Month: November 2021

“We have been believers”-African-American reflection of poetry in print art: week 7, day 2 (Sunday)

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Sunday. The Christian Sabbath. Charles White was an African-American artist (prints, paintings, mixed media, 1918-1979) who was good friends with well-known African-American poet Margaret Walker. Walker published this beautiful, heart-wrenching, dignified, sad yet fiercely hopeful and determined poem in 1949. (see below) White created this print 10 years later, inspired by the poem. It feels to me a brilliant reflection of the poem, and both feel inspiring.

We have been believers (poem, 1939, Margaret Walker)

We have been believers believing in the black gods of an
          old land, believing in the secrets of the seeress and the
          magic of the charmers and the power of the devil's evil
          ones. 
 
And in the white gods of a new land we have been believers
          believing in the mercy of the masters and the beauty of
          our brothers, believing in the conjure of the humble
          and the faithful and the pure. 
 
Neither the slavers' whip nor the lynchers' rope nor the
          bayonet could kill our black belief. In our hunger we
          beheld the welcome table and in our nakedness the
          glory of a long white robe. We have been believers in
          the new Jerusalem. 
 
We have been believers feeding greedy grinning gods, like a
          Moloch demanding our sons and our daughters our
          strength and our wills and our spirits of pain. We have
          been believers, silent and stolid and stubborn and
          strong. 
 
We have been believers yielding substance for the world.
          With our hands have we fed a people and out of our
          strength have they wrung the necessities of a nation.
          Our song has filled the twilight and our hope has
          heralded the dawn. 
 
Now we stand ready for the touch of one fiery iron, for the
          cleansing breath of many molten truths, that the eyes
          of the blind may see and the ears of the deaf may hear
          and the tongues of the people be filled with living fire. 
 
Where are our gods that they leave us asleep? Surely the
          priests and the preachers and the powers will hear.
          Surely now that our hands are empty and our hearts too
          full to pray they will understand. Surely the sires of
          the people will send us a sign. 
 
We have been believers believing in our burdens and our
          demigods too long. Now the needy no longer weep and
          pray; the longsuffering arise, and our fists bleed
          against the bars with a strange insistency.

We have been believers (lithograph, 1949, Charles White)

Magic realism/surrealism–Rob Gonsalves, Escher’s “artistic descendent”: week 7

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Escher (early 20th century) is perhaps the currently best known artist for creating “impossible art”–realistic appearing scenes which involved internal inconsistencies that render them impossible in reality. Another frequent element in Escher’s work involves repeating patterns with a gradient of gradual transformation from one end of the work to the other. Rob Gonsalves (1959-2017) was a Canadian painter Acrylics and oils) who created many visually appealing impossible scenes, mostly in a particular style involving gradient perspectives which make him feel like Escher’s artistic/spiritual successor. There’s no doubt that Gonsalves’ style was heavily influenced by Escher as well as surrealists like Magritte and others.

I’m not interested in parsing definitions–Gonsalves’ work has been labeled magic realism or surrealism–so much as appreciating and enjoying his artwork. Like Escher, most of his works can be categorized into a small number of basic patterns, and within categories the intellectual side of the paintings can actually become boring after looking at a number of them. Within categories, however, the expression of these clever impossibilities varies a great deal, and even within one category there can be several different pictures that I love them.

This is all very abstract and if you haven’t seen his work, it’s probably nothing more than gobbledegook, so I encourage you to look at online collections of his work such as I link to above. As with so many of these artists I love, choosing only one picture to show is difficult , but I will undoubtedly come back to him from time to time. Here’s today’s picture:

Still Waters (1994, acrylic on canvas)

Armin Landeck, stylized and textured New York scenes: week 6, day 7 (Friday)

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Armin Landeck (1905-1984) was trained as an architect, but couldn’t find work in that field, which was print art’s gain. He was a contemporary and friend of Martin Lewis, and together with a third print artist they opened a printmaking school, which failed within a year due to the Depression. He and Lewis continued to produce exquisite prints.

In his early work, he delivered beautiful and very detailed and realistic prints, somewhat reminiscent of John Taylor Arms. He began playing with textures and more stylized portrayals of light as his art matured.

I’ve chosen two of his prints which I love. Both display the amazing texture he adopted in the later phase of his career, and Restaurant shows a little bit of his stylized light.

Narrow Street (1948, engraving and drypoint)

Restaurant (1951, engraving)

Canaletto–two views of the Grand Canal at Santa Maria della Carita: week 6, day 6 (Thursday)

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Caneletto (1697-1768) was prolific, producing many paintings of important places (especially his native Venice), as well as numerous drawings and some etchings. His paintings are incredibly detailed, technically superb, and in many cases absolutely beautiful. I showed one of his oil paintings a few weeks ago. The subject of that painting was the Grand Canal–one of the largest and most famous of Venice’s waterways, and one which he consequently painted many times in many variations– from different angles, at different times of day, and so on.

Today I am displaying two paintings of the same portion of the grand canal, at the church of Santa Maria della Carita, painted from almost the same angle. The first–entitled “Grand Canal from the Santa Maria della Carita to the Bacino San Marco”–was painted during full daylight on a pretty sunny day. There are a few shadows, painted carefully, feeling very accurate. It’s a pretty cheery scene–tourist photo or picture postcard style.

Now compare this to “The Grand Canal near Santa Maria della Carita” (very similar titles).

An overcast day, nearing sundown perhaps? The shadows here convey a vague sense of menace or sadness. It’s not just the shadows falling on the church itself (foreground right)–it’s also those on the buildings on the left bank of the canal, and the color and texture of the sky. It’s remarkable how much enjoyment I derive from looking at multiple pictures of the same scene–the pictorial equivalent of the musical variations on a theme.

Another digression from prints–East Asian ink brush painting: week 6, Tuesday (day 4)

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Long before my current fascination with prints began, I was enamored of Japanese ink brush painting (sumi-e), in a sort of desultory kind of way. I didn’t give it the same enthusiasm or intensity with which I have been lately learning about print art. One of the Japanese prints I was looking at over the weekend reminded me about ink brush painting, and I plunged into a frenzy of research, just as I have been doing with prints. Ink brush painting (also known as ink wash painting) seems to have started in China in the 7th century of the common era, and after becoming a major Chinese art form, was brought to Japan in the 14th century by Zen Buddhist monks from China. (It subsequently spread to Korea, though it never achieved the popularity there it had in China and Japan.) In China, this mode of painting was particularly associated with the intellectual upper class from whom government officials were drawn. Among this group, calligraphy and painting were almost an expectation and these artistic skills were part of how their class was distinguished from lower strata. Often, a picture had a large chunk of text calligraphed on it, and this might be a poem based on the picture, or the picture might have been inspired by the poem.

The painting technique was essentially an adaptation of Chinese calligraphy, using the same brushes and water-based ink. It is most often done in monochrome, typically black ink on white paper or on silk scrolls, though color is not unheard of (and is in fact present in today’s example). Shades of gray are created based on the degree of dilution of the ink. Unlike watercolors, once the ink is applied it is permanent and cannot be blended or moved around, which clearly influences the technique.

The commonest subject by far for ink brush paintings was landscapes, which you may have already noticed I love. Today’s painting is by Sesshu Toyo, a 15th century first-generation Japanese ink brush painter (i.e. his teacher was a Chinese artist who taught in Japan). Unlike the prints of Stow Wengenroth, the landscape is more abstract, though still very detailed. These landscapes, similar to the best print landscapes, draw me in and make me feel as if I’m in the pictured place.

As you can see, the scroll is very tall, with a significant amount of calligraphed text at the top, and then a large blank space between the text and the painting. In order to allow you to see the painting portion, I have cropped the picture below and displayed it at a larger size.

A different look at a subway (the London tube): share-a-print-a-day, week 6, Monday (Day 3)

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For print artists from New York City, the subway (as a central part of the urban experience) is a frequent subject. I showed a look at an elevated subway station by a contemporary NYC printmaker named Deann Prosia, and I will feature some subway scenes by Martin Lewis (who did quite a few) in the future. Today’s print is a multicolored screen print of a London tube station by Andy Lovell, whose work I showed early on. The print is circular, bringing out the circular shape of the train tunnels as well as of the station itself.

Edgware via Bank (multicolored silkscreen print)

Gargoyles! John Taylor Arms: Week 6, day 2 (Sunday)

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Gargoyles are carved stone grotesque figures (fantastic or mythical creatures) common in Gothic architecture, used for decoration but especially as decorative parts of a waterspout to direct rainwater away from the building. They are a common feature of Gothic cathedrals, and the tradition has continued in some more modern churches and universities as well. My alma mater is festooned with gargoyles–my attention was drawn to them when I was an undergrad and an RA who was an avid photographer was systematically documenting all the many gargoyles just on the Quad alone (the oldest dorm). Here’s one example:

John Taylor Arms, a well known American etcher from the early 20th century whose work I have show twice before, was fascinated by Gothic architecture, and did etchings of many European cathedrals, including some 10-15 of their gargoyles.

“I call it the ‘Gargoyle Series’ and it is devoted to those queer, grim grotesques, often humorous, sometimes tragic, and always entirely fascinating, which constitute such telling decorative accents on all the great Gothic buildings of France.”

His wife added “. . . they possess a strange harsh beauty of their own and are peculiarly characteristic of one aspect of the age from which they sprang. The builders of that day, spurred on by the consecrated ecstacy of religious fervor to create miracles of loveliness, were human also, and into these imaginative chimeras went such normal emotions as hate and humour, sadness and satire.”

The gargoyle and his quarry (1920, etching, Notre Dame de Paris cathedral)

The detail is exquisite; you can see how the centuries old stone of the gargoyle is pitted with age.

An unusual subject, Richard Bosman: week 6, day 1 (Saturday)

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I like landscapes, and choose a lot of them. Portrayals of bodies of water are especially pleasing to me, and seem be disproportionally represented as subjects of 2-D art vs other landscape subjects. Richard Bosman is an Australian-American artist whose work I have featured twice before (https://www.artblog.me/2021/10/09/sharing-a-print-a-day/, https://www.artblog.me/2021/10/31/waterfall-richard-bosman-again-week-4/), both of which were landscapes, of which one was a waterfall. Bosman did a lot of seascapes and other bodies of water, and did them beautifully. Today, I’ve chosen another beautiful print which is NOT a water scene. It’s a colorful print done by etching–a less common technique for multicolored prints. Love to hear opinions.

Embers (2012, etching)

African/American mothers and sons: week 5, Friday/day 7 of share-a-print-a-day

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While perusing prints online and in books looking for inspiration for today’s print, I was struck by a contrast between two pictures of maternal figures male children by two different African-American artists. I’m sharing this pair of prints today.

Elizabeth Catlett (1915-2012) was a visual artist best known for her prints, although later in life she turned to sculpture as well. She was married first to another African-American print artist (Charles White, whose work I will feature one of these days). She and her husband were both awarded a prestigious fellowship to study in Mexico, where she remained after divorcing White, because she found American art trending towards the abstract, whereas her avowed reason for creating was to transmit social messages. Most of her work was devoted to describing and commenting on the Black American experience, especially the experience of Black women. She had a distinguished career as an artist in Mexico, becoming the first female art professor at a national art school.

I have shown prints by John Biggers twice before, first a charming print of a young girl, and then a print of two Black men learning to read. Notably, he was awarded a UNESCO fellowship in the 1950s to visit Africa to learn about African culture and artistic tradition. He was profoundly influenced by this first trip (to Ghana) and several subsequent trips to Africa. He was impressed by the matriarchal nature of Ghanaian society, finding both similarities and differences to the matriarchal character of African-American culture.

On his first trip to Ghana, Biggers drew a picture of his host, art professor Patrick Hulede, together with Hulede’s mother.

Mother and Son (1959, crayon on paper)

Catlett, in 1979, created a print of a maternal figure and a child. It’s not clear if this is mother or grandmother, but the style of the hat suggests an older woman to me..

Two Generations (1979, lithograph)

Two pictures, both of a maternal figure and child: not strictly comparable, as one is adult mother and son, the other likely grandmother and young grandson, and yet I was struck by a comparison and contrast. When I look at the Catlett print, I see on the grandmother’s face weariness, uncertainty and perhaps fear in both her and the child, and what I might characterize as a contracted tone.

In contrast, what I feel in the Biggers drawing is openness, pride, and an expansive tone. Perhaps I’m reasoning backwards from my knowledge of history, but this fits with the ongoing oppression of American Blacks versus (in some parts of Africa which avoided colonial rule) a long-standing tradition of dignified self-government. Am I alone in this? I’d love to hear your reactions.