Showing posts with label John Singer Sargent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Singer Sargent. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

The Fabulous Flat



Being an architect, and having spent an inordinate amount of time being a professional purveyor of 3 dimensional illusions, the following post might seem odd…



I just stumbled across the drawing above in my files. It is from a July 2012 Wall Street Journal review of a Gustav Klimt exhibit at the Getty Center. It fascinated me then, and does now; but why? It is simple to the point of being crude. The face is nearly invisible, and the black clothing dominates without informing. It isn’t particularly beautiful, or balanced, or even entertaining. But it still speaks to me.
The answer, on reflection, is the creative tension between the flat surface and the three dimensional illusion. Yes, there isn’t much 3 dimension to go with here, but between the shape of the black dress and hat, and the suggested face, it is a complete likeness.




Klimt was quite capable of creating a three dimensional illusion on paper or canvas, but he was fascinated by the flat, graphic qualities of church icons. The contrast between stylized illusion and flat sheets of gold foil was a new and exciting idea in the established (dare I say dull) world of Beaux Arts painting, with its emphasis on the illusion of three dimensions. 




The result (Portrait of Fritza Riedler, 1906) is striking. It is a realistic portrait, but the overall effect is abstract; like a designer’s material board with a color photograph of a woman pasted in.  




Now, this of course was not the first time that serious artists had used flat expanses of color. Rembrandt left many paintings unfinished. His Portrait of the Artist’s Son Titus leaves the background as a dark scrumb, and rendered the body with a few brush strokes over an undifferentiated brown base. This however, was not a revolt against three dimensionality, but a short cut in an artistic experiment.  




Pierre de Valenciennes was a landscape painter of some skill in the late 16th century. His Villa Farnese - Two Poplar Trees features a flat blue sky along with flat shapes for the walls of the villa. But it is an exception to his usual painting style, so I wouldn’t call him a precursor in any way.




With the high point of the Beaux-Art influence came the birth of artistic protests. Berthe Morisot With a Bouquet of Violets by Edouard Manet (1872) is a surprising match for Klimt’s drawing above. The black of the hat and dress are barely modeled, the background is largely blank, but the face is realistic. And, the effect is created on purpose.




Self Portrait by James Whistler, at about the same time, is also flat by design. In this case the painting calls to mind Rembrandt’s hurried brushwork. The idea was to elicit the sense of reality while being blatantly two dimensional.




On the other hand, The Cowboy by Frederick Remington (1902), is a purposeful use of flat color to set off the well modeled horse and cowboy. And there are plenty of other paintings by Remington which use the same trick.




Sargent, about whom I have already posted, used a similar technique in Reconnoitering (1911).




It was natural that illustrators latched onto the idea of flat color. Reproduction of color art was in its infancy a hundred years ago, and blocks of solid color were easier to reproduce. This magazine cover is by Cole Phillips.




And, the game of optical illusion could catch eyes and sell magazines. This cover is by Valentine Sandberg.




As with all stylistic developments (or fashions), Architects copied the look in their renderings. Frank Lloyd Wright seemingly could not resist a new look; and this shows in this rendering of Ravine Bluffs Bridge (1915).




Cyril A.Farey was the most famous English architectural illustrator in the early 1900s. His rendering of the House at Silver End (Thomas S. Tait, architect) combines the naturally flat tones of a moonlit view with the realistic detail he was otherwise known for. 




I have occasionally played this game myself. A night view such as that above can include flat gray skies and dark silhouettes. I never loved oil pastel for finished renderings, but it works if you want to play around with a vague idea.




A computer rendering, with its detailed shade, shadow and reflection is often improved with a little simplicity. The extreme intricacy of this design by Hardy Holzman Pfieffer was eventually simplified even more by eliminating color entirely.




I have done quite a few montage boards in my career. Flat expanses of color are perfect surfaces for adding plans and elevations, even if there is some gradation. In this board the sky and street provide the background, but a vignette rendering can have plans or elevations surrounding the building on all sides.
Just as an unadorned wall is a good foil for ornament, a flat surface can emphasize and highlight a 3D illusion. In the “old days” I had to rough out the possible shapes on a pastel sketch, and usually had little time to make a decision. Today, with computer files you can try out dozens of shapes and colors in no time. Don’t be afraid to play with it; the results are worth it. 









Postscript (in regard to simple and complex): I attended a performance of the Ensemble Organum and Christos Chalkias last weekend in the Fuentiduena Chapel, at the Cloisters in New York City. It was a celebration of Saint Nicholas in Byzantine chants. What struck me was the contrast between the simple background drone and the extremely complex chanting of the text. The one without the other would have been boring, but together they kept my attention. Indeed, there were times when the effect was mesmerizingly beautiful.

Monday, October 27, 2014

At the Galleries



I’ve been very busy with personal business, but I had the chance to visit the Brooklyn Museum and the Metropolitan Museum in New York City.



I concentrated on European and American paintings from 1800 to the advent of modernism (about 1925). Many paintings were simply competent, such as View of the Colosseum and the Arch of Constantine from the Palatine by Charles Remond (above), but others were magic. Because the paintings were so accessible, the artist’s technique was quite visible. Details, brushstrokes, and the effects of impasto were observable – things that can’t be easily seen in even good photos.


For instance, this portrait from the Brooklyn Museum shows where the warm underpainting was left visible, creating a lively dialog between the hair and the background, an effect recalling the coloring of the face itself.
The most fascinating result of seeing these paintings in person is the interaction of reality and abstraction. Across the room a painting may look much like a photograph, but on close inspection it is a seemingly random array of paint daubs.


Arques-la-Bataille by John H. Twachtman, is a hazy view over a lake…


….but on close inspection blurred brushstrokes and sharp lines reveal the artist’s hand.


John Singer Sargent was a master of illusion. Here is a small section of his painting, Alpine Pool. It seems a pleasant scrum of warm and cool colors; nothing more.


Stepping back we are surprised by a shimmering pool.


From across the room it is a brilliantly real reality.


A Morning Snow: Hudson River by George Bellows is not a favorite of mine, and Bellows is a little too sloppy for me.


It is, however, interesting to see the awkward strokes that build up to a recognizable scene.


Winslow Homer’s Campfire is also not a favorite, but…


…his depiction of the fire with opaque strokes, smudges and scratched sparks is impressive.


Dancers Practicing at the Barre by Edgar Degas is a daring compositional experiment with broad, dry strokes…


…which contrast with the subtle detailing of the dancers.



Sargent’s Bringing Down Marble from the Quarries to Carrara  features his frustratingly facile abstractions…


…that lead to a remarkable illusion of reality.


In contrast with Sargent, In the Laboratory by Henry Alexander, is excruciatingly detailed.


But, the meticulous brushwork is there to see, and admire.


The Ameya by Robert Blum is a near life-sized portrait of a dancer.


In spite of the large scale, the artist has modeled the dress with a very loose style and simple palette.


Willard Metcalf’s The North Country is a bucolic view of a New England town and river.


His loose and unfinished handling of the paint leaves the untreated canvas showing.


 
 It is a tribute to the power of the impressionistic approach.


Late Afternoon, New York, Winter by Frederick Childe Hassam is, like Metcalf’s painting, impressionistic.


The overall effect is a believable reality, but the detailed view is wild paint and texture.


Joseph Mallord William Turner has been a favorite artist of mine since middle school. Whalers presents the loose, almost abstract style that he had developed by 1845. That’s 1845! A good 30 years before Impressionism got started!


A closer view only increases the sense of the modern.


And, just to remind you where Turner came from, his painting from 1811, Saltash with the Water Ferrry, Cornwall, is an example of the realism, composition and atmosphere he was able to produce when required in his youth.


Frederic Remington’s On the Southern Plains, is again, a balance between representation and reality.


The “daubs” of paint are vigorous, but surprisingly simple (a trait of genius).


Now WHAT the hell is this?!!


Actually, it’s a detail from Repose by John White Alexander, from 1895. Fascinating what they were doing in those days.


On the other hand (and 30 years earlier), Storm in the Rocky Mountains by Albert Bierstadt is dramatic and highly composed, but also…


…relentlessly detailed. It was the equivalent of a blockbuster movie in those days; detail was what the paying public was looking for, and he gave them at least a dozen complete pictures in this one canvas.


Another painting by Alexander, Study in Black and Green plays the game of “is the girl really there or is it just paint”.


Looking away from the face and shoulders, it is strictly paint and abstraction.


Tissot on the other hand, tells a story which is lavish with detail.


His painting entitled Tea is a good example of this (the far faded background excluded).


Still Life, Fish by William Merritt Chase is another tour-de-force example of reality produced by abstract strokes of paint.


The subtlety of coloring is quite astounding in this painting, especially when standing right in front of it.


Turner ‘s Venice, from the Porch of Madonna della Salute, shows another aspect of his developing career. The view is less a rendering of reality, then an experiment in color contrast.


His willingness to dissolve the line between stone steps and water is quite courageous for the time.


The Wyndham Sisters,  Lady Elcho, Mrs Adeane and Mrs Tennant by Sargent seems a typical group portrait of the time (1899).


Moving in, you begin to read the white of the dresses and sofa as a single statement.


Closer still, and the area becomes a swirl of shapes and colors.


And finally, abstraction and gesture take over!


Thomas Eakins was known for painstaking preparation and execution. His 1876 painting, The Chess Players is a good example of this.


Although only the size of two pages of typing paper, this painting is crammed with exquisite detail.


And, even though a detailed perspective layout preceded the painting, much of the potential detail has been hidden in the handling of the dark polished wood. Eakins deserves a separate post sometime.


Also featured on the museum tour were small sketches and studies. These two sketches by Degas (above and below) are not the best photos, but they still show the quick economic work that sketching should be.


Painting clouds (as you may know) is a sometime hobby of mine. These cloud studies (Distant Storm above, and Early Evening below) by Simon Denis are very small and show the same quick economy as the Degas above.



Similarly, the study of Catania and Mount Etna by Edward Lear was done quickly on site, perhaps for use in a later studio painting.


Stoke-by-Nayland by John Constable is a very early (1810) nature study. His realistic landscapes were an outgrowth of his small landscape studies.


Study of a Female Nude by Henri Lehmann is a very small oil ‘sketch’ recalling the representation vs abstraction theme that I began this post with. I include it here as a perfect example of circular composition. Just squint your eyes, and you’ll see a swirl of light with her breast providing the center point.


As a contrast to Lehmann’s painting, here is Degas with Woman Drying her Foot, a similar nude in a similar pose, but producing a very dynamic pinwheel shape.


Another small painting, Ponte San Rocco and Waterfalls, Tivoli by Francois Marius Granet, uses an arch to frame the view.


The Arch of Constantine Seen from the Colosseum by Lancelot Theodore Turpin de Crisse does the same thing. Don’t blame de Crisse for copying Granet; it’s a good idea, and worth stealing!


A Section of the Via Sacra, Rome (Church of Saints Cosmas and Damian) by Christoffer Wilhelm Eckersberg looks pretty pedestrian, and is. But I kept coming back to it because of the entertaining collage of warm colors, each of a different tone and shape. I don’t quite know how to categorize it, but it made me smile.


The Palace of Donn'Anna, Naples by Jules Coignet is a charming “L” composition. It’s another “I don’t know what I love about this, but I do” painting.


OK… I know exactly why I’m including this one. In spite of the tiny size and rough handling of the paint, it perfectly captures the lighting of the room. It is, by the way, The Artist's Sitting Room in Ritterstrasse by Adolph Menzel.


The Shepherdess of Rolleboise by Daniel Ridgway Knight is a bit too “studio” and “Bouguereau” for me. But the depiction of the landscape and background is a testament to his powers of observation.


Uprooted Tree at Olevano Romano by Antoine Xavier Gabriel de Gazeau is another small but masterly sketch. The exploding "star"composition and brushwork is especially impressive in person.


View over Hallingdal by Johan Christian Dahl is simply the archetype of a “serpentine” composition.


And so I come to the end of my museum tour. It was exciting, but eventually tiring (I must be getting old).


This final image (above) is a fragment of a wonderful painting of a street somewhere in the orient. Unfortunately I didn’t note the name of the painting or the artist. If you recognize it please drop me a line with the info.
And, happy muse-ing to you all!