nearer and I started to feel hopeless.  What was I to do?

I then handed the wrapping to Saturn, simply hoping for the best.  When I readied myself for what I assumed to be my end, I looked at the wrapping to see a face on it, staring back at me lifelessly.  The woman had made the wrapping to look like a baby, even though it seemed to have no more than a few stones within it.

I inhaled what could have been my last breath, and handed to baby-like wrapping to Saturn.  He stared for a while, in a daze that could have been either confusion or shock.  Either way, he was unsuspecting of what was just handed to him.

“Agh!” he proclaimed.  “My latest son, we shall call him Zeus.”

It was then that Saturn let the tiny wrapping slide into his mouth where he spared no time chewing.  In one massive gulp he swallowed the bag of rocks, and then turned his gaze back to me.

“What have you done?” he asked.  It was then that the woman from earlier reappeared.  She soon explained who she was and what she had done.  She was Rhea, wife of Saturn, and she wanted to protect the children she would give birth too.  Furious from Saturn’s selfish actions, she hid the real child that would grow up to be Zeus, and fed Saturn a couple of stones, which inevitably tore at his insides, making him suffer before his untimely death.  It was at this moment, that Zeus would replace his father, Saturn, at the throne.

 

Victor Rerick

Arts in NYC

Professor Graff

October 23, 2012

 

The Card Players

 

A loud clanging sound woke me.  Three times it echoed around the walls, and each time a chorus of cheers followed in quick succession. Dazed, I lifted my head.        I was sitting on a small wooden bench, my head resting on a splintered table.  I lifted my head and quickly surveyed my surroundings.  I was inside of a small kitchen, barely furnished except for the stool and table on which I reclined.  I had fallen asleep here last night, after three day of running from the French forces through the open country.  I knew little of the war, but when hundreds of soldiers unexpectedly flooded into our village last week, we were all forced to run. Some families fled together, but as a poor orphan I decided to retreat alone.  By now I must have put miles between the invading forces and myself.  I had stumbled upon this house under the cover of night, and was now seeing it for the first time.

An old stove burned quietly in the corner. The only window was open, and as I stood I could see a field that rolled over the never-ending hills that stretched to the horizon.  The pungent smell of cheap liquor hung in the air.  My eyes danced rapidly in all directions, looking at once to the north south and west.  Nothing was visible except for the hills.  They were completely covered by rows and rows of corn.

Clang! Horrah! Clang! Hoorah!  I turned around swiftly. I remembered the sounds that had broken my slumber only a minute ago.  A sense of dread consumed my body.  I was not alone in the house.  Clang! Horrah! Clang Horrah!    The cheers grew louder with each clang, and appeared to reach a deafening crescendo.  Suddenly, I heard the noise of steam bursting forth from a small teakettle interrupt the chorus.  The house fell silent.  They knew I was here. They must. They would come for me.

“Piere Le…. Leau chaude. The hot water you fool!”  The wiry voice came from behind a tiny closed door I hadn’t seen before.  Heavy footsteps grew increasingly near. I panicked and considered jumping for the window but it was to close to the door. Too risky.  I jumped behind the stove, my only other option for staying out of view.  The door creaked and then swung open.  It smacked into the wall, causing the room’s lone painting to come crashing to the floor. I was out of view, but could see through a small crack in the aged stove.

A towering man stood in the doorway.  He was dressed in fine military apparel, but his shirt was loose, his belt undone, and his feet were bare on the wooden floor.  Curly hair hid his ears and neck, and a large bushy moustache dominated his otherwise small facial features.  He wrecked of alcohol.  He opened his lips but for a moment no words arrived.   When they did they were slurred and slow. Le chaude, Bien sur!

A large drunken smile spread across his face.  He lumbered forward, grabbed the tea-kettle from the stove and stared at it like a young child fascinated by a small animal.  He began to mimic the teapots whistle and let out a deep laugh, amused by his antics.  But his mouth closed abruptly.  His eyes swung below the stoves surface, to the corner between the stove and the wall where I lay cowering.

“Allo mon ami. cachant le plaisir.”  My heart dropped to the bare wooden floor.  I did not understand his words, but I knew they were directed at me. I had been spotted.   I jumped out from the stove, under the man’s legs and dashed for the door. My foot caught an exposed nail and I crashed to the living room floor.  Three startled soldiers jumped from their chairs, and drew their swords.  Two of them, one dressed in green attire, and the other in a matching blue uniform, turned to each other, and laughed.  The other man, a particularly slender and pale fellow, stepped forward.  He extended his hand and spoke to his comrades in words I knew. “Another one, eh Pier. “

“Wei”, came the reply from behind me, where Pierre now stood in the doorway, teakettle in hand.  “I thought we had found all the hideouts but ahh cest le vie.”

“Come,” said the tall man, “join us, we are all friends here.  You hide from the war, and we hide from the army. We are all just hideouts, interlopers in each other’s misfortune. He motioned towards an unoccupied stool. My sense of fear was slowly dissipating.

I sat down, and waited for further instructions.  But none came.  Pierre came and sat beside me, the odor of alcohol now intensified by the presence of the other three men. The slender soldier grabbed a bottle and poured the remaining drops into their cups.  Pierre picked up a fork and clumsily smashed his cup with it. Clang! A brief moment of silence followed. The men threw their heads back. “Hoorah!  And long live the King” shouted the soldier in blue.  The others laughed.  Pierre collected the playing cards scattered across the table. He turned to me and managed to mutter, “ You can play this game”. Confused if I was being given permission or asked a question, I took the cards in my hand and nodded. Pierre grinned mightily, and turned back to his now empty cup.  And so Pierre, his three comrades, and myself, played through the night, clanging glasses and shouting hoorah, until the moon climbed high over the rolling corn-fields.

 

 

 

 

 

Joshua Sloan

10/24/12

Professor Graff

Short Story

The year was 1840 as I stand on the precipice of the hull overlooking eminent death. It was not a choice of mine to board this ship, subjecting myself to the squalid conditions provided for me, but I presume that is the nature of the matter.

Swoosh!!! Splash!!! The stern is beginning to submerge in the abysmal oceans encompassing this hell I spent these last three months on. Everyone is rushing around the ship in frantic attempts to resurface this now useless peace of wood and battle the undefeatable storm; I remain where I am, accepting my fate.

Bang!!! Knock!!! The yells and commands echo around me but I am unperturbed. As I hold my ground at the front of the ship, I am confronted with mournfully wistful countenances occupying everyone’s once sanguine dispositions; this as well doesn’t perturb me. There is only one thought that is dominating my mind right now: Why? Why is everyone so fearful of what’s to come?
As the intensity of the maelstrom increases to something thought to be only fictional, or something only imaginable in a painting, the submersion becomes detectable – the incline from stern to hull is reminiscent of the incline in a giraffe’s neck as it grazes from my native safaris. The prodigious force of the storm combined with newton’s gravity, begins to jettison members of the crew from the ship. A sordid image one may say, but the slightest feelings of sympathy refuse to graze my emotions.
Crack!!! Gulp!!! The ship is being consumed by the inexorable will of the ocean. I am forced to hold on to the banister, but not for dear life, there lays something more profound in preserving my existence.
Only the hull remains surfaced, and along with it the captain and myself. I can see his paltry grip weakening as he beckons to me for help. The winds obliterate his sound waves, leaving me with only the sight of his pathetic lips imploring me for my help. Even in the tranquility of a beautiful day at sea his words would have a similar effect on me: nothing.
Gurgle!!! Help!!! As the last air bubbles escape the innards of this horrible beast struggling to stay afloat, the struggles of the captain prove to be of similar efficacy: one of my last images is of that reprehensible human being falling to his death. I can’t say I’m lucky to experience this rare scenario, but it certainly is the most gratifying experience of my life.
I am now submerged along with everything else that once occupied this ship. The ocean begins to pervade my lungs, but I don’t struggle. I accept my fate, and I accept it with triumph. On a ship designated to import slaves into a life of subjugation, I won; a slave was the last one to survive.

J.M.W. Turner, The Slave Ship (1840)

Joshua Sloan

In the contemporary world, people idolize musicians and constantly wish they had the life of those celebrities. As children we all dreamed to be one of the popular musical artists, although we refused to see the human aspect of their lives. Fame doesn’t necessarily translate to happiness and a life of fulfillment. Mozart’s letters truly illustrate this point, and depict the monetary and familial struggles Mozart dealt with throughout his entire life.

Mozart’s letters were generally fashioned in an obsequious nature: he would constantly beg people for patronage – whether it was for a contract of sorts to help secure him financially, or just blatant begging. Although this aspect of Mozart’s life generally goes unnoticed, it cannot be disputed as fact; people have difficulty transcending the preconceptions they have of famed artists, and accepting the reality of life.

Although people will read these letters and immediately disparage Mozart for his sycophancy, we must understand that Mozart was financially burdened, and the actions he took were in order to preserve his life and the life of his family. It’s difficult to see revered composers out of the limelight, but we must also recognize that due to his begging, he was able to create an environment where he could compose masterpieces.

Purely from the letters between Mozart and his wife, we see that there was tender intimacy coupled with concision. Despite the amorous relationship extrapolated from Mozart’s letters, it is hard to reconcile the briefness of the letters. If you compare the extensive letters written to friends and those written to his wife, it is evident where his true passion lied: in music.

Although most people hear the name Mozart and think of success, happiness, and a life of fulfillment, Mozart’s letters portray a diametrically opposite picture. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart lived a life of recluse and poverty, although he did everything in his power – no matter how humbling it may have been- to persist through the hard times and create music that will eternally affect peoples’ lives. Through Mozart’s struggles and sacrifices, we are graced with his art, and a look into the reality of fame.

The Village
Tis day in the village
Alas a castle upon a hill
With blue pants and red shirts
Looketh, some golden inserts

Doth they buildeth a village per say?
Or doth my eyes deceiveth?
With trees flourishing in the meadows
Bricks and some handsome fellows

The name “Mozart,” is one that is not only used today, but will continue to be used for generations to come. The genius that is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, was a world-wide known artist, whose music is still known today. Through The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart we are able to see what the life of Mozart was like in his younger days.

The artist Mozart lived a life that is unknown to many people today. Everyone knows his name, most people know his music, but not many people know of the life of Mozart. He lived a life most people wouldn’t assume he had. Unfortunately, most of Mozart’s life was in fact lived in poverty. In his letters, it is clear that he was very much in need of money, and was willing to ask anyone for the money.

It’s difficult to have a grasp on the life he lived, because most people would assume otherwise of him. In my own personal opinion, I thought that he would have lived a life of wealth and luxury. I would feel as though the life of one of the world’s greatest artist would have been one of ease. The world in which Mozart lived and the world in which we live today have completely different views on the musician. Where as today he would be viewed as a musical genius who’s career started at a very young age, in his own time it can be seen that he wasn’t as praised.

His under appreciation at the time is very evident through the letters he sent out. He asked family, friends, and peers for compensation for what he would provide musically. Unfortunately, as previously stated, the world he lived in did not view him as we do today.

Music, much like other forms of media, is not as popular in its own day as it is in the days to come. Some of the most amazing artists known today were frowned upon in their own time. Art, whether it be visual or audible, is a timed factor. If it’s not popular at the time it’s produced, it will be eventually. Art, however, is beginning to catch up with modern day. More and more artists are coming out to show what they can do, and modern day society is beginning to appreciate it. There’s a revolution going on in the art world, where traditional and conservative pieces are matched up against the art that is being created today. With these new works coming out, there is hope for the artistic world to come.

Mozart experienced this with his interactions with family members and peers. He even had to beg his own brother for money to compensate for his career. Now, his music is heard, as well as praised, across the entire world. Without these letters, I’m sure that most people wouldn’t assume this was the lifestyle of Wolfgang Mozart, but the primary sources speak for themselves.  Without reading these primary sources, Mozart is praised as a name from history.

Along with names like Bach and Beethoven, there’s Mozart. Legends in the history of composition, and yet their social lives mean nothing to us. Mozart teaches us, if anything, that regardless of the compensation we receive from the society around us, we should keep doing whatever it is we do. Our passions are more important than our impression on those observing us, and who knows…maybe one day we will truly be appreciated for whatever it is that we do. Mozart not only left behind works of art, but also a legacy that will be remembered as inspirational, which is what he ultimately deserved from society.

Simon Plutser-Sarno

Looking at an artwork may seem like a simple act – universal and timeless, but in Ways of Seeing John Berger shows us how intricate and charged the notion really is. The way we look at art has changed drastically throughout the course of human civilization, but never so much and so quickly as in the past several centuries. New inventions and media such as photography and film, art movements – cubism, futurism, impressionism – and the rapid change in social hierarchy have affected our perspective so profoundly that we can never return, and even often find it hard to imagine the way our ancestors must have seen it. By contrasting the direct way in which Berger proposes we look at art with the model of artistry Alice Chase outlines in Looking at Art, we can begin to understand the only and the necessary way of perceiving an image.

In the first few pages, Berger quickly cuts to the chase, and establishes that art is about perspective – “An image [is] a record of how X had seen Y… the more imaginative the work, the more profoundly it allows us to share the artist’s experience of the visible. (p.10)” After defining art in this concrete way, Berger goes on to warn us about mystification. He tells us that as soon as we observe an artwork as such, we begin to make pre-learned assumptions about it that obscure it from deeper understanding. As we mystify, we begin to examine form rather than content, historical background, monetary value, etc., and forget about the immediacy of our experience – about the fact that we are now situated within a fragment of history as an observer. In Berger’s terms, Alice Chase unknowingly mystifies art in some of her discussions. We can see this clearly when Chase states that “[A work of art] is the expression of man’s thoughts and feelings. (p.31)” and follows up with diversion on lengthy tangents that project the artists’ emotional states, and lead to a completely ambiguous analysis of the artworks as illustrating the human condition, the splendor of god’s creation, or something of the like.  Berger would say that the mystifying way in which Chase views art “transfers the emotion provoked by the image from the plane of lived experience, to that of disinterested ‘art appreciation.’ (p.13)”

Another area of high contrast between Berger and Chase is their opinion on photography as a medium, and the way it changed our perspective on art. Chase holds a dismissive standpoint – often comparing photography to a simple “viewing” or “recording” of reality, and saying that, since it doesn’t give any freedom to the artist in capturing different aspects of it, it is not a real art form – it is merely documentation, and that utilitarian purpose was its only contribution. For a reader of John Berger, this notion is completely laughable. Photography has developed since the 19^th century, the images produced can be highly controlled and conceptualized by the artist – change in ISO, shutter speed, angle, lens, subject, context, digital effects, etc. all make photography a fine art like any other. This is beside the point, however – Berger explains to us the real importance of photography. Today we rarely see original artwork – we mostly see photographs – reproductions. They take art out of its original context – icons out of the chapel and onto our walls, paintings out of the collection and onto our TV screen. Berger states: “In the art of pictorial reproduction the meaning of paintings is no longer attached to them. (p.24)” And truly, we now see art in advertisements, with their added definitions, we see original paintings shown in segments and those even in sequences. We see new narratives layered right on top that hide the original ones.

For Berger, the creation of art is the immediacy of the moment – the image captured and extended temporally, while its reception is our emotional and intellectual reaction to it in its silent immediacy. After reading his essays on the proper viewing of art, I find it impossible to contextualize or perceive images in any other way.

Simon Plutser-Sarno

9/10/12

Arts in NYC

 

Unicorne

 

Trapped within the flower’d gar’n

Subdued with silver chain

Kicks a wild colt of gleaming white

Its efforts are in vain

 

The king desired it and his men

With hounds had chased it down

They tore it from its forest home

To please the jewel’d croun

 

No simple wild harse is he

But spirit without flaw

A beard like of old men and gotes

He sports upon his jaw

 

And thar atop his graceful hed

Sticks owt an arm’s length horne

It makes him fearsum – a wilde beest

They call him unicorne

Victor Rerick

The Arts in NYC

October 7, 2012

Professor Graff

The Mozart Letters: Exploring Mozart’s Personality

The name Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart has become synonymous with instrumental genius and creativity with not only those who religiously practice his masterpieces, but even with those who have once ventured to pick up an instrument.  He is perhaps the most well known, and highly esteemed artist, in musical history.  Yet despite the near universal recognition of his music, very few people know the details, or even the general structures, of the society and family in which Mozart was raised and molded.  His story becomes like that of many historical figures; a single moment or achievement viewed as if it happened inside a black hole. Even in our history textbooks, where context is essential, we often ignore the events that led to the World Wars, the prior thinking that spurred the Renaissance, or in this case, the unique upbringing that inspired a musical prodigy.  It is through closer examination of Mozart’s personal letters to family, friends, and business colleagues, that we can begin to appreciate not only his musical talent, but his more personal side.  His personality, emotions, beliefs, and motivations all shine through his series of preserved letters, providing us with a fascinating glimpse, into one of music’s most mesmerizing minds.

Like most contemporary professional artists, Mozart’s craft was not only his passion; it was his source of income.  This dual role of music in Mozart’s life, as both an artistic outlet, and a means of financial provision, was one that Mozart would struggle with contentiously.  He tried to find the precarious balance between the two, but often failed, especially later in his life.  In a 1786 letter to the Royal Groom of Chambers, Sebastian Winter, we are offered a glimpse of Mozart as not only a musician, but a businessman.  During a time period when proper entertainment (especially that fit for kings) was in short supply, live performers such as Mozart could often amass significant wealth playing for the royal and the wealthy.  Mozart was a master of flattery, but more so in writing than in person.  His maturity took an odd course of development, and a certain social awkwardness does shine through his letters.  But for the most part, Mozart commended the pen as adroitly as the bow, and managed to pluck at the heart strings of those he needed favors from (of which there were many).  In this particular letter, Mozart essentially begs for the opportunity to play for the Prince.  Due to social costume, he must disguise his motives as pure, and claims that his business proposal “arises from an impulse of genuine zeal to serve his Highness diligently” (230).  But at the heart of Mozart’s letter, is the genuine impulse for the acquisition of material resources.  Mozart requests that if the Prince would so desire, Mozart would humbly accept a yearly compensation in exchange for musical performances.  Mozart claims that with a consistent salary he would be able to “work with a collected mind, being sure of having that work to do”.   A similar concern is present in almost all of his business letters.  He remarks to Michael Puchberg that it is “inconvenient, nay, impossible, to live from own installment to another!” (237).  Although Mozart may seem sly in his attempt to gain admittance to the Prince’s Court, he is simply following the expected business model.  Mozart would rely on such methods to provide for his himself and his wife throughout his short life.

Mozart’s letters to his family members, especially his sister, reflect Mozart’s more childish side.  In his letters to family and friends, he is almost always quick to share a joke, or even make fun of the person to whom he was writing. Other than business, the only topics that Mozart seemed to take seriously were love and death.  He writes to his sister, who informed him of his father’s death, that IF she “desires a kind and loving brother to care for you, you will find one on every occasion” (234).   He not only grieves for his father, but also tries to comfort his distressed sister by offering his full love and brotherly support.  A similar tone is found in his heartfelt letters to his wife.  He often uses poetic language when speaking to her, declaring his love through any number of metaphors he can think of.  While traveling, he scribbles a letter to his wife remarking that when thinking of her he both cries and smile, all the while staring at her portrait whenever he can (240).

Mozart’s letters provide invaluable insight into the mind of one of the world’s greatest composers.  By reading them we can see that he was not only a musician, but a human.  And as such he shared with us moments of humor, sadness, joy and stress, and all of the other melodies of the human condition.

Bleron Samarxhiu

In The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, certain aspects of Mozart’s character are revealed, despite the fact that many know him as one of the world’s most famous composers of all time. His letters are not exceptionally long, but they are repetitive in describing these aspects and he is devoted to writing them, as today young adults are devoted to texting and social networking. His letters suggest that he has an amazing appeal for money, loves his wife dearly, and is a music critique. In addition, based on the letters, he only writes them to request something, to discuss his travels, or to describe how much he likes or dislikes something or someone.

Evidently, Mozart is talented, but he is also a critique of music, particularly opera. He claims that the German opera is at an eclipse and that the new opera house will be poorly built. Little did Mozart know that a few of his pieces would have success in that German opera. He then spits out disgust for German singers, and continues to spite anything German. In fact, in one of his last letters (263), he mentions how he believes Stadler is an ass, proving that the talented composer everyone knows has a sense of bias or arrogance in him. One of his later letters, he judges who deserves fame and who does not deserve it, but with the help of his knowledge of music and terms, he explains why.

Mozart also has a clever way on how to appeal to others for money. It appears that he has a formula to do so and that he is certainly not afraid of asking whatever he wants, whether it is money or orchestrated pieces. In this “formula,” he expresses his loyalty by writing phrases such as your most obedient son, servant, etc. or by writing how wonderful and supportive the patron is. Mozart also achieves this appeal by giving logical reasons to why he wants them or by combining excuses with promises that he can pay back the loan full along with interest. As he claims, he is forever indebt to his “true” friend, or “true” brother. It appears that he does not know the definition of friendship, and it is certainly not the begging of others for money, but nevertheless, Mozart actually has loyal friends. One of them in particular, O.B., continues to care and give him money, even allow Mozart to come uninvited to his home.

On the other hand, Mozart tends to be overdramatic or extremely emotional at certain points. Whether or not he does this in actual person is not clear.  While trembling, “[he] longed to pour out my heart…but I had not the courage to do so” (237). Another example would be describing himself as an eternally grateful man whose “tears cannot complete the picture” (247). In other words, Mozart definitely is not afraid to release all his motions and opinions into a conversation in a letter. In his letters, Mozart mentions that it had been an “exceptional pleasure that [he] received [the] letter. When he further wants to emphasize, he uses the French language in his letter.

Everyone knows when separated, each partner in a couple miss each other. However, the situation with Mozart and his wife is different. Based on the number and content of the letters to his wife, Mozart seems obsessed with his wife, to the point at which he becomes nostalgic or out of his mind. He would not stop “sending” kisses in his letters; particularly in one where he sends 2099 ½ kisses. There are kisses and more kisses and eyes full of tears. Mozart also describes how he stares at the portrait of his wife sometimes.

In another perspective, Mozart is honest and caring, In one letter, he shows thankfulness for his blessings and in another he mentions how is always available as a loving brother to his sister. One of the main reasons he writes letters is to keep in touch with family, including his father, sister, and wife., and he hates it when he cannot keep in touch. Mozart feels bad not responding to letters, but he even admitted that he is so busy with his affairs that he does not have time for himself. He even admits that he is importune, when begging for money.

Of course Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart can brag sometimes, especially how he mentions his name contributes to the success of the concert. According to his constance, Mozart never got the successful position that he wanted in order and to support his family and to achieve his desired amount of success. This shows why he constantly makes requests: either for money, a position, or his future events and performances. These letters only depict a very limited aspect of Mozart’s character and life. His music depicts another aspect and at the same time, remains his legacy.

 

Hi all:

Remember to categorize your posts before you publish. The list of categories is on the right side (below the publish button.) If the class needs a new category for an assignment, please let me know. I created the ones you see using the syllabus, but perhaps there are better assignment descriptions?

Hope you all enjoyed Fall for Dance last night.

Best,

Karen

In Wolfgang Mozart’s letters to his wife, sister, clients and friend and Leopold Mozart’s letters to his daughter (Mozart’s sister), only several topics are discussed. However, a lot is revealed about Mozart’s personality and his relationship with other people.

Mozart shows his professional side when he writes his past and potential clients. It is clearly a hard time for Mozart financially. He asks for a salary as well as the honor of working for the royal groom of the champers and to replace Herr Kapellmeister Hofmann of the Council of Vienna. He speaks of his accomplishments, saying “my musical talents and achievements are known abroad, my name held in considerable estimation everywhere, and I myself have for several years enjoyed the honor of the appointment of Court composer here in the capital…” He is writing in his own best interest but maintains proper etiquette for doing do.

Mozart’s letters to his friend concern borrowing money also contain profuse apologies. It is clear that he isn’t so much embarrassed as he is empathetic for Michael Puchberg, merchant of Veinna. Mozart is full of promises of repayment and returning favors but it becomes clear that he isn’t going to be able to anytime soon. However, he reassures his friend he is working his hardest and even gives examples of what he is doing to earn more money.

In addition to being apologetic on the issue of finances, Mozart apologizes for things he write as if he were speaking. For example, when writing to Geheimrath, he apologizes before receiving a response for potentially taking his rant too far.

Mozart has moments talking about other people that seem subjective. His letters mostly concern his own well-being and the person he is corresponding with, but occasionally he discusses another party. He is honest about their talents, for example when he says, “If the latter played no better at the time we knew him in Holland than he plays now, he certainly does not deserve is fame!” of Fishers. In a letter to his wife, he says “the Arch-Enemy, was so much the Bavarian that I could not stay, or I should have been forced to tell him he was an ass!…At first I had patience… but he mocked at everything. It became too much for me.”

Corresponding with his sister, he expects the truth and is disappointed and upset when she has not told him of their father’s passing. He says, “I beg you will not… will not conceal it from me, but tell me , or have told, the whole truth, so that I can come with all human speed to your arms!” He wants to be a part of the family and to help in this situation even though he is not presently nearby. In this letter, he has to almost convince her that he would give the world for her and why is she not doing the same for him? This is him inducing shame into her.

Mozart shows slight modesty in some instances. When he speaks to his wife about his travels, he says, “True, I am celebrated here, admired and beloved…” but this is more of a description of a new place.

Mozart does not appear to be very empathetic toward his father. He asks him to take care of his child while he travels (according to Leopold Mozart). It is possible that it is just a favor asked, but the father does not seem to want to. However, we don’t see Mozart’s letter to his father.

He highly empathizes with his wife and her sickness. He constantly tells her he loves her and their son, Carl, and sends her kisses. Mozart gives her stories of his travels so that she is entertained and comforted. It might seem that he showers her in complements to lift some of the anger she might have for leaving her alone for extended periods of time uncared for, or it could be true love. He does speak about a “kind of emptiness which hurts [him] sharply” as he misses her.

Joshua Sloan
Chase and Berger
9/19/12

Both Chase and Burger emphasize the importance of art and the ability manifested in it to convey meaning. While Berger primarily focuses on the viewer’s interpretation of the work of art, Chase concentrates on the artist’s intentions when painting the picture. Although their views vary in this way, it is clear that they both agree that art is open to interpretation, and that there is truly a skill in “seeing.”

Burger outlines the mechanics of deciphering a picture for all of its intended beauty. He believes that most people under-value art pieces due to their inability to see. Burger illustrates the importance of imagery by use of a very fundamental fact: before children are able to speak, their sole interpretation of the surrounding environment is purely through imagery. In Ways of Seeing, Berger dedicates several chapters to pictures without captions, which exemplifies the value of pictures and even equates them to words.

Chase differs from Berger slightly in giving the power of interpretation to the artist more than the viewer. He posits that a piece of art captures the emotions, the setting, and the beliefs of the artist. Although certain depictions may be contrary to popular belief – and even things accepted as fact – Chase believes this demonstrates the focus being the artist’s and not what is expected by the viewer.
By Chase and Berger writing extensive works depicting the potential beauty of art, my appreciation of art grew exponentially. I was previously under the ignorant impression (that I assume most people share) that art stops in the two-dimensional stage, and that there is nothing deeper. By employing certain techniques outlines in Ways of Seeing, even the inexperienced viewer – like myself- is able to appreciate art to a new degree. And, by Chase illustrating the different components that are captured in a work of art, it makes you truly delve into the piece of art until you find these components.

Although Berger and Chase have slightly varying opinions on the way to “see” art, they both agree that “seeing” art is an acquired and imperative skill. This skill of seeing is so essential for even the most basic viewers because without it you can only appreciate the partial beauty of a painting. By reading these works of both Berger and Chase, I no longer just view art, but truly “see” it for its intended value.

In the words of John Berger, “every image embodies a way of seeing” and “images are more precise and richer than literature”. In essence, both the article Looking at Art and the book “Ways of Seeing” challenge the way that people view art and the different perspectives that make looking at art so enticing. Both authors take note of the fact that how a piece of art is viewed is mostly dependent on who views it and at what point they look at it- if it is a reproduction or the original. Different people interpret art differently and that’s the interesting part about perspective. Burger also mentions that, “the relation between what we see and what we know is never settled” showing that art is always open to different interpretation.
In the book, Ways of Seeing, the author shows that a picture can simply record a view of some sort, but an artist analyzes it and picks out the details that he or she finds interesting. Burger explains that, “the way we see things is affected by what we know or what we believe”. Alice Chase, however, states that people view art as, “what I see is not true and I will paint things as I know them to be, not as they look”, so there is an element of a personal perspective on art. She explains that perspective satisfies the casual glance but is not scientific. Consequently Burger agrees and states that, “we are always looking at the relation between things and ourselves”.
Both authors seem to mention landscapes in their works. Alice Chase describes that for different countries and people of various ethnicities, landscapes are viewed differently. For example, for the Chinese, “color came from variation in the blackness of the ink”, while for the Italians, “landscape was just as important as the action” going on in the painting. Perspective also depends on the time period. For example, medieval thinkers saw God in every detail of nature that the landscape of his own country became a worthy setting for a religious subject. The landscape also brought out a sense of nationalism in the people of specific nations to where the paintings belonged. Both authors mention how difficult it is to draw things such as the sky and distance in general Burger has a different take on perspective. He states that, “when we ‘see’ a landscape, we situate ourselves in it”. In essence, however, both authors show that landscape is a way to inform people of what is going on and the importance of the landscape to the artists. Berger does however warn that today we see the art of the past as nobody saw it before and we actually perceive it in a different way. He expresses a sense of worry that Chase does not portray that art is being translated and not as valued and studied as before, largely in fact due to cameras and reproductions of original works.
The concept of cameras and photography seems to be a prevalent concern in both works. Alice Chase mentions that an artist uses his eye as much as a photographer uses a camera lens. The artist work is an expansion of man’s thoughts and feelings. Unlike Chase however, Berger argues that photographs are not, as often assumed, a mechanical record-they have meaning. The photographer selects a specific sight from infinity of other possible sights. The photographer’s way of seeing is reflected in choice of subject. Chase states that a photograph is merely in an effort to document a certain view. Berger contradicts this view by stating that the invention of the camera changed the way men saw, but also changed the way in which men saw paintings painted long before the camera was invented.
Ultimately, although the authors disagree on many perspectives of art such as the value of photos, as opposed to actual paintings and the perspectives of landscapes for the different ethnic backgrounds, they agree on the notion that art can be viewed differently depending on the person viewing it and what time period the art is being viewed in. As Berger says, “perspective makes the single eye the Centre of the visible world. They also agree that art evokes a certain ownership or nationalism in the artist because as Berger says the landowners felt “the pleasure of seeing themselves depicted as landowners and this pleasure was enhanced by the ability of oil paint to render their land in all its substantiality. Chase mentions that this same ownership was felt towards the place of the landscape and nationalism arises.

Hi class! It is Prof. Steve here. Welcome to the Arts in NYC. I look forward to meeting you on Wednesday.

“The indefatigable pursuit of an unattainable perfection, even though it consists of nothing more than the pounding of an old piano, is what alone gives a meaning to our life on this unavailing star.”

-Logan Pearsall Smith (1865-1946)