Hand Studies

I've always had fun drawing hands. They can be in so many different poses, they have character, and they're readily available. They're also one of the more complicated parts of the body to draw. Despite this, I enjoyed the simpleness of this assignment: all we needed was paper, a pencil or charcoal, and our hands. I prefer the simplicity and directness of drawing over more complicated art processes.

I chose to draw in pencil because, while I prefer charcoal, I thought trying to draw with charcoal with my left hand might be too messy. I was worried that through smudging it would be more difficult to depict my right hand the way I wanted to. Hands, also, feel too delicate to draw in charcoal. Drawing in pen would have been my preferred method--it's nice living with your mistakes, and it makes you more careful in the first place.

I have rarely tried writing, let alone drawing, with my left (non-dominant) hand. It's strange how weak it felt as soon as I held the pencil, even before I actually tried to draw anything. Strangely, when I first started drawing, my hand wanted to draw the mirror image of my right hand--so it looked like I had drawn two left hands. I realized this after not too long and started over, and it felt very awkward for some reason, drawing my right hand the right way.  While both drawings are quite sketchy, I had a hard time controlling my pencil in my left hand, so it looks more scribble-y than the study of my left hand. Here are the two drawings:

Right hand drawing of left hand

Left hand drawing of right hand

When considering how uncomfortable my left hand felt while drawing, I was surprised the drawing came out as accurate as it did. In some ways, it seems a little closer to how my hands look than the drawing made by my right hand. While the first drawing is clearly a more "realistic" hand and the shading is rendered a bit more delicately, it is also a little too thick-wristed and emphasizes the palm of my hand over my fingers a little too much. My pointer finger is also kind of at a weird angle. The left hand drawing, on the other hand (har har), is not as "good" a drawing, but it captures my bony, rather thin wrist a little better. This may be because my left hand was not already used to drawing things a particular way, so I actually had to study more what my right hand looks like in order to draw it. While my left hand would not be good at get any more finely detailed, and the quality of the lines it drew is pretty poor, it allowed me to look afresh at what my hands actually look like.

I think I want to try to write and draw with my left hand every day. It would be an interesting experiment, seeing how much I can improve its fine motor skills. Being closer to ambitextrosity would help in creating artworks, when the right hand for some reason cannot do it. I don't know if I would ever create entire art pieces only with my left hand, unless that relates to the meaning of the work, but I do think it would be good to do drawing exercises that way. I may create a new blog, just for my own self, where I upload studies I did with solely my left hand. Sounds like fun!

Durer, Rembrandt, El Greco, Velazquez

I selected Albrecht Durer: Image of a Master because his The Four Riders of the Apocalypse always used to scare me a little bit, and I would like to know more about the man who created it. I chose The Night Watch because I'm frankly embarrassed over how little I know about Rembrandt. The same goes for El Greco: Rediscovering a Master--I know even less about him. Lastly, I chose Velazquez, because I've always been intrigued by his paintings, and he was a major influence on many later artists whom I like.

 Albrecht Durer: Image of a Master gives a quick biography of the German master painter and printmaker. He was born in Nuremberg and showed his talent at an early age. He gained fame in Venice, where he learned how to paint solid forms in fine brushstrokes that were much different from his earlier, stiff-posed figures. He took what he learned in Venice and returned to Nuremberg, bringing Germany out of the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance. Most of his income came from his prints, which were often religious in nature and very highly detailed. He switched from woodcuts to copper engravings so he could further get fine detail and subtle plays of shadow and light.  He was interested in painting the perfect body, and thus was  a tad narcissistic, obsessed with painting his own "perfect" face. He also highly respected Martin Luther, and his Protestant leanings were obvious in his final major painting of four of the Apostles, which had text at the bottom warning people to not follow false prophets (the papacy).

The Night Watch is a mammoth-sized painting, painted by the Dutchman Rembrandt, that has become the Netherlands's national treasure. It has become an object of pilgrimage, that every Dutch person should see at least once in their lives. Now housed at the Rijksmuseum, it was originally commissioned by a civic militia guild, as was traditional in the 17th century. Rembrandt, however, did not paint it the way these sorts of group portraits were typically painted. Instead of having all the people lined up in a rigid, formal way, Rembrandt painted it like a history painting, in a moment of action. He added many additional figures to the painting, to make it feel more like a crowd, and many of the real people's faces are somewhat obscured or in shadow. Everything in the painting, be it the dog or the boy or the drummer, is moving, and the painting is so dynamic that the eye moves all around it. There is a strange, glowing little girl in the painting, whose purpose is somewhat mysterious. The bird's claw that she has on her belt, however, is the symbol of the militia, so she could be meant to symbolize the militia.

The pigments and varnish had darkened significantly over the years, making the painting appear like it took place during the night (thus its title), but really it took place during the day. Unfortunately, the painting has been vandalized a number of times. First, a shield was painted into it 8 years later by someone else, that gave all the militia members' names. Then the painting was officially trimmed so it could fit into a space that was too small for it. Then, it managed to survive World War II, but was no match for a disturbed man with a knife, who slashed it in the 1970s. It was carefully repaired, only to have acid thrown on it in 1990, but this luckily did not get past the layer of varnish. The painting can be seen everywhere today, from coffee mugs to other artists' collages to replicas in porcelain, even though it was originally intended to be just a simple group portrait.

El Greco: Rediscovering a Master is about the life of Domenikos Theotokopoulos, who was born in the 16th century on the island of Crete. He was probably trained as a Byzantine icon painter, but traveled to Venice and Spain in order to paint like a Renaissance painter. He often struggled with the counter reformation, which accused his paintings of putting style over the religious content. His work, however, was stylistically different from his contemporaries. In The Disrobing of Christ, for instance, he bathes Christ in a bright red cloak, drawing the viewer's eyes to him. He was a magnificent portrait  artist, painting expressive faces with brilliant eyes.  After his death, El Greco was criticized as capricious, and then forgotten. He was rediscovered by the Romantics, however, who loved his personal vision of reality over simply trying to paint realistically. Artists like Manet and Degas admired him and his genuine, saddened heroes. At the end of the 19th century, the modernism movement began, breaking away from established schools of art. El Greco was considered a father figure of this movement, centuries ahead of his time. El Greco paintings were paraded about, and he even influenced Picasso. Portrait of a Painter, in the 1950s, was largely influenced by El Greco. El Greco's bewitching paintings continue to haunt people today, half a millennium later.

Velazquez tells the life of the 17th century Spanish painter, who seemed to live a quiet life. He served King Philip IV, who was also his only friend. Rubens inspired him to visit Italy and study Italian Renaissance painting, which somewhat changed his style of painting. Feast of Bacchus, for instance, incorporates Greek/Roman mythological figures. He was interested in making the myths feel real. He wanted his paintings to look "artless," like he didn't specifically arrange them in a certain way. He and his wife's deaths feel arranged, however, for the two died within a week of each other, after closely shared lives. Velazquez tried to paint the truth, such as the painting of the young prince on horseback, which was fundamentally about childhood. In some ways he was an abstract painter, for his landscapes are more about ideas than actually depicting nature. Also, his portraits of royalty captured the actual person, not just the mask of royalty. One can feel their personality and character.

He also painted portraits of the palace jesters, who were often crippled and mentally disabled, but some were also very clever. These paintings often showed the humanity of the figures while still realistically portraying their physical deformities, by having the viewer look into the people rather than just at them. He painted them transcending above their disfigurements, even though he makes pains to depict all of their physical flaws. Both the royalty and the jester portraits were reflections of his own self, his own humanity. Not many paintings were religiously-themed, and those were always commissioned, but they, too, showed the figures as real people, not just icons.

The videos feature artists from the time period we just read about in the text. None of the above artists, however, were terribly thoroughly dealt with (though Durer and Rembrandt both have had those one page biographies on them). The Night Watch and the El Greco videos explained how those artists are still influencing the art and culture of today. It would be nice if the text had some sort of past-present connection section of each chapter, that explained how the things we are reading about relate to our lives today. The text does fairly often do this, but it would be nice if it was more regular. While the text can only have a general overview of movements, as it's covering centuries of art movements, the videos give us a chance to focus in on a few key players.

I enjoyed the videos, though the El Greco one was at times slow and difficult to understand completely--too much history was given without enough context, at least for me. It was nice to see the drive these artists had to continue bettering their artistic selves. It allows you to understand how the Renaissance and succeeding art movements advanced artistic thinking and techniques so quickly. Velazquez, Durer,  and El Greco, for instance, traveled across Europe to see new approaches in art, and then brought those approaches back home with them. Even in an era with nothing close to the internet, ideas were able to spread across vast distances. I like that we first read the text, so that we get the overview and some information on a variety of artists, and then we can pick the videos ourselves, based on whatever interested us the most in the text. While many people might initially be interested in learning more about certain paintings, artists, or movements, they probably wouldn't bother looking further into it if it wasn't for the mandatory watching of the videos.

Exaggeration, Illumination, the Black Plague and Byzantine

I chose to watch A World Inscribed: The Illuminated Manuscript because I am planning a small art project for one of my education classes on Illuminated Letters, and this seemed like a good way to get more information on them. I chose Cataclysm: The Black Death Visits Tuscany because, well, there are few things more morbidly interesting to learn about than the Black Death, and I'm curious how the video will relate it to art (assuming it does). I chose Beyond the Classical: Byzantine and Later Greek Art because this is an area that I'm not terribly familiar with. The Greek art history class I took didn't delve into anything from this time period. In high school I painted part of a mural that was based on a Byzantine mosaic, but didn't really know anything about what I was painting.

More Human than Human went back thousands of years to explain why modern humans are obsessed with exaggerating the human figure. The 25,000 year old Venus of Willendorf statue has very exaggerated sexual features. Professor Ramachandran (who we also saw in the other video presenting this argument) believes that it is hardwired into animals' brains to look for key features, and the more exaggerated, the better. Sea gulls, for instance, prefer a three-striped stick to their mother's singly-striped beak. They simply look for the most important characteristic, and the bigger it is the better it is to see. As reproduction was important for nomadic people, their brains focus on breasts and sexual organs rather than faces or hands. Some societies, however, learn to suppress this instinct, such as the Ancient Egyptians, who instead streamlined their figures as much as possible. Creating a figure that could easily be repeated with the aid of a grid was what was important to this very stable civilization.

The Ancient Greeks were obsessed with the ideal human body, and soon were able to create very realistic sculptures. Soon, however, they lost interest in this, and they, too, created exaggerated figures. Their exaggerations, however, were much more subtle, such as torsos that were a little too long. They had achieved reality, but couldn't resist the part of their brains that was telling them to create statues that were more human than human. In today's world, many different cultures mean many differently-exaggerated depictions of the human body, satisfying our urge to see the three-striped versions of ourselves.

A World Inscribed actually turned out to be more about the people who created the illuminated manuscripts rather than the process of making them, which was interesting. I didn't realize how humorous they could be! Scribes, who were typically monks, originally worked in monasteries, where they copied and illustrated texts from dusk until dawn. Many would complain in the margins about how painful and exhausting it was. They were some of the very few people who were literate, and these books took an incredibly long time to complete. They believed that with each letter they wrote, a sin they had committed was erased. This was good, as the scribe of the devil would trick them into mistakes, and then present these mistakes on the day of their judgment.

Eventually, it became important for other people to learn to read and write, such as judges, lawyers, and merchants. Universities were set up, where students could borrow sections of texts and copy them themselves. Students could support themselves by becoming scribes. No longer were only religious texts copied: luxury books, such as histories, romances, and manuals, for the wealthy were created. These often had cheery little messages such as "good bye, reader!" in them, and illuminations that were silly or poked fun at the scribe. As is always the case, unfortunately, scribes were eventually replaced by the printing press, which did away with such personal touches, but made literature available to a much larger audience.

Cataclysm: The Black Death Meets Tuscany explores where Siena and Florence were before the Black Plague struck in 1348, what happened during this time, and the aftereffects. At the beginning of the 13th century, both city-states, which were rivals, were having an economic boom. They were very wealthy, had access to goods from around the world, and were constructing hospitals, public squares, and cathedrals. Shortly before the plague hit, however, Siena and Florence were overpopulated without enough food, and broke from their excessive constructing and lending to monarchies who did not repay them. These suddenly weakened cities were struck hard by the plague, which killed a third to a half of the population.

Before the plague, people certainly believed in heaven and hell, but depictions of hell were almost a little too ludicrous, a little tongue-in-cheek. Afterwards, however, hell was painted as a horrifying place, where the physical body was submitted to unspeakable torture. Paintings of heavenly bodies, on the other hand, were very celestial and lacked a physicality. The progress of Giotto in the area of creating individuals with individual feelings was done away with in favor of austere, expressionless holy figures. Some, however, are skeptical that all of this can be attributed to the plague. They claim that times of progress are fairly often accompanied by times that in some ways go backward, for it takes some time to get out of the previous time's shadow.

One shouldn't think, also, that everything that happened following the plague was negative. The plague made many people question the role of religion. While before religion was the center of everything, people now explored fulfillment in other areas, such as technology and philosophy. New ways of thinking about ourselves emerged, so in some ways the plague helped pave the road for the Renaissance.

Beyond the Classical: Byzantine and Later Greek Art gave a general history of Byzantine and Greek art. Many people stop paying attention to anything that isn't Classical Greek art, but their art world is still vibrant today. Many artists still paint in the Byzantine, iconographic style of centuries ago. Those who practice it say that Byzantine art influenced and contains the same elements of modern art. Hellenistic art is a mixture of many different Greek influences, and is very modern but with traditional content. The most recent major development in Greek art came in the 19th century, during their war of independence. During this time, their art was trying to elicit a sense of nationhood, and was often a combination of realism, idealism, and sentimentalism. Greek architecture, clearly, has influenced the western world. Strangely, it was outsiders that introduced Neoclassicism back into Greece. Nowadays, people still flock in a kind of pilgrimage to famous Ancient Greek sites, not as a religious act, but a spiritual one nonetheless.

 The textbook may have explained what the trends in portraying the human figure looked like, but it did not take a huge amount of time in explaining the "why" behind these trends. More Human than Human filled the gap, however, and explained the neurological and psychological reasons behind humankind's urge to exaggerate the figure to certain ideals. A World Inscribed and Cataclysm: The Black Death Meets Tuscany both were explaining the nature of the Middle Ages, and how they weren't as dark as people believe, even with the Black Plague. The text stated that there was still progress during this time period before the Renaissance, and these videos illustrated reasons why this was true.
Beyond the Classical: Byzantine and Later Greek Art brought Greek art and architecture out of the Ancient world. While the text did a thorough job explaining how Classical architecture is still an inspiration for today's buildings, it didn't go into current Greek painting at all. I think it's important to show that these cultures that we learn primarily about when they were ancient civilizations can still be significant and relevant today.

As stated above, the videos did a good job of explaining why art movements exist, how they build off one another, who the artists are behind the artworks, and how historical events can affect the art, positively or negatively. I probably understood the Byzantine video the least, as it was discussing things I was the least familiar with, and I would like even more of a context to understand Byzantine art. More Human than Human was very interesting and entertaining to watch, but I got to wondering eventually if they were saying much that wasn't sort of common sense. The sea gull example is nice, but didn't we always assume that the Venus doll had exaggerated body parts because humans were obsessed with reproduction? I suppose the difference is that  Professor Ramachandran states that this urge to exaggerate is an instinctive, unconscious part of the brain, not really a choice we make knowingly. My favorite was probably A World Inscribed, for we really got to get into the artists' heads. You would think that Middle Ages monks would be quite stuffy, but instead they were often humorous. The Black Plague video sometimes seemed to contradict itself, though that's probably my fault for not fully understanding. It seemed to be saying at one point  that as a result of the plague, people became less humanistic. In a later section, however, they seemed to be stating the opposite. Perhaps the answer is that both happened?

Architecture Videos

Prairie Style discussed the huge influence Frank Lloyd Wright had on North American architecture. While traditional, Victorian houses were segmented into separate, distinct separate rooms, Wright opened up interior spaces so they flowed into each other. He also was very focused on creating houses that were harmonious with their surroundings. His Prairie style homes were not huge mansions, but homes for anybody, that felt like layers of horizontal planes rising from the ground. The house became a part of the environment, and the furniture became a part of the architecture--everything fit together, organically interacting with each other. Most modern architects have been influenced by his work, such as Dan White. He created a house in Vancouver that captures the essence of a Wright home, but fits the less-flat environment. His architecture, too, becomes a part of the surroundings, and incorporates open living spaces. He, however, has "improved" on some aspects of Wright's architecture. While some feel that Wright's low ceilings create a claustrophobic feeling, White found a way to push them higher without losing the horizontal feel.

Architecture: The Science of Design focused on the science behind architecture, rather than the art. It discussed how developments in concrete and steel have led architects to create looming skyscrapers, that not only have to put up with the "dead weight," the weight of the building itself, but also the "living weight" (the additional weight of people and furniture) and the force of wind. Wind can be especially difficult, for the vortexes of wind get more powerful the higher the building gets. While buildings are allowed to sway, how much they sway and how long it takes are strictly regulated. Small models with a wind simulator help architects plan solutions to these problems. The video then explores a "smart house," which is controlled by a computer to automatically do many chores and work appliances. It was funny to see this "house of the future" that also felt very dated. Lastly, the video explored the advances in concrete. While concrete doesn't seem like a very interesting material, many interesting innovations have been made with it. Prestressed concrete, for instance, was particularly interesting. To create this, cables are stretched so they have tension, and are then covered in concrete. Once this dries, they tension is loosened, so the concrete is compressed and becomes very strong and air tight.

 Classical Architecture was about the rise, fall, rise, and fall of the use of classical architecture in western society. From the Renaissance on, people have been falling back to Greek and Roman style architecture when they want a building that looks important and imposing. This typically means governmental buildings and museums, but many houses have been constructed in the classical way, even if Greeks and Romans didn't actually have a terrace with columns as a part of their personal houses. Every few decades, this style falls out of favor, and styles such as Gothic or Modern rise to the top. In the end, however, people still return to Classical style because it is, well, classic. It automatically makes a building feel important, regardless of what is in the interior. England's South African Embassy, for instance, is a Classical style building, even though that doesn't really have anything to do with the business that goes on in the building. This, to me, is an example of Classical style being used where it is inappropriate.  Throughout the centuries, Classical style architecture has adapted to new contexts, and has been tweaked, and in some cases made a joke of, in order to fit in. 

Last Call for Planet Earth is about 12 architects around the world who are working in "green" materials to help combat the damage humans are making on planet Earth. Sustainable development, to them, is a part of a cultural revolution, for it is going to take more than these 12 architects to change the road the earth is taking. For these architects, going green is more than a mere empty trend. Some steps can be simple, such as orienting rooms that need light to get the most sunlight. Other solutions are more complicated, such as figuring out that office buildings can be built 30% smaller because an average of 30% of employees are out of office on a given day. Gardens and trees are even planted within buildings for the positive effects on the quality of air. Such examples prove that going green doesn't have to mean technical solutions such as solar panels and complex heating and cooling systems, but instead steps that everyone can be a part of. Because 50% of all energy used in an industrialized country is used by buildings, these steps are all the more important.

While some believe that sustainable practices has to be a cultural movement, some believe that public policy will be what makes difference, not individuals changing of their own accord.  Massimillano Fuksas  emphasizes that what's important to remember in architecture is air, earth, water, and fire. The fire is warmth from the sun and gives us the strength to live, air is our environment and freedom, water is what we are made up of, and earth is what produces everything we build with, and what we must protect. Some people, however, attempt to mask non-sustainable projects with the "green" label, and need to be looked out for. This "green washing" will only make people more likely to dismiss the movement. A better universal understanding of true green tactics is absolutely necessary.

 Prairie Style reminded me more of the chapter on Installation Art than the architecture chapter. The video focused so much on how the site is an important factor in the design of a house, it reminded me of how important the site is for a piece of installation art, which I suppose architecture could technically be.  Architecture: The Science of Design went into further detail about how steel and concrete are used in modern architecture, but it only briefly touched on how concrete dates back to the Ancient Greeks. Unlike the text, this video was only focused on the science of architecture of the present and the future. It would have been interesting to see more about the science of ancient architecture as well.  Classical Architecture was of course also dealt with a lot in the text, though not nearly as in depth. In the video, we got to see Classical style's struggle to still remain relevant through changing times, which was interesting to learn. Last Call for Planet Earth of course focused on the same issue that was at the close of the chapter on architecture. The video provided more examples of buildings and building plans that are "green," and presented myriad, creative ways for becoming environmentally friendly.

The films, as a whole, presented a multi-faceted view of architecture. We got to see the history behind different forms of architecture, the science and technology that makes it possible, and new trends that have an affect on today's architecture. I also got to see how the green movement is having a positive impact on architecture. I particularly liked Prairie Style, perhaps because it was focused mostly on one person's impact, rather than on a broad subject that could only be glossed over, which was sort of the case with the other two assigned videos. Last Call for Planet Earth was also fascinating, and, like Frank Lloyd Wright, showed many examples of work that was not only "green," but also were harmonious with their surroundings. This was illustrated especially with the "passive house," that is made of wood, glass, and straw, and grows grass on its roof.

I chose Last Call for Planet Earth because I wanted to see how architecture can still be beautiful while also being environmentally-conscientious.  The positive aspect of making environmentally friendly architectural decisions is that it also makes people think outside of the box in terms of designing. The building plans that incorporated parks or greenhouses surrounded in glass, for instance, were beautiful. As was the public park structure in China that was constructed by an architect of highways. Something as ugly as a highway was transformed into a beautiful raised park.

Installation Project

Installation art, to me, interacts with its environment in some way. Perhaps the artwork can be transferred to a different space, perhaps not. Either way, it defines whatever space it is in, and cannot simply be plopped in a new space without altering the environment. I don't think there is really any limitation of art materials when it comes to installation art. Typically, one would be working with 3-dimensional materials, but I don't think this has to be the case. A wall drawing, for instance, would be installation art, for it interacts with and is specific to a certain space. Or, installation art can be a projected video, which requires very little materials in the gallery.

What sets installation art apart from other forms of art is that it not only personalizes a space, but it often personalizes the relationship between the artwork and the viewer as well. While a painting may present the viewer with a picture of the world, installation art brings that world right to the viewer. In Richard Wilson's 20:50, he instead doubles the environment that the viewer is already in. The waist-high oil-filled room perfectly reflects the ceiling above, giving the room the appearance of being twice as large, with a lower floor visible underneath where the viewer stands. I think this was my favorite of the installation artists we saw, for it was the simplest idea, but drastically transformed the room. I like how quiet it is, allowing the viewer to ponder it at his/her own speed.

For my own installation project, I suppose I was most inspired by 20:50 and Andy Goldsworthy's Reconstructing Icicles, Dumfriesshire. I liked the contemplative nature of the former, and I liked the ephemerality of Goldworths's melting icicles. I also admired how he interacted with nature and made the artwork itself out of natural materials. The theme I explored was labeled in the text as "looking inward: the human experience," but I think I would have to tweak that a little to make it fit with my piece.  Instead of focusing on the universal emotions, thoughts, and experiences that all humans face through their lifetimes, I widened it to the universal emotions, thoughts, and experiences that all earthly creatures experience in their lifetimes. Like Goldsworthy, I wanted to represent this idea using mostly found materials in nature. It is thus created mostly out of fallen sticks, with string and some fabric tying them together.

Journey of Two Animals, after it's completed but before it's been set in the water.

To represent this journey through life that all creatures face, I wanted to place my installation on water. Out of sticks I fashioned a female human figure and an animal, somewhat cow-like, journeying together on a raft, which I set afloat at the lake near the Albright-Knox. I wanted them to be on a largish body of water where one can still see the land on the other side, to show that they both have a common destination at the end of their sail across the lake (meaning the end of their lives). This also gives the piece a somewhat Noah's Ark feel, but with some notable differences. Noah has been replaced by a woman, and only one animal accompanies her. This puts them on equal levels and makes them feel like companions, rather than the human mastering over the animal, which was the case with Noah. Originally, I had the raft tied to a piece of string so I could pull it back in from the water, but then I decided that the work would be stronger if I let it loose so it truly could make its journey. That way, people can stumble upon it after I'm gone, and wonder how it got there. Eventually, the raft will probably sink, and then the installation piece will be complete, like Goldsworthy's icicles.

The raft, woman, and cow are all made of the same material, just as everything on earth is made out of the same material, that keeps being recycled and reused. They look fairly crude and ancient, which gives them a sense of wisdom and mystery. The woman is wrapped in warm, colorful "clothing" that mimics the colors of the fall trees, and makes her seem vibrant and lively. Most of the sticks (in the raft, the cow's body, and the woman's arms and legs) point in the same direction, which is the direction that the raft is moving in. Thus, the "lines" of the piece create a sense of motion and direction. The use of the sticks of fairly even size and shape gives it some unity, while the coloring of the thread adds some variety to the otherwise brown and gray bark. It is fairly well balanced, with the woman on one side of the raft and the cow on the other, again emphasizing that they are equals. Space is obviously employed, as the environment of the raft is a key factor. If the raft were simply sitting on the ground, as it is in the first photograph, the installation project would not make sense. They would be stagnantly going nowhere, instead of going on a journey at sea.

Here's a video of Journey of Two Animals setting sail, anchor free

By having to come up with both a project and the space that it can fit in, I found the initial planning of this project rather difficult. There was more that I had to take into account. Once I began to formulate my general idea, however, things fell into place pretty easily. I have to admit I was self conscious when I was constructing and setting my project afloat, as there were many people walking around. For this project I was much more out in the open than I'm used to. I hope, however, that some of the people walking by at the least wondered what I was up to, and took a minute to look at my two little travelers on their raft.

Peer Review

For the first project, I was impressed with how artful the photographs were in Matthew Hedges's and Jesse Smith's blogs. The elements and principles were pretty straightforward as well, except for perhaps Jesse's example of "proportion," which, as I say in my comment, didn't seem terribly obvious. Perhaps more subtlety with the photographs is a good thing, however--it's not like the elements and principles should scream out at you when you're looking at a piece of art. Instead, they should be present to help the artwork convey its meaning, but they shouldn't typically be the main attraction.

Some of Matthew's photos, like his "line" and "value" examples, definitely incorporated more than one element/principle (as many of the other photos did as well). The guitar is asymmetrically balanced, the pepsi can employs negative space, and both have a strong sense of movement (with the strings in the former, and the contours of the objects in the latter).

Neither Matthew or Jesse chose the same artworks that I did at the Albright-Knox, though Jesse chose a couple of Miro paintings, and I chose an artwork by Miro myself. I chose Miro's Carnival of Harlequin as an artwork that made an impression on me, whereas the two Miros that Jesse chose were put in the "felt a connection with" and "want to learn more about" categories. Jesse responded to the unique shapes and colors that Miro uses, whereas I responded to the strange moods he creates.

My interest was piqued the most with Matthew's photo of Sheila Isham's Magic Mountain XV. I can't really figure out how the materials were manipulated to make such an image. It almost looks like stencils were used, but that seems unlikely as it was created through acrylics and pastel. It's such a dreamy, surreal landscape, that I think would look even more fascinating in person. Somehow, I totally missed this artwork, which makes me wonder if there is a part of the museum that I am not aware of. I am also more interested in Gianfranco Foschino's The Window now that Jesse has discussed it. I have not yet really taken the time to watch it--I'm generally rather impatient with video installations. From his description, however, it seems like a nice, quiet, innocently voyeuristic representation of the "inside" lives of a group of people.

I certainly find reading other people's impressions to be a helpful method of reaching a fuller understanding of the assignment. I generally try to read a few others' blogs anyway, after I have submitted mine. I just want to see other people's takes on the same assignments, and how they may have interpreted things differently. It was nice to see how thought out many of the photographs were for project one, and that people did not simply go for the most famous artworks at the Albright-Knox. The fact that neither other blogger chose the same art as I did means that what we chose was what honestly made an impression on us, made us curious, or created a connection with us, rather than what was simply the most famous.

The comments on my blog on the Albright-Knox trip were especially helpful. They showed how people can have very similar impressions, but also that people bring their own personal experiences to the artwork when they evaluate it. Kat, for instance, also felt that Tanguy's painting was eerie. Ryan, on the other hand, had a different personal experience to connect with Monet's Tow Path of Argenteuil. Rather than Sweden, Ryan was reminded of Buffalo, when the weather is changing but city still remains beautiful. Both of us were reminded of a place where we had lived, even though the setting of the painting was neither of these places. I'm glad that there was an assignment where we had to take a look at each others' blogs--it requires us to think about other points of views, and consider how we could have made our own blogs/projects stronger. I hope there are more to come! 

Sculpture, Glass, Ceramics, Installations

In the Through the Eyes of the Sculptor video, I learned a lot about the process of sculpting in stone that I never would have guessed otherwise. While I assumed that sculpting was a long and laborious task, I didn't realize how many different stages there are, or how many people are involved. When Emmanuel Fillion first conceived of his idea, he was at the beginning of an artistic journey that would last him almost a year, and require him to return to his native Italy.

After building a small clay version based on a live model, he then had to make a silicon cast, which he used to make a small plaster version. This was then sent to Italy, where a highly skilled craftsman (an "artigiono") makes a life-sized version in clay, which Fillion then refines. After searching many quarries, Fillion chooses an ideal, blemish-free block of marble, from which another artigiono carves out the general shape of the clay model. It is then Fillion's task to finish the sculpture, which requires defining her muscles and making her form seem like skin. He gives her the title Genesis, for she is his first sculpture that was completely his own idea, and wasn't commissioned work. It's interesting that he calls her his first personal sculpture, when so many people had a hand in it. Since art is about ideas, however, the part of the work that is actually called "art" does indeed belong to him.

The Glass and Ceramics video also emphasized the process of creating the final product. Commercial ceramics go through a process that is in some ways very similar to what Fillion went through. A cast is made, and then the clay either in the form of liquid slip or in a dry powder is pressed into it. The form is then fired to transform the properties of its crystals and to make it hard and durable. How hard and fine the final product is depends on the quality of the clay and on the temperature that it is fired--a low quality and low temperature results in bricks, a high quality and high temperature can result in chinaware. Ceramics, startlingly, is becoming integrated in all sorts of technology. It can be found in dentures, hip replacements, car mufflers, and space shuttle equipment. When we think of ceramics, we think of pretty vases, but ceramics has gone far beyond the art world.

Glass, too, is becoming more and more ubiquitous, in this case in architecture. While it can be heated from sand and blown into small artistic sculptures, it is also what dominates modern buildings. It is an environmentally friendly material, as it can cool buildings during the day and prevent heat from escaping at night. Laminated glass doesn't shatter, so it can be safe from causing injury, and a pocket of air between two layers of glass cushions and dampens sound waves. None of these processes affects the aesthetic of the glass, and so it still can be used as art. The Louvre has even developed a way to prevent its glass from tarnishing from exposure to oxygen.

In Installation Art, we learn about the myriad artworks that the term encompasses. An installation piece can incorporate a single room or an entire building, or can only exist through video. The video defines installation art as something that takes over and defines the space, and forces the audience to interact with it. Site-specific art goes one step further, and only makes sense in one very specific place. An example of this would be Spiral Jetty, which of course could never be transported anywhere else. The conceptual aspect of the art is often emphasized, which was introduced by Duchamp in the 1920s with such works as The Fountain. His contemporary Schwitters transformed his entire living space into a piece of installation art. He constructed walls that were filled with nook and crannies, where he placed various found objects.

Installation art is a lot more demanding for the curator. An artist requires much more space than a painting takes up, and assembling the art is typically very difficult. Installation art can be pretty much anything, and preparing a space for the art can by very laborious and time-consuming. In the end, however, the result is an artwork that, while possibly highly controversial, leads to a more in-depth relationship between the artist and audience.

The videos provided examples that illustrate what the textbook was attempting to explain. While the textbook did include photographs, it could not present a step-by-step process of all the different art mediums, as the video did. The book focused more on the final results of the process, whereas the videos emphasized everything that took them to the finished pieces. The text also defined the differences between fine art and craft, and then presented how these two distinctions are being blurred by contemporary artists. The videos, on the other hand, presented either fine artworks or commercial uses for the materials. Glass and Ceramics, for instance, spent just as much time talking about the utilitarian purposes of ceramics and glass, if not more. One question I would have is whether the artigiono in Through the Eyes of the Sculptor would be considered artists, or just artisans/craftspeople. While what they were doing was highly skilled, all of the ideas and decisions were made by Fillion, the artist. This is something that the textbook did not go into: the relationship between an artist and craftspeople to create one finished work of art, in which only the artist gets credit. It's hard to decide how fair this is. 

As stated above, the videos breathed life into the text. Where the book could only provide photos of the artwork, the videos gave glimpses into the artist's lives and their processes. The videos were the flesh to the text's skeletal description of the different forms of art. The videos also made the relationships between the artist and craftsperson and the artist and curator murkier. Many people who may or may not believe in the artist's vision have to contribute to an artist's final creation. While Through the Eyes of the Sculptor and Installation Art did indeed emphasize how important these people are, are they getting enough credit when the artwork is finally displayed? Their names typically are not mentioned, and the artist gets sole credit. It almost feels like galleries should do something like the credits at the end of a movie: the director is certainly given more importance, but everyone who had any input in the movie gets his or her name in the end credits. I don't mean that all of their names should be listed on the label next to an artwork, but maybe it should be available in some sort of pamphlet available in the gallery. I'd be interested to know, for example, who the local artists were that drew Sol LeWitt's mural at the Albright-Knox.

Albright-Knox Visit

I had a very enjoyable time at the Albright-Knox. While I go there fairly regularly, too often I don't take the time to truly look and figure out how I feel about the artwork I see there, so this was a good experience.

Milton Avery, Bucolic Landscape, 1945, Oil, 32"x48"

Avery's Bucolic Landscape made an impact on me because it reminded me so much of the painting Christina's World. I learned recently that that painting is not about a girl lounging in a meadow looking dreamily up at her home, but actually about a crippled girl who has to crawl wherever she goes. Both feature a figure in the lower left corner looking away from the viewer, off into the distance. The cow, like the girl, is crippled, for it is trapped on the farmland, its fate decided by the farmer. By painting the cow as actively looking, and not just grazing or something like that, the cow seems to be able to have emotions, and rather melancholy ones at that.

Yves Tanguy, Indefinite Divisibility, 1942, Oil, 40"x35"

This painting made an impression on me because it simply feels so eerie. There is a definite disquiet in the strange landscape, that feels like it is solid land dissolving into liquid and mist. The alien-looking contraptions appear like they are made up of driftwood that washed up onto the shore, and were put together by someone long ago. Whereas Dali's The Transparent Simulcrum of the Feigned Image that hangs right next to it at least feels like it is from this world, Indefinite Divisibility feels like a landscape from another planet.

Joan Miro, Carnival of Harlequin, 1924-25, Oil, 26"x36.5"

Miro's Carnival of Harlequin is almost as unsettling, but that is not the only reason why it makes an impression on me. Whenever I see it, I'm reminded of a mural that was inspired by Miro that was in a cafe that I would often go in as a little kid. The strange line-work of the mural fascinated me then, and now that feeling is amplified now, seeing the real thing. There is revelry in the painting, but also an unease. The carnival is dark, everything is twisted, and at any moment one gets the impression that they might cease to play, and instead attack. There are many individual elements crowding the painting, and one can almost hear their buzzing. Hopefully, they don't soon decide to swarm.

Claude Monet, Tow-Path of Argenteuil, 1875, Oil, 23 5/8"x39 3/8"

I feel a connection with this Monet because the scene it represents reminds me a lot of a particular place I walked through in Sweden. Monet paints this path by the water as fairly solitary-looking--there are few figures around, and the one closest to the viewer is alone. The land looks rather snowy, which gives the impression of sound being dampened. Monet's brushwork makes the painting look rather "fuzzy," and therefore dreamlike or like a memory. The landscape feels quiet and brisk, but also comforting. When I was walking in Sweden, I felt like I was making some sort of connection with the landscape. It feels like the figure, who is looking out to the water, is feeling similarly.

Frida Kahlo, Self-Portrait with Monkey, 1938, oil, 16"x12"

I feel a connection with Kahlo's Self-Portrait with Monkey because Kahlo is a master at empathy. In The Little Deer, Kahlo transforms herself and her pain (from a car accident) into the form of an injured deer, for she is able to empathize with the pain of hunted deer. In this painting, her animal of choice is a monkey. Both stare coolly back at the viewer, but she lets us into her world, her reality. She paints herself honestly, and for that reason the viewer sees her as a person, not simply a model in a painting to gaze at--she gazes back, and not just passively. I feel a connection with her because she's clearly looking back at me, presenting her world, and her pain.

Jaye Rhee, Tear, 2002, 4-Channel Video Installation with Sound, 4 minutes, 7 seconds

Jaye Rhee's Tear was about the struggles that all of us go through, so it would be hard not to feel some sort of connection with her. This was a video installation that was a part of the Albright-Knox's Videosphere exhibition, and was one of the less opaque works. By using her body to tear in half a long, stretched-out piece of fabric, Rhee is demonstrating how simply walking across a room can feel overbearing. The fabric represents the obstacles each of us feels over simple tasks. The only sound in the room is of ripping fabric, which could represent how self-conscious a person feels when struggling through something they're uncomfortable with. One example could be walking across the room in a party--I would be the type of person to stay against the wall and in corners, so strolling out in front of everybody would be a difficult and self-conscious act for me. The fabric, which stretches across four screens, could also represent a bigger picture: it could represent one's entire lifetime, and the act of ripping it is the act of experiencing life.

John F. Simon, Jr., Endless Victory, 2005, Software, Acrylic Plastic, 28"x28"x3"

Endless Victory's design at a different stage

The above are two pictures of Endless Victory at two different stages. The work has LCD screens that are constantly changing, forming different patterns of geometric shapes. It was inspired by Piet Mondrian's Victory Boogie Woogie, which was left unfinished at the time of his death. I would like to know more about Mondrian's work, and learn how exactly Simon was inspired by it. While some connections between the artworks are obvious, such  as the diamond shape, color, and geometric forms, I'd like to know what made Simon want to translate it into a moving image. Is it called Endless Victory  because Mondrian never got to complete his piece, so it can never be finished? Does the work try to capture the same feeling of  "Boogie Woogie" jazz that Mondrian originally tried to capture?

Edward Jean Steichen, Nocturne-Orangerie Staircase, 1910, Gum Bichromate Print, 6 5/16"x8 1/4"

A better image found online

Steichen's photograph is very dark, and therefore very mysterious. The viewer naturally wants to know more about the context of the photograph. What adds to its mystique is the fact that when one tries to take a photo of it, one's own reflection is bounced back, and most of the image is lost--it almost feels like a reflective shield. It is uncapturable, and therefore unfathomable, to a degree. I'd like to know the historical context for the work, and why that made him choose to make the image so dark, other than the building at the center. Is the building a beacon of light and hope in an otherwise dark world? Or does the building represent a force of evil?

Isaac Julien, Western Union: Small Boats, 2007, 35 mm color film on 3 screens, 31 minutes, 2 seconds

Lastly, Julien's Western Union: Small Boats was one of the most captivating works of art I saw during my visit. The Videosphere work was projected onto three large screen in the largest room on the second floor, already giving it might and a sense of ominousness. I didn't start watching the video at the beginning, but I continued to watch until I had seen the entire thing. I would like to know where the actual beginning of the work is, for it was unclear. Or, perhaps it doesn't matter. The video was quite abstract. There was a story being told, but it was not fully explained. People were on boats, some got shipwrecked, some appear to have drowned, others were dragged into a very ornate looking palace. An African woman rather passively watched on. While I think the piece will always be to a degree unexplainable, I would like to see the other two videos that make up the trilogy that this video was a part of, to better understand the work as a whole. Having only seen the second third, I do not know the beginning of the work, nor its ending. The movie was filmed beautifully, the music was wonderful, and the fates of the people were fascinating--I would love to see all three parts, to complete the picture.

Personal Logo

Creating a logo that was both simple and could represent me was harder than I thought. I wasn't sure if this logo was supposed to be an "advertisement" for myself, where I would try to highlight my best qualities, or just be an honest portrayal. I decided to go for honest. I wanted to come up with something that expressed that I'm a fairly shy person, who's only comfortable around the few people I'm closest to. I care about animals a lot, and I wanted that to come through in my design. I constructed a web of my personality, and created lists of what I wanted my logo to represent.

I settled on having my logo tortoise-themed. Tortoises are not terribly social creatures, are herbivorous, and (as the phrase goes) are slow and steady. I'm anything but a spontaneous person. Also, the shell is a perfect symbol for introversion. From there, I had to figure out how to simplify a tortoise into an image that's not overly complicated. I also had to figure out how I would integrate text. My drawings went from more detailed to less detailed, while still trying to keep the essence of a shell. I picked a text design that isn't too formal but also isn't too silly, but somewhere in between.

My final design incorporates a simple version of the shell, with my name overlapping it. My name continues on through a box, and goes beyond that as well. After my name leaves the confines of the box, it gets quite faint. This was supposed to represent myself fading into the background when in public, social situations. I am no longer in my shell/box, but exposed, and so I become shy. Within the shell, however, I can be bold. The shell's center is a spiral, representing a creative inner self. I chose greens and blues so the logo comes across as quiet, calming, and natural. 

One important discovery I made while creating my logo is how difficult it is for a logo to look "clean." Creating the logo in acrylic paint might have been a mistake, as I had trouble making even lines. Also, it's very difficult to simplify a complex image without losing its potency. I hope that my image invokes the idea of a shell, and not a flower or sun or something like that. I had to redo my colors quite a bit, as my name was getting lost in the box's background color. Creating something that looks unified, simple, and memorable is not an easy task, at least for me.

One thing I learned from all of the materials is that there is a difference between an image that is culturally significant and something that can be recognized anywhere. Pictograms, for instance, are decipherable in many cultures. The box in my logo might be considered a sort of pictogram, I suppose, because it would represent an interior space to many different peoples. My tortoise shell, on the other hand, is a symbol, that requires information on tortoises to understand. There are certain characteristics of tortoises that people need to learn to understand what that part of the logo represents. It's important to not pick very obscure symbols for one's logo, as it will only be comprehendable by a small percentage of people. I tried to pick a symbol that would be close to universally understood.

The videos were good examples of how something that feels like it would be so easy to design really takes a lot of work. Before a final design is decided upon, a lot of rejection and going back to the drawing board takes place. In What's in a Logo, the Navy Blue graphic designers come up with many rejected logos before the animation company is happy. What ends up being the final logo is by far the simplest version Navy Blue came up with. I think that that is a big part of a graphic designer's struggle to come up with a good design: it's hard not to go too complicated, for the fear is that a too simple design will lose the meaning of the more detailed version.  

Bottled Up: Repackaging the Brand seemed more focused on how to create a proper squeezable Marmite bottle than in designing a logo, but there was some of that as well. This video explained how the designer does not just come up with a logo on a piece of paper, but has to know how it will fit on the product as well. The logo had to match with the shape of the new Marmite bottle. It also had to convey what was new with the product (the squeezable bottle) while at the same time reminding buyers that it was still the same product they know and love. One way they did this was to put the word "Squeezy" on the front of the bottle in the same place and font as the word "Marmite" would usually be. This highlights what is new, but makes it still recognizable as Marmite. The marriage of product design and logo design was complete.