Things are looking OK now, but we’ve had some serious outages for the past couple of days. If you tried to log on and failed, the problem is not with your computer, it’s with our server. The fix-it hamsters say things are so fixed, now! (We have our doubts. That’s just the way we roll.)
American painting: related links
Today, the New York Times has a short item: Thomas Moran’s landscape “Green River of Wyoming†sold on Wednesday for $17.73 million at a Christie’s sale of American art in New York. This doubled the previous auction record for an American 19th century painting (previously held by John Singer Sargent’s “Robert Louis Stevenson and His Wife,†$8.8 million, Sotheby’s, 2004). This would have been a matter of almost no consequence to me, even though I would have described Moran’s landscapes generally as “yummy” or “pretty cool” or even “sweet” if pressed. I look at some Morans (not this one, exactly) and I’m immediately transported back to the woods of Natty Bumpo and J.F. Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales, which occupied me for a summer when I was a kid. (But that’s another story.)
Back to the auction. As I said, no consequence to me, except that I had just read another, much longer magazine story, by Ann E. Berman in Art+Auction on artinfo.com, about the difficulty collectors and museums were having locating and purchasing paintings by the iconic American painters. What’s the problem? There were few American painters (compared to Europeans), most of the best work was absorbed by museums in the 1990s, and wealthy American collectors are hungry for American art. Berman makes this case pretty convincingly and “predicted” the record-breaking sale of the Moran painting.
I would even have shrugged past this, though, except for one line in Berman’s story from collector James Dicke: “A few decades ago we would have walked right by artists like the Japanese-influenced Arts & Crafts–era painter Arthur Wesley Dow and snowscape specialist Walter Launt Palmer. But now people are taking another look,†Dicke says. “There is also new interest in regional artists.â€
Now, we’re getting closer to home. And a series of questions popped up: what regional artists? what region? employing what styles? from what time period? And finally: what about the Northwest? I’ve always thought the Bay Area painters of the 1950s, working out ways to combine figurative and abstract styles, were “undervalued,” not necessarily at auction (though they probably have been), but by the “culture,” as represented by museums and curators and book publishers — David Park, Richard Diebenkorn, Elmer Bischoff, Joan Brown, etc. (There is a good book on this era, Bay Area Figurative Art 1950-1965 by Caroline A. Jones.) And, of course, the Northwest School, which is really the Seattle School — Tobey, Callahan, Graves. A collector could do far worse than turn her attention to these artists. And if she did, that might have larger importance than paintings and cash simply changing hands, namely, scholarship, books, exhibitions, television shows, feature films. Well, maybe not the last two.
Regional artists. The Third Tier. Or is it the Fourth Tier? Ridiculous really, to think in these terms. It’s hard to think of our mythical New York collector making her way to Portland to be shown the work of CS Price, the Runquist brothers, Amanda Snyder. And she’d be hard-pressed to come by a major Price painting, I think (maybe I’m wrong). The Morrises, Russo and Haley, Bunce, Wilson. In the past couple of months there have been shows of older work by Oregon artists at two Portland galleries. There weren’t a lot of red dots. There’s almost no scholarship. Very few exhibitions, let alone publications. And that’s why that line caught my imagination: Because I can imagine a world in which the name Hilda Morris instantly evokes images of her sculpture (and Sumi paintings), poetic descriptions, argument about sources and relative merits — and the need to see them. We need to see them — and dream them, place them, learn from them. We just do.
Scatter recommends: Tove Jansson’s “The Summer Book”
Scatter remembers hauling teenage boys to Tower Records Monday midnights to get Tuesday CD releases that went on sale at 12:01. We feel the same sense of anticipation describing Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book ($14, 184 pages), published today by NYRB Classics. We held back recommending a midnight raid on your local bookshop, but in the clear light of day, on the cusp of our own summer, we believe you should find it and read it, now!
Jansson, a Swedish-speaking Finn, is famous in Europe for her creation of a series of comic strips and children’s books about the Moomins, a family of hippo-looking creatures who inhabit a Nordic twilight of midsummer magic. (One of Jansson’s Moomins books is called Moominsummer Madness.)
In The Summer Book, published originally in 1972, she steps back from fairy tale to tell a story based on her adventures living several summers with a niece on a small granite island floating “like a drifting leaf†among other islands in the Gulf of Finland. It’s as if the Moomins turned about to write a mythic tale of humans. We hesitate to say it’s not a children’s story. Children might like it, but it’s really an adult’s story, reminding us what it is like to be a child and wonder why adults are so dumb.
Continue reading Scatter recommends: Tove Jansson’s “The Summer Book”
Fun, by the numbers
We all love random numbers, don’t we? Maybe not truly “random” (otherwise I would just have to type 197,328 and you’d start guffawing, perhaps because each consecutive number pair adds up to 10 or something), but numbers connected to “reality” in one way or another. I have had periods of thinking the Harper’s Index was just about the highest form of genius possible to American letters. That’s crazy, but… if you start looking for them, even in arts stories in respectable journals, you see a lot of words around islands of numbers. Because we all love to quantify, don’t we?
Here are some recent quantifications, most courtesy of ArtsJournal:
119.9 — Million dollars. Amount Russian Roman Abramovich paid for two paintings, by Lucian Freud and Francis Bacon, at Sotheby’s. His girlfriend, heiress Dasha Zhukova, is opening a new gallery in Moscow, according to the Arts Newspaper, which also sussed out Abramovich as the buyer. Abramovich was worth $18.7 billion in 2007, according to Forbes — a fortune built from the privatization of various pieces of the Soviet economy, notably oil. He also owns the Chelsea football club in the English Premier League. This irritates just about all Brit football fans.
1 — Rank of Noam Chomsky in Prospect magazine’s list of top 100 public intellectuals as voted on by readers. Umberto Eco was 2. Good for Noam: No one has tilted at windmills quite like he has.
16 — Percent of U.S. science teachers who are creationists, per NewScientist. The same study revealed that the amount of time biology teachers (creationist or not) are devoting to evolution is often miniscule. We spend a lot on science and math education in this country, but so little of it is about anything that matters — evolution, the incompleteness theorem, relativity, uncertainty principle, my craving for cheesedogs, etc.
40,000 — Number of books, some dating to the 17th century, that may be lost in a fire in the architecture building at the Delft University of Technology in The Netherlands. Efforts are underway to preserve as many of the books as possible, which are in a low-rise building next to the building that caught fire. Some numbers are very difficult for Art Scatter to process.
Nell Warren: late night thoughts
Nell Warren’s paintings at PDX Contemporary Art have been on my mind all weekend. “Quandaries†they are called. I’ve played with that notion, echoing the word in the “quaint†look the paintings have or the “boundary” Warren blurs between abstraction and representation. My doubt not about if I like them but why. In her artist’s statement, Warren says her work reflects a “delicate balance of serendipity and intent.” That captures perfectly the chance and causal links in my own reaction to the paintings.
I love things that stir the flat-line horizon of deep memory, thoughts triggering long lost impressions, crowding words and images in such a press you’re barely able to see them in the gloaming and wave before they’re gone.
I say they are landscapes but I know that word doesn’t do them justice. On the one hand, they remind me of J.R.R. Tolkien’s illustrated maps of Middle-earth. They have a lazy, rolling, bucolic feel; a cartoonish quality even, at first glance. I thought of Smurfs! On the other hand, I might claim they’re abstracts, except how then explain what can only be a meandering river, pulling the eye switchback-like across the painting. No matter; as ambiguous and as contrived as they seem when you study them closely, they pull you in.
Continue reading Nell Warren: late night thoughts
Saturday scatter update
Does Art Scatter exist? Not, I-post-therefore-I-am exist, exactly, but “exist” as in having an “integrated personality”? I didn’t think so. We don’t think so. Whatever. But if we did, you know, have an identity, a consciousness we could train at will on the world at large, like a great searchlight or the Eye of Sauron in Lord of the Rings, what would it be seeking? If we were a wiretap what would we be recording? What info would we pressuring or snitches to reveal? See? It’s a lucky thing we aren’t Art Focus or something like that. We’d be part of the Apparatus, too.
1. The proto-scatter man Lloyd Reynolds (1902-1978) changed life in Portland for good and all. Bob Hicks, our own proto-scatter man, encounters the polymath in an excellent (if we DO say so) Oregonian story. The story sets up Welcome to the Scriptorium, an exhibition and remembrance of the calligrapher (and so much more) at the First Unitarian Church (SW 12th and Salmon) at 3 p.m. Sunday. Details at the Oregon Cultural Heritage Commission site. Cheers, OCHC!
2. One of the speakers at the Reynolds event will be Margot Voorhies Thompson, who is showing recent paintings, drawings, fiber work and sculpture at the Laura Russo Gallery. As Mr. Hicks suggests, Thompson started studying with Reynolds when she was 14, and calligraphy has informed her art from the beginning. This is a glib way of saying that when she makes a mark it’s an aware mark. You can see for yourself. And we may well be talking about things alphabetical in future posts.
3. Our thoughts are still with Chris Rauschenberg on the passing of his father earlier this week. We recommend a visit to Blue Sky Gallery, to which Rauschenbergs father and son have committed vast time and resources. You’ll find Stephen Berkman’s photographic and sculptural play with pre-chemical photographic processes, a description that can’t begin to explain how weird the show is. Yikes!
4. Once inside Blue Sky you’ll stumble into the embedded Nine Gallery, which features an installation by Paul Sutinen. Port’s Jeff Jahn has a fine description of Sutinen’s work, which manages to be simple, poetic and thought-provoking all at the same time.
5. While you’re out gallery-popping? Judy Cooke at Elizabeth Leach and Nell Warren at PDX Gallery caught the Eye — Cooke for her sustained, intense intelligence and Warren for her dreamy whimsy.
6. Stop!
The high price of art, the cost of keeping up with it
Maybe a dozen years ago, when I was filling in for a few months for the art critic at the daily newspaper that was my bread and margarine, I decided it was a good idea to print the prices of the works of art being discussed in reviews of gallery shows. Seemed reasonable at the time. Why shouldn’t the paper give its readers an idea of whether that new painting by Gregory Grenon, say, was going for $1,800 or $18,000? Why not let the working-two-jobs-to-make-ends-meet art fan know that if she really liked that piece by the brand-new art school grad, she could pick it up for $250 instead of assuming it was going to be swooped up by some dot-com turk because it was out of her price range?
The response around me in my corner of the newsroom was unison and aghast. It amounted to this: Art is for art’s sake. Money has nothing to do with intrinsic value (I wasn’t arguing that it did). To discuss price is to taint the critical process (all I wanted to do was list the prices in the information box). Besides, money is, well, you know, tawdry. I quickly scotched the idea, and pretty much forgot about it: No smudge of commerce would taint the culture pages, where truth and beauty are all you need to know.
So why is it so damned fascinating to read about the high-roller art auctions at Christie’s and Sotheby’s? The latest report comes from Carol Vogel in the New York Times, and the frenzied buying seems to indicate that, while working-class saps are getting kicked in the rear by the recession, the big spenders are spending, well, big. Real big. Like there’s no tomorrow big. “The market is defying gravity,” Vogel quotes financier and collector Eli Broad.
Follow the money, everyone says, to which you can add, Follow the art — it’s following the money. To Japan in the 1980s, to Las Vegas and the marketing and advertising whizzes of London in the 1990s, to the culture-cloaking Wal-Mart matrons in the ’00s. And to just about anybody who’s cashed in on the biggest upward transfer of wealth since the days of the 19th century Robber Barons (who actually seem a bit like pikers compared to the new bunch of sudden zillionaires).
Continue reading The high price of art, the cost of keeping up with it
Must-see TV, really, I must
End of the work week, the daily trudge home, the brain dull and the eyes glazed. Time for some TV! And some of America’s finest television is available, just over the cable, no iTunes or websites or DVDs necessary. TV, the way Apollo intended it! Apollo, god of prophecy (not to mention health, music and poetry, and salty snacks). Apollo, speak through this vehicle, this Toshiba, not flatbellied (er, screened) with muscular definition, no, but prepared to absorb your Delphic pronouncements.
Speak, Apollo. Let’s see: the last bit of “My Name is Earl” and then “The Office” vs. “Grey’s Anatomy.” We can watch both, no problem, and even bits of “BloodRayne” on the SciFi channel. Hey! Ben Kingsley, vampires and thus blood, swordplay, provocative costuming, hilarious dialog. Is that Meat Loaf? Yes, it is. Oh no, not Geraldine Chaplin… but alas, yes again. And Michelle Rodriguez, who used to be in “Lost.” Perfect. Because “Lost” follows “Grey’s Anatomy,” and during commercials “ER” still hangs in there, verily concluding its 14th season, and who should show up on that episode but Stanley Tucci and Steve Buscemi. There is a LOT of acting talent available to us tonight, but Buscemi’s going to triumph over all comers — from Steve Carell to Ben Kinglsey. Even Meat Loaf doesn’t stand a chance. Steve Buscemi has channeled Apollo: He chooses, he suffers, the Mob wants him dead. He does his duty. He gets under our skin.
Time for a commercial. Don’t touch that remote!
Continue reading Must-see TV, really, I must
Forget about it Jake, it’s a Rauschenberg
My first sense of the modern is in what Roger Shattuck said about Marcel Duchamp: “Can one produce works that are not works of art? He tried; we wouldn’t allow it.â€
One might say of Robert Rauschenberg: “Can one throw out something that is pure junk? We tried; he wouldn’t allow it.â€
My second sense of the modern is in Rauschenberg’s famous early work, Erased de Kooning Drawing (1953). Which is exactly that: He talked Willem de Kooning into giving him a drawing to erase. He wanted to start with a drawing that was “a hundred percent art,†which he thought his own might not be. De Kooning gave him something hard, a heavy-lined piece drawn with grease pencil, ink and crayon. It took Rauschenberg a month and forty erasers, but he finished his un-drawing. (Calvin Tomkins, Off the Wall: Robert Rauschenberg and the Art World)
Continue reading Forget about it Jake, it’s a Rauschenberg
A moment for Robert Rauschenberg
The Robert Rauschenberg appreciations have begun to proliferate (Michael Kimmelman’s obit is excellent; D.K. Row’s account provides a Portland dimension), and it seems appropriate to write something about him and not because I knew him or have special insights into his work. I don’t. It’s just that it’s difficult to imagine the last part of the 20th century without him in it. He always seemed so contemporary, ahead of the cultural curve, always seeming smarter in retrospect, once I had a chance to catch up to him. I suppose I’ve always thought of him as the closest thing we have to Duchamp, without the chess but more productive, more curious, more open, more American. So maybe not Duchamp at all, though they both were determined to push life and art together as closely as they could. There was enjoyment involved, actual enjoyment (and I think of Duchamp as merely amused). I don’t know his son Chris, who lives in Portland, especially well, but that’s the impression that I get from him, too. The capacity to enjoy life, to enjoy the creative experience. When we are creating, we are at the center of things: Rauschenberg was always creating, was always at the center of things. My reaction to his work usually unfolded as a series of questions: what is it? what is it saying? why is it important? how did he think of that? And the strange thing is, I could go through the same set of questions multiple times about the same work of art. Which I suppose is just another way of saying that as “alive” as I always thought Rauschenberg was, he doesn’t have to be alive to pose the most puzzling and most important questions. But still…