|Posted on Friday, March 05, 2004 - 03:07 pm: |
Whatever I see that I like that's worth sharing, I'll share here on this thread.
To start off -
Walter Anderson 1903-1965
I first encountered Anderson’s art at the Smithsonian last October. American artist from Mississippi, trucking principally in natural subjects, animals and plants, the work of protracted Thoreauvian nature study and observation. His work is shoutingly expressive and beguiling. There’s a gloriousness to his work that reminds me of Blake, but without that oppressive, claustrophobia-inducing quality that most of Blake’s work has.
Astounding versatility of style – he can do exquisitely detailed fine line work like Audubon, or artfully sloppy big shape work. Sculpting, printing, ceramics. Tremendously excellent painting “Allison Sleeping” shows a little Picasso and a great deal of Cezanne, muted in their strangeness by the scrupulous intimacy of his treatment of her face. Anderson has vastly more empathy than Cezanne or Picasso. His painting is all empathic.
Amazing color sense – his blue bears and blazing green and violet cats are not fanciful, this choice of color reflects exactly what he sees. An extraordinary vividness of life, a color representation of biology that makes surfaces of living things transparent without making those surfaces invisible.
In everything the same complete design scheme. Everything abuts immediately on everything else, everything locks together, a straightforward representation of interconnectedness in nature. Even in those parts of the paintings where nothing much is going on, there is tension. The paintings are like structures, solid units.
Real virtuosity – line, color, form. Calligraphic line and beautifully plastic forms, the protean elasticity of protein. Satisfying, heavy outlines that represent substantiveness effortlessly, the line that expresses a three-dimension shape without using perspective, or such that the perspective is inside the line and not composed out of lines.
Here's a link, although their online gallery of his work omits a great deal of his most intriguing stuff. Check out the ecstatic "Frog With Iris," the blue crabs, and the Saturn panel.
|Posted on Friday, March 05, 2004 - 05:00 pm: |
Thank you for the link. Awesome! I particularly liked the Broad Leaf Magnolia, the Owl, and wonderful Mr. LeBlanc.
Thank you again.
|Posted on Friday, March 05, 2004 - 08:40 pm: |
You're welcome. We of CollKnoll aim to please.
|Posted on Sunday, March 07, 2004 - 12:16 pm: |
Dandy Reads -
The Invention of Morel, by Adolfo Bioy Casares - One of Borges' proteges, this new edition includes Jorge's original preface. I don't go so far as to call it perfect, as Borges did, but a gem it surely is. A fugitive from the law, whose crime is never specified, takes refuge on a seemingly deserted island. Why don't any of the people who subsequently appear there seem to notice him?
The Enormous Room, by E. E. Cummings - On the short list of the best books I've ever read. Cummings volunteered as an ambulance driver in WWI; French censors intercepted some of a friend's salty letters home; friend was arrested for treason, and Cummings ended up under arrest as well, more or less by association. He spent three months in a French detention center, and wrote this book about his experiences. It is not, as you might expect, a uniformly dark book; in fact, the tone is remarkably varied. Cummings seems more interested in his fellow prisoners, many of whom are potrayed here with loving attention, than in his own ambivalent misery. All written in a gambolling, verbally coruscating style that corresponds exactly to Cummings' affect all throughout.
The Process, by Brion Gysin - Unmerited suspicions of Gysin blown aside by proof positive in this work that the man was an inspired writer. The book has a variety of motions in it; the narrative concerns a pothead black professor's adventures in Morocco, including a Saharan voyage rendered with impossible vividness. His narrative is arrayed among those of related characters, all keyed to subject pronouns. I was intrigued by Gysin's descriptive language; it's rare (or is it?) for painters to translate their seeing into words.