Visual Culture: Art is Everywhere

Though I've yet to see a single episode of Dexter, it is next on my list of shows to stream while procrastinating which is why I stopped to read an article concerning this gritty Showtime series about a vigilante serial killer. I then interrupted my process of pre-procrastinating by becoming enraptured by the article's banner pic and began writing this article. Thus we are in the fourth dimension of procrastination here where space and time bend so far backward that you actually feel like you might be getting some work done.

Anyway, my internal dialogue upon noticing Dexter's promo poster (top right) went something like this: "He's holding his chin in his hand rather confrontationally. Wait a minute, that's not his hand; that hand is dead. Ew, gross he's holding his face with some dead guy's hand. Oh dear, he probably killed that guy. Dexter thinks he's God or something. OH MY GOSH IT'S COURBET!"

That last leap may have been a bit far for non-art historians so allow me to explain. In 1845-46 when he would have been in his mid-twenties, Courbet produced a self-portrait (top left), also known as Man with a Leather Glove. The key feature of this image upon which I intend to focus today is the hand that grazes Courbet's cheek as he wistfully looks out from the canvas looking downward just enough to miss eye contact with us, his viewers. Though it's difficult to glean from this small slide, in better images it's pretty easy to notice that the hand has a significantly more finished quality than Courbet's face or any of the other surrounding details. (Finished in this sense refers to an art historical term meaning the treatment of the pigment on canvas, basically whether it has a glossy, varnished, smooth look or a rougher, matte, more textured appearance.) The effect of this disparity between the face and hand is an eerie sense that though the hand clearly connects to Courbet's arm and then his body, it feels as if the hand is not his own or that it is separate from his personal identity.

The hand is also disproportionately large, as big as his own head, and at the center of the painting it becomes the focus rather than Courbet himself. This opens a conversation about the hand as the instrument of genius which creates his art (note that there is a secondary focus upon Courbet's other hand as well), and begs the question about where the separation lies between cosmic, external inspiration versus the internalization and execution of said magic by the artist himself. Is this hand a simple sign of Courbet's egotism, an indication of the relationship between talent and skill, or a complex combination of both? (This third option is the most likely candidate. Incidentally, other Amy has completed research on this painting so I look forward to her contribution to this discussion.)

That conversation for now is beyond the scope because the real interest for my current purposes is the evident connection between this 19th portrait and a very 21st century pop culture pic. The visual connection between the two - by virtue of the two men's poses alone - I trust is clear to my readers. And what's better is the obvious art historical allusion in that the hand cradling Dexter's face is equally dis-associated with his person as is Courbet's. It may at first seem like the connection ends there being that Courbet's hand conveys a personal connection to genius whereas Dexter's disembodied appendage mostly connotes his murderous proclivities. Thinking more critically though, don't the hands essentially argue the same thing? They both basically say, "I am the creator/destroyer. I can control what exists and what shouldn't. I produce my work, driven by inexpressible motivations, which are beyond judgment by you who are ignorant to such feelings."

I was imminently pleased with the producers and art directors of Dexter who subtly re-presenting this history for us in the promotional media for their show. And in a final twist indicating art history's imminent depth, Courbet's original image itself was lifted from Michelangelo's master work on the Sistine Ceiling. The final piece falls into place when considering this hand of God. Courbet directly referenced this item in his self-portrait which the creators of Dexter then quoted centuries after that. Yes, Dexter feels like God and so does Courbet. And what better way to visually prove that than by using images from the collective consciousness of visual culture? So the next time you pick up a TVGuide or watch that ad campaign for Magic Make-up Eyelash Blast Something-or-other remember that what you're seeing probably has more history than you think. One can never forget, art is everywhere.




Image credit: I put this one together myself with pictures from the public domain. My favorite part of this photoshop adventure was saving the .jpg to my desktop under the name "DexCour."

By the way, I've missed the last few weeks because I've been engrossed writing a lengthy essay on 1940s Memphis art and politics. Once that's uploaded to the web in about a month, I'll provide a link to it for my die-hard friends. Also, Amy's back in the country now which means she'll return soon to class this site up with a little archeo-ancient knowledge from Pompeii.

Potter Pals and Paintings

In honor of the final Harry Potter flick which opened this week, I've been trying to think of a way to talk about the series on this blog, and an idea finally struck last night. Admittedly through a stretch I realized that the major contribution art plays in the adventures of Harry, Hermione, and Ron is the talking paintings dressing the walls of Hogwarts and the rest of the wizarding world. So what might happen, do you think, if our real life muggle paintings were gifted with the same type of animation as their fictional, magical counterparts?

First of all, religious works would be far more precious and valuable. Consider the doctrinal conflicts we could resolve if we just took those issues straight to the source. I wonder if a Byzantine icon Jesus would disagree with Leonardo's Christ in the Last Supper. Or what would both of those two say to the Early Christian good shepherd?

And what about modern painting/portraiture? The talking heads in Harry Potter all appear to ambiguously date to be 18th or 19th century English portraits, but surely my imagination game can stretch those boundaries a bit. Consider Braque's Man with a Violin or just imagine what Picasso's Desmoiselles d'Avignon would say to us. I already cover my ears instinctively to fend off their taunts and expletives.

But the painting I'd be most curious to have a conversation with is Manet's Olympia, that straightforward prostitute, undaunted by your leers prepared to offer you a bargain as long as the price is right. More than that, Olympia is also imbued with centuries of art historical allusion (from a direct reference of Titian to addressing general themes of the nude in art) of which I believe she is keenly aware. So in this mythical conversation, after after I've dissuaded Olympia of my potentially illicit intentions (and perhaps after her handmaid brought her a cover-up), I'd want to shoot the breeze with this petite intellectual who has overcome a repressed life by mastering the world's oldest trade. Constantly objectified yet perennially in control of what her audience sees, I think Olympia would have deeply personal insights into the idea of art itself.

In all honesty, if I had the gift of magic like Harry and friends I'd probably cast a few other spells before bringing my paintings to life (pick-up Quidditch anyone?). Still, don't you think a conversation with the Mona Lisa would be pretty damn cool?

What painting(s) would you talk to if you could?

Thanks to Wikipedia, Artchive, and some clever kid on photobucket for the images.

Arkansas?

On November 11th of this year, Alice Walton of the Walmart family fortune will open the doors of her dream child, Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. The multi-million dollar investment will house some of America's most valuable artworks from the likes of John Singer Sargent, Jasper Johns, and Norman Rockwell (see his iconic Rosie the Riveter below) in a collection of about 600 canvases. It will, no doubt, be a formidable and significant museum based upon this early press alone, even before Walton has released information about the other 90% of the museum's holdings. Naturally, a museum of this stature will be located in heart of American arts culture - Bentonville, Arkansas.

Huh? If you've never heard of Bentonville, it's located in northwest Arkansas near the slightly larger township of Fayetteville, both of which are about three hours from Little Rock. Bentonville's previous (and only other) claim to fame is as the hometown of the original Walmart, hence Alice Walton's affinity for the locale. Unfortunately for her, very few members of the art world share Walton's affection for the small-town setting. Since announcing her plan in the early 2000s, the East Coast has balked at the idea of relinquishing canvases destined for Crystal Bridges. The establishment seems to believe that selling art to Walton and her museum is like sentencing the American masterworks to a slow death in a mid-Southern oblivion. They parallel this museum with the same criticisms which have been leveled at Walmart, as if large, laboriously gathered art collections are in any way related to depreciation related to mass production. One particularly sour critic, Rebecca Mead of the New Yorker calls Crystal Bridges "Wal-Art." Evidently, entrenched detractors find it offensive that the heartland dares claim a stake in Americana which is as much a part of the East Coast as it is part of the rolling central plains.

The New York Times at least takes a kinder approach by pointing out that the museum will be located in an unexpected location, but then dedicates the rest of its article to explaining Walton's intentions behind her choice. It was primarily this article which convinced me of Walton's sincerity and competence as an art collector. It seems Walton has been interested in art for 25 years, during the last 10 of which she was specifically collecting works with the museum in mind. She has surrounded herself with expert art historians who have also guided her choices and helped shape to museum from a formally educated perspective. And in terms of situating the museum in Bentonville, I think it's a bold and magnanimous move.

The act parallels to me the move that Samuel H. Kress undertook in the 1950s. Though nowadays Kress is largely unknown, he and his low-price, high-volume convenience stores used to be a household name in America. Like Walton and her family, Kress became a millionaire off of his popular market shops and eventually returned the favor to America by donating the artworks he had collected via the nickels and dimes of Kress store patrons. Though Kress's collection of art was largely Italian and he dispersed his works to museums throughout the U.S., I applaud Walton's decision to gather American art and to display it in middle America among the original consumers who made her dream possible. I think New York and the East Coast need to recognize that arts culture can and should exist outside the purview of elites in high-rise lofts. There are drawbacks to any museum in every location, but art can be appreciated anywhere - yes, even in the backwaters of rural Arkansas. It's touching that the objects in Crystal Springs will get to live in a uniquely American setting, and I hope even the city-slickers from back East will be able to make the trip come November to witness the manifestation of an American legacy.


Sources
BigThink.com: http://bigthink.com/ideas/39056
The New Yorker: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/06/27/110627fa_fact_mead
NYT: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/17/arts/design/alice-walton-on-her-crystal-bridges-museum-of-american-art.html?pagewanted=1&_r=4&ref=arts