Fine Art Friday Sunday, Part II

The Supper at Emmaus, 1601
Caravaggio, Italian, 1571-1610

From the Art Institute of Chicago's website:

[T]he National Gallery of London is sending an exceptional loan to Chicago: Caravaggio’s The Supper at Emmaus. In return, the Art Institute’s renowned painting The Crucifixion by Francisco de Zurbarán will travel to London, where it will play a key role in the exhibition The Sacred Made Real, Spanish Painting and Sculpture 1600–1700. Caravaggio’s The Supper at Emmaus will temporarily take its place at the Art Institute amid the collection’s “Caravaggesque” paintings.

Because so few paintings by Caravaggio hang in American museums, we considered ourselves fortunate to see The Supper at Emmaus. In fact, Gallery 211 was our third stop on Sunday -- after the coat check and the membership table. (More about the latter another day.)

The painting is remarkable, and, bolstered by a Simon Schama-enhanced survey of Caravaggio's life, character, and times, I found myself deeply appreciative of the privilege of seeing this painting.

But.

What is up with the lighting at the Art Institute?

I last raised this issue in May 2004, after taking my family to see Rembrandt's Journey. Because of the manner in which the etchings -- most of which were shown under glass -- were hung, we had to bob and weave to find the museum floor "sweet spot" -- that is, the one place from which we could see the art sans the glare of ill-planned lighting.

Yesterday, we experienced the same frustration. We first admired The Supper at Emmaus from a distance and then moved in as close as appropriate to observe the detail that, in fact, makes a Caravaggio a Caravaggio. But the angle of the lighting prohibited that sort of close attention, and this baffled me. If all I had wanted was to "sort of see" the painting, I could have looked at the image at the National Gallery website or picked up a book at the library.

I wanted to "see see" the painting, and there it was, right in front of me. But the glare! So frustrating. Thank goodness we arrived at the Art Institute early: There were only about ten people in Gallery 211; we could, well, bob and weave to find the museum floor sweet spot.

I just don't think anyone should have to work that hard to see a painting hanging in a museum.

Gallery 211 currently features several other Caravaggio-esque paintings, including Bartolomeo Manfredi's Cupid Chastened, which the Misses and I learned about from Sister Wendy. Indulge me in an aside? It delights me that the Misses retain so much of our studies, no matter whether they receive the information from lectures, experience, books, or some combination thereof. More, it thrills me that they can recall, synthesize, and opine. In other words, bad lighting aside, it was a good field trip for this family-centered learning project.

Of course, Gallery 211's narrative is not the one that most enlivens our imaginations.

More notes from our visit to follow.

On the nightstand

Another hasty "On the nightstand" entry.

Completed
■ Devil Dog Diary (Will Price)
Naturally, Master M-mv pressed this one on me. While it's certainly not well written, this first-person account of the boot camp experience is informative.

■ The Daughter of Time (Josephine Tey)
Although a dear friend pressed this book on me more than a decade ago, I had all but forgotten it until Melissa reminded me. Wonderful. Erudite. Well worth the time.

■ The Unit (Ninni Holmqvist)
I have already pressed this on Mr. M-mv who agrees: It's a thought-provoking piece of dystopic fiction that fans of Unwind (Neal Shusterman) and Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro) in particular will appreciate.

■ Romeo and Juliet (Shakespeare)
With the Misses M-mv -- who agree with me: Mercutio rocks.

■ Manhood for Amateurs (Michael Chabon)
Beautifully written meditations from the author of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

■ Sharp Objects (Gillian Flynn)
Disturbing content. Disturbing conclusion. But a strangely satisfying story arc. In other words, I didn't see it coming.

Currently reading
■ The Hour I First Believed (Wally Lamb)

You'll find the complete "On the nightstand" archive here.


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Fine Art Friday Sunday, Part I

"Where is The Key kept?" Miss M-mv(ii) inquired of a docent back in January.

"What?"

"The Key by Jackson Pollock?"

From the way the docent looked around in exasperation, I couldn't help but think that she wasn't comfortable talking with young people. "I don't know that painting. We must not have it."

"But it's in the guide," Miss M-mv(ii) patiently explained, showing the docent page 296 in Treasures of the Art Institute of Chicago: 19th- and 20th-Century Painting.

The docent waved a museum employee over. Gesturing at Miss M-mv(ii), "She's going on about some Pollock called The Key? It's in some book?"

More shrugging. More gesturing. Some sighing. Then, bending down to Miss M-mv(ii) as if she were three instead of a mature (and tall!) eleven, the employee said, "We don't have that painting here. Perhaps there's a mistake in your book."

What the?!?

"But --," began Miss M-mv(ii).

"Thank you," I said, taking my youngest daughter's arm. "They're wrong, not the book," I murmured into her ear. "Let's go. We'll figure it out later."

And later we supposed that, like so many pieces, The Key was in storage, awaiting the opening of the Modern Wing.

Sure enough. We found it in Gallery 289A today, our first visit to the Art Institute since spring break.

The Key, 1946
Jackson Pollock, American, 1912-1956

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"[T]he main reason education often is not educating is because it finds it difficult to give meaning to human experience."

From "Let’s give children the ‘store of human knowledge’" (Spiked, November 18):

The fetishisation of change is symptomatic of a mood of intellectual malaise, where notions of truth, knowledge and meaning have acquired a provisional character. Perversely, the transformation of change into a metaphysical force haunting humanity actually desensitises society from distinguishing between a passing novelty and qualitative change. That is why lessons learned through the experience of the past are so important for helping society face the future. When change is objectified, it turns into spectacle that distracts society from valuing the truths and insights it has acquired throughout the best moments of human history. Yet these are truths that have emerged through attempts to find answers to the deepest and most durable questions facing us, and the more the world changes the more we need to draw on our cultural and intellectual inheritance.

The value of excellent teaching

If I ever doubted the value of excellent teaching (as opposed to, say, adequate teaching), I have recently been silenced on the subject by the incomparable Mrs. R.

I think I always knew that the Misses' first teacher would not be their "forever teacher," but it took me two years too long to move on. By the second book in the series that the teacher had arbitrarily selected for her (the sole criterion being that it was not the series selected for her sister), it was obvious that Miss M-mv(i) needed a change, but she was told, "Let's finish this up, and then we'll try something else." But "something else" was always the next book in the series.

More, apart from the oversimplified theory and musicianship espoused in their respective series, the Misses' studies lacked a cohesive philosophy or pedagogy. We tried to cobble together an understanding of the literature on our own and often brought exercises and pieces to our teacher's attention, which seemed, alternately, to amuse and annoy her. And, motivated to improve and grow, we steadily increased practice requirements, likening the pursuit to that of swimmers and chess players: Master the fundamentals and the rest will follow. Finally, to ensure that all of the so-called "extras" we had discovered were reviewed, we even increased the Misses' lesson time.

But mastery requires more than a will to succeed and a desire to improve, doesn't it? After all, "the quality of an education system cannot exceed the quality of its teachers."

Enter Mrs. R.

After only a week, the Misses' hands and posture were corrected. After a month, their understanding and application of the basics were vastly improved. And now, at the end of nearly four months, they routinely delight her with their pieces. Not that she is easily moved. On the contrary, she is strict, firmly rooted in classical training, and absolutely unafraid to say, "No! That is not it! Like this. Try again. No. Again. No. Again!"

Again. Again. Again!

Once she spent an entire lesson on one measure.

One measure.

And Miss M-mv(ii) grinned as she was dismissed. Grinned! Said, "Thank you, Mrs. R. See you next week!" And animatedly sang Mrs. R.'s praises all the way home.

And, by golly, if that piece wasn't a smoothly polished stone two weeks later. "Oh, that is so nice!" exclaimed Mrs. R. "I am so happy. But..." And more work. More tweaking. More attention to what the composer intended, what the musician must do to improve.

And so it goes.

Now this is teaching, I think during every lesson. So let my experience serve as cautionary tale. If you sense that it's time to move on, don't dither: Move on. Find a better teacher because no matter what the subject and no matter how good the student is, he or she cannot move past inadequate teaching.

Apparently, the Misses and I are the only ones looking forward to this evening's finale. If, in fact, the show was better in the past, we can't wait to see if the library has earlier seasons on DVD. Until then, we're going to "Make it work!"

Postscript: For the record, we're rooting for Carol Hannah. Irina's designs are also quite good, but... "Irina-ish" has become a non-too-flattering adjective around here. Heh, heh, heh.

Added later: Oh, the library does have the first five seasons of the series! The women of Family M-mv are doing a happy dance.

From the archives:Uncharacteristic entry

Several years ago, I espied photo calendars in the dollar aisle of Michaels. Proud owner and occasional user of a quality color printer, I knew this would be a simple, nearly painless project that would yield gifts a couple of relatives might enjoy.

I was right.

Eventually, my color printer died a painful death at the hands of an errant plastic lizard wedged in the cartridge, so for a couple of years, I printed the photos on my laser jet printer. This probably sounds cheaper and tackier than it actually turned out. I'm not certain why it took me years to realize that I could simply download the photos to, say, Walgreens or Target, for photofinishing, but it did.

What can I say? I'm not crafty like that.

This year, however, I did download the photos -- thirteen color photos, one for each month and one to personalize the front (or back) -- and over the holiday, I assembled five calendars. Four are gifts.

Photofinishing at Walgreens: $12.35 *
Calendars from Michaels: $5 plus tax
Glue stick: $0.50
Envelopes to ship the gifts: approximately $3
Postage: unknown, but usually under $2 per padded envelope

So for less than $30, I've guaranteed four smiles this holiday season. Are you looking for simple, inexpensive gifts that either you or the kids can make? Check out the dollar baskets at Michaels, folks. Inexplicably, the calendars usually begin appearing sometime over the summer, but there may be some left. If not, make a note on your planning calendar: Check dollar bins at Michaels. Then you'll have 'em for next year.

Related and equally uncharacteristic entry here.
__________________

* Just before I sent the photos to Walgreens for this year's calendar, I googled "Walgreens coupon code photo" -- and ended up saving twenty percent on processing. Frugality is never a bad idea. Look for promotional codes, coupons, and other deals when shopping online.

Oh, I cried, all right. I did. All of us did.

Spoiler alert.

But have our expectations sunk so abysmally low that a movie's greatness is now measured by the number of times it brings an audience to tears?

Yeah, like nearly everyone else in this rural-suburb hyphenated hybrid of a town we live in, we rented Up this weekend. While everyone else raves about it, though, plans to wrap it up for Christmas, I'm feeling a little a bit like a citizen looking at the emperor's new cloak -- that is, worried about having my head handed to me for speaking my mind.

The opening fifteen or so minutes represent a beautifully poignant, and, yes, emotionally mature animated sequence. Memorable. Truthful. Poetic. In fact, if this movie opened with that sequence, included the scenes in the construction area, concluded with the house ripping away from its foundation and borne away by balloons, and ran credits over an image of the house happily nestled atop the falls, I'd thoroughly understand all of the early Oscar buzz. It would be a sure bet for best animated short.

But it doesn't.

Up continues. Over a city, through a storm, and into South America. And there, while a dog you know was drawn with an eye to what an adorable stuffed toy it would make distracts you from the melancholy theme of dreams dashed and/or deferred, you wonder if you're the only one who can see that the emperor is only wearing a pair of stretched out Hanes underpants.

"So get off your ath; let's do some math!" *

From "Who Needs Mathematicians for Math, Anyway?" (City Journal, November 13):

Those trying to overthrow the traditional curriculum found mathematics a hard nut to crack, however, because of the sequential nature of its content through the grades and its relationship to high school chemistry and physics. Nevertheless, education faculty eventually figured out how to reimagine the mathematics curriculum, too, so that it could march under the banner of social justice. As Alan Schoenfeld, the lead author of the high school standards in the 1989 NCTM report, put it, “the traditional curriculum was a vehicle for . . . the perpetuation of privilege.” The new approach would change all that.

Two theories lie behind the educators’ new approach to math teaching: “cultural-historical activity theory” and “constructivism.”

* From School of Rock

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

(The continuing pursuit of) Fine Art (on) Friday

As I wrote last Friday, the Misses and I are studying the art of portraiture at the local college. We must be doing all right: Many of you were able to pick Tim Gunn, Theodore Roosevelt, and the First Lady out of our early efforts. So, the goggle-eyed fellow behind the thick glasses? Burgess Meredith in the "The Twilight Zone" episode "Time Enough at Last." And the clear-eyed man at the bottom of the mosaic? Richard Farnsworth.

This week, the class focused strictly on charcoal techniques. Here is my "inspiration image." What do you think?

I have found it to be true that the older I've become the better my life has become.
~ Doris Lessing

"[T]he privilege of drinking a soupçon of pee is hardly a recommendation. "

Excerpts from Edward Champion's review of 2012:

■ There comes a point in any Roland Emmerich film in which anyone with a brain must give up and ponder why such superficialities remain a draw.

■ Here is a filmmaker so happy to whore himself out to product placement that the most important government representatives all use Vaio laptops.

■ And instead of Emmerich using his exploitative skills to make his audience think, he has produced the cinematic equivalent of an audience member running out of toilet paper when she most desperately needs it. His audience is doomed to run around the house with pants around legs, hoping to seek out a Kleenex or paper towel substitute and praying to the deities that nobody else is home.

Bookmark his site or add it to your reader, folks, because, unlike Emmerich, Ed does make his audience think.

"Who should and shouldn't go to college?"

From "Are Too Many Students Going to College?":

With student debt rising and more of those enrolled failing to graduate in four years, there is a growing sentiment that college may not be the best option for all students.

Gee. No kidding.

Related entries
■ About college (first posted 11.16.2003)

■ Paying for college: A rant of modest proportions (first posted 5.20.2005)

Quote of the day

All human situations have their inconveniences. We feel those of the present but neither see nor feel those of the future; and hence we often make troublesome changes without amendment, and frequently for the worse.

~ Benjamin Franklin

From our sketchbooks

As I mentioned on Friday, the Misses and I are enrolled in another art class at the local college. This semester we're learning about portraits, and I'm sure many of you will agree: Faces are hard. But we're learning. We're learning.

Added later: If you can identify the celebrities whose photos we used for inspiration, we'll know we're doing all right. (Hint: Three of them are deceased.)

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

On the nightstand

He is home again, so this is a hasty entry.

Recently completed
■ Hamlet (John Marsden)
SFP at Pages Turned recommended this excellent retelling.

■ Await Your Reply (Don Chaon)
Recommended to those M-mv readers who appreciated Seven Types of Ambiguity (Elliot Perlman) as much as I did.

■ The Writing Class (Jincy Willett)
Perfectly entertaining. Equal parts well-paced mystery and cunningly written commentary. Willett wittily skewers the stereotypical cast of wannabes (including instructors) found in writing seminars -- found, in fact, in most continuing ed courses.

Currently reading
■ Secrets of a Buccaneer-Scholar (James Marcus Bach)
Subtitled "How Self-Education and the Pursuit of Passion Can Lead to a Lifetime of Success," this slim volume was penned by the son of Richard (Jonathan Livingston Seagull) Bach.

■ Stitches: A Memoir (David Small)
Related article here.

You'll find the complete "On the nightstand" archive here.

This post contains affiliate links. A purchase made through one of these links will earn this site a small referral fee. If applicable, advance reading copies (ARCs), review copies, and/or promotional copies are duly noted. For more information, see this site's disclosure statement.

Fine Art Friday

Alma Mahler (1913)
Charcoal, with stumping, laid down on cream wove paper
Oskar Kokoschka, English, born Austria (1886-1980)

Portrait of a Peasant Woman (1898-1899)
Charcoal on cream wove paper
Paula Modersohn-Becker, German (1876-1907)

We hadn't thought we would be able to find a spot in our schedule for an art class this fall, but we did, and this semester we're studying the art of portraiture at the local college. After spending the summer with watercolors (related entries here and here), we're working primarily in pencil and charcoal again (related entries here and here).

I'll share some of our work soon, but right now? I am distracted. A small female deer has crept under the autumn umbrella of low-hanging pine branches and sleeping brush that bounds the back yard. The Misses are captivated, and so, frankly, am I.

Course texts
■ Heads, Features and Faces (George B. Bridgman)
■ The Human Figure (John H. Vanderpoel)
■ Drawing: A Contemporary Approach (Teel Sale and Claudia Betti)

The "Fine Art Friday" archive can be found here.

From the archives:Just borrowing?

The following entry was posted six years ago today. I've updated some of the links.

Here's a compelling sliver of news — an article that, toward the end, manages to make (potential) plagiarists seem somewhat sympathetic. You see, once submitted to the site, the students' papers remain stored on the web as a further deterent against plagiarism, which, as one source in the article notes, "[A]nd that's a big worry I think."

Really? A worry? Which part? The part about our centers for higher learning being so rife with academic misconduct and dishonesty that professors are compelled to check every student's work for theft? Or the part where student-writers must essentially surrender their property to the Web?

Talk about your double-edged sword, huh? Academic integrity has disintegrated to the point where professors (who are not, it seems, above a little "sloppy scholarship" themselves; consider the recent case of Naval Academy history professor Brian VanDeMark) [new link] patronize a business that has reduced published work to "code," against which student papers can be compared to identify what amounts to theft of another writer's work.

And the other edge? Well, whether you're a student who thinks a little borrowing from here and there (especially if "here" is an obscure academic journal and "there" is a frat brother's cousin's sister's paper on the same topic) is A-okay or a student who triple-checks sources and attributions, once your papers are submitted to the California website, Turnitin.com, they (the papers) become a permanent part of the Web's landscape.

A conundrum, no?

I can see the headline now: "Potential plagiarists seek refuge in the Digital Millennium Copyright Act."

These are unwieldy issues to deal with in a short blog entry, I know, but I'll address this much: It's funny (and I don't mean, "funny, ha-ha funny") to me that most thinkers and readers can readily identify plagiarism when the words or ideas of one traditionally published writer are appropriated by another.

But when it comes to the Web, many of the same readers and thinkers have adopted an "oh-it's-just-borrowing" mentality that makes e-writers, website developers, photographers, artists, graphic designers, and others who make all or part of their living along the information superhighway shudder. An entire article is reprinted without permission there. Images are copied from here and used over there. Unique design elements of a new business' corporate identity program are diminished when cribbed by another business. Photographs for sale in an Web image gallery are copied and pasted into personal websites.

And so it goes.

Just borrowing? Um, can you say, "RIAA Strikes Back At Music Pirates in 2003"?

Article I, Section 8 of the Constitution of the United States [new link] seeks, among other things, "[t]o promote the progress of science and useful arts, by securing for limited times to authors and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries."

Click here to learn how to avoid plagiarism of any kind.

"Narrative these days competes against incrementalized information -- data, chatter, noise."

From "The vestigial tale" (Washington Post, October 29):

Story-loving isn't just culture; it's biology. The human brain has evolved in such a way as to enable the construction and comprehension of narratives.

"We experience our lives in narrative form," says novelist Jonathan Franzen. "If you can't order things in a narrative fashion, your life is a chaotic bowl of mush."

[...]

Steven Pinker, Harvard's guru of evolutionary psychology, says our interest in stories comes in part from a "thirst for gossip" -- we need insider information about our social world. Narratives give gossip shape and meaning. And stories let us experiment, safely, with novel social arrangements that might otherwise blow up in our face.