Van Gogh and the Avant Garde : The Modern Landscape

 

Van Gogh, Bank of the Seine With Boats, 1887

As often as I’ve read about Van Gogh’s meteoric rise to greatness, the suddenness still amazes me. He first saw Japanese prints and Impressionism during his two year stint in Paris (1886-87) — and that seems to have released powers he’d never shown before.  He spent the next two years in southern France — making the exuberant  pieces for which he is best known. And then he was dead at the age of 37.

This exhibit is limited to the suburban landscapes that he did while in Paris.  No portraits or florals or still life’s  have been brought to Chicago.  Nor are there any cityscapes from Montmartre.  The focus is exclusively on  views of the area around Asnieres because that’s where Van Gogh was joined by younger artists like Seurat, Signac, Bernard and Angrand.  This show is not so much about Van Gogh as it is about that group of young, innovative cityscape painters of the late 1880’s. 

And yet - we don’t get to see the best examples of their work. (Unless you walk to the other end of the museum to see Le Grande Jette (1884-1886). Signac is the only painter not named Van Gogh whose paintings in this exhibit stand out.  He was ten years younger, but he was a fast learner.  His pieces have that fresh excitement of being alive - and not knowing what’s going to happen next.

Paul Signac, Road to Gennevilliers, 1883

Paul Signac, Quai de Saint-Queen, 1885

How did Van Gogh incorporate short brushstrokes and strong color so quickly into such exciting and luminous views of the world? There’s no answering such a question - only wondering at it.  This exhibition converges a geographic area with a moment in the history of French landscape paining - much as exhibitions of the Barbizon school from an earlier generation might do. But what’s really special about Van Gogh’s paintings transcends all that.  Personal destiny is something of a mystery.

Van Gogh, Restaurant de Sirene, Asnieres, 1887

Van Gogh, Restaurant Rispal at Asnieres, 1887

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This is one of the few times I disagree with Dmitry Samarov.  He takes the museum to task for putting up yet another Van Gogh blockbuster to pull in the crowds and rake in profits.  But I appreciate the emphasis on this brief but important moment in Van Gogh’s development - as well as this snapshot of young cityscape painters of the Paris suburbs c. 1885.  Most of the pieces in the show do not grab me - but that is the case with just about every show I visit.  I also prefer Van Gogh's bourgeois restaurants to his gritty industrial park - and feel that  Dmitry's own cityscapes share the energy and attitude of  the  youthful Signac.

Museums should not be scolded for appealing to a wide audience with superstars while also showing the less famous.  But wouldn’t it have been refreshing if the show included, for the sake of comparison, a few pieces by local contemporary Plein air urban landscapists ( like Dimitry, for example ).

Here is his review in the Chicago Reader

Lygia Pape : Tecelares at Art Institute of Chicago

 

Tecelar, 1953

In a career that spanned the second half of the twentieth century, Lygia Pape (1927-2004) followed the trends of the contemporary artworld -  mostly working as a conceptual artist in video and installation.

 

But geo-abstraction was still trending in 1950, so she started out as a founding member of Grupo Frente - a Brazilian offshoot of what European artists called "Concretism".  Like scientists, they investigated geometric shapes to pursue universal, timeless truths — rather than express themselves with the gestures of abstract expressionism - or evoke the social relevance of figurative art.

Most of the pieces in this show are woodblock prints. As the artist explained it - that technique was employed not to make multiples, but rather to use the interaction of wood grain, ink, and fine paper to experiment with the organization of space.  The overall title given to these pieces, Tecelares (weavings) connects them to the folk art traditions of patterned fabric.

It’s not surprising that both the Art Institute of Chicago and New York’s MOMA have primarily been interested in showing this early work.  Pape was a talented graphic designer.  But early on, you can also sense the direction she was going .  The piece from 1953 has so much tension and dynamics - while the piece from 1960 is approaching Minimalism.   Only the grain of the wood sets it apart from the “Black Square" of Kasimir Malevich.  Eventually, the authority of the artist’s philosophy will entirely replace the authority of the viewer’s eyes in the international artworld - as well Pape’s later installations.

 

Tecelar, 1960

 Tteia I, B.  (2002-2023)

Lui Shou Kwan - at the Art Institute of Chicago

 

Zen Painting, 1969

This is the third major exhibition of  contemporary/traditional Chinese ink painting curated by Tao Wang, the recently promoted Chair of Asian Art at the Art Institute of Chicago. Flowing across four separate galleries, they transform the Art Institute into a leading proponent of this unusual genre.  The earlier two exhibits,  Tai Xiangzhou and Xu Longsen, featured artists active today, while Lui Shou Kwan (1919-1975) belongs to the era that marked the triumph of Abstract Expressionism in America and around the world.

Lou’s brush painting seems to fall into three distinct categories: landscape , atmospheric dynamics, and the "Zen Painting" shown above.  Like a koan, his Zen pieces seem to present a puzzlement:  what is the hell is that red dot supposed to mean ?  Presumably, the answer is unknowable - and I just find these pieces to be as annoying as a dumb joke. 

The landscapes often reflect the unpleasant urban congestion of Hong Kong - more vibrant than peaceful.  They feel like cheap souvenirs.

But the pieces with atmospheric dynamics are often quite spectacular.   There’s a sense of limitless power and scale - as if the entire universe was the subject matter.  Reflections off the glass frames are regrettable, so you might just as well hunt for online reproductions - Christies is a good place to look

Dimitri Hadzi - at Rosenthal Gallery

Centaur and Lapith, 1954, 16 "

The post-war era was one of the great turning points in American art history. The art world shunned the politicized figurative idealism of the Nazi, Soviet , and WPA regimes. Art could now be defiant, indulgent, angry, whimsical, or eventually ironic or puzzling. But it could no longer be heroic - unless utterly self centered - and it appears that is exactly where Dimitri Hadzi (1921-2006) still wanted to go. In the 1950’s, he drew from the severity and timeless power of archaic Greek culture while living in Rome, just as his noted American predecessor Paul Manship, had done forty years earlier. The small bronzes made in that period are the highlight of this show Working traditional classical themes, they erupt with excitement as they organize space - especially the earliest,  “Centaur and Lapith” (1952).

 Moving back and forth to the United States, however, he got major commissions in a more abstract, expressive style, like that of Seymour Lipton, and eventually became a professor of sculpture at Harvard. A human figure may be suggested, but only in a disjointed way - as if inhabiting a dream instead of walking on the earth. Many of these pieces are most notable for ideas.  Some feel like scaled down versions of large commissions….. more like mementos than pieces with a powerful life of their own. 

Some pieces feel like they belong in a meditative Japanese garden (Pillars of Hercules, Aeolus, River Legend).  Others seems to express the angst and anxiety of modern life (Elmo, Scudi ). And then there's the  most recent piece, "Apollonian Libation" (2001) which seems to defy interpretation despite its mythological title.  It does seem to resemble  a nautical signal mast. Presumably he was keeping up with the semiotic trends in the university art world.

This was not the kind of thorough retrospective an art museum might do — just a collection of stuff that the gallery could presumably obtain at good prices.  It does, however, suggest the course of a career that seems to be following trends rather than trying to establish one.

 

Pillars of Hercules, 1971-2

Aeolus II, 1972, 23"

Scudi,  1958, 28 "

Elmo (helmet), 1959, 14"

Elmo II, 1959, 30"

Apollonian Libation, 2001, 47"

Mycenae, 1978,   18.5"

Cumean Oracle, 1998, 48’

River Legend III, 1976, 40 "

Syphnean Landscape, 1989,  68"