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Ritchie started to think about the universe and its possible artistic representation in the 1990s by merging physics, art, mythology, philosophy, religion and history. His starting point was that science is the new art, as well as the new religion, creating multiple parallel mythologies and theories of creation, or cosmogonies. Ritchie creates a spectacular visual world guiding us through the stories of the beginning and the end.

Left: 1. Matthew Ritchie, Monster of the East (2011), oil and ink on linen, 74” x 56”. Monstrance, 2011, L&M Arts, Los Angeles, November 2, 2011-January 14, 2012 ©Matthew Ritchie. Courtesy of L&M Arts, Los Angeles. artes fine arts magazine

Artist, Matthew Ritchie, undated photo

He said about the beginning, “Since it is almost impossible to understand them as they were then; as infinite points, bound in an indecomposable continuum, let’s look at them as they would become. They were so many and they had waited for so long. Their bodies interleaved as closely as pages in a book, they slipped and slid in and out of each other, all through the endless day of the beginning, inside the heart of naked singularity. It was before years, before history, before time: it was the whole universe; the birth; the hope; the blame; the dream; the betrayal; the revenge: all waiting inside one tiny, hot little dot.”

Matinal (video still), 2011. Music, 'Augur,' by A & B Dessner; vocals, S. Worden. See End Note #2.

Ritchie thinks that the world is at its worst at the beginning and the end. In his apocalyptic video projections, like Augur (L & M Art, 2011) we see the sun from the deepness of the murky water, then closer to the surface a single cell outline and later, creatures emerge from the water and starting to move. Then tremendous winds whip over the landscape, fires burn living things into metal sculptural skeletons, while a huge wire ball—an atomic model of some chemical—rolls over everything. In this vision, the world remains, but without humans—a very sad conclusion. But this unpopulated world doesn’t ‘feel’ sad watching, while listening to the music of Bryce Dessner, with Shara Worden’s vocals: sounding sometimes ethereal; sometimes beautifully-baroque; sometimes merely a noisy, cacophonic composition that could be the sound of parallel universes. Ritchie makes the viewer think about all the possible complexities of life: physical, biological and socio-ecological.

Hard Way, Day 3, 1996 (detail), 1996. See End Note #3.

Ritchie started his career in London as a painter, with drawing as his base. But, after moving to New York,he expanded his work to include sculptures, digital images, light boxes, musical compositions, creative writing and structures that function as architecture. In 1995, in an interview with Owen Drolet, Ritchie described his Working Model. It consists of seven vertical and horizontal rows that include physics equations, colours, characters, emotions and/or typically human characteristics and physical properties of the universe. The equations line the top and the colors are listed vertically. Each shape can correspond to each color, which in turn can represent seven different groupings of three: character, emotion/human characteristics, and physical property. This matrix gives the artist 49 possible different combinations that he calls a map. The paintings of The Hard Way (1996) were among the first to use this map to create a mythological struggle of gods, fighting over the creation of Earth.

Ritchie stated that he wanted to break away from linear storytelling and create a more structured and formulaic narrative, a scientifically correct mythology as a base for his complex visual stories. He knows physics very well. In 2009, he was the only artist invited to speak to an audience of Nobel laureates discussing Einstein’s theories and how they can be applied in the 21th century. According to the laws of physics we only recognize one reality and it can be predicted. Edward Lorenz’s “Butterfly effect” that the “flapping of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil can set off a tornado in Texas” made chaos theory popular, bringing the idea of randomness into science. The Morning Line, among others, is an excellent example of how Ritchie transforms his scientific ideas into art.

The Universal Cell and Remote Viewing (2004). See End Note #4.

The Morning Line, a sonic, Gothic-like temple is an imposing 10 meters high and 20 meters long, built of 20 tons of black coated aluminum, intended to draw in the expanding universe that surrounds us. Ritchie started it all with black and white drawings that evolved into something really large (The Shapes of Space, Guggenheim Museum, New York, 2004). The Universal Cell and Remote Viewing (2006) was the next step into a truly three dimensional structure. Ritchie collected all possible data about the human cell—the sacred unit of our measurement on the human scale. He recognized that everything was designed around this geometrical pattern. He saw a similarity between ‘imprisonment’ in our own genetic make-up and actual prison cell design. He made several different drawings of all these things, then layered the semi-transparent papers, one on top of the other, until they created a kind of information tunnel. In the end, he scanned them into the computer and created the final image, which he sent to a metal-shop to be cut out and assembled. The final product is an amazing structure which captures not only the dimensions of space, but its moving energies, as well. Ritchie’s artistic goal was no less ambitious than to represent the entire universe, as well as our beliefs and knowledge about it. Ritchie’s approach is philosophical, involving religion, occult practices and scientific principles. As he said in an interview, he wants to “describe the whole spectrum of experience, simultaneously.”

The Morning Line (2008-2009). See End Note #5.

The idea in The Morning Line is “drawing in space” and to make the drawing stand in space and become a part of the universe. Ritchie involved design innovators Aranda/Lash, the Music Research Centre of York University and Arup AGU to create a fully programmable three-dimensional sculpture, which is also moveable. From his drawings, they designed a structure in which each part can be replicated at a smaller and smaller scale, until it reaches the size of a nano-spectrum,and from that starting point, you can build anything. Ritchie called it a quantum building, because one piece (tetrahedra) can support 22 other smaller ones, and so on, toward infinity. With this method you can “build a cathedral which involves the universe.”

Interior, The Morning Line (2008-2009). See End Note #6.

The structure of The Morning Line is amazing! Standing in it is a once-in-a-lifetime artistic experience. You can see the sky, but what you are really looking at is the metal curves drawn on the sky. There is a glass wall as part of the structure and on it, images of the universe and apocalyptic videos are projected. You hear stories, told by various voices, about different situations, and above all is the music: classical music pieces mixed with sounds, created by the structure itself, or composed by contemporary musicians inspired by the sculpture and improvised, on-site. The Morning Line is also sensitive to time, street noise, you and the other visitors; so you can never have the same light and sound experience twice. It is a complex, amazing and really universal experience. It has been installed in three very specific sites: Center for Contemporary Art, Seville (2008); Eminönü Square, Istanbul (2010); Schwarzenbergplatz, Vienna (2011).

Monstrance (2011). See End Note #7.

While The Morning Line tries to reconstruct the universe in a physical way, Monstrance, Ritchie’s recently-closed show at L & M Art in Venice Beach, Los Angeles, returns to mythological interpretation. Monstrance—meaning show in Latin—is a medieval-period ritual vessel used in the public display of relics. In the performance at the opening, a masked singer represented the many forms of sun, including the setting sun. The show also dealt with one of Hollywood’s own myths: The Fallen Star. Upon entering the gallery, there were eight paintings of golden angels. These hybrids of feathered humans and gaseous nebula represented “high energy states” such as solar storms, pole dancers and female athletes. The figures were accompanied by dots showing the position of constellations over Los Angeles on the opening day, November 2nd, 2011, The Feast of All Souls. The lone sculpture in the gallery could be the figure of a fallen angel, or, more likely, what was left of him after falling from the sky. Stepping to the east gallery, it was a very different world, more like a dark, subterranean cave at the beginning of time. There were water pools projected onto the floor and their reflections on the walls. Prehistoric drawings covered the ground, interrupted by meteorite-like sculptures, while images floated and music played. There were also four paintings of monsters in this gallery: and their dots showed the position of constellations on October 31st, Halloween. They represented “negative energy states” such as terror attacks, ecological disasters, surgery and video games. In this show Ritchie combined all his previous artistic elements: drawing, painting, sculpture, video projection, sound effect and performance, to create a meaningful and complex site-specific view of the gallery and its place in the universe.

The Long Count (2009). See End Note #8.

Ritchie participated in two performances as stage designer. In the summer of 2009, Hypermusic Prologue, A Projective Opera in Seven Planes, debuted in Paris; then was performed again in 2010, at the Guggenheim in New York. The other was The Long Count, a 70-minute multimedia piece (Brooklyn Academy of Music, Next Wave Festival [2009]; Holland Festival [2010]; Barbican Art Centre, London, [2012]). Ritchie set the scene by projecting an apocalyptical video on three giant screens that enveloped the musicians on stage. These hallucinatory videos showed whole trees uprooted and other “mad tales of creation and resurrection.”

Ritchie said that, in the work of painters like David Salle and Julian Schnabel, he saw the last of the generation of artists who had to follow “the master narrative of the west.” For him, that meant a new artistic era had begun, thereby freeing him to start his own quest into the Universe.

By Emese Krunák-Hajagos, Contributing Writer

Emese is an art critic and on-line publisher living in Toronto, Canada. Read more of her views at www.artoronto.ca

Matthew Ritchie, Monstrance, L & M Art, Los Angeles, Venice Beach, November 2- January 15, 2012

The Morning Line, Schwarzenbergplatz, Vienna, Austria, Organized by Thyssen-Bornemissza Art Contemporary, June 7- November 20, 2011

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End Notes:

1. Matthew Ritchie, Monster of the East (2011), oil and ink on linen, 74” x 56”. Monstrance, 2011, L&M Arts, Los Angeles, November 2, 2011-January 14, 2012 ©Matthew Ritchie. Courtesy of L&M Arts, Los Angeles.

2. Matthew Ritchie, Matinal (2011), video. Animation Duration: 16:50; Animation: Nick Roth; Editing: James Case; Music: ‘Augur,’ by Aaron & Bryce Dessner. Exhibited: Tokyo Museum of Contemporary Art, 2011.

3. Matthew Ritchie, Hard Way, Day 3, 1996 (detail), 1996, enamel on sintra, 114”x165”x90”. Courtesy Basilico Fine Arts, New York.

4. Matthew Ritchie, The Universal Cell (2004), powder coated aluminum, stainless steel, gypsum, 11’x 12’ 6”x 12’ 6” (installation view from : Remote Viewing: Invented Worlds in Recent Painting and Drawing, curated by Elisabeth Sussman, June 2 – September, 2005). Photo by Rob Kassabian. ©Matthew Ritchie. Courtesy of Andrea Rosen Gallery, New York RM Whitney 2005 Remote Viewing Installation.

5. Matthew Ritchie, with Aranda\ Lasch Arup AGU, The Morning Line (2008-2009). Commissioned by Thyssen-Bornemisza Art Contemporary. Installation view: Schwarzenbergplatz, Vienna June 7 – November 20, 2011. Photo by Jacob Polacsek

6. Matthew Ritchie, with Aranda\ Lasch Arup AGU, The Morning Line (2008-2009). Commissioned by Thyssen-Bornemisza Art Contemporary. Installation view: Schwarzenbergplatz, Vienna June 7 – November 20, 2011. Photo by Jacob Polacsek

7. Matthew Ritchie, Monstrance (2011), projected multi-channel, film vinyl and animation. L&M Arts, Los Angeles, November 2, 2011-January 14, 2012 ©Matthew Ritchie. Courtesy of L&M Arts, Los Angeles, CA.

8. Matthew Ritchie, with Aaron and Bryce Dessner, The Long Count, Brooklyn Academy of Music, Brooklyn, New York, October 28 – 31, 2009. ©Matthew Ritchie. Courtesy of Andrea Rosen Gallery, New York

9. Above, right: Matthew Ritchie, The Hour of the Apple (2011), oil and ink on linen, 74”x 56”. L&M Arts, Los Angeles, November 2, 2011-January 14, 2012 ©Matthew Ritchie. Courtesy of L&M Arts, Los Angeles.

10. Left: Matthew Ritchie, The Unconquered Sun (2011), aluminum structural units, epoxy coating, steel, sintered polyamid and enamel 135 ½ x 60” (overall). Photo: Joshua White. L&M Arts, Los Angeles, November 2, 2011-January 14, 2012 ©Matthew Ritchie. Courtesy of L&M Arts, Los Angeles.

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 Left: Tarshito (Italy), Applauses (2007) Made at Tarshito studio with Isabella De Chiara, Roma e Agnieszka Blazy, Polonia, Angela Ferrara,Bari; Martinelli Corato, and Bari, metal structure and ceramic hands. Photo: Edward Rubin. artes fine arts magazine

Marc Quinn (England), The Chromatic Archaeology of Desire (2008) Painted Bronze. Photo: Sergio Martucci

 The show was founded fourteen years ago by Paolo De Grandis, and cleverly scheduled by that chief curator to run alongside the Venice Film Festival and overlap exhibition dates with the Venice Art and Architectural Biennales; the exhibition hosts thousands during its month-long run. This year, OPEN 14 was co-curated by Carlotta Scarpa, Ebadur Rahman, Nevia Capello, Christos Savvidis, and Gloria Vallese. Vallese also curated the highly-touted Cracked Culture? The Quest for Identity in Contemporary Chinese Art , with Wang Lin. The Venice Biennale Collateral Event featured twenty-eight artists from Albania, Bangladesh, China, England, Finland, Germany, Greece, Iran, Italy, Romania, and Switzerland.

Feng Feng (China), W Fountain 2010 installation. Photo: Courtesy Arte Communications

The first work was visible even before the boat docked—The Chromatic Archaeology of Desire (2008), London-based artist Marc Quinn’s super realistic painted orchid. Perched atop a tall pedestal, it was an elegant poem in bronze, speaking to the beauty and fragility of everyday life. Down the road, were 3000 of Romanian artist Martin-Emilian Balint’s laminated cardboard figures, housed in a small, multi-level vitrine on wheels. Titled Embrace (2011), the marching figures stood shoulder-to-shoulder, seeming to offer an expression of love as they welcomed visitors to the island. Across the street, echoing similar sentiment, was Applauses (2007), above, a tall metal vase covered with hundreds of ceramic-crafted open hands. Created by Italian artist Tarshito, the vase was significantly placed at the entrance to the Grande Albergo Ausonia & Hungaria Hotel, where it appeared to applaud the arrival of its guests.

Filippo Zuriato (Italy), “Hey?!!” (2011), painted terracotta. Photo: Sergio Martucci

Several show-stopping and intellectually-challenging works welcomed viewers to the Lungomare G. Marconi, the section of the exhibition most densely arrayed with art. In city terms, it runs some five-or-six blocks. First to catch our eye, and especially hypnotic when lit up at night, was Chinese artist Feng Feng’s stunning W Fountain (2010), an intensely-bright yellow McDonald’s sign, the iconic form turned upside down. Also prominently featured in Vallese’s Cracked Culture exhibition, W Fountain is the artist’s comment on the rampant spread of Western culture—in this case, fast food. Some ten feet away, separated by a tree and some foliage—as were most of the works along this botanical stretch—was, Hey?!!, Italian artist Filippo Zuriato’s terracotta sculpture of a young Chinese boy enclosed in a wire cage. Dressed in the ubiquitous outfit of the American West—a T-shirt and jeans—the boy points to his almond-shaped eyes. The work, in which the boy boldly calls attention to himself, was open to a myriad of interpretations: possible loss of identity one; loss of freedom, another.

Ronni Ahmmed (Bangladesh), The Tomb of Qara Köz (2011), eggs, acrylic sheets, wood. Photo: Sergio Martucci

Across the avenue, enticingly situated at the entrance to the beach, was Bangladesh artist Ronni Ahmmed’s intricately constructed sculpture, The Tomb of Qara Köz (2011). Rooted in Opera Aperta, or ‘open work of art,’ as set forth by Umberto Eco’s book of the same name, and traditional Bengali theatre (both of which use history to tell their stories), Tomb was composed of three layers of 1254 glasses, each holding a cartoon-painted egg in the manner of Bassano, Veronese, and Tintoretto. The pyramidal sculpture, top-heavy in meaning, was meant to recall, as the catalog informed us, the campaign of the Mughal princess Qara Köz, who exerted powerful influence amid the Medici’s Florence. The sculpture’s three planes paid homage to Venice’s Bengali immigrants, the adventures of Pinocchio, and Fairytale, Ai Weiwei’s 2007 Documenta installation. This trio of influences inspired Ahmmed, in emulation of Weiwei, to invite 101 Bengalis visitors to his tomb, to record their secret desires, pay alms, and make their wishes come true.

Alfred Milot Mirashi (Albania), Do, Try (2011) - iron, aluminium, glue, plaster, jute, foam, gold paint, fibre glass. Photo: Sergio Martucci

 Back to the residential side of Lungomare G. Marconi—lined with a steady stream of stately mansions—could be seen Albanian artist, Alfred Milot Mirashi’s Do, Try (2011), a large, severely- bent, partially-painted golden key, reminiscent of Oldenburg’s sculptures of everyday objects. Though minimally constructed, it maximized the ideas it conjured, as everybody the world over, not only deals with keys, but uses that word in many contexts. ‘Key to my heart’ quickly came to mind, as did ‘key to the city’, among others. Though these are popular uses, according to curator Rahman, Mirashi, the artist is thinking about the human body— the twisted, tormented people “who reach out, body and soul, in their yearning for peace.” Given the key’s contorted anatomical referencing, it seems the artist’s wish for universal peace would be a long-time coming.

Marina Gavazzi (Italy), His Holiness (2011) tubes, digital print on plastic support. Photo: Sergio Martucci

Italian artist Marina Gavazzi set her incendiary sights on the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church, in her four-sided installation, His Holiness (2011), particularly the shameful attempt by the Vatican’s highest echelons to cover up sex crimes against minors by priests, especially in the United States. Digital prints of the pope were printed on plastic panels, the Holy See engulfed in flames. Presumably in hell, he faced punishment for centuries of violence inflicted by the Church, in the name of their creed, against the people. The artist cited the Inquisition in her catalog essay, but the legion countries—both past and present—complicit with the Vatican’s actions, remained unnamed. Perhaps there were just too many to list, especially in such proximity to the Vatican.

Puni (Italy), Openings (2011), wood, PMMA, brass, enamel. Photo: Sergio Martucci

 The conceptual works of Puni and Marilena Vita, two Italian artists, added a bit of levity to the exhibition. Openings (2011), Puni’s installation comprised a common door, set upright on a patch of green grass. Like Mirashi’s key, Do, Try, serves as an everyday object and a universal symbol; like the key and its many interpretations, the viewer was encouraged to make of it what they would. Our first thought, given the door’s bucolic setting, was one of freedom, entering a new world. On closer examination, the words ‘Emergency Exit’ appeared on the door, exposing the other side of the coin, alerting us to the ever-present possibility of imminent danger. Also playing with our minds, as well as our eyes, was Marilena Vita’s Legs (2011), a compelling, surreal photograph, printed on vinyl, of the artist’s long legs. One set of legs is real, the other, reflected in a mirror and appearing in reverse, seems to be growing out of the first set of legs. With our perspective disoriented, our eyes work overtime to make sense of what we were looking at.

Casagrande & Recalcati (Italy), Fiori (2011), oil on board. Photo: Courtesy Arte Communications

I ended my tour of OPEN 14—which began, upon my arrival in Venice, with an orchid, and finished in the lobby of the Excelsior– just in time for a cocktail at the hotel’s renowned Blue Bar, I might add—as I stood mesmerized in front of another floral work, Fiori (2011), an astonishingly beautiful painting of flowering peonies by Milan-based artists, Sandra Casagrande and Roberto Recalcati. Melding a color palette of luxurious creams and pinks, evoking the voluptuous imagery of French Rococo painters Jean Honoré Fragonard and Francois Boucher, together with the kind of lingering Hollywood close-ups that forever etched Greta Garbo’s face in our collective memory—the artists have rendered a cinematically-exquisite floral motif in paint, whose silky petals actually appear to be opening in slow-motion. It is here, imaginatively savoring the heady aroma of the perfumed bouquet, where we get to experience the magic of art in all its multi-sensory glory. . .

By Edward Rubin, Contributing Writer

OPEN, International Exhibition of Sculpture and Installations is held In Venice, Italy in the fall of each year.

Carole Feuerman, Grand Catalina (2005-11) oil paint on resin (o/r), 62x38x17"

My first encounter with Grand Catalina (2005-11) came unexpectedly, as I thumbed through the pages of the gallery section of an art magazine. Her uplifted face, eyes closed, suited and capped for laps in the pool, skin still moist with droplets of water as she appears to slip from the water, riveted me in an unexpected moment of intimacy with this life-like image. Lashes and brows neatly arrayed, the pouting lips appeared ready to gasp for a breath of pool-side air. If her eyes were to finally open, I wondered if she would be surprised to see me—a stranger, so close by!? The work conveyed a sense of strength and capability, while also offering an alluring vulnerability and sensuality. In the few moments that I studied the image, I imagined that this larger-than-life-sized figure, seemingly brimming with self-assurance, would have no difficulty managing whatever the world handed her, once she finally emerged from her momentary reverie. artes fine arts magazine

Carole Feuerman with Survival of Serena, Green Cap (2006-11), o/r, 38x84x32" Photo: Alvaro Corzo V.

This, I would soon learn, was the work of New York realist sculptor, Carole Feuerman. A veteran of over four decades of creative work in many sculptural mediums—including resin, marble and bronze—Feuerman sculpts life-sized, monumental and smaller-scale works that encompass her signature trompe-l’oeil technique. Feuerman shares a hyper-realism tradition with artists like Duane Hanson and George Segal, but with a critical difference: approachability.

Reflections (1985), o/r, 75x21x21" Photo:David Finn

When hyper-realistic sculpture first appeared on the gallery and museum scene in the 1980s, these iconographic figures served as a timely, three-dimensional narrative for a human condition steeped in stereotyping and emotional objectification. It was time for the Me Generation, characterized by self-absorption and enhancing personal status. Reflecting that contemporaneous motif, Duane Hanson’s Tourists or Queeny were works based on social and class-based stereotypes, to be mentally catalogued and observed from a distant, carefully-proscribed insular world—like characters in a wax museum—seen, but seldom touched. George Segal ‘s somber, unpainted plaster cast figures were often arranged in groups, appearing like actors in an urban drama, suggesting alienation, latent aggression and indifference; or as single, expressionless figures trapped in a world of secretiveness, isolation and emotional alienation—quietly-despairing characters in a disconnected world.

For Feuerman’s work—sculpted first in plaster, then cast in bronze or resin, before being meticulously painted—the effect is not alienation, but intimacy. Her mostly-female forms appear to radiate an inner life, one of both mysterious sensuality and self-possessed consciousness, all-the-while inviting inclusion in their personal space. If the eyes are the window to the soul, her sculptures, portrayed predominantly with eyes closed, are denying us access to those deepest realms-of-consciousness that might resolve the mystery. Instead, Feuerman tantalizes and seduces the viewer, offering a voyeuristic connection to the personal space behind the eyelids of her figures. We are invited to watch a lone female figure emerging from a shower as she wraps a towel around her hair; another floating languidly in an inner tube; another appearing to stand waist-deep in a pool, hugging a large beach ball; yet another grips the end of a surfboard as a wave presumably surges around her. The artist draws the line at the act of seeing; engaging the viewer, while depriving us of the ability to ever ‘know’ the true spirit of the character. Herein lies the power of the artist’s statement.

Blue Venus (1996), o/r, 36x24x16"

Feuerman’s figures, in spite of their nakedness or isolation, exude confidence and personal power. Freshly emerged from their cleansing bath or pool, her Eve-like creations are still dripping with fresh droplets of water—a symbol of their close ties to nature’s life-giving force. As David Rubin, of the San Antonio Museum of Art said, in a recent review, “As females, these figures personify heroic archetypes, women who are proud of their bodies and triumphant in their achievements. As metaphors, they are expressive of hope and determination, and of the faith that accompanies the drive to push forward on life’s journey, regardless of the challenges or obstacles that threaten to deter us.”

Paradise (1997), o/r, 26x16x9" Photo:Alvaro Corzo V.

In no small way, this critique of Feuerman’s work is a reflection on the trajectory of her career as a sculptor. Emerging as an artist in the early years of the Feminist movement, she decided early-on to produce work that challenged the tiresome cliché of the woman as ‘the weaker sex.’ From the beginning, Feuerman committed herself to working with the human form. The raw power of her imagery, more literal and figurative than symbolic, she worked to transcend the ascription of erotic or provocative and instead, represent personal power and the pure narrative essence of objective realism in her rendering of the human body. The risks in becoming a hyper-realist were great. Functioning artistically on the verge of the simulacram threatens to produce an empty, representational shell—imitative and convincing—but devoid of emotional intent. But, Feuerman’s sculptures exceed the bounds of mere mimicry to become powerful symbols for the human experience. The philosopher, Nietzche warned that any effort to imitate reality relies too heavily on constructs of reason and language, to the exclusion of the senses. The result, he claimed, would be a mere perversion of the truth.

City Slicker (1982), o/r, 31x21x14"

But, Feuerman’s hyper-reality, guided by keen sensory instincts, borne of life experience, and finely-tuned artistic sensibilities, results in sculpture that achieves a universal truth: a strong emotional tie between subject and object—between the viewer and the viewed—that invites an intimacy and level of empathy not often found in a creative endeavor such as this. Far from detachment, a figurative work like Paradise (1997), invites us all to imagine a time when we could once again (or wished we could) float thoughtfully on a raft in a warn sea on a languorous August afternoon.

On a recent visit to Carole Feuerman’s studio, we discussed the primary motivation for her work. While one of the foremost hyper-realist sculptors in the world, she is yet modest and unassuming. She does not view her work so much erotic or sexual, as sensual and meditative. “I want to capture the universal feeling of the fleeting moment. When my figures are rendered with their eyes closed and deep in thought, it’s like I’m presenting a story in the making. I want the viewer to complete the narrative, she tells me.” Her studio assistants busy themselves during the time I am there, shaping plaster forms, readying molds, applying base coats on nearly-completed figures, all under her careful direction. “I am the only one who can paint the final layers of the skin. The difficulty comes when it is time to represent those subtle features, like veins and blemishes, which lie just below the surface and help to create a feeling of authenticity.”

Feuerman studio, interior

Tree (detail), 2009-11, o/r, 62x37x29"

In fact, Feuerman’s studio is part gallery, too. Work from several periods of her prolific career are on display, offering up a gathering of now-familiar personas who have turned out to see what comes next! The sculpting room is generously confectioned, from floor to ceiling, with plaster dust. Row upon row of shelves are stacked high with errant body parts of every type: spare heads, torsos, hands, ears and feet—a surreal, contemporary laboratory-setting for creating the next Prometheus. A work-in-progress lies prone on a work table: a life-sized male figure in plaster, slated to become an athlete doing a hand-stand. Together, we lift and balance the figure against a column, as Feuerman checks for anatomical accuracy with a view to balletic grace in the final product. This is art by consensus, as the whole production team (including this author) weighs in on the details of the final execution. Nearby, a serene female figure Tree (2009-11), nude except for a bathing cap, patiently observes. As though having just risen from the sea, in a perfectly-proportioned, 21st century version of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, she appears to be quietly marveling at all the fuss.

Across from the showroom and office area, and far-removed from the welter of plaster appendages, is the painting room. There, Feuerman’s assistants sit meditatively—like monastic scribes toiling over illuminated manuscripts—applying layer-upon-layer of paint to figures now waiting patiently for their turn to be ‘brought to life.’ Mounted on panels or sitting on table tops, the addition of lashes, brows, hair and (in some cases) acrylic water droplets, the artist’s final touches, completed with her signature style, will be the jolt of creative energy that finally animates these figures.

Butterfly (2008), o/r, 21x22.5x21" Photo:Ali Elai

Feuerman’s sculpture walks the fine line between reality and deception, inviting us to explore our emotional response to this nexus. The syncretic link is the artist’s realization of the intense physicality, passion and sensuality found in her figures’ otherwise mundane poses. “My work is about relationships,” Feuerman explains, “exploring the secret interiority of the individual and a woman’s relationship to herself. I hope to touch an emotional level that might otherwise be inaccessible. My objective is to do more than breathe life into my sculptures, but to explore the inner life of the character, much like a novel might.” Is it autobiographical, I ask? “Perhaps, but, I like to think of my works as larger than life—gods and goddesses of the Everyday.”

Critic, John Yau addressed the material connection between the viewer and Feuerman’s figures in a recent review. He states that, “[her sculptures] evoke an inner life, one that invites the viewer’s speculation as well as signals the distance between them and us. We can never know what they might be thinking. And that perhaps is the point. […] We see their bodies, but not their souls. By having their eyes closed, Feuerman inflects a fundamental aspect of her sculptures: they exist in the same physical world as we do, but they are also removed from us. This inflection causes the viewer to become self-conscious; looking is framed as an act of voyeurism.” But, unlike the voyeur, these figures are inviting us to share in the ecstasy arising from the simple sensual pleasures of water, sun and air—leading by example, rather than inclusion in their private reverie.

Water Sports (2011), o/r sculptures with interactive floor projection of water

Feuerman has recently begun to explore the kinetic effects of water on her bathing figures. “Water is the universal connection to life,” she tells me. “An important new phase in my work will be to incorporate computer technology developed recently that projects an image on the floor or wall and will respond realistically to physical touch. Sculpted figures can be bathed in a large field of blue light that realistically ripples when the movement of a toe or hand is introduced. “This kind of interactive sculpture can heighten the sense of connection to the work and give the viewer a real-time experience with the installation,” she explains. Feuerman said the technology is ready and hopes to introduce it in a number of upcoming shows, both in the U.S. and Europe.

Hands on Face (c. 2008), o/r

This latest phase in Feuerman’s oeuvre represents another round of experimentation in hyper-realistic sculpture’s ability to extend beyond the boundaries of literalism and mimicry, to endure as a rich commentary on contemporary life. Her keen observations of the smallest gesture, the portrayal of flesh as a complex, viable organ capable of sweat, blemishes and myriad flaws, the private joy of sensuality, eroticism and self-assuredness portrayed through subtle gestures and the narrative elements of her work—inviting a push-pull between the visual and tactile— have continued to resonate. As the critic, David Bourdon wrote, “What makes [Feuerman’s technical proficiency] all the more powerful is that everything she does is in the service of the figure; all her attention is devoted to achieving verisimilitude. The works are like mirrors, but, like the mirror one encounters in fairytales and myths, they reveal a deeper truth about us.”

The General's Daughter (detail), 2008, o/r. Photo:David Finn

In her conversation with me, the artist underscored that she wants her sculptures to function as a book, revealing glimpses of the inner life of her characters. But, while messaging in the visual arts, unlike story-telling, is denied the luxury of unfolding over time, Feuerman’s work nevertheless embodies the element of time as an essential component of its impact on the viewer. Her narrative is never fully disclosed, often hidden behind closed eyes and self-satisfied gestures of confidence and eroticism. This rarified atmosphere of self-confidence, mystery and anticipation opens the door to a range of reactions and feelings. Each work, carefully crafted to defy simple interpretation and deflect full disclosure, becomes a Rorschach test—or perhaps a tabula rasa—onto which we project our own impulses, thoughts and emotions. Feuerman’s sculptures may seem frozen in time, but they persist in revealing themselves at particular moments of intimacy, heightened sensory awareness and vulnerability; thereby inviting us to consider our physicality, and our own stories, during an encounter with her work; asking whether we could embrace, once again, the sensual world that we, too, once knew this well.

By Richard Friswell, Managing Editor

Carole Feuerman’s awards and schedule of past, present and future exhibitions are too numerous to mention here. To see more of her work and learn more about the artist and her accomplishments, go to: http://www.carolefeuerman.com/

Or Jim Kemper Fine Art’s artnet site at: http://www.jimkempnerfineart.com/

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Left: Chris Antemann (detail), A Tea Party (2010), porcelain, decals, luster. Kamm Teapot Foundation Collection. artes fine arts magazine

Fuller Crafts Museum, Brockton, MA

When figurines succeed in pushing the envelope of our assumptions, they do so because the radical social narrative staked out by much of today’s contemporary art has not typically considered the artist working in clay, particularly on a diminutive scale. But, this exhibit challenges that premise, doing so in ways that open doors for a powerful body of work from figurative artists working in the ceramic medium. According to Gail Brown, with a long history of curating in the crafts world, “the work of these contemporary artists features diverse ideas, arresting forms, and provocative subjects [which] illustrate the continually-evolving tradition of figurative ceramics. These monumental and meaningful statements in small formats hold a fascinating disproportionate power—adding dramatic resonance and a sense of intimate communication.”

Ronna Neuenschwander, an artist exhibiting in the show (below, left), provides a prospective on mankind’s long-standing fascination with the creation of figurative talismans: “Humans have had the urge to create and possess figurines since prehistoric times. The Venus of Hohls Fels, the first of the venus figurines was made approximately 40,000 years ago, and is the oldest example of figurative prehistoric art. This figure was presumed to be an amulet related to sexuality and fertility. Likewise, the Venus of Willendorf, created in 22,000 BCE holds a power mysterious and intriguing. It is believed that people created and carried or wore figurines to give protection or the powers they desired. The attraction of figurines then and now tends to be one of identifying with certain attributes one wants to acquire. Today we create and collect these figurines to identify with their qualities- be they elite, genteel and refined, or exotic and provocative-they are powerful and desirable. By taking the gamut of these images, and disassembling them, we may get a fresh look at who we are and what we yearn to be.”

Left: (far) Ronna Neuenschwander, Breaking  the Mold I (2011), ceramic mosaic, grout. Courtesy of the artist; (near) Venus of Willendorf (24-22,000 BCE, stone. Collection Naturhistorisches Museum, Vienna.

Inspired by the past, yet distanced from it, Fresh Figurines is redolent with contemporary political and popular cultural messaging, intent on recasting gender roles, social mores and self image; re-worked with a generous infusion of traditional glazes, eerily-familiar motifs (for those of us who remember that knick-knack shelf of our childhood) and re-appropriated classical themes. Curator, Brown, makes the point in her overview of the exhibition that, “Throughout history, small-scale, self-contained article endure: from artifacts, effigies and tomb objects to exquisitely-crafted handmade figures and scenarios referencing life style and social mores, the pop culture of the day and the celebration of tribal figures, in situ. From European porcelain houses, Chinese export porcelain, and English folk ceramics, to the glut of manufactured collectibles with retail goals focused on the mantle piece and, since the days of the Grand Tour, the unrelenting, international plethora of tawdry and ubiquitous tourist souvenirs, figurines reign. The presence and persistence of these formats—from objet d’art to the commodities of the day—inspire and/or provoke.”

In its historical context, the name ‘china’ is a direct reference to the origins of porcelain in China over 3000 years ago. In the seventeenth century, trading routes were established between the Far East and Europe introducing this refined and translucent ceramic to a new continent.

The Painting Room, Meissen Factory, ca. late 19th C.

Europeans were fascinated by the beauty and mystery of porcelain. The tremendous demand for porcelain as well as the inherent difficulty in transport inspired many Europeans to attempt to replicate its qualities. Unlike cruder forms of earthenware, porcelain is industrially made, specifically with the fine, white clay of decomposed granite rock. This white clay is what gives porcelain its beautiful translucency. It was not until 1709 that German chemist, Johann Friedrich Böttger, in collaboration with two other chemists, devised a formula for porcelain. The following year, production commenced in the small town of Dresden. The factory was later moved to the more metropolitan city of Meissen as insulation from the political turmoil that was taking place in the European countries, east of Germany.

In its first few decades, the Meissen factory manufactured mostly table service. It wasn’t until the late 1730′s that a talented young sculptor by the name of Johann Joachim Kändler created small figurines in porcelain. Soon, the entire royal court community had their likenesses reproduced as delicate figurines. For many generations to follow, these intricately-executed porcelain figures served as a principle main-stay for the original Meissen Company, inspiring many other manufacturers on the Continent and in England to follow suit.

Chris Antemann (detail), A Tea Party (2010), porcelain, decals, luster. Kamm Teapot Foundation Collection

Among the forty-two artists whose sculpture makes up the eye-opening Fresh Figurines exhibit, certain pieces garnered particular attention. The show’s pièce de résistance is a multi-figure work, clearly informed by the Meissen legacy: Chris Antemann’s A Tea Party. In a cleverly-conceived display of overstatement, a banquet table is heaped with confections of every imaginable variety. This is action-central for a gathering of naked men and barely-clothed, coquettish women, languishing over tea and titillation, reminiscent of the salacious dinner-seduction scene from ThomasFielding’s 1749 fictional narrative, Tom Jones. The drama and sexual energy being played out between party guests is skillfully captured by Antemann’s deft manipulation of clay at the subtlest level. The ‘fourth wall’ is clandestinely breached by an alluring seductress, who invites the viewer into the party. She sits astride her chair, semi-concealed from her naked courtier by a fan, making sly eye contact with museum-goers, as we vicariously—if only momentarily—become part of the festivities. The artist summarizes the work when he writes, “I am expanding upon my previous parodies of decorative figurines by delving into the darker side of relationships and domestic rites: twisted tales of master and servant, the innocence of the maid, the dominance of patriarchal desire. Tricked out in frilly camouflage, these characters disregard tradition, exposing society’s cistern of unmentionables.”

Pavel Amromin, The Photographer (2008), porcelain, glaze, underglaze, luster. Courtesy, the artist.

Another work that addresses the curatorial observation of “added drama and inverse power to the diminution of size by the material prowess, complexity of narrative, uninhibited natures and significant social comment,” is The Photographer, one of a series of works on display by Pavel Amromin. Benign-looking, floppy-eared domesticated creatures, depicted in soft, earth-tone pastel glaze, play out their small dramas on Baroque gold-trimmed stands, lush with delicate beds of grass and fanciful flowers. On closer examination, though, they are strangely hybridized human figures with dog-like heads, engaged in acts of atrocity and inhumanity. In one scene, a weapon-bearing creature, naked except for black combat boots, blithely photographs another naked, dead body—thoughtless and insensitive, perhaps; but symptomatic of our “war breaks out, details at 11!” cultural ethic.

For Amromin, the artist, “There is a long tradition in art, literature and film by which the act of war is venerated and integrated into the social fabric. Gore and terror of combat are transformed into a bittersweet adventure of shared courage, sacrifice and nobility. Chaos is turned into order and the senseless gains meaning. The same transformation occurs in the work, however while some things are sanitized and glazed over, some are left in plain sight. The figurine has long been an object representing the jubilant self-image of the patron. It asks: ‘Is this glory? Is this the dignity, purity and beauty of a soldier’s mission?’”

Cynthia Consentino, Virgin II (2011), commercial figurine, dolls legs, mixed media. Courtesy, the artist.

Fresh Figurines brings home the message of the sacred, as well as the profane. A piece by Cynthia Consentino offers a gently humanizing perspective on a familiar icon; although the artist expressed a concern at the show’s opening that it might offend some. Her Virgin II invites a reconsideration of the classic, prayerful pose of Mary, mother of the Christ Child, with parting blue robes and oversized legs in plain view. This theantropic interpretation is designed to shed light on our humanity, as well as on the subject, herself. It calls the question of idealizing our New Testament heroine and invites a more immediate (and perhaps genuine) connection to universal motherhood—someone without the trappings of myth, and capable of ‘standing on her own two feet.’

Consentino notes, “Virgin II is part of a new series of sculptures incorporating commercial figurines with sculpted parts. Taking the ubiquitous knick knack, or religious statue and altering it allows for new meaning and a broadened role for the familiar. Originally a white porcelain figurine (stopping below elbows) her lower body was sculpted and commercial doll legs were added to complete her figure. It is not meant to be irreverent but rather be a playful re-examination of an influential figure.”

Jeremy R. Brooks, Form-Form (2011), cast plaster, paint. Courtesy, the artist.

Equally as compelling as Virgin II, but for different reasons, is Jeremy Brooks’s Form-Form, an enigmatic work whose flowing organic, blue-gray painted form stands out in marked contrast to other more figurative pieces in the exhibit. Perhaps informed by Edward Tufte’s Negative Space studies or Rachael Whiteread’s 1993 groundbreaking, House, Form-Form explores a hidden construct that undergirds a familiar object: the space beneath a garden statue of Jesus. Denatured through transformation, this subtly-conceived form of rolling contours and intriguing shifts of light and dark becomes a discourse on one of many hidden structural underpinnings, forever unnoticed in our daily rituals (imagine: bridge girders beneath your commuter route; the shapes on the underside of your dining room table, the dank tunnel complex beneath a steam-emitting manhole cover).

Rachael Whiteread, House (1993), concrete.

Brooks challenges the viewer to find beauty in the mundane, in the same way that the visible Jesus that inspired his work—an iconic all-weather figure of Christian salvation—is slip-cast in Hydrocal and painted to achieve mimetic value as a model for beauty, truth and salvation. By virtue of its ubiquity, it then becomes a numbingly-familiar fixture in the landscape. What is hidden, and subsequently revealed, he believes, can also achieve renewed relevance and aesthetic appeal. He describes it this way: “Form-Form is a cast interior space of a slip-cast figurine (Jesus in the Garden). It testifies to a shifted use of material, form and concept. The work is categorized by a search for the tension that exists between an initial iconographic source […] and a related abstract form—the cast interior space of the figurine.”

Hide Sadohara, Untitled (2011), Recycled Stoneware. Courtesy, the artist.

Mortality may be the message of Hide Sadohara’s wall sculptures, Untitled: images of an aging Popeye and Olive Oyle, constructed of recycled stoneware. Reminiscent of animated cartoon shorts from the 1950s and 60s, we are asked to recall a pre-pubescent time when notions of immortality and invincibility went unexamined; a pre-politically correct period in our history when villains with black hats and curly mustaches could pummel the hero with impunity, only to then see him miraculously return to normal and save the girl! Sadohara stares into the faces of these mythic figures and imagines their humanity. No slick airbrush or forgiving artist’s hand here. In defiance of the once-heroic gods and goddesses of ancient Olympus, the tribulations of aging can be seen extracting a toll on our contemporary version of a muscle-bound, spinich-guzzling Zeus and demurring Aphrodite.

Abraham Lincoln said, “By age forty, you get the face you deserve.” For Sadohara’s once-ageless Popeye character, a hard life, fear and conflict—a roadmap of furrows, wrinkles and contorted features—seem writ large on the face of the figure. More a metaphor for the human condition than a caricature, Sadohara’s work reminds the viewer (who is compelled to make eye contact because of the way the piece is hung), that Popeye (and Olive, also on display) may have been heroes for another, simpler time; and that for each of us, the passage of time brings us closer to confronting our own frailties and demise. As the artist describes it, “My intention for this particular piece is to provoke the sense of irony by making them life size, especially when the (invited) artists were asked to execute their work within the context of the figurine format/size. I also decided to finish my work with the realistic rendition of the human anatomy. There is something unnerving about seeing cartoon characters brought to life when those same features are stuck on the face of a realistic depiction of that character.”

Paul Delaroche, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey (1833), o/c. National Gallery, London.

I am reminded of Paul Delaroche’s monumental 1833 narrative painting, The Execution of Lady Jane Gray—a poignant study of adolescent innocence and courage in the face of royal predatory ambition—when I view Jessica Stoller’s Untitled, in the exhibit. For generations of National Gallery visitors, the work has served as reminder of the expendable role of women at the dawn of an age when enlightened thinking would not-quite-soon-enough redefine gender and social roles, as Western Europe inched toward modernism. Stoller evokes tales of risk and mortality linked to beauty and social station in her figurative representation of a severed head resting beneath the frivolous adornments of privilege. Vibrant and attractive women gone missing, later to be found dead and dismembered, could be story ripped from today’s headlines, and then rendered here in clay.

Jessica Stoller, Untitled (2010), porcelain, china paint, luster. Courtesy, the artist.

And so, Stoller applies the modeling techniques of another, more romantic era, to weave a tale of death and perverted ambition, proffering a dose of irony in the process. Deceptively charming and initially perplexing, it is only with more careful study of the piece does the realization dawn that something is amiss here.

Stoller’s oeuvre, as she describes it (only one piece appeared in Fresh Figurines), would likely resonate with the London crowds often found studying Delaroche’s Jane Gray—a painting with appeal to generations of museum-goers—as a study in the fine line between virtuous innocence and feminine ambition, power and its perversion. As she puts it, “The figures in my work range from Rococo nobility and adolescent girls in petticoats and bows, to women evoking religious martyrs of the past. The notion of these collected objects as predominantly decorative, weak and inherently female are subverted as the figures depicted are purposely innocent and sexual, self-sacrificing and violent, powerful and unaware of the power they possess. Through figures with contorted facelifts, bound feet with miniature dimensions and oddities which inspire imitation and awe, I examine cultural ideas of perfected beauty and its relationship to the grotesque. Through seemingly benign in content and size, my figurines hint at an alternate world of intricate perversion.”

Linda Cordell, Jolie Laide Masquerade (2011), porcelain, bronze, foam. Courtesy, the artist.

With just a partial sampling of the wide variety of works on display at the Fuller Craft Museum’s Fresh Figurines reviewed here, it is well worth the trip to discover, in Gail Brown’s curated show, the enduring power of small-scale works to enthrall in the world where the focus is often on BIG. Figurative ceramics appeal, for reasons linked to our collective unconscious as a symbol-rich civilization, for their effigaic properties, their paired-association to childhood memories and comforting domiciles long-vanished, as well as to our instinctive propensity to collect. This last point ushers in a connection to the work in Fresh Figurines worth underscoring. With many of the companies producing figurines for decades, if not hundreds of years (i.e.-Meissen, Hummel, Nymphenburg, Della Robbia, Chinese traditional porcelain, to name a few), links to a contemporary audience are well-established and well-known. But, once again, these are not your grandmother’s porcelains.

While glazing and firing techniques have remained largely unchanged over the years, contemporary works imagined and executed by ceramicists are extending the boundaries of the art form to new frontiers. Politically and socially informed, technically agile and heaped with narrative purpose, today’s Fresh Figurines are not merely anchored in the past, but act as powerful and compelling messengers about a post-modern world-in-flux. I believe exhibiting artist, Linda Cordell (above left), summarizes the agenda of the contemporary ceramicist best when she says, “Figurines are social propaganda; carefully displayed vignettes announce beliefs, ideals and desires of the owners. The artifice of portraying an animal in an idealized setting defies our unease and contentious relationship with nature. The distortion and abstraction of the platform contrasts with the diminished masked object—nothing is what it seems.”

By Richard Friswell, Managing Editor

Fresh Figurines: A New Look at an Historic Art Form

Fuller Crafts Museum, Brockton, MA

Now through February 5, 2012

View their diverse collection and exhibition schedule at www.fullercraft.org

Lehmann-Made Tut-Tut, No 490 (1913). Coll. of L. J. Buehler, 1999. Gifted to Hoyt Institute of Fine Arts, New Castle, PA

“Genius is no more than childhood recaptured at will, childhood equipped now with man’s physical means to express itself, and with the analytical mind that enables it to bring order into the sum of experience, involuntarily amassed.” ~Charles Baudelaire

“Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home!” ~Charles Dickens

We may be shopping for the children in our lives, reminiscing about the holidays of our youth, or analyzing our portfolios, hoping that the decision to invest in Barbie instead of G.I. Joe this season turns out to have been the right one; whatever the case may be, whether or not they are a part of our daily lives, the December holiday season is upon us. This is the time of year when toys find themselves at center stage. artes fine arts magazine

Hoyt Institute of Fine Arts, New Castle, PA

Amid parties featuring our finest china and specially prepared meals, adults understand the inherent significance of a holiday, religious or otherwise, knowing that the music, dishes, and décor are not the reasons for the celebration in and of themselves, but the expression of an historical tradition based on an event like the miracle of the oil or the birth of Jesus Christ. However, while children can be told the significance of a date on the calendar, they often cannot grasp its full meaning without something tangible to bridge the gap between mature comprehension and youthful naivety. Often, that something is a new or special toy, which stamps the occasion with the kind of wonder and delight that children then continue to associate with holidays throughout much, if not all, of their lives. In short, toys have always made the holidays special for children, and that simple fact is being recognized this season by The Hoyt Institute of Fine Arts in New Castle, Pennsylvania, as it warmly invites children and parents to come and enjoy a unique collection of antique toys which have been brought from their usual home in the Period House, Hoyt West, to the second floor of the Greek Revival style mansion known as Hoyt East, with plans to remain on display through the end of January.

Gifted by third generation furniture manufacturer, Louis J. Buehler, in 1999, just one year before he died, the Hoyt’s toy collection dates from the early 1900’s. Buehler’s grandfather, Gottlieb, had been born in Germany in 1857 where he trained as a carpenter. He emigrated to the US in 1881, bringing his woodworking skills with him, eventually settling in Allentown, Pennsylvania, where he built a prosperous career making furniture. Louis succeeded him in the family business.

Left: Loius Buehler (c), with father (l) and grandfather, Gottlieb (r). c. 1920

While Louis never married or had any children of his own, he obviously cherished his possessions because, while he was still alive, he gifted a few important pieces to his nieces and nephews only to have them sell the items, which disappointed Buehler enough that he decided to give his estate to museums. Having been involved with museums throughout his life, he understood their continuous need for money, so along with his childhood treasures, furniture and art, he included The Hoyt Institute of Fine Arts in a trust providing annual support for display of the collections.

Steiff bears, early 20th c.

Some of the most noteworthy items include at least 1000 small lead figures. Some of the figures are animals and many are people, some British, German, Japanese, and American. There is a variety of turn of the century wind ups, most of which are still in working order, and a collection of at least a dozen board games that are among the few items which are not often shown.

Regularly on display in the Period House is a collection of Little Folks magazines, an educational board, a homemade doll house, built by his father, and a model of Buehler’s own house, which he built himself as a child. There is a tin tea set, a viewfinder with several slides, loads of Matchbox cars, many still in the original boxes, and a number of Steiff pieces. The Steiff bears are protected by a glass case, and the smaller of the two is most unique, with a removable head that reveals a glass vile within the cavity of the bear’s body, meant to hold candy.

Lehmann Halloh Motorcycle (1908). A 'Gyro Action' tin toy.

The toys themselves speak volumes about the material culture of childhood, a trending theme in today’s fine art galleries. They also remind us of what was happening in the areas of art, industry, science, and social progress during a previous age. Significant changes were occurring in the world of art and design during Buehler’s childhood, including a reconsideration of who sets artistic standards, and how art should be shared with the public. He would have witnessed the industrialization of America, which provided much of the subject matter for the realist movement. It was a new era, one of mass production, and popular culture grew to be a profitable national product. Tickets for a twelve-day cruise could be purchased for roughly $60, and the Ziegfeld girls earned $75 per week (Whitley 2008).

It seems fitting for Buehler’s collection, which includes such a charming group of tin toys, to have made its home in New Castle, Pennsylvania, which was known as the tin plate capital of the world in the early 1900’s, boasting the largest tin plate mill in America at that time.

Production of tin toys began in the mid 1800’s as an inexpensive alternative to wooden toys. Initially they were hand painted, until a process known as “offset lithography” began being used to print designs on flat tinplate, which was then shaped using dies and assembled with tabs. Leading tin toy manufacturer Ernst Paul Lehmann, of Germany, produced original, high quality designs, but eventually their proliferation tapered off in the U.S., when American manufacturers like Louis Marx and Company, amid post-World War I anti-German sentiment, tapped into a newly discovered supply of tin ore in Illinois.

'My Friend' celluloid & metal swimming figure, Japan, 1930s.

Again, war had an impact on tin toys, when the need for raw materials during World War II, halted production altogether; afterwards, under the Marshall Plan, Japan took over “all of the low profit, high labor manufacturing and the U.S. companies could sell the imported tin toy product. It worked better than expected, and Japan became a tin toy manufacturing force until the end of the 1950’s…In the 1960’s, cheaper plastic and new government safety regulations ended the reign of tin toys” (Konter 2010).

Perhaps the most remarkable piece on display at the Hoyt is a 1908 Lehmann Halloh Motorcycle, a ‘Gyro-Action’ mechanical tin toy, featuring rubber-coated wheels and a young male rider, clad with tall red socks, white skull cap, and blue jacket. The piece is in excellent condition, valued at roughly $2,900.00, with working gears and minimal wear. Another notable tin toy, a 1913 Lehmann Tut Tut No. 490, wind-up automobile in very good condition, features a red German eagle on the side and a driver blowing a horn (see above). This piece would likely sell for about $700 at auction. Comparatively, a red Louis Marx & Co. No. 7 Coo Coo Car tin wind up in somewhat better condition is worth slightly less.

Jolly Jocko and Hiking Bear (c. 1930).

While some certainly do it for the money, according to toy expert Robert Skingle, of Skingle Antiques, many collectors enjoy antique toys for a combination of two other reasons–the nostalgic sentiment that they convey, and the artistic quality of the toys’ design, all the way down to the graphics on the original packaging. From Japan in the 1930’s, a blond-haired, blue-eyed My Friend clockwork celluloid-and-metal girl swimmer wears a red bathing suit, and rotates her arms in a freestyle swim stroke. Its original box, decorated with red seagulls flying above the ocean upon which a sailboat can be seen in the distance, and a swimmer who appears to be soaring with them, features the Kuramochi trademark, CK. The Hoyt takes great pride in having this rare childhood plaything, complete with the original box, among those on display.

Wind-up tin alligator with skirted rider, 1930s.

Among the most charismatic toys in the Hoyt’s collection is a 1930’s wind up tin toy tribal figure riding atop an alligator, complete with original string reins, putting its value at approximately $250. A variety of wind ups are covered with soft fur, including an endearing monkey called Jolly Jacko who gazes into a pink hand mirror while combing his hair. He is joined by Stinky the Skunk, who hops when wound, wearing around his neck the original red ribbon with comical tag that reads ‘Caution,’ and Hiking Bear, who carries a red walking stick and, naturally, hikes.

Home-made motor yacht, made by Buehler father & son, 1930s.

Three large and lovely painted wooden boats, despite being safely perched on wooden stands, appear as if they are ready to set sail down a small and winding creek in a young child’s back yard. A popular pastime, Buehler and his grandfather built their own working sailboats, some of which were motorized. The open deck of one boat in particular features exquisite detail, including eight portholes, a life buoy, three fabric flags, a red and white striped canopy with a blue party light suspended beneath it, movable search light and throttle, spinning metal propeller, and an anchor whose tiny chain slinks gracefully in and out of a hole in the bow. The boat is wired so that, at one time, the spot light and a light inside the cabin would illuminate.

Of all the toys in the collection, the board games suggest, most clearly, the daily thoughts, actions, and expectations of young children during the first half of the twentieth century.  Perhaps this is because they implicitly require the participation of more than one child, and therefore one can imagine the interaction–including bits of conversation and mannerisms–that certainly played out among the living, breathing members of an older generation when it was young. It could be that the games inspire an adult viewer’s imagination more so than the individual toys, which primarily elicit nostalgic sensations; this, presumably, would not be the case for young visitors of the Hoyt, who would, hypothetically, reach for the wind ups or boats first.

Gilbert Co., Electric Eye (1935), 'an electric marvel'

The selection of games includes The Standard Radio Game, King Kong Oriental Checkers by Sam Gabriel & Sons Co., NY, and All Star Comics Playing Card Game by King Features Syndicate, 1934. Two exceptionally interesting games in the collection are the 1935 Gilbert Electric Eye, and the Playbox. Best known, perhaps, for its Erector Sets, The Gilbert Company produced a variety of scientific toys that tell of the technology of the day. Called ‘an electric marvel,’ this photoelectric device was surely a thing of wonder for the few affluent young boys whose families could afford such a cutting-edge plaything. The detailed instruction manual accompanying the Electric Eye proclaims its ability to turn on lights and radios, operate a burglar alarm, start and stop electric trains, and ring the door bell—all from a distance.

Parents Assoc., Pleasant Hill, OH, The Playbox, early 1900s, taught manners and skills

The set requires batteries, including a 22 volt dry cell, and two ‘C’ cells in the Power Pack to operate the low voltage relay. The switch linking the low voltage (sensitive) relay and the operating (power) relay is a primitive form of amplification. The Electric Eye is just one of the Gilbert company’s many products that targeted, through focused advertising campaigns, young boys who dreamed of adult achievement (“My Experience…”). To today’s children, this game would still appear to be scientifically challenging, but to an adult, it is the equivalent of, perhaps, a rotary telephone.

The Playbox, an educational toy from the early 1900’s produced by the Parents Association in Pleasant Hill, Ohio, claims to teach and drill children on a long list of skills, both academic and social, including Arithmetic, Astronomy, Botany, Geography, Ambition, Good Manners, Self-Control, and Tidiness. The sturdy metal box houses nearly 80 individual game pieces, including dominoes, checkers, ten-pins, marbles, a jointed ruler, and four brightly colored metal Versatilla Men, above which is written, ‘A place for everything and everything in its place.’ The most endearing feature of the Playbox is the black-and-white photo on the inside of the lid wherein several children, wearing tall white socks and Mary Janes, play a game together with pieces set atop a chair on the rug in front of a fireplace.

That photo, while not related to the Buehler household, appears as if it could have been taken just down the hall from where these items are displayed; The Hoyt Institute of Fine Arts boasts a unique setting in which the period opulence and grandeur subtly blend with a sense of intimacy and comfort. This atmosphere somehow transcends the years which have passed since the mansion was occupied as a residence. So while the vintage toy collection displayed there may be received in different ways by children and adults, the glimpse into the past, through the lens of childhood trifles, is sure to engender pleasant feelings for all.

Above: The Buehler homestead (l) and a model of the house, built by Louis Buehler as a child (r), in the collection of the museum.

Certainly, those with an interest in vintage toys should plan to visit the Hoyt, where an impressive permanent art collection and variety of seasonal exhibits, as well as the beauty of the facility itself, make for a satisfying museum experience.

By Autumn Miller, Contributing Writer

Visit the Hoyt Institute of Fine Arts collection at www.hoytartcenter.org

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Works Cited:

Konter, Stanley. Tin Toy History. Retrieved Nov. 13, 2011 from VirtualBargains.com.

My Experience with Gilbert Science Sets. Lindy Week Review. Retrieved Nov. 13, 2011 from Jitterbuzz.com

Skingle, Robert. Telephone interview. 15 Nov. 2011.

Whitley, Peggy. ‘1910-1919.’ American Cultural History. Lone Star College-Kingwood Library, 1999. Web. 7 Feb. 2011.

Above: Louis Marx & Co. No.7 Coo Coo Car (c. 1920) 

Joseph Wheelwright, Pine Man (2006), 24' tall. Courtesy the artist & Alan Stone Gallery

A dreary October afternoon, the pallid sky hidden under a stained glass tunnel of roadside, scarlet burning bush, mottled sassafras, and a canopy of golden honey locust teardrops; mystery is steeped in the air like fruit-infused vodka. Sculptor, Joseph Wheelwright’s Tree Figures at the Katonah Museum of Art, in Katona, NY have a similar effect—dizzying, somber, jovial and mischievous—a concoction of haunting hallucination and sobering truth: that tree and man share the same breath. In the spirit of Dr. Frankenstein, Wheelwright ‘gives birth’ to his sculptures by carving anthropomorphic features into trees, stones, bones, and other found-objects, collected while walking through woods. He communes deeply with the essence of these forms until he hears a heartbeat, a perceived pulse that appears to then breathe fresh life into his art. artes fine arts magazine

J. Wheelwright, Pine Man, detail

Pheremones of crushed dried white pine needles and freshly sawn wood sap waft under my nose, as I approach the largest of Wheelwright’s tree figures on exhibit on the front lawn. A towering 27’ Christ-like figure, with arms out-stretched, appears to float on air. The crest-fallen head reveals a face with deep, sad eyes, a pronounced nose and chin, and lips that speak the language of anguish. Atop the head, a crown of thorns is sculpted from a dense root ball, whose very features seem to lash wildly in the autumn wind. The hips are concave, as though sagging under the strain of grief, and looking up into its face, I am overcome by a feeling of fear that the structure will stumble and fall. Encircling the tree figure, tension from tip-to-toes pulsates from every angle of the work.

Wheelwright was raised in the natural splendor of western Massachusetts’s Berkshire Hills, a remote area known to harbor countless secrets and legends of New England’s old-growth forests. He expressed a fear of trees as a child, often clinging to the lower trunk to escape being snatched up by the clawing grasp of its branches. After graduating from Yale University’s School of Fine Arts, Wheelwright moved to a commune in Vermont, using sticks and small stones as his medium—finally able to release himself from his childhood fears. Surrounded by endless stands of trees, Wheelwright embraced his presentiment, converting it into creative curiosity and began to identify individual characters and personality traits in the natural forms around him.

Smoke Jumper, detail (2007), Bronze cast from hornbeam and fir trees 16.5x7x6’

Expressive movement is what he looks for, when walking through the forest selecting specimens for his sculptures: the appearance of a bended knee, a twisted torso, or swaying arms. Once in the studio, he often turns the tree upside down, visualizing a newly- conceived anthropoid, where the intricate root system becomes the head, shoulder, armpits, and where, sometimes, fingers and the trunk can metamorphose into legs and body. Wheelwright is not a purist, sometimes transplanting disparate parts, like grafting the ‘head’ of a hornbeam tree onto the ‘body’ of a cherry tree. Instinctively, the artist knows whether a tree is male or female, engendering anatomically correct traits. Lifting the bark, peeling layers, and adding tissue, Wheelwright is intimately familiar with how to create the feminine form. Other figures are more androgynous, mythical, or centaur-like—each tilting to the side of eccentricity.

In the courtyard behind the museum, I sense that I am not alone. My eyes drift up from the ground as I meet the gaze of another 30-foot figure, camouflaged against a weeping Norway spruce. Suddenly transfixed, I sense a connection with this man-made object that is surprisingly empathetic. I am reminded of other creatures of science fiction-past, reclaimed from discarded and unwanted part and yet, assuming human emotions and drives. Here, for a few moments, I sense a desire to communicate on the part of this gargantuan creature, and I find myself listening, watching…and connecting.

Oracle (2008), Pine tree, 26x14x7’

Sublimating scientific observation into artistic expression—evidenced in the relationship between man and nature—is an age-old impulse. An important aspect of that desire to meld man and nature can be found in Wheelwright’s Tree Figures. His sculpture, exploring the biomorphic ‘evolution’ of man from trees, calls into question human superiority in the natural order of things, and promotes greater sensitivity for the fine genetic line that separates all living things. “There’s no question that we are descended from the same organism,” Wheelwright says. “Clearly they are our ancestors. Human hope and design was inspired by trees. The question is, when did we split apart?”

By Michelina Docimo, CSBA, Contributing Writer

“Joseph Wheelwright: Tree Figures,” through May, 2012 in the Marilyn M. Simpson Sculpture Garden and on the South Lawn at the Katonah Museum of Art, 134 Jay Street (Route 22), Katonah, NY. For more information: www.katonahmuseum.org or (914) 232-9555.

Joseph Wheelwright’s Website: http://www.joewheelwright.com/index.htm

Michelina Docimo is a certified sustainable building advisor and writer. Her focus is on sustainable or “green” architecture, landscape, design, and the representation of nature in art. Her writings have appeared in ARTESMagazine.com, Culture Catch, CT Green Scene, D’Art International, and other industry publications.

Visit her blog http://michelinadocimo.com/myartobiography

Jonathan Prince, Torus 340 # 2, Oxidized and Stainless Steel (2011)

 The work of Massachusetts-based artist, Jonathan Prince, is currently on view until November 18th, at the Sculpture Garden in the atrium of the old IBM building, in New York City. Shown under the title Torn Steel, the work—like the artist, himself, who resembles Julian Schnabel—is big, bold and undeniably ambitious. But underneath the swagger of the man and his work—observations based on an in-depth studio visit, a couple of wide-ranging conversations of the inquiring kind and, of course, the four, eye- to-mind-grabbing sculptures on view—lives a sensitive soul, albeit on top of a simmering volcano. His innards seem to house an acute and restless intellect that appears to know no bounds.artes fine arts magazine

Sculptor, Jonathan Prince, with Torus 340 # 2 (2011)

Though relatively new, as a full-time practitioner to the art world, that is, Prince has only been sculpting 24/7 for the past eight years, a somewhat unbelievable fact given the sure-footedness of his work. As a young boy he was drafted into the world of art through a series of visits with his father to the studio of artist, Jacques Lipchitz. It was here that he was first exposed to contemporary art, to Lipchitz’s extensive collection of pre-Columbian sculpture, and where he experienced, first hand—with a few demonstrations by the master himself—what it meant to be an artist.

Jonathan Prince, Totem, Steel (2011)

As a teenager, still smitten with the lessons of Lipchitz, Prince turned both hands to sculpting in stone and clay, as well as plaster. As fate would have it—like a good son who would follow in his father’s footsteps—his career trajectory led him to the art of dentistry and maxillofacial surgery. After three years in this highly precise eye-to-hand occupation, Prince turned to directing and producing films and computer animated special-effects projects. After successfully pursuing the art and science of filmmaking for a number of decades, he returned (an argument could be made that he never left) to his first love, sculpting.

In Torn Steel, his newest series, Prince, known primarily for his work in black granite, stone, and marble, each harboring traces of Noguchi, Brancusi and Arp, uses steel, oxidized and stainless steel to implement his vision. “Steel is less tight than stone. It gives me the opportunity to cut something or to weld it back,” he told one interviewer. “What I’m hoping to create is the intersection between chaos theory and refined geometry.” True to his word, the artist’s four geometrically-shaped works in Torn Steel, set down among the Sculpture Center atrium’s elegant stand of bamboo trees—the cellular softness of nature embracing our industrial civilization—does just that.

Jonathan Prince, Vestigal Block, 6'x6'x6' Steel Cube (2011)

At first glance, Prince’s monumental sculptures appear to be nothing more than simple geometric forms: a square with a broken edge: a column with its top gouged; a couple of circular sculptural riffs, one resembling a large distressed pill set on edge, the other a partially eaten donut doing a clever balancing act. On closer examination, the lively quartette begins to take on an otherworldly, if not quasi-religious, cast. Refraining from the impulse to begin praying, we ask ourselves: are these objects relics of worship from a lost civilization; artifacts left behind by a race that has died off; a Hollywood studio prop leftover from a long-forgotten Roman epic; or are they really post-modern sculptures waiting to be transported to some city plaza?

Each sculpture, though massive in appearance is, in actuality, deceptively hollow. The naturally-oxidized appearance that weathered steel effortlessly acquires is, in the case of Prince’s work, a labor-intensive process that is anything but random. It all begins with Prince sketching out a concept. After refining it on computer, he creates a urethane foam model, along with a series of engineering drawings, enabling him to order the necessary materials for fabrication. Once the full geometrically shaped work is constructed, the artist marks the sections to be “torn” out of the sculpture with a powerful plasma torch. Then the stainless steel plates are shaped, welded into the form, the patterns are overlaid onto the plates with a MIG welder in stainless steel, and all areas smoothed and blended with a TIG welder. Finally, the stainless steel areas are smoothed and polished with various abrasives.

Johnathan Prince with Vestigial Block (2011)

The most satisfying and easily digestible of the four sculptures on view—also the most challenging in its simplicity—is Vestigial Block, Prince’s six-foot square cube. It is here at the steel cubiform, unfettered and uncomplicated by the edgy and visually jagged cuts and molten steel plating found at the top of Totem and at either end of Torus—making them a bit too fussy for my taste—that Prince’s technique of exposing the seemingly soft molten innards buried within the sculpture’s hard outer shell is at its most natural and pleasantly poignant. It is also at this stop, while basking gently in the light of this daringly modest sculpture, that our mind is gently seduced into conjuring up images of the earth’s fiery center, overflowing lava, and thoughts of the human body housing an active soul.

By Edward Rubin, Contributing Writer

Author’s Note: The Torn Steel exhibition at the Sculpture Garden at 590 Madison Avenue and 57th Street, New York City, runs through November 18, 2011. For those unable to make it to the exhibition, a beautiful video filmed during the exhibition’s installation, with Ghostland Observatory singing Sad Sad City from their 2006 Paparazzi Lightning album in the background, will put you front and center.

Inspired by, ‘Picasso: Guitars (1912-14)’- At the Museum of Modern Art, New York City, 2011

Pablo Picasso, Self Portrait (1906). Coll. MoMA, NY

Though living in France most of his life, Picasso was a Spaniard, through-and-through, remaining proud of his birthright, cultural heritage and sun-drenched memories of childhood, over his lifetime. Any retrospective of his work as a painter and sculptor reveals that he was continually informed by the iconic images of Spain, at both conscious and unconscious levels: the raven-haired, large-eyed female figures, matadors and bull-fighting motifs, the open-balcony studio settings of his imagination, replete with palm-strewn vistas of warm seas, mythic creatures from Greco-Roman legend and seductive naked sylphs, all belie his enduring visceral attachment to las cosas de españa. artes fine arts magazine

Pablo Picasso, Old Guitarist (1903). Coll. Art Institute Chicago

This past spring, the Museum of Modern Art exhibited works by Picasso, focusing on two early collages (1912-14), where the guitar figures prominently as the central theme. This period represents Picasso’s formative years, when he was living in a cold-water Montmartre flat, befriending people who would later become the giants of 20th century arts and letters and struggling to find his own creative voice in a radical climate of aesthetic reinterpretation. Experimenting with form and composition, subject matter and materials, Picasso’s unheated studio was an experimental laboratory for d’artes absurd. He had already produced his monumental painting, Les Demoiselles d’Avignon (1907), so rife with controversy for its stylistic bravado, fractured planes of color and ‘in-your-face’ social commentary, that it still lay propped in his studio—five years after its completion and viewed by only his closest allies—when he turned to a new medium.

Pablo Picasso, Guitar, mixed media (1912), Coll. MoMA, NY

Like his friend and fellow artist, Georg Braque, Picasso was intrigued by the use of everyday objects to make art: cardboard, newspaper, discarded sketches, theater broadsides, wallpaper and string. In 1912, he turned his creative attention to this new medium of collage (from the French, coller, for ‘glue’). Thematically, and even politically, the use of found objects to create art was intended to make a statement about the direction that art was taking at the time. With a break from past traditions, European culture was considering the impact of such modern innovations as the airplane, motorcar and assembly line production on the course of human history. The nations of Western Europe were also poised on the brink of another armed conflict—just how horrific—no one was yet to know.

So, Picasso gathered up scissors, knife and glue pot to produce serious art, even as the cultural ground was shifting beneath his feet. And what did he chose to create for the world’s first-ever sculptural collage?…a guitar. Deconstructed in a way that would become his signature Cubist style, unplayable and hardly recognizable to early 20th century eyes for what it was; it was, nevertheless, an interpretation of a classical guitar—known as the Spanish guitar—symbolic voice of his motherland . It must have evoked memories as he cut and pasted, placing pieces of cardboard and string into a loose configuration, resembling a musical instrument. The sights and sounds of his childhood in Barcelona and Seville surely filled his senses, as this 31-year old artist sat alone in his cold-water studio on the outskirts of Paris–cultural center of the world and the ‘City of Light’– far from his true home. Picasso’s Guitar (1912) and the many other images of this instrument he was to produce in paper, on canvas and in prints, were not merely exercises in creativity, but served as a potent symbol of national identity and his indelible past—perhaps a very personal evocation of sensation and longing.

By Richard Friswell, Managing Editor

Go to the MOMA Picasso page at: http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/1101 ,read about the exhibition and listen to the curator’s brief podcasts.

*Listen to the sounds of the Spanish guitar, a prominent subject in Picasso’s art, played by Andre Segovia in a live performance (circ. 1980) of Asturias (Leyenda), by Isaac Albeniz, on site at Alhambra, Seville, Spain

At the Newark  Museum, Now through August 14, 2011

Manuel Mendive, Osun para una Paloma (Osun for a Pigeon,1994

Political oppression and slavery can bend the body, but not the spirit of a people. The current exhibit at the Newark Museum, Ajiaco: Stirrings of the Cuban Soul, is evidence of creativity unbowed, where freedom of expression flourishes and is made manifest in a unique cultural melting pot, isolated by both ideology and geography.

Columbus first noted in his log the island he called, Juana, in 1492. The indigenous community of Cuban aborigines greeted these strangers to their shores, unknowingly putting into play a cycle of death, disease and exploitation that would alter the future of the island and its people for all time. Within a few generations, nearly 98% of the native communities had been eradicated. Ongoing Spanish colonization of the region and the need for captive labor meant the importation of African slaves to work the sugar plantations in the New World. With the abolition of slavery by the English in the 19th century, labor shortages were met by importing thousands of Chinese contract workers, who suffered under equally-harsh conditions. With the numbers of native Amerindians steadily declining to barely traceable levels within the island nation, Cuba was, by the early 20th century, a varied blend of acquired cultural practices, religious beliefs and genetic pools, described in 1939 by Afro-Cuban scholar, Fernando Ortiz, as, ajiaco: a rich stew with a large variety of ingredients, cooked until a thick broth is formed.

Wilfredo Lam, Femme Cheval (Mujer Caballo), 1943

According to Professor James Russell, who wrote the forward for the exhibition catalogue, this essence of a preserved memory is contained in “…a Spanish word, reinvindicación, for which there is no English equivalent, that expresses the idea of reclaiming what was lost because of domination and past injustice—in this case, the injustice that was done to the indigenous people. A constant theme in Cuban identity is thus the reinvindicación of its obliterated indigenous past. ”

The exhibition, Ajiaco: Stirrings of the Cuban Soul is a hearty broth made up of the rich colors and imagery of a tropical landscape, stirred with the poignant symbolism of Catholicism (brought to the island by the Spanish); seasoned with the mystical underpinnings of African tribal rituals arising from the slave trade and the ancient practices of Qi (or spiritual energy tied to nature) linked to the Buddhist and Taoist beliefs of Oriental émigrés. All of this is heated to a creative boiling point by the flames of the Cuban spirit, which, despite the passage of time, is rooted in the rites and beliefs of the Amerindian culture—alive and well, despite centuries of neglect.

Joel Jover, La Virgen del Crocodrilo (The Crocodile Virgin), 2000

Cuban art is nothing, if it is not international. Far from being viewed as ‘Outsider’ art, there is a keen understanding of the organizing principles of Western art throughout the period represented by the works in the show. Beginning with a group of 1943 drawings and a painting by Wilfredo Lam (1902-1982); he himself of mixed island heritage and a close friend of Picasso), his works reveal a unique blend of indigenous symbolism, mixed with universal themes of power, sexuality and identity. With these earliest examples in the exhibit, we are introduced to the concept of, Santería, a Cuban religion based on an amalgam of Spanish Catholicism and West African rites and beliefs. The vocabulary of Lam’s imagery goes beyond traditional monotheism to incorporate the relevance of African deities, Eastern mythological figures, Chinese brush painting and the Western influences of Cubism and Surrealism.

Here, according to show curator, Dr. Gail Gelburd, we are first introduced to the figure of, Eleguá, the African goddess whose role is to clear the clear the path of obstacles, just as Saint Anthony does for Catholics. “We placed works throughout the show containing the figure of Eleguá, so the visitors would be aided in their enjoyment of the experience,” she explains. “The rich symbolism found throughout the exhibition is always an expressive blend of art, politics and spirituality.” Once identified, this horned and whimsically wide-eyed figure could be spotted at every turn, indeed watching out for those in the room. In fact, no work in the show, which covers a period of seven decades, can be understood without referencing the richly-blended heritage of symbolism that occupies a prominent place at the heart of the Cuban artistic community.

The slave populatuon in Cuba was drawn from more than a hundred different tribal regions of West Africa over a two-hundred year period. They maintain their unique cultural identities through a network of social clubs or associations, known as calbidos, after being granted their freedom in 1866. But, they were required to take the name of a Catholic saint, register with a local church and transfer their property to the church. Undaunted, the calbidos quickly established a parallel hierarchy of their Orisha (deities and saints) to match the roles of the saints they were required to adopt. So, under this model of worship for the Yoruba tribe, for example, Jehovah becomes Olodumare; Saint Anthony becomes Eleguá; The Virgin of Charity of El Cobre, patron of Cuba, becomes Oshun; and so forth. These local deities, representing valued traits, attributes and values become prominent symbols in the art of the country.

Manuel Mendive, Se Alimenta mi Espirit (My Soul is Nourished), 2007

In a particularly poignant piece illustrating this confluence of symbols , artist, Joel Jover’s work, La Virgen del Cocodrilo, 2000, shows the figure of the virgin embracing a crocodile, understood by virtue of its shape to symbolize the island of Cuba. The creature bears an arrow in its side, much like the martyred, Saint Stephen, as the veiled woman weeps tears of blood for its fate.

Juan Boza, Coronacion de la Tierra (Crowning of the Earth), 1990

Manuel Mendive incorporates African saints into the rich symbolic tapestry of his luminescent painting. In a powerful, jewel-toned work, Se Alimena Mi Espiritu (My Soul is Nourished), 2007, Dr. Gelburd points out that, “It is a portrayal of Oshun, the Orisha of the river, of love and prosperity usually represented with yellow, orange, amber and white. Oshun is known for her healing powers through her cool waters, symbolized here by the surrounding blue-green color that can nourish the soul and restore wholeness. The goat nurtures the red child, for here Oshun is the goddess of maternity. The peacock feathers to the left reveal embracing figures, a symbol of her role in matters of love.” As for Mendive, whose painting appears to be informed by Western forms of Surrealism, he says, “My African heritage is the medium that has allowed me to express my life experiences. It is the theme I have always used. It is the basis for my expression.”

Carlos Estevez, La Carrera de la Vida (The Racetrack of Life), 2002

Cuba was plunged into what is known as the ‘Dark Period’ in the 1970’s. Economic dependence on the Soviets had reached its apogee and the ‘oil-for-sugar’ trade relationship placed the Cuban artisitic community squarely in the hands of the Communist censorship apparatus. Artists like Juan Boza (1941-1991) had been raised in the Santería tradition and he saw his work as deeply spiritual. An award-winning artist, he was soon denied the opportunity to teach in Cuba and exhibit internationally and was labeled, as many were by the traditional, Soviet-controlled Education and Culture Congress, as too radical. Considered outcasts, and with availability of essentials in limited supply, artists like Boza relied on found objects, like cardboard, sheet metal and organics, such as dirt and gourds, to continue creating their art. As part of the infamous Mariel boatlift of 1980, Boza immigrated to New York, where he continued to work in the traditional style. His installation piece, Coronación de la Tierra (Crowning of the Earth), 1990, stands as a vibrant offering to the gods of the natural world. This crowning statement in the exhibit affirms the artist’s ingenuity and inscrutable persistence in the power of belief to redeem the faithful. Boza died alone and displaced ten years later, his works kept in storage by a handful of friends, until recently. Ironically, the small figure of Elaguá sits at the base of the assemblage, clearing the way for both the artist and the viewer to, once again, appreciate the redemptive effects of myth in our everyday lives.

According to Dr. Gelburd, “The waning of Soviet influence after the fall of USSR in 1991 resulted in a second period of hardship for the Cuban people, known as, ‘The Special Period’. Without the crux of Russian economic support, everyday life was thrown into disarray. But throughout Castro’s long regime, he had resisted pressure from Moscow to censor creativity and was always very supportive of the arts. Soviet oppression, notwithstanding, Cuba offers some of the finest art training facilities in the world. Many of the artists, whose work is on display in this exhibit, came from this period.”

Flora Fong, Syncretism (Syncretismo), 2008

Carlos Estevez is an example of this new generation of Cuban artists. Merging spirituality with more intellectual influences, Estavez explores the reality within. In a seminal piece, Lugares Desconocidos (Hidden Places), 1997, he plots chakras, or key points of energy in Buddhist teaching, on a strangely disembodied figure. Anatomical objectification merges with spiritual energy to create a neu mann, a figure symbolizing both past and future, but connected to neither. In another work, La Carrera de la Vida (The Race Track of Life), 2002, an ovoid torso represents the frenzied pathway of our hectic lives, while the figure itself sits in quiet meditation, as if searching for the ‘true path’ in a modern world.

Juan Francisco Elso, Pajaro que Vuela sobre America (Bird that Flies over America), 1985

Flora Fong was born of a Chinese father and a Cuban mother. Her work, Syncretism (Syncretismo), 2008, reflects the blending of cultural influences that typify the Cuban artistic genre. Her fluid brush strokes have a temporal quality, like those of a Chinese brush painter. The Chinese symbol for, forest, appears before a landscape of palm trees, some caught by a tropical breeze. In another minimalist gesture, the azure Caribbean Sea licks at the bottom of the painting. For multi-cultural artist, Juan Francisco Elso (1956-1988), his many influences included the beliefs of the ancient Amerindian cultures of Central and South America. His perfectly preserved, Pájaro que Vuela Sobre América (Bird that Flies Over America), 1985, is a da Vinci-esque interpretation of a flying machine (complete with arm and leg bands). A fragile construct of sticks, straw mud and honey, the piece is pinned high on the wall like a mammoth butterfly, yet still conveys all the spiritual energy that this ‘messenger of the gods’ and mediator between the human world and the cosmos should symbolize.

Leandro Soto is a Cuban-American who now lives in Arizona. He blends African, Asian, Cuban and Native American influences into his performance pieces. Dr Gelburd points out that, “Soto’s installation piece in the exhibit, KachIreme [including drawings, costuming and a video] is a title that represents the blending of two words and two disparate cultures: the Kachina dress of the Congolese, Abakuá, in the role of Ireme, or shaman, who represents the spirit of another world and attends various ceremonies as mute guide and protector against evil spirits.” Remarkably, these rites share many cross-cultural roots. As the viewer watches Soto interpret such an event, there is a comfortable synchronicity in the ajiaco, or cultural stew, being brewed up in the hills of Arizona (resembling a North African landscape); the African tribal dress, which also informs certain Cuban Santería rituals; the comingling of Amerindian rhythmic drum beats and chants with those of Africa and the artist’s completion of a richly-symbolic, on-site painting, using a long-handled brush, held in the traditional style of Chinese landscape painters. At that moment, Soto symbolizes what is truly universal in the world of art today.

Dr. Gelburd explains that, “symbolism is the universal language of art and, in the case of the Cuban artist community, those symbolic reference may seem strange or different to Western eyes. The cultural melting pot that is Cuba today goes beyond monotheism to find the origins of their soul, or Geist, in the inner spirit of their work.” This effort has spanned many decades and had gone largely unnoticed, until the postmodern world began to acknowledge that the art of the, ‘Other’, or non-Eurocentric art, could be important to those investigating highly accomplished–but little-known artistic communities like Cuba–whose subject matter is charged with multi-cultural symbolism and primordial influences. She also points out that, “As political and cultural doors are being opened between Cuba and the world, we will discover that the syncretic mix of cultures is not only exemplary of Latin America, but can be seen as a paradigm of today’s postmodern world.”

By Richard Friswell, Managing Editor

The exhibition catalogue, by curator, Gail Gelburd, can be purchased through the Newark Museum at: http://www.newarkmuseum.org

Obtain a copy of an informative article by Gail Gelburd entitled, Cuba and the Art of Trading with the Enemy, in the Spring, 2009 issue of, The Art Journal, by writing to, College Art Association, 275 7th Avenue, 18th Floor, New York, NY 10001. 212.691.1051 ext. 204. Cost is $20, plus handling. ahaendel@collegeart.org

For a fascinating article on the history-altering secret negotiations between JFK and Fidel Castro that were cut short by assassination, read: http://www.cigaraficionado.com/Cigar/CA_Archives/CA_Show_Article/0,2322,320,00.html

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Fig. 1 (left) Nicolaus Gerhaert, Mary Magdalene, Previous Primary Titles: Virgin Annunciate; Kneeling Saint (c. 1460), Lindenwood, polychromed, Strasbourg, France, H.35“ x W.13“ x D.11“ (MIA acc. # 14.8). The William Hood Dunwoody Fund. Collection Minneapolis Institute of Arts. fine arts magazine

Claus Sluter, Prophets of the Well of Moses, Cloister of Champmol, Dijon, FR

The master must have been one of the most appreciated artists of his age. This is suggested by the extremely high-ranking patrons who commissioned works from him, such as his first surviving work, the funerary monument of Jacob von Sierck, Archbishop of Trier, signed and dated 1462. In the same year he finished the altarpiece in the parish church of Sankt Georg in Nördlingen (Swabia), commissioned by the very wealthy merchant Jakob Fuchshart and his stepsons. This retable, showing the Crucifixion at the centre, was created in collaboration with the painter Friedrich Herlin, who settled in Nördlingen and painted the wings of this altarpiece. The first document mentioning the artist dates to 1463; it testifies that Nicolaus Gerhaert had settled in Strasbourg. Already by then his reputation must have spread far and wide, for in the same year the Holy Roman Emperor Friedrich III of Habsburg petitioned the city council of Strasbourg for Nicolaus Gerhaert to be sent to Austria to enter his service.

pluerants (mourning figures), by Claus Sluter, from the tomb of Philip the Bold of Burgundy, also in Champmol

Nicolaus Gerhaert, however, did not leave Strasbourg at this time. He received full citizenship there in 1464. He finished the famous high altarpiece for the Cathedral of Constance in 1466, but this fell a victim to iconoclasm during the wars of religion (1527). In the same year, he sculpted the figures of Jesus Christ blessing and the Virgin raising her hands in the gesture of intercession; both sculptures flank the window above the altar of the private chapel of the Hardenrath family in Sankt Maria im Kapitol in Cologne. The Hardenraths were one of the wealthiest families in town. In 1467 Nicolaus Gerhaert received a second call from the Emperor Friedrich III to “sculpt divers tomb monuments”. So he finally turned his back on Strasbourg, and henceforth worked in Vienna and in Wiener Neustadt. His most famous work there, which he left uncompleted on his death, was the funerary monument for Friedrich III in St Stephen´s Cathedral in Vienna. Nicolaus Gerhaert died in Wiener Neustadt in 1473.

Figure 2, see footnote below

The figure of the Madonna presented in this contribution, and to be identified as a work of Nicolaus Gerhaert, shows the kneeling Virgin, raising her hands in intercession (fig.1, above). It was purchased in the summer of 1914 from the art dealers Marx Frères in Paris from the income of the Dunwoody fund. When it entered the collection of the Minneapolis Art Institute it was believed to be the fragment of a scene of Entombment together with the figure of a kneeling St Mary Magdalen from the former Noll collection in Frankfurt, sold at Prestel (Frankfurt) in 1912 and acquired by the Kaiser Friedrich Museum in Berlin (fig.2). Georg Swarzenski, in the sale catalogue of the Noll collection noted a similarity in style between the figure formerly in the Noll collection and the figures of an altarpiece in Blaubeuren, finished by Michel Erhart from Ulm in 1494. Based on Swarzenski´s opinion and the similarities between the former Noll Magdalen and the Minneapolis Virgin, the latter was attributed to an unknown Swabian master and dated around 1500. But even if the former Noll figure is similar in height (90 cm) and in the kneeling pose, the treatment of the drapery folds and the modelling of the face show a clear stylistic disparity, suggesting that nearly 30 years must have separated the two sculptures. There is even a third figure, again of Mary Magdalen, which shows the same scheme as the former Noll figure; it can be dated to around 1520 and attributed to the master of the altarpiece of Reutti near Ulm; this sculpture entered the collection of the Württembergisches Landesmuseum in Stuttgart sometimes before 1921.

From the affinities between these sculptures it can be deduced that the Kneeling Madonna in the Minneapolis Institute of Arts must have served as a model for the two figures of the Magdalen: the one formerly in the Noll collection, and the other in the Württembergisches Landesmuseum in Stuttgart.

To recur to the works of Nicolaus Gerhaert, there is one which in gesture and type of female beauty seems to be a twin of the Minneapolis Virgin (fig.1): namely, the statue of the Virgin created for the above-mentioned chapel of the Hardenrath family in Cologne (fig.3). Both figures show the same facial features, full cheeks, high forehead, delicate elongated nose and slightly playful mouth. Also similar in both statues is the luxuriantly flowing hair that falls in magnificent tresses over shoulders and back. Virtually identical is the gesture of the raised hands. In this respect the gesture of the Hardenrath Virgin explains the gesture and former context of the Minneapolis figure, because the statue of Mary in Cologne is raising her hands in a gesture of intercession. The Hardenrath Chapel was consecrated in 1466. This provides us with an approximate date for the figure in Minneapolis.

Figure 3, see footnote below

This type of female beauty and grace appears among the works of Nicolaus Gerhaert for the first time, however, in the figure of the mourning Virgin that forms part of the Nördlingen Altarpiece completed in 1462 (fig.4). Here we find again the same dainty chin, delicate, slightly elongated nose, high forehead and full cheeks. The draping of the veil over the head is also similar. But above all we find the diagonal fold that gives momentum to the whole figure and underlines its dramatic charge. The crumpling and looping of the drapery folds also correspond.

To sum up: The Virgin in the Minneapolis Institute of Arts is likely to date between 1462 and 1466. This dating can be inferred from its stylistic closeness to the Nördlinger Altarpiece of 1462 and to the figure in the Hardenrath Chapel of 1466. So the sculpture can be regarded as the third work of Nicolaus Gerhaert to be found in an American collection. A small-format group of the Madonna and Child is in the Metropolitan Museum in New York, while a reliquary bust of St. Margaret is in the Art Institute in Chicago (fig. 4, below).

By Johannes Tripps, Ph.D., Contributing Writer

Johannes Tripps is professor of the history of the applied arts at the University of Applied Sciences in Leipzig. He earned his Ph.D. at the University of Heidelberg, and was selected as Heisenberg Fellow of the German Research Foundation DFG. Later he was appointed conservator and vice-director of the Historisches Museum in Bern in Switzerland. Before he assumed his current position in Leipzig, he was a professor of art history at the Universita degli Studi in Florence.

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Bibliographic Notes

For Nicolaus Gerhaert, in general , see Eva Zimmermann, Gerhaert, Nicolaus, in: The Dictionary of Art, vol. 12, Gairard to Goodhue, ed. by Jane Turner, London-New York 1996, pp. 341-345.

Figure 4, see footnote below

For the attribution of the Nördlingen Altarpiece to Nicolaus Gerhaert see Elmar Dionys Schmid, Der Nördlinger Hochaltar und sein Bildhauerwerk: Rekonstruktion, Stil, Frage des Meisters (Niklaus Gerhaert von Leiden), Datierung, Ausstrahlung im Nördlinger Raum, München 1971. Christof Metzger, Neues vom Nördlinger Hochaltar, in: Zeitschrift des Deutschen Vereins für Kunstwissenschaft, 54/55, 2000/2001 (2003), pp. 104-126. Rainer Kahsnitz, Die großen Schnitzaltäre. Spätgotik und Süddeutschland, Österreich, Südtirol, München 2005, pp. 40-46, esp. pp. 43-45, with further bibliography.

For a reconstruction of the altarpiece in Constance see Johannes Tripps, Hans Syfer und Niklaus Gerhaert van Leyden: Ein neuer Rekonstruktionsvorschlag zum Konstanzer Retabel, in: Zeitschrift für Württembergische Landesgeschichte, LI, 1992, pp. 117-129.

For the erection of the Hardenrath Chapel and the dating of the figures of Nicolaus Gerhaert there see Susanne Ruf, Stift und Welt – St. Maria im Kapitol zu Köln und die Stiftungen der Familie Hardenrath, in: Frauen – Kloster – Kunst, Neue Forschungen zur Kulturgeschichte des Mittelalters. Beiträge zum Internationalen Kolloquium vom 13. bis 16. Mai 2005 anlässlich der Ausstellung “Krone und Schleier”, hrsg. Jeffrey F. Hamburger, Carola Jäggi, Susan Marti und Hedwig Röckelein in Kooperation mit dem Ruhrlandmuseum Essen, Turnhout 2007, pp. 237-246. Roland Recht, Nicolas de Leyde et la sculpture à Strasbourg – 1460-1525, Strasbourg 1987, pp. 148-149, figs. 37-38.

Minneapolis Institute of Arts, Minnesota

For information on the Virgin in the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, I am indebted to the museum files. See also J. B., A masterpiece of German Sculpture, in: Bulletin of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, Volume III, December 1914, Number 12, pp. 144-146.

For the kneeling Magdalen in the Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum in Berlin see Georg Swarzenski, catalogue entry “kniende Magdalena”, in: Sammlung Johannes Noll. Gotische Bildwerke in Holz und Stein. Gemälde und Zeichnungen alter Meister. Versteigerung in Frankfurt am Main durch F.A.C. Prestel, Frankfurt 1912, p. 20, lot 28, plate 20. I am indebted to Ingeborg Bähr for this bibliographical information.

The figure of the Württembergisches Landesmuseum in Stuttgart has been published by Peter Goessler, Ausstellung von Neuerwerbungen im Residenzschloss Stuttgart 1921 : Museum vaterländischer Altertümer, Stuttgart 1921, p. 7, no. 15, height 75 cm, with an attribution to the master of the altarpiece of Reutti, near Ulm. I am indebted to Markus Walz, Leipzig, for providing me with this information on the statue.

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Fig. 1 Nicolaus Gerhaert, Mary Magdalene, Previous Primary Titles: Virgin Annunciate; Kneeling Saint (c. 1460), Lindenwood, polychromed, Strasbourg, France, H.35“ x W.13“ x D.11“ (MIA acc. # 14.8). The William Hood Dunwoody Fund. Collection Minneapolis Institute of Arts

Fig. 2 Kneeling Mary Magdalen  (c.1500). Formerly Frankfurt, Johannes Noll collection. Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum, Berlin.

Fig. 3 Nicolaus Gerhaert, Virgin, hands raised in intercession (1466). Cologne, Sankt Maria im Kapitol, Hardenrath Chapel.

Fig. 4 Nicolaus Gerhaert von Leyden, Reliquary Bust of Saint Margaret of Antioch (1465/70), Walnut, with traces of polychromy, 20” x 18” x 11 5/8”. Kate S. Buckingham Endowment, 1943.1001. Collection Art Institute of Chicago