And This Is a Portrait of Whom?

Unknown British artist, His Excellency George Washington, late 1700s, reprinted early 1900s. Hand-colored mezzotint on paper, 13 11/16" x 9 15/16" (34.8 x 25.2 cm). © 2017 Philadelphia Museum of Art. (PMA-8074)

I don’t often laugh about art history (seriously!), but now and then one just can’t help it. With this group of “portraits,” I had to keep in mind that: A) the people who bought these prints did not have TVs or computers to check the accuracy of the likeness against news reports; and B) many of the artists of these prints were self-trained and making copies of copies of copies of painted or print portraits of the sitter. Either way, the following are not what we are accustomed to accepting as a likeness of our first president. Likenesses of the first president were in great demand during the early republic, as can well be imagined. Unfortunately, there were no photographs to guide many of the artists.

Aside from the fact that the Father of our Country has no neck in the print above, I’m at a loss to find a source for this pose from any painted portraits of Washington. The closest thing (and that’s stretching it) is the portrait Peale did (several times) of Washington at the Battle of Princeton (below). Maybe this is retribution for us beating them? I know before the Revolution he aspired to be an officer in the British army. Is that why he’s wearing a British uniform in this print?

Charles Willson Peale (1741–1827, US), George Washington at the Battle of Princeton, ca. 1779. Oil on canvas, 51 9/16" x 47 7/8" (131 x 121.6 cm). © 2017 Cleveland Museum of Art. (CL-922)

Unknown German artist, probably from Augsburg, George Washington, Esquier (sic), late 1700s. Mezzotint on paper, sheet: 11 5/16" x 8 ¼" (28.7 x 21 cm). © 2017 Philadelphia Museum of Art. (PMA-8078)

At least the previous example got the baldric correct from the right shoulder. I honestly can’t find any source for this depiction. I’m guessing it is based on a print of some German or French monarch on the battlefield. By the way, “Esquier” is not French for esquire (that would be écuyer).

Amos Doolittle (1754–1832, US), George Washington President of the United States of America the Protector of His Country and Supporter of the Rights of Mankind (A Display of the United States of America), 1789–1794. Hand-colored stipple engraving on paper, sheet: 20 ¾" x 16 11/16" (52.7 x 42.4 cm). © 2017 Philadelphia Museum of Art. (PMA-8072)

Doolittle, born in Cheshire, Connecticut, was a self-taught copper engraver. He is perhaps most famous for his prints of the Battles of Lexington and Concord, for which he interviewed witnesses. They are considered the most accurate depictions of what happened on that day. I’m afraid that Washington’s oblong head betrays Doolittle’s lack of anatomical study in his ode to the new country. I’m thinking this may be based on a print by the Swiss artist Pierre Eugène du Simitère (1737–1784). View that work in the Princeton University collection to see if you agree! 

Johann Lorenz Rugendas, I (1730–1799, Germany), George Washington, Esqr., 1775–1778. Mezzotint on paper, sheet: 16 5/16" x 11 1/16" (41.4 x 28.1 cm). © 2017 Philadelphia Museum of Art. (PMA-8090)

This artist was a member of a family of engravers who provided print copies of oil paintings of the rich and famous. The only other works I can find similar to this are of German royalty. Aside from the fact that Washington’s nose looks like a ski slope, the setting almost looks like he was a naval hero. It is so interesting that in many of these works they call him “esquire,” which was an honorific for people just shy of noble title. 

John Galland (active 1796–1817, US), based on a print by David Edwin (1776–1841, US, born Britain), based partially on a painted portrait by Gilbert Stuart (1755–1828, US), Washington—Sacred to Memory His Excellency George Washington Lieut. Genl. of the Armies of the United States of America, after 1798. Stipple engraving on paper, sheet: 17" x 11 ½" (43.2 x 29.2 cm). © 2017 Philadelphia Museum of Art. (PMA-8085)

If this print is “sacred to the memory of” Washington, then it would be after his death in 1799, correct? I am surmising that this is a combination of president-warrior executed after his death. It contains the head of the older president period—rather like the copy of Gilbert Stuart on dollar bills—and his army trappings from the Revolution. The “F. Bartoli” who is credited with a painting of this subject is fictitious, according to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. 

Gilbert Stuart (1755–1828, US), George Washington (Vaughan portrait), 1795. Oil on canvas, 28 ¾" x 23 13/16" (73 x 60.5 cm). National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. (NGA-P0675)

Edward Savage (1761–1817, US), The Washington Family (George Washington, Martha Washington, Martha’s grandchildren George Washington Parke Custis and Eleanor Parke Custis, and Slave William Lee), 1789–1796. Oil on canvas, 84 1/8" x 111 7/8" (213.6 x 284.2 cm). National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. (NGA-P0752)

I stuck this in because I wanted to show you how the first family really looked by an artist who studied them personally. Savage not only did individual portraits of them, but also this regal family get together. They’re looking over the plans for the new Federal City. I think Martha is supposed to be pointing to the spot for the executive mansion. Savage made sketches from the First Family while they were in New York (our first capital). He subsequently waited until 1796 to paint this imagined group setting from the individual studies of each person. He then had produced hand-colored and uncolored engravings of the print, garnering an immediate 331 subscriptions for the print in 1798.

Not an Easter Egg

On our planet, the egg has been almost universally viewed as a symbol of rebirth and fertility since ancient times (imagine ancient eyes seeing something living come out of something hard and apparently inanimate!). Cosmic eggs are also the part of many creation stories around the world. Hardly surprising that it was adopted by the early Christians as one of the symbols of Christ’s resurrection. Eggs were symbols in spring equinox ceremonies throughout the Mediterranean and Middle East in ancient days. As we know, many Christian holidays and symbols stem from pre-Christian practices. But, as this is not a religious blog, these interesting works of art are as close as I’m coming to the subject of Easter! 

Unknown American Artist, Egg Salad, ca. 1850. Oil on canvas, 8 ½" x 11 ¼" (21.6 x 28.6 cm). © 2017 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. (MFAB-133)

This isn’t usually what contemporary American’s conjure up in their minds when they yearn after egg salad. Where’s the mayo? But, honestly, every time I see this painting when I’m at the MFA, it makes me hungry. And what is more representative of the no-nonsense realism—even in the most common things—that characterizes early American art?

As far as the still-life genre in American painting, it really didn’t exist until the Peale family came on the scene in the latter half of the 1700s. Before the second decade of the 1800s, still-life works were confined to botanical studies. Charles Willson Peale (1741–1827), the patriarch of the Peale “dynasty,” turned over his successful portrait miniature business to his brother James (1739–1831) in 1795. When James’s eyesight began to fail (go figure) around 1820, he began painting still life.

James is really credited as the instigator of the craze over still life by American patrons, but I’ve always considered Rembrandt Peale’s (1778–1860) portrait of his brother Rubens (1784–1865), Rubens Peale with a Geranium (National Gallery of Art), to be an outstanding early still life (1801). It is thought to have been the first geranium introduced in America, and it really does vie with Rubens for the star spot. 

Rembrandt Peale (1778–1860), Rubens Peale with a Geranium, 1801. Oil on canvas, 28 1/8" x 24" (71.4 x 61 cm). National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. (NGA-P0381)

Another brother of Rubens and Rembrandt, Raphaelle (1774–1825), was primarily a still-life painter. Two daughters of James, Anna Claypoole (1791–1878) and Margaretta Angelica (1795–1882), were also primarily still-life painters. Mary Jane Peale (1827–1902), daughter of Rubens, carried the Peale still-life painting dynasty into the 20^th century! 

Marcel Wanders, designer (born 1963, Netherlands) and Moooi B.V., manufacturer (2001 to present, Breda, Netherlands), Medium Egg Vase, designed 1997. Porcelain, 5 3/4" x 4" x 3 ½" (14.5 x 10.2 x 9 cm). Philadelphia Museum of Art. (PMA-6701)

This is definitely not an Easter egg! An unusual porcelain vessel, it is one of a set of three of differing sizes. What they all share in common is how they were created. The designer, Marcel Wanders, formed the mold from hard-boiled eggs that were encased in latex condoms. But, using unconventional and innovative materials is one of the hallmarks of the work of this Dutch designer.

Wanders was born in Boxtel, Netherlands, and graduated from the School of the Arts in Arnhem in 1988. He first came to attention with his innovative Knotted Chair in 1995 that he made in collaboration with Droog Design in Amsterdam. It is constructed with carbon and aramide fiber cord, and an epoxy resin finish. Wanders emphasizes creating designs that stress humanity and a down-to-earth aesthetic.

Wanders has designed works for many of the major design firms, such as Cappellini (1946–present, Arosio, Italy), Droog Design (1993–present, Amsterdam), Flos (1962–-present, Brescia, Italy), and others. He founded his own firm of Moooi—a tricked up version of the Dutch word mooi, or “beautiful” —in 2000. Wanders also extends his talents to architectural and interior design, and in the last few years the design of home appliances. 

Sudo Reiko, designer (born 1953, Japan), and NUNO Corporation, manufacturer (1984 to present, Tokyo), Big Egg textile, 2003. Polyester organdy with paper appliqué, width 39" (99.1 cm). Philadelphia Museum of Art. © 2017 Sudo Reiko. (PMA-7141)

This fabulous fabric was designed by one of my favorite fiber artists, Reiko Sudo. If you have read my blog for a while now, you know how much I love the revolutionary designs of Sudo. Failing the entrance exam in order to become a kimono designer, she founded NUNO Corporation in 1984 with Jun’ichi Arai (born 1932). Nuno means “cloth” in Japanese. The company is dedicated to designing and producing textiles in combinations of unconventional materials and techniques, according to traditional Japanese aesthetics and in an eco-friendly way.

When they started NUNO, Sudo and Jun’ichi were on the cutting edge, being among the first to use computers to design textiles. Designs such as Big Egg are meant to be versatile, used for fashion or interior design. Big Egg is made from Eichizen washi papers applied to ramie (a fibrous Asian plant stem) ovals and then to polyester. Materials such as this are made in limited quantities and are not mass-produced, industrially milled to simulate the aesthetic of hand-looming. 

Ogata Gekko (1859–1920, Japan), White Rabbit, ca. 1890–1910. Color woodcut print on paper, (9 1/2" x 9 7/8") 24.1 x 25.1 cm. © 2017 Brooklyn Museum. (BMA-2378)

Since this post has a vaguely Easter theme, I couldn’t leave you without a good art work of a rabbit, though it’s no Easter Bunny!

Like Sudo Reiko, I’ve also blogged about Ogata Gekko in the past. I’m fond of artists who don’t quite fit into one stylistic category or another, and he certainly typifies that quality. A devoted follower of Chinese painting traditions, he was renowned in his time for his sophisticated lacquer work. During the 1880s he became committed to the rejuvenation of the ukiyo-e tradition of multiple woodblock prints, although he developed a style that avoided the overt linearity of the tradition prints of that style. His woodblock prints, where possible, imitated brush work. One sees that in this bunny in the gentle shading of the form.

First Snow Response

In the last week we had our first measurable snow in Massachusetts. I’m totally the kind of dork who’s all “it’s so pretty to walk around when it’s snowing.” And since there are not many things in life that don’t remind me of art, I thought of winter landscapes. I think snow scenes in art are one of the most enjoyable types of comfort food for the eyes. There’s just such a variety! 

Utagawa Toyokuni III (Kunisada I) (1786–1864, Japan), Twelfth Month: Snow, Moon and Style of Winter Dress. Color woodcut triptych on paper, height of each panel: 13 7/8" (35.3 cm), width of whole: 29 5/8" (75.3 cm). © Worcester Art Museum, Worcester, MA. (WAM-450)

You knew I would show a Ukiyo-e print with a snow scene, because I’ve said before what an admirer I am of those woodblock artists. I used an umbrella last week when it snowed, though not with such flare as these folks. The samurai on the left has the most gorgeous patterned outfit of all of those featured in this print. It goes to show how influential the prints were on fashions of the period.

Kunisada was the son of a relatively well-known poet in Edo, whose artistic talent manifested itself early. His ability was noticed as a youth copying actor prints. In 1800 he became an apprentice under Utagawa Toyokuni (1769–1825), whose name Kunisada subsequently adopted (1842) to honor the master.

Kunisada became a great master—one of the last greats of the late Edo period—in his own right, adapting, like his master, all of the range of popular ukiyo-e subjects. Like Toyokuni, Kunisada favored actor prints, a specialty of the Utagawa school. Although Kunisada started out producing primarily actor prints, he eventually branched out into bijin-ga (pictures of beautiful women) and, in the 1830s, he dabbled briefly in landscapes.

Willard Metcalf (1858–1925, US), The First Snow, 1906. Oil on canvas, 25 7/8" x 29" (65.7 x 73.7 cm). © Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. (MFAB-69)

The American artists who absorbed the Impressionist style really did an awesome job of it! It’s almost scary. This winter landscape just begs the viewer to walk through that misty landscape. The ability to invite a viewer to take a stroll through a painted landscape was one of the tests of traditional Chinese and Japanese landscapes. Metcalf has succeeded.

Metcalf, born in Lowell, MA, first studied in Boston. Like many of his colleagues, he studied in Paris in the 1880s (1883–1886 to be precise). He gradually learned to prefer the short, clean brush work of Monet and his colleagues, and also dabbled in the dot-like brush work of the Pointillists. Unfortunately, by the time this work was painted—around the time the Ash Can School artists broke onto the scene—Impressionism really wasn’t a cutting-edge movement anymore.

Metcalf’s favorite subject was landscapes. He especially favored those of New England. His works of the northeastern landscape earned him the unofficial moniker of Poet Laureate of New England Hills.

Alexander Calder (1898–1976, US), Snow Flurry I, 1948. Sheet steel and steel wire, painted, 7'8" x 6'8" (239 x 209 cm). The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © 2016 Calder Foundation, New York / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. (MOMA-S1085caars)

If this work isn’t exactly whimsical (I usually despise that word when discussing a work of art), it is certainly imaginative and clever. I think it gives the same amount of interest in the sense of depicting nature as the Metcalf painting.

Calder was the son and grandson of academic sculptors. After he went to Paris in 1926, he never reached back to that heritage. His moving toys and figures of the late 1920s became part of his famous “Circus” installation that became a big sensation in both Paris and in the US.

Although the Russian artists in the early 1900s had experimented with the concept of motion in sculpture, Calder achieved it extensively and uniquely. The “Circus” and other early works had been moved by cranks and motors. He abandoned those soon after when he figured out that air currents could make stuff move if he worked in materials that were light enough. I think it was Marcel Duchamp (1887–1968) who called Calder’s works “mobiles.”

Anne Truitt (1921–1983, US), Spring Snow. Acrylic-painted wood, 8'6" x 31 1/8” x 7 7/8" (260 x 79 x 20 cm). Image: Davis Art Images. (8S-3996)

I know we aren’t in Spring, yet, but I was intrigued with this lovely piece by Truitt. She’s such an interesting and complex person, I hesitate to categorize her work as Minimalism, although this piece was part of an exhibition at the Emmerich Gallery in New York on Color Field artists.

Born in Maryland, Truitt earned a degree in psychology before World War II (1939–1945), and worked as a psychiatric nurse during that war. During the day, she wrote poems and short stories. She wed a man who worked for the State Department and they traveled all over the place, including Japan from 1964–1967.

She studied sculpture for the first time academically in 1949 at the Institute of Contemporary Art in DC, and then at the Dallas Museum of Art. It was after that she began to explore various media and techniques, including cast cement and steel welding. She settled on what would be her signature style in 1961. She never categorized her work as an emphasis on geometric form or color. 

Peter Doig (born 1959, Scotland), Pink Snow, 1991. Oil on canvas, 8' x 6'6" (243.5 x 198 cm). The Museum of Modern Art, New York, © 2016 Peter Doig / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. (MOMA-P0595digars)

Yes, here’s a painting with a person walking around in a merry daze as the snow falls. I particularly like Doig’s work because so many of his paintings seem like waking dreams. And his surfaces are such complex layers of color and depth, especially his non-snow landscapes.

Doig was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, but lives and works in Trinidad. He grew up in Trinidad and Canada and studied art in London. By the 1990s he had already established a reputation for his semi-abstract landscapes, which he has said are a mixture of Edvard Munch (1863–1944) and Canadian landscape painters. The Canadian landscape painters I can see. What I really like are the big snowflakes in whitish, yellow and orange. He’s very famous for his works that include (usually abandoned) canoes and the series “Lapeyrouse Wall.”

Hella Jongerius (designer, born 1963, Netherlands) and Nymphenburg Porcelain Factory (maker, 1747-present, Nymphenburg, Germany), Winter Candleholder, 2007. Hand-painted porcelain, 5" x 8" (12.7 x 20.3 cm). Philadelphia Museum of Art. © 2016 Hella Jongerius. (PMA-6407)

I really like contemporary artists who are able to throw a visual curve, which is the response I got from this set of vessels she designed for Nymphenburg. I don’t really expect to see a competent ode to classical art these days, especially not in porcelain, but it sure is a treat when you come across it. I thought “old man winter” was a good way to end this post. This piece is simply stunning for its surfaces!

Jongerius was born in De Meern, near Utrecht. She actually investigated woodworking before getting a design degree from the Eindhoven Design Academy. She currently designs textiles, furniture, and ceramics for a number of different firms. While in school she emphasized textiles, although a ceramics piece that she had designed earned her more attention.

Jongerius is interesting because she combines hand-crafting and hand-painting with mold work. She also combines classical aesthetics with contemporary sensibilities. This candleholder comes from a set of vessels called “The Four Seasons,” a stunning set of wine jug, tea pot, hand mirror, and candleholder.

It’s That Time Again

By that, I don’t mean “it’s November” or “it’s autumn.” I suspect that I’m not the only one who is tired of political ads with mean-spirited denunciations of opponents. Probably, though, each quadrennial election we endure is no worse than any that have gone before, since the first presidential election of 1788–1789. Well, maybe that one was more civilized because George Washington was in it. Voting and elections have not escaped the realm of subject matter in art. Here are three examples from radically different time periods, and, times that were contentious as they are in the present day.

John Sartain (etcher, 1808–1897, born Britain), after George Caleb Bingham (1811–1879, US), The County Election, 1854. Etching, engraving and mezzotint on paper, image: 11 7/8" x 18" (30.2 x 45.9 cm). © American Antiquarian Society, Worcester, MA. (AAS-126)

I’m not certain why John Sartain engraved this George Caleb Bingham painting in 1854. It may have been because the congressional election of 1854 was fraught with conflict in the Midwest over the Kansas-Nebraska Act passed in August of that year, which did away with the Missouri Compromise on slavery of 1820. That allowed Kansas and Nebraska territories to choose to be either slave or free, and led to violent civil conflict in Kansas ultimately called Bleeding Kansas. I’m sure there were many elections fraught with heated rhetoric as the country headed toward the Civil War (1860–1865).

The painting from which this is taken was painted by Bingham in 1852 to commemorate the congressional elections of 1850, in which Bingham unsuccessfully ran for Congress. The opponent, E.D. Sappington, apparently bought votes with liquor. This is Bingham’s wry comment on the foibles of a young American democracy, where, obviously only the men voted (after taking an oath on a Bible, which I did not know). Bingham depicted himself in the center on the courthouse steps probably sketching, ignoring the tomfoolery around him.

Bingham was the first significant painter of genre subjects in American art. Born in Virginia, he was raised in Missouri, and had a solid respect for the hardy frontier people who helped settle the West. His paintings, meant for east coast audiences, elevated frontier people into folk heroes, although the genuine aspects of their hard-living were never glossed over. Like Dutch Baroque genre paintings, his figures are based on real people. Bingham endowed them with a dignity, however, that has sometimes earned his style the name “Missouri Classicism.”

Jacob Lawrence (1917–2000 US), The Twenties—Migrants Cast Their Ballots, from the Kent Bicentennial Portfolio, Spirit of Independence, 1974, published 1975. Serigraph on paper, 32" x 24 7/8" (81.3 x 63.2 cm). Brooklyn Museum. © 2016 Estate of Gwendolyn Knight Lawrence / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. (BMA-466lwars)

Jacob Lawrence was a keen observer and documenter of the African American experience. His paintings are a valuable historical record of the progress of blacks in the US after the Great Migration. This painting relates the experience of the southern migrants finding it a lot easier to vote in the North than in the South. Despite the passage of the 15^th Amendment in 1870, which guaranteed all Americans the right to vote (including African Americans), many southern states passed restrictive laws (such as a land ownership requirement, or a poll tax) to prevent black participation. Unfortunately, aside from jobs and the ability to vote in the North, African Americans still found a lot of discrimination.

The migration (Great Migration) of African Americans from the rural South to northern industrial cities in search of jobs changed the course of history for blacks in America. In cities such as New York and Chicago, the black populations increased dramatically between 1918 and 1925. Cohesive African American communities formed within the cities, and African Americans found a new self-awareness and pride in their heritage. During the 1920s, a significant number of artists were brought together within these large and varied African American communities, something that could not have happened in the rural South. One of the most vital African American communities was in the Harlem section of New York.

The Worcester Art Museum’s copy of this print is currently on view in their exhibit Picket Fence to Picket Line; Visions of American Citizenship.

Zoe Strauss (born 1970, US), Election Day Balloons, Philadelphia, 2008, printed 2011. Digital photograph, Inkjet print on paper, 8" x 12" (20.3 x 30.6 cm). Philadelphia Museum of Art. © 2016 Zoe Strauss. (PMA-7255)

We certainly know what this photograph commemorates. It was the election of the first African American president of the US. It was a spectacular moment in American history, and, in typical understated Zoe Strauss fashion, she uses the red-white-and-blue as a symbol for a truly landmark event.

Strauss’ work is reflective of the sophisticated evolution of the Snapshot Aesthetic style of photography. Although the style developed late in the 1800s, it flowered during the 1960s in the hands of such artists as Diane Arbus (1923–1971) and Garry Winogrand (1928–1984). The style mimicked the candid, un-posed, spur-of-the-moment pictures taken by amateurs and middle class families. Interestingly, between the 1960s and the 2000s, the style has been refined to subtly reveal psychological investigation by the photographer.

Works by Arbus opened up a type of personal investigation into subjects that most people see on the street and ignore because it may not be “beautiful.” Strauss’ works address the same phenomenon. Born in Philadelphia, she received her first camera when she was 30. She began photographing the not-well-off areas of Philadelphia, and within ten years was documenting the compelling subject of overlooked realities throughout the country.

While largely self-taught, Strauss’s work displays a sophisticated sense of composition. She is particularly adept at suggestion, and a monumental contrast of positive and negative space. Between 2001 and 2010, Strauss would hold yearly exhibitions of her work in the form of Inkjet prints that she sold for $5 in a makeshift “gallery” under the I-95 underpass in Philadelphia.  

Correlation to Davis programs:  Explorations in Art Grade 3: intro; A Personal Journey: 1.1, 2.3; A Community Connection: 7.6, Experience Printmaking: 5; Exploring Visual Design: 2, Focus on Photography: 7, Discovering Art History: 15.4, The Visual Experience: 9.5

An Autumn Idyll from Japan

One of the most fascinating things I learned (among many fascinating things) while studying Japanese culture and art when in college, was that Japanese scholars would routinely debate the virtues of an autumn over a spring garden, or vice versa. I had an epiphany in this philosophical exploration once while I lived in Chicago, when I saw an ostensibly dead garden in November, with dried up chrysanthemums. A light snow had covered the dying blossoms and other brown aspects of the garden and I realized that my vote would be for an autumn garden! Just as I appreciate the way Luminist artists (of the Hudson River School) captured the essence of autumnal landscape color and light, Japanese artists are particularly adept at summing up, very succinctly, the essence of autumn.   

Sakai Hōitsu (1762–1828, Japan), Autumn Leaves and Chrysanthemums. Ink and colors on paper fan mounted as an album leaf, 6 3/4" x 19 3/16" (17.2 x 48.7 cm). © Philadelphia Museum of Art. (PMA-731)

What more appropriate symbols for autumn than turning maple leaves and chrysanthemums. I just love mums, and, they are the official flower of Japan and a symbol of the imperial family. The Japanese liken the radial symmetry of the mum to the sun’s rays. And after all, who doesn’t think “autumn” when one sees mums?

This is a sedate piece for Sakai, who was the standard bearer for the Korin school of painting during the later Edo period (1615–1868). The Tokugawa military dictators (shogun) who ruled Japan during the Edo period virtually isolated Japan from the rest of the world. Japanese artists therefore looked to Japanese art of glorious periods from the past. The master Ogata Korin (1658–1716) “founded” the Korin school that further cemented the popularity of the Yamato-e style (meaning Japanese picture) of the Heian period (794–1185), considered the classic Japanese style.  

Sakai was the leader of the so-called “Rinpa” school in the late 1700s and early 1800s. This comes from “pa,” meaning school, and “Ko[Rin]” for the founder’s name. Sakai was so enamored of Ogata’s style, that he studiously copied his works, often on the back of screens by the late master that he owned!

Kitagawa Sosetsu (ca. 1620–ca. 1690), Autumn Flowers. Ink, color, and gold leaf on paper, mounted on wood as six-fold screen, 56 13/16" x 132" (144.3 x 335.4 cm). © Philadelphia Museum of Art. (PMA-3022)

This beautiful byobu (six-fold screen) displays autumn’s seasonal flowers, except for the chrysanthemum! Visible are ivy, bush clover, mallow, coxcomb, and grasses. Yamato-e imagery often seems to float on a vague background made all the more vague by the gold leaf. It’s easy to see why Impressionists gravitated to Japanese painting because of the spontaneity of composition. In fact, this screen was once owned by American Impressionist Mary Cassatt (1844–1926).

Yamato-e was the opposite of Kara-e “Chinese picture,” symbolized by the Song Dynasty (960–1279/1280) classic style of monochromatic brush landscape paintings. With emphasis on dramatic composition, nature simplified to shapes, and extravagant use of gold leaf, screen painting of this period was truly Japanese in outlook. 

Kitagawa Sōsetsu was a pupil of Tawaraya Sōsetsu, who was either a disciple or son of Tawaraya Sōtatsu (1576–1643), considered a founder of the school that specialized in the decorative Yamato-e style, which led to such masters as Ogata Korin. Sosetsu's work is typical of this "first generation" of painters of the Rinpa style.

Kanō Eisen’in Michinobu (1730–1790), Waterfall and Autumn Foliage. Ink and color on silk hanging scroll, 51 3/4" x 17" (131.5 x 43.2 cm). © Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. (MFAB-1326)

There’s nothing I enjoy more than getting drawn into a landscape in the Kara-e style. One of the actual goals of Chinese and Japanese landscape painting, established during the Song Dynasty in China, was for the viewer to be able to imagine taking a “stroll” through the painting. I really do like how Edo artists took the Chinese technique of mist to suggest depth to an almost abstract dimension.

Michinobu was one of a long line of painters who took the Kanō name from the founder of the Kanō School, Kanō Masanobu (1434–1530). Through the centuries the Kanō School was the favorite of the samurai and noble classes and was steeped in the tradition of monochromatic Chinese painting. During the early 1700s, the school’s style had adapted decorative, overly realistic nature painting in bright colors. This style was called Nanpin after the Chinese painter Shen Nanpin (1682–after 1762), who had introduced a more scientific approach to painting nature to Japanese artists.

Michinobu was one of the last great leaders of the Kanō School, who tried to return the school to the school’s Chinese-inspired roots. He was the son of Kanō Eisen Hisnobu (1698–1731), who had also led the school. It was traditional in Japan for artists to either be adopted by their mentor, or to take the name of the mentor as a badge of honor. Needless to say, from the 1400s to the 1800s there were a lot of Kanōs!

Suzuki Harunobu (1725–1770), Autumn Moon in a Mirror, from the series Eight Parlor Views, ca. 1766. Color woodblock print on paper, 11 1/2" x 8 5/8" (29.2 x 21.9 cm). © Davis Art Images. (8S-4159)

I couldn’t resist closing with a Harunobu. His prints are so charming and really show a lot about every day middle-class life in Edo Period Japan. This view of a maid fixing her boss’s hair is typical of the subtlety of Japanese art. Although the title alludes to the moon in the mirror, the moon is not visible. We can only imagine it. The only other hint that it is autumn is the cockscomb outside the window. Eight Parlor Views is an awesome series that shows the occupations of middle-class women in the household.

Little is known about Harunobu’s life or art education. The sophistication and elegance of his prints, however, may indicate that he came from a middle-class or samurai family. His prints followed the convention of the Ukiyo-e style until he began producing the twelve-color (12 separate blocks of wood) prints after learning the new process in 1765.

Harunobu’s style of elegant, slender figures, both male and female, established a style that was emulated by artists who followed him, including Torii Kiyonaga (1752–1815) and Utagawa Utamaro (1753–1806). His work is widely viewed as the beginning of the “classic period” of the Ukiyo-e style. He not only documented the courtesans and actors of the pleasure quarters, but also depicted middle class genre scenes and even street vendors.

Correlations to Davis programs: Explorations in Art Grade 2: 1.2, 1.3; Explorations in Art Grade 3: 5.Studio 27-28; Explorations in Art Grade 5: 4.19, 4.20, 4.Studio 19-20; A Global Pursuit: 7.1, 7.5; Experience Printmaking: 3, 4; Exploring Painting: 9, 11; The Visual Experience: 13.5; Discovering Art History: 2.2, 4.4

Vacation Time

I was on vacation recently in Provincetown and, being an art history nerd, thought I would give some visual explanations.

Charles Demuth (1883–1935, US), Stairs, Provincetown, 1920. Gouache and pencil on board, 23 1/2" x 19 1/2" (59.7 x 49.5 cm). © The Museum of Modern Art, New York. (MOMA-P4200)

Yes, one sees a lot of angular stairs leading up to old buildings in Ptown. These stairs look like the ones going up to the little theater above the Post Office café. Demuth was a regular member of the summer Provincetown art colony, before Abstract Expressionist mentor Hans Hofmann (1880–1966) opened his Summer School there in 1935. Although originally academically trained, Demuth abandoned that style after the 1913 Armory Show in New York, from which he absorbed the influence of Cubism.

The Provincetown art colony was established in 1899. The Ptown Art Association, which now has a museum that’s awesome, was established in 1914 and initiated the practice of yearly exhibitions of the art colony’s student work. By 1916, the colony was proclaimed by the Boston Globe as the largest one in the world with around 300 students!

Tom Purvis (1889–1959, Britain), East Coast by LNER, poster for London and Northeast Railroad, ca. 1928. Color lithograph on paper, 39 1/2" x 49 3/4" (100.3 x 126.3 cm). Image © The Museum of Modern Art, New York. (MOMA-D1049)

I would probably be doing some of this on the beach if they have big umbrellas like this. I’m not really a beach and sun person. I’m usually laminated with 100 spf sunblock. I often wonder how hot it gets on British beaches in the summer.

England was part of the same poster renaissance as occurred in the rest of Western Europe and the US from about the 1890s to the 1940s. I extend it to the 1940s, because many of the most popular poster artists worked on public safety posters during World War II (1939–1945), including Tom Purvis. Purvis’s graphic design work is interesting, because he could produce almost photo realistic illustrations and then simplified forms like this poster.

This reduction of forms to simple areas of flat color reflects a Post-Impressionist/Cubist influence seen in many other poster artists in Britain at the time as well. Purvis’ posters for the London Northeast Railroad are among his most famous pieces.

Marguerite Kumm (1900–1992, US), Museum Visitors. Drypoint on paper, 3 3/16" x 2" (8 x 5 cm). Butler Institute of American Art, Youngstown, OH. (BIAA-375)

There are so many galleries with awesome paintings and a fabulous museum, I spend most my time looking at art on vacation. I might also wander up the street and gaze fondly at the house Robert Motherwell shared with Helen Frankenthaler while I’m at it. He had to build a special door in the second floor studio of that house in order to accommodate the size of his and Frankenthaler’s canvases!

One of the best things to come out of the Great Depression (1929–1940) was the Federal Art Project (1935–1939), part of the Works Progress Administration (WPA, established 1935). This was the first ever effort by the US Federal government at arts patronage, meant to ensure the livelihood of American artists during the severe economic downturn. The printmaking program gave artists studios, printing presses and materials, and the means to disseminate affordable art to the public.

Marguerite Kumm, like Mabel Dwight, honed her printmaking skills during the Depression in the FPA. Born in California, she studied art in Minneapolis and Washington, DC. Working for the WPA, she painted murals and produced hundreds of etchings. Like Dwight, they featured everyday life of the American public.

Things I didn’t do on vacation:

Japan, To Tomita Beach post card, 1936. Color lithograph on coated paper, 5 7/16" x 3 7/16" (13.8 x 8.8 cm). © MFA, Boston. (MFAB-1081)

Swimming. I think the history of Japanese post cards is more interesting than diving into a pool. I mean, look at the dizzying heights of this diving board. I do find the combination of Western perspective and Japanese love of pattern and asymmetrical composition fascinating, though.

The first postcards were introduced in Japan in 1873. By 1887, postcards were the most popular form of mail in Japan. They were offered in all kinds of shops, displacing the establishments that had once sold woodcut Ukiyo-e prints.

In 1900, the Japanese government relinquished the publication of postcards to the private sector. This had immense impact on Japanese society. Postcards were now issued from every corner of Japanese society, including medical schools, the military, artist groups, and even department stores. The postcard made possible the rapid circulation of exciting and innovative visual vocabulary that documented how Japan was rapidly becoming a modern culture.

Subject matter of Japanese postcards during the most flourishing period (1900–1930s) varied from images of women similar to ukiyo-e prints, to scenes that symbolized the modernization of Japan. 

Mayer, Merkel and Ottmann Lithograph Company (1874–1885 New York), Trade card for Braided Edge Mexican Hammock, ca. 1883. Color lithograph on card stock. © Winterthur Museum, Winterthur, DE. (WIN-114)

Lounging in a hammock. I really don’t know how people take naps in a hammock. Who wants to get a waffle pattern on their backside? Did you know that in the 1800s, it was generally considered “inappropriate” for a woman to lounge in a hammock in public [unless accompanied by two male chaperons in stunning tennis (badminton?) glamour, of course]? Naturally, they would know what’s inappropriate, right? Check out the logical tennis (badminton?) outfits, especially the women’s, complete with bustle and hat. I bet one doesn’t sweat in that getup.

Trade cards like this reached their peak of popularity between the 1860s and 1890s. After the 1890s, more popular forms of advertising included magazines and posters.

Lithography greatly accelerated the evolution of graphic design, particularly for advertising. Developed in the 1790s by Alois Senefelder (1771–1834, Prague, Paris, Munich), the art form quickly replaced etching, engraving, and wood engraving as the primary source for mass-produced prints in advertising and illustration during the mid-1800s. Color or chromolithography began being perfected as early as the 1840s. The heyday of chromolithography, “everyperson’s art,” was the 1860s through the 1890s.

Edward Penfield (1866–1925, US), Placard advertisement for Harper’s August magazine, 1896. Zinc etching on paper, 18 9/16” x 13 1/2" (47.2 x 34.3 cm). © The Museum of Modern Art, New York. (MOMA-D0573)

Wearing a onesie bathing suit while puffing on a cigarette. Yeah, no. While I do appreciate the modesty of the onesie bathing suit, I don’t really think I’d swim off the Cape what with the possibility of being gobbled by a shark. Besides, swimming exposes me to an undue amount of sun! I’m not sure if the woman’s blasé expression in this ad is because of the onesie or the fact that the dude is smoking?

The American poster renaissance occurred at the same time as it did in Europe. It was influenced by the Arts and Crafts movement emphasis on instilling utilitarian art, i.e. advertising, with fine art. This idea—and the money to be made—led many painters to create fabulous poster art. This renaissance in poster art lasted in America through the 1930s.

Penfield studied costume and fashion design and painting at the Art Students League in New York in the late 1880s. His first job at a young age was at Harper’s magazine in 1892. A little over a year after starting he produce the first of his 75 iconic placards advertising the magazine.

Penfield was influenced by Toulouse-Lautrec and Steinlen in Paris, Beggarstaff s in England, and Japanese Ukiyo-e woodblock prints. He distilled all of these influences into a style of simplified forms that established a style copied by many other poster artists of the 1890s, most notably artists like William Bradley.

Correlations to Davis programs: Explorations in Art Grade 1: 1.3, 2.12, 3.17; Explorations in Art Grade 3: 3.17, 4.21; Explorations in Art Grade 4: 2.9, 3.studio 17-18; Explorations in Art Grade 5: 5.28, 5.29, 5.Connections; Explorations in Art Grade 6: 1.3, 5.studio27-28; A Personal Journey: 2.1, 2.3, 2.4, 3.5; A Community Connection: 1.2, 4.5, 4.6, 5.4, 6.2, 7.4, 8.2; A Global Pursuit: 7.5, 8.4; Communicating Through Graphic Design 1, 2, 6; Experience Printmaking: 5, 6; Experience Painting: 4; Exploring Visual Design: 1, 2, 5, 10, 11; The Visual Experience: 3.7, 8.15, 9.3, 9,4, 13.5, 16.4, 16.6; Discovering Art History: 4.4, 15.2