Hanging an Art Show

At least it was not pouring with rain today, but nonetheless, it is one thing to deliver art to a museum or gallery and leave. It is quite another thing to have to hang the art yourself for an exhibition! And today was a case of the latter.

Actually, I was very fortunate, as this was for the exhibition, Point and Counterpoint, at Savannah Hospice Art Gallery, with monoprints by Daniel E. Smith and my silverpoints as a total counterpoint. So Dan and I spent nearly three hours sorting, hanging, adjusting and measuring to get the show looking respectable.

Coastal Meditation, monoprint, Daniel E. Smith artist (image courtesy of the artist)

Still Morning, monoprint, Daniel E. Smith artist (image courtesy of the artist)

As counterpoint to Dan's work, these are two of my silverpoint drawings -  Come into my Garden! and High Point Dance.

Come into my Garden!, metalpoint and white gouache highlights, Jeannine Cook artist, Private collection

High Point Dance, metalpoint, Jeannine Cook artist

Mounting an exhibition is an every-challenging and interesting process. There is first the selection process - what art to exhibit? When there is a curator, obviously that person makes the decisions and "composes" the balance of art for his or her objectives. Themes, juxtapositions, contexts, styles and many other conscious or subconscious considerations operate in those choices to create the show. When it is the artist's choice on what to exhibit, it again is a series of choices that need to be made: firstly the title will be the overall guide. Then the coherence of the general body of work, with balance and variety, but nonetheless unity in the overall look.

When it is a two-artist exhibit, ideally the two artists need to have some feel for each other's work, so that there can be an interesting dialogue between the works. Playing off each other's styles, media, content, optic can lead to interesting effects that can enliven, albeit often subliminally, the resultant exhibition. When it is a group show, with many artists' works, things can get a little scattershot, but then there is an energy in a huge diversity of approaches.

Today, Dan and I decided to intersperse our work, rather than segregate our work into two sections. So colour and silverpoints are mingled, each contrasting well one with the other. Within that, there is a quiet pairing of similar (but not obvious) subject matter. Since Dan 's wonderful monoprints are in essence abstract, it is only through his "springboard inspiration" that the links can be made with my realistic silverpoint subject matter. Beyond that choice, there is then the rhythm along the wall to consider, especially when the display wall is a long one. We broke up the wall into all different shapes and sizes of work, trying to weave together a lively but diverse conversation of art.

The last and least fun part of the whole endeavour is ensuring that the art all hangs at levels that are coherent, given all the different sizes of frames, and that each piece hangs straight. Not always an easy achievement! The final step back to assess the whole exhibition is always a good moment. By that time, weariness has set in, as it is quite a physical workout too! The last touch: labels on the wall besides each work of art, and then the job is done. It was time for a rest! Now the show is launched and - one hopes - the dialogues begin between viewers and the works of art.

The exhibition will run from today until the end of June. The opening reception, to which all are invited, is on Thursday, 12th May, from 5.30 - 7.30 p.m. Come and assess the results of today's Point and Counterpoint.

Changing Vocabularies in Art

Recently, a dear friend and truly wonderful artist, Susan Schwalb, galvanised me into doing something that I had been thinking about since my mother's death: drawing in silver on a black background, versus a white ground.

I had been feeling that perhaps a series of drawings in black might help deal with my mother's absence. So when I was in Spain, I prepared some small pieces of paper and launched myself into a new version of silverpoint. It soon became a fascinating exercise, for in essence, you suddenly change your visual thinking and vocabularly completely. You need not only to reverse everything, but detail of course disappears on the black ground unless you are very careful. So you need to select subject matter very carefully. I am still very much feeling my way, but it is a reinvigorating challenge!

I decided to do a series entitled Apoyos which is "supports" in Spanish. My mother loved trees; they were her literal and metaphorical supports on many occasions.

Apoyos I - coffee tree bark - silverpoint, Jeanine Cook artist

Apoyos II - Eucalyptus tree bark - silverpoint, Jeannine Cook artist

So I drew the bark of different trees she cherished, from a wild coffee tree grown from a seed from our farm in Africa , to a graceful elm, to a Mediterranean pine she loved and laughed about. I had transplanted it as a seedling, in preparation for a bonsai pine. It is now nearly forty foot high!

Apoyos IV - Pine tree bark - silverpoint. Jeannine Cook artist

Each of these drawings is tiny, only 5 x 3.5 inches, but they helped me center myself and remind myself that there are so many different ways to express oneself in art.

Intersecting Clothes and Art

I recently saw a wonderful production of Sleeping Beauty by the Moscow Ballet in Palma de Mallorca. It was a delight to see, for the quality of dancing was extremely high. One of the most interesting aspects, however, was the brilliant colours of the otherwise traditional costumes. I don't recall ever seeing such "technicolour" dresses and tutus, ranging from the most vivid wisteria mauves to turquoises, blues and citrons. It made for a vivid and arresting mixture with the dancers' skills, the pure lines of arabesques and the sense of movement in space.

I could not help but think that today's omnipresent brilliance of colour in television, on the web and everywhere else has an influence on such choice of colours for the costumes. We have all become accustomed to colours that are accentuated, often far beyond Nature's version of these colours. I find it interesting to see the same influence in art; with the ever-extending palette of colours in oils, acrylics, watercolours, a dazzling intensity of colour is easy to achieve. And, conversely, art produced in a "lower register" often appears dull and less noteworthy to the average viewer. For the most part, we do not seem to live in an age of subtlety.

While I was thinking about this role of colour in our current world, I fell on a fascinating article in CAM, the Cambridge Alumni Magazine for Lent 2011, entitled "A Sense of Proportion", a fellow at St. John's College, has published a book on "Dressing Up: Cultural Identity in Renaissance Europe" (Oxford University Press). In it, she states that "Clothes to me are no different from art in our contemporary sense of a human assembly of form. Clothes are rich in categories of visual interest and tell us so much about the peculiar sensibilities of an age. Their study can bring a fresh focus to the Renaissance and our own time."

Dr. Rublack talks of how the Renaissance was a time when not only was there an amazing influx to Europe of rich fabrics and furnishing as trade routes opened more and more to the Far East, but also an era when artists were increasingly depicting humans in paintings, sculpture, medals. Mirrors were also more and more available. How a person looked to the outside world became of great concern and interest. The author cites as a wonderful source of insights on this evolving sense of self, an album of watercolour paintings of MatthäusSchwarz, chief accountant for the Augsburg powerhouse Fugger family of merchants and bankers. The image at right was painted in 1517, showing him with Jakob Fugger. He lived from 1496 until 1564, so he was able to savour of all the energies and fashions in art and self-images that the Renaissance brought to Europe.

Office of Jacob Fugger; with his main-accountancy Matthaus Schwarz,  from biography of M. Schwarz; Herzog-Anton-Ulrich-Museum Braunschweig

Portrait of Matthäus Schwarz by Hans Maler zu Schwaz, 1526, Musée du Louvre

In July 1526, at aged 29, Schwarz commissioned the first portrait of himself, nude and slim. He went on to commission 135 more paintings of himself, dressed in many a garb as befitting the overt or subliminal messages he wished to covey to those who saw him or his painted image. They depict himself through his long life.

Matthaus, aged 19, A typical page from the Trachtenbuch.

The images are wonderfully varied and let one savour of everything from his fencing outfit, with differing hose, to his sweeping hats and expensive fur collars.

Schwarz, Matthäus, Trachtenbuch des Matthaus Schwarz aus Augsburg,

In others, Schwarz carried green heart-shaped leather bags when he went out to court a lady - green being the colour of hope.

Matthaus Schwarz from behind

At aged 41, his courting days were suspended, as he records on this image of himself from the rear. He wrote "20 February 1538, when I took a wife, this coat was made". No mention of his amazing scarlet hosen!

Matthäus Schwarz' Book of Clothes or Klaidungsbüchlein is now held in the museum in Brunswick, Germany. A version of it has been published in French as "UnBanquiermis à nu".

My musings on the brilliant costumes in Sleeping Beauty are just a reminder that colour has long played a key role in our perceptions of the human body, its sartorial role in different cultures and its use for different messages. Art has been an integral part of that conversation.

Moments of Drought for Artists

Every artist, no matter what the discipline or form of art, has times when artistic "drought" prevails. Pressures of daily life, illness, travel – there are many reasons which dictate that it is very hard to get down to creating work.

I was thinking about this situation recently, because I seem to be more wedded to driving and logistics than creating work at present. Yet there is a quiet little voice at the back of my head that says that when life slows down a little, the drought period will allow floating ideas to rise to the surface again.

I remember how Francisco Goya produced an amazing body of work during a long illness in Cadiz, around 1792-94. He was freed from the pressure of commissioned work, and perhaps too, his deafness during his illness made him a much keener observer of people for the portraits he executed. At any rate, as he recuperated, he experimented in his paintings, drawings and even the aquatint etchings which would become known, when published in 1799, as the Caprichos. His self-portrait, on the right, done in 1790-95, shows a self-scrutiny that is solemn and lonely.

Autorretrato ante el caballete, 1790-95, Francisco Goya, (Image courtesy of the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid)

Other works from this period of crucial artistic development are very sobering, for Goya developed a much more critical and introspective eye, producing profoundly penetrating psychological and social commentaries on his world. The image below is no. 79 of the Caprichos, entitled Nadie nos ha visto (No one has seen us).

Caprichos, no. 79, Nadie nos ha visto (No one has seen us). 1799, Francisco Goya (Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum,New York)

Frida Kahlo is another artist who famously suffered periods of illness and difficulty, but she learned to use these times as springboards for her work. So as one goes along in life, trying to get through periods when art seems from another world, how does one keep in touch with that small inner voice?

Frida Kahlo, photographed by Guillermo Kahlo

I find, personally, that in order to keep at bay the gnawing feeling of emptiness that I experience when I cannot get to drawing, let alone painting, I need to keep thinking about art projects.

Whenever I have a moment of quiet, I try to summon an idea that I might have had, and I try to explore it in my mind's eye. The imagination is a far more adaptable "computer" screen than a real screen. No need for any image programme as you mentally try out a composition, move it around, add elements, change colours, explore ways to do something. Then I will leave the image alone, and move on with life. But later, I will come back to the image and try further to refine the whole concept and composition. Eventually, my "drought" period will end, and then I know that I have something that at least can start me back into the process of being an artist creating something. It is a form of bridge, but very helpful, I find.

Interestingly when this situation has happened in the past, and yes, it can happen quite often – that's life! – I later can look at the work I created, and know exactly what was happening in my life at that time. The work is a form of self-portrait, a moment in time, and it brings back vividly the emotions and thoughts of that period. In essence, these works of art that allow one back into the normal rhythm of being an artist can be the eloquent equivalent of entries in a private journal or memoir.

Meeting Artists

The delightful bonus of judging an art festival is that you meet a variety of talented artists, working in any number of different media. I certainly found that to be the case yesterday when I judged the Art in the Park for McIntosh Art Association, Darien, Georgia.

My score sheets for judging that I had prepared served me well. There were indeed a variety of media and I found that having to answer criteria questions made it much easier to assess work. It was so interesting to talk to each artist that I was quickly losing track of time, to the slight dismay of those who were in charge of the award side of things! Nonetheless, it was important to learn from each artist about their work - they had spent a great deal of time creating work, bringing it to Darien and setting it up in display. The least I could do was to spend time understanding and looking.

There were some wonderful two and three dimensional pieces, but some stood out - as is always the case. Once I had officially acquitted myself as judge, and the awards and ribbons were distributed, I could then take off my badge and become an artist like all the others - a relief! One of the booths to which I then headed was that of an elegant set-up by a South Carolina-based artist, Kim Keats, whose work is entitled "Interlacements". She uses driftwood, wood and other natural found objects and weaves or binds them together to form the most wonderful pieces, often with a very Japanese feel to them. Small treasures and larger ones - elegant, imaginative and restrained. A delight to see.

There were several artists whose passion for nature and environmental concerns informed their work wonderfully. Lydia Thompson is a consummate expert on birds and uses that knowledge to depict birds in delicate prints that are elegant and most appealing. She is even using "green" ink in her printing processes. Another artist who is highlighting the environment's fragility is Nancy Adams, with a very different voice. She is using gourds as fine art - cutting them into the shapes of different species, painting them and then reassembling the pieces into sculptures of complexity and beauty. Hers is a voice that is memorable by its difference and passion.

As Vernon Square began to fill with people strolling and enjoying the art and music, the sun finally emerged from the clouds, and the day became a celebration of talents. It was a lovely way to mark the Blessing of the Fleet for Darien.

Judging an Art Festival

It has been a rather crazy week, first delivering silverpoint drawings to a forthcoming show, "Lasting Impressions", in Jacksonville, FL, at the Women's Center on Colcord Avenue. Then I hung a solo show, "At the Edge of the Marsh", at the McIntosh County Art Association gallery at the Old Jail in Darien, GA, on Friday. Rain storms on both days made art delivery interesting.

Now the sun has reappeared in time for the big weekend in Darien- the Blessing of the Fleet, to celebrate the shrimping tradition and start of the new season.

Blessing of the Fleet, Darien, Georgia, along the Darien River

As part of the activities, in Vernon Square, one of the gracious oak-shaded squares laid out in 1736 by Georgia's founder, General James Oglethorpe, there is an art festival, Art in the Park, and I was asked to judge the festival this year.

Vernon Square, Darien, Georgia

This started me reflecting on all the aspects of judging. As an artist, I have frequently been on the other side of the equation, with my entries to juried art exhibitions and the occasional festival being considered by one or more jurors or judges. Very soon, as one goes along in life, every artist learns that, given a level of competency and proficiency, the outcome of such judging is very much a matter of luck. Considerations of an overall exhibit's theme, space requirements and other aspects play a role in the final outcome, and being passed over is not necessarily any reflection on the quality of one's own work.

Nonetheless, I always wish more judges would give more specific feedback on work submitted. I suppose, realistically, that now there is such a large number of submissions to most art competitions that feed back would be too onerous. Such information would, however, help one grow and improve as an artist.

For artists who teach, there is another aspect to judging art competitions and festivals. Katie Lee, a wonderful botanical artist, teacher and judge (as well as being Kenya-born as I was!), writes eloquently about her desire for her students to succeed and be recognised. Her concern for their well-being is a very real consideration of any juror/judge; crushing talent and aspirations is always a great tragedy and waste.

Once an artist has been given the honour of judging his or her peers' work, it is a serious matter, where competency, fairness and clarity are all very necessary. Since each artist, no matter what the medium, has invested time, passion and money, in creating a work, it is only fitting that a judge/juror treat the work with respect and attention. I am, in truth, often left wondering when one reads of some shows where there are thousands and thousands of entries, and perhaps three seconds are accorded to each piece, usually now in digital image form. Need must – I recognise, that that is hardly a way to select work that might be magnificent, but done in a low key, subtle fashion which has trouble competing with the "high voltage", "hit-you-in-the-eye" works.

Judging an art show is frequently a little different from judging an art festival, insofar as the festival usually has many media. The line between fine art and crafts is also frequently blurred. For an art show, grosso modo, the judge is assessing visual design, technical competence and, above all, the highly personal consideration: does this work convey a clear, powerful message and does the work stop me in my tracks? Details of value (organisation of darks and lights into a good composition), colour (its use for harmony, feeling, repetition and pattern), shapes (their variation or repetition for interest, harmony and content), line (variation and use of lines) and organisation of a focal point all contribute to the unity and success of a work of art. Does the piece hold together and work to convey content and feeling?

Assessing the diverse work exhibited in booths in an art festival is perhaps more complex in some senses. I have found that scoring the artists' presentations according to a set of criteria, on paper, is helpful. It also means that the artists can later see how the judge scored things, which could perhaps provide some useful feedback. Since, de facto, a judge is working with apples and oranges, so as to speak - two and three dimensional work, crafts of different types, etc. - there has to be some coherence in the judging approach.

I tend to divide the score card into two sections - artistic merit and booth presentation. Under artistic merit, I score creativity and originality, quality of composition and design, clarity of theme/communication, technique and skill of creation and, finally, overall impression. Booth presentation looks at professional presentation, is the booth inviting to enter and does the booth set-up enhance/compliment/complement the work?

Suffice to say that if there are a large number of entrants in the Art in the Park festival tomorrow, I shall be busy for a while! I just hope that the award winners are happy and that everyone else has a really good festival!

Inate Artistry

We have just been to a most beautiful concert at the Telfair Museum, in the Savannah Music Festival series of chamber music concerts with Daniel Hope and Friends, Accompanied and punctuated by huge claps of thunder from a dramatic storm, the musicians, playing Mendelssohn, Mozart, Beethoven and Brahms, created beauty and elegance that was soul-moving.

Yet, in the midst of all their amazing skill and the thrumming on the roof of the pelting rain, I could not help but marvel at their obvious delight and seriousness of enjoyment of making beautiful music. I was reminded of Picasso's statement that "Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up." Whether in visual arts, ballet, music, singing, or whatever art form, the hallmark of a successful artist, it seems, is that the person remains childlike at some level. That sense of delight, of inquiry, of inquisitiveness and openness seems so necessary. It goes along with a sense of humour and an ability not to take oneself too seriously. Picasso, of course, embodied the impish and playful aspects of art amongst his many characteristics. Certainly his art bespeaks a childlike delight in the simple, the direct and the playful aspects of life.

The quiet camaraderie and sense of humourous enjoyment that showed in flashes between the musicians we heard today spoke to the same ability. Patrick Messina, the wonderful French clarinetist, or the cellist, Eric Kim, Daniel Hope with his extraordinary ability on the violin, or pianist Sebastian Knauer... all combine musicality with an obvious delight that Picasso would approve of. They have remained artists from childhood onwards. We all, in today's audience, were the richer for such artistry.

Hurray for Plein Air Days

For a multiplicity of reasons, I have not been able to draw for the past few weeks. This means a feeling of serious "withdrawal" is beginning to prevail: I need to get back to creating art.

So it is with delight that I prepared my paper and pencils for a plein air session tomorrow, a workshop I am giving for local McIntosh Art Association members. The weather holds promise, I trust the insects will be blown away and that the local Georgia Wildlife Refuge at Butler Island, (an erstwhile rice plantation of considerable fame) in the mighty Altamaha River delta, will be in its full spring loveliness.

There is always the excitement of recognising that you have absolutely no idea what will strike you as subject matter, for drawing or painting, when you set off on a plein air session. You just have to let your subconscious mind tell you what matters, and then hope that whatever you create can be allied with your technical experience and personal identity, to make something worth while.

Henry Moore had it right - again! - when he remarked, "The observation of nature is part of an artist's life. It enlarges his form (and) knowledge, keeps him fresh and from working only by formula, and feeds inspiration."

Four trees charcoal, watercolour wash.ballpoint pen and pastel on paper, 1981, Henry Moore (Image courtesy of Mutual Art)

A suitable thought to carry with me as I set off to Butler's Island in the morning!

Visual Communication

As I yield to the siren calls of spring bursting forth in the garden, I find myself thinking about how plants communicate their needs. They grow lustily if they like where they are and have all their needs met. If they are in the wrong place in terms of light or moisture, the gardener soon knows that they are not happy - leaves yellow or droop - or worse! The same visual communications often leave me laughing when you watch a cat or do tell you, the "subservient" human, what they want, or don't want.

In the same way, visual communication in art is vital. Every artist realises, sooner or later, that it is not just enough to be able to execute technically perfect paintings, drawings or other works. Pretty pictures are ten a penny in the world. But, just as in the advertising world, visual images need to carry weight and impact. In advertising, the messages are deliberate, planned and directed at certain audiences.

Usually in art, the situation is more diffuse. For a start, the communications are dependent on the times in which the artist lives. In early Christian times, for instance, there was an extensive vocabulary of symbols used to convey specific messages. In just one arbitrary example, take an anchor. It could symbolise hope in Jesus Christ, and represent sanctuary and commitment. It could convey safe arrival of a ship to harbour and thus mean faithfulness, shelter and hope. It also symbolised St. Clement, the poor unfortunate martyred 4th Bishop of Rome who was tossed into the sea with an anchor around his neck, one hundred years after Christ's death. (My thanks to the History of Painting website for this information.)

By extension, the anchor was a sign used for the hidden Christian burial chambers, the Catacombs in Rome, possibly because Hebrews 6 19-20 says, "We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure." It was frequently used in conjunction with fishes, an obvious reference to Jesus telling Peter he would make them "fishers of men".

Anchor, Catacomb of Priscilla, Rome

Two fish and anchor in the catacomb of Domitilla

This image, courtesy of Heather, a moderator on art subjects in Good Reads is found in the St. Domitillia catacomb in Rome, the epitaph for one Antonia.  Sts. Domitillia, Priscilla, Calixtus and Coemetarium majus catacomb cemeteries are full of images of anchors.

Christian Roman epitaph of Atimetus from the catacombs of St. Sebastian on the Via Appia, Rome. Inscription flanked by Christian symbols, an anchor and a fish.

Again, fishes and anchors are simple, powerful visual communications.

As the Renaissance artists developed an increasingly sophisticated vocabulary of symbols for their visual communication, their public understood the messages. Today, we might need to learn the interpretations of those works of art to understand fully what the artists were communicating.

One of the most wondrous examples of that time is Michelangelo's paintings in the Sistine Chapel

The whole work is a visual metaphor for mankind's need - and desire - for a covenant with God. Michelangelo uses images and symbols from the Book of Genesis as the main vehicles to convey man's need for salvation; every part of the work is as eloquent to us today as it was to the contemporary viewers. However, his contemporaries would probably have understood nuances more readily than many viewers of the ceiling do today.

Ssistine Chapel ceiling, Rome

Each era has developed a specific set of symbols to communicate messages visually, but in today's world, the vocabulary is more diffuse, in that we all have different optics on things, our belief systems are more diverse and the world is a much more universal and complex place. For an artist, it becomes perhaps a much more personal affair: what to communicate as a human being, tapping - hopefully - into universal values and beliefs that can resonate with others.

As Robert Henri observed, "Art cannot be separated from life. We value art not because of the skilled product, but because of its revelation of a life's experience."  

As artists, we need to live life in awareness and thoughtfulness. Ultimately, I believe, we need to have enough self-confidence and honesty to try to draw on our own souls and innermost core, to understand who we are and what we are trying to do and say. Only then can we develop a clear voice that is our way to communicate visually to others. Some people may hear that voice, others won't. That is the beauty of our diversity. But at least, an artist who dares to reveal his or her life experiences in artwork will be a unique person, conveying images that ring true. That is quite an ambitious goal.

Exquisite Timing

The joy of coincidences and exquisite timing - there has to be a law about such matters! - has visited me again.

I returned from a lightening trip to Spain for a week: my gracious, beautiful and utterly lucid mother of nearly 93 years old had died. Today, I was listening to a programme I often find most rewarding, Krista Tippett's "On Being", on American Public Media. She was interviewing Joanna Macy, a lady of considerable talents, experiences and wisdom, with particular emphasis on her translations of the poet, Rainer Maria Rilke.

I listened with fresh appreciation to the allusively beautiful poetry, some of which I had read many years ago. And then came the gift to me, entitled "The Great Secret of Death", in a letter to Countess Margot Sizzo-Noris-Crouty on January 23rd, 1924. Rilke wrote, (in Joanna Macy's and Anita Barrows' translation), "The great secret of death, and perhaps its deepest connection with us, is this: that, in taking from us a being we have loved and venerated, death does not wound us without, at the same time, lifting us toward a more perfect understanding of this being and of ourselves."

How appropriate a thought for me at this moment. What exquisite timing!