At the Met: George Caleb Bingham, a Classicist in the American West

Fur Traders Descending the Missouri, 1845; oil on canvas, 29 x 36 1/2 in. 

Two figures and a small tethered animal (a bear cub) float in the soft, luminous space of a river, their forms and that of their small boat crisp and clear in front of the receding planes of trees. This beautiful painting, in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, was featured, along with fifteen of George Caleb Bingham's river paintings and many drawing studies, in a recent exhibition Navigating the West: George Caleb Bingham and the River. In her book American Painting of the Nineteenth Century: Realism, Idealism, and the American Experience, Barbara Novak quotes Mark Twain on being on the Mississippi, writing that could be describing the painting above:

.....the water is glass-smooth...there is not the faintest breath of wind, nor stir of leaf; the tranquillity is profound and infinitely satisfying.....You  have the intense green of the massed and crowded foliage near by; you see it paling shade by shade in front of you; upon the next projecting cape, a mile off or more, the tint has lightened to the tender young green of spring; the cape beyond that one has almost lost color, and the furthest one, miles away under the horizon, sleeps upon the water a mere dim vapor, and hardly separable from the sky above it and about it. And all this stretch of river is a mirror, and you have the shadowy reflections of the leafage and the curving shores and the receding capes pictured in it. 

Fur Traders Descending the Missouri detail

"....the tranquillity is profound and deeply satisfying...": this is a quality in these river paintings by Bingham, even those with active motion in them, such as The Jolly Flatboatmen below. It comes from the extreme clarity of form, with outlines that are sharp and well defined, and with planes that recede––foreground, middle ground, background–––in an orderly progression. These are traits of classicism in painting, along with the triangular compositions of most of these paintings; according to the Encyclopedia Britannica classicism consists of "harmony, clarity, restraint, universality, and idealism". 

Self-Portrait, 1834-35; oil on canvas, 28 3/8 x 26 11/16 in.

Bingham brings an American form of classicism, mixed with a careful attention to actuality, but seen through a primitive eye. He began as a portrait painter, and you can see in this early self portrait a combination of flatness and crisp precision that is akin to that of early itinerant portrait painters. 

The Concealed Enemy, 1845; oil on canvas, 29 1/4 x 36 1/2 in. 

Although mainly self taught in the Missouri of his childhood, Bingham traveled to Philadelphia in 1838, when he was 27 years old, and spent three months there, where he must have seen many contemporary American works, and also European paintings, drawings, and prints; he may have also traveled to New York to see the National Academy annual. It wasn't until 1845, though, with The Concealed Enemy and Fur Traders, that his mature style emerged. I go into all this because it is remarkable that Bingham worked in such a sophisticated manner, close to the style called Luminist, while being far from the centers of art activity. Novak and others speculate that he may have worked from instruction books. A friend of a friend said that he was very influenced by Poussin; he saw prints after Poussin in Philadelphia. He did participate in the New York art world of the time, sending The Concealed Enemy and Fur Traders Descending the Mississippi to the American Art-Union. 

Boatmen on the Missouri, 1846; oil on canvas, 25 x 30 in.

Two men on a boat are seriously regarding us, while a third bends at his task. The precision of the light on the figures and the brightness of their three white shirts pops them forward spacially, as the landscape recedes in a dreamy haze. I love looking at the elements in the painting and seeing how carefully they are considered: the lines of oars, the diagonal of shovel handle being repeated in the movement of hat to hat to hat, and in the diagonal of clouds; the circling curves of arms; the mass of trees at left balanced by the river steamer in the far distance at the right. All of Bingham's paintings have this attention to detail.

Boatmen on the Missouri detail

The men and boys in the paintings are specific characters, worked up from portrait drawings (see below). They are real people, painted in a way that transcends specificity. 

The Jolly Flatboatmen, 1846; oil on canvas, 38 1/8 x 48 1/2 in. 

This is a painting that has quiet within its motion: the triangular composition fixes the men in their positions; it is an ordered levity. At the lower part of the painting is a strong horizontal, then a broad curve, surmounted by the triangle of human activity. 

The Jolly Flatboatmen detail

One thing I love in the paintings was the addition of humble details of working life, or of objects seen on the river. A shirt, dangling its arms and held down by a stone––it was probably drying after being washed–––is above a triangle of cloth draped over the edge of the boat, its shape emphasized by a dark line. It looks to me like the shirt was a later addition, because it is now quite transparent on the right. 

The Wood-Boat, 1850; oil on canvas, 25 1/8 x 30 in. 

Sometimes the light in the paintings was of evening, with the sky darkening and the sun casting a reddish light. Here a tall vertical pole emphasizes the peak of the triangle in the composition. The two men and a boy look at us with unconcern, with friendliness, with wariness. 

Young Wood-boatman, for "The Wood-Boat", 1850; brush, black ink, and wash over pencil on off-white wove paper; 11 3/4 x 8 7/8 in.

Here is one of the studies for the painting above. Bingham's drawings are very lively, full of presence, and very personal.

Watching the Cargo, 1849; oil on canvas, 26 x 36 in.

Watching the Cargo is another painting with beautiful evening light, a red glow suffusing everything. The two men sit calmly regarding us while a young man is busily blowing on a fire to get it started. The clouds piled up behind the mass of cargo emphasize the diagonal of tented cargo to man in red shirt, to fire-maker, while the distant hills create an opposing movement. 

Watching the Cargo detail

On the far right is a piece of tree trunk, possibly washed up by the river, or brought there by the men to use as firewood. It has a personality all its own, and it has the important function of carrying our eye to the right hand side of the painting.

Watching the Cargo by Night, 1854; oil on canvas, 24 x 29 in. 

Finally, one of Bingham's night paintings (sorry about the poor photo; it was hard to photograph). The light is beautifully mysterious, with both firelight and the light of the rising moon. The painting is divided nearly in half, with a triangle of land and figures and the sky and river behind it; the diagonal of a pole balances the opposite dark diagonal of land.
It was such a rich and satisfying experience to spend time with these marvelously made paintings, and to enter their world of men working on the river, ordinary lives elevated to the timeless and essential.

Four New Hooked Wool Drawings

2015 #12, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 19 x 16 in. 

My ideas for textiles begin as pencil doodles––or, to be more serious, thumbnail sketches––on sheets of typing paper. When I'm ready to make new textile work, I look through the sketches for ideas that look promising; I then add color with watercolor or gouache. The colors I choose for the sketch aren't  necessarily what I'll end up with: for my hooked wool drawings, I usually use some of the huge pile of many colors of dyed wool left over from previous projects. For #12, finding a large piece of yellow wool helped determine its colors. With this piece I wanted to reverse the usual order of visual weight: instead of getting lighter as the forms go back in space, I made them heavier by using wool; the lightest, highest form is paint.

2015 #12 detail

Here's a detail of the differing textures, from paint, to a line of hooked wool, and then to a hooked shape.

2015 #13, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 17 1/2 x 15

The idea for #13 began with two overlapping ovals, which I then connected at the top with a curved line. When I look at it now, I don't see the ovals at first because the colored areas, of green paint and blue wool, grab my attention. 

2015 #14, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 13 3/4 x 17 1/4 in.

For this piece, I thought about how I could vary a line of circles: change sizes, colors, positions, textures. The result is a kind of a "follow the bouncing ball".

2015 #15, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 15 x 12 in. 

Finally, more circles: a curve at top, then two circles of lighter reds, with a solidly hooked light red at their center; a painted shape at top, circles floating on a light ground. If I see a theme that connects these four works, it's repeating rhythms.

Anne Truitt: Sumptuous Color

Rice-Paper Drawing [17], 1965, ink on Japanese rice paper, 12 1/4 x 9 in. 

It is a great visual pleasure to see a show in which color is so saturated and rich that it transcends paint's mere physicality. The works on paper in Anne Truitt in Japan at Matthew Marks gallery were all made when Truitt, mostly known as a sculptor, lived in Tokyo from 1964-67. Although she destroyed the sculpture she made while in Japan, these beautiful drawings remain, and she said of her time there:

If I had not gone to Japan, I would not know anything. I would not know what is what.

Rice-Paper Drawing [3], 1965, ink on Japanese rice paper, 12 1/4 x 9 in. 

In the first room of the gallery were five intensely colored small works on rice paper. The color was as though soaked into the textured paper, making an effect of subtle variation within each hue.

Rice-Paper Drawing [13], 1965, ink on Japanese rice paper, 12 1/4 x 9 in. 

The colors, the boundaries between shapes, the textures, invited you to come close and linger with the drawing.

Rice-Paper Drawing [15], 1965, ink on Japanese rice paper, 12 1/4 x 9 in. 

As with Ad Reinhardt's black paintings, the more you look at these small drawings, the more there is to see: differentiations in hues become visible.

Truitt '66 [20], 1966, acrylic and graphite on paper, 11 x 6 in.

Although my favorite works were the drawings with overall saturated color––the four drawings above and three at the end of this post––there were also works exploring color shapes. In [20] above, there is a careful balancing of a hue's weight: the light blue band at bottom adds air to the composition. This drawing reminds me of Truitt's columnar sculpture, with its bands of color.

Truitt '66 [11], 1966, acrylic on paper, 27 1/4 x 3 1/8 in.

Truitt pushed the idea of shape into new dimensions: a very long, narrow rectangle is animated and  made more present by orange and blue-gray color shapes descending it; our eye has no trouble navigating the extreme length of this small drawing.

Truitt '66 [11] detail

At an intersection, the orange paint is handled differently on the top and bottom, a detail that creates solidity in a two dimensional work.

Truitt '66 [7], 1966, acrylic on paper, 1 x 27 1/2 in. 

I was so intrigued by these long narrow shapes and how Truitt was able to create a viable composition across them. We almost feel the dark blue dipping below the edge of the paper and swooping back up again.

Truitt '67 [6], 1967, acrylic on paper, 27 1/2 x 41 in. 

There is a just-rightness about the way the pink and green shapes abut and balance each other on a white sheet of paper.

Installation view at Matthew Marks gallery, of drawings pictured below.

Truitt '67 [6] was in the same room as three very saturated works. The image above gives a sense of the size of the drawings.

Truitt '67 [21], 1967, acrylic on paper, 27 1/2 x 41 in.

Truitt '67 [33], 1967, acrylic on paper, 27 1/2 x 41 in.

Truitt '67 [20], 1967, acrylic on paper, 27 1/2 x 41 in.

These three drawings are deep and luscious explorations of color. Their intensity gave me a sense of being enveloped and transported by color. As with the drawings on rice paper, the subtlety of the color/shape variations demanded attentive viewing; although not large, there was a feeling of boundless space. In 1965 Truitt wrote in her private papers:

What is important to me is not geometrical shape per se, or color per se, but to make a relationship between shape and color which feels to me like my experience. To make what feels to me like reality. 

 (Thanks to Plug Projects Blog for the quote.)

Eight New Small Drawings

sd 41, distemper and egg tempera on paper, ca. 7 x 7 in.

I was in a simple gestural mood while working on this group of small drawings. While toning paper for my drawings based on Islamic design––you can see the most recent here––I use some of the paint to make the small drawings. I tone the paper with distemper, which is pigment mixed with a glue size; I use gelatin. I turn from the solid-toned larger pieces of paper to these small sheets, approaching them freely and intuitively. Then, after looking and thinking, on another day I add a bit of egg tempera; for me this small deliberate addition completes the drawing process. In the work above, I added the red circle to emphasize the subtle ochre one and the blue splash on the left.

sd 42, distemper and egg tempera on paper, ca. 7 x 7 in.

In sd 42 there's just a small curved purple mark––an echo––on top of the transparent yellow.

sd 43, distemper and egg tempera on paper, ca. 7 x 7 in.

 A transparent blue mark at left repeats a part of the big blue swerve.

sd 44, distemper and egg tempera on paper, ca. 7 x 7 in.

Sometimes, looking at these, I can't quite remember what I added later in egg tempera. Here I think it was two of the three yellow marks at top, and the small blue mark at the lower left.

sd 45, distemper and egg tempera on paper, ca. 7 x 7 in.

I do remember adding the yellow band at the left, which I hoped would add a bit of tension to the paler bands of color.

sd 46, distemper and egg tempera on paper, ca. 7 x 7 in.

I was playing with gold pigment in sd 46; I had used it as a layer in one of the toned papers, but here it stands alone: at the bottom is a distemper stroke, made at the same time as the purples; at the top is a stroke of egg tempera. The pigment I use is Colibri Gold from Kremer Pigments.

sd 47, distemper and egg tempera on paper, ca. 7 x 7 in.

In another drawing with blue and yellow stripes, quite different in mood from the all-over, transparent one above, I added only a small mark of yellow tempera.

sd 48, distemper and egg tempera on paper, ca. 7 x 7 in.

This drawing seems different from the others in this group; I'm not sure why, but maybe it's the saturated blue marks in a white field. One of the marks (if I remember correctly) had an inadvertent splotch of reddish on it––the second from the top––so I added more small reddish marks to balance it. There's a proscenium arch feel to this, as though the blue shapes are actors on a stage. One reason I enjoy doing these drawings is that they're fluid and unplanned, similar to my potato prints, but different from all the other mediums I work with. 

 

Jefferson Market: The Gift of a City Garden

All sorts of gardens, large and small, are wonderful things to see, but a garden in the midst of the city, surrounded by tall buildings and heavy traffic, is especially magical.

Walking up Sixth Avenue from the West 4th Street subway station in the Village, you can soon see the Victorian Gothic spires of the elaborate Jefferson Market branch of the NY Public Library. The building was originally built as a courthouse in 1877; not in use since 1945, it was threatened with demolition, but a group of active citizens were successful in seeing that it was converted into a library, which opened in 1967. It was one of the first "adaptive reuse" projects in the US. The beautiful garden adjoining the library to the south also has a wonderful story.

A prison, The Women's House of Detention, was built on the site of the garden in 1931, replacing another earlier prison. When it was torn down in 1971, the land was transferred to the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation, and became the Jefferson Market Garden. Here, plants in profusion spill out of the metal fences.

The contrasts of fence and leaves is a perfect metaphor for the life to be found within the boundaries of a small city garden.

Although the garden was closed when I was there, I was able to see a great deal through the fence. I noted how beautifully the garden is designed (it is maintained by volunteers!) with varied colors and textures throughout.

The cool greens of a spiky grass are alongside soft, fuzzy leaves.

Deep reds of small leaves form a base for an explosion of grandeur.

In this late summer/early fall season, there are flowers blooming: tiny violet composite flowers....

....and a singular flaming red.

A special treat were Passion flowers blooming outside the fence along Sixth Avenue. This exotic, complex flower was just opening, and a bee was deep inside. The blessings of nature, however confined, brighten city life; imagine what Manhattan would be without small gardens such as this, and without the grand Central Park.

At the Met: The Charm of Ancient Animals

A few years ago I stumbled upon the Greek and Roman Study Collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. On a mezzanine floor above the Greek and Roman galleries, are cases and cases full of objects, too small or broken or not significant enough to be included in the main galleries, but wonderful to see. Every once in a while I take a wander through the long gallery to see what my eye will alight upon. This week the images of animals engaged my attention: so many were fanciful, while being attentive to the animal's characteristics. In his essay, "Why Look at Animals?", John Berger notes that before the 19th century,  "animals constituted the first circle of what surrounded man.....they were at the center of his world". While looking at all the animals pictured, I felt that there was a true relationship in those ancient times. And what a delightful creature pictured above!

The objects show affection and humor and respect.
I'm sorry not to have exact information on the pieces, but there are 3500 objects in these cases and their details have to be found on wall monitors; there are no labels. There are 116 pages full of objects on the Met's website, 30 objects per page.

There were many birds depicted: on the flasks above, and sculpted as various vessels. This bird bulbous....

....and this long and narrow, painted with geometric designs (or is it a bird?).

To me these look like a pair of small owls, with simply rendered form.

And here a duck, whose graceful head tops a large rounded body, probably enlarged so as to contain more liquid.

Then there were domestic animals, like these perky bulls.

These small sculptures were in the Hellenistic case, a later period, evident because of their increased naturalism.

There were also non-domesticated species, such as this marvelous elongated and spotted rabbit.

Then these marvelous little creatures: are they hedgehogs?

Finally, the fiercest of wild animals: a lion and behind him a bird of prey. The lion in this incarnation doesn't look too frightening, though both falcon(?) and lion are strong presences. We are lucky to have all these objects on display rather than hidden away in storage.