Olympian Moments in Art

Every four years, the globe celebrates the boundaries that divide it into countries by uniting as one spirit  to glorify the collective we call the human race. It is a marvelous and captivating time which has most of us spectators glued to some form of medium to share this message of unity.

To be honest, it is all about triumph: where winning is the measurement of device: the fastest are measured in milliseconds; perfection is measured by decimal points; the strongest are measured in milligrams; distance is measured by millimeters; and, splash is measured in milliliters.

Victory is determined in fractions. Execution is calculated in years.

These athletes spend their entire lives preparing for the game, the routine, the race, the lift, the shot, the dive. Every waking moment, whether physically, psychologically, or mentally they are preparing, practicing, pondering, dreaming, imagining that they are standing on the top of the podium in the throne of the gods.

It is hard not to be caught up in their dominion. Even as a spectator we feel a part of their achievement.

Olympian moments in art are no different, although most certainly, not the same.

Years upon years might be dedicated to a cycle, a suite, a series and even the documentation or catalogue raisonne to an artist’s particular oeuvre.

March Chagall dedicated a total of twenty five years working on the one hundred five etchings of the Bible Series. Although his dedication was at times intermittent, a quarter of a century was dedicated to the Bible, which Chagall felt was, “the finest piece of poetry every written“.

In fact, Meyer Schapiro, the great art historian said, “If we had nothing of Chagall but his Bible, he would be for us a great modern artist.”

Pablo Picasso, as an octogenarian, completed the three hundred forty seven etching of the 347 Series in a mere seven months. From March 16th to October 5th of 1968, just five years before his death, Picasso displayed his technical grasp in the medium of etching by averaging almost thirteen etchings per week!

The great Dutch artist, Rembrandt, took almost seven years to complete his (greatest) drypoint etching, Christ Healing the Sick also known as The Hundred Guilder, which he completed in 1649.

Christopher White, who wrote a consummate two volume catalogue raisonne on Rembrandt,  Rembrandt’s Etchings. An Illustrated Critical Catalogue said this etching was the “apotheosis of Rembrandt’s activity in etching…”

Albrecht Durer, the progenitor of graphic art in Western civilization started the sixteen woodcuts of the Apocalypse series during his first bachelor journey to Italy in 1494-5 and published them a mere three years later in 1498 (at the tender age of twenty seven).

Adam von Bartsch, curator of the Albertina in Vienna worked tirelessly until his death and spent his last eighteen years to complete his catalogue raisonne of the Italian and Northern school of engraver-painters in no less than twenty-one volumes.

Daniel Wildenstein spent over thirty years compiling his four volume opus of Claude Monet’s oeuvre of original work.

Christian and Yvonne Zervos began cataloguing Picasso’s unique work in 1932 and it was finished posthumously in 1970. The catalogue raisonne encompasses thirty-three volumes.

Frits Lugt is but another Olympian. He not only compiled a catalogue raisonne dedicated to collector’s stamps throughout history (1921) he also worked on a supplement to his original work which he published in 1956. In total, this man spent fifty-seven years of his life dedicated to researching collectors’ stamps throughout history.

The same heart and dedication is shared whether one is an athlete, artist or scholar; because, what they have is immeasurable. They all deserve to exist on the throne of the gods.

Art history is no different. It is full of Olympian moments.

The Art of Passion

I tend to be neglectful when I am in the middle of translating a new document. Whether it is an article or a blog, whether it is journalism or a diary, both are consuming in their own way and one would like to think that what we are reporting or sharing is worth the time of the reader.

This document I am translating is devoted to the nineteen engravings from the Saints and Apostles by Albrecht Durer (which I hope to finish through weekend). I do not know much about the Apostles and I know very little about being a Saint.

With that being said, I am translating the German language, from the catalogue raisonne by Joseph Meder, which I do not pretend to fully understand, for an artist like Albrecht Durer who I pretend I do fully understand.

But let us make no make mistake about it, being a far better enthusiast than a scholar, I am driven more by passion than expertise.

Under normal circumstances that might bother me, but some of the greatest documents in art history were gleaned by individuals like Walter Strauss (Founder of Alibris books), who I was told was at one time a toy manufacturer and became a luminary on Durer; or, Frits Lugt, who became a man of means by marriage and was content documenting collectors’ stamps and evolved into a leading authority on Rembrandt.

In the art world, these are names that are far more than just footnotes in art history; and, I am not saying I am on the same playing field as these individuals. In fact, I do not profess to even be in the same arena. But, I am saying I understand their passion. It is innate. Visceral. Autonomic.

It is no different than breathing (and I love breathing) or my beating heart. Without ever thinking about either, I just breathe it. This is how I feel about sharing this passion.

In short, I simply love it without ever having to think about how much I love art itself or sharing this passion.

It might be because I am not an artist. Or, in a previous life I was a pencil or a copper plate. I don’t know.

In as much, Carl Jung was right! He said, “A great work of art is like a dream; for all its apparent obviousness it does not explain itself and it is never unequivocal.”

I cannot explain myself either, but my passion is undeniable.

Thanks for listening.

Original Sun

It is the father of kinetic art, Yaacov Agam, who traces our artistic roots back to the Old Testament. “I shall set a bow in the sky and it shall serve as a sign of the covenant between Me and earth.” (Genesis 9:13)

The rainbow is not only the first work of art; but, more importantly, it stands for the bond between the heavens and earth.  And, as long we preserve and honor this connection we shall always be on a path of creative renewal.

We can dismiss the whole concept by eclipsing it with the scientific view of sunlight double refracting off  moisture and water droplets at different frequencies and angles; or, we can embrace poetic license  and just enjoy its shear beauty and acknowledge the biblical interpretation.

Albrecht Durer maintains “That the artist is chosen by God to fulfill his commands…” and this is one command that I will consent to wholeheartedly.

Original Sin might have to do with the fall of man in Gan Eden, but in my mind it is just as great a sin to forget the bond between the heavens and earth that forged the world of art which was given to us by Original Sun.

It is just a thought.

Some Of Us Are Doer’s, Some Of Us Are Durer’s

I believe it was Thomas Paine, the great american statesman who said, “I am a far better religionist than a religious person“.

Quite a poetic disclaimer.

It is no different than saying, I could be a politician as long as I did not have to be political; or, I could be a clown as long as I did not have to wear make-up; or, as for myself, I could be an artist as long as I did not have to be artistic.

Dear God, I love art. Yet, I do not have an artistic bone in my body. I might understand the golden section, perspective, foreshortening, disciplines, movements and its beauty, but I will never be able to allow my hands to follow what my eyes see. Like music, I might be able to read the notes, but I will never be able to play the music.

I often marvel at the absolute precision of the engraving by Albrecht Durer of Adam and Eve (1504) with its marvelous mixture of realism and symbolism.

Then, I often give myself indigestion when I think about drawing it myself. In fact, you might consider taking something for your stomach before you look.

Anyway, some of us are meant to be enthusiasts and some of us are meant to be artists. I will always be of the former.

I am a doer by passion and I will never be a Durer by artistic acumen; and, I am content with my position in my appreciation.

 

 

The Art of Collecting: A Spectator Sport

Much as been written about the art of collecting through the centuries; and, the one thing that remains constant throughout it all is that there is no one formula which we all can agree on.

There is no algorithm of what the right artwork is to collect, nor what the wrong artwork is to not to collect. There is no algebraic equation. There is no cancelling of units. It is at best a heuristic approach based on one thing and one thing alone: and that is appeal.

Georges Braque, aptly conveyed that, “There is only one valuable thing in art: the thing you cannot explain.”

In essence, this value is found only in the eye of the beholder.

During the nineteenth century, about forty years before the birth of the Monsieur Braque, there lived a brilliant linear artist and critic by the name of John Ruskin.

In his famous discourse, entitled, “Modern Painters“, this is what he wrote: “I do not say therefore that the art is greatest which gives the most pleasure, because perhaps there is some art whose end is to teach and not to please. I do not say the art is greatest which teaches the most, because perhaps there is some art whose end it is to please and not teach. I do not say the art is greatest which imitates best, because perhaps there is some art whose end is to create and not imitate. But I say that the art is the greatest which conveys to the mind of the spectator, by any means whatsoever, the greatest number of the greatest ideas…If this then be the definition of great art, that of a great artist naturally follows. He is the greatest artist who has embodied, in the sum of his works, the greatest number of the greatest ideas.”

As for myself, I believe that you know you have mastered the art of collecting, as you dole out your payments and check you bank account and you feel richer for it.

You have become the consummate spectator and, for whatever your reasons for collecting, there is no feeling like it when you enter this arena!

The Genius of Originality

Sigmund Freud once said that, “…artistic talent is still a psychological riddle”.

I have often thought about what it is that differentiates a master from an artist: those individuals who are written into history as an experience and not just a by-product of it.

I believe that talent is not a mark of genius or creativity; nor,  is creativity a mark of talent or genius; nor, do I think that genius is a mark of creativity or talent. (Sorry for the lesson in Boolean algebra.)

Creativity, genius and talent are all a mark of originality. And originality is a discipline to a style that
inherently becomes one’s own.

Originality becomes a recognizable trademark of the master so even if we, the audience, have never seen this particular piece of art before, we are still able to identify it with that particular artist.

A woodcut or engraving by Albrecht Durer is identifiable by his use of eliptical-linear lines adding a three dimensional aspect and his off-center perspective (the golden section). Although accomplished, both  Schongauer and Goltzius are different in appearance.

The etchings and drypoints of Rembrandt are unmistakeable because of his impossibly-rich burr and meticulous use of cross-hatching which enhanced his use of chiarscuro. Whether the print is a Biblical scene, a portrait, a landscape, an allegory or any other genre, his print oevure is distinct.

Miro employed his playful use of his biomorphs.

Chagall had his reocurring motifs of floating lovers, farm animals with human eyes, fiddlers on roofs.

Picasso utilized his multi-dimensional perspective of cubism.

Goya wielded his burin in satirical renderings of the elite.

These artists distinguished themselves by their brilliance which is not a measure of watts but wit. They have separated themselves not just because they are remembered over time, but in tomes.

These artists have distinguished themselves by being original.

That is the genius of their art!

Dissecting Melancholia

Beyond the rhetoric and debate of one of the most allegorical moments in art, or anywhere else, for that matter, is Albrecht Durer’s meaning behind his 16th century engraving, Melancholia 1.

For over ten generations since its creation in 1514, philosophers, adepts, theorists and enthusiasts have been engaged in sophistry concerning the intent of Albrecht Durer.

Some believe Melancholia 1 concerns itself with humankind’s quest to inspirit itself, waiting for a spark no different than Archimedes “eureka” experience. Others believe it addresses our technological disability to solve the age old question “what is the meaning of life.” And that no matter how advanced our technology evolves it will never be able to answer such heady questions.

As for myself, aside from the intrinsic intricacies of the engraving, I believe Albrecht Durer knew exactly what he was doing: to evoke, at the very least, a cerebral debate that would act as the proverbial “revolving door” for future generations to come.

It is the very nature of not knowing that delights us.

Robert Burton said it best in his treatise, Anatomy of Melancholy, when he wrote:

“Tis no disparagement to be a stranger
or so irksome to be an exile,
the rain is a stranger to the earth,
rivers to the sea,
Jupiter in Egypt,
and the sun to us all.
The soul is an alien to the body,
a nightingale to the air,
a swallow
in a house,
and Ganymede in heaven,
an elephant in Rome,
a phoenix in India.
And such things commonly please us best
which are most strange and come from
farthest off.”

That, quite simply, is Melancholia 1: it comes “from farthest off”.