A lot of people in the visual arts don’t have a literary interest. … But I’ve always been interested in storytelling and narration and I see this as part of the role of picture-making and imagery.

I’ve also received a very strong basic education and so I have confidence to move towards what I don’t know.

There is no art, only artists [viz. Gombrich, Story of Art]. [It is one of the] nonsensical obsessions of human beings, specifying that ‘this is art, this is not.’ This is like the search for the true cross. Lord knows why, but it is probably related to the priesthood and to the idea of defining what the spiritual is.

You have to learn what it is you’re doing and if you want to be good at it you have to devote your life to it. This is not a casual thing. Everybody I know who’s amounted to anything in his or her field has basically worked night and day and madly, with very little room for anything else; it ain’t a hobby.

Milton Glaser

It is part of the agony of finding oneself, grappling with situations that are totally unfamiliar.

Ken Garland

At the end of April I attended a letterpress workshop at the Museum of Printing History. I learned the very basics of letterpress, using equipment from the late 1800s/early 1900s to make a business card. This technique predates the linotype machine of the 1880s, which automated the process further.

First, you select individual letters from what is called a “California job case”, the drawer with compartments for each letter from a particular typeface, organized in “California job case” order (not alphabetical). Each font has its own drawer, with lower- and uppercase variations (lowercase letters are in the lower part of the case; uppercase are in the upper part).

You compose the letters on a composing stick, which holds them in place as you assemble each line.

You then carefully remove the lines of typeface as a block from the composing stick onto a work table, and construct a frame around it using wooden block of various sizes and metal pieces called “quoins” that you then tighten into place. You should be able to lift the frame without losing any letters that wiggle free. Since a business card is small, we did three per page.

You slide the frame into the letterpress machine, ink it up with a thick, rubber-based ink, and do a practice print on a special kind of paper held in place in the machine. You mark the margins of the paper you will print your final version on with metal brads.

You place the edge of each sheet of paper along the brads and print. Printing requires some muscle, as you have to pull up and down on a lever, and press quite hard to get an even print.

This method of letterpress creates a print that is smooth to the touch. For the textured letters we usually associate with a letterpress printing, you must use a photopolymer plate, created using digital files–a somewhat different process. If you end up with textured print using metal letters as above, it means you did something wrong (like pressed too hard and warped a letter).

The end of my first semester of design school is a time for reflection, and a great opportunity to make a list (I love lists!) of what I’ve learned.

Notes to Self

  • I can draw!
  • I am confronting the evil perfectionist in me that limits my ability to jot down ideas and sketch in fear that it will be ugly. I have proudly made some ugly sketches this semester, so I am on the road to rehabilitation. Note to self: keep making ugly sketches.
  • I am beginning to see the world around me like a visual artist, in terms of line, shape, color, etc. It’s like Neo at the end of Matrix. I can see the matrix. Note to self: start carrying around a sketchbook.
  • Art, like life, is a process. At the beginning of each project, I sit down with a blank white piece of paper and feel something akin to panic. I get up frequently to stand in the kitchen and stare into the pantry. I wonder if perhaps I had forgotten something that suddenly needs urgent attention. Then, miraculously, something begins to emerge on the page, and the final product is always unpredictable—unknowable, without producing dozens and dozens of sketches. The spontaneous production of perfectly executed ideas would be an awesome superpower for a design god. As for me, I’ll have to settle for the messier, more human approach. Note to self: stock a more satisfying pantry, because lentils, brown rice, and canned tomatoes are an overwhelmingly disappointing sight to behold when hungry at 1 a.m.

Extras

  • Volunteered at AIGA Houston’s Lecture Series with Ellen Lupton

Link Love

Blogs & Websites

Typographica

I Love Typography

Grain Edit

Mark Boulton

Book Cover Archive

Aisle One

AceJet170

Parenthetically

Graphics Fairy

Letters of Note

A List Apart

Articles & Videos

The Skills Design Students Must Master

A Design Education Manifesto

The Future That Is Now

How A Book Is Made

Bookshelf

Michael Bierut, Seventy-Nine Short Essays on Design.
Helen Drew, Fundamentals of Photography.
Ellen Lupton, Indie Publishing: How to Design and Produce Your Own Book.
Christian Leborg, Visual Grammar.
Kimberly Elam, Graphic Translations.
Lucienne Roberts, Drip-dry shirts: the evolution of the graphic designer.
Heather Weston, Bookcraft.

One last post to share of my work from the spring semester. Project 5 for my graphic design class involved incorporating our stylizations from Project 4 with a word of our choosing. I selected “spill” because it complements my object (a spoon) as well as creates a feeling of motion. I used cut paper (Canson), which I affixed with spray mount (a rather nerve-wracking affair, as once the sprayed paper makes contact with a surface you cannot move it at all) and mounted on mat board. I also bound a sketchbook with matching colors, and stitched a “5″ on the cover using leftover linen thread. The project took 12 hours to execute from start (cutting the paper with an xacto blade) to finish (stitching the book).

I wanted to share other works by Vallotton, Frieseke, and Sargent that caught my eye, besides the paintings I discussed in my final essays.

Here is work by Frieseke, from the book Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionst (Princeton University Press: New Jersey, 2001).

Helene, 1901

Portrait of Madame Gely #1 (On the couch), 1907

Hollyhocks, 1913

The Blue Gown, 1917

Rest, 1917

Portrait of a Woman (With Cactus) (study), 1930

I wanted to share other works by Vallotton, Frieseke, and Sargent that caught my eye, besides the paintings I discussed in my final essays.

Here is work by Sargent. I scanned all the images, except the last two, from Elizabeth Prettejohn’s Interpreting Sargent (Stewart, Tabori & Chang: New York, 1998)–hence the faint squiggly lines, I assume. I found the last two online.

Carolus-Duran, 1879

Sargent painted a portrait of his teacher for the Salon, a bold move by a young and upcoming student.

Lady Agnew of Lochnaw, 1893

This has been one of my favorite paintings of all time since high school. I would make the trip to Scotland just to see it in person.

Mrs. Carl Meyer and her Children, 1896

Portrait of a Jewish family.

Mr and Mrs Isaac Newton Phelps Stokes, 1897

Portrait of an American couple–initially meant to be just a portrait of her, Mr. Stokes was added in later.

The Hotel Room, 1906-07

Sargent travelled frequently…

Portrait of Edouard and Marie-Louise Pailleron, 1881

Madame X, 1883-84

I highly recommend reading Strapless: John Singer Sargent and the Fall of Madame X by Deborah Davis–a quick & fascinating read about the story behind this painting.

I wanted to share other works by Vallotton, Frieseke, and Sargent that caught my eye, besides the paintings I discussed in my final essays.

Here is work by Vallotton, from Christoph Becker’s and Linda Schadler’s Felix Vallotton: Idyll on the Edge (Scheidegger & Spiess: Zurich, 2007).

 

 

 

The 1880s were a time of great economic change in Paris. After the upheaval of the Franco-Prussian War (1870-1871) and the short-lived Paris Commune (May 1871), the latter in particular leaving many parts of the city destroyed, the Third Republic emerged as the ruling government of France. The elite of the Third Republic were businessmen and politicians who supported the continued development of modern industrial capitalism and embraced the possibilities of upward mobility. Even the lower classes could aspire to the middle class by saving their money and attaining a good education. Between 1852 and 1882, men’s wages rose an average of about 84 percent, and the cost of living fell (Davis, 158).

The end of the nineteenth century also brought changes to the art world. In 1890 the new Salon du Champ de Mars was established by the Societe Nationale des Beaux-Arts after accusations of corruption in the Salon. Private art schools sprang up to fill the demand created by an influx of art students from around the world, providing technical instruction in preparation for admittance into the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. The Academie Julian was the most ambitious and successful of these. Impressionism, no longer the avant-garde, made way for Symbolism and Cubism.

John Singer Sargent was born in Florence to wealthy American parents; his uprooted childhood was spent frequently travelling. He settled in Paris as a young man in 1874 to train at the studio of Carolus-Duran, a portraitist well-known at the time whose methods were rather progressive compared to the dogmatic teachings of the Academy. He taught his students to work quickly and paint what they saw without preliminary sketches, au premier coup, at first touch (Davis, 65). He characteristically backed away from the canvas to check the composition, then raced forward with his brush to capture the next stroke. Sargent adapted this method, later commenting that he ran about four miles a day when painting a portrait. Carolus-Duran admired Velazquez, and frequently brought up his example; Sargent had a chance to study him in person in Spain in 1879.

Sargent exhibited at the Salon every year from 1877 to 1886. In 1879 he submitted a portrait of his master Carolus-Duran, a bold move that won him several French patrons. He turned increasingly to portraiture, a decision borne of economic necessity as his parents grew old and his sister Emily never married. The subjects of his portraits were members of the upper class, particularly the nouveau-riche—by the late 1890s the fee for a full-length portrait was approx. £50,000 (in 1990s currency). Sargent also travelled to the U.S. and England to complete portrait commissions. Despite his reputation, he failed to get a satisfactory number of assignments in Paris: the French favored their own artists, and Sargent was, after all, an American. After the “Madame X” scandal in 1884 over his rather unorthodox portrait of a great society beauty, he relocated permanently to London in 1886.

Sargent’s style has elements of both academic and avant-garde painting. He updated European grand manner portraiture by offering a unique combination of academic draughtmanship and solid modeling of form with sketchy brushstrokes and a fresh approach to composition. Instead of the static upright pose of conventional portraiture, Sargent selected for his subjects asymmetrical, tilting poses—precarious, ephemeral, and often uncomfortable for the subject to maintain throughout several sittings, they created a powerful sense of presence, casual and immediate. Such self-consciously artificial poses betray the sitter’s collaboration with the painter, a gesture of play-acting that reveals the artifice inherent in the act of painting. The quick, feathery brushwork and bright tonality intensify the sense of movement and immediacy in the piece. There is a vibrancy, perhaps even a nervous energy, to each representation, which also captures something of the individual. Sargent’s portraits are a “powerful projection of the sitter’s presence, not in the timeless realm of traditional portraiture, but in the modern here-and-now” (Prettejohn, 74). It is in the context of this lucrative trans-Atlantic portrait practice that he painted the portrait of his American friend Sarah Sears, Mrs. Joshua Montgomery Sears, in 1899.

The portrait of Mrs. Sears is executed according to Sargent’s winning formula as described above. She dominates the life-size canvas, clothed in dazzling white against an indeterminate dark background. The glass piece at her right elbow seems to exist only to display Sargent’s technical virtuosity. She sits almost on the edge of her seat, twisting to her right, knees pressed together, two fingers propped against her neck. This does not look like a comfortable position, but it creates a dynamic sense of tension and movement. Sargent has modeled her form like a true academic, her face and hands given bodily weight as defined by lines and blended tonalities (you can see her wedding ring, even the glint of light on her fingernail); yet her dress explodes in a profusion of sketchy brushstrokes, dissolving at close range—white over pink, lavender, and blue. The bouquet in her left hand is comprised of swirls of color, possibly roses. She does not look directly at us, a small smile on her lips, privy to the theater created. There is tension between realist illusion and painterly artifice, a result of the collision of the academic and the modern.

Frederick Carl Frieseke, like Sargent, was an American expatriate who lived the majority of his life overseas. Born in 1874, he grew up in Michigan and Florida. From 1893 to 1896 he attended the Art Institute of Chicago (incidentally, one of his teachers had studied under Bouguereau at the Academie Julian). In 1896 he moved to New York City, where he worked as an illustrator; in 1897 he set sail for Paris. Upon arrival he enrolled at the Academie Julian, where he studied until 1900. He concurrently attended Whistler’s short-lived Academie Carmen, and became a great admirer of his. The academic training he received in the U.S. and at Academie Julian was supplemented by Whistler’s teachings, which emphasized surface design, art as artifice, and judiciously selecting from nature what to include, or not include, in the composition. In 1905 Frieseke married Sadie, an excellent match. They divided their time between Paris and the artists’ colony in Giverny, where Monet lived*, until 1919, after which they bought a home in Normandy. Like Sargent, he was able to establish a successful career and exhibited at the Salon (in 1899, 1901-1922, 1925, and throughout the 1930s), though in Frieseke’s case it was at the new Salon established in 1890.

It was during his time in Giverny that Frieseke increasingly devoted himself to painting outdoor scenes en plein air. He described his artistic goals in an interview in 1912: “It is sunshine, flowers in sunshine; girls in sunshine; the nude in sunshine… I try as much as possible to make a mirror of the canvas… but I paint what I see that is interesting and which appeals to me at that moment” (Weinberg, 53). Frieseke’s work balances an interest in the effects of light with an emphasis on the structure of the figure. Though his rapid rendering of rough brushstrokes, attention to decorative effects and the flatness of the canvas, and selection of commonplace, everyday subjects are distinctly modern, his emphasis on solid form demonstrates his academic bias. He thus synthesizes principles from the academic tradition with aspects of modern work from Whistler and Renoir. It is here in Giverny, and the relaxed enjoyment of time outdoors, that he painted Sunbath in 1913.

Sunbath is a mid-sized oil on canvas depicting a woman seated on a lawn chair in a garden. The canvas had been primed a mustard yellow; Frieseke then applied the paint so thinly that large areas of the canvas peek through. This lends a deep, warm, even orangey-pink hue to the painting, implying that the sun had begun to set. The woman appears to be in the middle of getting up, her back rounded and head tilted. She is dressed rather casually in a light pink ensemble with a narrow silhouette, and has a parasol at her side. The grass, trees, and flowers are quick, colorful daubs of paint; the woman’s dress and material draped over the chair are done in similarly loose strokes. Her body has weight, though, and her face, neck, hands, calves, and feet are modeled with clear lines and a blending of color. While the garden surrounding her dissolves into fragments, the woman is firmly seated, the full weight of her body conveyed.

Sargent’s and Frieseke’s work is a distinctive synthesis of the academic and the modern. Both men trained as artists after Impressionism appeared on the art scene; the influence of the Impressionist brushstroke on their work is clear. Although they interpreted that influence differently and developed their own unique style, they nevertheless created an approach to modern art that offered something different to the avant-garde mainstream. Perhaps their status as foreigner—simultaneously participant and outsider—lent them the ability to perceptively pick and choose elements from both the academic and the modern.

* Monet retired more and more behind his garden walls, as younger artists watched him paint and courted his stepdaughters. He refused to see most everyone, especially Americans and artists; but he liked Sadie, and the Friesekes were able to have an easy relationship with him.

Bibliography

Davis, Deborah. Strapless: John Singer Sargent and the Fall of Madame X. Penguin: New York, 2003.

Kilmer, Nicholas, Virginia M. Mecklenburg, David Sellin, H. Barbara Weinberg. Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionst. Princeton University Press: New Jersey, 2001.

Prettejohn, Elizabeth. Interpreting Sargent. Stewart, Tabori & Chang: New York, 1998.

Richard Ormond. “Sargent, John Singer.” In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T076043 (accessed April 30, 2012).

Rodgers, David. “Sargent, John Singer.” In The Oxford Companion to Western Art, edited by Hugh Brigstocke. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/opr/t118/e2348 (accessed April 30, 2012).

By the end of the nineteenth century, the Impressionists, though they continued to work individually, no longer exhibited as a group, and the way was paved for a new development in French avant-garde painting. Symbolism, the avant-garde “movement” that took root in the 1890s and carried over into the new century, was neither a movement nor a style, but a “state of mind” (Chu, 487). Artists began to combine direct observation with their imagination, and looked for ways to express greater meaning behind the commonplace. Symbolist art challenged traditional perspective and emphasized form and color to reflect the inner life of the artists and those who inhabited the paintings. The new way of seeing that the Realists, Naturalists, and Impressionists had introduced merged with Romanticism’s interest in emotion and literature to produce a subjective art that depicted a narrative, often unclear and left to the viewer’s interpretation.

The Nabis were a Symbolist artist group active in the 1890s in Paris. Founded by Paul Serusier in 1888, its initial members included Denis, Bonnard, and Ranson (Gaugin, then residing in Tahiti, was made an honorary member); Vuillard and the Swiss Vallotton joined a few years later. Although there was no single group style, members generally explored decorative elements such as flat areas of color, visible contours, simplified drawing, muted color, and patterns, and experimented with alternative materials such as cardboard. While several Nabis artists derived their subject matter from the esoteric and mythological, Vallotton and Vuillard in particular were inspired by modern bourgeoisie settings, the so-called intimiste style of tranquil, domestic interiors.

Felix Vallotton, a native Swiss, moved to Paris in 1882 at 17 to attend the Academie Julian. He was primarily a printmaker, selling graphic works, especially woodcuts, to support himself. In 1899 he married a wealthy widow whose brother owned a renowned gallery, allowing him to focus more on his painting. From 1892 he was affiliated with the Nabis, and frequented Mallarme’s Les Mardis salons; though he exhibited with the group as late as 1903, he maintained a friendship only with Vuillard. Between 1892 and 1910 Vallotton produced approx. 50 paintings of interior spaces. The early pieces, stage-like in their composition, depict a “human comedy of errors and confusion” (Becker, 19) in a sparingly furnished domestic space. The observer is cast as a voyeur, peeking in on a private moment in medias res. After ca. 1900, Vallotton’s interior pictures convey less ambiguous domestic scenes; his wife Gabrielle makes frequent appearances. It is this second group of interior paintings to which Woman Writing in an Interior belongs.

Woman Writing in an Interior is a mid-sized oil on board, painted in 1904. Vertically oriented, the composition depicts a woman, presumably Gabrielle, writing letters at a desk near a window with partially drawn curtains. A bed, most of it cropped, is covered in richly patterned sheets and positioned next to the desk. The woman, dressed in a housecoat and bonnet, hunches over her writing. All we can see is her nose and some hair. The interior is lit by an open French window in the top left quarter of the composition. We can see a bright advertising poster on the opposite building through the window. Several framed pictures hang on the wall; a throw rug lies on the carpet by the bed; and a couple ottomans are casually positioned by the desk and the bed. The brushstroke is discernable: the letter paper is just white dabs of paint; the pattern on the sheer curtains is made of quick lines and dots; and the bed sheets swirl with color. Everything seems touched by green—the striped wallpaper, the curtains, the carpet, the ottomans, the paintings on the wall, even the bonnet and housecoat have greenish tints. The generous use of green is complemented by shades of red-orange—the rug, the sheets, the poster.

Woman Writing illustrates the influence of the Nabis in Vallotton’s work. The woman and the window are in the top left quarter of the painting, creating an open, relatively empty space in the bottom half of the composition that is filled with a broad field of color. The bed sheets, curtains, and framed pieces on the wall are richly decorative, and the overall color scheme focuses on muted shades of the complements red and green. The subject matter is a great example of intimiste, showing a peaceful domestic interior in a bourgeoisie apartment. The viewer is voyeur, lingering in an imagined doorway. The scene, stage-like, brings up questions: Who is the woman? What time of day is it? To whom is she writing and why? What is the meaning of so much green? The subject is distant and silent; the viewer can only guess.

Edouard Vuillard, born and raised in Paris, attended the Academie Julian (1886-1887); after brief study at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and a period of self-study, he joined the Nabis in 1889. He experimented with flat, decorative space, expressive contour, muted colors, spatial ambiguity, and painting on cardboard. In the early 1900s he became close friends with Lucy Hessel, the wife of a partner in the gallery where he showed his work. He spent an increasing amount of time in the Hessels’ social circle, which included actors, playwrights, and businessmen. Theatre probably inspired his use of muted and mysterious light effects. He turned more to portraiture, and it is around this time that he painted Madame Hessel at Home.

Madame Hessel at Home, a mid-sized oil on board, was painted in 1908. The subject of the piece, sitting in an upholstered chair at an angle with her arms tightly crossed, dominates the piece. She is seated between a table and a fireplace with a painting (Van Gogh’s Bedroom at Arles) propped against it. A lamp shines brightly on the mantel, alongside several decorative knick-knacks, and a bouquet of flowers, a sad purple-gray, is displayed on the table. The brushstroke is distinct, applying color in broad, flat strokes. The colors are generally muted, with a bright splash supplied by the lamp and Van Gogh’s painting. The figure of the woman is a dark, absorbing field of darkness, painted in patches of black, brown, and gray, with only a hint of eyes and eyebrows, and an orange squiggly line for a hand.

Madame Hessel clearly shows the influence of the Nabis on Vuillard. It is an example of intimiste, depicting a quiet bourgeoisie interior. The composition emphasizes the two-dimensionality of the surface, creating an awkward spatial relationship among the table, chair, seated figure, fireplace, and viewer, which all seem to float, unanchored, in space. Madame Hessel is completely two-dimensional, a faceless pool of black. The fireplace is missing any discernable corners, merely a decorative field of color, an unrealistic burnt-orange with pale aqua stripes. The colors were clearly not derived from direct observation, but are rather products of Vuillard’s imagination. This subjective selection of color makes a deeper, more meaningful point. Choosing to depict Madame Hessel in such dark colors, for example, can be read as a reflection of her emotions, though we are left to wonder at the specifics. The depiction of the interior also extends the psychological portrait of the sitter—it is no accident that a Van Gogh is casually present in the living room of the wife of a gallery owner.

Participation in the short-lived Nabis, active only until around 1900, nevertheless clearly impacted the work of both Vallotton and Vuillard. In Woman Writing and Madame Hessel they gave mundane subjects an atmosphere of mystery. They depict quiet bourgeoisie interiors as a stage upon which the figures can act out an aspect of their character, yet raise more questions than they answer.

Bibliography

Becker, Christoph and Linda Schadler. Felix Vallotton: Idyll on the Edge. Scheidegger & Spiess: Zurich, 2007.

Belinda Thomson. “Nabis.” In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T060715 (accessed April 23, 2012).

Belinda Thomson. “Vallotton, Félix.” In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T087707 (accessed April 23, 2012).

Belinda Thomson. “Vuillard, Edouard.” In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T090270 (accessed April 23, 2012).

Chu, Petra ten-Doesschate. Nineteenth-Century European Art. Pearson: New Jersey, 2006.

“Intimisme.” In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T041420 (accessed April 23, 2012).

For our final assignment in photography class, we got to play with alternative processes in the darkroom–nothing too complex or requiring extra expense, though. I did a negative sandwich (= two negatives):

and a photogram with cookie cutters:

I also took the opportunity to develop prints that were not for a homework assignment.

You may recognize the rose from a previous assignment, but I wanted to develop it on fiber paper.

And of course the requisite art shots of Lola:

 

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