Seven ‘Firsts’ with Art
Once you get serious, you don’t just appreciate art, you have a ‘relationship’ with art. And just like in your most meaningful human relationship, there comes a time when you step back and think about all of your ‘firsts’.
Here are my personal top seven ‘art-relationship’ firsts:
1. The first time you put off buying something essential (like groceries) or paying a bill because you spent the money on a work of art.
2. The first time you removed a piece of furniture from your home so you would have room to hang a painting.
3. The time you traveled all the way back to a distant city just to purchase a piece of art because you had seen it passing through on vacation three weeks earlier and couldn’t get it off your mind.
4. The first time you were brought to tears by the beauty of art.
OK…well I wasn’t ‘actually’ brought to tears – I’m a guy. But I was close. More about that in a minute. First a little background. James Elkins, professor of Art History at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago has written a wonderful book: Pictures & Tears. In it, he details the way art can move us strongly, unexpectedly, even to tears. He writes:
‘Most us have never cried in front of a painting, or even felt anything very strongly. Pictures make us happy. Some are lovely and relaxing to look at. The best are gorgeous, mesmerizingly beautiful – but really only for a moment or two and then we’re off to something else’.
In contrast, the chapters in Elkins book each offer an exploration of a single work of art and some real (and sometimes well-known) person who was moved to tears by their encounter with it. Each of the following alternating chapters in Elkins book are meditations on those encounters. It’s fascinating.
Here’s my story. It was the first time I had set foot inside the Rothko Chapel in Houston. The Rothko Chapel is a non-denominational chapel, founded by John and Dominique de Menil. The interior serves not only as a chapel, but also as a major work of modern art. On its walls are fourteen black but color-hued paintings by Mark Rothko, an American abstract expressionist. The shape of the building is an octagon inscribed in a Greek cross, and the design of the chapel was largely influenced by the artist. If you haven’t visited, you must. You owe yourself a treat. On my first visit I was a graduate student living in Houston. I walked in on a hot Houston afternoon, not really knowing what to expect. I was stunned and immediately overwhelmed by the cool quiet, the solitude and the strange feeling of comfort. One of the tag lines associated with the Rothko Chapel is this: ‘A stillness that moves’. It’s apt.
Once you get serious, you don’t just appreciate art, you have a ‘relationship’ with art. And just like in your most meaningful human relationship, there comes a time when you step back and think about all of your ‘firsts’.
Here are my personal top seven ‘art-relationship’ firsts:
1. The first time you put off buying something essential (like groceries) or paying a bill because you spent the money on a work of art.
2. The first time you removed a piece of furniture from your home so you would have room to hang a painting.
3. The time you traveled all the way back to a distant city just to purchase a piece of art because you had seen it passing through on vacation three weeks earlier and couldn’t get it off your mind.
4. The first time you were brought to tears by the beauty of art.
OK…well I wasn’t ‘actually’ brought to tears – I’m a guy. But I was close. More about that in a minute. First a little background. James Elkins, professor of Art History at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago has written a wonderful book: Pictures & Tears. In it, he details the way art can move us strongly, unexpectedly, even to tears. He writes:
‘Most us have never cried in front of a painting, or even felt anything very strongly. Pictures make us happy. Some are lovely and relaxing to look at. The best are gorgeous, mesmerizingly beautiful – but really only for a moment or two and then we’re off to something else’.
In contrast, the chapters in Elkins book each offer an exploration of a single work of art and some real (and sometimes well-known) person who was moved to tears by their encounter with it. Each of the following alternating chapters in Elkins book are meditations on those encounters. It’s fascinating.
Here’s my story. It was the first time I had set foot inside the Rothko Chapel in Houston. The Rothko Chapel is a non-denominational chapel, founded by John and Dominique de Menil. The interior serves not only as a chapel, but also as a major work of modern art. On its walls are fourteen black but color-hued paintings by Mark Rothko, an American abstract expressionist. The shape of the building is an octagon inscribed in a Greek cross, and the design of the chapel was largely influenced by the artist. If you haven’t visited, you must. You owe yourself a treat. On my first visit I was a graduate student living in Houston. I walked in on a hot Houston afternoon, not really knowing what to expect. I was stunned and immediately overwhelmed by the cool quiet, the solitude and the strange feeling of comfort. One of the tag lines associated with the Rothko Chapel is this: ‘A stillness that moves’. It’s apt.
Back to the list…
5. REALLY believing you have discovered the next Picasso, Rauschenberg, or Calder (…and maybe you have !!)
I’ve felt that way several times in recent years. Here are just a few ‘emerging’ artists whom I have encountered whose work has excited me in that ‘discovery’ kind of way.
5. REALLY believing you have discovered the next Picasso, Rauschenberg, or Calder (…and maybe you have !!)
I’ve felt that way several times in recent years. Here are just a few ‘emerging’ artists whom I have encountered whose work has excited me in that ‘discovery’ kind of way.
6. That time you had to rent a climate-controlled storage unit because your little house – with almost no wall space – couldn’t hold all your art acquisitions, and your plan was to rotate your art through the house.
7. The first time you pause at home at the end of a long day, with a glass of wine in hand, and are staggered by the creativity and the beauty of the art that you have surrounded yourself with.
7. The first time you pause at home at the end of a long day, with a glass of wine in hand, and are staggered by the creativity and the beauty of the art that you have surrounded yourself with.
Art Has the Power to Unite
On July 31, 1968, a young African-American boy was looking at the newspaper when he saw something that he had never seen before. With tears in his eyes, he started running through the house, calling for his mom. He would show his mom, and she would gasp, seeing something she thought she would never see in her lifetime. Throughout the nation, there were similar reactions.
What they saw was Franklin Armstrong’s first appearance in the iconic comic strip Peanuts. Franklin was ‘born’ after a school teacher named Harriet Glickman, had written a letter to creator Charles M. Schulz after Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot to death outside his Memphis hotel room in April of 1968. Glickman, who had kids of her own, and having worked with kids, was especially aware of the power of comics among the young. ‘And my feeling at the time was that I realized that black kids and white kids never saw themselves depicted together in the classroom,’ she would say.
She would write, ‘Since the death of Martin Luther King, I’ve been asking myself what I can do to help change those conditions in our society which led to the assassination and which contribute to the vast sea of misunderstanding, hate, fear and violence.’
Glickman asked Schulz if he would consider adding a black character to his popular comic strip, which she hoped would bring the country together and show people of color that they are not excluded from American society. She had written to others as well, but the others feared it was too soon, that it may be costly to their careers, that the syndicate would drop them if they dared do something like that.
Charles Schulz did not have to respond to her letter. He could have just completely ignored it, and everyone would have forgotten about it. But, Schulz did take the time to respond, saying he was intrigued with the idea, but wasn’t sure whether it would be right, coming from him. He didn’t want to make matters worse. He felt that it might seem condescending to people of color.
Glickman did not give up, and continued communicating with Schulz, with Schulz responding each time. This conversation would continue for three months until one day, Schulz would tell Glickman to check her newspaper on July 31, 1968. On that date, the cartoon, as created by Schulz, shows Charlie Brown meeting a new character, named Franklin. Other than his color, Franklin was just an ordinary kid who befriends and helps Charlie Brown. Franklin also mentions that his father was ‘over at Vietnam.’
Although Schulz never made a big deal over the inclusion of Franklin, there were many fans, especially in the South, who were very upset by it, and that made national news. One Southern editor even said, ‘I don’t mind you having a black character, but please don’t show them in school together.’ It would eventually lead to a conversation between Schulz and the president of the comic’s distribution company, who was concerned about the introduction of Franklin and how it might affect Schulz’ popularity. Many newspapers during that time had threatened to cut the strip. Schulz’ response: ‘I remember telling Larry about Franklin. He wanted me to change it, and we talked about it for a long time on the phone, and I finally said: Well, Larry, let’s put it this way. Either you print it just the way I draw it, or I quit. How’s that?’
Eventually, Franklin became a regular character in the comic strip, and, despite complaints, Franklin would be shown sitting in front of Peppermint Patty at school and playing center field on her baseball team.
Because of one brave school teacher who decided to ask a simple question, and because of one artist named Charles Schulz, people around the world were introduced to a little boy named Franklin.
From the Jon S. Randal Peace Page
On July 31, 1968, a young African-American boy was looking at the newspaper when he saw something that he had never seen before. With tears in his eyes, he started running through the house, calling for his mom. He would show his mom, and she would gasp, seeing something she thought she would never see in her lifetime. Throughout the nation, there were similar reactions.
What they saw was Franklin Armstrong’s first appearance in the iconic comic strip Peanuts. Franklin was ‘born’ after a school teacher named Harriet Glickman, had written a letter to creator Charles M. Schulz after Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot to death outside his Memphis hotel room in April of 1968. Glickman, who had kids of her own, and having worked with kids, was especially aware of the power of comics among the young. ‘And my feeling at the time was that I realized that black kids and white kids never saw themselves depicted together in the classroom,’ she would say.
She would write, ‘Since the death of Martin Luther King, I’ve been asking myself what I can do to help change those conditions in our society which led to the assassination and which contribute to the vast sea of misunderstanding, hate, fear and violence.’
Glickman asked Schulz if he would consider adding a black character to his popular comic strip, which she hoped would bring the country together and show people of color that they are not excluded from American society. She had written to others as well, but the others feared it was too soon, that it may be costly to their careers, that the syndicate would drop them if they dared do something like that.
Charles Schulz did not have to respond to her letter. He could have just completely ignored it, and everyone would have forgotten about it. But, Schulz did take the time to respond, saying he was intrigued with the idea, but wasn’t sure whether it would be right, coming from him. He didn’t want to make matters worse. He felt that it might seem condescending to people of color.
Glickman did not give up, and continued communicating with Schulz, with Schulz responding each time. This conversation would continue for three months until one day, Schulz would tell Glickman to check her newspaper on July 31, 1968. On that date, the cartoon, as created by Schulz, shows Charlie Brown meeting a new character, named Franklin. Other than his color, Franklin was just an ordinary kid who befriends and helps Charlie Brown. Franklin also mentions that his father was ‘over at Vietnam.’
Although Schulz never made a big deal over the inclusion of Franklin, there were many fans, especially in the South, who were very upset by it, and that made national news. One Southern editor even said, ‘I don’t mind you having a black character, but please don’t show them in school together.’ It would eventually lead to a conversation between Schulz and the president of the comic’s distribution company, who was concerned about the introduction of Franklin and how it might affect Schulz’ popularity. Many newspapers during that time had threatened to cut the strip. Schulz’ response: ‘I remember telling Larry about Franklin. He wanted me to change it, and we talked about it for a long time on the phone, and I finally said: Well, Larry, let’s put it this way. Either you print it just the way I draw it, or I quit. How’s that?’
Eventually, Franklin became a regular character in the comic strip, and, despite complaints, Franklin would be shown sitting in front of Peppermint Patty at school and playing center field on her baseball team.
Because of one brave school teacher who decided to ask a simple question, and because of one artist named Charles Schulz, people around the world were introduced to a little boy named Franklin.
From the Jon S. Randal Peace Page
Making Art: An Olympic Effort
Did you know….? Art competitions were a feature of the modern Olympic Games during its early years, from 1912 to 1948. The competitions were part of the original intention of the founder of the International Olympic Committee, Pierre de Fredy, Baron de Coubertin. His idea was to honor men – educated in both mind and body – and competing in sport rather than war.
Medals were awarded for works of art ‘inspired by sport’, divided into five categories: architecture, literature, music, painting and sculpture. At various times there were suggestions to expand the competitions to include dancing, film, photography or theatre, but none of these art forms ever became part of the Olympic Games as a medal event.
The 1912 Summer Olympics, held in Stockholm, Sweden attracted a disappointing number of entrants: only 35 artists are known to have sent works of art. Things were different for the 1924 Summer Olympics in Paris. The contests were taken seriously and 193 artists submitted works. This figure included three Soviet artists, even though the Soviet Union officially did not take part in the Olympic Games, which they considered to be a ‘bourgeois’ festival. The growth continued at the 1928 Amsterdam Olympics, where over 1,100 works of art were exhibited in the Municipal Museum, not including the submissions in literature, music and architecture. Artists were allowed to sell their works at the close of the exhibition, which was rather controversial given the IOC’s policy, which required all competitors to be amateurs. In 1949, a report was presented at the IOC meeting in Rome which concluded that practically all contestants in the art competitions were professionals. The IOC argued that the art competitions should therefore be abolished and replaced with an exhibition without awards or medals. Since that time several attempts have been made to re-include them, but all without success. The Olympics continue to be connected with art exhibitions, however. The Olympic Charter requires organizers of the Olympic Games to include a program of cultural events, to: ‘serve to promote harmonious relations, mutual understanding and friendship among the participants and others attending the Olympic Games’.
Architecture : The 1928 Olympic Stadium, designed by Jan Wils, won the gold medal in architecture at the 1928 Olympics.
Did you know….? Art competitions were a feature of the modern Olympic Games during its early years, from 1912 to 1948. The competitions were part of the original intention of the founder of the International Olympic Committee, Pierre de Fredy, Baron de Coubertin. His idea was to honor men – educated in both mind and body – and competing in sport rather than war.
Medals were awarded for works of art ‘inspired by sport’, divided into five categories: architecture, literature, music, painting and sculpture. At various times there were suggestions to expand the competitions to include dancing, film, photography or theatre, but none of these art forms ever became part of the Olympic Games as a medal event.
The 1912 Summer Olympics, held in Stockholm, Sweden attracted a disappointing number of entrants: only 35 artists are known to have sent works of art. Things were different for the 1924 Summer Olympics in Paris. The contests were taken seriously and 193 artists submitted works. This figure included three Soviet artists, even though the Soviet Union officially did not take part in the Olympic Games, which they considered to be a ‘bourgeois’ festival. The growth continued at the 1928 Amsterdam Olympics, where over 1,100 works of art were exhibited in the Municipal Museum, not including the submissions in literature, music and architecture. Artists were allowed to sell their works at the close of the exhibition, which was rather controversial given the IOC’s policy, which required all competitors to be amateurs. In 1949, a report was presented at the IOC meeting in Rome which concluded that practically all contestants in the art competitions were professionals. The IOC argued that the art competitions should therefore be abolished and replaced with an exhibition without awards or medals. Since that time several attempts have been made to re-include them, but all without success. The Olympics continue to be connected with art exhibitions, however. The Olympic Charter requires organizers of the Olympic Games to include a program of cultural events, to: ‘serve to promote harmonious relations, mutual understanding and friendship among the participants and others attending the Olympic Games’.
Architecture : The 1928 Olympic Stadium, designed by Jan Wils, won the gold medal in architecture at the 1928 Olympics.
Literature: The literature competitions were divided into a varied number of categories. Separate categories were introduced for dramatic, epic and lyric literature. Entered works were limited in length (20,000 words) and could be submitted in any language, provided they were accompanied by English and/or French translations or summaries.
Music: A single event for music was held until 1936, when three categories were introduced: one for orchestral music, one for instrumental music, and one for both solo and choral music.
The juries often had trouble judging the pieces, which were entered on paper. 1936 marked the only occasion when the winning musical works were actually played before an audience.
Painting: As with the other art forms, a single painting category was on the program until 1928, when it was split out into three sub-categories: drawing, graphic arts and painting. The categories changed at each of the following Olympic Games. In 1932, the three categories were: paintings, prints and watercolor/drawings.
Sculpture: The sculpture class had only a single category until 1928, when two separate competitions were designated; one for statues and one for reliefs and medals.
Who were these artistic Olympians?
While several of the Olympic art medalist's have achieved at least national fame, few of them can be considered well-known artists globally. In fact, the 1924 Games featured better known jury members than artists, with artists like Selma Lagerlof and Igor Stravinsky evaluating the entered works.
Judging by the medals won, Luxembourg painter Jean Jacoby is the most successful Olympic artist ever, winning the gold medal for his 1924 painting Étude de Sport, and for his drawing Rugby in 1928.
Music: A single event for music was held until 1936, when three categories were introduced: one for orchestral music, one for instrumental music, and one for both solo and choral music.
The juries often had trouble judging the pieces, which were entered on paper. 1936 marked the only occasion when the winning musical works were actually played before an audience.
Painting: As with the other art forms, a single painting category was on the program until 1928, when it was split out into three sub-categories: drawing, graphic arts and painting. The categories changed at each of the following Olympic Games. In 1932, the three categories were: paintings, prints and watercolor/drawings.
Sculpture: The sculpture class had only a single category until 1928, when two separate competitions were designated; one for statues and one for reliefs and medals.
Who were these artistic Olympians?
While several of the Olympic art medalist's have achieved at least national fame, few of them can be considered well-known artists globally. In fact, the 1924 Games featured better known jury members than artists, with artists like Selma Lagerlof and Igor Stravinsky evaluating the entered works.
Judging by the medals won, Luxembourg painter Jean Jacoby is the most successful Olympic artist ever, winning the gold medal for his 1924 painting Étude de Sport, and for his drawing Rugby in 1928.
Only two persons have won Olympic medals in both sport and art competitions. Walter W. Winans, an American, won a gold medal as a marksman at the 1912 Summer Olympics in the running deer (double shot) competition. He followed up with a gold medal for his sculpture An American trotter. The other Olympian with successes in both fields is Alfred Hajos of Hungary. As a swimmer, he won two gold medals at the 1896 Athens Olympics. Twenty-eight years later, he was awarded a silver medal in architecture for his stadium design.
Two presidents of the International Olympic Committee have also been among the entrants in the Olympic art competitions. In 1912 founder Pierre de Coubertin, under the pseudonym ‘Georges Hohrod and Martin Eschbach’, entered Ode to sport, which won the gold medal. Avery Brundage, who competed as an athlete at the 1912 Games, entered literary works at the 1932 and 1936 Olympics, earning an honorary mention in 1932. He would serve as the IOC’s president from 1952 to 1971.
Britain’s John Copley, winner of a silver medal in the 1948 engravings and etchings competition, was 73 years of age, making him the oldest Olympic medalist in history.
Who are the all-time Olympic medal winners in the Arts competitions?
Germany comes out on top with a total of 23 medals across all the arts categories. Italy and France are next with 14 medals each. The United States comes in at a distant 4th, with only nine total medals – tied with Great Britain, Denmark and Austria. Coming in at last place in the arts competition with only one medal each (never quite able to get that artistic thing down) was Norway, Monaco and (surprisingly) Greece.
Britain’s John Copley, winner of a silver medal in the 1948 engravings and etchings competition, was 73 years of age, making him the oldest Olympic medalist in history.
Who are the all-time Olympic medal winners in the Arts competitions?
Germany comes out on top with a total of 23 medals across all the arts categories. Italy and France are next with 14 medals each. The United States comes in at a distant 4th, with only nine total medals – tied with Great Britain, Denmark and Austria. Coming in at last place in the arts competition with only one medal each (never quite able to get that artistic thing down) was Norway, Monaco and (surprisingly) Greece.
Art and Ambiguity
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Ambiguity 1
1... able to be understood in more than one way; having two or more meanings; doubtful; being of uncertain signification or meaning
Ambiguity is exciting. The unresolved is the undecided - and the undecided can stir us. It can also leave us anxious, insecure, and worried.
There is a great tension at the heart of every ambiguity. This or that? Up or down? Left or right? So, most of us try and settle any ambiguity in our lives by coming to some kind of resolution. We ‘re-solve’ with something we know well or can easily relate to. We fill in with a story we already know and shape the facts or the impressions or the situation to fit our already existing experience. What’s the result of this push to closure? I wonder. Do we surround ourselves with so much of what we already know: our beliefs and poorly-tested ideas - that our ‘experience’ gradually fades away.
Economist Tyler Cowen in his TED talk ‘Beware of Simple Stories’ describes a study where people were asked to express their life in one word. They came up with words like ‘journey’, ‘adventure’, ‘reality TV’, ‘battle’ etc. Nobody ever said ‘mess’, although that’s likely a good descriptor for most of our lives. We make a story to resolve the ambiguity.
The good and bad things about stories are that they are a kind of filter. They take a lot of information, and they leave some of it out, and they keep some of it in. But the thing about this filter is that it always leaves the same things in. You're always left with the same few simple stories. Christopher Booker (‘The Seven Basic Plots: why we tell stories’) claims there are really just seven types of stories. There is ‘monster’, ‘rags to riches’, ‘quest’, ‘voyage and return’, ‘comedy’, ‘tragedy’, ‘rebirth’. We're biologically programmed to respond to a story. You hear the phrase, ‘Once upon a time’… and you know a story is coming, and your ears perk up. Stories have social power. They connect us to other people. It is said that ancient cave drawings are not pictures and do not represent any specific thing, but rather depict ‘events’… they carry a ‘story’.
But ‘mess’ can be liberating, ‘mess’ can be empowering, ‘mess’ can be a way of drawing upon multiple strengths. The uncertainty that comes with ambiguity is also possibility. And it is in possibility that significance is born. The mists of ambiguity are real. When we move too quickly to ‘resolve’ or ‘make sense’ we can miss the weirdness associated with a misty morning: ‘The fog comes on little cat feet’. (‘Fog by Carl Sanburg’)
The answer, if there is one, rather than ‘either/or’ might instead be ‘through’. Experiencing ambiguity is not just making choices between two opposites or eliminating the tension by reshaping into something we know. It can be synthesis. Art is raw experience… story is shared experience. We can BE with others because of our stories. Can there be art without ambiguity?
Nope…. art requires ambiguity and it plays off the nature of ambiguity – either creating ambiguity for the excitement it engenders or resolving ambiguity for the ‘completion satisfaction’ it provides. You can read the sequence of separate paintings below from L-R or R-L, depending on your preferences about ambiguity. Take your pick and enjoy the journey.
1... able to be understood in more than one way; having two or more meanings; doubtful; being of uncertain signification or meaning
Ambiguity is exciting. The unresolved is the undecided - and the undecided can stir us. It can also leave us anxious, insecure, and worried.
There is a great tension at the heart of every ambiguity. This or that? Up or down? Left or right? So, most of us try and settle any ambiguity in our lives by coming to some kind of resolution. We ‘re-solve’ with something we know well or can easily relate to. We fill in with a story we already know and shape the facts or the impressions or the situation to fit our already existing experience. What’s the result of this push to closure? I wonder. Do we surround ourselves with so much of what we already know: our beliefs and poorly-tested ideas - that our ‘experience’ gradually fades away.
Economist Tyler Cowen in his TED talk ‘Beware of Simple Stories’ describes a study where people were asked to express their life in one word. They came up with words like ‘journey’, ‘adventure’, ‘reality TV’, ‘battle’ etc. Nobody ever said ‘mess’, although that’s likely a good descriptor for most of our lives. We make a story to resolve the ambiguity.
The good and bad things about stories are that they are a kind of filter. They take a lot of information, and they leave some of it out, and they keep some of it in. But the thing about this filter is that it always leaves the same things in. You're always left with the same few simple stories. Christopher Booker (‘The Seven Basic Plots: why we tell stories’) claims there are really just seven types of stories. There is ‘monster’, ‘rags to riches’, ‘quest’, ‘voyage and return’, ‘comedy’, ‘tragedy’, ‘rebirth’. We're biologically programmed to respond to a story. You hear the phrase, ‘Once upon a time’… and you know a story is coming, and your ears perk up. Stories have social power. They connect us to other people. It is said that ancient cave drawings are not pictures and do not represent any specific thing, but rather depict ‘events’… they carry a ‘story’.
But ‘mess’ can be liberating, ‘mess’ can be empowering, ‘mess’ can be a way of drawing upon multiple strengths. The uncertainty that comes with ambiguity is also possibility. And it is in possibility that significance is born. The mists of ambiguity are real. When we move too quickly to ‘resolve’ or ‘make sense’ we can miss the weirdness associated with a misty morning: ‘The fog comes on little cat feet’. (‘Fog by Carl Sanburg’)
The answer, if there is one, rather than ‘either/or’ might instead be ‘through’. Experiencing ambiguity is not just making choices between two opposites or eliminating the tension by reshaping into something we know. It can be synthesis. Art is raw experience… story is shared experience. We can BE with others because of our stories. Can there be art without ambiguity?
Nope…. art requires ambiguity and it plays off the nature of ambiguity – either creating ambiguity for the excitement it engenders or resolving ambiguity for the ‘completion satisfaction’ it provides. You can read the sequence of separate paintings below from L-R or R-L, depending on your preferences about ambiguity. Take your pick and enjoy the journey.
Art and Conversation
On July 1, 1875, Alexander Graham Bell instructed Thomas Watson his assistant to build a receiver consisting of a stretched diaphragm of ‘goldbeater’s skin’ - the intestine of an ox - with an armature of magnetized iron attached to its middle and free to vibrate. A second membrane-device was built for use as a transmitter. A few days later these two devices were tried together, one at each end of a line, which ran from a room in the inventor's house in Boston to the cellar underneath. Bell, in the work room, held one instrument in his hands, while Watson in the cellar listened at the other. Bell spoke into his instrument, ‘Do you understand what I say?’ and Mr. Watson answered ‘Yes’.
The cathedral at Chartres stands on a hill at the center of a charming medieval town in northern France. This spectacular cathedral was constructed between 1194 and 1260 and is considered to be one of the finest examples of Gothic architecture in Europe. For centuries the cathedral has also functioned as a marketplace, with merchants at the portals of the basilica selling different items: textiles at the northern end; fuel, vegetables and meat at the southern end. Workers in various professions: carpenters, weavers and masons, all gather in the cathedral seeking jobs and conversing.
The cathedral itself is a stunning experience for any visitor. The 92-foot long nave soars 120 feet high at its center. It is flanked by immense stained-glass windows dating from the 1200’s. On the floor of the nave is an original thirteenth-century labyrinth comprising a path over 650 feet long enclosed within a 50-foot diameter, where for centuries pilgrims have crawled on their knees around the pattern, hoping to find God at the center.
On July 1, 1875, Alexander Graham Bell instructed Thomas Watson his assistant to build a receiver consisting of a stretched diaphragm of ‘goldbeater’s skin’ - the intestine of an ox - with an armature of magnetized iron attached to its middle and free to vibrate. A second membrane-device was built for use as a transmitter. A few days later these two devices were tried together, one at each end of a line, which ran from a room in the inventor's house in Boston to the cellar underneath. Bell, in the work room, held one instrument in his hands, while Watson in the cellar listened at the other. Bell spoke into his instrument, ‘Do you understand what I say?’ and Mr. Watson answered ‘Yes’.
The cathedral at Chartres stands on a hill at the center of a charming medieval town in northern France. This spectacular cathedral was constructed between 1194 and 1260 and is considered to be one of the finest examples of Gothic architecture in Europe. For centuries the cathedral has also functioned as a marketplace, with merchants at the portals of the basilica selling different items: textiles at the northern end; fuel, vegetables and meat at the southern end. Workers in various professions: carpenters, weavers and masons, all gather in the cathedral seeking jobs and conversing.
The cathedral itself is a stunning experience for any visitor. The 92-foot long nave soars 120 feet high at its center. It is flanked by immense stained-glass windows dating from the 1200’s. On the floor of the nave is an original thirteenth-century labyrinth comprising a path over 650 feet long enclosed within a 50-foot diameter, where for centuries pilgrims have crawled on their knees around the pattern, hoping to find God at the center.
On a visit to the cathedral, amidst this spectacular architecture, I saw a human drama that stopped me in my tracks. Outside a small chapel space on one side of the nave was a modest sign: ‘Conversational Confession’. There, in a tiny glass-walled space, sat an elderly French woman across a small table from a chapel priest. The two were engaged in dialogue, complete with thoughtful expressions and animated gestures.
As a lapsed Catholic, (it’s been 22 years since I attended a mass and 50+ years since my last confession) the notion of ‘confession-as-conversation’ was a revelation. My recollection of confession was one of entering a dark cabinet-like space, waiting for a small window to slide open, after which I confessed my sins to a largely unseen priest who listened patiently and assigned my penance. Almost half a century later, I am in an 800 year-old church, witnessing this same ritual, now transformed into dialogue. Here they were – penitent and priest – engaged in a discussion of both the sin and its forgiveness, seeking to come to some decision as to how best to express their faith.
Alan Webber - former editor of Harvard Business Review and co-founder of Fast Company magazine - has observed: ‘Conversation is the core process by which humans think and coordinate their actions. As a result of conversation, collective learning ensues and the resultant collective intelligence co-creates social value.’ What’s all that mean? It means this: Conversations are the way we discover what we know. We share our understanding with someone else and, in the process, we create new knowledge. Some of the most interesting fun to be had involves:
The right people….
having the right conversations….
about the right things….
at the right time....
Conversation is an ‘art’, no doubt. We want to be around people who are skilled in the ‘art of conversation’. They are entertaining, interesting, often witty, and they make us think, feel included and important.
But can art be a ‘conversation’? I think so.
From the seventeenth century to the early part of the twentieth century, artistic production in France was controlled by artistic academies which organized official exhibitions called ‘salons’. These learned societies monitored, fostered, critiqued and protected French cultural production. To show at a salon, a young artist needed to be received by the Académie by first submitting an artwork to the jury; only Académie artists could be shown in the salons. Often the number of artists exceeded the available wall space so the work was hung from floor to ceiling: ‘salon hanging’. The most prestigious Salon took place in Paris in the Salon Carré of the Louvre, but there were also salons in the cities of Bordeaux, Lille and Toulouse.
As a lapsed Catholic, (it’s been 22 years since I attended a mass and 50+ years since my last confession) the notion of ‘confession-as-conversation’ was a revelation. My recollection of confession was one of entering a dark cabinet-like space, waiting for a small window to slide open, after which I confessed my sins to a largely unseen priest who listened patiently and assigned my penance. Almost half a century later, I am in an 800 year-old church, witnessing this same ritual, now transformed into dialogue. Here they were – penitent and priest – engaged in a discussion of both the sin and its forgiveness, seeking to come to some decision as to how best to express their faith.
Alan Webber - former editor of Harvard Business Review and co-founder of Fast Company magazine - has observed: ‘Conversation is the core process by which humans think and coordinate their actions. As a result of conversation, collective learning ensues and the resultant collective intelligence co-creates social value.’ What’s all that mean? It means this: Conversations are the way we discover what we know. We share our understanding with someone else and, in the process, we create new knowledge. Some of the most interesting fun to be had involves:
The right people….
having the right conversations….
about the right things….
at the right time....
Conversation is an ‘art’, no doubt. We want to be around people who are skilled in the ‘art of conversation’. They are entertaining, interesting, often witty, and they make us think, feel included and important.
But can art be a ‘conversation’? I think so.
From the seventeenth century to the early part of the twentieth century, artistic production in France was controlled by artistic academies which organized official exhibitions called ‘salons’. These learned societies monitored, fostered, critiqued and protected French cultural production. To show at a salon, a young artist needed to be received by the Académie by first submitting an artwork to the jury; only Académie artists could be shown in the salons. Often the number of artists exceeded the available wall space so the work was hung from floor to ceiling: ‘salon hanging’. The most prestigious Salon took place in Paris in the Salon Carré of the Louvre, but there were also salons in the cities of Bordeaux, Lille and Toulouse.
A ‘salon’ can also mean conversation. According to Wikipedia… ‘A salon is a gathering of people under the roof of an inspiring host. They are generally attracted by a cultural event linked to literature, art or discussion. In the 21st-century the modern-day cultural salon is thriving in cities around the world’.
A painting or any other interesting work of art is definitely a ‘conversation’. Most certainly the artist is communicating something to the viewer. And that something should spark a feeling, a thought, discourse – a dialogue. Some of the most interesting conversations in the world are between artists and an appreciative (or even critical) patron.
A painting or any other interesting work of art is definitely a ‘conversation’. Most certainly the artist is communicating something to the viewer. And that something should spark a feeling, a thought, discourse – a dialogue. Some of the most interesting conversations in the world are between artists and an appreciative (or even critical) patron.
Every Boardroom Needs an Artist
A bit of context. Despite my dabbling in the art world, I still work for a global business consultancy called YSC Consulting – founded in London 27 years ago by Donald Young, Peter Samuel and Charlotte Chambers. Our business is partnering with organizations around the world to help them ‘…frame their leadership strategy to reach organizational goals’. Among other things, we assess executives being recruited by our clients as they enter the organization or are promoted, and we help them to transition into their new roles.
Two years ago, YSC consultants in Australia created a program linking CEOs from leading companies in Australia and New Zealand with members of Sydney’s artistic community in a celebration of leadership, community and artistic talent. This project matched thirteen extremely talented portrait artists trained at Sydney’s Julian Ashton Art School with CEOs of some of our client companies. Artists met their subjects in person, talked with them about their work, conducted preliminary sketches and took photographs before returning to their studios to complete portraits. It was a process of not only trying to capture a physical resemblance, but also to get a sense of the sitters’ personalities and the unique qualities which they bring to their working life. Portrait painting is a thoughtful process which in many ways echoes YSC’s work in identifying and nurturing the distinctive qualities of its client leaders. At YSC we’re always looking for that distinctive side of an individual and trying to bring that to life in different ways. Likewise, each portrait artist sought to capture the essence of the CEO, and elements of his or her leadership signature.
The experiment culminated in an event at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Sydney where the portraits were unveiled, providing an opportunity for self-reflection on the part of the CEOs, as well as a celebration of the artists.
Damian Smith, CEO of Essential Media Communications, noted that seeing the artist’s thoughtful depiction of him, ‘…reminded me that I really prefer to stop and think. The portrait looks like someone who’s pausing, thinking and contemplating. And I think I’m at my best when I get the chance to reflect, not only on what’s coming, but also reflect on how I’ve done. I don’t get to do that every day, but on the days that I do, I know I feel better.’
Another individual who participated in the project was Shane Brown, CEO of Weave Youth & Community Services, a non-profit organization working with disadvantaged and vulnerable young people and their families. In Shane’s case the sensitive charcoal and pastel drawing represented ‘…a serious expression of my commitment to the community. And possibly a bit of the toll that it’s taken on me. With this work there’s a lot of responsibility and it’s fairly weighty…and I think that is expressed eloquently in the portrait. I look a bit stoic actually. You’ve got to be a bit stoic in this job.’
A bit of context. Despite my dabbling in the art world, I still work for a global business consultancy called YSC Consulting – founded in London 27 years ago by Donald Young, Peter Samuel and Charlotte Chambers. Our business is partnering with organizations around the world to help them ‘…frame their leadership strategy to reach organizational goals’. Among other things, we assess executives being recruited by our clients as they enter the organization or are promoted, and we help them to transition into their new roles.
Two years ago, YSC consultants in Australia created a program linking CEOs from leading companies in Australia and New Zealand with members of Sydney’s artistic community in a celebration of leadership, community and artistic talent. This project matched thirteen extremely talented portrait artists trained at Sydney’s Julian Ashton Art School with CEOs of some of our client companies. Artists met their subjects in person, talked with them about their work, conducted preliminary sketches and took photographs before returning to their studios to complete portraits. It was a process of not only trying to capture a physical resemblance, but also to get a sense of the sitters’ personalities and the unique qualities which they bring to their working life. Portrait painting is a thoughtful process which in many ways echoes YSC’s work in identifying and nurturing the distinctive qualities of its client leaders. At YSC we’re always looking for that distinctive side of an individual and trying to bring that to life in different ways. Likewise, each portrait artist sought to capture the essence of the CEO, and elements of his or her leadership signature.
The experiment culminated in an event at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Sydney where the portraits were unveiled, providing an opportunity for self-reflection on the part of the CEOs, as well as a celebration of the artists.
Damian Smith, CEO of Essential Media Communications, noted that seeing the artist’s thoughtful depiction of him, ‘…reminded me that I really prefer to stop and think. The portrait looks like someone who’s pausing, thinking and contemplating. And I think I’m at my best when I get the chance to reflect, not only on what’s coming, but also reflect on how I’ve done. I don’t get to do that every day, but on the days that I do, I know I feel better.’
Another individual who participated in the project was Shane Brown, CEO of Weave Youth & Community Services, a non-profit organization working with disadvantaged and vulnerable young people and their families. In Shane’s case the sensitive charcoal and pastel drawing represented ‘…a serious expression of my commitment to the community. And possibly a bit of the toll that it’s taken on me. With this work there’s a lot of responsibility and it’s fairly weighty…and I think that is expressed eloquently in the portrait. I look a bit stoic actually. You’ve got to be a bit stoic in this job.’
Portrait of Damian Smith Portrait of Shane Brown
Acrylic on Canvas Charcoal and Pastel
by Frannie Deane by Gus Carrozza
Acrylic on Canvas Charcoal and Pastel
by Frannie Deane by Gus Carrozza
Pentimento 1
1...a visible trace of an earlier painting beneath a layer or layers of paint on a canvas.
(from Italian, literally ‘repentance’) … the artist ‘repented’ and created something new.
Recently, Jan, my friend and Partner in the gallery Art on 12, texted me that while she had been working at the gallery, a dazzling white moth had been hanging around all day… trying to get in whenever she opened the door. When she left the gallery that evening she sent me this picture … the moth looking in the glass door of the gallery. The next day he/she was gone. Now, weeks later, there are a handful of white moths persistently lingering by the back door. There’s something in there they like.
Years ago, I collected vintage cameras. I ended up with more than 100. Back then they were relatively cheap and easy to find in small town antique stores, junk shops and flea markets. A special bonus was when I found one that still had film in it. I had a homemade darkroom in a spare bathroom at my house, and I was able to develop the old black and white film. Most of the time the film was ruined - aged beyond saving. Occasionally though, I would find composed shots of what looked like family vacations and other gatherings. Other times there were just ghostly images. Who were these people? Where were they, and what were they doing?
After my Dad died and I was going through his belongings, I found a box of old photographs, obviously taken when he was a youngster. I never knew that he had taken photographs or even that he had owned a camera. But these were not run-of-the-mill landscapes or pictures of the family. They were obviously posed (by him) - set-up scenes that portrayed some drama: elaborate fight scenes starring his friends; costumed theatrical stagings that he invented; furtive ‘spy’ pics, (probably of the neighbors), with the vantage point of the camera from behind a bush or a tree. He had an artistic flair and a far more interesting childhood than he ever told me about.
These days, one of my major interests in art extends to collage and assemblage work… something new fashioned from old, discarded or unrelated objects and pieces of things: Joe Hammer’s amazing collages made from cut-up book covers and papers; Ronnie Weeks’ elaborate and stunning assemblages from architectural salvage and vintage metal pieces; Jerry Seagle’s mixed media work incorporating paint, drawing, old postcards, photographs and writing.
‘Barely visible traces’… just below the surface… are everywhere in the art world… if you take the time to look.
Pierre
Every year we go to Taos, NM for Michael Hearne’s Big Barn Dance music festival. It’s now in its 15th year, and if you’ve never been, you should go. It’s great fun and always a great line-up of musicians, spread out over three days… including many members of the uber-talented Hearne family.
This year I had an extra-special serendipitous happening. First, some back-story. Some years ago, (like 20), I picked up a book called Episodes at a used book stall on the street in Austin, TX. The book was unknown to me, written by a guy named Pierre Delattre. The book consists of very short, distilled moments of autobiography. I liked Delattre’s premise which is basically…when we think back on our lives, we don’t remember in chronological order. Rather we recall ‘episodes’ that stand out for us for one reason or another - sudden illuminations of the defining moments of our lives. Turns out Delattre has had a pretty interesting life. His ‘episodes’ are tales of his encounters with people like Albert Schweitzer, Richard Brautigan, Charles de Galle, the Dalai Lama, and of his ministerial work running a San Francisco North Beach landmark: the Bread and Wine Mission, during the beat/hippie golden age. I love this book and would recommend you read it. I’ve carried it around with me for years, bought other copies, and given them to my friends.
Now back to Taos in 2017. I’m strolling down Bent St. looking into art galleries and I spot this place called Ortenstone Delattre Gallery. I’m thinking, ‘There can’t be that many people named Delattre’. So, in I go, and I meet – who else? – Pierre in person. I couldn’t believe it. Here, right in front of me, is a guy who wrote a book that I have loved for 20+ years. I told him my story and we struck up a great conversation about art, literature, bookstores, interesting people we have known and on and on. I am pleased to say that I now consider Pierre to be a friend – and he’s an artist to boot. Of course, I had to have one of his paintings. Here it is. It’s called ‘The Landscape Painter’.
Every year we go to Taos, NM for Michael Hearne’s Big Barn Dance music festival. It’s now in its 15th year, and if you’ve never been, you should go. It’s great fun and always a great line-up of musicians, spread out over three days… including many members of the uber-talented Hearne family.
This year I had an extra-special serendipitous happening. First, some back-story. Some years ago, (like 20), I picked up a book called Episodes at a used book stall on the street in Austin, TX. The book was unknown to me, written by a guy named Pierre Delattre. The book consists of very short, distilled moments of autobiography. I liked Delattre’s premise which is basically…when we think back on our lives, we don’t remember in chronological order. Rather we recall ‘episodes’ that stand out for us for one reason or another - sudden illuminations of the defining moments of our lives. Turns out Delattre has had a pretty interesting life. His ‘episodes’ are tales of his encounters with people like Albert Schweitzer, Richard Brautigan, Charles de Galle, the Dalai Lama, and of his ministerial work running a San Francisco North Beach landmark: the Bread and Wine Mission, during the beat/hippie golden age. I love this book and would recommend you read it. I’ve carried it around with me for years, bought other copies, and given them to my friends.
Now back to Taos in 2017. I’m strolling down Bent St. looking into art galleries and I spot this place called Ortenstone Delattre Gallery. I’m thinking, ‘There can’t be that many people named Delattre’. So, in I go, and I meet – who else? – Pierre in person. I couldn’t believe it. Here, right in front of me, is a guy who wrote a book that I have loved for 20+ years. I told him my story and we struck up a great conversation about art, literature, bookstores, interesting people we have known and on and on. I am pleased to say that I now consider Pierre to be a friend – and he’s an artist to boot. Of course, I had to have one of his paintings. Here it is. It’s called ‘The Landscape Painter’.
![Picture](/uploads/3/7/5/3/37537473/amarillo.jpg)
Cadillac Ranch
I happen to have known the guy who is responsible for the Cadillac Ranch. He was Stanley Marsh 3 (purposely not ‘III’ – he thought that suffix was pretentious). He was a well-known businessman, entrepreneur and prankster in Amarillo, Texas where I grew up. Rumor was that Stanley inherited millions in his early 20’s and devoted the remainder of his life to eccentricity. In 1974 he collaborated with a group of likewise unconventional artists who called themselves ‘Ant Farm’. They chose to half-bury 10 vintage Cadillacs, nose down, in a dirt cow pasture adjacent to Interstate 40 (previously Old Route 66) just west of Amarillo. It has become a destination.
Stanley is also known locally for his ‘soft pool table’. This is a creation of monumental-sized inflated pool cues and a giant 8-ball, lying on a remote expanse of prairie-land and visible only from the air. Visitors to Amarillo coming in from the west or north can spot this unusual sight out their airplane window.
I own a work of art inspired by another of Mr. Marsh’s antics. In 1982 a ten-week war broke out between Argentina and the United Kingdom over who held sovereignty of the Falkland Islands, located in the south Atlantic, off the coast of Argentina. For some reason this incident sparked Stanley’s imagination. He reasoned that the only ‘citizens’ whose rights were not being adequately protected during this skirmish were the famous Falkland sheep. He reportedly dispatched several military-style transport planes to evacuate the sheep to a safe location off the islands, returning them when the conflict had ended.
I happen to have known the guy who is responsible for the Cadillac Ranch. He was Stanley Marsh 3 (purposely not ‘III’ – he thought that suffix was pretentious). He was a well-known businessman, entrepreneur and prankster in Amarillo, Texas where I grew up. Rumor was that Stanley inherited millions in his early 20’s and devoted the remainder of his life to eccentricity. In 1974 he collaborated with a group of likewise unconventional artists who called themselves ‘Ant Farm’. They chose to half-bury 10 vintage Cadillacs, nose down, in a dirt cow pasture adjacent to Interstate 40 (previously Old Route 66) just west of Amarillo. It has become a destination.
Stanley is also known locally for his ‘soft pool table’. This is a creation of monumental-sized inflated pool cues and a giant 8-ball, lying on a remote expanse of prairie-land and visible only from the air. Visitors to Amarillo coming in from the west or north can spot this unusual sight out their airplane window.
I own a work of art inspired by another of Mr. Marsh’s antics. In 1982 a ten-week war broke out between Argentina and the United Kingdom over who held sovereignty of the Falkland Islands, located in the south Atlantic, off the coast of Argentina. For some reason this incident sparked Stanley’s imagination. He reasoned that the only ‘citizens’ whose rights were not being adequately protected during this skirmish were the famous Falkland sheep. He reportedly dispatched several military-style transport planes to evacuate the sheep to a safe location off the islands, returning them when the conflict had ended.
Here’s the work of art that gesture inspired. It is entitled: ‘Escape from the Falklands: Stanley Saves the Sheep’.
Michael Findlay, the internationally renowned art dealer, market expert, and Director of Acquavella Galleries in New York has written about three different values that art acquires.
We think most often of art’s ‘essential’ value – its beauty… which depending on one’s culture, educational level or life experiences can mean beauty in any manner of ways: emotional, spiritual, psychological or even religious.
If you are a collector and you have a good eye (or good advice) the art you acquire can ultimately also have ‘commercial’ value.
I have discovered that I respond most strongly to a third value of art – its ‘social’ value. This comes in the form of connections with the artists through conversation and sometimes friendship. And it comes from the circle of individuals that form around you because of a shared appreciation of the particular art you like. In addition, every work of art that I own has a ‘story’ that I can recount to my friends. I might first be attracted to a work of art’s ‘essential’ value… but usually the value that comes to mean the most to me is the ‘social’ value that accrues. So far, that is what keeps me on the journey.
We think most often of art’s ‘essential’ value – its beauty… which depending on one’s culture, educational level or life experiences can mean beauty in any manner of ways: emotional, spiritual, psychological or even religious.
If you are a collector and you have a good eye (or good advice) the art you acquire can ultimately also have ‘commercial’ value.
I have discovered that I respond most strongly to a third value of art – its ‘social’ value. This comes in the form of connections with the artists through conversation and sometimes friendship. And it comes from the circle of individuals that form around you because of a shared appreciation of the particular art you like. In addition, every work of art that I own has a ‘story’ that I can recount to my friends. I might first be attracted to a work of art’s ‘essential’ value… but usually the value that comes to mean the most to me is the ‘social’ value that accrues. So far, that is what keeps me on the journey.