Previous Posts: January 2014

Cracked Egg (Magenta) plays with the fragile nature of the egg to explore themes of the ephemeral and the eternal. The fragments of shell emphasize the fusion of opposites, appearing simultaneously organic and synthetic, fragile and resilient. To contrast the vulnerability of the eggshell, Koons managed to perfect casting techniques that result in a mirror-sheen surface that is virtually indestructible. As the artist explains, “I was interested in the dialogue with nature and aspects of the eternal, the here and now, the physical with the ephemeral... the symmetrical and asymmetrical, a sense of the fertile …” 

The Koons Cracked Egg guff would have been even better if they had used "dialogue" as a verb.  Such a missed opportunity on their part.

Reminded by your piece on Koons of this (below) from Lear.  As is often the case, the Fool is wise: as he says earlier in the same scene, 'Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out....'  It's worth noting that, were one available, you could buy a First Folio for significantly less than a Koons 'Egg' (cracked or not).

King Lear Act 4 Scene 1

Fool; Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.

KING LEAR; What two crowns shall they be?

Fool; Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away.

Tim's Vermeer is a film about a man who totally fails to paint a Vermeer.

That's right – fails. This is not how the acclaimed cinema documentary by American TV magicians Penn and Teller bills itself or how it has been received by reviewers. Inventor Tim Jenison, we're told, set out to discover how the 17th-century artist used optics, hoping to prove his theory by painting his own version of Vermeer's The Music Lesson. The result, we are told, is almost uncannily convincing – Tim uses simple technology to create a perfect Vermeer.

At the risk of offending the education secretary, I have to quote Blackadder here. It's a brilliant theory, with just one tiny flaw: it's bollocks.

Tim's painting does not look anything like a real Vermeer. It looks like what it is: a pedantic and laborious imitation.

Thanks for posting the article about Tim's Vermeer earlier today. I'm glad someone has finally had the guts to refute Tim's claim of discovering Vermeer's 'secret'. As an artist trained in the traditional crafts of painting, drawing, carving and gilding I went into the film as an open-minded skeptic, looking forward to some solid circumstantial evidence that Vermeer may have used such a device - I left the cinema with a huge grin on my face. What Tim was suggesting is laughable both from a technical and practical perspective. The film was full of contradictions and cryptic messages. Had Tim or any of those involved in the project actually bothered to research the methods of Vermeer or consulted an artist who studies and works in a similar manner to the old masters, obvious flaws would come to light. I'm glad Jonathan Jones attempted to take apart the theory, however his article unfortunately didn't touch on the facts that completely disprove Tim's idea. I've wanted to write an article based on fact, but unfortunately I'm no journalist, I'm a young artist, so I have no idea what I would do with it!

The film was full of contradictions and historical errors from the very start. Tim and his pals claimed that Vermeer didn't make use of underpainting or 'dead colouring' - well he certainly did make use of it! All scientific and forensic tests of Vermeer's paintings show a monochromatic layer where Vermeer would have identified tone, lighting and composition. One of the better examples of this is ironically, 'The Music lesson', the very painting Tim was 'copying'. The National Gallery has a good article on Vermeer's technique here. Why on earth would Vermeer be painting a monochromatic underpainting if he was using a mirror? Had he used Tim's device, he would have to turn the colour reflection from the mirror into monochrome! It makes no sense whatsoever! 

Vermeer, like all masters, used glazes, the application of thin paint to give subtle transitions in colour and tone. The application of paint in this manner gave works a degree of transparency and depth.  Using a mirror, the artist would be expected to mix the exact colour and paint with it. Working in a single layer in this way shows inexperience and a lack of understanding. Vermeer used glazes, so a mirror cannot have been used.

Tim also compared an early Pieter de Hooch with a later Vermeer in the hope it would 'prove' Vermeer had a secret. I was surprised that the directors had the guile to compare a work by a developing artist with a masterful painting by Vermeer at the peak of his ability. Incredibly distasteful considering Pieter de Hooch's later work can rather easily be mistaken for a work by Vermeer by an untrained eye.    

Tim and his team apparently didn't use artificial light. I'm incredibly skeptical about this. Light conditions obviously can change in a second. If the sun disappeared behind a cloud would Vermeer be forced to drop his brush? Well if he was using a mirror, then yes. It's simply impractical! Had Vermeer used a mirror, he would have had to be able to control the sun, the seasons and the clouds. Perhaps he did have a secret after all? Tim didn't once mention the use of natural light once he sat down to paint - presumably he realised it was impossible and resorted to using artificial lights. 

He clamped the heads of his models? Seriously? Need I say more? I could go on, but thankfully I'm not having to prove to you that the idea is heavily flawed.

I joined the queues at the weekend and enjoyed the opportunity to see them side by side – I hope it’s not too partisan of me to say so, but it’s actually a reminder of how good the London original is!

The much-vaunted display of ‘new research’ is a bit bizarre – the information panel about the x-rays they have done reveals absolutely nothing that can’t be seen by the naked eye from a few feet away.

And one more minor grumble – I was disappointed to read that that there had been no discussion of the possibility of showing these paintings (where the impasto application of paint is especially important to the effect) without a glaze, given that they could have had an attentive security guard each for this sort of special occasion. My eyes may have been playing tricks on me, but it seemed like the glass was more reflective and disruptive on the Amsterdam version.

Holy crap. Horrible kids, horrible parents.

Strangely, I saw that Donald Judd sculpture a few days ago and thought that interspersing the blocks with people would be a marked improvement. Little did I know that my thoughts had such power.

please do not diminish your position by having a "Munnings" style rant about Judd !!

you know perfectly well that the man is a god in the eye of many, some of them as well educated and brung-up as you !

You may not notice but you see the influence of Donald Judd's sculpture in almost every shop you go into.  From the boxes you walk round to the shelves on the wall.  You've seen copies of his work probably without even realizing it.

No other photograph was this thoroughly analyzed — or, overanalyzed. The above photo, Un Regard Oblique, has been a fixture in sociology, psychology, psychoanalysis, and gender studies circles since it was taken by Robert Doisneau in 1948.

A couple looks at the window and the man is enthralled by the portrait of a naked woman (very salacious one  by the standards of the time) while his wife talks to him about a photo which is presumably more modest. A simple image, but not quite a decisive moment.

For his Life magazine assignment, Doisneau hid his Rolliflex behind an antique chair on display at Romi’s art gallery in the 5th arrondissement. With his usual flair for humor, he had set his camera at the correct angle to the nude to take a series of furtive photos of male admirers. The above photo was his last shot.

The painting by Nicolas Poussin depicting the moment the infant Moses trampled Pharaoh’s crown, will be exported overseas unless a matching offer of £14,000,000 is made. The Culture Minister issued the temporary export bar in the hope that a UK buyer can be found in the time allowed.

Ed Vaizey took the decision following a recommendation by the Reviewing Committee on the Export of Works of Art and Objects of Cultural Interest (RCEWA), administered by Arts Council England. The RCEWA made its recommendation on the grounds that the painting is of outstanding aesthetic importance and significance for the study of Poussin’s art.

Of the 30 or so paintings by Poussin in UK galleries and museums, none are quite so insistently severe in either their colouring or composition as this piece.

The decision on the export licence application for the painting will be deferred until 22 April 2014, although this may be extended until 22 October if a serious intention to raise funds to purchase the painting at the recommended price is made.

Here's how it works: The government selected eight pieces of art from across Italy deemed to be in need of repair, ranging from an ancient Roman marble horse to a painting by Renaissance master Pietro Perugino. Then, it posted pictures of them on Facebook, and asked people to vote for the work they felt was most deserving of a fix-up. The work that draws the most clicks wins the money raised at these late-night events.

"The strength of a democratic institution is listening to its citizens," says Buzzi. "Giving people the right to choose makes them more invested in their own heritage. It makes them care more. If you give the people more responsibility, they're more likely to take an interest in their own culture.

Rome archaeologist Gabriele Cifani describes the program as "extremely demagogic."

The subject of the portrait – believed to be worth hundreds of thousands of pounds – was a relative of Saskia van Uylenburgh, whom the artist wed in 1634. Dr Tico Seifert, senior curator for northern European art, said his curiosity was immediately piqued when he came across the etching in a box of prints because all known copies of the print are in reverse, unlike this one, which was nestled among dozens of copies of the artist’s work.

Further research, including authenticity checks with Rembrandt experts in Amsterdam, found the portrait of Sylvius was the only existing impression of the work in red ink.

Dr Seifert said: “These kind of plates were created through a chemical process which would see the artist polish the plate, cover it with a varnish and then take a very sharp, fine needle and scratch the varnish.

“The plate would then be put into an acid bath, so it was a chemical process rather than a mechanical process. You would take a wet piece of paper, put it on top of the plate and run it through a roller press. The big difference with this work is that it was printed in red ink. When I contacted colleagues in Amsterdam to find out about impressions in red ink, which are generally very rare, to my great surprise and delight they told me that this was a unique print.

A technical TV point AHN .. You love the jib shots in the National Gallery, booms are just for sound.