Pop Goes the Artist!

Friday afternoon I went downtown to visit the National Portrait Gallery and the Smithsonian American Art Museum, two museums conveniently housed in the same building. My intention was to find a nice portrait bust and sketch it, but that didn’t pan out. There were a lot of nice portrait busts, but none of them was located anywhere near a bench. So I took photos instead. Some of the nicer ones are below the fold.

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Today I finally saw the Ansel Adams exhibit at the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, and it was everything I dreamed it would be. I’m not a huge fan of the Corcoran’s permanent collection (maybe just because I have to pay to see it), but they always do great special exhibitions. This was no exception.

“No matter how sophisticated you may be, a large granite mountain cannot be denied–it speaks in silence to the very core of your being.”

I don’t know much about photography, but I do know that Ansel Adams (1902 - 1984) is a phenomenal photographer. If you’re trying to argue for photography as a fine art rather than a craft, then Adams is the photographer to turn to for proof: hundreds of beautiful photos and not a snapshot among them. He has a gift for capturing atmosphere and infinite space on a two-dimensional surface, and an equal ability to turn the seemingly random arrangements of nature into unified compositions that any painter would envy. The difference is, a painter, even if he is working from life, can rearrange elements freely, while a photographer can only work with what is already there. Adams had a brilliant eye for finding a focal point in an overwhelming panorama.

“Sometimes I do get to places just when God’s ready to have somebody click the shutter.”

The exhibit itself, which closes on January 27, incorporated a number of more “unusual” Adams images, including still lifes, portraits, and architectural and cityscapes alongside his iconic photographs of Yosemite and the American West. It provided a broader view of Adams’ portfolio and proved his magnificent artistic range. In fact, prior to seeing this exhibition, I didn’t know just how much non-landscape photography he did.

“Some photographers take reality…and impose the domination of their own thought and spirit. Others come before reality more tenderly and a photograph to them is an instrument of love and revelation.”

I was sorely tempted to buy the show catalog (when am I not?), but it was expensive and I have to pay my hosting bill this month. Luckily, I can console myself with one of the books I got for Christmas, Ansel Adams: 400 Photographs. Yes, it is as beautiful as it sounds, if overwhelming. It’s mostly landscapes, arranged by period and location, with a few other types of photo for variety. So maybe the show catalog would have be redundant anyway.

“A great photograph is one that fully expresses what one feels, in the deepest sense, about what is being photographed.”

(All Ansel Adams quotations from ThinkExist.com. Images pictured: The Tetons and the Snake River, 1942 (source) and Aspens, Northern New Mexico, 1958 (source). They’re two of my favorite Adams photographs.)

A few days ago, I went to see the Edward Hopper exhibit at the National Gallery of Art. All exaggeration aside, it was the best art exhibit I have seen in years. I actually went through it twice, because once was not enough.

Before this exhibit, I liked Hopper’s work, but not with the enthusiasm that I reserve for, say, van Gogh. Seeing his work in person, however, moved him into my “top five.” I don’t know why there is such a difference between seeing a photograph of a painting and see the painting in person, but there is. The painting is usually bigger, of course. The colors are brighter and clearer. You can see how the texture of the paper or canvas gives another dimension to the texture of the brush strokes. But somehow that doesn’t adequately explain the difference in the emotional experience. I look at a photo of a Hopper painting and think “lonely,” but standing in front of one, even in the midst of a crowd of people, I feel lonely.

(Although, in fairness, Hopper himself said that “the loneliness thing is overdone.” So maybe I just see what I want to see. But I can’t be the only one.)

Emotions aside, I was also impressed by Hopper’s style and choice of subject matter. I love the strong geometry of the buildings, and his ability to paint an object with just detail enough. He makes frequent and striking use of strong contrasts between light and dark, which I love. His colors are rich and often just shy of realism, which goes a long way towards establishing a mood.

Most importantly for me, the exhibit changed the way I looked at the city. As I walked through D.C. after seeing the exhibit, I saw the buildings differently. Not just the “important” buildings, but the odd corners, the fire escapes and the apartment balconies. I know nothing about architecture, and it frankly doesn’t interest me in itself, but as a subject for painting, I’ve begun to see it in a new light. That’s something.

The exhibit closes tomorrow, but if you’re in the D.C. area today, run, don’t walk, to the National Gallery and brave the crowds. This exhibit is worth it.

Images pictured: “Cape Cod Morning” (source) and “Morning Sun” (source).

I finished the altered book page for the concert, but (story of my life) was unable to get a good photograph of it, since it was midnight and I was in my basement. At the moment, the book is with James, since it technically belongs to him anyway, but next time I have it I’ll get a better picture. I did not add a page for the dance, since I just couldn’t come up with any sort of compelling design. I can always add one later, but I don’t think it’s hugely important.

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On Friday, I went down to DC to visit two museums. I went to the Corcoran Gallery first, to see the Joan of Arc exhibit, which, interestingly, is co-curated by one of the art history professors at my school, with whom I’ll be taking a class next semester. It was an interesting exhibit which traced the “image” of Joan from not long after her death in 1431 through at least World War II. Overall, it was more of a history exhibit than an art exhibit, since opinion of Joan (especially in France) has always been closely tied to the political climate. Her image has been used on everything from American war bond advertisements to letter openers to paper dolls, as well as in a variety of fine art, including a series of incredible paintings by Louis-Maurice Boutet de Monvel. It’s unusual to see an exhibit that spans such a broad historical and artist range while remaining intensely focused on a very specific theme. It’s definitely worth seeing if you’re interested either in Joan of Arc or the way history and politics can alter the way we see historical figures. (The exhibit runs through January 21.)

After a lunch break, I went to the Sackler Gallery to see “In the Beginning: Bibles Before the Year 1000.” The exhibit turned out to be extremely popular–I had to wait in line for an hour to get in, since they (wisely) restricted the number of people in the exhibit at any time. (It probably didn’t help that the exhibit closes on January 7.) Nevertheless, it was well worth the wait. It included fragments and manuscripts written in Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Coptic, and more. One relatively late manuscript from Northern England was written in Latin, but contained marginal notes in Old English. It’s absolutely mind-blowing that such fragile materials have survived more than a millenium, through persecutions, wars, natural disasters, and all manner of social, religious, and political upheavals. One of the oldest fragments of papyrus on display (from, I believe, the second century AD) was found in a garbage dump. Talk about beating the odds.  The exhibit was spectacular, but I suddenly find myself with no words left in my fingers.  If you’re in the area, and you have a free afternoon between now and Sunday, go to the Sackler Gallery and see those fascinating bits of paper.

While I was at the National Gallery of Art the other day to see the “Prayers and Portraits” exhibit, I also had to stop by the galleries containing pieces from the museum’s late medieval collection. I prefer earlier medieval art to later, but what I love most of all is medieval sculpture. Something about the rounded, simple, and slightly stylized forms captivates me. The NGA doesn’t have a huge collection of medieval sculpture (probably about ten pieces on display), but by far my favorite piece is the one pictured here, a fifteenth century English rendition of St. George slaying the dragon, carved in alabaster and painted. I love the way the curves of the dragon’s tail fit beneath the belly of the horse and the way the curve of the horse’s neck matches the curve of the dragon’s. It’s a compact and elegant piece, despite the broken pieces. Even though it represents a scene of action, there’s a certain stillness about it that I find very attractive.

The statue on the right is from a medieval museum in Paris. I don’t remember which museum, however, or even what it’s a statue of (monk? mourner?) because I lost the small notebook in which I wrote down all the info about titles and artists and museums. (And no, I still have not renamed and sorted and Internet photo album-ed all the photos I took. Whoops.) Anyway, I do remember that this particular statue was pretty small–maybe six inches high. I was struck again by that gorgeous stillness, which in the case of this piece is due largely to its symmetry. I’d love to know the context for this piece, because I doubt it was meant to be seen all by itself.

And finally, my favorite piece of medieval art ever: Ye Olde Medieval Towel Bar. I am not making this up: the lovely lady pictured on the left is, in fact, a towel bar. From the Middle Ages. I saw this gem in the same museum as the monk above and was captivated. I mean, of all the things you expect to be preserved for six centuries, a towel bar would be near the bottom of the list. It’s an interesting glimpse into everyday life. And it makes me giggle. A lot.

(All photographs are my own.  You can click the thumbnails to open them larger and in a new window.)