Art Whore Chronicles

How is it that struggling artists get slammed for appearing on the reality TV show "Work of Art," but superstar artists get a total pass when they get into bed with crass commercial enterprises?

When did it become acceptable to be an art whore, so long as you're already famous and rich?

Is Julian Schnabel the next Martha Stewart?  Check out his new towel, part of Artware Editions' "Artist Towel Series" -- no kidding -- that includes such other blue-chip names as Ed Ruscha and Jim Hodges.

Damien Hirst has designed a beach chair just for you and a gazillion other people, and, with a $425 pricetag, it even comes with a stainless steel plaque bearing his signature.

A tea set?  Try the one by Cindy Sherman -- it's ornamented with her self-portrait as, fittingly, Madame de Pompadour, Louis XV's slut-in-chief.

Gerhard Richter and Jeff Koons are putting their names to nylon carpeting -- perfect for the kids' education in how to sell out.  Cicely Brown has opted for jigsaw puzzles.

And if you're in the market for a ring that says "Bulgari" -- Anish Kapoor has designed one of those.

Kiki Smith has her very own perfume -- in shades of Paris Hilton?  You can also pick up her "Cat" knickknack, described by Artware as follows:  "Smith renders the head of a housecat into a porcelain vessel, and turns it upside-down inviting us to fill its empty head with the trivial."  Indeed.

435 Years After His Death, Bronzino Gets His First Solo Show

Bronzino, the painter of the don't-fuck-with-me, self-possessed portraits of the Medici court circle, has finally been given his own show.

"Bronzino, Artist and Poet at the Court of the Medici" in Florence, Italy (it will not be traveling), is the first show, ever, that has gathered together most of the artist's paintings -- 63 of them, with others by his workshop, his contemporaries, and his teacher, Pontormo.  It includes two works that had been presumed lost, works never before exhibited, and a number of paintings that have been cleaned and restored.

The show is, by any measure, historic, and offers a unique opportunity to look at this artist afresh.  Having seen it in Florence, I can state it's magnificent.

Affectation or Naturalism?

Bronzino (1503-72) has had the misfortune, art historically, of being lumped together with artists called Mannerists, who have, fairly or not, borne the pejoratives of that word -- i.e., affected, artificial, insincere.

The curators here -- Carlo Falciani and Antonio Natali -- try to push back against this history.  They urge the viewer to see Bronzino more as a naturalist and through the eyes of his contemporaries, who they claim saw him differently.  Vasari wrote of his portraits, for example, that "they were most natural," "appear to be living, and want nothing but the breath of life."

Alas, the curators go a bit too far.  One look at Bronzino's enigmatic allegories of love puts the lie to their argument -- the contorted poses copied not from life but from Michelangelo's art, the weird sensuality, the lack of atmosphere that might make the figures inhabit some semblance of space.  It's not the mythological subject that does in their position:  Caravaggio's "Amor" is, after all, just around the corner.

The portraits too are highly stylized.  They yield not a hint of inner emotion, vulnerability, or personality.  We see instead a characterization of power, studied propriety, emotional distance, and control.  Like Ingres, Bronzino has his distortions that make sense in the artwork but that no human being could possess as flesh and blood -- the elongated torso, the boneless tapering fingers, the impossible elegance.

At the same time, the appearance and texture of things are convincingly and meticulously rendered.   The hyper-reality of the detail is extraordinary, but his very commitment to the hyper-real at the expense of atmosphere sucks the life from the painting.  A comparison with Raphael's portraits decades before, where the figures inhabit a moment in time and take a breath, makes us appreciate how deliberately Bronzino rejected the naturalist approach for a more abstract rendering.  Indeed, this was one of the lessons of the Met's recent xerographic study of its Bronzino; the underpainting of the face shows an individuality that was idealized in the final result.

Bronzino's art is just plain gorgeous and doesn't need any naturalist hook.  The paintings are knockouts.  As a colorist, he has few rivals.  His colors are intense and rich, bold in their simplicity, unusual in their juxtapositions.  As an oil painter, he was a master technician -- not a brushstroke visible, even in the smallest detail, and he was able to reproduce with exactitude the surface qualities of silk or wood or velvet.

Bronzino should be celebrated for the brilliant Mannerist he is.  He was a court painter, and his art has the cultivated, hothouse feel of aristocracy.  Subject and style coalesce perfectly.

Revelations

A few of the revelations in this show:

• The "Double Portrait of the Dward Morgante," which shows the nude dwarf front and back on the front and back of the same canvas, is being shown publicly for the first time since the 18th century.  Newly cleaned to remove the grapevines that had covered his genitalia, the painting is an example of the virtuosity so prized by Mannerist artists.  It also shows Bronzino's involvement in a frequent topic of debate in Florence's academies -- which was the "nobler" art, painting or sculpture?  Here, painting like sculpture can show more than one aspect, but painting can also depict the passage of time: the front of the canvas shows Morgante before the hunt, the back shows him with his catch.

• The "Crucified Christ" had previously been thought lost but has now been identified as the crucifixion mentioned by Vasari that Bronzino painted for Bartolomeo and Lucrezia Panciatichi, who were tried for heresy in 1551.  This painting may be an important indicator of the Reformation views current in 1540s Florence.  The curators assert that the almost abstract depiction (rather than a suffering Christ) expresses a belief in salvation by faith alone.  Even here, using a muted palette, Bronzino shines as a colorist, with the pale pink drapery against pallid flesh, brown cross, and gray niche.

The show begins with works by Pontormo, Bronzino's teacher, and ends with works by Bronzino's student Alessandro Allori.  In between the paintings are sometimes organized chronologically, sometimes thematically.  It works, superbly.

The exhibition is at the Palazzo Strozzi in Florence, Italy, through January 23, 2011.

William Kentridge, Jew

What is it with MoMA?  Why is it distancing William Kentridge from his own history?

MoMA is showing a lot of good Kentridge right now, and a lot of it concerns two fictional characters of South Africa's apartheid -- Soho Eckstein, the oppressive industrialist, and the sensitive Felix Teitelbaum.  Yet read the wall labels, and these two could just as well be named John Jones and Richard Smith.

MoMA has performed a bit of ethnic cleansing here, never once mentioning that Kentridge is Jewish or that he has chosen overtly Jewish names for perpetrator and sufferer alike.  What rich interpretive territory it has shunned!

To be a Jew in South Africa during apartheid, what does that mean?  What if one's grandfather had fled the pogroms in Lithuania, as Kentridge's had, to become part of the white, privileged class that oppressed South Africa's blacks?  How does an artist deal with the irony and tragedy of this, his own history?

What if one's father had made a kind of penance and became, as Kentridge's did, a lawyer famous for defending the victims of apartheid?  How does an artist deal with his historical inability to be a hero like his father?  And what if the father, well before apartheid's end, says in effect "To hell with this" and becomes Sir Sydney in England?  What does it mean that Kentridge stayed in that hell and so strongly self-identifies as South African?

These questions are fundamental in interpreting Kentridge's art, or at the least in providing adequate context.

MoMA's curators know very well that Kentridge is Jewish, and it obviously has a place in his art.  So why the silence?  Is it callous indifference, or fear that using the wrong phraseology -- in a city where all terms Jewish are loaded -- could lead to stupid charges of anti-Semitism?  Whatever the reason, MoMA has abdicated its responsibility to historical integrity.

Independent Art Fair 2010: Get Your Xerox "Prints," Only $150

Hucksters and suckers had a meet-up at the Independent:  The venerable White Columns was selling Xerox "prints."  (Click on photo to better see the labeling.)

According to one of the people minding this carny (as in carnival side-show scam), these are made by, "you know," lifting up the cover of a copy machine and pressing the start button.

When I visited the Independent on Saturday, almost all these "prints" had been sold.

The Independent feels edgier than Pulse.  Its open layout makes it much easier to experience the art as art, as though you're in a gallery or museum.  And it's free.

But the nicer environment can't hide the fact that most of the stuff being shown is stale.  Attacks on American consumerism, fun cheerleader outfits -- art here is lagging sadly behind the times.

Photo:  Laura Gilbert

Pulse New York 2010: Plastics and Narratives

On my way to Pulse on Thursday, I read a review in the Wall Street Journal of the Luc Tuymans show at SFMOMA.  The reviewer, David Littlejohn, suggested that art addressing modern history be judged by asking whether the artist "has something new, persuasive and productively thought-provoking to say, or has found a novel and mind-opening way to say it."

I don't know what he means by "modern history," but I think this standard applies to all contemporary art, which is in some sense contemporary history.

So I viewed Pulse's offerings with this standard in mind.  Sad to say, almost all the art was tired, superficial, and boring.

Amid all this disappointing work, a few artists truly stuck out.

It won't surprise anyone that Tilo Baumgartel lives in Leipzig.  His art is almost Neo Rauch redux, but his works on paper are so accomplished you could convince yourself that it doesn't matter.

Sandow Birk's "American Qur'an" is a years-long project of an English translation of the entire Islamic text accompanied by scenes of American life.  There's no relation between the text and the imagery -- it's not illustrations here.  I respect the artist's thinking about the relation of two cultures, and his ambition, and his updating the tradition of illuminated manuscripts.  Interesting that R. Crumb's illustrated Genesis came out last year.

 We deserve art that can make us laugh, and William Powhida creates just that.  Powhida is known for taking on the New York art world.  It's exciting to see him cast his net wider to challenge the L.A. scene.

Otherwise, there is little to be said about Pulse.  Plastic was a favored medium.  Dung hills of acrylic paint, acrylic enclosures, polyurethane, tape of different colors, cutouts from magazines and who knows what else that are coated with some sort of goo.  Plastic seems the perfect medium to characterize the word "unpersuasive."

Artists were really into their Sharpies this year, too.

(Conflict of interest note:  I once bought a Powhida print and have participated in forums he organized.)

Photos:  Laura Gilbert

Metropolitan Museum: "The Art of Illumination: The Limbourg Brothers and the 'Belles Heures' of Jean de France, Duc de Berry"

It's an eye-opener, the Duc de Berry's prayer book:  Some of the female saints are half-naked, even lascivious.

Reviews of the just-opened Met show will tell you the following: (1) Now is the only chance you'll have to see all 172 images in the "Belles Heures" at the same time.  (2) The "Belles Heures" is an acknowledged masterwork -- with microscopic details and astonishing naturalism -- by the Limbourg Brothers, who tragically died young, possibly from plague, in 1416.  (3) The "Belles Heures" is an unusual prayer book because it is so lavish and includes seven story cycles beyond the usual offerings.

The better reviews will also describe some of the Limbourg Brothers' pictorial daring:  two narrative scenes in one image, for example, or one of the very rare night scenes in medieval art.

But here's something I doubt you'll see elsewhere, because people won't believe their lying eyes:  This religious text is illustrated with some odd, unexpectedly sensual imagery.

Take St. Catherine.  Twice she's presented naked from the waist up.  The image at the top shows her in jail.  The other shows her bound to a column and tortured.  

St. Cecilia is bathing, her breasts exposed.


Consider how radical this nudity is.  In medieval religious imagery, female nakedness is reserved for fallen women -- Eve, the Magdalene, those condemned to Hell in the Last Judgment.  Virginal saints are modest.

No text requires St. Catherine to be imprisoned half-naked.  According to legend, she was thrown in jail without food, but not without clothing.  And nudity is not a necessary part of the pictorial narrative; the queen, for example, is not bringing St. Catherine clothes.

The legend of St. Cecilia has her killed while bathing, but why reveal her naked breasts when she could have easily been shown with just her head above water?  And why show St. Catherine being tortured so exposed, when her hair could have covered her breasts, or she could have been strategically placed behind the column?

Then there's a Christian being tempted by a woman moving her hand up his thigh.  Though that sight prompted St. Anthony to retreat to the desert -- and he's shown on the right, recoiling -- all the visual attention is really on the lasciviousness.

The Duc de Berry decided the Limbourg Brothers should illustrate the "Belles Heures," and one can only assume that these images were the ones he wanted to look at.  Did he pray with this book?  Doubtful -- he owned many prayer books.  It is more likely that he eyed it for his private pleasures.

These observations are an invitation to acknowledge the private aspects of the "Belles Heures," not just its place in art history, and to study other illuminated manuscripts as objects for contemplation that is personal, not devotional.

A couple of other observations:

The Limbourg Brothers are considered among the best of all European illuminators.  The glazing, the minute detail, the many colors, the gold leaf -- how did they do it?  For one thing, according to the Met curator, they "must have had magnification."  He examined each page under binocular microscopy and saw things not visible to the naked eye.

An informative video answers others questions.  The artists used quill pens, not brushes with one or two hairs.  If mistakes were made, a pen knife was used as an eraser.  The Duc de Berry could afford the best materials, and the top-quality vellum (prepared animal skin) could withstand several erasures.  The video also shows how gold leaf is applied.

But the work of the Limbourg Brothers is the swan song of this medium.  A mere ten years after they died, Jan van Eyck would paint his luminous, astonishingly detailed oil paintings on panel, and Gutenberg unleashed his printing press mid-century -- developments that placed scribes and illuminators in the background.

Photos by Laura Gilbert

Sotheby's: A Moveable Feast

A moveable feast.  A moveable museum.

That's what you didn't read about in the press reports of last week's Old Masters sale at Sotheby's.  Auction house sales are usually covered as an economic narrative.  The overarching story takes the pulse of the market, and within it are smaller hyped-up dramas.  Last week's concerned Hendrick Goltzius's Jupiter and Antiope.  Would the sale price meet its $8-$12 million estimate?  No, it did not!

For the art lover, though, the real story occurs in the five days before the art is auctioned.  That's when it's displayed in Sotheby's galleries for viewing by collectors and the public alike.  Once the paintings are taken down and moved to the auction block, who knows if you will ever see them again?

Here are just a few of the treasures you could have seen last week:

Van Dyck's Portrait of Nicholas Rockox, a stunner that's atypically small -- just a little more than 6 inches in diameter -- in a knockout frame (bought for $1.5 million), and the same artist's glorious Holy Family with Angel, a painting that, according to Sotheby's catalogue, "reappeared" in 2007, nearly 25 years after it was last seen (bought for $1.98 million).

Rembrandt's Portrait of a Young Woman, a beauty showing the artist as adept at sympathizing with women in his tight, luminous portrait style of the 1630 as with men.  (At the last minute this painting was pulled from the auction for undisclosed reasons.)

The Procuress by Jan Steen, a small, uncomplicated genre scene by one of the most joyful of the Dutch "little masters" (bought for $386,500).

Fragonard's Boy at a Window Stretching Out His Arms, an exquisite, small painting (roughly 6 x 5 inches) and an unusual subject (estimated to bring $250,000-$300,000; unsold).

Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem's Purification of the Israelites, an example of Northern Mannerism at its best (estimated to bring $400,000-$600,000; unsold).

Canaletto's The Piazzetta, yet another view of Venice showing the artist's mastery of detail, in beautiful condition (bought as one of a pair for a total of $3.89 million).


Andrea del Sarto's Madonna and Child (estimated to bring $2-$3 million; unsold), and the demure Magdelene Writing a Letter by an unknown 16th-century artist referred to as the Master of the Female Half-Lengths (bought for $326,500).

And finally, this interesting painting of Creole women and their servants by Agostino Brunias, who accompanied a colonial British governor to Dominica and made art for the landowning and probably slave-owning class (estimated to bring $200,000-$300,000; unsold).

Another marvelous aspect of these exhibitions:  The art is hung to be looked at, the center of the paintings at eye level, so you don't walk out with the neck strain that is often the plague of museum-going.

Check back to Art Unwashed for previews of future sales.

Photographs by Laura Gilbert.