“David Bowie Is” — The First Major Exhibit Dedicated to Bowie Spans 50 Years & Features 300 Great Objects

Atten­tion David Bowie fans: If you’re going to be in Toron­to between now and Novem­ber 27th, you’re in for quite a treat. AGO, the Art Gallery of Ontario, just opened the exhib­it “David Bowie Is,” a huge­ly com­pre­hen­sive mul­ti­me­dia show “Span­ning five decades and fea­tur­ing more than 300 objects from Bowie’s per­son­al archive,” includ­ing hand­writ­ten lyrics, instru­ments, pho­tos like that of Bowie and William Bur­roughs below, and lots and lots of cos­tumes like the body­suit at the bot­tom. Orig­i­nat­ing at London’s Vic­to­ria and Albert Muse­um, this is the first inter­na­tion­al exhib­it sole­ly devot­ed to Bowie.

David-Bowie-and-William-B-slide

If you can’t make it to the show, you can see a brief pre­view here and at AGO’s own site. In the short video at the top, Cura­tor Vic­to­ria Broack­es describes the title of the exhib­it as “both an unfin­ished sen­tence and a state­ment.” The exhib­it, she says, illus­trates “Bowie’s own belief that we all have with­in us so many dif­fer­ent per­son­al­i­ties, and we should work hard to fig­ure out what they are and bring them out.” It’s dif­fi­cult to imag­ine any­one but Bowie bring­ing out so many unique­ly fas­ci­nat­ing per­son­al­i­ties as he has in one life­time. As Broack­es’ fel­low cura­tor Geof­frey Marsh com­ments, Bowie is “an aston­ish­ing­ly hard work­er” who “per­formed on aver­age once every 11 nights” for 32 years, all while record­ing album after album and becom­ing an inter­na­tion­al movie star. Bowie may inspire, but he also blows most per­form­ers away with his seem­ing­ly end­less sup­plies of cre­ative ener­gy and sin­gle-mind­ed focus.

ART AGO Bowie

H/T Ken

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Bowie Releas­es Vin­tage Videos of His Great­est Hits from the 1970s and 1980s

David Bowie Recalls the Strange Expe­ri­ence of Invent­ing the Char­ac­ter Zig­gy Star­dust (1977)

David Bowie Cel­e­brates 66th Birth­day with First New Song in a Decade, Plus Vin­tage Videos

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

Frida Kahlo Writes a Personal Letter to Georgia O’Keeffe After O’Keeffe’s Nervous Breakdown (1933)

frida 4

fridatoGeorgia

kahlo2

Click for larg­er image

Impor­tant twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry painters, as every stu­dent of art his­to­ry learns, did­n’t tend to sail smooth­ly through exis­tence. Those even a lit­tle inter­est­ed in famed Mex­i­can self-por­traitist Fri­da Kahlo have heard much about the tra­vails both roman­tic and phys­i­cal she endured in her short life. But in this less­er-known instance, anoth­er artist suf­fered, and Kahlo offered the solace. Avail­able to view from Yale’s Bei­necke Rare Book & Man­u­script Library, we have here a let­ter Kahlo sent to Geor­gia O’Ke­effe, painter of blos­soms and south­west Amer­i­can land­scapes (and more besides), on March 1st, 1933. At that time, O’Ke­effe, who the year before had strug­gled and failed to com­plete a mur­al project for Radio City Music Hall on time, lived through the after­math of a ner­vous break­down which had hos­pi­tal­ized her (diag­no­sis: “psy­choneu­ro­sis”), sent her to no less remote a locale than Bermu­da to recu­per­ate, and pre­vent­ed her from paint­ing again until 1934.

Kahlo’s let­ter, sent from Detroit where her mural­ist hus­band Diego Rivera had tak­en a com­mis­sion for 27 fres­coes at the Insti­tute of the Arts, runs as fol­lows:

Geor­gia,

Was won­der­ful to hear your voice again. Every day since I called you and many times before months ago I want­ed to write you a let­ter. I wrote you many, but every one seemed more stu­pid and emp­ty and I torn them up. I can’t write in Eng­lish all that I would like to tell, espe­cial­ly to you. I am send­ing this one because I promised it to you. I felt ter­ri­ble when Sybil Brown told me that you were sick but I still don’t know what is the mat­ter with you. Please Geor­gia dear if you can’t write, ask Stieglitz to do it for you and let me know how are you feel­ing will you ? I’ll be in Detroit two more weeks. I would like to tell you every thing that hap­pened to me since the last time we saw each oth­er, but most of them are sad and you must­n’t know sad things now. After all I should­n’t com­plain because I have been hap­py in many ways though. Diego is good to me, and you can’t imag­ine how hap­py he has been work­ing on the fres­coes here. I have been paint­ing a lit­tle too and that helped. I thought of you a lot and nev­er for­get your won­der­ful hands and the col­or of your eyes. I will see you soon. I am sure that in New York I will be much hap­pi­er. If you still in the hos­pi­tal when I come back I will bring you flow­ers, but it is so dif­fi­cult to find the ones I would like for you. I would be so hap­py if you could write me even two words. I like you very much Geor­gia.

Frie­da

“Clear­ly Kahlo hoped for a deep­er friend­ship, or per­haps more, with O’Ke­effe, when she and Diego went to New York a few weeks lat­er,” writes Sharyn Rohlf­sen Udall in Carr, O’Ke­effe, Kahlo: Places of Their Own. “From there, she wrote to a friend on 11 April (by which time O’Ke­effe had gone to Bermu­da to con­va­lesce) that because of O’Ke­ef­fe’s ill­ness there had been no love­mak­ing between them that time. A boast­ful exag­ger­a­tion of their close­ness? Know­ing Kahlo’s predilec­tion for sex­u­al hyper­bole, this seems like­ly.”

via A Piece of Mono­logue, A Writer’s Rumi­na­tions

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Hand­writ­ing as Prac­ticed by Famous Artists: Geor­gia O’Keeffe, Jack­son Pol­lock, Mar­cel Duchamp, Willem de Koon­ing & More

The Real Geor­gia O’Keeffe: The Artist Reveals Her­self in Vin­tage Doc­u­men­tary Clips

Watch Mov­ing Short Films of Fri­da Kahlo and Diego Rivera at the “Blue House”

Fri­da Kahlo and Diego Rivera Vis­it Leon Trot­sky in Mex­i­co, 1938

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

10th Graders Draw Pictures Imagining Philosophers at Work

philos at work 3The Tum­blr called Philoso­phers at Work has gath­ered togeth­er a fun series of draw­ings by 10th graders from Madi­son WI, who were asked by their teacher to  — you guessed it — “draw a philoso­pher at work.” I will leave it to you to peruse the gallery of draw­ings. But I’ll just say this: What­ev­er their virtues, the draw­ings don’t look any­thing like real philoso­phers. (For some pic­tures of real philoso­phers, see, of course, the Looks Philo­soph­i­cal tum­blr.) Nor do tenth graders, no dis­re­spect to them, depict philoso­phers near­ly as artis­ti­cal­ly as Renée Jor­gensen Bolinger, whose paint­ings of Wittgen­stein, Frege and Rus­sell we showed you a few weeks back. If you missed her paint­ings, I’d encour­age you to see Philoso­pher Por­traits: Famous Philoso­phers Paint­ed in the Style of Influ­en­tial Artists. Enjoy your week­end.

philosophers at work

Note: if you click on the images above and below, you can see each in an expand­ed for­mat.

via Leit­er Reports

Relat­ed Con­tent:

10 Famous Philoso­phers in Words and Images

Pho­tog­ra­phy of Lud­wig Wittgen­stein Released by Archives at Cam­bridge

Phi­los­o­phy: Free Cours­es

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy … With­out Any Gaps

William S. Burroughs Explains What Artists & Creative Thinkers Do for Humanity: From Galileo to Cézanne and James Joyce

The inter­view clip above, from the 1991 doc­u­men­tary Com­mis­sion­er of Sew­ers, puts a two-part ques­tion to Naked Lunch author, “cut-up writ­ing” mas­ter, and coun­ter­cul­ture emi­nence William S. Bur­roughs: “What is the orig­i­nal feel of the writer? What mech­a­nisms should he con­sid­er, work on?” That may sound like a slight­ly odd line of inquiry — the inter­view­er, bear in mind, does­n’t speak Eng­lish native­ly — but Bur­roughs responds with an impor­tant point, clear­ly made. “The word should should nev­er arise,” he first insists, though per­haps self-con­tra­dic­to­ri­ly. “There is no such con­cept as should in regard to art — or any­thing — unless you spec­i­fy. If you’re try­ing to build a bridge, then you can say we should do this and we should do that, with respect to get­ting a bridge built, but it does­n’t float in a vac­u­um.” All well and good for engi­neer­ing. But what can art do, if not build a bridge?

“One very impor­tant aspect of art is that it makes peo­ple aware of what they know and what they don’t know that they know,” Bur­roughs says. “This applies to all cre­ative think­ing. For exam­ple, peo­ple on the sea coast in the mid­dle ages knew the Earth was round. They believed the Earth was flat because the church said so. Galileo tells them the Earth was round, and near­ly was burned at the stake for say­ing so.”

Bur­roughs sum­mons as exam­ples Cézanne, whose stud­ies of what “objects look like seen from a cer­tain angle and in a cer­tain light” at first made view­ers think “he’d thrown paint on can­vas,” and Joyce, who “made peo­ple aware of their stream of con­scious­ness, at least on a ver­bal lev­el,” but “was first accused of being unin­tel­li­gi­ble.” Yet Bur­roughs found he lived in a world where, this art already hav­ing expand­ed human­i­ty’s con­scious­ness, “no child would have any dif­fi­cul­ty in see­ing a Cézanne” and few “would have any dif­fi­cul­ty with Ulysses. The artist, then, expands aware­ness. Once the break­through is made, this becomes part of the gen­er­al aware­ness.” Such insight makes Bur­roughs, as one Youtube com­menter puts it, “so down-to-earth that he’s far-out.”

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

When William S. Bur­roughs Joined Sci­en­tol­ogy (and His 1971 Book Denounc­ing It)

Com­mis­sion­er of Sew­ers: A 1991 Pro­file of Beat Writer William S. Bur­roughs

William S. Bur­roughs on the Art of Cut-up Writ­ing

William S. Bur­roughs’ Short Course on Cre­ative Read­ing

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Vladimir Nabokov’s Delightful Butterfly Drawings

NabokovInscription1

We don’t often talk about the hob­bies (oth­er than drink­ing, any­way) of respect­ed twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry writ­ers. But do you know a sin­gle Nabokov read­er, or even an aspir­ing Nabokov read­er, igno­rant of the lep­i­dopter­ist lean­ings of the author of Loli­taThe Gift, and Pale Fire?  The man liked but­ter­flies, as any of the wide­ly seen pho­tographs of him wield­ing his com­i­cal­ly over­sized net can attest. But when his eyes turned toward these strik­ing, del­i­cate insects, he did­n’t nec­es­sar­i­ly put down his pen. Nabokov’s wife Vera, accord­ing to a Book­tryst post on the sale of his book and man­u­script col­lec­tions, “trea­sured nature, art, and life’s oth­er intan­gi­bles more high­ly than mate­r­i­al pos­ses­sions, and Vladimir knew that for Christ­mas, birth­days and anniver­saries” — in Mon­treux in 1971, Itha­ca in 1957, Los Ange­les in 1960, or any­where at any time in their life togeth­er  — “Vera appre­ci­at­ed his thought­ful and del­i­cate but­ter­fly draw­ings much more than some trin­ket. She  delight­ed in these draw­ings in a way she nev­er did for the land­scapes he used to paint for her in ear­li­er days.” For the woman clos­est to his heart, Nabokov drew the crea­tures clos­est to his heart.

NabokovInscription2

“From the age of sev­en, every­thing I felt in con­nec­tion with a rec­tan­gle of framed sun­light was dom­i­nat­ed by a sin­gle pas­sion. If my first glance of the morn­ing was for the sun, my first thought was for the but­ter­flies it would engen­der.” This he declares in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy Speak, Mem­o­ry. “I have hunt­ed but­ter­flies in var­i­ous climes and dis­guis­es: as a pret­ty boy in knicker­bock­ers and sailor cap; as a lanky cos­mopoli­tan expa­tri­ate in flan­nel bags and beret; as a fat hat­less old man in shorts.” Despite the pas­sion with which Nabokov pur­sued lep­i­doptery, it seemed, in his life­time, his accom­plish­ments in the field would remain most­ly non-pro­fes­sion­al; he began one book called But­ter­flies of Europe and anoth­er called But­ter­flies in Art, but fin­ished nei­ther.

But in 2000, out came the 782-page Nabokov’s But­ter­flies, which col­lects, as its co-edi­tor Bri­an Boyd writes in the Atlantic, “his aston­ish­ing­ly diverse writ­ing about but­ter­flies, whether sci­en­tif­ic or artis­tic, pub­lished or unpub­lished, care­ful­ly fin­ished or rough­ly sketched, in poems, sto­ries, nov­els, mem­oirs, sci­en­tif­ic papers, lec­tures, notes, diaries, let­ters, inter­views, dreams.” And in 2011, a hypoth­e­sis he had about but­ter­fly evo­lu­tion had its vin­di­ca­tion under the Roy­al Soci­ety of Lon­don. But to under­stand how much but­ter­flies meant to him, we need look no fur­ther than the title pages of the vol­umes he gave his wife.

NabokovInscription3

via Book Tryst

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Vladimir Nabokov Cre­ates a Hand-Drawn Map of James Joyce’s Ulysses

Vladimir Nabokov Mar­vels Over Dif­fer­ent Loli­ta Book Cov­ers

Vladimir Nabokov (Chan­nelled by Christo­pher Plum­mer) Teach­es Kaf­ka at Cor­nell

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Art of Handwriting as Practiced by Famous Artists: Georgia O’Keeffe, Jackson Pollock, Marcel Duchamp, Willem de Kooning & More

OKeeffeHand

Click each image for a larg­er ver­sion

Did­n’t we used to hear all sorts of grum­bling about the dis­ap­pear­ance of the hand­writ­ten let­ter? What a relief those com­plaints seem now to have sub­sided, leav­ing us in peace to effi­cient­ly type to one anoth­er about how we find pieces of long­hand cor­re­spon­dence fas­ci­nat­ing pure­ly as arti­facts of our favorite his­tor­i­cal fig­ures. If you share that fas­ci­na­tion, have a look at The Art of Hand­writ­ing, an exhib­it from the Smith­so­ni­an’s Archives of Amer­i­can Art now on dis­play through Octo­ber 27 at Wash­ing­ton D.C.‘s Lawrence A. Fleis­chman gallery, which show­cas­es not only the artis­tic aspects of hand­writ­ing, but the hand­writ­ing of actu­al artists. “An artist might put pen to paper just as he or she would apply a line to a draw­ing,” says the exhi­bi­tion’s site. “For each artist, a lead­ing author­i­ty inter­prets how the pres­sure of line and sense of rhythm speak to that artist’s sig­na­ture style. And ques­tions of biog­ra­phy arise: does the hand­writ­ing con­firm assump­tions about the artist, or does it sug­gest a new under­stand­ing?” Plus, we have here the ide­al test of those hand­writ­ing analy­sis booths at coun­ty fairs — could they detect these artis­tic per­son­al­i­ties?

deKooningHand

Just above, we have a page of abstract expres­sion­ist painter Willem de Koon­ing’s mis­sive in light-blue ink of March 28, 1966 to friend and fel­low abstract expres­sion­ist Michael Loew. (They’ve even includ­ed the enve­lope.) At the top of the post, you’ll find a page anoth­er painter, the famous­ly blos­som-focused Geor­gia O’Ke­effe, wrote to New Mex­i­co mod­ernist Cady Wells in 1939. The sub­ject of the let­ter? “O’Ke­effe wor­ries that Wells does­n’t like a paint­ing she has bought and sug­gests replace­ments; and describes an argu­ment she had with a friend.” That descrip­tion comes from the Smith­so­ni­an’s cat­a­log, as does this one: “[Jack­son] Pol­lock writes with descrip­tions of his new home in Springs, on Long Island, and dis­cuss­es his work and that of oth­er artists.” You can also view both pages of that evi­dent­ly unscan­dalous piece of com­mu­ni­ca­tion on the site. They’ve even got let­ters com­posed by hand in oth­er lan­guages, such as Mar­cel Duchamp writ­ing to his sis­ter Suzanne (below) on Jan­u­ary 15, 1916. Don’t wor­ry if you can’t read French, or if you think you can’t con­tex­tu­al­ize the per­son­al con­tent of any of the let­ters at all; focus on, as the Archives of Amer­i­can Art sug­gests, how “every mes­sage brims with the per­son­al­i­ty of the writer at the moment of inter­play between hand, eye, mind, pen, and paper.” That, and the that hope school­child­ren won’t have to endure cur­sive lessons many gen­er­a­tions longer.

DuchampHand

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Vir­ginia Woolf’s Hand­writ­ten Sui­cide Note: A Painful and Poignant Farewell (1941)

Font Based on Sig­mund Freud’s Hand­writ­ing Com­ing Cour­tesy of Suc­cess­ful Kick­starter Cam­paign

Fran­cis Ford Coppola’s Hand­writ­ten Cast­ing Notes for The God­fa­ther

See F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Hand­writ­ten Man­u­scripts for The Great Gats­by, This Side of Par­adise & More

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

René Magritte’s Early Art Deco Advertising Posters, 1924–1927

norine 1The Bel­gian painter René Magritte cre­at­ed some of the most enig­mat­ic and icon­ic works in Sur­re­al­ist art. But before he moved to Paris in 1927 and began forg­ing rela­tion­ships with André Bre­ton and the Sur­re­al­ists, Magritte strug­gled in Brus­sels as a free­lance com­mer­cial artist, cre­at­ing adver­tise­ments in the Art Deco style.

In 1924 Magritte began design­ing posters and adver­tise­ments for the cou­turi­er Hon­orine “Norine” Deschri­jver and her hus­band Paul-Gus­tave Van Hecke, own­ers of the Bel­gian fash­ion com­pa­ny Norine. Van Hecke also owned art gal­leries, and was an ear­ly cham­pi­on of sur­re­al­ism. Van Hecke would even­tu­al­ly pay Magritte a stipend in exchange for the right to mar­ket his sur­re­al­ist works. In the 1924 adver­tis­ing poster above, Magritte por­trays a woman in high heels pre­tend­ing to be Lord Lis­ter, the gen­tle­man thief from Ger­man pulp fic­tion, wear­ing “an after­noon coat cre­at­ed by Norine.”

magritte6

Magritte designed some 40 sheet music cov­ers, most of them in the Art Deco style, accord­ing to Hrag Var­tan­ian at Hyper­al­ler­gic. The one above, “Arli­ta,” is from about 1925. The French and Dutch sub­ti­tles read “The Song of Light.”

Magritte 3 Mask

The har­le­quin-themed image above is anoth­er adver­tise­ment for Norine, cir­ca 1925. Magritte paint­ed it in water­col­or and gouache. The pen­ciled inscrip­tion at the bot­tom reads “une robe du soir par Norine” — “an evening gown by Norine.”

Magritte 4 Primevere

In 1926 Magritte was com­mis­sioned to cre­ate the poster above for the pop­u­lar singer Marie-Louise Van Eme­len, bet­ter known as Primevère. An orig­i­nal print is cur­rent­ly up for sale at Christie’s and is expect­ed to bring some­where between $18,000 and $25,000.

For more of Magrit­te’s Art Deco sheet music cov­ers, vis­it Hyper­al­ler­gic.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

The Art of William Faulkn­er: Draw­ings from 1916–1925

Bauhaus, Mod­ernism & Oth­er Design Move­ments Explained by New Ani­mat­ed Video Series

Salvador “Dalí is the Biggest ‘Prick’ of the 20th Century,” Says the Quotable Henry Miller

henry miller dali

There’s no two ways about it. Hen­ry Miller had a way with words. He could be blunt, lewd, cut­ting, all in one short sen­tence. You want a lit­tle case study? Ok, how about the notes Miller scrawled back in 1973, when he called Sal­vador Dalí “the biggest ‘prick” of the 20th cen­tu­ry” (or, in anoth­er instance a “prick of the first water”). What was his beef with the Span­ish sur­re­al­ist? It all start­ed in 1940, when Miller and his lover, the incom­pa­ra­ble Anaïs Nin, spent some time cooped up in the same house with Dalí, who turned out to be an insuf­fer­able pri­ma don­na. Their time togeth­er end­ed in a wild shout­ing match, with Miller and Nin storm­ing out of the home and hold­ing a grudge for decades to come. The sto­ry is nice­ly recount­ed by Book Tryst, a site that has recent­ly become a new favorite of ours.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Illustrated by Salvador Dalí in 1969, Finally Gets Reissued

Des­ti­no: The Sal­vador Dalí – Dis­ney Col­lab­o­ra­tion 57 Years in the Mak­ing

Tom Schiller’s 1975 Jour­ney Through Hen­ry Miller’s Bath­room (NSFW)

Hen­ry Miller Talks Writ­ing and the Expat Life with Anaïs Nin, Lawrence Dur­rell, and Oth­ers (1969)

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