Lines of Joy

On the eve of Christmas celebrations,  I was delighted to receive my copy of the hardcover and beautifully presented catalogue of the Silverpoint Exhibitionat The National Arts Club in which my work was included.  Looking through it,  savouring of all the images of the drawings, I could not help thinking of a quote I had seen from Robert Henri: "All real works of art look as though they were done in joy."

Many of the silverpoints included in the exhibition were indeed drawn in joy, it seemed. Tender, loving joy in the case of Maddie Asleep by Ephraim Rubenstein, for example.

Ephraim Rubenstein - Maddie Asleep, 1990, silverpoint on prepared paper, 21 in x 16

Joy of careful, sensitive observation and quiet in this drawing: 

Juliette Aristides - Natalia Sleeping, 2005, silverpoint on toned paper heightened with white, 9 in x 13

Joy of form and line in this highly polished self-portrait, by Lauren Amalia Redding.

Lauren Amalia Redding - Self Portrait with Ring, 2013, silverpoint and silver leaf on panel, 30 1/2 in x 24 1/2

Joy of honest scrutiny and realism in this portrait.

Mary Grace Concannon - Intimations of His Mortality, 2011, silverpoint on prepared clay-coated paper, 6 in x 9

Joy of quiet stillness and creative attention in the still life drawings of Jeffrey Lewis and Tom Mazzullo.

Jeffrey Lewis - Bowl & House, 2010, silverpoint on prepared paper, 18 in x 18 framed

Tom Mazzullo - Upwrap, 2009, silverpoint on prepared paper, 12 in x 9

Considering that a silverpoint drawing is a demanding, distinctly inflexible affair, it is remarkable how many of the drawings that were selected in the National Arts Club exhibition are fluid, assured works that speak of a clear objective, reached with practised lines that sing. Line built up on line, exploring, pushing out from the previous notation to record what the eye, the head, the heart and the hand all perceive. Many of us artists, when we talk of drawing in silver, mention this meditative aspect of the medium.  And in that quietness and, often, solitude, there is deep joy, as the subtle lines weave a web of timelessness.

Curator and participating artist, Sherry Camhy, also included a fascinating conversation with Dr. Bruce Weber in the Silverpoint Exhibition book. Dr. Weber had put silverpoint back on the art world map in the United States in 1985 when he curated The Fine Line at the Norton Museum of Art in Palm Beach, Florida.  He talked  with Sherry of the integrity of drawings done in silver, emphasising the importance of being true unto the medium.  Gerhard Richter talked of this same aspect of art: "I believe that art has a kind of rightness, as in music, when we hear whether or not a note is false."

Sherry Camhy selected silverpoint drawings that ring true, that speak of joy in execution.  They are drawings of many diverse subjects, approaches and contexts, but they form a shimmering song to the discipline of draughtsmanship.

The Silverpoint Exhibition, National Arts Club, New York

It is fun to start reading the reviews of this silverpoint drawing exhibition organised for December 2013 by a wonderful silverpoint artist and friend, Sherry Camhy, especially when one is far from the New York art scene. Seeing the images of fellow artists fills me with fascination and admiration. As always, the diversity of optic and subject matter is unified by all of us having to obey the demands of this medium of mark-making in silver, and sometimes in other metals too.  Metalpoint is a harsh task-mistress but each of us is in thrall to the fascinations and subtleties of these drawings.

Perhaps the most atmospheric introduction to the Silverpoint Exhibition at the National Arts Club is a video done by Odelle Abney. Then there is a long review by Robert Edward Bullock, in Bullock Online Reviews of Tuesday, December 10th, 2013, Beautiful Tarnished Lines. Or try another one,Saving Silverpoint, by Jeffrey Carlson, published in Fine Art Today, the e-newsletter for Fine Art Connoisseur magazine.

My drawing which was selected for the exhibition is one I did of the Spanish Moss variety which grows in north Florida, Tillandsia recurvata.  I love its jaunty, elegant flowers and twisting tufts of tendrils.

Tillandsia recurvata, silverpoint and white gouache on tinted ground Jeannine Cook artist, Private collection

Seeing the images in the reviews makes me excited to receive the hardcover catalogue which has been produced for the exhibition.    An enormous amount of work has gone into the preparation of the show, and I am grateful to be part of this lovely venture.  It makes me every more keen to go on drawing in silver!

Art and Music

I had been missing music in my life recently.  Then, oh joy, our hi fi system was repaired, and all of a sudden, music flows over and around me again like balm, like electricity, like sustenance.

Ludwig van Beethoven told us, "Music is the mediator between spiritual and sensual life." How right he was! For everyone, but, I suspect, especially for artists.  I cannot count how many times I have read of artists or heard artists saying that they always create art to the sound of music. I find that the type of art I am trying to do dictates to some degree the music to which I listen.  Gregorian chants or early choral music go beautifully with silverpoint drawing, while watercolours are far more eclectic! Life drawing too works marvellously to world music with a driving beat.

Different kinds of music, different rhythms.  Think of two wonderful artists who depicted music-making but who themselves made art that pulsed with rhythm - Romare Bearden and Jacob Lawrence.

Romare Bearden, Out Chorus, 1979-80, etching and aquatint (Image courtesy of the Romare Bearden Estate)

#55 Saxophone Improvisation - 1986, Romare Bearden

Jacob Lawrence (1917-2000), The Seamstress, 1946 (Image courtesy of the University of Rochester Memorial Art Gallery)

Jacob Lawrence, Play (1999); silk screen(Image courtesy of the Lawrence Jacob Estate)

Each of these amazing artists leaves an impression that they were marrying the music they heard with the images they saw in their mind's eye. Just as Alton S. Tobey described as he wrote, "There is a kinship between music and painting - with the same words used to describe both, as when a musical composition is said to have colour and a painting to have rhythm."  

Indeed, for me, music is art in real time, art is music in real time - but oh, it is nice to have the opportunity  to marry both together again.

Art belongs to Everyone

As art historian, Max Raphael, observed in his lectures that were posthumously published as The Demands of Art, "Art changes our whole attitude to life, not merely our understanding of it, in fact, all our perspective."

I thought about this power of art to involve us all in every aspect of life as I read the latest newsletter from The Art Connection, the wonderful  organisation that works to bring art into all the corners and crannies of the Boston area.  Sarah M. Berry, programme manager, was describing her days working with social service agencies as they select art.  I quote from what she said, "It is my goal for participants to learn that art belongs to them no matter what messages they've received that say otherwise.  I have worked with convicts, addicts and victims, the homeless, jobless, the chronically ill, and the food-insecure.  Art belongs to all of them.  Art belongs to non-verbal youth with developmental disabilities and to seniors below the poverty line living with memory disorders."  

Azores Fishing Reels, watercolour, Jeannine Cook, Collection Elder Services Plan of North Shore, Lynn, MA

She later writes that after three years of working with staff and clients through the Boston area, that "the most important thing I learned is that what people see in art is unpredictable. Listening to people describe the artwork that I have gotten to know so well gives me continuous pause to look again and appreciate the works through new eyes. Non 'art expert' eyes.  Real people eyes. I am grateful for this lesson, because if nothing else, it fuels my passion about the critical role of the artist in our society.  Art is a necessary part of any healthy, thriving community and it should be accessible to all."  And The Art Connection works really hard to ensure that art gets into the interstices of Boston's world.

Three Chinese Pots, watercolour, Jeannine Cook, Collection The Community Family, Everett, MA

Taking Sarah Berry's observations further about art belonging to us all, especially in the context of today's society in the United States, nineteenth century English art critic and social activist, John Ruskin, also made a wise statement.  "Art represents a social necessity that no nation can neglect without endangering its intellectual existence."

A final quote about the vital role that art in general plays in society:  Robert Motherwell,  member of The New York School of 20th century painters, remarked that, "most people ignorantly suppose that artists are the decorators of our human existence, the aesthetes to whom the cultivated may turn when the real business of the day is done.  Far from being merely decorative, the artist's awareness is one of the few guardians of the inherent sanity and equilibrium of the human spirit that we have."  He practised what he believed, as this image below attests.

Elegy to the Spanish Republic No. 110, Robert Motherwell 1971, Acrylic with pencil and charcoal on canvas, (Image courtesy of  Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum)

A Sense of Things

The Telfair Museum in Savannah  is currently showing a vibrant collection of Robert Henri's portraits done in Spain, Spanish Sojourns: Robert Henri and the Spirit of Spain.  Henri was an important American artist in the early 20th century realist Ashcan Movement.  He excelled at portraiture, was a noted teacher and left an extensive, wide-ranging body of work.

Etching of Robert Henri by Ashcan artist John Sloan 1902

The Telfair exhibition captures the flash, bravado and complexity of Spanish culture, as Henri experienced it during his seven visits there between 1900 and 1926.  His often full length portraits of dancers, gypsies, bullfighters and peasants convey a bold sense of each sitter's individuality, a sense of that person at that moment in time.

The Spanish Gypsy, 1912, Robert Henri (American, 1865–1929) (Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art)

Robert Henri himself remarked, "Drawing is not following a line on the model; it is drawing your sense of the thing." His drawings are often succinct, but they do convey that sense of what he saw and experienced. His paintings capture the same feeling, as he clearly drew with his paintbrush as well as with other media.  There is a fascinating and extensive collection of Henri's paintings and a few drawings at Poul Webb's blog, Art & Artists, and as you scroll through the images, each portrait is indeed clearly of an individual,  However, as always, I tend to gravitate to the drawings and landscapes, rather than the portraiture.  They often seem more powerfully to capture Henri's own dictum about the "sense of the thing".

Robert Henri, Pencil Drawing of a Small Child

Robert Henri, Images of Figures Sitting at an Outdoor Café, graphite on paper

Robert Henri, Nude Model with Blue and Red Skirt, watercolour, (Image courtesy of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

Robert Henri, 1906 Procession in Spain, oil on canvas, Private collection

Robert Henri, 1910, Morning Reflection, oil on canvas, Private collection

Robert Henri, 1913, Irish Landscape, oil on canvas, Private collecton

Robert Henri, 1913, West Coast of Ireland, oil on canvas (Image courtesy of Everson Museum of Art - Syracuse, NY)

Yet, despite all the serious drawing and painting he did, one of the delicious comments that Henri left is this drawing.

Robert Henri, 1910-12, For Art's Sake, pen & ink on paper

He certainly caught the sense of things!

Passion for Drawing

There was a wonderful article in the November issue of Blouin Art+Auction magazine about Master Drawings and their current market state. Not all that long ago, collecting - or even appreciating - drawings was considered the domain of the few and far-between, the occasional person with a great deal of erudition, an environment where light and temperature control are carefully controlled, and, often, a good deal of money.

In terms of Master Drawings (loosely defined as works created by noted, independent artists and their followers, working from the mid-15th century to about 1800), the Art+Auction  article by Angela M.H. Schuster underlined the change in pace in selling these drawings.  Now, the feverish bidding in the auction house sales has spread from other fields of art to drawings, and the prices are beginning to soar. Passion for drawings is rising.  Take, for example, this drawing which the Duke of Devonshire recently sold from his remarkable Chatsworth collection of art.  It was expected to reach 15 millions pounds sterling at auction in 2012.  In fact, it nearly doubled that estimate,

Raphael’s Head of an Apostle, a drawing for his last painting, Transfiguration, 1519-20, black chalk (Image courtesy of Sotheby's)

Schuster quotes Matteo Salamon, of Milan's Salamon & Company (specialists in 15th-19th century art), as saying, "I sell Old Master paintings to buy Old Master drawings.  When I sell a painting, even an important one, it's just business.  When I talk to clients who are interested in drawings, I know they are passionate collectors.  Most who buy a drawing do so because they like it, not because they were told to like it or because others will admire it."  This is another example of the auction price being far higher than the estimate, $47,500 versus a $20-30,000 estimate. 

Giovanni Francesco Barbieri, called Il Guercino (Cento 1591 - 1666 Bologna), Head of a young man in profile, looking down to the left, red chalk (Image courtesy of Sotheby's)

I find the same is true in my own art world.  I am always delighted and flattered when someone likes my drawings and wants to acquire one.  When I began specialising in silverpoint drawing, I found that almost no one knew about the medium, which was entirely understandable, given its rarity, but I also found that few people appreciated that you could have a drawing as a finished work of art.  That has changed completely.  As drawing has become more accepted, recognised and esteemed in the art world, so people have become increasingly passionate about the different versions of drawing. Be it silver or metalpoint, graphite, pen and ink, coloured pencils, charcoal or any other dry medium, there are people who fall in love with works done in one or more of these media.

It seems to be a special "addiction", this yen for drawing.  Both for the artist producing drawings and for those who start to appreciate and/or collect them, there is always the next horizon.  Perhaps there is the aspect of size and accessibility: most drawings are of an intimate size and need for the viewer to be close to them properly to see and appreciate them.  Small wonder that the "cabinet de dessins" was traditionally in the heart of a home, where the drawings were close to hand and daily companions.

There is another aspect of drawings that attracts people: the fact that a drawing is often an exploration, a means for the artist to understand something. Renaissance artist were famed for their studies - think of Leonardo da Vinci seeking to understand everything from human anatomy to how water flows, for instance.

Whirlpools of water, from Leonardo da Vinci, pen and ink,  1508-09, Windsor, Royal Library.

That questing, that analysis, that observation - the act of drawing in that manner makes a drawing accessible on a deep level to a viewer. The artist shares with the viewer his or her journey through the artistic process, as the drawing is created.  In essence, a drawing is a very modern affair, just as much a "happening", a performance, a mise en scène, as any of the other versions of art so popular today.

No wonder people get passionate about drawings!  They can be dramatic and addictive - just the ingredients for today's world.

The "Other" in Art

Sometimes, when reading a book that seems far distant from art at first blush, you get insights that are definitely thought-provoking.  This happened to me as I was finishing a really interesting book, "The Spell of the Sensuous" by David Abram.  It is a book which, to me, makes one think mostly about the extraordinary, damaging divorce between mankind and care of the planet in which we all live.  Abram advances some very valid suggestions, tracing the original transformation in man's thinking about being an integral part of the natural world to the development of the alphabet and the gradual loss of oral traditions.

However, it was in one of the notes that I found a comment about art that seemed to be worth pondering.  I quote it, with thanks to the author:  "Genuine art, we might say, is simply human creation that does not stifle the nonhuman element but, rather, allows whatever is Other in the materials to continue to live and breathe.  Genuine artistry, in this sense, does not impose a wholly external form upon some ostensibly "inert" matter, but rather allows the form to emerge from the participation and reciprocity between the artist and his materials, whether these materials be stones, or pigments, or spoken words.  Thus understood, art is really a cooperative endeavor, a work of co-creation in which the dynamism and power of earth-born materials is honored and respected.  In return for this respect, these materials contribute their more-than-human resonances to human culture."

I feel a little diffident about posting two drawings that I did in silverpoint which I feel were indeed groping towards the "Other", but in some sense, they were.  One I drew because on the coast of Georgia, particularly on the barrier islands, there are thousands-year-old shell rings left by the Guale Indians where they came, year after year, to the coast to feast on nature's bounty in the marshes and salt water creeks.  The Indians' presence is almost palpable, and in many ways, I feel we should do them honour as they were far better stewards of these lands than we seem to be in the 21st century.  The other drawing is a meditation about the elements that are integral parts of the Blue Ridge Mountains, humble pieces perhaps, but each a vital link in that mountain ecosystem, and beautiful each in its own right.

At the the Shell Mound, silverpoint, Jeannine Cook artist

Blue Ridge Mountain Meditation, silverpoint, Jeannine Cook artist

Looking at and communing with "earth-born materials" as I draw and paint bring peace and coherence, I find.  I think David Abram is right in his observations.

Unexpected Delights

It always makes my heart skip a beat when you round a corner in a museum and there you spot some totally unexpected delight. Usually it is something small, often unpretentious and yet sings of an artist's creativity and honesty.

Quite why I am drawn to such pieces of art, I am not sure, but when a piece speaks of creative integrity, any fellow artist warms to it. An artist knows that there is often serious effort, sometimes even struggle, to create a work. So you respect someone who has succeeded, who has created something special, something distinctive and of lasting value.

This week, at the Telfair Museum's Jepson Center, in Savannah, Georgia, I found a delicious trove of small, beautiful objects that sang. They were in a small exhibition, Allure of the Near East, lent by the Huntington Museum of Art. Amongst the many objects collected by Drs. Joseph B. and Omayma Touma and donated to the Huntington to further an understanding and appreciation of all the complex cultures in the Middle East was a small group of early Iranian and other glass vials, vases and bottles. I have always loved early glass, with the iridescence of time on the simple coloured forms.  Many of the early ones that one meets in exhibitions are Roman, Iranian or Sassanian (which encompassed Iraq, Iran and central Asia) in origin, such as these illustrated below.

A Parthian green glass vessel, Iran, circa 3rd Century A.D (image courtesy of Bonhams)

Roman, iridescent vessel, 1st-2nd century (Image courtesy of  Boston Museum of Fine Arts)

Three Roman glass vessels, c. 2nd-4th century AD, (Image courtesy of Archaeological Museum, Istanbul )

Sassanian cut glass bowl, 6th century  (Image courtesy of the British Museum)

Bottle, Mediterranean, Eastern, 4th century, late 3rd-4th century. Glass.  (Image courtesy of the Huntington Museum of Art)

Canteen Flask,Mediterranean, Eastern, 3th century, 3rd-4th century glass. Overall: 3 3/4" x 2 7/8" x 7/8". (Image courtesy of the Huntington Museum of Art)

Unguentarium, Mediterranean, Eastern, 2nd to 3rd century glass (Image courtesy of the Huntington Museum of Art)

There were other delights, but perhaps, again, the simple ones stay in my mind's eye.  One was a  nineteenth century/early twentieth century hanging ceramic oil lamp, beautifully lit and displayed, reminded me of the stillness of time, the peace now so sadly absent from so many parts of the Middle East, and the humble integrity of that artist's creation.

Serendipity always rewards, I have decided.  My Telfair visit reconfirmed this beautifully.

Changing Gears in Art

Now that some time has elapsed since I finished my residency at DRAWinternational in France, I find I am still thinking about how to change gears. I went there on the premise that I wanted to explore the option of working on a larger scale in metalpoint, especially metalpoint on a black ground.

Setting out on a new path in art-making always takes time for one to readjust, I know.  It has happened to me before, but this time, other issues in life have complicated the "digestion period".  You have to filter all the advice, new thoughts and suggestions, new concepts, and try to decide which road to take and how.

This was one route, one way of changing gears, using graphite instead of metalpoint.

Caylus, 14th July, graphite, Jeannine Cook artist

This was another experiment in graphite.

Caylus Stones II, graphite, Jeannine Cook artist

Eventually, I wanted to return to metalpoint, so I started trying to work larger and adjust - at least a little.

Maple Bark, metalpoint, Jeannine Cook artist

I am still going back and forth in my mind about the direction I want now to follow, but I know that the residency was good for me, jolting me out of ruts. 

I am at the stage where I can look back on the work I did in France and join philosopher R. G. Collingwood as he talked of his own artistic upbringing.  He said, "I learned to think of a picture not as a finished product exposed for the benefit of virtuosi, but as a visible record of an attempt to solve a definite problem in painting, so far as the attempt has gone."  For me, the operative words remain, "as far as the attempt has gone".  Still more changes to come, I hope!

Quiet Moments in Art

This morning I was listening to NPR Saturday Edition when Scott Simon interviewed New Republic film critic, David Thomson, about his new book, Moments that made the Movies.  During the conversation,  Thomson talked about the power of quiet moments, or looks or lines, in films that are remembered long afterwards - think Casablanca, for instance. Thomson went on to say that during those quieter moments, we are more able to think ourselves into the scene as viewers, shaping our perception of the film, and thus, later, remembering those moments more vividly than more action-packed scenes.

The conversation made me reflect that in essence, the same reaction often occurs in the visual art world, as each of us walks through a gallery or a museum, looking at art work.  For me personally, many of the works that remain with me, long afterwards, are not the paintings of "sturm und drang", the high voltage works that leap off the walls.  Instead, indeed, the quieter works have more resonance, more power to stay with me and come floating back into my mind's eye to delight again. Obviously, each of us has a different character, different tastes and a different life experience which we bring to the viewing of the art.  Nonetheless, when the art is elegantly quiet, simple and impactful, it often lends itself to being "expanded" by each viewer and allows an "ownership" that then becomes part and parcel of the viewer's experience.

One of the most fascinating examples of a quiet work that I have met is a minute drawing that I have only ever seen in reproduction,  Measuring a little over 4 x 3 inches, it is a silverpoint drawing, Horse and Rider, done by Leonardo da Vinci in 1481 as part of a preparative study for his commission of an altarpiece,  the Adoration of the Magi, in the Church of San Donato a Scopeto, outside Florence. 

Horse and Rider,Leonardo da Vinci, silverpoint, 1481

This tiny drawing, which was consigned for sale in 2001 at Christie's by the late J. Carter Brown, once Director of the National Gallery in Washington, was so esteemed that it fetched the astonishing price of £8,143,750 ($11,474,544) before transaction costs. Clearly, this is a piece of art that haunts people.  Its immediacy, the skill in depicting the foreshortened horse and its motion, its utter simplicity all make it an astonishing piece of art.  I know that it is the first piece of art to comes back to me when I begin to think of art that I have long remembered.

Usually, the works of art that have the most impact on me as I go around a museum are ones that I can guarantee will not be readily obtainable as reproductions in postcards, books, etc.  I seem to have a gift for liking things that are not the popular ones by museum standards - I don't know what that says about my tastes!  However, one remembers, as much as possible, and the magic floats back into my mind at times from those quiet beauties.

Other works that have retained their influence over me range from Alfred Sisley to Chardin, Fatin-Latour to Rothko and beyond - a totally eclectic mix, I acknowledge.

Carafe of Water, Silver Goblet, Peeled Lemon, Apple and Pears, 1728, (Image courtesy of the Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe)

White Lilies, Henri Fatin-Latour, c. 1883, (Image courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum)

Purple and Blue, Mark Rothko

Each of us has a different collection of remembered quiet moments when art has resonated and stayed with us.  Its diversity and power to uplift, move and inspire come with moments of contemplation and emotion. Those encounters are what  make art so extraordinary and so necessary.