Posts Tagged ‘Comic strip’
“I was always a sucker for anything in miniature”*…
Ivan Aivazovsky was a Russian Romantc painter, considered one of the great masters of marine art. Thea Applebaum Licht reports on an unusual stunt he pulled for his 70th birthday…
For Ivan Aivazovsky (1817–1900), born in Feodosia, Crimea, to Armenian parents and often memorialized as one of the Russian Empire’s great marine painters, capturing the sea usually called for large canvases. His turbulent, light-drenched seascapes could be panoramic, stretching more than 200 centimetres (about 6.5 feet) wide. His 1850 masterpiece The Ninth Wave, an oil-painted maelstrom of dark waves against a livid orange sunset, measures 332 centimetres (almost 11 feet) across. But in 1887, Aivozovsky proved he could work at a much smaller scale just as easily. At a celebration marking his seventieth birthday, the artist presented each of his 150 dinner guests with a unique miniature painting: tiny vistas embedded in a studio photograph of himself, poised with brush in hand. At just 10.6 by 7.3 centimetres (about 4 by 3 inches), the paintings are each almost a thousandth of the size of The Ninth Wave. There are two variations of the underlying photograph — in some, he looks at the canvas, in others, at the audience — and a few are dated later than 1887, perhaps implying that Aivazovsky continued the gifting practice for years after the dinner.
As his miniature seascapes suggest, Aivozovsky was prolific. Today, about 6,000 paintings are attributed to him. But his productivity was not always seen as an advantage by his contemporaries. The art critic Vladimir Stasov wrote:
One who takes two hours to finish a painting, should keep this unfortunate secret to himself! One should not go disclosing things like this, especially in front of young students! They should not be taught such carelessness and machine-like habits.
Speed was only one of several critiques reserved for an artist whose achievements brought him to the top of Russian society. Others took issue with Aivozovsky’s inclination toward self-promotion. Visiting Aivozovsky’s gaudy Feodosia home in 1890, the writer and attorney Alexander Vladimirovich complained:
If you did not know that in front of you was the creator of “The Ninth Wave”, you would probably take him for a painter who had sunk into smug self-contemplation of his own bureaucratic position, proud of finally having worked his way up to a certain salary that allowed him to acquire gilded furniture and hang a full-length portrait of himself in full regalia in the living room to impress visitors.
Aivozovsky’s collection of miniature paintings — executed at the very height of his career — certainly reflect his penchant for self-promotion. As for the question of whether an artist’s speed cheapens the value of his work? That comes down to a personal value judgment. But in the history of art, these souvenir paintings seem more significant than a mere experiment in scale. They also made Aivozovsky an early mixed-media pioneer. Decades before dada artists composed subversive photomontage and pop artists like Robert Rauschenberg collaged paint and photography, the great Romantic Aivazovsky was not too precious to do his own small experiment with form…
More examples of the minatures (like the one at the top): “Ivan Aivazovsky’s Miniature Seascapes (ca. 1887)” from @publicdomainrev.bsky.social.
* Lionel Shriver
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As we tackle the tiny, we might send diminuative birthday greetings to another artists who worked on a smaller scale: Al Capp; he was born on this date in 1909. A cartoonist and humorist, he is best known for the satirical comic strip Li’l Abner, which he created in 1934 and continued writing and (with help from assistants) drawing until 1977 (though he also wrote the comic strips Abbie an’ Slats in the years 1937–45 and Long Sam in 1954).
“Dada was a bomb… can you imagine anyone, around half a century after a bomb explodes, wanting to collect the pieces, sticking it together and displaying it?”*…
Marcel Duchamp was hugely influential in the revolutionary developments in the arts in the early 20th century. After helping establish Cubism, he turned to what he called “Readymades,” “found objects” which he selected and presented as art. By far the most famous of these was the piece he entitled “Fountain.” Damon Young and Graham Priest recount the stir that ensued… and unpack the work’s philosophical comment, making a case for why it resonates to this day…
In 1917 a pivotal event occurred for art and philosophy: Marcel Duchamp unveiled his artwork Fountain in Alfred Stieglitz’s New York studio. This was simply a porcelain urinal, signed ‘R. Mutt’.
Fountain was notorious, even for avant-garde artists. It has become one of the most discussed works of art of the 20th century. The Society of Independent Artists rejected it, though every artist who paid the exhibition fee was supposed to have their work shown. For almost a century, it has remained a difficult artwork. The philosopher John Passmore summed up Fountain as: ‘a piece of mischief at the expense of the art world’, though many have taken it very seriously.
No doubt there was some tomfoolery involved – Duchamp did not choose a urinal randomly. Yet there is more to Fountain than nose-thumbing. What makes this artwork so striking is its philosophical contribution.
Commentators often highlight the influence of Fountain on conceptual art, and this most ‘aggressive’ readymade, as Robert Hughes put it, has certainly had an enduring legacy. In 2004, it was voted the most important 20th-century work by hundreds of art experts. From Andy Warhol to Joseph Beuys to Tracey Emin, this urinal inspired artists to reconsider the traditional artwork. Instead of paintings and sculptures, art was suddenly Brillo boxes, an unmade bed, or a light-bulb plugged into a lemon: ordinary objects, some readymade, removed from their original contexts and placed on display in art galleries. The art critic Roberta Smith sums it up this way: ‘[Duchamp] reduced the creative act to a stunningly rudimentary level: to the single, intellectual, largely random decision to name this or that object or activity “art”.’ As we will see, Duchamp’s choice was not random at all, but Smith’s description points to the broader shock that Duchamp’s work prompted: if this can be art, then anything can.
Since then, scholars have discussed Fountain to demonstrate a shift away from aesthetics to thought. As the philosopher Noël Carroll notes, it’s possible to enjoy thinking about Duchamp’s work without actually looking at it, which cannot be said for Henri Matisse’s vivid paintings or Barbara Hepworth’s dignified stone sculptures.
These traditional ideas, as we will see, are all important to Fountain. But they do not go far enough. They treat Fountain as art, but of a mocking sort: a kind of intellectual heckling that nudged artists to taunt and scoff more academically at their own field. Our explanation of the artwork’s power is much more controversial: we believe that Fountain is art only insofar as it is not art. It is what it is not – and this is why it is what it is. In other words, the artwork delivers a true contradiction, what’s called a dialetheia. Fountain did not simply usher in conceptual art – it afforded us an unusual and intriguing concept to consider: a work of art that isn’t really a work of art, an everyday object that is not just an everyday object…
Marcel Duchamp’s ‘Fountain’ is not just a radical kind of art; it’s a philosophical dialetheia: a contradiction that is true: “It is and it isn’t,” from @damonyoung.com.au and Graham Priest @aeon.co. Eminently worth reading in full.
We might note that it’s not altogether clear that the dialetheia which the authors celebrate was what Duchamp had in mind. In any case (in line with the quote at the top) Duchamp, a father of Dada, was not entirely pleased with the influence that his work had:
This Neo-Dada, which they call New Realism, Pop Art, Assemblage etc. [Duchamp is referring to Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein], is an easy way out and lives on what Dada did. When I discovered readymades I thought to discourage aesthetics. In Neo-Dada they have taken my readymades and found aesthetic beauty in them. I threw the bottle-rack [here] and the urinal in their faces as a challenge and now they admire them for their aesthetic beauty…
– Duchamp in a 1962 letter to Hans Richter
And as this is the centenniel of Dada’s “child,” Surrealism, we might peruse “The Small Magazines That Birthed Surrealism.”
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As we ponder paradox, we might raise a glass in celebration of National Cartoonists Day, observed on this day each year. The date was chosen to recognize the first appearance (in color) of the mischievous cartoon character “The Yellow Kid” in the New York World newspaper (on May 5, 1895).
“All good things must come to an end”*…
Rusty Foster reports that…
Matt Bors announced that The Nib is shutting down after its retroactively ironically themed final issue, “The Future.” “The Nib has published more than 6,000 comics and paid out more than $2 million to creators.” It will be replaced by: nothing, just another void where independent cultural criticism used to be…
Today in Tabs
The Nib will be online through August; you can still enjoy it’s extraordinary offerings (and buy its issues) until then. Happily Rusty’s Today in Tabs continues– one hopes for a long, long time…
[Image above: from KC Green‘s “This Is Not Fine,” on The Nib]
* Geoffrey Chaucer, Troilus and Criseyde
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As we bid a fond adieu, we might recall that it was on this date in 1844 that inventor (and celebrated painter) Samuel F.B. Morse inaugurated the first technological competitor to the post when he sent the first telegraph message: “What hath God wrought?” Morse sent the famous message from the B&O’s Mount Clare Station in Baltimore to the Capitol Building. (The words were chosen by Annie Ellsworth, the daughter of the U.S. Patent Commissioner, from Numbers 23:23.)
“What would your good do if evil didn’t exist”*…
What, Agnes Callard asks, is (literary) art for…
… There are many complex theories about the nature and function of art; I am going to propose a very simple one. My simple theory is also broad: it applies to narrative fiction broadly conceived, from epic poems to Greek tragedies to Shakespearean comedies to short stories to movies. It also applies to most pop songs, many lyric poems and some—though far from most—paintings, photographs and sculptures. My theory is that art is for seeing evil.
I am using the word “evil” to encompass the whole range of negative human experience, from being wronged, to doing wrong, to sheer bad luck. “Evil” in this sense includes: hunger, fear, injury, pain, anxiety, injustice, loss, catastrophe, misunderstanding, failure, betrayal, cruelty, boredom, frustration, loneliness, despair, downfall, annihilation. This list of evils is also a list of the essential ingredients of narrative fiction.
I can name many works of fiction in which barely anything good happens (Alasdair Gray’s Lanark, José Saramago’s Blindness, Cormac McCarthy’s The Road and Jon Fosse’s Melancholy are recent reads that spring to mind), but I can’t imagine a novel in which barely anything bad happens. Even children’s stories tend to be structured around mishaps and troubles. What we laugh at, in comedy, is usually some form of misfortune. Few movies hold a viewer on the edge of their seat in the way that thrillers and horror movies do: fear and anxiety evidently have their appeal. Greek and Shakespearean tragedy would rank high on any list of great works of literature, which is consonant with the fact that what is meaningful and memorable in a novel tends to be a moment of great loss, suffering or humiliation…
A fascinating case: “Art Is For Seeing Evil,” from @AgnesCallard in @the_point_mag.
And a case in point: Bob Dylan, demonstrating both Callard’s point and why he won the Nobel Prize in Literature:
* Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita
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As we go dark, we might we might recall that it was on this date in 2000 that Charles M. Schulz published the last daily Peanuts strip- art that treated the dark with lots of light. (The final Sunday panel ran on on February 13 of that year.)
“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language / And next year’s words await another voice”*…
As we pivot into 2023 (Happy New Year!), a retrospective on the way that 2022– Ukraine, the economy, China, climate change, pivots at Facebook and Twitter, the lingering pandemic– changed our language…
The story of a year is sometimes easy to identify: the financial crisis of 2008, the Brexit-Trump populist wave of 2016 or the pandemic of 2020. The most wrenching event of 2022 has been the war in Ukraine, yet those earlier stories have lingered in the headlines. For language-watchers, all that meant much new vocabulary to consider…
[After considering a number of other candidates…]
After the lockdowns of 2020, followed, in 2021, by a slow return to the office, 2022 was the year that hybrid work settled in. Working at home some of the time has advantages (decongesting cities and fewer painful commutes), and disadvantages (fears of lower productivity combined with a sense of never being off duty). In the spring Twitter announced a policy of unlimited working from home for those who wanted it. When Elon Musk bought the company he promptly decreed the opposite. But most firms have not gone to either extreme, instead trying to find the best of both worlds.
As a coinage, hybrid work is no beauty. But it will reshape cities, careers, family life and free time. That is ample qualification for a word of the year…
From @TheEconomist: “And the word of 2022 is…“
Here are some candidates for this year’s “word of the year”: “23 items of vital vocabulary you’ll need to know in 2023.”
And because it’s New Years Day, and it’s appropriate to look forward, not just back, some advice-like thoughts on 2023″: “Blank Page.”
* T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets
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As we name it, we might recall that, on this date in 1995, the last installment of Gary Larsen‘s comic strip The Far Side (which had premiered on New Year’s Eve, 1979) ran. Carried by more than 1,900 daily newspapers, the strip was translated into 17 languages, and collected into calendars, greeting cards, and 23 compilation books; reruns are still carried in many newspapers. Indeed, after a 25 year hiatus, in July 2020 Larson began drawing new Far Side strips offered through the comic’s official website.
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