Picasso Makes Wonderful Abstract Art

Pablo Picas­so, as you may know, pro­duced a fair few mem­o­rable works in his long life­time. He also came up with a num­ber of quotable quotes. “Every act of cre­ation is first an act of destruc­tion” has par­tic­u­lar­ly stuck with me, but one does won­der what an artist who thinks this way actu­al­ly does when he cre­ates — or, rather, when he first destroys, then cre­ates. Luck­i­ly for us, we can watch Picas­so in action, in vin­tage footage from sev­er­al dif­fer­ent films–first, at the top of the post, in a clip from 1950’s Vis­ite à Picas­so by Bel­gian artist and film­mak­er Paul Hae­saerts (which you can watch online: part onepart two).

In it, Picas­so paints on glass in front of the cam­era, thus enabling us to see the painter at work from, in some sense, the paint­ing’s per­spec­tive. Just above, you can watch anoth­er, sim­i­lar­ly filmed clip from Vis­ite à Picas­so.

Both of them show how Picas­so could, with­out much in the way of appar­ent advance plan­ning or thought, sim­ply begin cre­at­ing art, lit­er­al­ly at a stroke — on which would fol­low anoth­er stroke, and anoth­er, and anoth­er. “Action is the foun­da­tion­al key to all suc­cess,” he once said, words even more wide­ly applic­a­ble than the obser­va­tion about cre­ation as destruc­tion, and here we can see his actions becom­ing art before our eyes.

It also hap­pens in the clip above, though this time cap­tured from a more stan­dard over-the-shoul­der per­spec­tive. “The pur­pose of art is wash­ing the dust of dai­ly life off our souls,” Picas­so also said, and one sens­es some­thing of that ablu­tion­ary rit­u­al (and not just because of how lit­tle cloth­ing the man has cho­sen to wear) in the footage below, where­in he lays down lines on a can­vas the size of an entire wall. It comes from Hen­ri-Georges Clouzot’s 1956 doc­u­men­tary The Mys­tery of Picas­so, which offers a wealth of close looks at Picas­so’s process.

You can watch the film online here, or see a few Picas­so paint­ings come togeth­er in time-lapse in the trail­er above. “The paint­ings cre­at­ed by Picas­so in this film can­not be seen any­where else,” the crawl at the end of the trail­er informs us. “They were destroyed upon com­ple­tion of the film.” So it seems that at least some acts of cre­ation, for Picas­so him­self, not only began with an act of destruc­tion, but end­ed with one too.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Vin­tage Footage of Picas­so and Jack­son Pol­lock Paint­ing … Through Glass

Watch Icon­ic Artists at Work: Rare Videos of Picas­so, Matisse, Kandin­sky, Renoir, Mon­et, Pol­lock & More

Guer­ni­ca: Alain Resnais’ Haunt­ing Film on Picasso’s Paint­ing & the Crimes of the Span­ish Civ­il War

The Post­cards That Picas­so Illus­trat­ed and Sent to Jean Cocteau, Apol­li­naire & Gertrude Stein

Behold Pablo Picasso’s Illus­tra­tions of Balzac’s Short Sto­ry “The Hid­den Mas­ter­piece” (1931)

Pablo Picasso’s Ten­der Illus­tra­tions For Aristo­phanes’ Lysis­tra­ta (1934)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Artist Turns a Crop Field Into a Van Gogh Painting, Seen Only From Airplanes

For­mal­ly Trained as an avant-garde, abstract expres­sion­ist painter, Stan Herd went on to become some­thing a lit­tle dif­fer­ent — an earth­works artist who takes fields where crops are grown and turns them into sprawl­ing can­vas­es on which he makes art of his own. It has been said about him: “Herd is an unusu­al artist. His medi­um is the earth itself; his palette con­sists of soil, wheat, sun­flow­ers, and corn; his brush is a trac­tor; and his images can be seen only from an air­plane.”

van gogh painting in a field

Image by The Min­neapo­lis Insti­tute of Art

Many of his ear­ly cre­ations can be revis­it­ed in his 1994 book Crop Art and Oth­er Earth­works. To see his lat­est work, just click play on the video above. Com­mis­sioned by the Min­neapo­lis Insti­tute of Art, this earth­work fea­tures a ren­der­ing of an “Olive Tree” paint­ing that Van Gogh com­plet­ed as part of a larg­er series of Olive Tree paint­ings cre­at­ed while liv­ing in an asy­lum in Saint-Rémy in 1889.

Vincent_van_Gogh_Olive_Trees_lowe

Mr. Herd start­ed work on the project last spring, plant­i­ng dif­fer­ent crops in a field owned by Thom­son Reuters. By fall, pas­sen­gers fly­ing into Min­neapo­lis could catch a view of Herd’s Van Gogh–like the one you see above.

via This is Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Van Gogh’s 1888 Paint­ing, “The Night Cafe,” Ani­mat­ed with Ocu­lus Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty Soft­ware

The Unex­pect­ed Math Behind Van Gogh’s “Star­ry Night”

Down­load 35,000 Works of Art from the Nation­al Gallery, Includ­ing Mas­ter­pieces by Van Gogh, Gau­guin, Rem­brandt & More

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Meet Congo the Chimp, London’s Sensational 1950s Abstract Painter

A few years ago, I watched and enjoyed My Kid Could Paint That, a doc­u­men­tary about Mar­la Olm­stead, a four-year-old abstract painter who became a brief art-world sen­sa­tion, her can­vas­es (which tow­ered over the tiny artist) at one point sell­ing for thou­sands of dol­lars apiece. Olm­stead raised the bar high indeed for all sub­se­quent preschool-aged art celebri­ties, but the world of unlike­ly painters in gen­er­al has a fuller, stranger his­to­ry. Wit­ness, for instance, Con­go the Chimp, the Lon­don Zoo’s artis­tic sen­sa­tion of the 1950s, a not­ed ani­mal artist who sold work to such not­ed non-ani­mal artists as Picas­so, Miró, and Dalí, the last of whom made a com­par­i­son with one of the best-known abstract painters of the day: “The hand of the chim­panzee is qua­si­hu­man; the hand of Jack­son Pol­lock is total­ly ani­mal!”

Congo

Con­go, who began his art career the moment he hap­pened to pick up a pen­cil, went on, writes the Tele­graph’s Nigel Reynolds, to become “a tele­vi­sion celebri­ty in the late 1950s as the star of Zootime, an ani­mal pro­gramme pre­sent­ed from the Lon­don Zoo by Desmond Mor­ris, the zool­o­gist and anthro­pol­o­gist. He became even more of a cause célèbre when the Insti­tute of Con­tem­po­rary Arts mount­ed a large exhi­bi­tion of his work in 1957.

Crit­ics had a field day and debate about the mean­ing of art raged furi­ous­ly.” You can see Mor­ris, a sur­re­al­ist painter him­self, in addi­tion to his zoo­log­i­cal, anthro­po­log­i­cal, and tele­vi­su­al work, inter­act­ing with Con­go in the 1950s and reflect­ing on the place of the chim­panzee artist in his own career in the clip at the top of the post. The news­reel below cov­ers an exhi­bi­tion called The Young Idea, which fea­tured paint­ings not just from Con­go but from such Mar­la Olm­stead pre­de­ces­sors as three-year-old Tim­o­thy Vaughn and eigh­teen-month-old Gra­ham Phillips. One of Con­go’s paint­ings appears above.

And so to the obvi­ous ques­tion: But Is It Art? And assum­ing it is, writes John Valen­tine in The Philoso­pher, “what then fol­lows from such a clas­si­fi­ca­tion? What sort of dif­fer­ence does it or should it make in the way we approach and appre­ci­ate chim­panzee paint­ings? If they are art, what sort of crit­i­cal or inter­pre­tive dis­course about them should we engage in? Do we sim­ply appre­ci­ate the lines, colours, and forms of Con­go’s paint­ings and stop at that? Does it make any dif­fer­ence that the paint­ings were done by a mem­ber of a dif­fer­ent species? Should species dif­fer­ences make any dif­fer­ence in artis­tic val­ue?” It may not, at least com­mer­cial­ly speak­ing: Con­go may have had his moment six decades ago, but don’t think that means his work will come cheap; back in 2005, some of his paint­ings went up on the auc­tion block and fetched more than $25,620.

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Masterpieces of Western Art with All Gluten Products Removed: See Works by Dalí, Cézanne, Van Gogh & Others

Gluten Free Museum

left: Johannes Ver­meer, The Milk­maid. right: Arthur Coulet, d’après Johannes Ver­meer

It has been sug­gest­ed plau­si­bly that Ver­meer’s kitchen maid is mak­ing bread por­ridge, which puts stale bread—there is an unusu­al amount of bread on the table—to good use by com­bin­ing it with milk and a few oth­er ingre­di­ents to make a fill­ing mash or meal. 

Wal­ter Liedtke, Depart­ment of Euro­pean Paint­ings,  The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art

It’s a mat­ter for con­jec­ture. Per­haps Ver­meer want­ed to title his paint­ing The Bread Por­ridge Maid, but caved to mar­ket research sug­gest­ing that Milk­maid would bet­ter appeal to what Liedtke calls “male view­er’s amorous mus­ings.”

Recent­ly, graph­ic artist Arthur Coulet made bread a focal point in Vermeer’s Milk­maid and oth­er icon­ic works, iron­i­cal­ly by Pho­to­shop­ping it out.

His online Gluten Free Muse­um is a nod to détourne­ment, manip­u­la­tions of exist­ing works born of Let­ter­ist Inter­na­tion­al and the Sit­u­a­tion­ists. Gone are the crusty loaves, fields gold­en with wheat, and any­thing con­tain­ing grains that could cause dis­com­fort to those afflict­ed by gluten intol­er­ance or celi­ac dis­ease.

Gluten Free Museum 2

Even the pitch­fork in Grant Wood’s Amer­i­can Goth­ic gets the dig­i­tal heave ho…with noth­ing to har­vest, what’s the point?

Gluten Free Museum 3

Pieter Bruegel’s the Har­vesters gets the most rad­i­cal redo.

Gluten Free Museum 4

Cezanne’s Still Life with Bread and Eggs is now just Eggs…

Gluten Free Museum 5

…and Sal­vador Dali’s Eucharis­tic Still Life has been reduced to mere fish­es.

Gluten Free Museum 6

By con­trast, the pic­nick­ers in Édouard Manet’s Le Déje­uner Sur L’Herbe prob­a­bly don’t even notice the omis­sion.

See more, includ­ing work by Jean-François Mil­let, Vin­cent van Gogh, Car­avag­gio, Giuseppe Arcim­bol­do, and Jeff Koons in Coulet’s Gluten Free Muse­um.

A quick image search using the phrase “bread paint­ing” sug­gests that much work remains to be done.

via So Bad So Good

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philoso­pher Por­traits: Famous Philoso­phers Paint­ed in the Style of Influ­en­tial Artists

What Hap­pens When a Cheap Ikea Print Gets Pre­sent­ed as Fine Art in a Muse­um

Sal­vador Dalí’s Melt­ing Clocks Paint­ed on a Lat­te

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Her play, Fawn­book, is play­ing in New York City through Novem­ber 20. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Edvard Munch’s The Scream Animated to the Psychedelic Sounds of Pink Floyd: The Winter Version

Back in the spring, we fea­tured Roman­ian ani­ma­tor Sebas­t­ian Cosor’s ani­ma­tion of Edvard Munch’s The Scream set to Pink Floy­d’s “The Great Gig in the Sky.” But the win­ter­time has almost come, which neces­si­tates not just a change in the clothes we wear, but a change in the ani­ma­tions of The Scream we watch. For­tu­nate­ly, Cosor has already put togeth­er a sea­son­al­ly appro­pri­ate ver­sion of his ear­li­er video, which you can see above.

The set­ting of Munch’s orig­i­nal Scream paint­ing can, with its depop­u­lat­ed land­scape under a hot orange sky, look pret­ty hell­ish, even before you notice the ago­nized fel­low writhing in the mid­dle of it. Would­n’t it feel alto­geth­er more pleas­ant under a snow­fall? And the scream­er him­self — sure­ly he’d give off a jol­lier vibe if he wore a San­ta hat? Cosor has answered these ques­tions and oth­ers in this humor­ous two-minute CGI film, which once again unites 1970s psy­che­del­ic rock with late-19th/ear­ly-2oth-cen­tu­ry Nor­we­gian paint­ing.

Some may con­sid­er this a kind of des­e­cra­tion of an impor­tant work of art (whether they mean the Nor­we­gian paint­ing or the psy­che­del­ic rock), but even those who don’t might har­bor one seri­ous objec­tion: isn’t the mid­dle of Novem­ber a bit ear­ly to haul out the Christ­mas stuff? Fair enough, as the hol­i­day dec­o­ra­tions in stores and pub­lic places do seem to appear a lit­tle ear­li­er each year. But if we can’t make an excep­tion for the case of a fes­tive pro­duc­tion as strange as this, for what can we make an excep­tion?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Edvard Munch’s Famous Paint­ing The Scream Ani­mat­ed to the Sound of Pink Floyd’s Pri­mal Music

30,000 Works of Art by Edvard Munch & Oth­er Artists Put Online by Norway’s Nation­al Muse­um of Art

Col­in Mar­shall writes else­where on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Dostoevsky Draws Doodles of Raskolnikov and Other Characters in the Manuscript of Crime and Punishment

Raskolnikov Svidrigailov

Like many of us, Russ­ian lit­er­ary great Fyo­dor Dos­to­evsky liked to doo­dle when he was dis­tract­ed. He left his hand­i­work in sev­er­al manuscripts—finely shad­ed draw­ings of expres­sive faces and elab­o­rate archi­tec­tur­al fea­tures. But Dostoevsky’s doo­dles were more than just a way to occu­py his mind and hands; they were an inte­gral part of his lit­er­ary method. His nov­el­is­tic imag­i­na­tion, with all of its grand excess­es, was pro­found­ly visu­al, and archi­tec­tur­al.

“Indeed,” writes Dos­to­evsky schol­ar Kon­stan­tin Barsht, “Dos­to­evsky was not con­tent to ‘write’ and ‘take notes’ in the process of cre­ative think­ing.” Instead, in his work “the mean­ing and sig­nif­i­cance of words inter­act rec­i­p­ro­cal­ly with oth­er mean­ings expressed through visu­al images.” Barsht calls it “a method of work spe­cif­ic to the writer.” We’ve shared a few of those man­u­script pages before, includ­ing one with a doo­dle of Shake­speare.

Crime and Punish Doodles

Now we bring you a few more pages of doo­dles from the author of Crime and Pun­ish­ment, a nov­el that, per­haps more so than any of his oth­ers, offers such vivid descrip­tions of its char­ac­ters that I can still clear­ly remem­ber the pic­tures I had of them in my mind the first time I read it in high school.

My visu­al­iza­tions of the angry, des­per­ate stu­dent Raskol­nikov and the sleazy socio­path­ic Svidri­gailov do not exact­ly resem­ble the faces doo­dled at the the top of the post, but that is how their author saw them, at least in this ear­ly, man­u­script stage of the nov­el.

The oth­er faces here may be those of Sonya, police inves­ti­ga­tor Por­firy Petro­vich, recidi­vist alco­holic father Semy­on Marmelodov, and oth­er char­ac­ters in the nov­el, though it’s not clear exact­ly who’s who.

Crime and Punish Doodles 2

Dos­to­evsky had much in com­mon with his nov­el­’s pro­tag­o­nist when he began the nov­el in 1865. Reduced to near-des­ti­tu­tion after gam­bling away his for­tune, the writer was also in des­per­ate straits. The sto­ry, writes lit­er­ary crit­ic Joseph Franks, was “orig­i­nal­ly con­ceived as a long short sto­ry or novel­la to be writ­ten in the first per­son,” like the fever­ish novel­la Notes From the Under­ground. In Dos­to­evsky’s man­u­script note­books, “exten­sive frag­ments of this orig­i­nal work are to be found here intact.”

Franks quotes schol­ar Edward Wasi­olek, who pub­lished a trans­la­tion of the note­books in 1967: “They con­tain draw­ings, jot­tings about prac­ti­cal mat­ters, doo­dling of var­i­ous sorts, cal­cu­la­tions about press­ing expens­es, sketch­es, and ran­dom remarks.” In short, “Dos­to­evsky sim­ply flipped his note­books open any time he wished to write,” or to prac­tice his cal­lig­ra­phy, as he does on many pages.

Crime and Punish Doodles 3

The pages of the Crime and Pun­ish­ment note­books resem­ble all of the man­u­script pages of his nov­els in their orna­men­tal hap­haz­ard­ness. You can see many more exam­ples from nov­els like The Idiot, The Pos­sessed, and A Raw Youth at the Russ­ian site Cul­ture, includ­ing the sketchy self por­trait below, next to a few sums that indi­cate the author’s per­pet­u­al pre­oc­cu­pa­tion with his trou­bled eco­nom­ic affairs.

Dostoevsky Self Portrait

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Fyo­dor Dos­to­evsky Draws Elab­o­rate Doo­dles In His Man­u­scripts

Dos­to­evsky Draws a Pic­ture of Shake­speare: A New Dis­cov­ery in an Old Man­u­script

The Dig­i­tal Dos­to­evsky: Down­load Free eBooks & Audio Books of the Russ­ian Novelist’s Major Works

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Emily Bronte Sand Sculpture

emily bronte sand

Cre­ative com­mons image by Tim Green on Flickr Com­mons

In the town of Brad­ford, near Leeds in the UK, they’ve import­ed more than 30 tons of sand to build nine sand sculp­tures across the city, as part of what’s called the Dis­cov­er­ing Brad­ford project. Above, you can see one that caught our eye, thanks to the Vin­tage Anchor twit­ter stream. It’s a life-size sand sculp­ture of Emi­ly Bron­të, cre­at­ed by Jamie Ward­ley, an artist who belongs to the col­lec­tive, Sand in Your Eye. Bron­të was born in Thorn­ton, a short hop, skip and a jump away from Brad­ford. For more cul­tur­al­ly-inspired sand cre­ations, see the Relat­eds below.

via Vin­tage Anchor/Keigh­ley News

Relat­ed Con­tent

The Meta­mor­pho­sis of Mr. Sam­sa: A Won­der­ful Sand Ani­ma­tion of the Clas­sic Kaf­ka Sto­ry (1977)

Lewis Carroll’s Clas­sic Sto­ry, Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land, Told in Sand Ani­ma­tion

The Meta­mor­pho­sis of Mr. Sam­sa: A Won­der­ful Sand Ani­ma­tion of the Clas­sic Kaf­ka Sto­ry (1977)

13-Year-Old Char­lotte Bron­të & Her Broth­er Wrote Tee­ny Tiny Adven­ture Books, Mea­sur­ing 1 x 2 Inch­es

Man Ray’s Portraits of Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound, Marcel Duchamp & Many Other 1920s Icons

Hemingway Man Ray

When pho­tog­ra­phers spe­cial­ize in por­traits of famous peo­ple, they often speak of find­ing a visu­al way to reveal their oft-pho­tographed sub­jec­t’s rarely exposed nature; to bring their depths, in oth­er words, to the sur­face. Man Ray (1890–1976), the Sur­re­al­ist pho­tog­ra­ph­er and artist, had his own way of doing most every­thing, and he cer­tain­ly had his own approach to celebri­ty por­trai­ture. Take, for exam­ple, his 1923 shot of Ernest Hem­ing­way above, tak­en just a cou­ple years after both the writer and pho­tog­ra­ph­er joined the move­able feast of Paris, which Man Ray would call home for most of his career.

Pound Man Ray

That same year and in that same urban bohemia, Man Ray pho­tographed anoth­er famed man of let­ters, the mod­ernist poet Ezra Pound. You can see the some­what more con­ven­tion­al-look­ing result of that encounter just above. Below, we have a far less con­ven­tion­al-look­ing por­trait from 1922, which takes as its sub­ject the dancer Bro­nisla­va Nijin­s­ka, who per­haps only counts as famous to you if you know the his­to­ry of 20th-cen­tu­ry bal­let — but I say any­one will­ing to appear in a por­trait look­ing that fright­en­ing has earned all the fame they can get.

Nijinska

Mar­cel Duchamp, who appears below, sat for Man Ray in 1921 look­ing less scary than sil­ly, but as one of the wit­ti­est and most artis­ti­cal­ly for­ward-think­ing fig­ures of the era, he sure­ly got the joke. These appear in the book Man Ray: Paris — Hol­ly­wood — Paris, which col­lects 500 of the por­traits Man Ray left in his archives when he died in 1976, all of “mem­bers of Dadaist and Sur­re­al­ist cir­cles, of artists and painters, of writ­ers and US emi­grants of the Lost Gen­er­a­tion, of aris­to­crats, and paragons of the worlds of fash­ion and the­ater.”

Duchamp Man ray

You can sam­ple more such works, which cap­ture as only Man Ray would the natures of such icons as André Bre­ton, Sal­vador Dalí, and Lee Miller, at Mon­do Blo­go. You can also find many more works, in gen­er­al, by Man Ray on the MoMA’s web­site.

via Fla­vor­wire

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Three Essen­tial Dadaist Films: Ground­break­ing Works by Hans Richter, Man Ray & Mar­cel Duchamp

Andy Warhol’s 85 Polaroid Por­traits: Mick Jag­ger, Yoko Ono, O.J. Simp­son & Many Oth­ers (1970–1987)

Philoso­pher Por­traits: Famous Philoso­phers Paint­ed in the Style of Influ­en­tial Artists

Por­traits of Vir­ginia Woolf, James Joyce, Wal­ter Ben­jamin & Oth­er Lit­er­ary Leg­ends by Gisèle Fre­und

Cof­fee Por­traits of John Lennon, Albert Ein­stein, Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe & Oth­er Icons

Col­in Mar­shall writes else­where on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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