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Don’t hit me…just give me a hint. In a  previous posting I wrote:

When I'm in a gallery, I read the artist's statement. I welcome the comments of the gallery person and usually gain insight into the work.  Often there's a conversation which makes the gallery experience more enriching and memorable.  When I'm at a museum, I read the captions or rent the earphones to listen to the curator's commentary.  None of this prevents me from responding in my own way.

However, after viewing the Jasper Johns exhibit at the Broad Museum in Los Angeles, I reconsidered. Or, rather felt the need to clarify my previous thoughts. 

I downloaded the Broad app on my phone, so I would have an audio guide to the exhibit.  The exhibit was dense, huge, and well-curated.  It was also over-explained, in my opinion, in the audio guide. The salient points were lost in the lengthy, repetitious, and exalting commentary. I found myself listening more than looking.  I should have spent more time viewing the pieces that interested me, rather than listening to the entirety of the curatorial comments. I wanted to enjoy, rather than be annoyed.  

Here are just three examples of narration that irritated me. 

• First, I got lost in trying to understand the discussion of what color really means. “By presenting the names of the colors, to stand for the colors, was something innovative in painting.  So it makes you think well, what is color? Is it the word ‘red”, is that red? Or do you have to see the color red?” I was sidetracked by all of this and failed to fully appreciate the loose painting and stenciled numbers and letters in Johns’ work.

• Second, the narrator’s comments regarding Johns’ bronze Flashlight III increased my disdain for this particular piece: “It’s made of bronze, glass, aluminum paint.  But even though we read it’s a flashlight-it’s the right size for a flashlight, the right shape for a flashlight-what it absolutely isn’t (pause) is a flashlight.” 

• Third, later in the exhibit, the curator marvels at the significance of Johns’ studio being at his home. According to her, this fact indicates a continuity between his life and his art. My skepticism negatively impacted my reaction to the paintings in that section of the exhibit.

Of course, after registering annoyance, I was later compelled to think about my responses. 

• In the first example, above, I felt that either the experts were mining for meaning or that they were unable to satisfactorily and succinctly communicate the meaning. I am more comfortable with my own explanation.  Johns was simply expressing his wit and utilizing his talent. 
• As for the flashlight which is not a flashlight…can’t a representation of an ordinary object simply shed light on the object? All non-abstract artists appropriate and interpret the world around them. However most landscape artists, for example, do not attempt to elevate their work by contemplating the reality of a mountain. Or a molehill, for that matter. 
• Finally, It seems rediculous to measure the continuity between an artist’s life and his art with a literal yard stick. In fact, there is nothing profound to be gleaned from the fact that Johns’ studio was at his residence. An artist’s studio is interesting simply  because we can better understand his practice, personal habits, and work environment. 

So, next time I visit an exhibition, I will take the hint. Not the hit. What about you?

Beauty and the feast. My feed on Facebook is filled with art and food.  I “like” some, skip some, and click on some.  One of the links I recently pursued was an article about Thomas Keller’s food.  I’m a fan. The article shared eight art and design concepts that Thomas Keller considers in his food presentation. His dishes are truly a feast for the eyes. 

1. Make it a hero
2. Frame your courses
3. Create a focal point
4. Follow the food’s natural shapes
5. Create subtle contrasts
6. Use geometric shapes to add contrast
7. Create a sense of rhythm
8. Unify with a color scheme

As I was reading the article, I became increasingly interested in the art part. After all, art ought to be as artistic as food. Right? So, next time I go to my easel or to a gallery I will think about these principals. They will be used as my artist checklist and as my viewer appreciation guide.  I will remember that paintings should be curated and hung so they can be viewed individually without distraction.  The frame should be customized to enhance the individual artwork. When looking at a painting, my eye should immediately be drawn to a dramatic spot. Contrast in line, texture, size, and shape add interest. Rhythm, color, and repetition provide cohesiveness. 

Peas and Carrots

Next time I go to my kitchen, I might throw on a garnish or two. However, I will not make a serious attempt to turn my food into art. I’ll leave that to Thomas Keller and the professionals. 

My bad. I did something obnoxious…I used my cell phone in a movie theater.  I used it to take pictures and to take notes. Why? So I could adequately share the movie Final Portrait with you.

The movie is about writer James Lord’s (played by Armie Hammer) 1964 experience posing for a portrait by Alberto Giacometti (played by Geoffrey Rush). The film does not have a dramatic beginning or ending, just like the portrait being portrayed.  So, no need for spoiler alerts. Both the film and the painting are a process, an experience, and a meditation on conflict.  

Although Giacometti promises that the portrait will take only three or four hours, he spends several weeks painting the subject.  Each session is short, requiring James to return again and again.  Each session abruptly ends with doubt, an outburst, an interruption, or a distraction. While he is not painting, Giacometti is living his emotional, turbulent, and self-centered life. And through it all, he makes thought-provoking, paradoxical statements.

In the movie, Giacometti states at the first session that painting a portrait is “meaningless and impossible.” He further expresses his sense of futility saying, “I just want to show how things appear to me but I’m unable to do that.”

At a later session, Giacometti reveals grave doubt in his ability to paint the portrait. James points out that he has earned great critical success. The artist replies, “What’s a better breeding ground for doubt than success?”

After James has sat for innumerable sessions and witnessed slow progress, Giacometti dishearteningly claims that there is “no question of a portrait being finished.”

When the portrait begins to take shape, Giacometti baffles James and proclaims that the portrait has “gone too far and at the same time not far enough.”

Then he acts upon his doubt and whites out most of the face, saying “sometimes doing can only be done by the undoing.”

Finally, the portrait is completed…or not.

As a portrait painter I took this all in as if I were watching Giacometti rather than a dramatization. As I paint a portrait, my feelings range from smug satisfaction to utter disappointment and, hopefully, to acceptance. Unlike Giacometti, I do not burden my model with these emotions. And, unlike Giacometti, I keep my promise to paint a portrait in three or four hours.  Not bad.