Focus On: Robert Henri & Edith Haworth

This art of the week from the IU Art Museum is a portrait done by an American painter, Robert Henri (1865-1929). I didn't know anything about him until some digging on the internets this morning, and he is a pretty interesting guy! Not related to his art, I suppose, but when he was a child, his father founded two towns, and then got into a dispute with a rancher and killed him and the family had to change their names and go into hiding.

More pertinently, Henri was trained in France, but eschewed Academy education and Impressionism as being too limiting and "academic". An ardent realist, he is now associated with the Ashcan School. He was a long time teacher at the New York School of Art and the Art Students League of New York, where his pupils included George Bellows, Rockwell Kent, Edward Hopper, and Lillian Cotton. What I like about him is that he was a bit of an anarchist and after he was elected to the National Academy of Design in 1906, he often tried to undermine them, and would set up his own, independent exhibitions that were much more egalitarian.

Anyway, all of that is just a precursor to this loveliness:
(Robert Henri, Portrait of Edith Haworth, 1909. Thanks to IU's online database for the image!)

I really, really like this portrait. When you see it in person, it is so LIVELY, which you can tell from this image, too. There is a wonderful quality of movement throughout, stemming from those quick and energetic brushstrokes, especially evident along the sleeve. Somewhere I read that Henri was influenced by Velazquez while studying in Europe, which I could see. Edith Haworth was a former student of Henri's who was moving to France. He painted this portrait of her when she stopped by his studio to say goodbye. I wasn't able to find out much about her, although she is mentioned in quite a few anthologies of American Art.

The best part of this work is Edith Haworth's face. It's got such a personality, which might be her as much as Henri! Her mouth is set in this great half-smile, like he was saying something witty or silly, something that your friend might say if they were painting you to try and make you laugh. She looks indulgently and wistfully towards (presumably) the artist, perhaps sad to be leaving, perhaps excited to start this next phase of her life. She's an enigma. I bet she was fun. I wish I knew her.

Practice

Q: How do you get to Carnegie Hall?
A: Practice.
--my friend Jenna's favorite joke, when we were in the 5th grade

I finally found the practice rooms here, and let me tell you--there is nothing quite so demoralizing as practicing in a music conservatory when you are not enrolled in said music conservatory, and you can barely remember key signatures. It is also much harder to find available rooms, since people practice all the time. I don't know if any of you ever used the practice rooms at my undergrad, but (T-Saur can attest to this, if she is reading), they are really, really bad, which also meant that they were usually deserted. I started using the piano in the art department because, while not as private as I'd like, it is so aesthetically pleasing. The practice rooms here, though, as they are accommodating a different caliber of students, are equipped with grand pianos. Yes, some are looking a little worse for wear, but when I get to play a Steinway, even with paint flaking off it, I am pretty delighted.

My friend Jenna, of the Carnegie Hall joke, got her BFA at Eastman, so I know a little bit about the conservatory mentality from visiting her and hearing stories (although the moral of most of those is that musicians drink more than anyone I've ever met, and it doesn't seem to faze them). But other than people watching the conservatory kids, the BEST part about practicing here is the cacophony of sounds that can be heard when you wander the halls of the school of music. It's a circular building, so when you go inside, the halls curve around into almost a figure-8 shape on each floor. If you just keep walking and looping you end up back at the door where you started. Initially, I didn't know which floor had practice rooms with pianos, so I went up to the fifth floor and walked my way down, and on each floor the sounds were different!

There was a symphony (I think) rehearsal happening on the top floor. When I got out of the stairwell the first thing I saw was at least 30 'cello and bass cases. And my first thought was, "they look monster exoskeletons" which is weird until you realize that it was sort of twilight, and I could have fit inside most of those cases, so it was a little surreal. The next floor down was jazz, underneath them was drums, and underneath that was piano and organ, which is where I ended. String people often practice in the piano rooms so they can pick out melodies on the pianos too, so those sounds were also mixed in.

It reminded me of these CDs that my sistah and I used to listen to when we were little--Mr Bach Comes to Call, and Mozart's Magic Fantasy, I think. And we watched Beethoven Lives Upstairs so many times that I think we've probably still got it memorized. They were AWESOME. And they always started with these kids hanging out with people who were practicing and tuning up (I always love that sound) and running around doing last minute things before a performance. That noise, all of those noises combined, just sounds like creativity to me.

Tangentially, we've been talking about aurality a lot in my Islamic Art class, because mosques are not meant to be silent spaces. The Qu'ran actually means "recitations" and that is how it is really meant to be understood, almost as a rap or chant. That's why minarets are so important--they call to worship, much like bells and bell towers do. We had a quiz on the Great Mosque of Cordoba this week, and one of the interesting (and straight up awful) developments was that it was reconquested by the Christians, who built a cathedral on TOP of it, and turned the minaret into a belltower--they weren't just fighting over the space, they were fighting over the aural space. In 997, the bells were stolen from the cathedral at Santiago de Compostela, and brought to Cordoba on the backs of Christian prisoners. The mosque leaders turned the bells into mosque-lamps, as a symbolic gesture of their dominance. In 1236, during the reconquest, the bells were returned to Santiago de Compostela--on the backs of Muslim prisoners.

A depressing closing for a post about the joys of playing the piano and musical expression, but that jumble of sounds, the mixing of voices and scrapping chairs and tuning forks, turns into something that (without being too dramatic!) is sublime. My piano teacher in high school used to say that music was the most transient and wonderful of arts, because it was always, always different, every time you played something. It connects to the visual in wonderful ways, too. So go out there, and listen.

All Art, All the Time

Perhaps the oddest thing for me about grad school is that I am only hanging out with art historians and art students. Until now I've really only had one good art history friend who was my age, and through some weirdness we only had one class together, and it wasn't until our senior year. So I've never really had that many people my own age to gush about art historical stuff with, or even to study with.

That's kind of all changed now. We definitely talk about things other than art, of course, but the talk always seems to morph into that, even when we're having beers at The Vid (The Vid being, other than the Mojos, the dive-ist bar I've ever been in. Clean, certainly, but dive-y, also yes.) This could become a problem down the road, I think. I really like having friends who are interested in other things, so I'm worried that I'll get stuck in a rut here. I love art history, don't get me wrong, but I don't want to think about it ALL the TIME. Happily, most of the other students seem to be in the same mindset, so hopefully it won't be too constraining. And I have my other, closer (if not necessarily in distance) friends to keep me grounded in the real world, and thank goodness for that!

The nice thing is that I feel less like an enthusiastic art freak, which is sometimes how I felt in undergrad. I sometimes felt like I had to tamp down my responses in class to seem not quite so engaged or excited. Which is silly. I feel like the nerd factor is higher here, but I'm also not alone in it. Some examples:

on the bus:
My friend: Look at that VW.
Me: What a weird color! It looks kind of like a shimmery oil spill.
My friend: I think it looks like that sleeve in the Allegory of Painting.
Me: Oh, true that. Especially that purple-y bit.
Other friend: Yo, nerd alert, you two. Remember, we're on the bus.

Another friend, to me: That's a cute cardigan. You know what the feather design reminds me of? Daphne's leaf-hands.

Me: did you get a mocha?
Another friend: Nah, I just got a regular coffee. I'm avoiding temptation. Like St Jerome.
Me: Did you just make a Jerome reference?!
(note: that fact that someone other than me is making Jerome references in normal conversation is very refreshing. I try not to do that too often.)

Me, walking into the art building before an Islamic test: Hey.
Another friend: Hey. Hazarbaf. Define, ready...go!

And these are the things I'm remembering from the past 3 days. But at least it's reassuring that when I start living at the library, as will be happening over the next few weeks, these people will be there with me.

Il Barbiere di Siviglia

I like opera (love opera, if we're talkin' Mozart) and I especially like operas where there is a lot of cross-dressing and espionage and mistaken identity and gratuitous silliness. So even though I had never seen The Barber of Seville (or Il Barbiere di Siviglia, if you prefer) before last night, I knew that I would probably enjoy it. And I did!
(ok, technically that is the Rabbit of Seville, which you can watch here. I've had Bugs Bunny's version stuck in my head all. day. Thanks to filmsnobbery.com for the image!)

On my third day of orientation, I decided it would be a good idea to buy season opera and ballet tickets, because 1. if I waited I would make up excuses (cost, busy-ness) not to do it, 2. as aforementioned, I like opera, and 3. it's cool that there are actually operas here. The Jacobs School of Music is a conservatory (a thumping good one, it turns out) which is a part of IU, and they put on six operas a year, as well as three ballets. Tickets for all of these costs less than one ticket for a not very good seat at the Met. It turns out that one of my sister students likes opera too, so we went to dinner and then headed over. Dinner, by the way, at El Norteno on Walnut--decently priced, fast service, tasty enchiladas, complimentary chips, cold beer. Also, there is a large stained glass window that takes up almost the whole back wall of the restaurant. Lovely.
(thanks to the Jacobs School for the image. You can see, sort of, the rather nice Calder sculpture at the left.)

The theater itself is very modern looking with a purple and orange (!!) color scheme with white, bubble-like boxes. For whatever reason, it works surprisingly well. And the opera! I honestly thought the singing was comparable to ones I've seen at the Met, and probably a little bit better than Chautauqua. The orchestra had a few problems--there were certain points when they were just slightly behind (or ahead) of the singers. There is one point where about 8 people are singing at once, at slightly different tempos, and the orchestra had a little problem with that. But overall, it was great. I don't think the music is that glorious, but the famous Figaro aria (you know: Figaro Figaro Fiiiiiggggaaaarrrooo la la la la la, that one) is pretty darn cool. And he sang it while hopping on and off a bed, which is also cool. (for another version, check this out.) I was initially underwhelmed by Almaviva, mainly because his wig looked too much like a mullet, but he turned out to be very good. I think Dr Bartolo totally stole the show though--he was a perfect mix of pompous and vulnerable.

What was also great was that no one booed. This seems like an odd thing to say, but people at the Met do. Boo, I mean. I told my friend this, and she responded, "Sweet Jesus, what do they think it is, a Roman Colosseum?" I can't explain it. It does crack me up that something so "high brow" has such a "low brow" side to it, although it's also infuriating at the same time. I have never been to an opera at the Met where the people around me were not complaining about something. Granted, the man behind us last night was pretty grumpy because they turned the end of Act 1 into something sort of surrealist, but by and large people were happy, and STAYED UNTIL THE END OF THE CURTAIN CALLS. It was very refreshing.

Oh, one more thing--the sets were phenomenal. It was a rotating stage that switched from outside Bartolo's house, to Figaro's house, to the inside of Bartolo's house, which had all these rotating panels and the like. It worked very well.

The Jacobs School of Music, I just learned while looking up images, streams some of the operas LIVE, and also has videos of past performances and podcasts, all on their homepage. It is set up really well, so do check that out. And because Bugs Bunny isn't silly enough, here are the King's Singers doing the overture, a'capella style.

Focus On: Fish Masks

This week I bring you art from the third floor of the Indiana University Art Museum, which houses the African, Pacific, and Greek and Roman galleries. To my mind it is the best, most extensive floor of the museum. And these masks, from Guinea-Bissau, are beyond fabulous:
(Mask in the Form of A Sawfish Head, Bissagos Islands, Guinea-Bissau), and
(Mask in the Form of a Shark Head, Bissagos Islands, Guinea-Bissau)

I don't know enough about African masks to really speak too intelligently about this, but I think it's safe to deduce that masks of fish had particular significance in Guinea-Bissau, as it is located directly on the coast and has island territories. Presumably fish, and the ocean, play an important role in their food/economy. Also (I read on the CIA website) that their dry season is especially bad, at least now, and insufficient water and forest fires are a problem. So it would seem that historically, the sea (and its inhabitants) would be of considerable importance.

What I like the most about these two masks are the sense of fun they express, and the cool use of materials. That is an ACTUAL sawfish snout in the sawfish mask, while the shark head is made of wood, covered with pigment. I like the way the raffia flows from both of them, almost like braids--it reminds me of waves or seaweed.

Highway Blues

But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
--Visions of Johanna, Bob Dylan

This past weekend I went to my alma mater. The impetus of the visit was to attend a memorial service for a very kind, very genuinely wonderful person, so it wasn't a purely "fun" visit...but parts of it were very fun. I know such lovely people, truly. It was hard to leave this morning, and not just because it was 4:45 am! I've had an achy feeling all day, I think stemming mostly from the fact that I spent 3 days in constant company with some of my favorite people in the entire world, and now I am in...Indiana. And I have been up for too long (even though it is barely dinner time) and I have to read so much and I just want to go back to Geneva and sit by the lake.

I can't dwell on this stuff, because transitions are hard and gross and it will eventually all work out, blah blah blah. I know this. Doesn't make it any easier, though.

So, instead, I will talk about traveling. I fly so rarely (maybe every 4 years, normally, if that) that when I do fly, it is still an exciting adventure. I love people watching in airports. I like the bustle and the possibilities that seem to accompany it--much as I love trains, there isn't that sort of energy associated with them. My flights were all on time, and everything went smoothly, which I'm really glad about. Because truthfully, I don't really like flying, particularly the taking off business. I chew gum like a fiend to help with the ear-popping, but my efforts weren't good enough on Friday, as I developed a reaaaaally bad earache that radiated pain down my face for the duration of the flight, and which stopped soon after we landed, thankfully.

On my way to Rochester, I was seated by a nice-ish man who owned an RV dealership. He was a little too tanned and frat boy-ish for me to really relate to, but we had a good chat about hockey. And he was jazzed that I was going back to college--I think he translated this to going back to Animal House, because THEN I got to hear all about his frat pranks.

This morning I arrived at the Rochester airport to see a HUGE line for security. Turns out there was a "police incident" so they were backed up, but I made it to my flight with minutes to spare. Although I did have to endure this in the security line while we were waiting:
Businessman, after we'd been chatting for awhile: So, art history, huh? What are you planning to do with THAT?
Me, feeling slightly punchy: Oh my gosh, what a GREAT question. No one has EVER asked me that before! (and then I gave what passes for a disarming smile)
Businessman: My son got his degree in theater (note: which he pronounced thee-ay-ter. WHO DOES THAT.) And now he's working at Lowes. Ha!
Me, internally: Good thing I can't have something pointy on my carry-on, because I seriously want to stab you.
And then I was so agitated that I had a coughing fit (probably not related) and stuck the cough drop in my mouth with the paper still on it. Sigh.

Delightfully, the businessman in front of me got randomly profiled so they made him do the air test thing, while I just got to walk through the detector. He was having a conniption fit about it, too. I thought a call to his lawyer was imminent. And THEN I had to walk by them BOTH in business class while I shuffled back to my seat at the back, and they both waved and looked smug. Sigh, again.

It's ok to be back. We did Artemisia Gentileschi in my seminar, and I have a soft spot for her for many, many reasons, so that woke me up a bit (and the discussion was more nuanced than I was expecting, which was gratifying.) And now--time to make a baked potato, unpack, try to organize my life, and get some sleep.

Hellfire

It was 95 degrees here yesterday. Having survived Heat Wave NYC 2010 it doesn't seem that bad, really, but since I am from almost-Canada, it does seem weird to have the leaves fall while it is too hot to make tea (or turn on the stove, period).

As I crossed campus yesterday, I saw a man wearing a sandwich board. The front said something like "Jesus said sin no more" and on the back something about going to hell. This is not a totally alien sight (there is a LOT more Christian activism on campus than at my undergrad institution), but what struck me in particular about this man was his voice. Namely, how loud and scary it was. I could hear him from quite a ways away, saying "heeelllllllfireeee, bound for helllllllfiiiiiireeeee, dooooooomed" over and over.

The man with the sign looked like that uncle you have who is kind of quiet, but always nice, and who gives you $10 and a hug when you graduate from high school. (note: I don't actually have any uncles like this. All my uncles are loud.) The thing that depressed me was that he was a smallish man with a plaid shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap, and what with the sandwich board on, he must have been so hot. Sweat was pouring off his face. Perhaps he would have responded that his discomfort was nothing compared to what martyrs went through, which is valid, I suppose, depending on your opinions about martyrdom. But mostly I was just irrationally annoyed. "Sit down!" I wanted to command him. "Please drink some water and rest, for crying out loud."

I don't why he got under my skin, but he did. There were a lot of religious campaigners in NYC, and I got used to them, got good at smiling, maybe taking a leaflet, or just continuing on my way. The only times I was ever aggravated were at those groups who brought their children with them--I don't care if you are trying to get people interested in Save the Puffins, or Free Chocolate for Everyone (both of which I would heartily support), or anything else--leave your 5 year old at home. But for some reason, this solitary man drumed the word "hellfire" into my brain. As I was trying to read an article about Artemisia Gentileschi: hellfire. As I cooked dinner: hellfire. As I conjugated Italian verbs: hellfire hellfire hellfire. "Knock it off," said my brain. "This is why these tactics work. You don't even BELIEVE in hell, remember?"

Blame it on the heat.