Rothko, Rothko Chapel (1971)

How have I gone this many blog posts and not talked about Rothko? An artist that was probably the first to really create a piece that completely astounded me in it's simplicity yet profoundness. But alas, that work is for another post.

This post is about the Rothko Chapel in Houston Texas, and although I listed the date as 1971 it should be noted that Rothko committed suicide in 1970, so actually wasn't alive to see his work come to fruition. 

Mark Rothko, Rothko Chapel (completed 1971)
Oil on canvas

So what is this supposed 'chapel'? It was initially planned to be a Roman Catholic chapel in the first three years of development, and we can see that in both Rothko's works and in the design of the building itself. Rothko created some of the paintings in the form of triptychs, which are works that are divided into three, either in sections or by panels that are hinged together (which is often seen in classical religious works). The octagonal room is also a common architectural choice in Byzantine Churches. However, although it may have started out in a Roman Catholic way, it's now described as 'non-denominational', which basically means it's not affiliated with any religious groups or faiths. In that way, it's an open ground for all and any religions, an equal footing for all who wish to make journey out there.

I think the choice of Houston, Texas, as a place for a chapel is extremely interesting. I mean at this time, New York was the happening place to be in terms of culture and art. Why choose a place so far away from this audience? What would drive Rothko to seek an audience so unlike that which he had previously encountered? I've done some reading into it, and I'm still not too convinced on many of the arguments offered. Some say it's like a 'pilgrimage' for those who wanted to see his art, but I don't know. Maybe Rothko wanted to separate his work geographically from the booming art in New York and create something separate, away from any sort of artist or commercial competitiveness. I'm really not sure.

Rothko made 14 canvases in total for the chapel, with many being made by his assisstants under his supervision. Does this take away from the art? That it was not his hand that created it? Again, I'm not sure. It's something I'm torn about, is it the hand or the mind that makes the art? So many implications with either argument.

I haven't visited the chapel, but it's on my bucket list. Just look at those looming pieces, I can never figure out if they're comforting or terrifying. They make me want to smile and they make me want to start weeping. Not really crying, weeping is the closest I can come to it, almost a mourning.

On one hand they they're this place of silence, a place of meditation. A place to thoughts and inner peace, to find contentment and happiness within yourself. I feel a sense of satisfaction with this, almost like it's a warm blanket I can wrap around myself and just lose myself in. Somewhere to unravel lifes complexities, the deepest thoughts and emotions. It this description sounds emotionally intense, it's because it's meant to be. It's where you can be by yourself and meditate, find peace and happiness.

But then I can also see another side. Those looming hues are a void, the absolute lack of anything. Emptiness. Nothing. Bare. Hopelessness. It's devoid of any hope, like the inevitability of an end and everything that an end brings with it. Maybe it's the realization that ignorance is not bliss, that we must accept an end, or the possibility of everything being meaningless.

Are they really separate concepts? Happiness and hopelessness? Or are they just two sides of the same coin? I love Rothko because of this very reason, using such simplicity to bring out such intense emotions and thoughts. It's a place of equal footing for every religion maybe because we all need to tackle the same issues, regardless of background.

My brain hurts. Is ignorance bliss in regards of such deep thoughts? Ignore it and maybe it'll go away? I'm going to take my hot water bottle and curl up in bed. See if it works for the night.

McCahon, Scared (1976)

Exam period, a perfect time to get my art musings going instead of cramming my head full of chemical equations. I love them both, but in different ways.

On another note, I'm probably not going to be writing any more music or album posts anymore. I've just been thinking about it over the past couple weeks, and I just find it so much harder to describe music than I do art. Not that I feel less or more, but it's simple different and harder to do so on a written blog. I think I'll keep to the visual arts, which I'm fine with. I mean unless there's a huge uproar among the few people that follow this blog, that's the road I'll travel down.




Colin McCahon, Scared (1976)
Acrylic on paper
730 mm x 1095 mm

 

Colin McCahon. A name that's probably familiar to anyone who knows about the New Zealand art scene, but you're forgiven if you aren't aware of his work. I didn't until I really began studying New Zealand art, or maybe I'd just been blind to the art scene before I really started looking. Regardless, McCahon has produced some of the most raw pieces I've ever come across.

Scared. A piece I haven't had the pleasure of seeing in person, but it moved me the moment I set my eyes upon it. Even now I find myself wistfully looking at it, feeling all these emotions well up, not sure how many of them are McCahon's and how many are mine. McCahon was an alcoholic and struggled with depression, and it's apparent in this painting, it translates so rawly to me.

 

I am scared. I STAND UP.

 

The words of someone struggling, been beaten into submission and is trying to find their footing. Like a man being swept out to sea, drowning beneath the waves, trying to keep his head above the water. This painting has 6 simple words in it. But they speak immeasurable volumes.

This man is admitting he's scared, quite a feat in itself. The word scared is also in this sketchy writing, almost like there's some attempt to obscure the fact, some hesitance at admitting it. I don't think it's a fear of admittance to the audience, I don't think such a personal piece was written with an audience in mind, I think it's fear of admitting it to himself, almost as if doing so would make the fear more real.

Then there's this aggressive line right underneath it. Almost no wavering, no pauses to get more paint, like he couldn't let the fear just hang there. He had to give it an ending, a point at which he wouldn't let it continue.

Then in capital letters, I STAND UP. This defiant statement in full capitals, a vocal claim of enough's enough. He's not letting this fear take over him, he's finally taking a stand against it. It's a rebellion against this primal emotion, he won't let it conquer him.

Then looking at this white border that starts in the bottom half of the painting, this light in the darkness, it invades his statement of fear. Just the acknowledgment of fear and the rebellion against it has somehow dispelled some of it. A streak of hope in the former darkness of anxiety, doubt, worry, uncertainty and internal panic. Then some specks here and there. Is it the light slowly showing the first signs of piercing through the darkness, or is it the sign of a man in haste, who has hands that work slower than his mind is racing.

When I look at this painting, I feel an upwelling of tears. Emotional, I know, but I damn well can't help it. And I still can't figure out if they're tears of shared fear or triumph, it's these fluctuating emotions I can't pin down. One moment I'll feel this shared feeling of rejection and being downtrodden, and then it'll morph into this angry defiance. Or maybe it's my sympathy of this man who's suffering so much, so damn much, and who's finally come to this moment of clarity, of acknowledgment. He should be rewarded for his courage, yet he still cannot find refuge from this internal struggle.

It's such a poignant piece to me, something that I find is so relatable. Some people may just see six words scrawled on a page. I know I do. But I also see all this emotion, angst, fear, uncertainty and defiance in it too. What it is to one person will not be the same to another, and that's the beauty of so many of McCahon's works. I encourage you to look his website, his collections are just captivating. I found myself getting lost in them, an hour flew by like a minute while I was trying to find one to write about. I know that his work will come up again here, he's just too important and beautiful of an artist to ignore or only acknowledge once.

Six words. But more. So much damn more.

Michelangelo, Pietà (1498-9)



Long time no see. University, social life, work, all that jazz has kept me away. Anyways apologies, and on with the show.

My first sculpture post, and one about from a very famous artist. Michelangelo, a name that is most famously tied to the Sistine Chapel, although he would have wanted to be known more as a sculptor than a painter. I don't blame him. Don't get me wrong, I love the Sistine Chapel, especially the contrasts in style with the ceiling and the back wall (hopefully that can be another post, file that away in my head), but Michelangelo's sculptures are pieces that truly move me and leave me in awe.



Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Pietà (1498-9)
Marble
174 cm × 195 cm

Pietà (Italian for pity) is the perfect example of this, pure beauty in marble form. It shows the moment when Jesus is taken down from the cross and is laying in the Virgin Mary, his mother's, arms. In this depiction he is almost tumbling out of her lap, splayed forward so we can see his curved marble form. This is emphasized by the Virgin's left hand, which seems to be presenting Jesus to the audience. This isn't an uncommon motif, the presentation of Jesus after his crucifixion. It's an important foundation to the church, blame for the death of Jesus on us, the viewers, the mortals that spilled his blood. Look at this perfect form, look at how you tainted it, she seems to say. It gives a sense of obligation on the viewer, guilt that we can relieve through attending church, among other things.
At the same time, look at how flawless Jesus is portrayed. After a brutal torture and a crucifixion, his body seems almost untouched, hardly a scar to show the ordeal that he has been through. It seems that Michelangelo has decided not to emphasize the harshness of his death and mutilation, but on the sense of the spiritual side of Jesus' ascension. It's not a chaotic piece with emotions overwhelming the subject, instead it's calm and almost relaxing despite the context of the subject matter. We can see this reflected in the composition of the sculpture, with Mary's body creating a stable triangle on which everything is laid out for us, a stable form to handle the body of Jesus.
Not only is Jesus portrayed flawlessly, but so is Mary. She does not look like the mother of a 30 year old man, but a young woman. She is not in the realm of petty aging, she too is ethereal to us, look at her beauty. She is the embodiment of purity. She's also proportionally huge in comparison to Jesus, imagine if her large form stood up and how small his body would seem. It all seems to add into this otherwordly feel of ascension, not of mutilation and torture.
Although these things are beautiful to me, it's not personally the winning point to this sculpture. To me, I cannot get enough of the sweeping drapery. With those solid marble yet soft folds, it's like I could easily get lost in them all day, my eyes blissfully wandering. I don't know what it is about marble folds that just get me, but Michelangelo just gets me with it. The only other artist that I can name off the top of my head that evokes this fascination in folds is Bernini. It's such a perfect effect to me.
This sculpture is not one of death, but of heavenly ascension. It's a stunning piece, and to me, Michelangelo nailed it.
 

Imagine Dragons, Continued Silenced EP (2012)






I've been focusing a lot on paintings, I think it's because it's only very rarely I find an album or an artist that I really want to share and write about. And I don't really research much about bands before I write about them (then again, neither about paintings, but I think I have a bit more background knowledge on them), so I can only write about how I feel about their songs more than anything else. Then again, I always love listening to the artist while I write about them, so much easier to convey my thoughts (although it still may not be very well explained). Have to love my unnecessary rambling.



Continued Silence EP, Imagine Dragons (2012)

Imagine Dragons are a band I stumbled across through a movie trailer, something with Bradley Cooper being a writer or something... Anyways, there was this enthusiastic song in the background, a feel good track, and as soon as I stumbled across Imagine Dragons I was sold. The song selection is a bit limited, they are a fairly new band, but they are very quickly gaining attention. I mean for their EP they've been featured in a lot of trailers yet (The Perks of being a Wallflower included).

Radioactive, the first track, had a beat that's so addictive it'll stick in your head all day. It's like a perfect mix between a catchy beat, collective chorus and vocals, among the perfect instrumentals. There's a quiet start before the beat just the beat just rocks in, stealing the show.  I just absolutely love it. There's a revolutionary and camaraderie sense to the song, "this is it, the apocalypse" and "welcome to the new age," almost like being part of an underground movement. It just manages to burrow into your head and reappear at the strangest moments during the day.

The only other song I'll talk about is On Top of the World, which is probably in my top 3 songs that make me happy no matter how crappy I'm feeling. It just absolutely bursts with a upbeat tune,  optimistic lyrics and a cute little clapping beat in the background. "I'm on the top world, been dreaming of this since a child". I'm always swaying and bopping along to it in an almost idiotic fashion on own and I don't give a damn, it's impossible to stay sad when listening to this. That's a challenge right there! The vocalist is just perfect, it's like being in a private sanctuary by yourself but also knowing that thousands around the world probably have the same brother-in-arms feeling that you're having right now. That sounds way too much like the military for me, but I can't really explain it anymore without sounding like an old school hippie.

I'm not going to describe each song, they just evoke all these optimistic feelings in me, I always feel humbled to the world when coming away from their tracks. Imagine Dragons come with the highest recommendation from me, a band I'll be following very closely at in the future.

Feininger, Gelmeroda III (1913)

Oh wow, it's been a while. To be honest, doing night shifts have really destroyed me and my energy levels to do anything else. Well that and my general laziness. I'll try to do a lot more of these the next couple days, an attempt to make up for all the posts I kept reminding myself to make but never actually did. I've actually had this post in my drafts for about a month, I just didn't get around to actually properly writing it.

Lyonel Feininger, Gelmeroda III (1913)
Oil on canvas
100.50 x 80.00 cm

Another Degas to Dali discovery, and I had no knowledge of this work before I laid eyes on it. To be honest, the subject was not immediately clear to me and it still isn't the first thing I see when I look at it, this is a prime example to me of seeing something completely different to what I think the artist intended.
What I see is a dystopia, a run down and drizzly place, crowded by looming buildings. The cubism style that Feininger has adopted is harsh, with sharp contrasts between light and dark to define the lines. This harshness adds to this bleak atmosphere I get. It's oppressive, like a giant hand pressing on my chest when I look at it.
What's interesting to me is that it was painted as a quiet church scene in a cubism style. It's like this quiet image and the desolate society that I created around it in my head. It's really cool though, because my vision and that of Feininger seem to shift when I stare at the work. One moment it's this rainy, gloomy statement about oppressive governments, the next it's a quiant church.
It's not that I have to choose between my view of the subject or the painters intentions while painting it, both are different but right. There's this oscillation when I look at it, it's always morphing and shifting. To me, this is the perfect example of the differences in the artist and audience view of the work. It differs from person to person... Or is it I just take an abstract view to paintings? I don't care, I like the work either way.

Dali, Tête Raphaëlesque éclatée (1951)

I promised myself to try write everyday... Great idea, a lot harder to implement in reality than it sounds in theory, especially so close to my semester 1 exams. So now I'm not trying for everyday, but hopefully a couple times a week. On the bright side, I went to the Degas to Dali exhibition at the Auckland Art Gallery again, a great mix of modern art with Matisse, van Gogh and even a Warhol, an artist I'd actually never seen before. But one Dali was absolutely beautiful, and I knew I had to write about it.



Salvador Dali, Tête Raphaëlesque éclatée (1951)
Oil on canvas
43.20 x 33.10 cm

Known as Tête Raphaëlesque éclatée, but for those of us can't speak so exotically, she's known as Exploding Raphaelesque Head. Quite descriptive and quite accurate if you ask me. The influence I could immediately pick up was the famous Italian painter Raphael, and I don't say that from the title. I literally saw this work from across the gallery floor, and I immediately knew it was based off of Raphael. My second thought was, knowing it wasn't a Raphael, how skillful the artist was, this distorted and fragmented head yes still such a recognizable interest. I had a quick search of Madonna's that Raphael painted, and while I can't find the exact posing, this work is probably the closest I'll get to the real thing. Raphael painted a series of these Madonna's in various poses with Jesus and John the Baptist, and Dali has hit the nail on the head. Her carefully tilted face, looking down in maternal warmth even when the babies aren't present while there's this grace, this humbleness to her. Her head also resembles the Pantheon, a temple with a large dome that's got a large oculus and Dali probably did this in homage to Raphael, who's buried here. But the oculus also gives this ethereal feeling in combination with the lightly sketched halo. She has this inner light from a heavenly place, an inner wisdom that is from something higher than us, she truly has reached the status of a Virgin Saint.

But this is where the classical influences really end, as the most obvious feature is the fluctuating and almost fluid fragments that make up her head. Dali describes it best, there's this inner explosion and although they may be held together by some sort of other wordly gravity, they're disintegrating. This is one moment in time, but who knows wether she will still be with us in the next. The date is significant in this context, 1951. Dali has had to live through World War I, World War II and the horrific bombings of Ngasaki and Hiroshima by the first atomic bombs (I just had to google that to make sure I had spelt it right, and the images that came up were terrifying). Dali has to be feeling some disillusionment, some questions over what history has presented him. This shattered world, fractured, divided. Destruction, everywhere. Perhaps this is why he painted such a distorted image of such a beautiful subject.

Another contemporary development of the time to mention was the atomic bomb, which has undoubtedly influenced him. Although there's this inner explosion, it isn't one of rubble and shrapnel but one of this shimmering fluidity. The scientific revelations (or horrors, whichever way there is to look at it) was not lost on Dali, who kept up with scientific readings of the time and was surely aware of atomic theory and what it could bring. He had witnessed it's horrors only six years earlier.

You can also see the faint sketchings of vertebrae just to the right of her neck, a light inkling of the rest of her body. It adds a certain grace in my opinion, I don't know what it is but I just love the beauty of the spine. One other point to mention is the half recognizable wheelbarrow in the bottom left, a wavering image of what it once was. This to me is a small modern twist to an otherwise modern main subject, perhaps signalling the destruction of such ordinary things that the atomic bomb can bring.

I've always loved the Surrealists in their own way, and I have held admiration for Dali and all his innovations but this work... It has got to be in my top 3, if not, my favourite work of all time. This absolute clash and mix of beauty and destruction, heaven and hell, enlightenment and destruction, terror and calm, dream and reality, old and new... What is not to love about this painting. I think this is Dali's masterpiece, and even though it's been painted over 50 years ago, it resonates with me. It makes me wonder about if we've really progressed from the terror of what's happened. I sat there in a gallery and looked at it, and it all just melted away, even if just for a second. I was in this other world with her and it was all so certain and uncertain. So fragile, like any little tilt would make it all fall away.

She's so beautiful...

Picasso, Guernica (1937)

Pablo Picasso, Guernica (1937)
Oil on canvas
349 cm × 776 cm

Another Picasso so soon, I couldn't help myself. This is probably my favourite work by him, and it's probably his most famous, it's just been playing on my mind a lot lately. I think a lot of people don't like Picasso because what they see when they look at his pieces (much like this) is a stage of chaos and disorganization, when really, everything has carefully been planned.

This scene is depicting the bombing of the Spanish town Guernica by Italian and German planes during the Spanish Civil War. It's important because it's the first time that in aviation that planes specifically targeted a defenceless civilian town, recognized mostly as an act of terrorism. I mean look at how Picasso has depicted it, he certainly caught the terror. There's never really been a universally accepted interpretation of this painting, it's all about how you interpret it.

The main focus to me is the horse in the center, in a silent scream of agony with its side wounded. A bull sits just to the left of this, it's tail reminiscent of fire. A man lies dead on the bottom of the work, but interestingly is his left hand, which bears stigmata marks like those of Jesus. Is Picasso trying to paint these men as martyrs? However there seems to be a bit of hope too, in the right hand of this fallen man is a sprouting flower, perhaps this represents the chance of life springing from the destruction. The most eerie calm comes from above though, the 'eye' that has a lightbulb in its centre. The bombs. The cause of the destruction. Like an all knowing being in the sky, this symbolism is so calm but terrifying at the same time.
The most disturbing part personally for me in this work is the mother and child in the left hand side. The child is limp in her arms, lifeless. She screams in agony, a vocal manifestation of her loss, shrill and chilling yet silent. It's the horrifying reality of the situation, not just adults but innocent children who suffer to. It breaks my heart to look at the couple.
The writhing yet static mass of figures that interlock are haunting, Picasso has truly created a masterpiece here. I haven't even begun to cover all the symbolism and figures, it's so personal but the message is always the same. War is wrong. Simple, cliche, but effective all the same. It seems like Picasso has taken all the war statistics that we hear everyday and created a visual representation of the people that are lost.
These are not numbers. They are not names on a page. They are not the headlines of a newspaper. The victims in our history books.
They are people. Defenceless people. The individuals who suffer, and still suffer to this day, because people higher up in society cannot settle petty differences. How dare we not mourn the loss of them. How dare we overlook them. I can hear Picasso say, look at them. Look at their faces. Look at their pain, their loss, their death. Just simple, look.
It's a beautiful piece, in the most haunting and terrifying way imaginable.