Tag: fine art

A Digression on Joy

On By kittycalashIn Uncategorized
dogleash
Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash- Albright-Knox, Buffalo, NY

I did not today have, or cause others to have, much joy. In fact, I was an actor in the kind of day that makes you want to take a second shower, get a haircut, sell your clothes, or move to another state (I considered each of these today).

No, I did not engage in any of the Deadly Sins. It was just a morning of the worst part of my job followed by an afternoon comprised in the majority of a part I don’t like, with an interlude in a smoke-filled house where I could hardly breathe. Fortunately, there was a lovely little West Highland Terrier in the house, and on my drive home I saw a small brown moppet-like dog on a leash, and smiled for the first time in hours.

This painting by Giacomo Balla is one of my favorites. It makes me laugh, my God, that’s what they look like! Watch–no, really, slow down and watch–a dog on a leash. That’s pure joy in motion, delight, movement, life.

It made me think about joy: there’s precious little of it going around, especially on a grey, gritty, dirty-snow-mound lined day when Rhode Island looks particularly poor (I was down in the residential neighborhoods by the airport). People are sad, people are worried: sequestration, budget cuts, global warming. It’s wretched, really, it is.

And then there’s the dog on the leash. From that swirling fur, I give you this:

Art still has meaning, take refuge there.

Art can be the art of dress, of dancing watched or performed; sewn or stewed, written or drawn. It can be silly, too.

I sat there for hours. It's about the lines and triangles.
St George Killing the Dragon

Growing up in Chicago, I used to slip out of school and go to the Art Institute. I loved the Thorne Rooms, St. George Killing the Dragon,  and Mao. It’s so Ferris Bueller, isn’t it? But I hated high school, and loved the museum. When all else fails, there is beauty and meaning in art. I suppose that’s why I work in a museum. Objects gave me great comfort in their objective beauty. They showed me a world beyond the quotidian mess, a world behind the curtain, beyond the physical.

I find great joy in sewing and writing: this isn’t meant to be a dirge. I had a yucky day, but a dog cheered me up. When your days are icky and sad and long, find your dog on a leash, your dragon, your bliss: art helps us see the world beyond ourselves, and, I hope, our better selves.

Light & Night

On By kittycalashIn History1 Comment
Morland: Woman Reading by a Paper-Bell Shade: YCBA

Winter’s hard for me. I don’t like the lack of light, I don’t like the shortness of the days and how the sky is pale and stretched in these months. But this is a good time to think about basic needs, like light and heat and warm clothing.

The New York Times came to my rescue this morning with the article by Holland Cotter (and others) on “Artworks That Shine in New York Museums.” Cotter is one of my favorite critics and writers, and he, along with Karen Rosenberg, Roberta Smith, and other NYT critics, have selected some interesting pieces.

De La Tour: Penitent Magdalen, MMA

Ken Johnson leads with Georges De La Tour’s Penitent Magdalen. It’s earlier than my usual era but I was attracted to the image of the flame in the mirror; it’s not just a lighting device, of course, it’s a metaphor, but the rendering of the candlelight, and the use of the mirror to boost that light, tells us about how 17th and 18th century painters saw light, and how light was manipulated. We know from our simple experiments at work that mirrors really do amplify light, and that large stately rooms would only glitter with lots of candles and lots of mirrors. Light gives us a window on economy and wealth, as a precious commodity that cost money or labor to have.

Vermeer: Mistress and Maid, The Frick
Vermeer: Mistress and Maid, The Frick

Cotter looks at Vermeer’s Mistress and Maid at the Frick, and notes the lack of obvious natural light or other light sources, and the overall dark mood of the scene. But Cotter’s writing shines, as he concludes the little essay: Whatever Vermeer’s anxious thoughts, light stayed on his mind. It scintillates in the pearls the woman wears in her hair and shines in the butter-yellow silk of her jacket. And the blacked-out space the women occupy turns out to have sunlit windows after all. We see them reflected in glassware on the writing table as tiny lozenges of light, far in the distance, as if at the end of a tunnel, but there.

Writing like that is its own kind of light, a joy to have in the daily newspaper on a cold, short day. In all, four critics look at five paintings each from a range of cultures and time periods. It’s enough to make one want to hop a train south.