earliest photographic self-portrait

Robert Cornelius, self-portrait, Philadelphia, 1839, facing front, arms crossed. 
Inscription on backing: The first light-picture ever taken. 1839.

One of the first photographs made in the United States, this quarter-plate daguerreotype, taken in the yard of the Cornelius family's lamp-making business in Philadelphia, is said to be the earliest photographic portrait of a person.

He's hot. Very hot.  

Submerged

We lie fixed, dark.

Waves of light butterfly

our bellies, alter our shape.

Tightly wrapped whispers,

exhaled messages in bottles

rise, burst the surface.

The ocean is solid with us.

It can be walked or even driven,

since we inhabit a mutual sea.

Glass-bottom tourists watch,

amazed by our symbiotic art,

having never seen love so deep.

tk/January 2012

I'm pleased to have the talented R.A.D. Stainforth read this poem:

Visit his excellent blog Black Dogs.

image: sculpture by Jason deCaires Taylor

Join The Mag creative writing group.

survivor mindset

Red Dog Running #3, William Hawkins, 1895-1990
Columbus Museum of Art

Whenever I visit the Columbus Museum of Art, I always like to stop in the gift shop on the way out and pick up some postcards of my favorite pieces.  This one has been on my desk since my visit last month. I love it's bright, quirky playfulness, the little fairies, and even the misspelling of "running".  Hawkins' style stems from what is described as his bold, optimistic "survivor mindset". It makes me smile. I'd like to think we are all survivors.

William Hawkins was one of the finest self-taught artists of the 20th century. He has had one-person exhibitions at the Museum of American Folk Art and the Columbus Museum of Art, and his paintings and drawings have been included in many important museum survey exhibitions of American Outsider and Folk Art at venues such as the New Orleans Museum of Art, The Philadelphia Museum of Art, The National Museum of American Art, and The High Museum of Art, Atlanta.

Although Hawkins had only a third grade education, he was a bright student of life from his early days on a farm in Northern Kentucky until his last vital painting years in Columbus, Ohio. Hawkins began drawing pictures of horses as a boy while looking at photographs and engravings of horses that his grandfather owned. Hawkins worked hard and resourcefully at many trades including trapping, farming, horse-breaking, truck driving, horse painting, "flophouse" managing, and metal scrap dealing.

His dynamic, artistic style was forged from his optimistic, hard-charging, "survivor" mindset. His earliest known paintings from circa 1978 until 1983 have reductive, powerful decorative patterning, dynamic utilization of pictorial space, and iconic commanding forms which yield a purity of expression that is extraordinary. Hawkins' paintings from the middle to late 1980s have rich, visceral brushwork and more compositional complexity than his earlier works. Some paintings, such as Speckled Buildings, 1986, are outstanding, in their harmonious color arrangements, surface animation, and pictorial unity.

In several of the artist's middle and late period paintings, he began to incorporate collage and/or assemblage in his paintings. He occasionally utilized cornmeal to build up forms, in a sculptural manner, from the surface upon which he was painting. The artist's creative fusion of mass media advertisements, etc. with his uniquely rich paint handling and sculptural forms yields provocative and inventive aesthetic statements.

The artist also created a small but vital group of drawings throughout the last twelve years of his life. These works are distinguished by his clarity of vision, creative pictorial designs, and wry sense of humor. The highly personal lens of William Hawkins' vital soul is alive in all of his art.

Winter Sleigh, William Hawkins
(click to embiggen)

info borrowed from Keny Galleries

penny for your thoughts

Believe it or not, this is a piece by Canadian sculptor Evan Penny.  He creates his disturbingly realistic figures with silicone, pigment, hair and aluminum.  Several years ago, I was lucky enough to see an exhibit of his work at the Columbus Museum of Art.  The skill involved here is mind boggling.  Penny's sculptures literally grab his viewers, stop them dead in their tracks.  Columbus has one of his larger than lifesize pieces, Back of Kelly, 2005, as part of their permanent collection. I recently saw it again, and snapped a few shots to share. The detail is astonishing, down to the blemishes, stray hairs and crusties behind the ears. Genius, in a very real way.

The acquiring of more information only makes things more complex and adds layers of uncertainty. The goal isn't realism; the byproduct is. --Evan Penny

Back of Kelly, 2005, taken by me April 2011 at the Columbus Museum of Art

Back of Kelly, detail, click to embiggen, if you dare

accidents of light

Just Married, 1957, Columbus Museum of Art

Last week, at my library branch, Ron Schick's Norman Rockwell Behind the Camera was displayed in one of the featured-book shelves. Rockwell is not one of my favorite artists, but his work is quintessentially American, so iconic, and recognizable. He was a master story-teller.

I picked up Schick's book, gave it a quick flip-through, then immediately added it to my stack. It is full of wonderful photos of the models Rockwell used for his paintings.

It is quite a treat to look into the faces of the real people we have all come to know and love through his legendary works. Rockwell never intended for his photography to be judged on their own, but they are actually works of art in their own right.



"There were details, accidents of light, which I'd missed when I'd been able to make only quick sketches of a setting.  A photograph catches all that."

My Columbus Museum of Art has two of Rockwell's pieces, Just Married, 1957 and Soda Jerk, 1953.  On a recent visit, I snapped a few shots to share with you.  In the reproductions, his work looks so smooth and fine, but when seen in person, it is amazing how thickly he applied the paint.

Soda Jerk, 1953, Columbus Museum of Art

Rockwell's son, Peter, was the model for the counter man in Soda Jerk.

"Before a model even attempts to pose for me, I tell him the story I want my picture to tell because I want him to understand what I am trying to do, what I am trying to convey. Then I get into the pose myself and show him how I think it should be done."  --Norman Rockwell

manor mystery sol-ved

Margit Pogany, self-portrait

It turns out, after some investigation, my creamy egg-like alien bust is that of Margit Pogany, a Hungarian art student. The famed Romanian sculptor, Constantin Brancusi, met her in Paris in 1910 and was his inspiration for his "Mademoiselle Pogany" series.

Over the course of 23 years, he constructed numerous versions of the sculpture, of which he is most famous.

My Scott Antique Market find is a 1961 plaster copy of  Brancusi's Mademoiselle Pogany III.

Constantin Brancusi, (1876-1957) was a central figure of the modern movement and a pioneer of abstraction. His sculpture is noted for its visual elegance and sensitive use of materials. Combining the directness of peasant carving with the sophistication of the Parisian avant-garde, he developed his own unique style by simplifying objects into the geometrical and sparse, for which he gained world-wide fame.

So, there you have it, my friends. Another Willow Manor mystery solved.

bronze Mademoiselle Pogany III, 1912 and my plaster Mademoiselle Pogany, 1961

north is good

Chignon, Chuck Jones

(shēn-yŏn') 
n.
A roll or knot of hair worn at the back of the head or especially at the nape of the neck. From Old French chaignon, chain, collar, nape of the neck.

Le Chignon, Eva Gonzalès , 1865-70

My hair is finally long enough to wear pulled up into a messy chignon. For one thing, its quick and easy. It's great for keeping pencils handy, and sometimes, I add chopsticks. An added bonus is that my earrings are highlighted. The old danglies have been rescued from the back of the jewelry box.  It's nice to have at least one feature heading north these days, when everything else seems to be shifting south.

The chignon can be traced back to Ancient Greece, where Athenian women commonly kept theirs in place with gold or ivory pins. Athenian men wore the style, as well. It was also popular in Ancient China, where married women wore a low knot. During the Victorian era, chignons were often enormous constructions including false hair or pads. In the 1940s, many women wore the chignon under a headscarf, while working in factories to support the war effort during World War II. The timeless chignon is still popular today because of its elegance, and ease.

Portrait de Dora au Chignon, Pablo Picasso, 1937

It's interesting to note that in the Scottish lowlands, where my paternal ancestors hailed from, a variation of the chignon was once called a "cockernonnie" or "cock-up". That's all I have to say about that.

I think hairstyle is the final tip-off

whether or not a woman really knows herself.

Hubert de Givenchy, Vogue 1985

As you can see from the sidebar, my chapbook, Patina, is available for pre-order.  I have an advance sales period of six weeks, before the pressrun is determined.  If you are interested in purchasing a copy, it would help me tremendously if you would pre-order now.  Click the book image on my sidebar or the link below.  Thanks so much for your invaluable support, my friends. You're the best. 

FINISHING LINE PRESS PRE-ORDER

hedi schoop

I found this little guy lurking among the dingy glassware at Gee-Dub (my local Goodwill store) today, immediately fell in love with all ten inches of his lucid creaminess, charming shape and couldn't pass him up for just $1.99.  The best part of Gee-Dub shopping is doing a bit of sleuthing, once I get home. I discovered that he is a Dutch boy vase, (there's an opening in his backpack for flowers) designed by Hedi Schoop in Hollywood, circa 1940.

Schoop was born to a prominent family in Zurich, Switzerland.  Her father was editor of the Neue Zurcher Zeitung and president of Dolder Hotels. She studied sculpture, architecture, painting and fashion design at several European institutions, including Kunstgewerbeschule in Vienna and Reimann Institute in Berlin. She was also an accomplished dancer in Germany, as was her sister, Trudi, a comedic dancer who pioneered the treatment of mental illness with dance therapy.

Frederick Hollander and Hedi Schoop

Schoop was married to well-known composer, Frederick Hollander. In 1933 she and her husband fled Nazi Germany, settling in Hollywood, where he eventually wrote music for over one hundred films. Many of his songs were made famous by Marlene Dietrich. Hollander can be seen as the piano accompanist in A Foreign Affair, 1948, where he speaks a few words of dialog. He received four Academy Award nominations for composition.

Hedi began experimenting first in plaster and later in pottery, and soon became one of California's most respected manufacturers of ceramic products. She personally designed nearly all the pieces produced at the North Hollywood factory.

At her studio's height in the 1940s, Schoop employed over fifty workers and produced over 30,000 gift ware items per year, including such items as such as planters, bowls, ashtrays, candy dishes, and lamps. Sadly, a disastrous fire destroyed her factory in 1958. She chose not to rebuild, instead selling some of her molds to other local manufacturers, and began to focus instead, on painting. Schoop died in Van Nuys, California in 1995, at the age of 90.

top photo: taken by me

following photos borrowed from Google images

juice of life

Gallery of Modern Art, Clyde Singer

self- portrait

The Flower Vendor, 1935

After mentioning two of my favorite Ohio artists this week, Charles Burchfield and George Bellows, I realized I had forgotten another of my Ohio favorites, Clyde Singer (1908-1999).  I might just have to turn this subject into a series of posts.

Born in Malvern, a rural village in northeast Ohio, he worked as a sign painter's apprentice after high school, until he saved enough money to enroll in the Columbus Museum of Art School, back in the day before it was known as the Columbus College of Art and Design. In 1933, he enrolled as a scholarship student at the Art Students League, New York, where he studied for seven years with American greats such as Thomas Hart Benton, John Steuart Curry, and Richard Edward Miller. Singer's early paintings were scenes of small-town Ohio life, and later shifted focus to more urban settings, capturing contemporary scenes of the time.

Old Shopper, 1945

In 1940, Singer became assistant director at the Butler Institute of American Art in Youngstown, Ohio, and, except for military service during World War II, remained there until his death in 1999.

Stylistically, Singer is classified as a Regionalist. In his sixty-five years as an artist, he created well over 3000 works and is best known for his depictions of the American scene. I love the delightful, engaging way he depicts movement, as well as the emotion and personality of his subjects. Singer's objective was to capture what he called the "juice of life", recording everyday incidents with a gentle, satirical eye.

Wind on the Avenue, 1937
my personal favorite Singer
at my local Columbus Museum of Art
(I like to think Singer included himself on the left.)

sloppy

February Thaw, 1920, Charles Burchfield

Main Street, Salem, Winter Day, 1917

Like most in the Midwest, we've had an unusually cold, snow-laden winter. I have loved every minute; breakfasting around the fire, furry hats, fat woolly socks, steaming homemade soups and the pristine monochrome view from my frozen manor windows. Everyone seems anxious for spring, but I dread the sloppy thaw. Main Street, Salem, Winter Day, 1917, by one of my favorites, Ohio surrealist Charles Burchfield, captures this winter perfectly.

Most of Burchfield's (1893-1967) works were inspired by the rural surroundings in his hometown of Salem, in northeast Ohio, many from his own backyard. Dynamically working with watercolor, his paintings have a broad, mystic quality I absolutely adore. Burchfield is regarded as one of the key figures in early American Modernism and one of America’s masters of watercolor. I make it a habit to look for his pieces when I visit my local Columbus Museum of Art.

North Wind in March, 1960-66

Orion in December, 1959

sexy

As my regular readers already know, I have a particular fondness for stones and bones, which I attribute to the DNA inherited from my great-great grandfather, Palestine Hanna (1856-1938). Hoosier farm folk would bring him bones, and various Native American relics from miles around the tiny village of Burlington, Indiana, for his extensive collection, which he kept in a large handmade walnut cabinet.


It's our tradition to spend the Saturday after Thanksgiving at the opening of the Scott Antique Market at the Franklin County Fair grounds. This year, I was thrilled to find two racks of unmounted buck antlers, Ohio deer tags still intact. The seller was in a dickering mood, which adds to the thrill of the hunt.  I adore their incredibly sensual natural beauty.

the ambiguous realm

Guardian Spirit of the Waters, Odilon Redon, 1878, charcoal
Art Institute of Chicago

The Smiling Spider, Odilon Redon, 1881, charcoal
Musee du Louvre, Paris

Laura Zindel's wonderful ceramics bring to mind another I associate with the dark beauty of autumn, the mysterious and evocative art of Odilon Redon, pronounced "o dee lawn r'dawn", by the way, 1840-1916.

The following quote is how Redon described his own work, which is how I think we should look at most art forms, including poetry, since the meanings of works are not limited to what their artists intended. A good piece will have an impact on more than one level, and is best enjoyed by simply absorbing the layers, allowing it to inspire, not by solving it, like some kind of mathematical equation. I could go on at length on this subject, but will save it for another day, another post.

Self-Portrait, 1880, Musée d'Orsay

My drawings inspire, 

and are not to be defined. 

They place us, as does music, 

in the ambiguous realm of the undetermined.

Spirit of the Forest, Odilon Redon, 1880, charcoal and chalk
The Woodner Family collection, New York

Laura Zindel

Another aspect I love about fall, is that it's the season of dark and quirky beauty. I recently discovered the wonderful art of Laura Zindel, a Vermont ceramist, whose fabulous naturalist drawings are silkscreened and printed as enamel transwares onto her homewares. She does all manner of flora and fauna, but her favorites are beetles, snakes and spiders. Her spider dinnerware might not be everyone's cup of tea, but maybe a lovely fiddlehead  fern platter?  I think her work is amazing.

pollard willows

Pollard Willows with Setting Sun, Vincent van Gogh, 1888

Pollard Willows, Vincent van Gogh
letter sketch, October 1881

For my second offering in the "Willow in Art" series, Vincent van Gogh, in the same manner as Monet, also did a series of willow pieces. Most were done in the 1880's, inspired by the pollard willows that grew in and around Etten, the small village in the south of The Netherlands, where van Gogh started his career as an artist. I wasn't quite sure exactly what a "pollard willow" was, and after Googling, learned it was simply a willow which had been severely cut back, to promote growth. I have to admit, these poor pollard willows have definitely been hacked back. I didn't recognize them without their graceful branches, but they certainly were a marvelously quirky inspiration for the brilliant van Gogh.

Pollard Willows, Vincent van Gogh, 1889
Don't you love the textures here?

Pollard Willows, letter to Theo, August 1, 1882
(click to enlarge)

I absolutely adore hand illustrated correspondence. This particular willow piece graces a letter to Van Gogh's brother, Theo,1882. If you enjoy the art of letter writing, I highly recommend Illustrated Letters, Artists and Writers Correspond, edited by Roselyne de Ayala and Jean-Pierre Gueng, a wonderful book, with over 60 full color spreads of reproductions of delightful letters and doodles by artists and writers from the 19th and 20th centuries. I hate to think the lovely art of hand written correspondence is quickly becoming a thing of the past. It's high time to resurrect the habit before it's too late, don't you think?

Pollard Willow, Vincent van Gogh, watercolor, July 27, 1882