Posts Tagged ‘art-history’

excerpt

It struck me that there was a point in fairly recent history when we
changed from being artisans to becoming the modern idea of the artist. That
moment came with the death of van Gogh. He had played a major role in
getting the world to look at new forms of art, which had much to do with
the impressionist movement. I had read considerably on it. Van Gogh sold
just one painting in his lifetime. I think in large part he was too busy, he was
moving things ahead and I think he had a vision that very much included
the future – and that idea excited me a lot. What is art? It isn’t just something
pretty. Art is something that changes the world and it can only be done
one piece at a time.
My understanding of art, relative to my new country, was forged at this
moment. Art and politics were inextricably entwined. Van Gogh had a most
peculiar and unhealthy relationship with his brother, Theo. They corresponded
every day so we have an immense pool of information. Van Gogh
wasn’t mad at all. He was very ill and became sicker as he grew older. I
think he had many things wrong with him, including epilepsy. After he cut
off his ear, and eventually shot himself and took three days to die, a friend
of Theo’s, a well-known journalist in Paris, asked if he could see some of the
correspondence. Theo agreed. After the fellow researched a goodly amount of
it, he asked if he could write some articles. Theo agreed – and those articles
created damnation for the artists of today, because van Gogh was presented
as a madman and a victim. It so hit the sensibility of France that he became
the grand, tragic figure, and the model for how all artists would be viewed
in the eye and the mind of the public. And because the world in those days
looked to Paris for matters artistic, the story spread like quicksilver. To my
mind, that was the birth of the modern perception of the artist.
Ken compared the “artist as victim” mythos with the Renaissance
view of artists, when people like him commanded the attention of kings,
queens, princes and Popes. Pleased with the clarity of his thoughts, he
picked up his fishing rod and got back to the business at hand, promising
himself that if he did nothing else in his life he would never join that
anaemic club of modern day artists. He would be an artist in the tradition
of the Italian Renaissance. If he were to follow in anyone’s footsteps, it
would be in those of Michelangelo. He would be a warrior artist.
To burn off some of the restless energy that possessed him since returning
home, he began to play tennis, at the courts in Stanley Park,
where he met Helen Michaelchuck, a local teacher. He also studied real
estate investing, which seemed to him like a false-fronted building in an
old black and white western movie. It was an empty concept set up to
make money – no value traded hands. No service was purchased. But he
wanted at least two or three million dollars to tell the story of the Arctic

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

excerpt

They made art to order, for their
patrons – which were the church and the nobility. Art, as taught in the
schools, was something between an industry and a passing fad. Rui was
adamant – Ken’s art should not be touched, changed or influenced by a
teacher.
“I don’t interfere with how you draw,” he said. ‘I don’t tell you anything.
I just watch you and we talk. Your friend, Francisco – it’s the same.
Your father – it’s the same. That’s all you need.”
Ken was not convinced. His investigations led him to an art school just
outside Lisbon, not far from the village. He sent a letter but received no
response. He enlisted his father’s help in drafting another letter. This time
a response came – the school didn’t take young students. Ken should apply
again when he was eighteen.
In reply, his father packaged up some of his son’s drawings and sent
them to the school. Their evasive reply seemed to indicate they didn’t
believe an eleven-year-old boy was the author of the drawings.
Ken Sr. visited the school and after a number of meetings and lunches,
Ken was admitted. On his first day, he was surprised to find that the entire
institution was dedicated to the study of Pablo Picasso. Students were required
to learn about him and his work, and to draw and paint like him.
Ken walked home after the first day thinking, “Is that art school? Is that
what it’s all about? Why are they teaching me to paint the way someone
else paints? I’m not interested in painting like Picasso.”
On the second day he said, “This is not what I came here for. I didn’t
come here to paint like Picasso.”
“What’s wrong with Picasso?” the teacher asked.
“Personally, I think he can’t paint,” Ken said.
The teacher’s mouth dropped open. “I suppose you’re going to judge
that he can’t paint?”
Ken shrugged. “I think he’s a man who is full of very negative thoughts
and emotions. Look at his paintings – they’re brutal! Is this what is going
on inside him? Look at the women he paints! Look at how he paints
them! He’s a misogynist! I do not want to paint like Picasso. Perhaps you
should be reminded that Picasso is alive and well and painting and living
in France. I came here to learn other things.”
“What do you want to know?” the teacher asked.
“I want to know the technical things. I want to know about different
materials – how do they work? Once I know how to manipulate the materials,
I will decide what is what and no one is going to decide for me. How
on earth can anyone teach someone about what is in their souls or what
could potentially be there?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573