A few weeks ago, some fellow classmates blogged about Rirkrit Tiravanija’s “Untitled (Free)” installation in MoMA.  (For those who do not recall, he is the Argentine-born Thai artist who wants museum-goers to experience the artwork themselves.  With this inspiring motivational force, he serves curry to visitors.  For a quick synopsis, read the last section of this article, titled “Art.”  We saw the candy exhibit, too, but were hesitant to reach down and grab the silver-wrapped pieces).  On our way up to the sixth floor to visit de Kooning’s installation, my two friends and I made a pit-stop on the second floor for some curry.  We experienced art!

Somewhere in a corner of the second floor, Tiravanija’s installation is designed to make you feel as if you are walking through an unfinished apartment.  The framework for the rooms is up, but you can see through the entire section of the “apartment” that is on display.  When you first walk in (after a man kindly directs you to enter the exhibit the proper way), there are a bunch of cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other, filled with empty supplies for the curry, including the wok box, and beer.  As you stroll into the adjacent room, a man on your right clicks a counter, and you enter the kitchen area, complete with a refrigerator filled with water–which is also part of the experience.  Then, if you desire the full experience, you walk over to the tables adorned with the artist’s own recipe of fragrant green curry and rice; if you are a little skeptical, he lists the ingredients both on the table and on the door of the refrigerator.  After getting a scoop of rice and curry, you go to sit down among other museum goers.

The beautiful part of this exhibit was, indeed, experiencing art and tasting another’s culture.  However, it was more than that.  What the New York Times articles seemed to ignore is the effect of the exhibit.  It created a sort of home-like environment where I was given the opportunity to eat, chat, and experience something new with my friends.  Tiravanija recreates home with his installation, which certainly makes sense if he was raised in Argentina.  (One of my friends who joined us at the museum is Argentinian; her family is very close and bonds over food).  Maybe most cultures share the experience of familial and friendly bonding over meals but at a more personal, within-the-confines-of-home level.  Tiravanija succeeded in providing a setting in which strangers can create similar interactions.  The installation certainly would not have had the same effect had I gone alone.  Maybe Tiravanija’s main purpose was to demonstrate to visitors that home is not a location but rather a community, that home is composed of people.

I absolutely recommend and encourage you to check his installation out with some friends, maybe even ones that you normally do not get to spend much time with.  Hey, plus you get a free lunch.

This past Saturday, I walked throughout Willem de Kooning’s vast MoMA exhibit with two of my friends.  We pointed out which ones we would like to have hanging in our future homes and commented on various details in the pieces, such as certain textures in certain strokes, the presence of newspaper print, time periods, and mediums employed.  We did not read all of the descriptive cards next to the pieces; however, on the ones that I did read, my favorite portions were either explanatory phrases regarding how de Kooning arrived at the piece and de Kooning’s own words.  For example, in some of his pieces, it was obvious that there were newspaper articles in the background; yet, the description said that this result was accidental.  De Kooning simply used the newspaper to dry up the excess paint left on the canvas, thus never intending to have it transfer onto the canvas.  Did he cry about it?  No, instead, he let it be.

After seeing the exhibit, I’m beginning to more fully understand the discussion that we shared as a class last Thursday about de Kooning’s work and whether it was growth, experimentation, or something entirely different.   Although his “genre” of art is abstract, it amazed me how different his pieces were.  He certainly had separate periods, and the descriptive cards tended to relate these to his physical location at the time of the paintings, which, in itself, is significant.  Rather than waiting to get somewhere else or have a revelation, de Kooning let his current position inspire him, and that is what he worked with– a reminder that we can all learn from.

Though I certainly do not understand most of his pieces after viewing them once, I appreciate and admire them because they symbolize how he lived his life.  Sometimes, de Kooning specified what his painting portrayed in the title; other times, he just let it happen.  He was not afraid to try, even if it took a few years.  One of his quotations read, “Even abstract shapes must have a likeness.”  De Kooning had a plan, but when the gray areas surfaced, he kept moving.  In the words of a friend, “You can’t steer a ship that isn’t moving.”  In the words of de Kooning, “I have to change to stay the same.”

Throughout our wonderful seminar we have explored so many influential artists from all different centuries. From Rembrandt to Matisse, Richard Serra to de Kooning, we have certainly broadened our artistic horizons and tweaked our sensitivities to becoming “art snobs.” But a question has always lingered in the back of my head. As we viewed art from a myriad of generations, it is apparent that female artists are a relatively new phenomenon. So why have there been no great women artists in Frans Hals’ century or Vermeer’s lifetime? And then I found the art of Artemisia Gentileschi.

Self Portrait as the Allegory of Painting

Born on July 8, 1593 to the Tuscan painter Orazio Gentileschi, Artemisia Gentileschi entered into one of the most enthralling periods of Western art. As a female Italian Early Baroque painter, her recognition as a talented artist in a historically male oriented art world is an indisputable attestation to her remarkable expertise.

Influenced by Italian artist Caravaggio, Artemisia painted brilliant works with bold brushstrokes and unique subjects. In her painting Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting (1630), Caravaggio’s chiaroscuro is evident. Artemisia’s face is strikingly illuminated against the subdued background and shadows of her body. The shift from light to dark is not gradual; Artemisia appears in a dramatic spotlight. Combined with the rich texture of her clothing, her rustling hair, and her working arm stretched across the canvas in an asymmetrical diagonal, Artemisia appears alive and almost tangible in Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting.

The title of this painting is comprehensible upon further research. Italian aesthetician Cesare Ripa compiled his emblem book Iconologia in 1593, which identified central qualities of various concepts in art, science, vices, and virtues. Ripa attached an allegorical description to each figure. Artemisia follows all but one of Ripa’s allegorical references of painting. Ripa’s personification of painting is a beautiful woman with unruly curls, a vibrant dress of shifting colors, a gold pendant hanging from her neck, and a piece of cloth binding her mouth. The bound mouth is symbolic of the artist’s reliance on non-verbal means of expression. In Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting, Artemisia encompasses all of these traits, but her mouth remains unconstrained.

Women during Artemisia’s time were expected to be submissive and dependent on men. They were forced to accept domestic roles and were not considered proper sources of creativity. Artemisia’s unbound mouth represents her refusal to “keep quite” in the male dominated world as she asserts her independence as an astounding female artist.

That is the title of 38-year-old Brendan Powell Smith’s interesting new book, which features passages in the Bible illustrated… in Legos. That’s right, Legos. The Tower of Babel, Noah’s Ark, and the Garden of Eden can all be found in this book – appropriately captioned with quotes taken directly from the “Good Book itself” AND constructed from thousands of different types of the beloved children’s building block toys. It’s definitely a unique take on the ancient text, no?

Unfortunately, as with the original source material, there is now controversy associated with the former web-programmer-turned-author’s work. The “racy scenes” depicted in the book were too much for some shoppers at Wal-Mart’s Sam’s Club, which “pulled the book from its shelves last month after only two weeks, despite brisk sales.” In the words of the author, most of the criticism has been voiced by people who are “either mad [he’s] an atheist, or unaware that there’s sex and violence in the Bible, too.”

On Smith’s website, bricktestament.com, the author warns that the Bible “contains material some may consider morally objectionable and/or inappropriate for children.” That’s why he was unhappy to hear that the Lego version he spent the past decade constructing (and editing so it did not include some of the more risque images his publisher did not feel comfortable putting in the final print version) was considered less appropriate for children than the other Bibles on the shelves at Sam’s Club.

In an e-mail to The Daily mail, a Sam’s Club spokesperson admits that they “miscategorized the book” and this is what led to the decision to discontinue sales; however, those who want to check the book out for themselves should not feel disappointed. “The Brick Bible” is still available at other major retailers, such as Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble, as well as at independent booksellers.

The author thought Legos would be an interesting way to tell the biblical tales, and it is hard to argue that the idea isn’t indeed… interesting. But is it really appropriate to handle the religious material in the way Brendan Powell Smith has? Does being raised by a Sunday school teacher and studying religion at Boston University give him a right to do as he pleases? Should we ignore the fact that he is handling religious material and instead focus on the creative and artistic aspects of his work? What do authorities in the religious community have to say about all of this?

Anyone interested in reading more about “The Brick Bible” and the drama surrounding Wal-Mart’s Sam’s Club can read this article. Anyone interested in viewing just a few more of the images that can be found in the book can click here.

In the everlasting debate about what exactly makes something art and who can be considered a true artist, here is Damien Hirst! In 2008, this British artist persuaded the dealers at Sotheby’s to sell 223 of his newest (at the time) artworks. And did they sell! Despite the world financial crisis that was unfolding at this time, the two-day sale of Hirst’s artwork brought in a total of $200.7 million dollars. What did the lucky buyers purchase? Well… “There were dead animals – sharks, zebras, piglets and even a calf – floating in giant glass tanks of formaldehyde; cabinets filled with diamonds; and cigarette butts. And paintings galore: spin paintings, spot paintings, paintings with butterflies pinned under glass.” There are some pretty interesting things on that list, if I do say so myself.

And now the artist is cooking up something new (well, sort of). Hirst recently started producing spot paintings again, and in want of a space to display them in, he has persuaded the gallery owner Larry Gagosian to let him take over all eleven of his galleries for a spot-painting retrospective. The exhibition is set to run from January 12th through February 18th. It will include approximately 200 works, spanning 20 years, from collections in 20 countries. Less than one-third of the show will be for sale but gallery officials say it is still too early to negotiate prices for those artworks included. The author of this article in the New York Times is already forecasting “a hailstorm of criticism” for the spot show, but the 46-year-old artist is so used to such criticisms that he doesn’t seem to mind.

The retrospective is something that he has always wanted to do, and he cites his father as the inspiration for this particular style of art (or not art?). Interestingly enough, though, of the hundreds of spot canvases that will be on display, Damien Hirst painted only five himself and employed other people to paint the rest for him. Why then, does he get the credit, if he’s not the one who was holding the paintbrush? Is it because he came up with the idea? If this is the case, then shouldn’t his father be getting at least some of the credit, since he was the one who first started painting spots on the doors of their home? Of course, all of this is assuming that these meticulously painted spots can even be considered art (and I’m sure there are those in the class who will not consider them as such).

Personally, while I don’t quite understand how it works that Hirst gets the credit while his assistants do all the actual labor, I do think the spots have some merit. They can definitely evoke some interesting thoughts. The artist actually sums it up perfectly when he says, “They’re quite hard to look at. Superficially they’re happy paintings, but then there is this underlying uneasiness. You lose your boundaries because they are hard to focus on. Do you focus on the grid or the individual spots or the painting as a whole? Once you start really looking, you get lost.” Basically, they can make a person go a little spotty. And if this is the artist’s intention for his artwork, then whose to say that it doesn’t deserve a place in the museum and gallery world?

Many people think that I do not like modern art because I am a fan of realism. That is not the case. I simply believe that art should arouse some sort of thought or feeling in the viewer and for me, modern art fails miserably in that regard. However, a work of art need not be realistic in order to be meaningful. The picture below is called Me Playing with Ilanna, and, in my humble opinion, it is greater by far than any other piece of art I’ve seen.

This drawing is one of the many masterpieces done by Dassie Schuster, a highly skilled artist who also happens to be my five-year-old sister. As you can see, her depiction of the female form is very nearly as abstract as Dekooning’s. The piece even contains some strategically-placed blobs, just like Dekooning’s paintings. At first glance, this looks very much like the modern art I viewed at the MoMA last week.

However, I feel very differently when looking at this picture than I did when looking at “Woman on Bicycle” or “[Untitled].” Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the drawing was done for a specific client (i.e. me). We discussed in class how the quality of art often disintegrates when trying to appeal to the masses instead of to a select few people, and in Dassie’s case, this certainly seems to be true. The quality of the drawing is, in my opinion, exquisite.

Or maybe it has more to do with how the artist herself gave me a big hug when she presented me with her masterpiece.

In any case, I get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside whenever I look at this drawing. Because it symbolizes something so much more than the simple crayon markings on white paper. It represents something bigger and deeper than itself. It gets into the heart of what it means to be human.

And that, my friends, is what true art looks like.

After visiting the Dekooning exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art, I learned two things:

1. It turns out there is a method to the madness we call modern art. The artist does not simply dump random blobs of paint on the canvas. He actually thinks about where do dump the random blobs first.

2. I gave it a fair shot. I really did. I approached the exhibit with an open mind. And yet, I still don’t understand modern art at all.

I believe that art is supposed to mean something. It is supposed to make you look at the world differently, or at least stir up some sort of emotion. However, while standing in front of the grotesque, blob-adoorned forms that vaguely resembled the human female, i felt nothing but slight distaste.

The paintings that contained nothing but colorful streaks were even less thought-provoking. The only thought that came to mind was “Hmm . . . my five-year-old sister once drew something remarkably similar.”

I guess I will never fully understand the phenomenon that is Modern Art.

This article by Benjamin Sutton explains New York City’s innovative idea to make pedestrians and drivers pay attention to street safety by launching their Curbside Haiku campaign courtesy of the DOT (Department of Transportation). Due to the number of accidents, it seems like the attempts of the DOT were mostly in vain: thick traffic lines, bike lanes, and increased amount of traffic signs. They hope that the “power of poetry” will make people listen to transportation safety laws.

Initially, I didn’t understand the enthusiasm behind this campaign. If people didn’t even spare a second to glance at a traffic sign, what would compel them to actually read a haiku instead? I’m a fan of poetry and the occasional clever haiku, but I was still skeptical about the efficiency of this idea. It wasn’t until I read a couple of the haikus that I realized that they were concise, clever, and surprisingly morbid. They focused on the consequences and dangers of not listening to traffic laws and signs instead of just displaying a dry warning or rule.

Maybe it is about time that the DOT integrate some of the arts to get their message across. They realized they couldn’t command attention the conventional way and in New York City, art is one of the most powerful mediums to get a message across. Ideally, everyone will be moved by the new campaign and change their traffic safety ways, but from a cynical perspective, who really has a New York Minute?

The main artist behind the Curbside Haiku campaign is John Morse and illustrations by Saul Bass.

Read the full article here.

This semester we’ve covered artistic styles and cultures such as abstract expressionism, Dutch paintings, and even ancient Middle Eastern art.  However, if planning to visit the Met in the near future, one should also consider visiting the Asian art section to witness the “Storytelling in Japanese Art” exhibition.  The show showcases more than a hundred works from the 13th to 19^th centuries, including an variety of hand scrolls, screens, books, and hanging scrolls.

These beautiful scrolls have the ability to project a primeval movie.  For instance, the scroll “Illustrated Legends of the Kitano Tenjin Shrine,” (partially shown above) depicts the story of the life and afterlife of ninth-century poet Sugawara Michizane. After being unjustly killed, his angry spirit wreaks havoc on the world.  Thus, Nichizo, a courageous “acolyte” is sent to appease him.  The scroll depicts his journey, in which he even faces an eight-headed monster. Furthermore, this scroll is just one example of how the revamped exhibition mixes different narratives, genres and styles into groupings in order to tell different tales.

Many of the hand scrolls viewable in this showcase resulted from the spread of Buddhism from China to Japan.  This clearly reminded me of Islamic art discussions in class.  With the spread of Mohammad’s doctrine, artistic styles and patterns were allowed to spread and evolve over time.  Oftentimes religion plays a more crucial role in art than merely subject matter or inspiration, as seen by the growth of these two styles.  Moreover, by examining many a few of the Japanese pieces, I noticed certain similarities, such as the unique perspective in which people and objects are viewed in the foreground.  However, when it comes to detail, Islamic art’s remains unrivaled.

Some of the works truly have a distinct look, and once again if given the opportunity, don’t hesitate to check out the exhibit.  The Japanese Storytelling display will be up until May 6th, and starting from February 8th a second rotation of scrolls will be unraveled.

Although not a bedtime story to put one to sleep, the stories of the recurated  “Storytelling in Japanese Art” exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art will keep one ensnared with the captivating tales of Japanese history and culture. Starting February 8^th, the Met will be reintroducing this exhibit that through text panels, captions and diagrams, reveals the narrative side of Japanese art with acute clarity. What’s so different about this show, is that it is normally a permanent exhibit in the museum, though now it will have a temporary show filled with temporary loans, which makes this exhibit filled with more stories than ever before to be told.

The main showing in the exhibit is the emaki, or scrolls, which focus on human drama and stories rather than a scene or just an individual person. These scrolls were used as almost films to tell stories, not necessarily relating to reality. The scrolls could include stories about dragons, spirits, the afterlife, and the casual trip to hell and back. The stories were very important to Japanese culture and its relationship with the spiritual world.  The main goal of this exhibit is to follow the different narratives and its genres and style.

It is interesting to note the different uses of art used by different ancient cultures. Whereas we have the Japanese focusing on stories and traditions, one could see the Islam, I’m sorry, the “The Art of the Arab Lands, Turkey, Iran, Central Asia, and Later South Asia” exhibit focusing more on reality and the story of what actually happened both socially and culturally. Both these cultures had the similar capabilities to paint a message on their chosen medium, but each one chose their own path. We can then point out the different ideals that were important to each culture.

The idea that we are looking back on different people and trying to understand there lives through their art is kind of scary. If we are looking so deeply into the stories of older cultures, then I don’t want to fathom what people would think of us when they look back at our movies and then ask themselves what they think we valued in our lifetime.

Coleridge meant it about writing. I mean it about art.

I don’t want to nitpick art into bits, but I think this is an important issue. There are many who take a literal approach to art, and while that may not be fundamentally wrong, it is fundamentally juvenile and unfortunate. As a kid, I remember when my dad would sit me down for some impromptu art lessons. One time, he showed me a picture of a deformed multi-colored face (I think it was “Dora Maar”) and said “This is a Picasso.” I said “Eww” and asked “Why is Picasso’s face all mushed up?” He laughed and said “No, no. Picasso painted this face. It’s not a picture of him.” “Oh,” I said. “Then Picasso was probably a stupid artist.” I had really meant that. Didn’t he know that human faces don’t have two noses? It took a while for my dad to explain, but when I got the concept, I finally understood something fundamental about art – while my first grade classmates extolled me for drawing a good and accurate picture of a house, that was not where the artistic process ended. If anything, it only began at that point. Later, when I grasped the notion that art need not be literal, it was practically a paradigm shift.

Picasso's "Dora Maar"

Many people can draw a lifelike person. In fact, there is hardly anything “creative” about that. The creativity lies precisely in what you do with the fact that you are capable of drawing a lifelike person (now that I think about it, this actually relates a lot to my previous post). When you are unafraid to manipulate what your eye sees and what your pen produces, that’s when you really immerse yourself in the creative process. But this is all from an artist’s point of view. As a spectator (a role I admittedly assume a whole lot more often than artist), the same holds true cognitively. When you can appreciate that which is off-kilter and unconventional, that’s probably when you start to really recognize what creativity is. I’m not saying you have to like Picasso. I’m saying you have to understand Picasso. To do that, you need a “willing suspension of disbelief” which, at least from the way I see it, is essentially what a creative perspective is all about. (Of course, I shouldn’t make such sweeping statements, especially about something as ineffable as art, but I like the fact that certain concepts like Coleridge’s can be “multi-disciplinary,” and applied less exclusively than originally intended.)

Knoedler & Co., in the upper east side, announced suddenly this week on Wednesday that it will be closing down due to financial shakiness from the recession and troublesome economy. It’s unfortunate that this gallery is no longer open, because it has quite an interesting history. It opened its doors 165 years ago at a time when major museums and galleries were not prevalent in New York CIty. Not only did it become filled with significant artwork, but also it inspired the tastes and styles of homes here in New York. However, it’s not surprising to me that the corrupt business world may have played a significant role in the shut-down of Knoedler. Apparently, one day before the closing, Knoedler was sued by a man in London for selling him a possibly forged work of art for 17 million dollars! Now was this shut-down a response to this act? I’d vote “yes,” but it’s definitely too early to be making those kinds of calls at this point.

It’s too soon to know what will happen to the valuable art pieces, photographs, letters, etc., but it is a major concern, because these are pieces that date back as far as 1863. The Knoedler Gallery has occupied many homes in the past (somewhere around 13) and has helped shape the American art world. Therefore, it’s relevant to everything we’ve studied and analyzed in our Arts Seminar Class, because art may not have developed the way it has if early art galleries in New York had not progressed and persevered through hard economic times just as Knoedler has. The article I’ve provided contains more on the details of the close, but I just want to inform everyone of the significant shut down of a well-known and much-appreciated art gallery. I only wish I had gotten a chance to visit!