Cover of Prado. On the Cover Design: A Preparatory drawing by the sculptor Cristina Iglesias for the Doors of the Prado Museum's new extension.

According to the last page of the magazine: "The format of Prado has the exact same proportions as the painting Las Meninas by Velázquez."

Diego Velázquez. Las Meninas. (a. 1656) Oil on Canvas. Prado Museum, Madrid.

The Prado Museum--one of the most important museums in Europe--has begun publishing a new magazine simply titled Prado. A press release on the Museum's website explains:

Starting this week, the new issue of Prado magazine will be available in the Museum's shop. This magazine, the first issue of which was published last year, is a bilingual publication in Spanish and English with contributions signed by prestigious guests such as, in this issue, the photographers Gianni Berengo Gardin and Attilio Maranzano, the essayist, poet and playwright Hans Magnus Enzensberger, Príncipe de Asturias Award for Communications and Humanities in 2002, or the architect and Professor Juan José Lahuerta, amongst others The magazine includes the documentary in DVD Patinir and the Invention of Landscape.

The magazine is beautifully illustrated and written. Rather than a stuffy, academic publication, it looks more like a high-end architectural or design magazine.

I wonder why I have to go to Madrid to buy a bilingual magazine from an internationally-renowned museum. I was lucky enough to be at the Museum shop when this issue came out. But, I'm not going to Spain to buy each new issue.

The Museum website does raise the unspecified possibility of getting the magazine another way by stating in its press release: "Purchase by email: tiendaprado@museodelpradodifusion.es."

Ordering it via email is definitely worth a try.

Alphonse Mucha. Poster for the Exposition of The Slav Epic. (1928). Color Lithograph.

I went to Madrid to continue research on Spanish painters, and left with an obsession for the Czech painter Alphonse Mucha (1860-1939).

Photograph of the CaixaForum building's vertical garden.

While walking to a cafe next to my hotel, I stumbled onto an exhibition on Mucha. Titled Alphonse Mucha: Seduction, Modernity, and Utopia, the exhibition is a joint effort between CaixaForum and the Mucha Foundation. It will be on show at CaixaForums new building, located across the street from the Prado, until August 31.

The CaixaForum is the cultural wing of the Caixa Bank. Banks in Spain are required by law to use a percentage of their profits for cultural purposes. As a result, many important exhibitions, like this one, have come to Spain in the past few years. As a rule they are free to the public, and are almost always accompanied by beautiful catalogs. Unfortunately, these catalogs, like the one accompanying the Mucha exhibition, are almost never available in stores or online.

Photograph of Alphonse Mucha (1906)

Alphonse Mucha was born in Moravia (the modern-day Czech Republic). At the age of 25, he began studies at Academy of Fine Arts in Munich. Two years later, he would move to Paris and study at the prestigious Academie Julien in France.

Eventually, he would become friends with Gauguin and participate in Symbolist art shows with Bonnard, Grasset, Toulouse-Lautrec, Mallarmé and Verlaine. His participation in Symbolism, which has underlying metaphysical and religious beliefs, went hand in hand with his participation in Freemasonry.

Mucha was initiated in the Masonic Lodge of Paris in 1898 and continued to practice Freemasonry until he died, including references to it in many of his works.

One of my favorite moments in the exhibition came from a group of school children visiting at the same time I was. Their teacher asked them: "Does anyone know what a Masonic Lodge is?" The students seemed puzzled and no one was able to answer the question. Lesson: Don't expect a group of students in a country where 94% of the public is Catholic to know much about Masonry. Besides being an important Symbolist, Mucha was one of the most influential players in the development of Art Nouveau, for which he is most remembered.

His Work

Alphonse Mucha. Madonna of the Lilies. (1905) Oil on canvas. Mucha Museum, Prague

One of the great discoveries of this exhibition for me was Mucha's ability to paint in oils. Had I only seen his posters, which often use a limited palette and solid colors separated by black lines, I would not think these paintings were his.

Alphonse Mucha. The Apotheosis of the Slavs. (1926) Oil on canvas. Private collection

In contrast to the posters, the oils are full of light and use a generous palette. His ability to gradate from one color to another is extraordinary. While looking at The Apotheosis of the Slavs (1926), I thought of late-fifteenth-century paintings by Bellini, where he was just beginning to use oil rather than tempera, egg-based paints. Almost overnight, Bellini was able to make smooth shadows and gradual changes in color that were previously impossible. Mucha seems to crown nearly five hundred years of oil painting with a symphony of color that seamlessly glides from one bright color to another.

The Slav Epic

Photograph of Alphonse Mucha at the opening of the Exhibition of The Slav Epic. (1919) Klementinum, Prague.

In 1911, Mucha had returned to Prague--never to return to Paris--and began creating his magnum opus: The Slav Epic. In over fifteen years of work, he created 20 paintings measuring nearly 18 by 20 feet each. Ten of the paintings depict historical events related specifically to the Czech nation. The other ten depict spiritual and mythological events in the history the Slavic race. The paintings, now in Prague, were missing for thirty years. Unbeknownst to his family, Mucha had rolled them up and hidden them from Nazi occupiers.

Alphonse Mucha. The Abolition of Serfdom in Russia. (1914) Tempera on canvas. Mucha Museum, Prague

Strangely, Mucha began his epic portrayal of his people at about the same time that Joaquín Sorolla had begun Visions of Spain, which was done in a similarly large scale.

Alphonse Mucha. Holy Mount Athos. (1926) Tempera on canvas. Mucha Museum, Prague

In can't wait to go to Prague to see the large canvases myself, and to learn more about Alphonse Mucha.

Art, Classical, Historical, museums, Ramblings/IdeasMicah ChristensenJune 24, 2008 Comment

Note: I have used several high-resolution images in this post. Depending on the speed of your internet connection, it may take a few moments to properly load them all.

Martin Lewis HA'NTED (1932) Drypoint with sandpaper-ground, 33.3 BY 22.6CM or 13 BY 9IN. (Although one of the least-featured works in the exhibition, it is one of my favorites.)

The British Museum has the largest collection of American prints outside the United States. Much of its collection has come from the artists' families themselves. Over a hundred prints are now on view in the in Museum's Print Room. In addition, a beautiful catalog, The American Scene: Prints from Hopper to Pollock, has been printed to accompany the exhibition. It includes many high-quality, little-published images. It is also beautifully written by Stephen Coppel, who is a great storyteller.

The American Scene exhibition is on show until September 7 at the British Museum. For those who can't be there in person, the exhibition website has an interactive section worth visiting. Because it is just around the corner from me, I've been able to sneak away, sometimes with my three-year-old son asleep in his stroller, to see some of the pieces several times.

George Bellows A Stag at Sharkey's (1917) Lithograph, 47.5 BY 61CM. or 18 3/4 BY 24IN.

A Stag at Sharkey's (1917) illustrated a time in the US when public boxing matches were illegal. To avoid prosecution and simultaneously gather paying crowds, gyms would have private boxing clubs. Members would pay dues to the gym in place of tickets and the matches would be held behind closed doors. George Bellows (1882-1925) was a regular viewer and sometimes participated in the matches. He was even given the boxing name "Chicago Whitey."

Bellows was born in Columbus, Ohio where he studied as Ohio State University and hoped to eventually become a professional baseball player. Instead, he studied under Robert Henri and John Sloan in New York at the Ashcan School. There he gained a solid foundation in drawing and painting the human figure, which is reflected in the above work.

Leonard Baskin MAN OF PEACE (1952) Woodcut on oriental paper 158 BY 78.7CM or 62 1/8 BY 31IN.

Together with his equally pessimistic work The Hydrogen Man, this piece by Leonard Baskin (1922-2000) greets everyone entering the exhibition. I couldn't help but wonder if the Museum curator who placed them there was making a statement about the United States' current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. (It seems like at least twice a week I'm told by European acquaintances how the US is finally learning its lesson.) Maybe I'm projecting.

In any case, this work was meant to be an anti-war piece reflecting discontent with the Korean and Cold Wars in America. That's a dead dove in the man's hands. I think it is wonderfully effective in expressing the intended message and the kind of complicated emotions people felt at the time.

Despite my short-lived angst with their prominent display in a show whose mood they do not proportionately represent, while looking at Baskin's two works I found myself reflecting on my own pessimism, anger, sadness, regret, and helplessness that I feel about the current war in Iraq.

Julius Bloch THE PRISONER (1934) Lithograph 34 BY 25.3CM. or 14 3/8 BY 10IN.

Julius Bloch (1888-1966) was heavily influenced by French Realism from the late nineteenth century (e.g. Jean-François Millet) and American painters Thomas Eakins and Robert Henri. This work shows a kind of stripped-down simplicity that still borrows from a solid understanding of the human figure. (Look at the figure's chest and sides as the shoulders rise forward and they bend inwards. Wow.)

The Prisoner at once emanates sadness and hope. I found myself staring at it for a few minutes, lost in thought. It reminded me of the meditative paintings of seventeenth-century Bolognese painters like Guido Reni and Ludovico Carracci. From page 147 of the exhibition catalog:

The model was Alonzo Jennings, who had sat for an earlier portrait. In his journal Bloch described the placing of handcuffs on Jennings: 'I had a horror of putting them on him, but he only laughed, and said, "I'll trust you to take them off again.'" (Bloch, Journals, no. 3, 25 November 1933)

James Allen The Connectors (1934) Etching, 32.7 BY 25CM. or 12 7/8 BY 9 7/8IN.

Is there anything more American than building skyscrapers during the Depression? I submit that it stands aside hot dogs, baseball, apple pie, and John Wayne movies. The rising forms of buildings, soaring heavenward, must have been statues of optimism in a time when it was difficult to feel good about the future.

The Connectors depicts two workers supposedly working on the Empire State Building during the height of the Depression. As was the case with most workers, they are high above the ground without safety harnesses or scaffolding. James Allen (1894-1964) did a number of construction-worked pieces. I wonder how much of this piece is taken from first-hand experience or from Allen's imagination. Having served as a US pilot in WWI, he was no stranger to dangerous heights.

(He is not the same James Allen that wrote the essay As a Man Thinketh that is given to almost every hormonal teenager in my hometown.)

Robert Gwathmey THE HITCHHIKER (1937) Solor screenprint, 42.8 BY 33.3CM. or 16 7/8 BY 13IN.

The Hitchhiker is one of the promotional pieces used by the Museum to advertise the exhibition, and can be seen all over London. According to the Coppel label for the work, it is based on the only early painting by the artist that he did not destroy. That explains why several online searches for other works by Robert Gwathmey (1903-1988) had little result.

Gwathmey was a native Virginian who trained in Baltimore, Philadelphia and Europe. Later in life, his efforts were more as a teacher than producing artist.

Louis Lozowick New York (c. 1925) Lithograph, 29.2 BY 22.9CM. or 11 1/2 BY 9IN.

As a Russian Jew born near the turn of the century, Louis Lozowick (1892-1973) may have known my grandfather, a Jew living near Lozowick's hometown. Lozowick studied art in Kiev, but was forced to leave during the Russian revolution of 1905.

New York is his most famous work. Comparing it to works by Natalia Goncharova, a Cubo-futurist painter, it appears that Lozowick was heavily influenced by his Russian background. According to Coppel, Lozowick knew some of the major Russian artists of the day: Kasimir Malevich, Vladimir Tatlin, and El Lissitsky.

My wife lived in Manhattan for several years. Seeing this lithograph, she said "I really, really miss New York," saying it was like living in a "man-made canyon."

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I've now been to the exhibition four times. For an American living in London, seeing images that carry a distinctly American flavor is like having comfort food. I plan on going many times more.

Lord Frederick Leighton, Study for Captive Andromache (1888); White and black chalk on brown paper

Lord Frederick Leighton, Captive Andromache (1888), DETAIL

Lord Frederick Leighton, Captive Andromache (1888). Click here for a larger image.

I was researching another artist when I stumbled across the website for Leighton House Museum, dedicated to preserving the memory and collection of the painter Lord Frederick Leighton. The Museum has digitized its collection of his drawings.

Leighton was appointed President of the Royal Academy in London in 1878. His highly realistic approach to this sketch reflects the values of the Academy in his day.

As can be seen above, the woman in his sketch is much younger than that appearing in the final version of the painting. The purpose of the sketch was to explore the drapery and not the woman's features, which accounts for the lack of detail in the face and limbs and the detail in the fabric that faithfully appears in the final work.

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The play Andromache by Euripides is well-worth reading. Here is a link to an online summary. Here is a link to the full play.

Art, Classical, museums, Ramblings/IdeasMicah ChristensenApril 29, 2008

Mariano Fortuny (1838-1873), Viejo desnudo al sol (1871), from the Prado Museum.

The Prado Museum in Madrid is showing selections from its collection of nineteenth-century Spanish paintings and sculpture. The exhibition, titled El Siglo XIX en el Prado (The 19th Century in the Prado), will be on view until April 2008.

According to the Museum, works from theperiod make up its largest and most unexamined collection. (Paintings in the exhibition have not been on display since 1993, when only a selection was on view.)

Spain had a vibrant painting culture in the nineteenth century. Unfortunately, it has been largely forgotten by Spain and ignored by the rest of Europe. Most art historians, Spanish or otherwise, can't name a Spanish artist working between the death of Francisco de Goya (1828) and the career of Pablo Picasso in the last quarter of the century.

In my opinion, the artists and their work are anything but forgettable.

Manuel Domínguez (1840-1906), Seneca after cutting his viens . . . (1871), from the Prado Museum.

Javier Barón, the Head of the Nineteenth Century Painting at the Prado, has largely the force behind the exhibition. Together with José Luis Díez, also of the Prado, he has written an excellent book introducing the collection. (Unfortunately, so far, it has only been published in Spanish.) At 518 pages (an nearly 10 lbs.), it is a major contribution to a under-published field.

Carlos de Haes (1826-1898), La Canal de Mancorbo en los Picos de Europa (1874), from the Prado Museum.

The works on view are evidence of how profoundly Spanish artists were affected by their own past masters (e.g. Velásquez, Ribera, Goya, Murillo), Italian Masters (e.g. Titian, Veronese, Michelangelo, Raphael), and contemporary moverments (e.g. Romanticism, Claccisism, Nazarene painters, Realism, etc.).

Since the opening of the Exhibition, I have had the honor of meeting with Javier Barón and other Spanish scholars. It seems that this exhibition is only the beginning of a new understanding, if not appreciation, of a forgotten century of painters and sculptors.

I just came back from Paris, where I was doing research on nineteenth nentury painters who studied at the highly admired Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris.

The Ecole was the most important and influential school for painting in the nineteenth century. Arguably, it is the most influential institution in the history of painting, having lead trends during the majority of the nineteenth century, when there were more than 300,000. Founded in 1648, it trained artists for more than 350 years. Some of the artists include David, Ingres, Gerome, Delacroix, and Bouguereau to name very, very few. (For a longer history of the Ecole online visit the Wikipedia entry or for more, in-depth reading see Albert Biome's book The Academy and French Painting in the Nineteenth Century.)

While in Paris, I decided to stop by the Ecole. I wanted to see the great institution that produced great works that hang in great museums around the world. I was surprised at what I found.

(Main bathroom through the front hall of the Ecole)

(View of the Mulberry Tree Courtyard at the Ecole, with students eating lunch)

(Another shot of the courtyard with a statue and graffiti)

(A hall along the courtyard. Pay attention to the pealing paint on the ceiling.)

(Another statue with graffiti in the main courtyard)

The building is in decay at best and a victim of blatant neglect at worst. While Ingres paintings have rooms dedicate to their viewing in the Louvre, the institution Ingres dedicated his life to is rotting.

It is now a school that specializes in modern architecture. I asked several of the students and two people who worked in the main office if they could tell me where I could find the former studios of Gerome, Bouguereau, and Ingres. No one recognized the first two names, and they had no idea where I could find Ingres well-respected workshop.

It was a sad experience.

Can anything be done about it? Should anything be done?