The Metropolitan Museum of Art Special Exhibition Podcast The Metropolitan Museum of Art's official podcast features exclusive commentary on our world-renowned special exhibitions, as well as curatorial insights into individual masterpieces, artists' discussions of their work, and explorations of a wide variety of art-related topics. Visit www.metmuseum.org/podcast for more information. en-us http://www.metmuseum.org/home.asp The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York http://www.metmuseum.org/rss/images/met_podcast_logo.jpg http://www.metmuseum.org The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Copyright © 2006–2008 The Metropolitan Museum of Art Arts & Entertainment http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss Wed, 15 Mar 2006 12:30:00 -0400 Thu, 6 Oct 2005 12:32:43 -0400 The Metropolitan Museum of Art's official Podcast The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York The Metropolitan Museum of Art's official podcast features exclusive commentary on our world-renowned special exhibitions, as well as curatorial insights into individual masterpieces, artists' discussions of their work, and explorations of a wide variety of art-related topics. Visit www.metmuseum.org/podcast for more information. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York web.site@metmuseum.org no 070 Special Exhibition: Hipsters, Hustlers, and Handball Players: Leon Levinstein's New York Photographs, 1950–1980 The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York In excerpts from a 1988 archival recording, photographer Leon Levinstein talks about his work and the experience of photographing in the streets of New York. The excerpts are introduced by Curator Jeff Rosenheim and filmmaker-photographer Jem Cohen. In excerpts from a 1988 archival recording, photographer Leon Levinstein talks about his work and the experience of photographing in the streets of New York. The excerpts are introduced by Curator Jeff Rosenheim and filmmaker-photographer Jem Cohen. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.06072010.070.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_070 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.06072010.070.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_070 {C9CE6916-DFEF-4B86-BDB0-EE290C523227} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={C9CE6916-DFEF-4B86-BDB0-EE290C523227} Learn more about this exhibition. 070.B.jpg 070.S.jpg Mon, 07 Jun 2010 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 9:13 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Photography Leon Levinstein New York Photographs Jeff Rosenheim Jem Cohen spex yes <p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: I’m Jeff Rosenheim, curator in the Department of Photographs at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.</p><p>Leon Levinstein, the street photographer whose work is featured in <em>Hipsters, Hustlers, and Handball Players</em>, is one of the unsung photographers of the twentieth century. With this exhibition, we are attempting to present work seldom seen to a New York audience by an artist whose photographs of Coney Island, Times Square, and the Lower East Side reveal the pleasures of the street and the awesome potential of the medium of photography.</p><p>Leon Levinstein died in 1988, but we have the opportunity—through a recording made by Jem and Adam Cohen—to hear the artist speak about his work and his experience with photography in the city. Here is Jem Cohen to introduce the interview with Leon Levinstein.</p><p><strong>Jem Cohen</strong>: In the mid-1980s, when I first came to New York and lived with my brother, we were both struggling to work as documentary photographers and filmmakers. Adam and I knew Leon Levinstein through my mom, who had been married to an important teacher of documentary photography, Sid Grossman. Sid taught at the Photo League in the late 1940s and into the early '50s, and Leon was his student for a number of years. </p><p>Adam and I came to New York with a deep interest in documentary photography, and a lot of the old-timers were gone, but we heard from my mother that Leon was still around, still shooting, lived up in the Bronx, and would probably like to hear from us. And so we ended up spending quite a bit of time with him, and he was also interested in encouraging us in our work. One of my earliest memories of Leon was him leaving a message on our answering machine, saying, “Boys, there’s going to be a parade today up on Fifth Avenue and I want you out there shooting, because a parade is always a good place to start.”</p><p>Leon was a somewhat contradictory figure. He wasn’t a naive folk artist: He loved photography and the history of photography; he loved to go to museums; he’d studied some as a painter. But on the other hand, he was not an intellectual. He was very unpretentious, deeply down to earth, and quite a loner. And this all fed into his work.</p><p>In 1988, my brother and I decided that it would be interesting and maybe even important to try to do a little interview with Leon and learn more about his life and work. And we knew that he would be a little hesitant because he was, in his way, very private and soft-spoken, or at least he wasn’t prone to intellectualizing about photography or art work. And he agreed to give it a go.</p><p>In this first excerpt from the interview, we asked him about the locations that he preferred to photograph in.</p><p><strong>Leon Levinstein</strong>: If you look at my pictures, you’ll see, I didn’t go into places that—where only Miss Vanderbilt or Miss Rockefeller is living, you know. I go in all type of neighborhoods. And naturally you use discretion. It’s very important to use discretion. You don’t, you know, all of sudden become a fool, because it <em>can</em> be a bit dangerous and—I mean, you’re not going to get shot, but you could, you know, get into a fight, break your equipment.</p><p><strong>Jem Cohen</strong>: We were curious as to how things had changed, both for photographers and for the city itself, from the time when Leon first began to photograph.</p><p><strong>Leon Levinstein</strong>: Days by, they didn’t know what the lens was. They never had a camera. Now everybody knows. Everybody has a camera and they know the lens—what the lens is for. And if it’s pointed at them, they know their picture’s being taken. Other days, they—they weren’t sure, because they never had camera, especially the older people. </p><p>But most people don’t particularly care to be photographed. And if you ask them, the picture’s ruined. You know, they pose; it’s no good. It’s—what you want to see is something that’s spontaneous. You don’t want to have them posing for you. </p><p><strong>Jem Cohen</strong>: A great deal of Leon’s work was done in the thick of the crowd, especially in places like Coney Island, and we wondered how that felt for him.</p><p><strong>Leon Levinstein</strong>: Well, it’s sort of a vicarious experience when you photograph. Because you’re always on the outside. They’re having a good time there, maybe a family, or a couple families, having a picnic, eating this fried chicken and potato salad and all that junk. And you’re on the outside, you know, trying to sneak a picture. You walk around them and around them and look and look and see if for a moment something might happen, and they don’t invite you to sit down and have fried chicken. You’re always on the outside. And then you go somewhere else, but again you’re on the outside. And if you have somebody with you it’s no good, they detract you from what you’re doing. So you got to be alone and work alone. And it’s a lonely—a very lonely occupation, if you want to call it that.</p><p><strong>Jem Cohen</strong>: When Leon’s work was noticed at all, we felt that it's sometimes been lumped in with a kind of humanistic, <em>Family of Man</em>,and, occasionally, sentimental aspect to street photography. My brother and I were particularly interested, however, in the power of the work, the strength of the work, and a kind of raw and very tough quality.</p><p><strong>Leon Levinstein</strong>: One thing I always try to do, if possible, is never to speak mildly or softly. I don’t think any photographer should. You should speak loud and clear. And that’s the way I try to take my pictures. Not, you know, looking for poetic things—if there should be, fine. But I make, you know, as strong a statement as I possibly can. And that probably would be a better way to say it.</p><p>And, another thing, I never go out with any intentions of photographing any particular thing. I let anything that comes within my sight or in my path that excites me to photograph, I’ll photograph, I don’t care what it is. But I never go out there and say, "Well, I’m going to look for certain type of pictures today"—maybe, you know, "It'll be great art, or I can sell them," or something like that. Or with the intention of going out and trying to take pictures that might have a market. Never. I just go out and photograph and if something I see comes—that I can reach and I’m interested in—I will photograph. I don’t believe in intellectualizing and working in any particular method. Just photograph, period.</p><p><strong>Jem Cohen</strong>: In a way it was quite mysterious to us that Leon came out of the army, bought a used camera, had virtually no experience in photography and, within a few years, he was making work that was not only, kind of, archetypal street photography but with some extraordinary formal innovation. There was something radical about the way that he used space, the way that he dealt with the edge of the frame, but it was done in a very unpretentious way. It wasn’t something that he could necessarily even articulate. But it was extraordinary.</p><p><strong>Leon Levinstein</strong>: A good photograph will prove to the viewer how little our eyes permit us to see. Most people, really, don’t see—see only what they have always seen and what they expect to see—where a photographer, if he’s good, will see everything. And better if he sees things he <em>doesn’t</em> expect to see.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: <em>Hipsters, Hustlers, and Handball Players: Leon Levinstein’s </em><em>New York</em><em> Photographs</em><strong> </strong>will be on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York, from June 8 through October 17, 2010.</p><p>We are grateful to filmmakers and photographers Jem and Adam Cohen for allowing us to use their recording of Leon Levinstein in this program.</p><p>We are also grateful to Gary Davis, whose donation of photographs to the Metropolitan made this exhibition possible.</p> 069 Special Exhibition: Doug + Mike Starn on the Roof: Big Bambú The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Anne Strauss talks to Doug and Mike Starn about their new work, Big Bambú: You Can't, You Don't, and You Won't Stop, on view on The Iris and B. Gerald Cantor Roof Garden at the Metropolitan Museum through October 31, 2010. Curator Anne Strauss talks to Doug and Mike Starn about their new work, <em>Big Bambú: You Can't, You Don't, and You Won't Stop</em><em>,</em> on view on The Iris and B. Gerald Cantor Roof Garden at the Metropolitan Museum through October 31, 2010. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.04262010.069.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_069 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.04262010.069.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_069 {9C6923D2-D348-4761-BEB3-A943934068D2} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={9C6923D2-D348-4761-BEB3-A943934068D2} Learn more about this exhibition. 069.B.jpg 069.S.jpg Mon, 26 Apr 2010 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 8:42 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Doug Mike Starn Big Bambu Bamboo Anne Strauss spex no <p><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: I'm Anne Strauss, Associate Curator of Modern and Contemporary Art at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. </p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: Hi. I'm Mike Starn.</p><p><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: And I'm Doug Starn. </p><p><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: Welcome to a conversation with Doug and Mike Starn atop the Metropolitan Museum, where the forty-eight-year-old identical-twin brothers are at work building <em>Big Bambú</em>, a monumental bamboo structure in the form of a cresting wave. Key to this ambitious undertaking with an eight-months-long lifespan are over three thousand bamboo poles, each one thirty to forty feet in length, thirty miles of nylon climbing rope, a pair of artists, and a team of rock climbers. Mike and Doug, how did <em>Big Bambú</em> come to be? And fill us in, if you would, please, on your vision for this colossal and complex endeavor. </p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: When we first developed the idea, several years ago, for the piece that we made in our studio, it was an idea about a piece that actually physically moved. With the footprint of the Roof Garden, we had to come up with something that would be able to continually move and change. So we came up with the idea of a seascape, which is something we've worked with in our photography since the eighties.<br /><br /><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: We'd always done work that was about change. And—</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: And how nothing is ever really finished. It's always going to exist in time and through time. Meanings change and objects change.</p><p><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: Well, let's talk about that ever-changing aspect in the work and about your vision that it be seen as a living organism. </p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: This piece is representative of what it means to be alive. And what we mean by that is not just simply something that's an animal, but it could be a city or a society, a culture. It's always complete, but that doesn't mean it's finished. It's always going to be changing and growing, and it's made of its constituent parts that all affect each other through time. And they're interconnected.<br /><br/><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: Well, the climbers and ourselves working on the piece, we're really part of the organism, but it's also because the Met is allowing the visitors to actually come into it, it's allowing the public into it. And we're not sure how that's going to feed the piece yet. I'm certain it will, and I'm quite fascinated to see how that's going to change the piece and where it's going.</p><p><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: Talk about your team of rock climbers on this project and the construction process overall. </p><p><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: We had heard of the scaffolds in Asia, and we wondered about getting people—</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: Actually hiring some people that maybe had already done scaffolding. We realized that that would be a really bad idea, because they'd be so set in their kind of normal construction technique. So we realized that we actually need people that know nothing about building, but just make sure they're not afraid of heights. So we thought of rock climbers and they've just been fantastic. </p><p><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: Chaos is an underlying principle in the <em>Big Bambú</em> installation. When I see the piece, I see there's chaos in the randomly lashed-together bamboo poles. Yet at the same time, there's intricacy and truly fine craftsmanship interwoven throughout the piece. </p><p><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: There's a certain craftsmanship with the knot tying. It's very—</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: It's very methodical. It's very thoughtful. It's very present. You know, even though the piece can look total scattershot, it all takes time. It's about three minutes for each knot being tied. And you find a place to put a pole, you find an interconnection with maybe ten other poles, and just methodically knit one pole to another. And it is definitely very thoughtful at the same time it's chaotic. </p><p><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: That's the way <em>Big Bambú</em> works. It's thirty-two hundred pieces of bamboo put together. And as we're working on it, five minutes goes by and all of a sudden there's somebody standing where it was just thin air moments before. And it's just a wonderful thing to see that growth and—</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: Pieces affecting pieces. </p><p><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: Yeah. </p><p><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: And throughout the piece, is there any decipherable logic or symmetry?</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: It's...No. [Laughs] I don't think so.</p><p><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: Because to me, it's certainly unconventional, just as you are unconventional artists.</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: Doug and I step back, look at it, and decide we want to create a line, a flow, direction. And, specifically in this piece, we're creating some ideas of currents and force from the waves. So we do tell the climbers, you know, "Start working in a thirty-degree angle and add a lot of larger, heavier pieces here." And then a system will start showing up. And then other action is thrown in in completely chaotic directions, and then you don't notice those pieces. So there’s design and thinking going on, but certainly not symmetry.     </p><p><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: There are two ways for visitors to experience this massive, impressive, and compelling sculptural installation: either at the Museum's Roof Garden level, which is open to everyone during regular Museum hours, where visitors can walk through among the bamboo poles and leafy, canopy-covered spaces; or along the elevated interior network of pathways on special guided tours, which are ticketed. Ultimately, there will be two internal, integrated, artery-like bamboo pathways. Can you talk a bit about the ideas behind the network of pathways?  </p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: Well, just as a city gets its energy from the living things in it, and they pass through arteries and the roads, the highways, those are the things that feed it. And the same is true with <em>Big Bambú</em>. Our pathways are arteries where the bamboo is going to be fed up through, from our storage on the roof, into the piece, and then the bamboo moves throughout. And it's how we and the climbers get from place to place in a little bit easier fashion than trying to carry the bamboo pole at the same time you're climbing through like a monkey. </p><p><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: We found out it was a lot of fun.</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: Yeah.</p><p><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: We had no idea. It was a very dry, conceptual piece about everything we've been talking about. But climbing in it, we feel like kids again. And it's amazing to have something so dry about growth and change and—</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: But since it's about life, I feel that joy of life really comes through in the piece, in ways we just didn’t expect it. </p><p><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: I really can't remember being happier than I am up on the roof over Central Park. It's just incredible.</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: And this is about you. You're the same person you were when you were a little kid, but you're someone entirely new now at the same time. </p><p><strong>Doug Starn</strong>: It's about your family. It's about—</p><p><strong>Mike Starn</strong>: It's about your mood. It's your health. It's your interconnection with the rest of the world that makes you who you are. It’s important to realize that we're all in this together, and we're all affecting each other.</p><p><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: Many thanks, Mike and Doug, for speaking with me today on the subject of the highly anticipated exhibition of your work at the Met. You've been working together as artists since your teenage years. You initially made your mark in the art world as photographers in the 1980s, although your creative output really defies categorization, combining sculpture, photography, painting, video, and installation art. You've certainly animated the Metropolitan Museum's Roof Garden and taken our sculpture program that features the achievement of individual artists, now in its thirteenth year, literally to a new dimension and to new heights with your boundary-breaking project. </p><p>For those who wish to obtain tickets for the special guided tours of the elevated pathways, all information is available on the Met’s website, metmuseum.org. If you are at the Museum, there is information available at locations throughout the building.</p><p>The exhibition <em>Doug + Mike Starn on the Roof: Big Bambú</em> is on view April 27 through October 31, 2010, weather permitting. The exhibition is made possible by Bloomberg. Additional support is provided by Cynthia Hazen Polsky and Leon B. Polsky. The exhibition is also made possible in part by the Jane and Robert Carroll Fund. </p><p>The Audio Guide at the Metropolitan Museum is sponsored by Bloomberg.</p><p><strong>Narrator</strong>: This has been an Antenna Audio production.</p> 068 Episode for Families: Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief at the Met The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Rick Riordan, author of the best-selling series <em>Percy Jackson & the Olympians</em>, talks with Associate Curator Seán Hemingway about what inspired him to create characters from the gods, heroes, and monsters of Greek mythology, and the connections between his books and the Metropolitan Museum’s Greek collection. The opening scene of the first book in the series, <em>The Lightning Thief</em>, takes place at the Met. Recorded March 14, 2010. Rick Riordan, author of the best-selling series <em>Percy Jackson & the Olympians</em>, talks with Associate Curator Seán Hemingway about what inspired him to create characters from the gods, heroes, and monsters of Greek mythology, and the connections between his books and the Metropolitan Museum’s Greek collection. The opening scene of the first book in the series, <em>The Lightning Thief</em>, takes place at the Met. Recorded March 14, 2010.<br/>To follow in Percy Jackson’s footsteps in the Met’s galleries, download the <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/explore/lightning_thief_activities.pdf">Art Adventure Guide</a> http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.03292010.068.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_068 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.03292010.068.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_068 epNum068 http://tinyurl.com/PercyAtTheMet Related programs 068.B.jpg 068.S.jpg Mon, 29 Mar 2010 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 16:40 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Percy Jackson Rick Riordan Sean Hemingway family no <p><strong>Seá</strong><strong>n Hemingway</strong>:<strong> </strong>I’m Seán Hemingway, Associate Curator in the Department of Greek and Roman Art here at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and I’m here today with Rick Riordan, the author of the Percy Jackson series. Welcome to the Metropolitan Museum, Rick.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: Thanks, Seán. It’s good to be here. Always good to be at the Met.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: From an early age, I’ve been fascinated with Greek mythology, and it’s led me on a path toward becoming a curator of Greek and Roman art. So I was especially fascinated how <em>you</em> bring Greek mythology into the world today. I thought it was really fantastic how you did that, and I wondered, when did you get interested in Greek mythology?</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: Well, I think, like you, I’ve been interested in mythology since I can remember. One of my earliest memories is sitting with my dad and he would read me folklore from the Americas. He would read me tall tales of Paul Bunyan and Native American mythology. And from there we got back into Greek and Roman myths. And when I was a schoolchild, I loved those old stories. I think there’s something that’s very universal about them. It really doesn’t matter where or when you grew up. There’s something you can relate to in those old stories about gods and heroes. They’ve just got everything you could possibly want. They have mystery, treachery, murder, loyalty, romance, magic, monsters—everything is in there. So I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t interested in mythology and that just continued when I was a teacher. I loved teaching it and it was always one of my students’ favorite things.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: One of the interesting things about myths—Greek myths and other myths, as you were saying—is how mutable they are, how they come out of oral traditions and they change, and different local places have different versions. We have, in our collection, a fragment of Homer’s <em>Odyssey</em>, an early third-century B.C. copy of <em>The Odyssey</em>. It actually has a local version of it. We know which book it’s from, and the passage, and it’s different from the one that’s been passed down to us today. So we know that these stories changed. And one of the things I found so neat about your first book, <em>The Lightning Thief</em>, is that you take these stories and you change them and they go in different directions and they’re exciting. They really bring you into the story.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: That’s a really important thought about the oral tradition, and what we think of as sort of a fixed text really isn’t. It’s something that’s evolved over the years, over the centuries. Kids will often write to me, or talk to me, and say, “You said that Hephaestus got thrown down Mount Olympus by Hera, but the story I read said that Zeus did that. Which one is right?” And I have to tell them, “Well, it sort of depends on what source you read. You know, you’ll hear both versions of the story.” And that’s one of the neat things about mythology, is that there are so many versions that you can pick the ones you like and develop the ones that seem to make the most sense.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: Perseus is your main character for the books. And I wondered if you considered other heroes, or how you came to choose Perseus as your hero.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: Right, right. In the series—several fans have asked me that. They’ve said, “Well, the original Perseus was the son of Zeus, but Percy Jackson, who is named after Perseus, is the son of Poseidon. Why did you do that and why did you choose Perseus?” His mom—Percy’s mom in the story—explains it by saying that in the versions that she has read, Perseus is usually the hero who has the happy ending, you know, and that’s not always true in all of the versions. But she could at least imagine that being a lucky name, and that’s why she names Percy that. But I’ve always loved the story of Perseus. And as to why I sort of changed it around and made him the son of Poseidon—I sort of modeled that after the Theseus story, which has always been one of my favorites. But I thought it’s too obvious to make the hero the son of Zeus. Everybody’s always the son of Zeus, you know, because he’s the big guy. I thought it would be a little more interesting to have a hero who had to try a little bit harder because his dad was the second-most powerful guy, rather than the guy sitting in the big throne.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: I think it’s great. In our collections, we have many representations of Zeus and Poseidon. One of my favorite ones of Poseidon is a cup attributed to the Amasis painter. It’s a black-figure Attic cup of the late sixth century B.C. But it shows the mythical stables of Poseidon. He was also the god of horses, as you know, and so he had underwater stables. So how do you represent that in art? And this very creative Athenian vase painter does this sort of mythical world and we must have a look at it together sometime. It’s a wonderful piece. I think your choice of Perseus is really good, too, because he’s one of the heroes that we do know something about his whole story, or his story from birth. And his mother is an important part of that. The original Perseus—and his mother Danae—they were cast adrift to die. And she took care of her son. And your relationship between Percy and his mom is wonderful. She’s very caring for him, and so I thought that was a very nice parallel. Because you have many strands of parallels with antiquity. And we have a vase in our collection that shows them about to be set adrift in a box, in an Attic vase of the fifth century B.C. So it’s wonderful to be able to see some of these scenes in mythology that relate to the works in your book.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: Oh, yeah, there are so many great pieces in the collection here, and when I was thinking about this story, I kept coming back to the images that I had seen. And I don’t have a background in archaeology, necessarily, but it’s so wonderful to just sort of go through and see the different depictions through the ages, and how different artists have depicted these stories that were so much a fabric of Greek civilization and are still a fabric of civilization today. I mean, you can’t walk down the street without running into something that’s influenced by Greek or Roman architecture or mythology, statuary—it’s everywhere, it’s still all around us. My hope is that when the kids read the Percy Jackson series, that will trigger some things inside them, and so that when they do read Homer in high school, they’ll say, “Hey, that’s just like what happened in the Percy Jackson books.” Or as they’re walking through a park, they see a statue, and they might, something might trigger with them. And they’ll appreciate what they’re seeing and the world that they’re passing through a little bit more, because of what they know about mythology.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: When I first read the book, which was just recently, <em>The Lightning Thief</em>, it opens at the Metropolitan Museum. And I was just amazed to see that. And I wondered why you decided to choose the Metropolitan Museum to open the first scene in your book.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: Yeah, you know, I didn’t give it any conscious thought, because I just knew that this is where it had to be. Part of that is that I started thinking about the idea of the Greek gods sort of following Western civilization, the way they moved from Greece to Rome and sort of developed into the same gods, but the gods of the imperial Roman culture, and that they sort of took on a slightly different persona, but they stayed with us. And I think in the same way, the Greek stories, the Greek gods, the Greek heritage has stayed with us throughout the strand of, you know, what we call Western civilization. It’s always there. And when a new power grows, like France or Great Britain or America, they always put on the trappings of ancient Greece and Rome. You know, the government buildings always look Greek and Roman. We have the eagle, the symbol of Zeus, as our national symbol. You know, these things stay with us. So I started playing with that idea. And I thought that if I were a Greek god and I was around today, I would want to be in the center of everything. And that, for me, just seems to be Manhattan. So I parked Mount Olympus over the Empire State Building, and as I was looking for a place where a student might start an adventure as a Greek hero in America, it made sense to me that the Met would be sort of the crux of the confluence of Greek civilization and modern American civilization. The collection here was a natural place for Percy to start his journey. And it’s such a wonderful space, and there are so many ways I could play with it. And the idea of having a Fury come to life and flying through the Greek and Roman section of the Metropolitan Museum was just too good to pass up.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: That’s a wonderful image, yeah. I wonder, too—just thinking a little bit about your writing, which is so fluid and really brings me back to that young age with Percy—what authors were influential for you as you were writing the book or have been in your life?</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: Right. Really the oral tradition. Again, it was so important to me growing up. The stories that I tend to remember are the ones that I read with my parents, that they read aloud to me—E. B. White’s <em>Charlotte’s Web</em>, <em>The Trumpet of the Swans</em>.<em> The Tales from the Western World</em>. All of those were really important to me. And just growing up hearing stories, I think, kind of opened my mind to the idea of Greek myths as sort of this continuing storytelling tradition. And then later on I was very drawn to fantasy. Probably the first book that I read on my own, just for pleasure, that I remember, was the Lord of the Rings trilogy. That got me into fantasy. I had a great English teacher in eighth grade, who said, “You do know that those stories come from Norse mythology.” And she sort of worked me backwards into the source material. That’s how I got into Odin and Loki and all those wonderful stories. So again, it all kept coming back to mythology for me. And that’s really where I started my journey, I think, as a writer and a reader.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: One of the things that you bring out in your book, about Greek mythology, that is so true and interesting, I think, is that the gods are immortal but they also have human qualities, and in some cases even failings or weaknesses. I thought it was so interesting that you latch onto that. Part of that, in my field, you don’t see it so much in Greek art. Often the gods are just the gods. But we have a few cases in our galleries, in our collection, that show that. And one of my favorite pieces is a vase that shows the gods fishing. Herakles has a fishing rod and Poseidon has his trident. And they’re just almost like a Sunday day off. And you capture the gods a little bit in that way. You capture very human qualities in them. And I thought that was very interesting. And Percy, too, as a demigod, has mortal qualities and godlike qualities. And I wondered if there were any reasons why you really bring that out so well in your book.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: It’s a really good point about the gods being mortal, in a way. They have these failings that we associate with humans. And the idea of divinity is not really what <em>we </em>think of when we think of sort of a divine force as being this very removed, perfect entity. The gods are very accessible. They get angry, they get jealous, they get envious of each other, they do stupid things, they get trapped by each other in these ridiculous situations. Hephaestus traps his wife in a net with Ares in bed—you know, just all these ridiculous situations that you would never think that this divine being would ever allow themselves to get into. But that’s what makes them lovable, too. That’s what makes them relatable. We see ourselves in the gods and the different situations that they get into. And I think that’s one of the reasons that the stories have held up so well. They don’t feel removed. These feel like characters in a soap opera that we've followed all our lives, and we know these characters. And even when they fail, we’re sort of rooting for them and we’re on their side. And that’s what’s also, I think, what makes them so mutable and so adaptable, and why we see them over and over again in literature and art and music and all these different art forms. They are our first superheroes. In fact, one of my favorite comments—I was asking a group of students one time who they would want as a parent, if they had a Greek god, and this girl raised her hand very excitedly, and said, “Batman!” You know? And everybody laughed. But really, she had a point. You know, Batman and Superman and all those characters are sort of our modern equivalent to the Greek gods. They are these super-powerful characters who are also very flawed and very human. And they have that double identity to them that we can all associate with.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: I think it’s so interesting, too, how Percy has a learning disability. I mean, he is a demigod, but he overcomes not just extraordinary monsters but he overcomes very human problems growing up that we all overcome and I thought it was wonderful, how your hero overcomes a whole range that—even, for some of us, getting through a day is a small feat of heroic quality.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: Yeah, absolutely. And I think all kids feel that way, that every problem is huge and every undertaking that they have to do in their day is heroic. I know I felt that way when I was in middle school. Golly. I don’t know, I mean, if I were given a choice between asking a girl out or fighting the Hydra, I would probably take the Hydra. Doing that the first time is pretty tough. Learning to drive. You know, all these things that you have to learn and get through, all these rites of passage that you take as a normal American teenager, they do feel like a kind of heroic journey. I think that’s one reason that kids relate to the Greek gods still. I also think it’s true that—especially with the age that I worked with, middle-school kids—aged, say, twelve to fourteen—they feel caught between two worlds. They’re not really sure where they belong. Are they children? Are they adults? How do they feel about their parents? How do they feel about their friends? Who are they supposed to be loyal to? They’re changing in every possible way. And, in a sense, they are very much like demigods who are also trapped between two worlds. They're not quite human, they're not quite divine, they're somewhere in the middle. And they’re not really sure where they belong or if their parents care about them, and it’s sort of a nice allegory for what any teenager is going through. I think that’s one reason that the myths resonate particularly well with that age group.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: On a different subject—you have so many wonderful mythical monsters in your books, too. I loved Aunty Em and the Medusa, which is a natural Perseus story. I actually live in New Jersey, so I’ve seen lots of garden shops like that along the highway. So I thought, it’s wonderful how you’ve transformed these monsters. And monsters are powerful creatures of every age. You’re very creative in reinventing these creatures of the past.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: Yeah, thanks. Apologies to New Jersey for sending Medusa your way, but, yeah, it did seem like kind of an interesting place for her to be, at a garden gnome emporium, you know, on the side of the road somewhere. And that was one of my favorite parts about writing the series is sort of taking these old myths and monsters and figuring out a way to transpose them onto America. And I had no trouble seeing Ares, the god of war, riding his Harley Davidson across the West with a shotgun. You know, this seemed like a natural pick. And putting the Underworld under Los Angeles. You know, some things just have to be. But, yeah, the monsters—and really, I thought I knew Greek mythology pretty well until I started writing the series and then I started going back to some of the old, old primary sources and reading about these monsters that I either had never known about or had forgotten. And some of them appear in the artwork as well. But<strong> </strong>many of them have sort of been lost in time. Everyone recognizes Medusa, but there are so many other amazing monsters that are there, but we don’t necessarily remember them today. So getting to dust off some of the older, less-known myths was a lot of fun, too.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: Medusa was a very popular one in Greek and Roman art. On our guide that we put together for the Museum for families and children to go through and find different pieces, there’s the famous Canova <em>Perseus with the head of Medusa</em> in the European Sculpture galleries. We have many Greek vases with the same scenes of Perseus approaching the Medusa with Athena; we have a famous vase by Polygnotus—Athenian vase—that shows that, and he’s not looking at her, he’s looking to Athena for guidance. And the minotaur, too, of course, is a huge favorite for representations in Greek art and in later periods. We even have—talking about the antiquity of these myths, a seal stone from Minoan times—from the late Bronze Age, from about the fourteenth century B.C. that shows a bull-man. So these myths that are recorded in Greek times really do go back much earlier, and it’s amazing to think of such a thing from Crete showing the bull-man and this idea of a labyrinth and the minotaur has such antiquity. And now, also, thanks to your series and other works of art and books, continues as a long tradition.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: Yeah, it’s really special to think that, in a way, I’m doing my small part to continue these stories that have been such a part of our shared tradition for so many years. That a story can stretch all the way back to Minoan times is—it’s amazing. It tells you something about the power of the image, it tells you something about how powerful that story is, for whatever reason. Those images—the bull-man, the Medusa with her hair made of snakes—they’re so powerful that they stay with us over the centuries and they still have the power to ignite the imagination. </p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: Thank you, Rick, so much for coming here today. </p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: That was fantastic. I appreciate talking with you today.</p><p><strong>Seán Hemingway</strong>: I’m Seán Hemingway, here today at The Metropolitan Museum of Art with Rick Riordan, the author of the Percy Jackson & the Olympians series, published by Disney Book Group. We hope you’ll come to the Metropolitan Museum and follow in Percy’s footsteps with the Museum’s newly published Art Adventure Guide.</p><p><strong>Rick Riordan</strong>: I’m Rick Riordan, visiting The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, <em>the </em>place to get your Greek and Roman fix while you’re in the city.</p> 067 Special Exhibition: A Musical Setting for Bronzino The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Carmen Bambach talks to composer Bruce Adolphe about how he translated the art and ideas of Agnolo Bronzino—whose drawings are on view in the current exhibition "The Drawings of Bronzino"—into music. The world premiere of Adolphe's new piece, Of Art and Onions: Homage to Bronzino (commissioned by Palazzo Strozzi in Florence), will be performed at the Metropolitan Museum on Saturday, March 6, 2010. Curator Carmen Bambach talks to composer Bruce Adolphe about how he translated the art and ideas of Agnolo Bronzino—whose drawings are on view in the current exhibition "The Drawings of Bronzino"—into music.  The world premiere of Adolphe's new piece, <em>Of Art and Onions: Homage to Bronzino</em> (commissioned by Palazzo Strozzi in Florence), will be performed at the Metropolitan Museum on Saturday, March 6, 2010. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.02162010.067.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_067 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.02162010.067.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_067 {1DD7D106-7608-4F3D-A077-9DC146F5D614} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={1DD7D106-7608-4F3D-A077-9DC146F5D614} Learn more about this exhibition. 067.B.jpg 067.S.jpg Tue, 16 Feb 2010 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 22:14 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Agnolo Bronzino Bruce Adolphe Carmen Bambach spex no <p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: I’m Carmen Bambach, curator in the Department of Drawings and Prints at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and a co-curator of the exhibition "The Drawings of Bronzino,” the first exhibition devoted to this great sixteenth-century draftsman, painter, poet, teacher, philosopher that’s on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art through April 18. And it presents nearly all the known drawings by this leading Italian Mannerist artist who worked primarily in Florence. Bronzino became famous as a court artist to Duke Cosimo I de’ Medici and his beautiful wife, Duchess Eleonora di Toledo. Drawing was for Bronzino a uniquely functional activity, and close-up examination of his studies on paper provides an intimate glimpse into his creative process. The exhibition contains sixty-one drawings from European and North American museums and private collections, many of which have never been on public view.<u> </u></p><p>I'm here with Bruce Adolphe, composer of the new musical work <em>Of Art and Onions: Homage to Bronzino</em>, which will have its world premiere here at the Met in a related concert called “A Tribute to Bronzino” on Saturday, March 6, at 7:00 p.m. Bruce, can you describe the structure of your composition?</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: Yes, well, the piece, first of all, is scored for madrigal choir, harpsichord, viola da gamba, and vibraphone. So the vibraphone sticks out a little bit as being the modern instrument. The others are all capable of playing Italian Renaissance music without being anachronistic. And I felt the vibraphone would be important to put in there for some modern color and a little perspective. </p><p>The piece is called <em>Dell’arte e delle cipolle: Omaggio al Bronzino</em> <em>(Of Art and Onions: Homage to Bronzino).</em> It’s structured in seven movements. Some of them are poems by Bronzino, and two are based on Petrarch, for reasons that I’ll explain in a moment. And then there’s one movement called “Venus,” which is just instrumental. The first movement is called “Salutar Piante,” which everybody in the ensemble performs, and this is a sonnet to Laura Battiferri about the death of Luca Martini. And in this poem there are lots of references Bronzino made to Petrarch and Petrarch’s style, but also to Laura herself, where he writes <em>a l’aura soave</em>, you know, just as in the Petrarch, “the sweetness of the breeze,” but it sounds like the name Laura.</p><p>The second one is called “Il mio volto il consuma,” and this one is just for women’s voices, harpsichord, viola da gamba, and vibraphone. This one is based on, in a sense, one of Bronzino’s paintings. It’s the portrait of Laura Battiferri, in which she looks nose-wise a little bit like Dante. And she’s also holding open some poems of Petrarch. One of the poems is Sonnet 240 of Petrarch. And there are lines in that poem: “What else can this man do? / My face consumes him. / Why is he so desirous and why am I so beautiful?” So I thought, since the painting by Bronzino of Laura Battiferri refers to Petrarch, that I should set the Petrarch here. And it sort of brings a little circle around. And so that one is just women singing that.</p><p>Then it moves into a movement which is a madrigal text that Bronzino wrote, and as far as I know, the text has never been set by anybody, which is interesting, because it really is in the madrigal style. And there are so many madrigalists in that time, and I couldn’t find any setting of it. And this also mentions Laura—his Laura Battiferri, as opposed to the Laura of Petrarch. And I like the circle of Bronzino painting a poem of a Laura with the Petrarch, which is dedicated to a different Laura, and all of their problems with those women.</p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: And we also know that Bronzino painted portraits of Dante and Petrarch and Boccaccio for Bartolommeo Bettini.</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: Absolutely. So it really completely comes together with the poetry and the painting of poets, and the painting of the women related to the poets, and Battiferri herself was a poet.<u></u></p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: One of the things that I find really quite extraordinary is to reflect a little bit about the background of Bronzino. I mean, he is born the son of a butcher, and the process of self-education must have been enormous—through his friends, through his acquaintances, through his apprenticeship with Pontormo. And to imagine that he rises to become one of the most exquisite poets is really quite extraordinary, to think about the intellectual refinement that clearly was part of what is essentially an autodidactic process, a process of self-education. And it is very interesting to reflect also on the status of the artist at this time, which is still mainly that of a craftsman. So this whole intellectual dimension is something that’s a very hard-won battle for an Italian Renaissance artist. One also thinks of Michelangelo’s being one of the great painter-poets, and in fact madrigalists. So there are certain precedents. But Bronzino is really quite accomplished.</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: You think it’s possible that his growing up the son of a butcher gave him some of the humor and the bawdiness that he brought into his poetry?</p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: Probably. There is that element of popular culture, which we tend to underestimate greatly. And we also tend to underestimate the oral traditions, the storytelling. I mean, when one reads the diary of Pontormo, which he wrote when he was working on the San Lorenzo frescoes, he talks a lot about Bronzino coming to supper. And they discuss what they eat and the diary also tells them, “And today we argued about Dante and Petrarch.” So it’s an extraordinary sort of document, an insight into this private world of friendship, but also intellectual discourse. And some of those elements are also really quite bawdy, which clearly comes through in Bronzino’s poetry.</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: He might have been thinking of more than one audience. I mean, not just the audience that normally reads poetry, but perhaps of some butchers and other people who might get their hands on this poetry.</p><p>The middle movement of the seven, the fourth movement, is called “Venus.” And it’s just instruments. I felt I had to use Venus even though there was no poem that I could find exactly. And it’s such an iconic figure for people who—even who first encounter Bronzino, it's usually through Venus.</p><p>And the fifth poem is a serious poem, but it seems almost funny today because it’s called “Deh, no, Musa.”  And it’s from a larger poem called “On Being Famous.” And in this particular stanza, he is lamenting the state of painting. I just find that extraordinary that he was upset with how painting seems to be going downhill.</p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: But isn’t this also a universal theme—artists perennially moaning how their art is in decline? I think there is also a little bit of the fatalism in the poetry of the time, when one thinks of Petrarch’s triumphs and the fact that fame perishes to death and even finally the memory of the artist or the poet is gone.</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: I’m glad you mention that, because—in a moment—that’s how I end the entire thing.</p><p>The movement that follows “Deh, no, Musa” is “La Cipolla”—“The Onion.” And “The Onion” is a very large, funny poem by Bronzino. And I had a hard time figuring out what to set from it but I finally chose, with the help of some people in Florence who were pushing me in this direction, because they are basing their catalogue on the concept of an onion, apparently. <strong><u></u></strong></p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: As one peels layers of the onion and reveals the core?</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: I ended up using the sections of “La Cipolla” that are about poetry and painting as compared to an onion, which is very funny coming from somebody like this. And of course, being the son of a butcher, there are probably onions everywhere, in his childhood.<strong><u></u></strong></p><p>And then the last movement relates to what you were just saying about fame disappearing. I went back to Petrarch because I just found a line that was the perfect line to end this. Because right after “La Cipolla,” which is very funny, I felt it needed something quiet and serious and reflective. And it also helps remind the audience how far back in time this is. So I took this one line: “Che quanto piace al mondo è breve sogno”—“Whatever pleases the world is a brief dream.” And it ends with a canon of the voices moving as canons do—they’re imitating each other at different distances of intervals, and of different distances in time, until it all comes together, saying that it’s a brief dream. And that’s the structure of the whole piece.</p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: Fantastic. Is your piece attempting to evoke a mood and set the stage for us to understand the works of this artist in very specific ways, or is this about a larger philosophical aesthetic and musical reflection on the artist? Can you elaborate, please?</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: Well, I took poems of Bronzino as my guide first. And since I’m setting poetry in each movement, the poetry determines a great deal about the mood. So I was careful to select a wide range of Bronzino’s personality here. The sonnet to Laura Battiferri, which is kind of elevated and elegant and in the manner of Petrarch to a certain extent. And also something as funny as “La Cipolla,” where he is on display as a comedian and his use of language is extremely funny. And I had to bear in mind that the performance here is for an English-speaking audience. So I did avoid certain kinds of poetry. The kinds of bawdy puns that even to Italians apparently are difficult to understand because it’s Renaissance Italian—I decided to leave the really arcane aspect of his poetry aside and deal with obvious humor, funny comparisons between onions and paintings, that sort of thing. And also I wanted to show his serious, almost angry side in “Deh, no, Musa,” where he’s really quite upset about the state of painting. And I thought that was musically a good choice for me, because we have the seriousness, we have the comedy. And then he’s angry and he is also despairing there.<strong><u></u></strong></p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: Were the aesthetic rhythms of his language of significance to you as well?</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: Yes. In fact, I needed some help with that, because I don’t go about speaking Renaissance Italian normally. So I had quite a bit of help. I had several scholars in Florence and also in Toronto and in North Carolina and in New York, and they all had things to tell me about the poetry. But I also recorded a native Italian speaker reading all the poetry. And I had that recording playing all the time while I was working on it, so that I could really understand the details and the subtleties and the nuances of the way this language is spoken properly. <strong><u></u></strong></p><p>As far as reflecting Renaissance Italian music, now that’s an area that I do know extremely well. I taught a class at Yale in 1984 on [Carlo] Gesualdo and it involved Monteverdi, etc. And I let some of that sound world kind of haunt the serious passages of the piece. In other words, I didn’t want to do an imitation of that and I didn’t want to write in a style that is not mine. But I did think it was important for the meaning of this piece to bring in some aspect of both Renaissance counterpoint and Renaissance harmonic movement. So in certain places it does appear—and one place it’s quite clear is when the women in the second movement ask “Why am I so beautiful?”—the Petrarch line. I thought that would be a good spot to use some almost Renaissance Italian music. Because it just seemed—that music is beautiful, it gave it a kind of irony that I enjoyed.</p><p>The instruments I decided to use were picked for several reasons. One is that it makes it possible to have an entire concert of Renaissance Italian music with this piece in there. Otherwise it would be a rather difficult thing to program in an appropriate manner. So the harpsichord, the viola da gamba, and the madrigal choir could perform Monteverdi and Gesualdo and [Cipriano de] Rore and Luca Marenzio, and anybody else from that period. The vibraphone wouldn’t fit in at all. But you know, one of the things that happened in Italian Renaissance music was there would often be lutes and other stringed instruments and keyboard instruments, especially as the time went on, mixed together in a free-flowing improvisatory kind of continuum. And the vibraphone, had it been invented then, would have fit in beautifully with the lute and the harpsichord and the guitar, because it’s very delicate, it’s very bell-like, and it is a keyboard, too. So the harpsichord and the vibraphone, I think, is a beautiful combination and I’m looking forward to it very much.<strong><u></u></strong></p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: One of the things that I have found really striking about Bronzino’s drawings and sort of thinking about the drawings as part of a continuum with his poetry, the two types of activity of his on paper, is this extraordinary attention to craftsmanship—the beautiful finish, the beautifully and seamlessly integrated thought, but worked out carefully, say, in the poetry in terms of rhythms, in terms of rhymes. And it is very interesting to see this perfectionism in his work. And I wonder whether some of this also can be translated into music in some way.</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: Well, it’s a tall order to strive for perfection. But it is not unreasonable to expect a piece of music to have great attention to detail and to structure and rhythm, etc. And my way of composing is very involved with detail. There’s no improvisation in the piece and everything stems from the rhythm of the text and the meaning of the text. Except for where there is no text, in “Venus.” And it’s very contrapuntal music, which not only reflects the Renaissance, but also allows for textures of great clarity and detail and lots of nuance.</p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: Very Bronzinesque, in fact.</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: Well, I suppose. I mean, I think when somebody is a craftsman, it’s very appealing to me. And I do often bring into my music techniques that have come from different centuries, whenever they seem appropriate to expressing a particular thought. So the fact that this needs to have a Renaissance feel is something I was very familiar with. I love the idea of craft, because it’s craft that sets you free emotionally. It’s the skill to find the technique that allows you to express yourself that matters. </p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: What is really interesting is to look at his paintings and see these perfect surfaces. And then when one investigates them with, say, infrared reflectography or X-radiograph, you see there is a tremendous creative process and actually changes of design that occur underneath the surface. So it all seems in the end flawlessly perfect. But there is an extraordinary creative energy that attends this process, which we see in the drawings on paper and also underneath on the panel surfaces underneath the paintings.</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: The X-rays you mention are—that’s an amazing technique. And I noticed in your book the X-ray of<em> [Study for] Jealousy</em>, the head. That’s an amazing thing to be able to see. It’s a lot like the fact that we have Beethoven’s sketchbooks. So we can see that the things that sound the most spontaneous and lyrical are the things that he actually rewrote many, many, many times and crossed out and struggled with. And with Bronzino especially, in your book, you can see how that happens and the drawings do illuminate that. It’s really very interesting. </p><p>You know, I used to write by hand like most composers. But now I use a computer. And I began to wonder about the fact that many of the so-called sketches disappear when you work on a computer. But now that’s not true. Because the programs now have a thing called versions attached to it, so that all the versions are being saved. So if you wanted to go back and look at what you originally thought, you can. I guess somebody realized that this was a serious problem.</p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: Were it be possible for Bronzino to come down from heaven smiling at us at this occasion of the exhibition, what would you hope that he could take away in listening to your piece? What would be the things that you would want him most to appreciate about what you’ve done?</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: Since that’s a fantastical question, I would like him to want to stick around for a while, because maybe he’s interested in modern music. But I would like—obviously it would be great if he said that he recognized his personality in the music in some way. I noticed, reading your book that goes with the exhibition, that assessments of his personality have changed drastically over the years. And so it would be great to have him come down, if he could get through all those cupids and cherubs on his way, and spend some time here and we’d find out what his personality really is like. I tried to find and put into the music and my choice of text as much of his personality as possible, from the refined to the bawdy to the comic to the reflective to the angry. So hopefully he’s in there somewhere.</p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: Bruce, could you play a little passage from the piece?</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: I’d like to play two excerpts, and bear in mind I will be playing them on the piano and there is no piano in the piece, and I will be representing, in some cases, voices, vibraphone, harpsichord, and da gamba. So I’m just going to give a little feel. First, I’d like to play a little bit of “Venus,” which is a movement that has no text. I felt that in trying to musicalize the idea of Venus from Bronzino’s paintings, I wanted to get two things: one was the sensuality and the earthiness of it, but the other was the playfulness and maybe the opposite of the earthiness, which is the smoothness of it. So those are two hard things to do. But I’ll play a little bit of music from that.</p><p>[plays piano]</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: The next passage is from the last movement, “Che quanto piace al mondo è breve sogno,” which is Petrarch: “Whatever pleases the world is a brief dream.” And I’ll just play a little bit of it to give a feeling of the mysterious, the sadness, the intelligence, and the wisdom of it. And I think the intelligence can be captured to a certain extent by the canonic writing, the feeling of it being worked out in detail. </p><p>[plays piano]</p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: Thank you, Bruce. We’ll look forward to hearing your musical homage to Bronzino in its world-premiere performance at The Metropolitan Museum of Art on March 6.</p><p><strong>Bruce Adolphe</strong>: Thank you, Carmen. </p><p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: <em>Of Art and Onions: Homage to Bronzino</em> is a co-production with the Palazzo Strozzi Foundation, Florence, and the Learning Maestros, New York. Its world-premiere performance by the Antioch Chamber Ensemble will take place at the Metropolitan Museum on Saturday, March 6, 2010, at 7:00 p.m. The program will also include music by Monteverdi and his contemporaries.</p><p>Palazzo Strozzi in Florence will present an exhibition of Bronzino’s paintings this fall, 2010.</p><p>"The Drawings of Bronzino" is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from January 20 through April 18, 2010. <br /> The exhibition is organized by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in collaboration with the Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi and the Polo Museale Fiorentino, Florence. <br /> The exhibition is made possible by the Gail and Parker Gilbert Fund. <br /> Additional support is provided by Dinah Seiver and Thomas E. Foster. <br /> The exhibition is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities. </p> 066 New Acquisition: Messerschmidt's <em>A Hypocrite and Slanderer</em> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York European Sculpture and Decorative Arts chairman Ian Wardropper comments on the powerful new acquisition <em>A Hypocrite and Slanderer</em>. This bust was created by the Austrian sculptor Franz Xaver Messerschmidt (1736–1783) for his series of character heads, depicting different states of mind and pointing the way toward a modern sensibility. European Sculpture and Decorative Arts chairman Ian Wardropper comments on the powerful new acquisition <em>A Hypocrite and Slanderer</em>. This bust was created by the Austrian sculptor Franz Xaver Messerschmidt (1736–1783) for his series of character heads, depicting different states of mind and pointing the way toward a modern sensibility. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.02082010.066.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_066 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.02082010.066.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_066 epNum066 http://www.metmuseum.org/now-at-the-met/news/2010/01/29/messerschmidt-bust-enters-the-collection.aspx See Now at the Met to learn more about this work of art. 066.B.jpg 066.S.jpg Mon, 08 Feb 2010 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 7:40 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Franz Xaver Messerschmidt Ian Wardropper woa no <p><strong>Ian Wardropper</strong>: My name is Ian Wardropper. I’m chairman of the Department of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and I’d like to introduce you to a new acquisition in my department. It is a striking image of a balding, blocky man. He sinks his chin into his chest, and the wrinkles there are realistically detailed, but at the same time very abstract, a series of concentric circles. His eyes are vacant and they’re looking away from us,  they’re downcast. </p><p> So as we try to come to terms with him, we move around him, lowering our head perhaps to look up into his eyes. He’s introspective, he’s brooding. And we move around to the side and see that this is a very simple, blunt, almost brutal image of a rectangular head that’s leaning forward, tipped forward on a socle that evolves or morphs into his shoulders. It’s a startlingly different object in the context of late-eighteenth-century art, in the gallery where we find it in the Museum.  Why did it come about? Why is it so different?<strong><u></u></strong></p><p> It’s made by an Austrian sculptor named Franz Xaver Messerschmidt, who in the 1760s was the leading sculptor at the imperial court. He made florid, baroque sculptures of the emperor, of the empress, and many figures at court, and had great success. But by the end of the decade of the 1760s, he had made a trip to Italy, where he was very impressed by the Neoclassical movement, by ancient sculptures, and his style began to change to a much simpler, more contained approach to forms. And then something occurred which scholars debate, in the beginning of the 1770s, and that is that he may have had a mental breakdown. But it’s also possible that it was simply an intrigue in the academy, where he sought a position as professor of sculpture in the Academy of Fine Arts. Whatever happened, he was denied this position and, in the middle of the 1770s, left the capital for the provinces, eventually settling in what is now called Bratislava.  </p><p> And there he continued to have some commissions. But for the most part he concentrated on a personal project of character heads, or <em>kopfstücke</em>, headpieces, as he also referred to them. And between the mid-1770s and his death in 1783, he completed over sixty in a series of these heads, which are absolutely remarkable for their time period.</p><p> They range from a very straightforward self-portrait—where he may be smiling, maybe just a little bit too much, or scowling—to a series that are more frankly caricatural or comical—somebody who is reacting to a strong odor, for example, or yawning really widely—to a series, and the newly acquired bust in the Met really belongs to this last series, of very serious, introspective figures, whose expression was referred to in the late eighteenth century as belonging to a group of “refusers,” that is, people who are denying contact with the environment around them.  </p><p> This bust of a man, created between 1775 and 1783, is done in a tin alloy, a soft metal, and has the title <em>A Hypocrite and Slanderer</em>, which was first conferred on it when it was publicly exhibited along with forty-eight others in 1793. </p><p> So what did this mean to Messerschmidt? This has been hotly debated and there are a number of clues, which we have from his background and from the scientific theories which would have been available to him at the time. To begin with, there is a long tradition in the history of art relating expressions of people to their character, to their inner emotions. This goes back to Leonardo da Vinci, who did grotesque heads and drawings, to Charles Le Brun in the seventeenth century, who had a theory called the <em>traité des passions</em>, the theory that one could codify expressions and show how they related to people’s inner feelings. So, in some sense, Messerschmidt, who was an academician, was interested and knew about theories relating to the way in which physical features, facial features, could convey a sense of emotion. At the same time there was a growing body of scientific theory, which he was probably aware of. One of these is—the physician Lavater, who had promulgated a theory that the shape of your cranium reflected your inner thoughts. But of particular interest for us is the work of Franz Anton Mesmer, who was an Austrian physician and was a neighbor of Messerschmidt. Messerschmidt lived near him for about four years. And Mesmer—our term “to mesmerize” comes from his name, because hypnotism was part of his cure—Mesmer believed that our outward organs, such as sight or hearing, connected to our inner emotions. And he developed a curative theory that involved applying magnets and pieces of metal to people’s bodies, who were then immersed in a bath.  </p><p> So the sculptor Messerschmidt must have observed many of these patients in different forms of mental stress and was well aware of this and other medical theories at the time dealing with expression and emotion. His series of character heads clearly are a range of mental states. This has led to modern psychologists—Ernst Kris in the 1930s, for example—stating that these heads were a form of exorcism for the sculptor; he was trying to exorcize his inner demons.  </p><p> By the time of Messerschmidt’s death in 1783, he had completed, we believe, about sixty-nine of these heads. And there are some fifty-two of them, which are known around the world, mostly in European collections. So when you look at this head in the Metropolitan Museum, you should be aware that it’s part of a series and was intended to be a long-term exploration of the meaning of self, in fact. All of these heads are slightly different, one from the next. Each is unique. There are no multiple castings of these heads. They are mostly composed in soft materials. This is a tin alloy, which has the effect of reducing the tense lines that he has created. Some of them are in alabaster, a very soft stone. But in total, the series constitutes one of the most forward-looking explorations of the self in sculpture, certainly of the eighteenth century, and in a pre-Freudian world was remarkable for the way in which it picks up on aspects of psychoanalysis, which we take for granted today, and, formally, is remarkable for moving beyond Neoclassicism towards a reductive line that forecasts our modern sensibility of minimalism.</p> 065 Special Exhibition: The Drawings of Bronzino The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Carmen Bambach discusses the life and work of the painter, draftsman, teacher, and poet Agnolo Bronzino (Italian, 1503-1572) on the occasion of the first exhibition ever devoted to him. <span><font color="#64A8BD">January 20, 2010–April 18, 2010</font></span><br/>Curator Carmen Bambach discusses the life and work of the painter, draftsman, teacher, and poet Agnolo Bronzino (Italian, 1503-1572) on the occasion of the first exhibition ever devoted to him. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01182010.065.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_065 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01182010.065.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_065 epNum065 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={1DD7D106-7608-4F3D-A077-9DC146F5D614} Learn more about this exhibition. 065.B.jpg 065.S.jpg Mon, 18 Jan 2010 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 10:00 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Agnolo Bronzino Carmen Bambach spex no <p><strong>Carmen Bambach</strong>: I’m Carmen Bambach, Curator of Drawings and Prints at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. "The Drawings of Bronzino," the first exhibition ever dedicated to Agnolo Bronzino (born in 1503 and died in 1572), brings together nearly all of the sixty-one known drawings by the great Florentine court artist of the Medici. The exhibition features drawings of extraordinary beauty and rarity, which are seldom on public view, and draws loans from major museums and private collections within Europe and North America, including the Galleria degli Uffizi, Musée du Louvre, British Museum, Royal Library of Windsor Castle, Ashmolean Museum, Kupferstich-Kabinett Dresden, and Staatliche Museen Berlin.</p><p> Bronzino was the son of a butcher. He was born in 1503 in Monticelli, near Florence. He died in 1572. He is really one of the most extraordinary artists of the sixteenth century. He spent most of his career in Florence, and he’s especially well known for his portraits of the Medici family.  </p><p> Bronzino is one of the main representatives of Mannerism in Italy, and especially in Florence. Being a poet, his literary sensibilities often profoundly inform his paintings, his compositions, full of allegorical meaning. Bronzino was an artist who prized the craftsmanship of drawing, the craftsmanship of painting.  </p><p> The high point of Bronzino’s career as a court artist to the Medici unfolds in the 1540s and 1550s, doing the Chapel of Eleonora di Toledo frescoes, the altarpiece, and also designing a magnificent and little-known series of tapestries. The drawings—the preparatory drawings—for the Chapel of Eleonora di Toledo are gathered for the first time in the exhibition. And we also understand Bronzino’s great strengths as a designer of tapestries from the drawings that are presented in the exhibition, also for the first time ever.</p><p> As is true of Bronzino, you don’t go from being the son of a butcher to the court artist of the Medici without having undergone quite a process. First of all, we should remember that the way in which artists were educated was to be trained as apprentices in a master’s workshop. In the case of Bronzino, he was apprenticed at a very young age in the workshop of Pontormo. The other thing we should say is that the process of education—intellectual education—in the case of Bronzino must have taken place pretty much as an autodidactic process, that is, that he was very much self-taught, because he rises to become a poet of extraordinarily elegant sensibilities. And he is able to also integrate an extraordinary level of allegorical meaning in his poetry and of course into his paintings.  So, in other words, he becomes a very intellectual painter, and in this way, one can see that he appeals very much to the learned sensibilities of the Medici court, particularly the Duchess Eleonora di Toledo and her husband, Cosimo Primo de’ Medici, duke of Florence.  </p><p> One of the marvelous opportunities furnished by a monographic exhibition dedicated to this single artist, Bronzino, is the ability to be able to tell the story of his life through his works. It is extraordinary that on one side we know his activity as court artist, and perhaps much more touching is also the personal aspect of this relationship, particularly of Bronzino to the Duchess Eleonora di Toledo, the beautiful daughter of the Viceroy of Naples. It is amazing to think that Eleonora was really his strongest supporter, that when the Duchess Eleonora falls ill and then dies finally, in 1562, that Bronzino loses the main supporter of his work as court artist.</p><p> This bit of biographical detail helps us also understand the rise and perhaps the twilight of Bronzino’s career as a court artist to the Medici. At the same time, Duke Cosimo de’ Medici began to prefer the work of Giorgio Vasari, Bronzino’s main competitor. And Giorgio Vasari, who was really very given to grandiloquent ways of painting compositions—and he was a very efficient artist who delivered great quantities of paintings in very little time, as he used many assistants—that Vasari becomes basically the replacement for Bronzino; Bronzino, who was, quite in contrast, someone very committed to the craftsmanship of his paintings and drawings, and therefore was a slower artist and relied much less on the help of assistants.  </p><p> Giorgio Vasari wrote <em>The Lives of the Most Eminent Artists</em> and it is important to realize that Vasari is not only Bronzino’s great rival in the eyes of the Medici—that is, Cosimo and Eleonora—but that Vasari, in a way, by writing the biography he did of Bronzino, that he sealed the way in which his fate, the way that he would be perceived by later generations. Vasari completely undervalued the activity of Bronzino as a poet, saying he dabbled in poetry and got distracted, essentially.  And Vasari also completely minimized Bronzino’s work as a tapestry designer for Duke Cosimo in the series of the story of Joseph. And what we come away with is the fact that Bronzino was extremely underestimated.</p><p> We must also think a little bit that at the time that historians of art were forming their opinions as to who was important in the sixteenth century in Italian art, that Bronzino and Mannerism were in general not considered very highly, that Bronzino’s interest in the balletic form of the body, Bronzino’s extraordinarily complex compositions, his level of allegorical content, of symbolic meaning—all these were elements that kind of militated against the taste of the earlier twentieth century, which is when this history of art is being written.  </p><p> And now, making it even more difficult, we should say that in the early twentieth century, when all this very important history of art is being written, that the scientific knowledge, the historical understanding of Bronzino’s work, was also not very advanced and in fact is really very faulty. If we consider the writings of Bernard Berenson, the great connoisseur of Italian art—of all the drawings that he attributed to Bronzino, only eight drawings stand up in his evaluations out of the possible sixty that are presented in the exhibition. And so, Bronzino’s reputation has very much suffered as a consequence of this.  </p><p> Since that time in the early twentieth century we have acquired a much more nuanced understanding of an artist’s painting techniques, drawing techniques, the purposes for which they produced drawings, the way—the dynamics in the artist’s workshop. We have also a much more refined understanding of the documentary evidence—that is, all the payment documents that have been discovered in the State Archives in Florence regarding the various projects for which Bronzino was employed. And this, of course, helps us build a chronology. And all this leads to a much more sensitive understanding of the artist’s work.  </p><p> Our tendency as historians today is also much more about interrogating the work of art, asking what was it made for, comparing it to other very similar drawings, and trying to think about purpose, trying to think about the ultimate intention of the artist. We must remember that, for Bronzino, drawing was a deeply functional activity, and so he always drew with a purpose in mind. And therefore sometimes not every drawing that he produces is beautiful as an end in and of itself but rather is meant to advance a purpose, therefore explore a further idea for a design.  </p><p> We hope that viewers of the exhibition will look very closely at the drawings, admire a bit the process, relish the beauty of the drawings, but at the same time remember that we're looking at works by an artist who belongs in another time, so it’s important to remember how functional drawing was as an activity for this artist. And so that we are, on the one hand, able to enjoy the beauty of what he produces, but, on the other hand, concede him space enough to see that he was producing drawings for his own purposes and toward other ends. </p><p> "The Drawings of Bronzino" is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from January 20 through April 18, 2010. </p><p> The exhibition is organized by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in collaboration with the Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi and the Polo Museale Fiorentino, Florence.</p><p> The exhibition is made possible by the Gail and Parker Gilbert Fund.</p><p> Additional support is provided by Dinah Seiver and Thomas E. Foster.</p><p> The exhibition is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p> 064 American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915: <em>Cliff Dwellers</em> by George Bellows The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Joyce Mendelsohn and Annie Polland—two historians of New York’s Lower East Side—discuss Cliff Dwellers, George Bellows's 1913 depiction of the neighborhood, now on view in the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915.” Joyce Mendelsohn and Annie Polland—two historians of New York’s Lower East Side—discuss <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.4.40"><em>Cliff Dwellers</em></a>, George Bellows's 1913 depiction of the neighborhood, now on view in the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915.” http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01042010.064.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_064 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01042010.064.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_064 {264FD9D3-6A90-457E-B97C-404AFC2382B8} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/ Learn more about this exhibition. 064.B.jpg 064.S.jpg Mon, 04 Jan 2010 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 10:58 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Joyce Mendelsohn Annie Polland Cliff Dwellers George Bellows spex no <p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: This is Barbara Weinberg, curator—with my colleague Carrie Rebora Barratt—of the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</p><p>The exhibition includes more than a hundred iconic works by many of America’s most acclaimed artists, who tell stories about their own times by depicting ordinary people engaged in life’s tasks and pleasures. Their paintings range in date from the Revolutionary era to the eve of World War I.</p><p>In <em>Cliff Dwellers</em>, George Bellows captures the colorful crowd on New York City’s Lower East Side. It appears to be a hot summer day. People spill out of tenement buildings onto the streets, stoops, and fire escapes. Laundry flaps overhead and a street vendor hawks his goods from his pushcart in the midst of all the traffic. In the background, a trolley car heads toward Vesey Street.</p><p>The painting, made in 1913, suggests the new face of New York. Between 1870 and 1915, the city’s population grew from one-and-a-half to five million, largely due to immigration. Many of the new arrivals—Italian, Jewish, Irish, and Chinese—crowded into tenement houses on the Lower East Side—the area north of the Brooklyn Bridge, south of Houston Street, and east of the Bowery. Among them were thousands of Eastern European Jews, who found temporary or permanent shelter along streets such as East Broadway, the setting for <em>Cliff Dwellers</em>. The city had never seen this kind of density before.</p><p>We invited two historians of the neighborhood—Joyce Mendelsohn and Annie Polland—to comment on Bellows’s painting. Here's Joyce Mendelsohn, who wrote the authoritative book <em>The Lower East Side Remembered and Revisited</em>. </p><p><strong>Joyce Mendelsohn</strong>:<strong> </strong>My grandparents came from Russia, settled on the Lower East Side. My parents were born there. I like the fact that Bellows left his serene block on East 19th Street in the Gramercy Park neighborhood to ride on the Third Avenue El or on the subway to capture the daily life of ordinary people of all ages on East Broadway. And my first impression of the painting is that it is an accurate description of an extremely congested street in an incredibly overcrowded neighborhood.<strong></strong></p><p>At the turn of the century, the Lower East Side had a population density exceeding that of Bombay, India—hard to believe, but true. When I look at the painting, what we see are people pushing their way through crowds, as a crammed streetcar inches forward. Mothers and small children are getting out of stifling rooms. Tenement apartments that were typically three hundred square feet housed as many as ten people.</p><p>Streets served as outdoor spaces for socializing for adults and play for children. On the right of the painting, two women are sitting outside an old row house converted to multiple apartments, while others are looking out of windows at the scene below, so that you see people on all levels in this painting.</p><p>A man sits on the railing. A woman climbs the steps with her bundles and another is hanging laundry on her fire escape. There’s a tremendous amount of energy in this painting. Three children sit on the sidewalk. A mother is admonishing a small child. On the left of the painting, boys are horsing around in the street.</p><p>This is, essentially, real. But he’s expanded the envelope into his particular fantasy of what the Lower East Side would have looked like. And maybe he was looking at it from a propaganda point of view, if he was pushing for some kind of social reform, such as housing reform or health reform. He would hope that a painting like this would serve as a document of what immigrant life was really like. But it wasn’t quite as extreme as he’s depicting it.</p><p>We’re looking at 1913. The population of the Lower East Side at that time would have been mostly Eastern European and Russian Jews, who first started flowing into the Lower East Side after 1881, after the assassination of Tsar Alexander II, and came in vast numbers.</p><p>In 1924 restrictive immigration laws were passed, which, in effect, shut the doors to immigration from Eastern and Southern Europe. So this is a time capsule of the Russian Jewish population of the Lower East Side.</p><p>The sounds would have been cacophonous—people speaking in Russian, in Polish, in Yiddish, shouting out over each other to make themselves heard in this vast crowd, mothers calling their children, people calling from the fire escapes, the clang, clang, clang of the streetcar going by—and so it would have been an extraordinarily noisy scene.</p><p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>:<strong> </strong>And here, with her perspective on the painting, is Annie Polland of the <a href="http://www.tenement.org/">Lower East Side Tenement Museum</a>.<strong></strong></p><p><strong>Annie Polland</strong>:<strong> </strong>The buildings are tenement buildings, and the simple definition of a tenement is a building that houses more than three families living separately, each with their own kitchen. And the tenements came to be associated with these extremely crowded buildings that were built in the late nineteenth century.</p><p>And these buildings kind of took up the entire lot. In New York, typically the lots would be twenty-five feet by one hundred feet. And the tenement buildings could take up to ninety percent of that lot. And as you can see in the picture, they’re side by side, so there’s very little light and air coming through these buildings. And you can see that in the painting, because you see the way in which people are out on their fire escapes, people are out on the stoops. </p><p>When you lived on the Lower East Side and you lived in the tenement district, you didn’t <em>live</em> in the tenements; you maybe slept there, you did some of your kitchen work, but a lot of your life is going to be happening on the stoop and in the streets. You know, a lot of your private life has to become public by virtue of how crowded and how the inadequacy of these housing conditions means that you’re living your life kind of outside. And that’s the beauty of this painting, is that he highlights the people who are on the stoop and kind of coming out of the window. </p><p>The name of the painting is <em>Cliff Dwellers</em>, and so, if you think of the tenements as the cliff, you know, the dwellers are these immigrants. And I like that his emphasis is not so much on the cliffs, but the emphasis seems to be on the people and how the people are dealing with the space and the conditions that have been given to them.</p><p>East Broadway was the heart of the Lower East Side in many ways. And these tenements, or these cliffs, are housing the places where people are living. The first floors, which are kind of obscured in this painting, but the first floors would have been storefronts. So there could be saloons, there could be grocery stores, there could be ice cream shops, soda shops. All sorts of commerce would be happening in this space. And also newspaper buildings were situated on East Broadway. And a lot of cafes would be here. </p><p>And even, you know, what could be in these buildings were synagogues, because there were about five hundred, six hundred synagogues in 1917. But most of them were not buildings built as synagogues but rather rented halls. So even in spaces like this, you could have a floor, a rented hall, that’s a synagogue, or a dance hall or a club where the local union would meet. So these spaces, the cliffs, were not just where people lived, but where people did business and where people prayed and where people drank and where people danced, and it could be under one roof, all of that activity happening.</p><p>And then these stoops<strong> </strong>could often be places for community gathering.<strong> </strong>And, in fact, in 1902, when the price of kosher meat went up, I think, fifty percent, from twelve cents to eighteen cents a pound, women, housewives, gathered on these stoops, gathered their neighbors together and created a boycott. And they did this all on the streets and in the stoops, and<strong> </strong>they eventually were so successful that they brought the price<strong> </strong>of meat down to, I think, fourteen cents a pound.</p><p>I think that to some extent there are so many emotions of coming to a new place, of saying goodbye to everything you had known. Most likely, you’re not going to go back. So you had to be really, I think, tough in a certain way to jump into this life.<strong> </strong></p><p>Bellows, I think, understands what was so vibrant about this neighborhood was really these people and the energy that they had in coming to a new place and adapting, learning new languages, but also trying to preserve their culture and their traditions. And a lot of people like George Bellows—whether they were journalists, settlement house workers, people trying to work for government or in social services—they came to the Lower East Side and they talked about the conditions, but many of them also talked about these people and how amazing a lot of these people were and the stories that they had to tell.</p><p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: This work, with all the other great paintings in the exhibition, can be viewed online at metmuseum.org in the special feature for “American Stories.” There—as on the Audio Guide program in the exhibition galleries themselves—you can also hear a range of perspectives by Carrie Rebora Barratt and me, as well as by artists, historians, and other experts from a variety of fields.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Alamo Rent A Car, The Marguerite and Frank A. Cosgrove Jr. Fund, The Peter Jay Sharp Foundation, the Henry Luce Foundation, and the Oceanic Heritage Foundation.</p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p><p>The Audio Guide program is sponsored by Bloomberg.</p><p>“American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from October 12, 2009, through January 24, 2010.</p> 063 High School Intern Episode: Artemisia Gentileschi’s <em>Esther before Ahasuerus</em> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York This special episode about Artemisia Gentileschi’s Esther before Ahasuerus, written and performed by The Metropolitan Museum of Art's summer 2009 high school interns, includes commentary by a curator, an educator, and a conservator from the Met. This special episode about Artemisia Gentileschi’s <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/works_of_art/collection_database/all/esther_before_ahasuerus_artemisia_gentileschi/objectview.aspx?collID=11&OID=110000895"><em>Esther before Ahasuerus</em></a>, written and performed by The Metropolitan Museum of Art's summer 2009 high school interns, includes commentary by a curator, an educator, and a conservator from the Met. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.12282009.063.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_063 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.12282009.063.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_063 epNum063 http://www.metmuseum.org/works_of_art/collection_database/all/esther_before_ahasuerus_artemisia_gentileschi/objectview.aspx?collID=11&OID=110000895 Learn more about this work of art. 063.B.jpg 063.S.jpg Mon, 28 Dec 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 11:48 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Artemisia Gentileschi Esther Ahasuerus intern family no <p><strong>Jelani Long</strong>: This podcast [episode] was created by high school interns at The Metropolitan Museum of Art during the summer of 2009. It is a reflection of our experiences and discoveries in the Museum’s collection during our time at the Met.</p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: The program you are about to listen to was inspired by the painting <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/works_of_art/collection_database/all/esther_before_ahasuerus_artemisia_gentileschi/objectview.aspx?collID=11&OID=110000895"><em>Esther before Ahasuerus</em></a> by Artemisia Gentileschi. This painting depicts the biblical story of the Jewish Queen Esther in which she pleads to her husband, the Persian King Ahasuerus. The scene in the painting is at the moment Esther appears before Ahasuerus on behalf of the Jewish people of Persia, all of whom had been sentenced to death by the king. Join in an in-depth look at the painting from the perspectives of an educator, conservator, and curator at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.</p><p><strong>Inés Powell</strong>: Do you know the story of Ahasuerus and Esther? Do you? </p><p><strong>Maria Kozanecka</strong>: On the third day, when she had finished praying, she took off her supplicant’s mourning attire and dressed herself in full splendor. </p><p><strong>Jenny Bartov</strong>: Radiant as she then appeared, she invoked God, who watches over all people and saves them. </p><p><strong>Zoe Weitzman</strong>: With her, she took two ladies-in-waiting. </p><p><strong>Jelani Long</strong>: With a delicate air she leaned on one, while the other accompanied her, carrying her train. </p><p><strong>Lily Jen</strong>: Rosy with the full flush of her beauty, her face radiated joy and love, but her heart shrank with fear. </p><p><strong>Phillip Yao</strong>: Having passed through door after door, she found herself in the presence of the king. </p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: He was sitting on his royal throne, dressed in all his robes of state, glittering with gold and precious stones—a formidable sight. </p><p><strong>Katherine Gregory</strong>: He looked up, afire with majesty, and, blazing with anger, saw her.</p><p><strong>Alec Peterson</strong>: The queen sank to the floor. </p><p><strong>Katia Azze</strong>: As she fainted, the color drained from her face and her head fell against the lady-in-waiting beside her. </p><p><strong>Emily Odermatt</strong>: But God changed the king’s heart, inducing a milder spirit. </p><p><strong>Louis Solmonson</strong>: He sprang from his throne in alarm and took her in his arms until she recovered, comforting her with soothing words. </p><p><strong>Nicole Tutunik</strong>: “What is the matter, Esther?” he said. “I am your brother.” </p><p><strong>Nushrika Islam</strong>: “Take heart, you are not going to die; our order applies only to ordinary people.” </p><p><strong>Audrey Tse</strong>: “Come to me.” And raising his golden scepter, he laid it on Esther’s neck, embraced her and said, “Speak to me.” </p><p><strong>Alec Peterson</strong>: “Speak to me.” </p><p><strong>Louis Solmonson</strong>: “Speak to me.” </p><p><strong>Jelani Long</strong>: “Speak to me.” </p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: “Speak to me.” </p><p><strong>Jenny Bartov</strong>: “Speak to me.” </p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: One of the things that initially drew us to the painting was its large scale and dramatic composition. We asked Inés Powell, an educator who works with the visually impaired audiences at the Met, to help us explore the painting through verbal imaging.  </p><p><strong>Inés Powell</strong>: So you have two steps and then a platform made out again of a light, probably marble color, and on top of that you have a marvelous throne. And a man—a young, beautifully dressed man—is sitting on that throne. </p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: Inés continues with a description of the king himself.</p><p><strong>Inés Powell</strong>: And this person, this king, is dressed. He is such a dandy. I said, well, he is not dressed from the time of the Old Testament. He is dressed as a seventeenth-century—almost like a lord. He has this beautiful hat, white-brimmed hat, with some kind of crown on top of the hat; you just see like these pointy, gold points on top of the hat. And then the most beautiful feather, white feather, kind of curls to one side of his head. So fancy. </p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: Inés goes on to describe Esther.</p><p><strong>Inés Powell</strong>: And Esther is trying to stand up. You can see that the blood has kind of drained out of her complexion. And she’s so, so pale. And she’s really—she’s at the moment of collapsing, and you can see that her knees have buckled. So her knees are kind of sticking out of this very fancy dress. She looks really like she has already blacked out. </p><p>She has two servants, two maiden servants, and one of them is grabbing her by the waist trying to keep her standing up and she has her head—the servant, the one that is on her left arm—has her face almost against the woman’s neck. The other one is holding her by the arm, almost by the wrist. </p><p>The dress is gold but the lace is white and the dress has accents in blue. She has a kind of sash that comes from one side of the waist around and that’s bright blue and it’s beautiful how it catches the light. Because the light comes from one light source, it creates this very strong contrast of dark and light. There is something very interesting about this painting, which people like to observe in this painting. It’s a large space, and there is an empty space between the king, who looks at Esther, and Esther, who is fainting towards the left. And it creates a kind of very deep psychological moment. It’s a dramatic moment there. Originally we know that Artemisia placed a little boy in the center, and we see the <em>pentimento</em>. </p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: The pentiment of the kneeling servant boy and the growling dog is what further drew us to this piece. A pentiment, or <em>pentimento</em>, is the visible evidence of an image that was initially drawn or painted in a work, but was then concealed by the artist. We were immediately fascinated and mystified by the ghostly silhouette that can be seen in the middle of the painting. We sat down with conservator Dorothy Mahon to learn about the painting’s conservation history and hear an explanation of the pentiment. </p><p><strong>Dorothy Mahon</strong>: When an artist paints in oil they often will paint something, and then paint it out. And as oil paint ages it becomes more transparent. So that’s one of the main reasons why we see pentiments coming through over time. But sometimes these pentiments are revealed to a greater degree from the kind of wear that happens, the rubbing of the surface during earlier cleaning, so this is why we see this dog to degree that we do. </p><p>In the mid-eighties all of the former restoration and the discolored varnish was removed and that’s when the pentiment of the dog became more apparent. We can see it in the X-ray and we know it’s there, but it’s not uncommon in paintings that have been cleaned multiple times. Partly from the cleanings and what we would call wear on the surface, and partly because of natural changes that occur as the paint ages. </p><p>One of the reasons we study pictures and look at these changes is because the scholars who are investigating the artist’s chronology and the artist’s body of work wants to understand the mind behind why this all took place. </p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>:<strong> </strong>To complete our journey for information, we spoke to Andrea Bayer, a curator and educator in the European Paintings department. She gave us a scholarly perspective on the Gentileschi. <strong></strong></p><p><strong>Andrea Bayer</strong>: This painting is particularly interesting, <em>Esther before Ahasuerus</em>. It was probably painted around 1630 right at the time that Artemisia was ending three years or so of living in Venice, where she was very much admired, and about to move to Naples—so either while she was still in Venice or right after she had moved to Naples. And this is important because this composition very much picks up on Venetian styles and Venetian compositions, in particular, the work by the great sixteenth-century artist Paolo Veronese that she would have studied in Venice. The interesting pentiment in this composition of a young male page at the center of the composition, whose ghostly outlines we can just see, would almost certainly have been inspired by something that she had seen in a Veronese picture. His long, horizontal compositions, deep compositions on this very subject, often included secondary characters, and Veronese was known for stuffing his pictures with all sorts of other kinds of figures who are witnessing the events but aren't actually participants in the events. People even complained about this at a certain point in Veronese’s own career. </p><p>It seems that Artemisia has included such a figure in her work and then removed him by painting over him. We don’t know why she did that, but my guess would be that she wanted to really focus people’s attention on the protagonists of the drama, not have them lose sight of what’s going on in the subject by being distracted by these other figures. And also maybe from a compositional point of view, she liked the sense of the centrifugal force that’s at work here in which the center is empty and all of the energy is directed towards the edge of the pictures.</p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: We showed our fellow interns the painting and some found it hard to see the pentiment at all. Scratching our heads, we went to Dorothy, who once again shed light on the subject.</p><p><strong>Dorothy Mahon</strong>: If you look at the painting in a really strong light in the gallery where the painting hangs, if you visit it periodically on a bright, sunlit day, as I recall mostly in the morning in the summertime, the light comes very strongly in that gallery, which is good, because you can see more into the picture when the light is bright. That’s one of the nice things about our naturally lit European paintings galleries. You have some time of the day when the light is softer and pictures change and you see different things in paintings. Sometimes a softer light is nicer and sometimes a stronger light shows you other things in a picture. In any event, this pentiment you can see more clearly—most clearly—when it's very bright. And I think you can see it in the photograph after cleaning—it's a black-and-white photograph shrunk down—but you can see it as a dark shadow, the profile of that figure. The reason I'm going into all that is that both the page and the dog were fully painted, you know, completely finished. We can see that they were fully finished before they were painted out. Sometimes painters don’t completely finish things before they paint them out, but in these cases they were. </p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: Andrea weighed in on why Gentileschi might have changed the composition of her work. </p><p><strong>Andrea Bayer</strong>: In other words, she saw exactly how they looked—the way they would look—when the picture was finished. It wasn’t just that she had drawn them in and thought, “Maybe I have too much going on here.” She really could see what it was going to do to her picture to have the boy and the dog there, and it was at that point that she decided, for whatever reason she did decide it, that the picture would be more effective without them. And this does happen quite a lot, actually, that figures are entirely painted up, or seem to have been entirely painted up, and then painted out because the artist has decided that they would be detrimental to the final appearance of the painting. </p><p><strong>Alexander Schwartz</strong>: What had started out as a little curiosity developed into a journey for information. We initially didn’t understand the pentiment, but as high school interns we were lucky enough to speak with Inés, Dorothy, and Andrea to find out more about the work. Each gave us different insights, which together allowed us to reach new and unexpected heights in our understanding of the painting. </p><p>This podcast [episode] was produced by Alexander Schwartz and Jelani Long. Readings by summer high school interns 2009. Special thanks to Rae Cohen, Sofie Andersen, Mara Gerstein, Andrea Bayer, Dorothy Mahon, Inés Powell, Terry Russo, and Aimee Dixon.</p><p>This has been an Antenna Audio production.</p> 062 American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915: <em>Chinese Restaurant</em> by John Sloan</strong> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York <em>New York Times</em> columnist Mark Bittman and restaurateur Danny Meyer discuss John Sloan's painting <em>Chinese Restaurant</em>, on view in the exhibition "<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/">American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915</a>." <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 12, 2009–January 24, 2010</font></span><br/><em>New York Times</em> columnist Mark Bittman and restaurateur Danny Meyer discuss John Sloan's painting <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.4.37"><em>Chinese Restaurant</em></a>, on view in the exhibition "<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/">American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915</a>." http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.12212009.062.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_062 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.12212009.062.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_062 epNum062 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/index.aspx Learn more about this exhibition. 062.B.jpg 062.S.jpg Mon, 21 Dec 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 6:51 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Mark Bittman Danny Meyer John Sloan spex no <p><strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>: Hello. I’m Carrie Rebora Barratt. My colleague Barbara Weinberg and I are co-curators of the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</p><p>The exhibition includes more than one hundred iconic works by many of America’s most acclaimed artists, who tell stories about their own times by depicting ordinary people engaged in the tasks and pleasures of everyday life. The paintings range in date from the Revolutionary era to the eve of World War I.</p><p>Artist John Sloan wrote in his diary in February 1909: “Felt restless so went to the Chinese restaurant and was glad I did for I saw a strikingly gotten up girl with dashing red feathers in her hat playing with the restaurant’s fat cat. It would be a good thing to paint.” Working from memory, he created this canvas, <em>Chinese Restaurant</em>. Its central character is perhaps a woman of easy virtue, judging from her flamboyant attire and heavy makeup. But Sloan’s attitude is not one of reproach. With light-hearted acceptance, he depicts the woman’s droll performance as she feeds the cat while her slovenly companion feeds himself and two men look on with amusement.</p><p>We asked restaurateur Danny Meyer and <em>New York Times</em> food columnist Mark Bittman to talk about the now familiar institution of the neighborhood Chinese restaurant. </p><p>Here is Mark Bittman.</p><p><strong>Mark Bittman</strong>: Well, let me say first that the <em>Chinese Restaurant</em> is the painting in this collection that makes me the most jealous, because this is where I want to be. I mean, it’s funky. You’ve got a cat. You’ve got possibly a prostitute. You’ve got tables that are certainly not luxurious. But at the same time, you have paintings and they’re colorful and pretty on the walls. And you’ve got bright colors everywhere, and you’ve got plenty of room, and you’ve got a convivial atmosphere. This is a place I want to eat.</p><p>This does not remind me of any favorite haunts in Manhattan, because there’s almost no place that looks like this anymore. When I was a kid, there were still places that looked like this. But if there were a place that looked anything like this now, it would have eight tables in the space of these two, and sixteen people sitting at them in the space of these four. So part of what I like about this is just how relaxed and roomy and pleasant and friendly the whole thing seems.</p><p>The Chinese started coming to the United States in the eighteenth century. But in the nineteenth century, of course, they came in much greater numbers, and Chinatown was established. And it was always an exotic place, but one that non-Chinese went to, mostly to eat, as these people are doing here, and mostly to eat cheap, as people have done since Chinese restaurants were established. So this is another American tradition, and not exclusively a New York tradition, but certainly one that’s known as a New York tradition, that’s been around for a couple hundred years now.</p><p>I’m almost sure they’re eating noodles, because they’re eating out of bowls. One guy’s drinking tea. The guy who’s smoking a cigarette is drinking tea. There’s a bottle of what might be soy sauce. It looks a little light, but it could be vinegar—soy sauce or vinegar on the table. The guy on the far left is using chopsticks to eat noodles. And it looks like the guy on the far right is too. It’s what would now be called a noodle bar, but they were probably paying a dime for these bowls of noodles 150 years ago.</p><p><strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>: The subject of John Sloan’s painting highlights a trend in turn-of-the-century New York—the proliferation of ethnic eateries—that extended New York’s dining culture beyond private homes, clubs, and exclusive establishments. The many underlying reasons for this include the period’s growing middle class, new employment opportunities for women, and the influx of immigrants. </p><p>Here is Danny Meyer.</p><p><strong>Danny Meyer</strong>: New York has always been this wonderful magnet for groups from other countries who want to come here to make it big. It’s been a classic portal to the United States and if the United States is remarkable at melding cultures, New York is certainly the apex of that. And for years and years and years, those ethnic restaurants have certainly been a great place for people to launch their lives in the city, either by owning them or working in them.</p><p>And, generally, they are connected to marketplaces where foods are available at reasonably low rates, so that generally not only are there a lot of whatever ethnic restaurant we’re talking about grouped together—because they’re generally in the same neighborhoods where the new ethnic arrivals live—but they tend to be very, very good dining values as well.</p><p>And what’s happened, certainly over the hundred years or so since this painting was made, is that chefs who have been really, really well trained regardless of their ethnicity have learned to adapt and adopt cooking styles from many ethnicities. It used to be, a hundred years ago, that a highly trained chef would only cook from the French tradition. And then we added other traditions, whether they be German or Italian. </p><p>And nowadays, a really excellent chef who’s cooking in New York—or really anywhere in America—needs to understand Indian influences, Chinese influences, other Asian influences, Latin-American influences. And so, in addition to having the ethnic version of a Chinese restaurant, we now have Chinese cooking technique and ingredients and flavors infusing restaurants of every stripe.</p><p><strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>: <em>Chinese Restaurant</em>, along with the rest of the paintings in the exhibition, can be viewed online at metmuseum.org in the special feature for “American Stories.” There, as on the Audio Guide program in the exhibition galleries, you can also hear a range of perspectives by Barbara Weinberg and me, as well as artists, historians, and other experts from a variety of fields.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Alamo Rent A Car, The Marguerite and Frank A. Cosgrove Jr. Fund, The Peter Jay Sharp Foundation, the Henry Luce Foundation, and the Oceanic Heritage Foundation.</p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p><p>The Audio Guide is sponsored by Bloomberg.</p><p>“American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from October 12, 2009, through January 24, 2010.</p> 061 Episode for Families: How the Rabbit Got to the Moon The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Listen to this ancient Japanese tale about the rabbit in the moon in this episode produced especially for younger audiences. Listen to this ancient Japanese tale about the rabbit in the moon in this episode produced especially for younger audiences. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.12142009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_061 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.12142009.054.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_061 {F8E9ACA7-5B17-471F-9394-D298E7E53159} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={F8E9ACA7-5B17-471F-9394-D298E7E53159} Learn more about this exhibition. 061.B.jpg 061.S.jpg Mon, 14 Dec 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 4:54 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Samurai Japan family no <p><strong>Narrator</strong>: It’s Story Time at the Met, a special podcast series for kids and their families. This podcast tells a story called “How the Rabbit Got to the Moon.”</p><p>Have you ever seen the rabbit in the moon? You’ve probably seen the man in the moon. But in Japan, children see a rabbit with long ears. Each autumn the Japanese people celebrate a moon-viewing festival. Families gather to look at the moon. When children ask how the rabbit got to the moon, their parents tell this ancient tale.</p><p>Once upon a time, a monkey, a fox, and a rabbit became the best of friends. The spirit of loving kindness filled them and they decided to live in peace with each other. Every evening these three friends met to share their dinner and talk about their day. </p><p>The monkey told of swinging through the treetops, looking for fruit.</p><p>The fox talked about stealing food from farms at the edge of the forest. </p><p>The rabbit spoke very little. All the food he ever found was a few blades of grass. But the three shared whatever they had. </p><p>One evening, a god looked down from the heavens and saw them sharing a meal.</p><p>“I can’t believe this!” said the god. “Everywhere, people fight and quarrel. Can three animals be so wise? I will test their kindness. Let’s see if they share their food with a stranger.”</p><p>Next evening the god came down to earth disguised as a poor man. The three friends found him in the clearing where they had dinner. </p><p>“Help me,” moaned the god in disguise. “I am so hungry that I cannot walk another step.”</p><p>“We will feed you, poor man!” said the monkey, the fox, and the rabbit. They dashed away in search of food. </p><p>Suddenly the rabbit stopped and said, “Oh, dear! Human beings don’t eat grass. What can I bring the man to eat?” He searched and searched, but found nothing. So he hopped forlornly back to the clearing. </p><p>He found the others waiting around a fire. The monkey had an armload of peaches and the fox held a jug of milk in his jaws. “Sir,” said the rabbit to the poor man. “I couldn’t find any food that you would want. But don’t worry. I will jump into the fire and soon you can eat roast rabbit.” With that, the rabbit leaped into the flames. </p><p>But <em>then</em>, before the fire singed a hair of the bunny’s coat, the god threw off his disguise! The fire disappeared, leaving the rabbit unharmed. The three friends crouched, shaking in fear.</p><p>“Fox,” said the god, “don’t be afraid. You showed kindness to a poor beggar, and I bless you, even though you stole the milk. Monkey, you gave me the sweetest fruit you could find, and I bless your kindness, too. But you, rabbit, I bless most of all. These two gave what they could spare. You would have given your life. Humans will remember your kindness as long as they have eyes to see.”</p><p>Then the god lifted up the rabbit and placed him on the moon. And there he lives today, making <em>mochi</em>, or rice cakes, a much nicer meal than grass! </p><p>The self-sacrifice the rabbit showed in this story is also a quality that a samurai, or Japanese warrior, was supposed to have. The next time you come to the Metropolitan Museum, you can see a Japanese helmet in the shape of a rabbit in the arms and armor collection. Then learn more about samurai warriors and helmets in a special exhibition called "Art of the Samurai." This exhibition brings together the finest Japanese armor, swords, and archery equipment from the age of the samurai. “Art of the Samurai” opens October 21 and continues through January 10, 2010. </p><p>Thanks again for listening. Join us again for Story Time at the Met.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by The Yomiuri Shimbun. </p><p>Additional support is provided by The Jessica E. Smith and Kevin R. Brine Charitable Trust, the J.C.C. Fund of the Japanese Chamber of Commerce and Industry of New York, Inc., the Oceanic Heritage Foundation, and the Japan Foundation. </p><p>Transportation assistance was provided by Japan Airlines. </p><p>The exhibition was organized by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the Agency for Cultural Affairs of the Government of Japan, and the Tokyo National Museum. </p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities. </p><p>The catalogue is made possible by the Samuel I. Newhouse Foundation, Inc. </p><p>Additional support is provided by Arthur Ochs Sulzberger and Allison S. Cowles, the Grancsay Fund, and the Doris Duke Fund for Publications. </p><p>This has been an Antenna Audio production.</p> 060 Special Exhibition: An Evening with Robert Frank The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Photographer Robert Frank discusses his groundbreaking publication <em>The Americans </em>with Jeff Rosenheim, curator of photographs at the Metropolitan Museum, and Sarah Greenough, senior curator of photographs at the National Gallery of Art. Excerpted from an onstage conversation at the Met, held October 9, 2009. Photographer Robert Frank discusses his groundbreaking publication <em>The Americans </em>with Jeff Rosenheim, curator of photographs at the Metropolitan Museum, and Sarah Greenough, senior curator of photographs at the National Gallery of Art. Excerpted from an onstage conversation at the Met, held October 9, 2009. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.12072009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_060 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.12072009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_060 {1FD57D4D-FE17-41FA-9025-E2667E36AD27} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={1FD57D4D-FE17-41FA-9025-E2667E36AD27} Learn more about this exhibition. 060.B.jpg 060.S.jpg Mon, 07 Dec 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 20:17 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Robert Frank Jeff Rosenheim Sarah Greenough spex no <p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>:<strong> </strong>Good evening, and welcome to all 842 of you who have come and joined us to this sold-out, standing-room-only evening in conversation with Robert Frank. My name is Jeff Rosenheim, and I’m the curator of photographs here at the Metropolitan. My colleague Sarah Greenough, senior curator of photographs at the National Gallery, and I have the great pleasure to have as our guest the artist who made the stunning photographs on view upstairs in our Drawings, Prints, and Photographs Galleries and in the Howard Gilman Gallery. </p><p>The photographs are truly something to behold. The exhibition “Looking In: Robert Frank’s <em>The Americans</em>” was curated by Sarah Greenough, with splendid loans from some thirty private and public collections, and is the first time that all eighty-three photographs in <em>The Americans</em> have ever been shown together in a museum setting in New York City. </p><p>I’d like to thank our exhibition sponsor, Access Industries, and the Blavatnik Family Foundation, who sponsored the exhibition. We also received additional support for many of the programs from the William Randolph Hearst Foundation.</p><p>For those of you fond of photographs, this book is really a masterpiece, a landmark in the history of photography. And the book is celebrating its fiftieth anniversary, and the artist in a few weeks will be celebrating his eighty-fifth. Happy birthday, Robert.</p><p>Frank made the photographs primarily in 1955 and 1956 on a now legendary cross-country road trip that began and ended here in New York City, with stops in small and large towns from coast to coast. Frank made pictures in Detroit and in Savannah, New Orleans and Los Angeles, Butte and Indianapolis, and, of course, in his adopted hometown of New York City. In this truly epic and now hallowed journey, he traveled over ten thousand miles in a 1950 Ford Coupe through thirty states, making some 767 rolls of film and approximately twenty-seven thousand photographs. </p><p>And now for our program, which we entitled “An Evening with Robert Frank.” Robert, it’s now beginning.</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Well, again, I am very happy that this happens in New York, because this is my city. And I like New York and I like to live here, and I hope it will go on for a while, living here.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: So maybe to get us started, since the exhibition upstairs focuses on the publication of <em>The Americans</em>, let’s talk a little bit about the cover. What process did you go through to select the photograph—<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/robert_frank/view_1.asp?item=3">the trolley picture</a>—that is on the cover of that first edition and remains today the image on the cover?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: It seemed to be the right picture. It expressed a lot of what I'd seen on the trip. The treatment of black people—I felt it really reflected some of the strongest moments on my trip, when I experienced for the first time, you know, segregation. And it was important for me that it could be expressed like this.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: Did you consider any other photographs alongside the trolley picture?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: I must have considered maybe a flag picture. I feel gratitude to Barney Rosset, who is about my age now, that he agreed to publish <em>The Americans</em> without a text. It was published in France, where they had on every page a comment on America from some writers. I felt it was very anti-Americans, but I was still happy to have the book published. And, finally, then, Barney Rosset agreed to publish it, also because he got the sheets from France brought to America and so it didn’t cost that much. It was also important for him, for Rosset, to have [Jack] Kerouac’s name on the cover.</p><p><strong>Sarah Greenough</strong>: But Kerouac originally wasn’t going to write the introduction. Hadn’t you first asked Walker Evans to write the introduction?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Yes, I did ask Walker and then he wrote an introduction and just at the same time a big article appeared [about] <em>On the Road</em> by Kerouac in <em>The New York Times</em>. And a friend of mine, who was some kind of an agent, [Emile] de Antonio, he suggested that I should get in touch with Kerouac about writing about the pictures. And so, Walker Evans’s foreword was replaced by Kerouac, which made Walker unhappy, but—<strong><u></u></strong></p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: But it was the right decision?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Undoubtedly, yeah.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: So one of the main differences between the French edition and the first American edition was the introduction to the book by Kerouac and the removal of all the text that had been selected. And it’s interesting to me that around the time that you were working on both the French edition and also with Kerouac on his text, you also took a road trip with Kerouac down to Florida. It must have been the spring of 1958, and for those of you who don’t know, that trip was to recover some manuscripts from his mother, I think. What was traveling on the road with Kerouac like?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Well, Kerouac didn’t drive, so he would sleep in the car most of the time. Well, it just was important to pick up his mother and a few cats and bring her back to Long Island, where he had bought a house for her. I forgot where it was exactly. <strong><u></u></strong></p><p>It’s difficult for me to tell stories, but it was very impressive with him, because he slept for long stretches. And he would wake up and say, “It’s okay, now I had my dream.” And he didn’t explain more about the dream. We didn’t really talk too much to each other. It was a friendship that probably was more based on, in a way, since I could help him, because he didn’t drive a car, so we’d make other trips. He liked my two children. At that time they were ten, eight years old, or so. And they liked him because he would be in the car and stop at a light—going to New Jersey or somewhere—and he would lean out of the car and ask the car that stopped next to him, in some other language he made up that nobody could understand, asking—and of course the people couldn’t answer. But it amused my two children very much. He had a very good sense of humor. And he was—well, he was a good guy. It was a lucky break for me, really, that I got to know [Allen] Ginsberg, and through Ginsberg I got to know him and the other Beat writers, because it opened a whole new window on the world for me. Because I didn’t know people like that from my time in Switzerland, schooling. And so it was probably the most important part in my career, to watch them and learn from them, and so I guess it helped me to take the pictures I took, although I think chronologically I took many pictures before I knew him.</p><p><strong>Sarah Greenough</strong>: And you also have said that you asked him to write the introduction to the book before you’d even read <em>On the Road</em>. I mean, you knew that it had gotten so favorably reviewed but you said you hadn’t read <em>On the Road</em>. Was it just intuition in meeting him, sensing that he was the right person?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: No, it wasn't—somebody did read <em>On the Road</em> before—De Antonio—and he said, “This is a great writer.” And then at the same time that review of <em>On the Road</em> came out. So I met him, Kerouac, I called him, and he was really available. I think through a girlfriend he had, I called him up. And he just met me on the street. I had my dummy of this book with me with all the pictures that are in here plus maybe two or three that were taken out. And he just looked at it and said, “Yeah, I can write something.” And then ten days later he showed me what he wrote. It was longer than what’s printed here. Some cuts were made. And it was very simple. It would be much more complicated now, I think. Whatever Walker Evans wrote, it was used in a <em>U.S. Camera</em> article about my pictures. But Walker was not happy about it. Walker was very aware of class, and so this was a kind of other class that these Beat writers were in, so.</p><p><strong>Sarah Greenough</strong>: You annotated each of the rolls of film with the city where it was taken and so we've sort of pieced together the route. And you are wandering through the South, but you end up in places like Scottsboro, Alabama, for example. <strong><u></u></strong></p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Usually I just followed sort of an intuition, which way I would go, how much time I had to spend in a town. Sometimes the time was limited by police. There’s a scene I never can forget. I think it was in Arkansas or somewhere. A cop called me over. I was walking somewhere, on the road, and he was sitting on, like, a veranda, and he just called me over like that, “Come here, boy.” He pulled out his watch and he said, “I give you five minutes to get out of here.” And that was it. And he followed me with the car across the river. I forgot where it was, really. Once I was arrested, put in jail for suspicion. </p><p><strong>Sarah Greenough</strong>: You’d lived in the United States for eight years by that point. Did you expect to meet that kind of hostility, particularly traveling through the South? Was that a surprise?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Well, I learned it on the trip. I think it must have been also in the South. I picked up a hitchhiker. He was a middle-aged man. I think he was black, I’m not so sure, but he must have been. And I said, “Come in,” I opened the front door. And he said, “No, I’ll sit in the back.” And that was really new for me, but then I began to understand why. It was completely new for me, segregation, because I came from Switzerland, and in New York, living in New York, we didn’t really—thought much about that. But on that trip I really learned—I was astonished at it. Well, I think the country changed a great deal.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: Robert, did you have a big AAA road map that you started with at the beginning of the trip and put little marks or stars in places? And, if so, do you still have it?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: No… But I had friends—actually, it was a friend, like a father of a friend of my wife, he was, anyhow, a friend—that had connections with Detroit. And he said, “I can help you if you want to photograph in a factory.” And otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten in to photograph. And through that connection, that series of Ford started. And I wanted to photograph in Standard Oil, but I didn’t get permission for that.</p><p><strong>Sarah Greenough</strong>: And you photographed then in the Esso refinery plant in Baton Rouge, I think.</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Yeah, but it was just the workers coming out of the factory. I couldn’t really get in.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: What interested you about the factories and the workers? <strong><u></u></strong></p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Well, the people. I mean, the faces. The working place, it’s different. And it was a very strong experience to get into the Ford factory, called the River Rouge Plant. It was really a fantastic place. It was in the summer and it was so hot in the factory and the noise was so fantastic. It was really like a little hell. And, yeah, it didn’t come out in the pictures, really, the difficult conditions. And otherwise it was a trip that was just based on intuition. But mostly, it was easier really to photograph in a city because there were more people.</p><p><strong>Sarah Greenough</strong>: And then on your way back East, you sort of wandered. You went due east and then you seem to have gone very far out of your way to go to Butte, Montana, driving very far north of Salt Lake City to go to Butte. Why Butte? Do you remember?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Well, it’s romantic imagination or—you know, it was a city that nobody knew anything about, really. It’s sort of at the border of something. And, well, I was lucky to find that hotel room and—yeah, it was a city that impressed me.</p><p><strong>Sarah Greenough</strong>: Did you go there because of the mines?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: No, I didn’t get in the mines. I tried the Anaconda mines. No, there was no permission to go there. Butte was like a city at the time that had no paved roads. It was all dirt roads and children played there. I remember it very well. It was different.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: It was kind of famous as a very wild town. Very open, as they say. So this sort of town with dirt streets still had this twelve-story or fourteen-story brick hotel that was quite fancy. Was that actually your hotel window?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Yeah, that was the hotel window. And then I photographed two hitchhikers that I picked up in Butte. I always liked the picture a lot, the profile of the two.</p><p><strong>Sarah Greenough</strong>: That’s one of the more fascinating contact sheets to look at, because you took two frames of those hitchhikers and either the frame before or after the one that you selected for the book, where they’re very glum looking—the other frame, they’re smiling. It’s more of the happy road trip.</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: I think both of them were looking for work, wherever I let them out. You know, I never kept notes, and so, you know, it’s lost. But, you know, the photographs are here. And it would have been better if I would have taken notes, but I never did. Too busy driving and looking.</p><p><strong>Sarah Greenough</strong>: There’s the picture, for example, of the bar in Gallup, New Mexico, where if you look at the contact sheet, you can see that there are a lot of drunken cowboys there and at times you seem hardly to have even put the camera to your eye. But you’re still photographing.</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Well, a photographer is a hunter, you know. So you go for a good picture and you want to come home with that. But I was always really careful. I mean, I often photographed without looking in the viewfinder and held the camera low. You have to try not to attract much attention when you photograph. And, you know, you learn how to do it. And I remember I photographed a black couple in San Francisco on a grassy hill overlooking the city. And I photographed maybe twenty feet behind them and then I instinctively knew they would turn around and see me, and just in the right moment I just turned around and photographed away from them, photographed the scene. I mean, you have to be quick as a photographer that works that way and you have to have good intuition and be quick.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: Did you feel protected by the camera in some way, that this was providing you some sort of shield or protection? Or the opposite?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: No, I felt the opposite, that it aroused suspicion, especially at that time, the idea of communism was sort of in the heads of—you know, it's the easiest word to throw at you, that you did that because you were a communist.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: But how did the camera signify that?</p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: You were a spy!</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: Seems obvious! </p><p><strong>Robert Frank</strong>: Yeah. Well, I’m very happy that those eighty pictures survived. The book is still available and it’s still being sold. If Mr. Steidl is in the house, he could testify to that. Because I think it is really unusual that just a book of photographs that is so small, or what, can survive that long. So I’m proud of that.</p><p><strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: Well, you’ve turned on more generations of photographers with this book and I think it is as rich and as powerful and as complicated and as stunningly ambitious today as it was fifty years ago. And I know that all of us who like the medium of photography are still trying to figure it out and to learn from it. And it’s daunting for all the photographers out there to see what you did. But we’re greatly enriched by this.</p> 059 Special Exhibition: Eccentric Visions: The Worlds of Luo Ping (1733–1799) The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Mike Hearn takes us inside the extraordinary world of Luo Ping, discussing the range and brilliance of the artist's vision. Curator Mike Hearn takes us inside the extraordinary world of Luo Ping, discussing the range and brilliance of the artist's vision. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11302009.059.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_059 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11302009.059.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_059 {061AABC7-8FEE-4597-98A3-E490F52DD2E9} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={061AABC7-8FEE-4597-98A3-E490F52DD2E9} Learn more about this exhibition. 059.B.jpg 059.S.jpg Mon, 30 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 8:06 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Luo Ping Mike Hearn spex no <p><strong>Mike Hearn</strong>: Hello. I’m Mike Hearn, curator in the Department of Asian Art at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’m also the curator of the first comprehensive exhibition of paintings by the extraordinary and celebrated Chinese eighteenth-century artist Luo Ping. The exhibition, “Eccentric Visions: The Worlds of Luo Ping (1733–1799),” brings together nearly sixty works—including many Chinese National Treasures—that reveal the range and brilliance of the artist’s vision, as well as his place among his peers.  </p><p>Luo Ping was one of a group of artists known in China as the Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou. Yangzhou was like the New York City of its day. It was a large commercial city with many wealthy patrons and, as in the modern world of New York, the artists of the day sought to define their individuality in opposition to the demands of their patrons. So cultivating a sense of their eccentricity and individualism was a way to create a kind of distance between the artists and their patrons. Luo Ping moved in this environment but also made several trips to the capital—the political capital of China—Beijing, and<strong> </strong>there were really two different constituencies that Luo Ping serviced.<strong> </strong>In Yangzhou he was working primarily for wealthy merchant-patrons, whereas in Beijing he was often employed by men who were members of the scholarly elite, who were civil servants, officials in the capital. And so he had to differentiate the style of his art to suit the various clientele that he encountered in his life.<strong></strong></p><p>The exhibition explores both of these kinds of art works that he was called upon to make—both the more appealing narratives and popular subject matters that the Yangzhou merchant class would have found appealing, but also exploring the art of portraiture and how to represent these literati officials, not only through their superficial likeness, but through images of their homes, or their exploits, or even landscape as a way of conveying something of their identity that goes beyond simply their outward likeness.</p><p>In fact, Luo Ping’s greatest contribution to the arts of China, in my opinion, is in the area of portraiture. Prior to the eighteenth century, portraiture in China was largely an anonymous craft. Portraits were usually commissioned for people to commemorate their deceased ancestors, and oftentimes the artisans who created those portraits worked from copybooks to get a generalized or idealized suggestion of what a person looked like, rather than an actual image.</p><p>By the eighteenth century, Jesuit missionaries had introduced European-style modeling to the art of portraiture in China. But still it remained an anonymous craft. But with Luo Ping, we see that portraiture takes on a new level of meaning. He’s clearly influenced by ancient traditions of painting figures, and in several of the portraits in the exhibition we really have a sense of how he conveyed something not only of the superficial likeness of an individual, but actually captures something of their spirit and their inner identity.  </p><p>The image that represents Luo Ping in our exhibition is an imaginary portrait of an eighth-century poet by the name of Hanshan.<strong> </strong>Hanshan—or, in English, “Cold Mountain”—was an eccentric Buddhist monk of the Chan or Zen Buddhist sect, who was, himself, a very idiosyncratic and eccentric figure who embodied the ideas of individuality and eccentricity that a man like Luo Ping would have found inspiring and become something of a role model for him. Luo Ping was himself a devout Buddhist, so he would have found Hanshan, as a Zen or Chan Buddhist, an ideal role model to emulate. His philosophy was also something that Luo Ping probably appreciated, and in this wonderful portrait, you’ll see Hanshan paired with his compatriot Shide, an orphan who was a mere scullery boy or kitchen helper, in the monastery where they lived, as this pair of holy fools, who wandered around in the landscape, laughing and inscribing poems on tree trunks and rocks. The poems were eventually collected and put into an anthology that’s been translated into English as “Cold Mountain,” and these poems have inspired contemporary Western artists as well as Chinese poets and painters.<strong></strong></p><p>The image of Hanshan shows this marvelously eccentric figure with outgrown hair. His robes have fallen off his shoulders and he has this broad smile on his face. It embodies the notion that happiness, laughter, is really a way to address the world’s problems. So there’s a kind of nonchalance, a kind of spontaneity, to the way in which the figure is represented, that conveys something of Luo Ping’s own individuality and desire to be seen as this kind of eccentric individual who was unfettered by the usual customs and constraints of society. So it becomes an ideal image embodying Luo Ping’s personal philosophy. So even though the face is not one that we recognize today as portraying a specific individual, there’s this wonderful sense of representing a state of mind and a kind of beloved caricature of this eighth-century Zen eccentric, as someone who is very human and accessible, and who could serve as a role model for Luo Ping and members of his class.</p><p>One of the other things that Luo Ping was noted for was his interest in depicting ghosts.<strong> </strong>In the exhibition we have a long handscroll where Luo Ping has mounted together eight different images of ghosts that he claimed he could see, in part because he had green eyes. So here we see Luo Ping at his most eccentric. He depicts ghosts that, in fact, become a kind of social commentary. The images of the ghosts resonate with images of different members of the cosmopolitan elite, with the social classes of the time, and particularly with the tension that existed between the Han Chinese and their Manchu overlords. Luo Ping lived during the Qing Dynasty. The Manchu people had conquered China and occupied the entirety of China, and there was clearly a sense of discontent and chafing by the Han majority living under the constraints of the Manchu rule.  </p><p>So some of these images may be even somewhat subversive. They may carry with them a sense of a social commentary that actually had a political undertone. Because of his eccentric standing in the world, something that he cultivated, Luo Ping was able to create images that made comments about society, even comments about the subjects that he portrayed, that were edgy, that were somehow<strong> </strong>very modern in their sensibility, because you have a sense that the artist was able to express something of his ambivalent feelings towards the subject, and also the tension or ambiguity that exists in moving between art and reality. And I think that’s where Luo Ping’s accomplishment really stands forth today. We have a sense of an artist with a very modern sensibility, who was able to look at his world and create it in a sense that appealed to us on many different levels. So instead of simply recording the outward likeness of a plum branch, of an insect or a flower or a landscape or figure, we have a sense that Luo Ping is really delving into the character of the time and of the personalities that he lived with.</p><p>The exhibition will be on view at the Metropolitan Museum through January 10, 2010. </p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Credit Suisse.</p><p>Additional support is provided by The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Foundation.</p>The exhibition was organized by the Museum Rietberg, Zurich. 058 <![CDATA[《獨特的視野——羅聘的藝術世界》]]> [Chinese] The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 6, 2009–January 10, 2010</font></span><br/> http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11302009.058.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_058 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11302009.058.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_058 epNum058 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={061AABC7-8FEE-4597-98A3-E490F52DD2E9} Learn more about this exhibition. 058.B.jpg 058.S.jpg Mon, 30 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 4:22 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Luo Ping Shiyee Liu spex no 您好。我是劉晞儀，大都會博物館亞洲藝術部副研究員。我協助策劃這次《獨特的視野——羅聘的藝術世界》特展。這個展覽是北美首次有關此位18世紀繪畫大師的全方位展覽，蒐集近60 幅作品，包括許多來自中國的“國寶級”名作，並輔以27 件北美私人收藏。這一重要的國際性大展將展示羅聘藝術視野之廣博精湛以及他在同代藝術家中的地位。

羅聘1733 年生於揚州，其詩、畫才藝深得金農賞識。金農是“揚州八怪”中較爲年長的一位，亦是當時揚州名士文化圈中的重要人物。羅聘23 嵗時成爲金農的入室弟子，師徒二人之間非同尋常的深厚知交持續7 年，直至金農辭世之日。

羅聘的後半生主要活躍于北京。與江南都會揚州不同，滿清統治者聚集的京師文化

氛圍比較保守，當地的文士名流、高官顯宦崇尚復古派的經學及金石學。羅聘與之

交游，深受影響，其後期的繪畫亦漸顯“金石”之氣，偏重傳統的題材、畫風。

羅聘的作品變化多端，包括肖像、人物、山水、花卉，從他身上體現出來的是清代

鼎盛時期及巔峰之後鮮活的多樣性、複雜性、以及一種世紀末的輝煌。展出的作品勾勒出羅聘從繁華都會揚州到政治中心北京的藝術生涯。陳列的作品中還包括金農的作品，另有4 件出自羅聘夫人、兒女之手的作品，用以展示這位大師藝術遺產之薪傳。展覽並以17 件其他揚州八怪的作品作結尾，在更廣闊的文化氛圍中闡釋羅聘的藝術創作。

《鬼趣圖》是羅聘在金農去世后奠定其獨立藝術身份的一個關鍵點。這幅長卷完成

於1760 年代晚期，此後羅聘常年攜帶在身邊，當時一代名家學者無不曾觀覽題評。羅聘自稱目能視鬼，並自創獨特的畫鬼法：“畫時先以紙素暈濕後，乃行墨設

色，隨筆所至，則成幽怪之相。”

同金農一樣，羅聘虔信佛教，有許多作品表現佛教題材。描繪8 世紀禪宗高僧的

《寒山拾得像》即是其中一幅名作。詩僧寒山、伙房侍從拾得的怪誕行跡是其得道之表現。羅聘畫中，二位高僧以寫意水墨表現，敞懷大笑，羅聘的題款特別說道：“我若歡顔少煩惱，世間煩惱變歡顔。”這正表達出禪宗“頓悟”之境。

展覽由Credit Suisse 贊助。

額外贊助由The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach 基金會提供。

展覽由Museum Rietberg Zürich 策劃。

]]> 057 American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915: Author Elizabeth Strout Discusses Two Paintings by Winslow Homer The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Pulitzer Prize–winning author Elizabeth Strout shares her responses to Eagle Head, Manchester, Massachusetts and The Gale, two of the Winslow Homer paintings in the exhibition "American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915." <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 12, 2009–January 24, 2010</font></span><br/>Pulitzer Prize–winning author Elizabeth Strout shares her responses to <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.3.15"><em>Eagle Head, Manchester, Massachusetts</em></a> and <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.4.14NY"><em>The Gale</em></a>, two of the Winslow Homer paintings in the exhibition "<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/">American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915</a>." http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11232009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_057 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11232009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_057 epNum057 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={264FD9D3-6A90-457E-B97C-404AFC2382B8} Learn more about this exhibition. 057.B.jpg 057.S.jpg Mon, 23 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 8:41 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Elizabeth Strout Winslow Homer spex no <p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: This is Barbara Weinberg, curator—with my colleague Carrie Rebora Barratt—of the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</p><p>The exhibition includes more than one hundred iconic works by many of America’s most acclaimed artists, who tell stories about their own times by depicting ordinary people engaged in life’s tasks and pleasures. Their paintings range in date from the Revolutionary era to the eve of World War I.</p><p>We invited Elizabeth Strout, the 2009 Pulitzer Prize winner for fiction, to share with us her responses to two paintings by Winslow Homer that are in the exhibition. The first is <em>Eagle Head, Manchester, Massachusetts</em>, which is also known as <em>High Tide</em>. It was painted in 1870, when American cities had grown so much that urbanites yearned to pursue rural recreation and leisure activities. </p><p>We see in <em>High Tide</em> three young women wearing the heavy woolen bathing dresses that were then in fashion. They’ve taken a dip in the ocean and are now regrouping. One wrings out her hair, another puts on her shoe, and the third—who's shrouded in a dark cloak—is turned away. Homer invites us to speculate about each of the figures and the strangely agitated dog. Homer’s preference for ambiguity was typical of pictorial storytelling in the post–Civil War years.</p><p>Author Elizabeth Strout responded to that ambiguity by composing her own story about <em>High Tide</em>.</p><p><strong>Elizabeth Strout</strong>: I was looking at this painting and I was struck immediately with the stance of the dog. And so I started to think about who these young women were and I began to imagine that they were cousins.</p><p>They’re here because their parents have gathered for an annual family time in a cottage on the coast here. And so these girls have known each other all their lives. They’re at that age where they can no longer play the games they did when they were little or climb trees or build sandcastles, so there’s some tension here among them that has to do, I think, a great deal with their age.</p><p>And they’ve decided to go off with the dog for a swim—two of them have caps on their heads that suggest this—and the girl with her back to us has already gone in the water and is keeping herself warm with a cloak. It’s the girl with the long reddish hair who has caused the problem for them, I think. She’s a moody, capricious girl who said earlier she didn’t want to swim—thus the lack of a swim cap on her head—but in fact did go rushing into the water when she saw her cousins swimming, and is now furious because her dress is wet, her hair is wet, and she blames her cousins and they’re just fed up with her.</p><p>They did not pull her into the water. She went willingly and wildly. And now they are left with her histrionics. And even the dog has paused in the face of her. He was having a frisky, wonderful time on the beach, yapping at seagulls, and came running back to the girls. And his stance, combined with the glance of the girl sitting on the beach, confirms to me that this red-haired girl has caused a pleasant day to become unpleasant.</p><p>The girl sitting is putting her beach shoe back on, having taken it off earlier as she got ready to go into the water. But because of the fracas caused by her cousin, she’s putting her shoe back on. And the girls will return back to the cottage, where the two with caps will furtively complain to their mothers about their high-strung cousin; I mean, you know, adolescent girls caged up together too long, and one of them is a little, you know, higher strung than the others. She’s capricious and there is something sexual going on there, and her—I just sort of saw her as a girl who’s coming of age in a society where she can’t just necessarily run out and have a boyfriend the way she probably wants to.</p><p>This landscape is very familiar to me. This particular painting is Massachusetts, and I grew up on the coast of Maine, where a lot of his other paintings were. But there’s enough of a similarity that it’s very familiar to me. </p><p>I think it’s summer there. And that particular beach is more where people would go to vacation. So this is a bit of a vacation spot and these girls are dressed nicely enough to suggest that they’re there with their families for some sort of holiday. Further up in Maine that wouldn’t be so much the case, as in, like, <em>The Gale</em>, for example.</p><p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: In 1881 and ’82, Winslow Homer lived and worked in Cullercoats, England, a village on the coast of the North Sea. There he recorded the arduous lives of the people who made their living from the sea. Upon his return to New York, Homer painted <em>The Gale</em>, which originally showed a woman—perhaps a Cullercoats fisherman’s wife—with a baby strapped to her back. She was making her way along a promontory near the town’s Life Brigade House, where men were preparing for a rescue at sea. Homer’s canvas received indifferent reviews from the critics when he exhibited it in 1883. After he moved from New York to Prout’s Neck, on the coast of Maine, in 1883, he reworked it, and made the narrative less obvious by painting over the background details.</p><p>Elizabeth Strout won a Pulitzer Prize for her book <em>Olive Kitteridge</em>, a collection of short stories about a woman and her family and friends living on the Maine coast. She shares with us her scenario for what’s taking place in <em>The Gale</em>.</p><p><strong>Elizabeth Strout</strong>: In this painting what I notice first is the very strong arm of this young woman. So that makes me feel that there’s not danger in this situation. I imagine she’s a young woman from the coastal region and she’s not a stranger to hard work nor to these winds and storms. She has a firm hold on this baby, and the way the baby peeks out suggests to me that he’s comfortable, is used to being attached to his mother.</p><p>In other words, there’s no panic in this painting. And while there’s a suggestion, of course, that she’s gone to look for someone in the storm, I don’t quite see it that way. I think of her more as a young wife who got tired of staying inside, cutting up potatoes for a stew while her husband tended to the tying up of his boat. So she’s taken her baby and gone out, not from worry but from a desire to be in the elements.</p><p>She is standing close to the water, walking close to the water, but I don’t feel any fear for her. I think of her as someone who grew up in this region and played on these flat, tilting rocks when she was a child, and she seems very sure-footed now. The area of blue water right above her flying apron makes me think there’s some break in the clouds and that this is in many ways just a gloriously windy day, not unfamiliar to her particularly. And that she’s left the house to get some air, to let the winds wash over her.</p><p>There are times when she wishes she were a man so she did not have to be confined to domestic chores. But she’s a good-natured, practical young woman who loves her baby very much. And the idea of being a man only comes to her very fleetingly and without real longing, just a brief thought. She is who she is and her joys are her child and the elements of nature.</p><p><strong>Barbara Weinberg: </strong>These works, along with the other great paintings in the exhibition, can be viewed online at metmuseum.org in the special feature for “American Stories.” There, as on the Audio Guide program in the exhibition galleries themselves, you can also hear a range of perspectives by Carrie Rebora Barratt and me, as well as by artists, historians, and other experts from a variety of fields.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Alamo Rent A Car, The Marguerite and Frank A. Cosgrove Jr., Fund, The Peter Jay Sharp Foundation, the Henry Luce Foundation, and the Oceanic Heritage Foundation.</p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p><p>The Audio Guide is sponsored by Bloomberg.</p><p>"American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915" is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from October 12, 2009, through January 24, 2010.</p> 056 Episode for Families: Johnny Appleseed and <em>American Stories</em> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Barbara Boehm relates the delightful American story of Johnny Appleseed in this episode produced especially for younger audiences. Curator Barbara Boehm relates the delightful American story of Johnny Appleseed in this episode produced especially for younger audiences. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.11232009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_056 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.11232009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_056 epNum056 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={264FD9D3-6A90-457E-B97C-404AFC2382B8} Learn more about this exhibition. 056.B.jpg 056.S.jpg Mon, 23 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 5:09 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Barbara Boehm Johnny Appleseed family no <p><strong>Narrator</strong>: Would you like me to tell you a story? Then sit back, relax, and get ready to listen, because it's Story Time at the Met.</p><p><strong>Barbara Boehm</strong>: Today I’m going to tell an American story about a legendary pioneer known as Johnny Appleseed. Maybe you’ve seen pictures of Johnny Appleseed. He usually carries a big bag of seeds, which he scatters as he walks. But did you know there was actually a real person called Johnny Appleseed?</p><p>The date is 1797. The place is Warren, Pennsylvania, on what was then the western frontier of the United States. There’s a heavy snowstorm, though it’s only October. A man with long, dark hair and ragged clothes—young, exhausted—staggers out of the blizzard. The people of Warren kindly take him in, feed him, and warm him by the fire. The name of the scruffy-looking man was John Chapman. He had left his home in Connecticut when he was eighteen years old to live in the wilderness. He loved forest animals, trees, and plants. He slept under the stars, drank from streams, and ate wild fruit, nuts, and honey. And John Chapman had a strange story to tell the people of Warren.</p><p>One night, he said, an angel had appeared to him in a dream. He saw a beautiful community of people surrounded by apple trees, a place where no one was hungry. The angel told him that he should plant apple trees to help feed the new American frontier. And John Chapman intended to plant an orchard right near Warren when spring came.</p><p>Apples were very important to early American settlers. They ate them fresh from the tree, and they dried them to eat during the winter. They made apple pies, apple tarts, apple cobbler, apple butter, applesauce—and especially apple cider. Now, apple trees live for many years—longer than most fruit trees. If you planted an apple orchard today, your children could still eat the fruit forty years from now.</p><p>People on the American frontier—in Ohio and Indiana—began hearing tales about John Chapman. Johnny traveled on his own, walking along Indian trails in his bare feet, and paddling his canoe along the rivers. Everywhere he went, he planted orchards and offered young apple trees to the pioneers. If they couldn’t pay him, he would trade apple trees for food or a night’s shelter. And so they called him Johnny Appleseed.</p><p>Besides apples, Johnny Appleseed loved animals. They say that one night in the forest, when it started to snow, Johnny crawled into a hollow log to spend the night. But there he found a mother bear curled up asleep with her cub. </p><p>Johnny thought, "We can’t all sleep here. And even if bears have thick fur and I don’t, I still can’t push a mother and a baby out on a cold night like this." So Johnny slept outside in the snow, and the bears stayed safe and warm inside the log. </p><p>One day Johnny Appleseed found a wolf with its leg caught in a trap. Wolves may be fierce, but Johnny wasn’t afraid. He set the wolf free so gently that it didn’t bite or even scratch him. People say that wolf followed Johnny for years, guarding him on his mission.</p><p>Johnny lived to age seventy—a ripe old age for a man who seldom wore shoes or slept indoors. Today, apple orchards blossoming in Pennsylvania, Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana are the living legacy of Johnny Appleseed. </p><p>Next time you come to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, look for an American painting called <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.2.6NY"><em>Cider Making</em></a>. Johnny Appleseed was still alive when William Sidney Mount finished his painting in 1841. <em>Cider Making</em> shows farmers making apple juice or cider. They’re using an old-fashioned apple press, which crushes the apples between two heavy stones. The juice runs out the sides, where men funnel it into wooden kegs. </p><p><em>Cider Making</em> will be in a special exhibition called <em>American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915.</em> Here you can learn about how American painters told stories about America when it was still a new nation. These stories gave Americans a sense of who they were, and taught them their national history. Over time, painters also depicted stories about change, as many Americans moved away from farms to live in cities. <em>American Stories</em> opens October 12, 2009, and continues until January 24, 2010.  </p><p>This has been an Antenna Audio production. </p><strong>Narrator</strong>: Well, that's it! Thanks for listening to Story Time at the Met. 055 Special Exhibition: Velázquez Rediscovered The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York The Metropolitan Museum's European paintings chairman, Keith Christiansen, and head of paintings conservation, Michael Gallagher, discuss their recent reattribution of an extraordinary portrait in the collection to the greatest of all Spanish painters. The Metropolitan Museum's European paintings chairman, Keith Christiansen, and head of paintings conservation, Michael Gallagher, discuss their recent reattribution of an extraordinary portrait in the collection to the greatest of all Spanish painters. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11162009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_055 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11162009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_055 {97C73240-8088-439F-890E-CAD28F8ACE41} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={97C73240-8088-439F-890E-CAD28F8ACE41} Learn more about this exhibition. 055.B.jpg 055.S.jpg Mon, 16 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 13:42 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Velázquez Keith Christiansen Michael Gallagher spex no <p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>:<strong> </strong>We’re at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’m Keith Christiansen, chairman of the Department of European Paintings, and I’m here with Michael Gallagher, who is head of the Department of Paintings Conservation. And we’re sitting, looking at this extraordinary picture—by Velázquez—whose real qualities were only revealed in the course of last summer, when it came up to conservation to be cleaned.<strong></strong></p><p>It shows a man who’s probably in his early thirties, wearing a black costume cut off bust length, costume unfinished. He looks directly out at us, wonderful moustache, little goatee, white collar that is like a plate around his neck. </p><p>It’s a picture that came to the Metropolitan in 1949 as part of the bequest of Jules Bache, one of the great benefactors of the Museum. And it’s a picture that, when it arrived, came to us as a self-portrait by Velázquez. But, you know, scholarship is a very strange thing, and over the course of the years, as the varnish darkened and further layers of varnish obfuscated the picture, it gradually seemed less likely as a proper Velázquez and was finally, in 1979, demoted by the Museum to an attribution of the workshop of Velázquez.</p><p>Nonetheless, it’s a picture that really continued to fascinate me. And so when Michael Gallagher arrived here four years ago and we walked around the galleries, this was one of the pictures we discussed as something that we might have up in conservation to have a good look at, to see whether it might benefit from a cleaning. </p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>:<strong> </strong>I performed a small cleaning test along the bottom edge to sort of get a sense of just how distorted the painting was by previous restoration. And we were both really quite shocked by it, because the varnishes that had covered the entire picture had discolored enormously, and there had been, I think, also an attempt to change the picture’s character. We decided it was worth going ahead with a full cleaning to try and bring back the picture and allow us to make a better judgment on its quality and its authorship. </p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>:<strong> </strong>And as we see it today in its cleaned state, it has the most arresting presence. You feel in direct contact with this person. Imagine him, then, instead of looking directly out at you, with this extraordinary rapport—this feeling of communication between you and the picture—he’s behind three panes of tinted glass. And then you can imagine the effect that this picture had under the varnish. Sometimes pictures don’t improve with cleaning, but this is a picture that transformed in cleaning. And there is also a quality of immediacy to the technique that, I think, engages one in the most remarkable way. </p><p>We both were so impressed by the sheer quality of this picture that we felt we needed to get in touch with a specialist on Velázquez, Jonathan Brown, to come over and to give his blessing on it. Quite honestly, by this point, both of us were pretty convinced that we were dealing with a work by the greatest of all Spanish painters. </p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>:<strong> </strong>I think the first thing that’s really important to understand about this painting is though it’s finished in the sense that I believe the artist stopped when he wanted to stop, it’s not brought to a high level of finish. Many areas are summarily treated—they have the quality of a sketch. For example, a lot of the costume, the doublet that the sitter wears, is just barely suggested. Most of the attention of the painting is focused on this extraordinary face. There’s a searing type of intensity to the observation employed in observing and recording that face, and it is what makes the picture so unbelievably arresting. I think the greatest crime of the previous restoration was to try and make this a more finished painting by toning back areas, by giving the contour of the hair, which was always slightly unresolved—it was given a very artificial outline—and each of those decisions, each of those steps, pulled down the quality of the picture by hiding this very, very lively, spontaneous quality.</p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>:<strong> </strong>Jonathan Brown came by a couple days later, taking a break from his busy teaching schedule. Walked up to the picture. Took him about five seconds to turn around and say, “There’s no question who did this. Congratulations on the new acquisition.” </p><p>So you have this figure looking out at you, presence of a real person, and the temptation, of course, is inevitable. Who is this guy? Well, as it turns out, the same person appears in one of Velázquez’s greatest masterpieces, a painting called <em>The Surrender of Breda</em> that hangs in the Prado Museum. It shows the giving of the keys to the leading military figure who led the Spanish siege of the town of Breda in Holland. And at the far right there’s a horse, there are other military men, and way at the right edge of the picture is a figure who looks out at us—very proud, almost arrogant expression on his face. And this is the person who is portrayed in our picture.</p><p>Well, for many, many years the figure at the far right in <em>The Surrender of Breda</em> was thought to be a self-portrait of Velázquez, for the simple reason that he’s on the margin, he’s looking out at the viewer, it’s exactly the place that painters insert self-portraits. We’ve had a long, extended conversation with Jonathan Brown about this subject and he reminds us that at the court of Philip IV, the hierarchy, the etiquette, the sense of decorum was such that he feels it would be very, very unlikely that an artist, a young artist of Velázquez’s age at this period—Velázquez would have been about thirty-five years old—would have been allowed to insert his portrait into a painting of this historical importance, meant to decorate a palace. Nonetheless, I’m sure many people who look at this picture will be tempted to say there’s something so personal about it, almost confessional about it, this must be a self-portrait.</p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>:<strong> </strong>Without exception, everyone who's come through the studio and seen this picture—it stops them dead in their tracks. It is, to use a cliché, a show stopper. There is no pretense to this painting. The facility in which the painting is handled is extraordinary, but it’s done with integrity and sincerity. Every aspect of it is handled with such extraordinary ability. </p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>:<strong> </strong>The picture has such an extraordinary presence that one has to ask oneself how the artist achieves it. When you come to the Museum and are able to stand in front of the picture, these are some issues that I think might be interesting to keep in mind: the extraordinary silhouette of the doublet that he wears—you’ll see a pale brown line all around the left-hand side of it. This is the ground of the picture. Velázquez was painting this at great rapidity. Michael, do you have any idea how long he would have spent painting a picture like this?</p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>:<strong> </strong>It’s always maybe a little dangerous to second guess, but, I mean, we’re talking hours. I mean, he’s incredibly skillful at putting veils of color, but you shouldn’t confuse this with the sort of labored glazing technique of, say, something like a Venetian seventeenth-century painting. This is very direct and, because of that, because of that simplicity, in a sense, of technique—dazzling though it is, it is essentially simple—he would have been able to achieve these effects in a very short period of time.</p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>:<strong> </strong>When we get to a detail like the collar, which sits in space and sets off the head in this wonderful fashion, with its sharp edge played against the fuzziness of the hair, or the goatee—how much labor do you think he spent for the collar like that? </p><p>There’s very little actual pigment on it. And the edge of it is painted with just a few brushstrokes, each one perfectly positioned so the thing sits in space, establishing both the depth of the picture and setting off the head, which seems to sit with great security above it. Any other painter and anybody in Velázquez’s workshop would have labored very hard to achieve these effects and we would have been very much aware of the labor involved. Here's just a few brushstrokes; it’s done. And this runs throughout the picture in this way. </p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>:<strong> </strong>I mean, if you look at the collar, he’s just pulled round this cold gray—I say cold when you compare it to the grays in the background, which are very warm—I mean, we’re talking one swipe. And then there’s about three almost glancing little touches of white—three or four. So you’re talking seconds, not even minutes, I think.</p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>:<strong> </strong>One of the things that so impresses me, Michael, about the picture is you have the incompleteness of the doublet and then the head worked up with extraordinary sense of physical density, with the whole quality of skin and of the light on the skin. There’s almost this sheen of the nose, of the forehead. And then this look that you get, the gaze of him that stops you short in your tracks, that addresses you, where you feel in direct contact with the physical being in the picture, rather than an image of him. This contrast in techniques is not something you always find with Velázquez. In fact, the Metropolitan’s great picture of Juan de Pareja, his slave assistant that he had in the workshop, of Moorish descent, is much more posed by comparison to this. What about this extraordinary variety in the technique that he applies to a picture like this?</p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>:<strong> </strong>We’ve generally referred to this as a life study and I think we say that because it isn’t a highly finished portrait. Certain areas were purposely left in a sort of summary level of finish. And, I think to the modern eye, we really respond very strongly to that. It’s almost as if the artist directs us to the face because the other parts of the painting—there’s just enough information. You see the orientation of the pose, you get a sense of the fabric that is in the doublet, the rigidity of the collar, and so forth. But the head is treated with such concentration it demands our attention in a way that makes it arresting, that gives it this extraordinary physical presence, that you really feel you’re looking at a living human being. You feel you almost <em>know</em> that character, it’s recorded in such an intense way.</p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>:<strong> </strong>You know, one of the things that it reminds me of is that the removal of the varnish, of the repaints where a restorer in 1925–26, tried to give the picture a quality of completion that the artist never intended, was that instead of looking at an Old Master, one is looking at a fresh person who's a voice from the past that suddenly leaps out from the past and is in your present. And I think this is really such an extraordinary quality of this picture. The more you look at it, the more you realize that, although it is painted very freely, very thinly, in such a brief amount of time, the adjustments are incredibly subtle—the pale gray on the one side of the body and the darker gray around the head—which creates a spatial ambient for this figure and makes him really leap out at you. </p><p>There are very few pictures by Velázquez done in this fashion—informal, life studies, unfinished—and, interestingly enough, when an inventory was drawn up of Velázquez’s possessions after his death in 1661, we find two pictures like this listed. And one of them is “a portrait of Diego Velázquez, the vestments unfinished.” For those who find this picture to be not only arresting but also to have the quality of the artist unveiling himself to us, this is a very, very suggestive reference in the inventory. And although we can’t identify the sitter with any certainty, it reminds us that Velázquez did paint himself in a mirror.<strong> </strong>And I think that’s what one really feels in this picture. Don’t you get sort of that same sensation, Michael?</p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>:<strong> </strong>One of the great things about the painting is, by anyone’s standard, the technique is dazzling. But the first thing that strikes you is the inner life of the sitter. And it’s almost secondary that you begin to see what a master class in paint handling this is. And with such limited means, Velázquez creates this really, really breathtaking portrait.</p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>: This picture goes on view November 17 at an exhibition titled “Velázquez Rediscovered” at the Metropolitan Museum. It will run through February 7. It’s a unique occasion to see not only this picture but a record of its whole attributional history, of its cleaning, and to be able to compare it with four other of the Metropolitan’s paintings by Velázquez. It’s the largest and most comprehensive group of paintings by this great Spanish artist in America.<u></u></p> 054 Episode for Families: The Tengu Nose Contest The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Listen to this amusing story of a contest between two Japanese spirits in this episode produced especially for younger audiences. Listen to this amusing story of a contest between two Japanese spirits in this episode produced especially for younger audiences. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.11092009.054.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_054 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.11092009.054.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_054 epNum054 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={F8E9ACA7-5B17-471F-9394-D298E7E53159} Learn more about this exhibition. 054.B.jpg 054.S.jpg Mon, 09 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 4:35 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Tengu Samurai Japan family no <p><strong>Narrator</strong>: Would you like to hear a story? Just sit back, relax, and get ready to listen, because it's Story Time at the Met.</p><p>Long ago in Japan, the greatest warriors were called samurai. When a samuraiput on his splendid armor, sometimes he covered his face with an armored facemask. The mask protected his face and made him look very fierce.</p><p>Many samurai masks had hideous faces that looked like evil spirits called <em>tengu</em>. These demons were the masters of war and weapons. <em>Tengu</em> tricked men into making war. They had magic powers, like flying or changing shape, and some had long noses they could grow to any length they wished. </p><p>Once, two <em>tengu</em> sat on a mountaintop, bragging about their noses. The first <em>tengu</em> said, “I can smell anything in the world with my nose. Right now, I smell incense down in the valley.” </p><p>“I don’t smell any incense,” said the second <em>tengu</em>. “Why don’t you prove it?”</p><p>“You’ll see!” said the first <em>tengu</em>. And he made his nose grow and grow, longer and longer, over seven mountaintops and down into the valley. </p><p>His nose followed the incense until it came to the house of a noble lord. The daughter of the noble lord was unpacking new kimonos to wear. They were packed with incense to make the silk kimonos smell heavenly. The girl didn’t notice the long nose sniffing at her window. </p><p> “Where can I hang my kimonos?” she asked herself. “Oh, look, there’s a pole here by the window.” And she hung her kimonos on the pole, which was really the <em>tengu</em>’s nose. </p><p>The <em>tengu</em> felt a tickle. The fluttering silk made him want to sneeze. Quick as a wink, he made his nose shrink back over the mountains. </p><p>He was delighted to see the beautiful kimonos still hanging from his nose, still fragrant with incense. “Do you believe me <em>now</em>?” he asked. “Smell for yourself.”</p><p>“That’s nothing!” said the second <em>tengu</em>. <em>My</em> nose will bring back something even better!” And the second <em>tengu'</em>s nose grew over the seven mountaintops and down into the valley. </p><p>He sniffed out the incense in the house of the noble lord. Just before his nose went in the window, he felt a sharp tug.</p><p>The noble lord’s little boy was playing outside. When he saw the long nose going by, he threw a rope over it and started to swing. </p><p>The rope burned the second <em>tengu</em>’s nose. So he made his nose start to shrink. But the boy climbed up the rope and bit the <em>tengu</em>’s nose hard! Then he shimmied down to the ground and ran home. The second <em>tengu</em>’s nose shrank painfully back over the mountains. It was red and swollen with rope burns and tooth marks. The first <em>tengu</em> laughed and laughed. </p><p>“It’s not funny!” shouted the second <em>tengu</em>. He jumped on the first and started kicking. And I believe they’re up there fighting to this day.</p><p>The next time you come to the Metropolitan Museum you can see samurai facemasks in the arms and armor collection. Find the mask of the <em>tengu</em> with the hooked nose. You can find more about samurai masks in a special exhibition called “Art of the Samurai.” You’ll learn more about Japanese samurai at war and at peace, and see their magnificent armor and weapons. “Art of the Samurai” opens October 21, 2009, and continues through January 10, 2010. </p><p>Thanks again for listening. Join us for the next Story Time at the Met!</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by The Yomiuri Shimbun. </p><p> Additional support is provided by The Jessica E. Smith and Kevin R. Brine Charitable Trust, the J.C.C. Fund of the Japanese Chamber of Commerce and Industry of New York, Inc., the Oceanic Heritage Foundation, and the Japan Foundation. </p><p>Transportation assistance was provided by Japan Airlines. </p><p>The exhibition was organized by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the Agency for Cultural Affairs of the Government of Japan, and the Tokyo National Museum.</p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities. </p><p>The catalogue is made possible by the Samuel I. Newhouse Foundation, Inc. </p><p>Additional support is provided by Arthur Ochs Sulzberger and Allison S. Cowles, the Grancsay Fund, and the Doris Duke Fund for Publications.</p><p>This has been an Antenna Audio production.</p> 053 American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915: Artist Kara Walker Discusses "The Power of Music" The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Artist Kara Walker offers her interpretation of the painting "The Power of Music" by William Sidney Mount, on view in the exhibition "American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915." <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 12, 2009–January 24, 2010</font></span><br/>Artist Kara Walker offers her interpretation of the painting <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.2.13"><i>The Power of Music</i></a> by William Sidney Mount, on view in the exhibition "<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/">American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915</a>." http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11092009.053.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_053 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11092009.053.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_053 epNum053 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={264FD9D3-6A90-457E-B97C-404AFC2382B8} Learn more about this exhibition. 053.B.jpg 053.S.jpg Mon, 09 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 10:16 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Kara Walker William Sidney Mount The Power of Music spex no <p><strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>: This is Carrie Rebora Barratt, curator—with my colleague Barbara Weinberg—of the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</p><p>The exhibition includes more than one hundred iconic works by many of America’s most acclaimed artists, who tell stories about their times by depicting ordinary people engaged in life’s tasks and pleasures. Their paintings range in date from the Revolutionary era to the eve of World War I.</p><p>In William Sidney Mount’s 1847 painting <em>The Power of Music</em>, an African-American man listens in as a group of white men enjoys a fiddler’s tune. The artist was a fiddler himself, and a strong believer in the therapeutic value of music. Mount painted the picture in Stony Brook, New York, and the African-American man is known to be Robin Mills—a local landowner and elder in the African Methodist Episcopal Zionist Church. This was one of the first American paintings that circulated widely as a lithographic print and was seen by thousands of Americans. It can be read as a picture about exclusion and racism, or, on the other hand, it can be viewed as a representation of the power of music to transcend division. </p><p>We asked the artist Kara Walker to share her own interpretation of the painting.</p><p><strong>Kara Walker</strong>: I’m looking at what seems to be a portrait of a black man at the forefront. He’s in the foreground of the painting in a very sort of considered and considerate kind of posture, leaning against a wall. And he appears to be listening. The painting is compositionally interesting because there’s a division in it. There are several divisions, and some of the divisions are implied as social divisions—not necessarily class, but racial divisions.</p><p>We have men in their sort of work clothes and farmers in a barn maybe relaxing to the violin playing of another man on the left-hand side. And I’m really interested in the way the two standing male figures—they’re on opposite sides of this dividing wall, this barn door, each concentrating, turning their ears in the direction of the music. And very calm. You know? The painting technique, the way the light falls across the plain, the way the figures are sort of angled, there’s a sort of inward, introspective quality to each one of the figures. Anyway, I’m just very interested in the way he alludes to harmony and racial harmony and music as a kind of solution to tension or racial discord that would have been extremely present in his time.</p><p>Another thing that I was thinking about when looking at this painting was the idea of crossover. I was on my way over here, listening to some R&B on my headphones, and I was thinking about this idea of that term “crossover” or “crossover music,” implying not so much the universal qualities of the musics that we listen to and the music of the Americas, but this idea that within this universal ideal there still exists a racial division. And it’s kind of a strange arbitrary idea to impose on music, that there is black music and there is white music, or non-black music.</p><p>But what you have really is—in crossover—is the kind of spirit, I think, that’s present in this painting, that idea that within R&B, and blues, and soul, and gospel, and country, and rock ‘n’ roll, there is this kind of American blending that at its very best does away with the barn door and the imposed divisions along racial lines or along class lines or along gender lines.</p><p>I think I must have encountered this painting in a text, you know, talking about the image of the black in American art, and a black image in American art. And I worked, you know, really hard to kind of find the divisiveness in the painting, looked to find, you know, the artist’s point of view and, you know, tried to maybe lock him into a particularly racist white point of view that might have been ubiquitous at the time. But I didn’t find it here, right? Even in his kind of compositional division with the barn door, it’s not a huge gap, right? It’s not really speaking very clearly about slavery.</p><p>The black man in the front seems to be so sensitively drawn, sensitively rendered, that he almost looks like a friend or somebody who’s at least a known subject. Even trying to read the implements—the jug and the axe that are next to him—there’s maybe the suggestion that there’s some kind of laziness going on, but nobody is working, you know? [Laughs]  I mean, it may be almost too subtle, you know? There’s this kind of sweetness in the rendering that might be too harmonious, you know, maybe ignoring the realities.</p><p>This is, you know, a few years prior to the start of the Civil War. This is a time when abolitionism is becoming a real political force, a real political point of view. The slave trade has been abolished in England already for years and, you know, this is a painting about—what? It’s just like everybody getting along. Everybody sort of meets right here in the center, having done the same amount of work to get to the same place. And then music just becomes this kind of metaphor for that. </p><p>The idea that there’s salvation in music is similar, in a way, to this idea that I kind of have that there might be salvation in pictures. This is maybe what makes this such an American painting, in a way, because the whole composition suggests labor and talent. It’ll kind of be the salvation of the human spirit. But also, it’s part of the American ethos of hard work and then rest or leisure at the end of that, like leisure that’s earned.</p><p>And there’s something about this image—and I think others from that time period that I’ve seen—where the laborers, the workers, the farmers, the slaves, the indentured servants are all kind of unified in this post-labor kind of moment. This fiddler is a part of this kind of labor structure in a way that he’s bringing his talents to the fore and kind of wiping away the trials of the day, right? All the trials—all political and social and physical—are kind of washed away by his playing. Like I said earlier, it’s almost too sweet. You can almost hear the painting, in a way. I mean, maybe it’s a little Ken Burns-y. You know, you can almost hear the strings of the fiddle. </p><p>But if there’s anything that kind of fascinates and annoys me about paintings like this—and it’s really a love-hate relationship with American genre painting that I have—it’s that the painter seems so maybe taken with his craft, taken with his self-control, his ability to sort of render light and color in harmony with such subtle dexterity that he seems to assume that everybody else in his pictures—his subjects—would also have the same tendency.</p><p>I guess because I am impatient and temperamental and sort of nutty sometimes, and histrionic, my figures would probably tend to reflect that. So there’d be more of a bend in the back, you know? The music would be faster. It would be more sort of—you know, think about early rock ‘n’ roll and the kind of fear of like children going wild from this kind of savage music. It would be about the kind of universal kind of savagery that is also maybe apparent in the music that we play, yeah.</p><p>It’s so restrained. And, like I said, I mean, it’s a love-hate relationship. I’ve been interested in American genre painting for awhile, but not as a historian so much as as a painter, or a person who makes images, anyway, and for this kind of budding sense of identity, of looking at paintings to see where they represent, like, an American sense of coming into being as Americans. This painting has all of those elements that I think are quintessentially American.</p><p>It sort of talks about race, and it kind of talks about labor, and it talks about this kind of spirit of achievement or success, or talent begetting leisure time at the end of the day. So it suggests all of that, and then it glosses it over—everything—which I think is also quintessentially American, or at least quintessentially kind of middle-class American.</p><p><strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>: This work, along with the rest of the paintings in the exhibition, can be viewed online at metmuseum.org in the special feature for “American Stories.” There, as on the Audio Guide program in the exhibition galleries, you can also hear a range of perspectives by Barbara Weinberg and me, as well as by artists, historians, and other experts from a variety of fields.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Alamo Rent A Car, The Marguerite and Frank A. Cosgrove Jr., Fund, The Peter Jay Sharp Foundation, the Henry Luce Foundation, and the Oceanic Heritage Foundation.</p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p><p>The Audio Guide is sponsored by Bloomberg.</p><p>“American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from October 12, 2009, through January 24, 2010.</p> 052 Special Exhibition: The Young Archer Attributed to Michelangelo The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator James David Draper discusses the attribution to the teenage Michelangelo of the marble sculpture now on special loan to the Museum from the French Republic’s Ministry of Foreign and European Affairs. Curator James David Draper discusses the attribution to the teenage Michelangelo of the marble sculpture now on special loan to the Museum from the French Republic’s Ministry of Foreign and European Affairs. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11022009.052.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_052 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11022009.052.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_052 {3FFFB3E4-CF5C-4313-A40F-F0D541FC67FB} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={3FFFB3E4-CF5C-4313-A40F-F0D541FC67FB} Learn more about this exhibition. 052.B.jpg 052.S.jpg Mon, 02 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 13:45 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org James Draper Museum from the French Republic Young Archer Michelangelo spex no <p><strong>James Draper</strong>: Hello, I’m James Draper, the Henry R. Kravis Curator of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Museum is now displaying the marble sculpture of a young archer attributed to the young Michelangelo. This fragmentary figure of a nude youth, missing arms and lower legs, was previously in the Fifth Avenue mansion that has housed the Cultural Services office of the French Embassy for several decades. The sculpture's on view at the Metropolitan Museum for ten years as a special loan from the French Republic’s Ministry of Foreign and European Affairs.</p><p>It shows every sign of having been the piece that belonged to a Florentine banker living in Rome in the sixteenth century who owned something that is variously described as a Cupid or an Apollo, but with a vase at his feet that’s just got to be this figure. The explanation for that sort of flange of marble that comes off his left leg is, in fact, the edge of that vase that also helped support the figure.</p><p>So then it lay neglected—although a couple of artists did draw it, so we can do a lot to reconstruct the limbs—until it passed into the hands of a Florentine dealer named Bardini, whose collection was sold at Christie’s in London in 1905. He preserved the thought that it was by Michelangelo, said that it came from the gardens of Villa Borghese, which is where the later draftsmen certainly saw it. But it didn’t find a buyer at that London sale and Stanford White eventually got hold of it for his clients. White served as a bit of a dealer besides as an architect and designer, and he bought it and sold it to Mr. and Mrs. Payne Whitney, to whom the Fifth Avenue mansion in question had belonged. And it was installed by White in the entrance to the mansion, above a sort of make-believe fountain. </p><p>A Florentine scholar attributed it to Michelangelo simply on the basis of the photograph in the old sale catalogue, and that had no particular consequence. But I, too, was interested, because I was doing my dissertation on Michelangelo’s mentor, whose name was Bertoldo di Giovanni. And I could just see that this marble had something to do with the intensely lyric style of Bertoldo, even though it was a fragment and even though Bertoldo worked in bronze rather than marble.</p><p>And one day—I don’t remember precise details—I was walking down Fifth Avenue, really right around the corner, and there was the marble in the vestibule of the French Cultural Affairs office. Glass doors, so you could see in, and, well, I put that in my dissertation as a later work. It didn’t occur to me that it was by Michelangelo. </p><p>Later, an NYU professor, Kathleen Weil-Garris Brandt, was at a party in that building where the sculpture was well lighted. And she knows Michelangelo through and through, and she said, “My gosh, you know, it really is him.” And she called me over and I took a look, and I was immediately persuaded. When decent light finally fell on this piece and I could really take in the superb carving of the hair and the twist of the body and the subtle serpentine movement, I believe I was converted right on the spot. Counter claims were made, not everybody believed it, but an increasing number of people do. And I’m not going to be unbiased about this, as we walk through. I’ll tell you the reasons why I think that is spot-on for Michelangelo. </p><p>I think it was the carving of the hair more than anything, that you could see really modeled in a decent light, that spoke most eloquently. The hair is very tightly curled and crisply curled, and this is in accord with his work until the famous <em>Bacchus</em>.</p><p>And then gradually to try to reconstruct the composition also helped, because this arm hooked over the chest is also an element in Bertoldo. And when you could start walking around the work, you could see many, many more possibilities. One knew it only from a black-and-white photo, in one position. So it was a revelation to see it, and when your eye could move around and take in the especially serpentine elements.</p><p>Another feature is that he really never quite completed this figure. Look at his proper left temple and you’ll see that it was never completely finished—I mean, it’s only blocked out and never completely carved with the finesse of the rest of the curls. And this is a feature with Michelangelo all his life, this unfinished state.</p><p>One thing you mustn’t do is think of the older Michelangelo of the Sistine ceiling or the <em>David</em> or the Medici tombs or the vaunted <em>Pietàs</em> or those titanic, heroic efforts when you look at this little boy. For this is a slight figure, he’s almost skinny, and the only end way for me to deal with it is to deal with the child Michelangelo. I think we’re talking about a work done when he was fifteen or sixteen years old.</p><p>Michelangelo had every privilege. I was born on his birthday, March 6, in his case 1475. He was born in a little town in Umbria called Caprese, now called Caprese Michelangelo. And his father was a sort of low-grade official who was mayor of that little town at the moment. But within a month, the whole family had moved to Florence. And his father apprenticed him to the leading painter, Domenico Ghirlandaio, where we know that he mastered painting rather quickly. You may remember the recent exhibition of a single painting of <em><a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId=%7b9D3C7B4F-B278-4162-8EB1-911A90475DF4%7d">The Torment of Saint Anthony</a></em> borrowed from the museum in Fort Worth, the Kimbell Museum, that Michelangelo painted even slightly younger, in Ghirlandaio’s workshop. We couldn’t have these two works in the same room. It would confuse people even more to see the crisp graphic style of the painting and the much looser, much more lyric attitude in the marble, near each other in date, but showing the artist capable of pursuing more than one path at a time that he did all his life, in painting, sculpture, architecture.</p><p>And so, very quickly—it’s in all the literature—Michelangelo entered the Medici household, the household of the great Lorenzo the Magnificent, who nourished the careers of artists and who had great collections for them to study. And it’s clear that a lot of looking at antique sculpture has gone into this lithe young archer, with his almost Hellenistic movement. You’ve got to realize that his hands originally—as you can see from a couple of drawings—were very articulated, very reticulated in this movement of pulling an arrow from a quiver, a very strange quiver that’s in the shape of a lion’s paw, as a sort of touch of rusticity, looking back to sort of barbaric never-never land, way before the beginning of time, when we’re looking at an idea of the earliest notions of the gods.</p><p>And the household of Lorenzo contained my artist, Bertoldo, who was sort of a grumpy factotum of the place, a sort of unofficial curator of Lorenzo the Magnificent’s collections. And it’s his style—this very splendid, out-of-it, lyric aspect that’s been given to this youth—that’s reflected here. It’s beyond Bertoldo in its ambitions. There’s always a slightness in Bertoldo that is reflected in this lyric little boy, but it’s much more ambitious than he is and a lot closer to classical antiquity. And Bertoldo didn’t carve any marbles that we know about. And here’s this kid, as if on the loose, experimenting with imaginary poses, vaguely connected with classical antiquity and full of his own pathos already. </p><p>So Michelangelo is simultaneously, more or less, nailing down painting and sculpture from his mid-teens. Bertoldo died in 1491 and Lorenzo, who as we know was absolutely distraught, the following year, 1492. And it is to those years that I suggest we should place the <em>Young Archer</em>, leaving apart preconceptions about the firebrand of the Sistine Chapel and the powerful male nude and all that. He’s not yet really into his anatomical studies, for example.  </p><p>We’ve only just discovered that the same marble belongs to the whole body. It’s broken into<strong> </strong>separate major pieces. The legs are the same piece of marble to below the knees. And so you can see that that’s a strange elongation and rather strange kneecaps that this child possesses. And it becomes easier and easier to view this through the lens of the young artist. He’s sort of rivaling the antique, providing his own touches, including this extraordinary elongation that you will find him using selectively. Especially in the famous wood crucifix for San Lorenzo that is only a very few years later than this, you find that splendid, sinuous, serpentine movement and elongation. Other times, no. For example, the famous relief of the battle of the centaurs that is generally acknowledged to be his earliest sculpture, you won’t find that elongation but you’ll find really vigorous tumbling figures. The blunt profiles in the relief and the <em>Young Archer</em> are worth comparing. I really do think they’re close to being the same. But I would put the <em>Young Archer</em> even just a little bit earlier.</p><p>We could project that the piece was about four feet tall. We can never perfectly reconstruct the piece because a lot has been lost due to weathering. It was outdoors for a long time and so got pretty beat up. In the Villa Borghese gardens it was in a niche, and that is why the front of the sculpture has suffered worse than the back. The back was relatively protected. But you can see how weather caused pitting across the chest especially. </p><p>We owe a great deal to Kathleen Weil-Garris Brandt, for bringing so much notice to the piece in articles that she pulled together in 1997–98, and to an exhibition in Florence that brought it together with the most pertinent early works, where these hypotheses could be really tested and where a lot of art historians came around to the idea that we really are looking at a work of this young genius.</p><p>I mean, you have a fixed view of an artist. It’s hard to separate preconceptions sometimes. And it’s only just a little boy, you know, it’s not some big lusty nude. It’s a rather quiet, introspective piece. And if people are unconvinced, I’m not worried. I’m glad we can offer people the chance to see and decide.</p> 051 American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915: George Caleb Bingham's Take on Election Day The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Newsweek columnist Jonathan Alter shares his insights on Election Day and on George Caleb Bingham’s painting The County Election, on view in the exhibition "American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915." <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 12, 2009–January 24, 2010</font></span><br/>Newsweek columnist Jonathan Alter shares his insights on Election Day and on George Caleb Bingham’s painting <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.2.19"><i>The County Election</i></a>, on view in the exhibition "<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/">American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915</a>." http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11022009.051.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_051 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11022009.051.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_051 epNum051 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={264FD9D3-6A90-457E-B97C-404AFC2382B8} Learn more about this exhibition. 051.B.jpg 051.S.jpg Mon, 02 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 9:58 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Jonathan Alter George Caleb Bingham spex no <p><strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>:<strong> </strong>This is Carrie Rebora Barratt, curator—with my colleague Barbara Weinberg—of the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</p><p>The exhibition includes more than one hundred iconic works by many of America’s most acclaimed artists, who tell stories about their times by depicting ordinary people engaged in life’s tasks and pleasures. Their paintings range in date from the Revolutionary era to the eve of World War I.</p><p><em>The County Election</em> is one of a series of paintings by George Caleb Bingham that celebrates elections in the newly created states along America’s western frontier. In it, with a keen sense of critical humor toward the American democratic system, Bingham conveys all of the hurly-burly of a polling place on Election Day. Bingham himself was a disappointed politician, denied election to the Missouri statehouse in 1846 by crooked dealing. He swore never to get involved in politics again, but, in the end, found himself addicted to the competition, and eventually served as a state treasurer during the Civil War. </p><p>We invited <em>Newsweek</em> columnist Jonathan Alter to share his insights on <em>The County Election</em> with us.</p><p><strong>Jonathan Alter</strong>:<strong> </strong>I’ve covered seven presidential elections for <em>Newsweek</em> magazine. I grew up in a political family in Chicago. My mother was the first woman elected in the Chicago area to public office. As a child, I would take Election Day off from school. My parents would let me play hooky so that I could electioneer and take part in local elections. So when I see something like this painting about a county election, it’s very familiar to me. Politics has changed in certain ways tremendously, and in other ways it hasn’t really changed very much at all. And what I love about this painting is that it conveys the excitement and even the fun that an Election Day can bring. Some people see politics as dreary and boring, not connected to their lives. I believe just the opposite, that it’s vital, deeply important, and also a lot of fun, in the same way that following sports is fun for some people.</p><p>And I think the context of this is also very important. This painting is from 1852 in Missouri. And at that time, Millard Fillmore was president. Franklin Pierce would be coming in that year as president. These were non-entities. They were not important presidents. But it was an immensely important time, because this was when the country was debating the future of the Union. It’s the eve of the Civil War. And there was tremendous emotional connection to politics. The big question of the day was "How should slavery be extended or not extended into the territories?" And Missouri was right at the center of that.</p><p>The Missouri Compromise of 1820, which was the first way of papering over the differences over extending slavery into the territories, was revisited in what was called the Clay Compromise of 1850. At this time this painting is depicting, you had greats of the Senate: John C. Calhoun, Daniel Webster, Henry Clay. And they all lived in the 1850s and they were debating the big issues of the day. So we don’t know whether this is a local election or a national election. We know it’s happening at the county level. But we do know that there’s tremendous enthusiasm and excitement over how this is going to come out and that elections bring out the best and sometimes the worst in human behavior. </p><p>One of the things I love about this painting is, in the distance, you can see a man standing on a horse. You just see a little shadow. And he’s got his hat up above his head, like he’s riding through town, “Yeehaw!” As if this is, you know, one of the most exciting days of his life. Something big is happening: an election. And that’s the way I feel at election time. Now, sometimes people get into fights. You see a man who’s unconscious being dragged away, another man at the far right who looks like he’s been beaten up. You see somebody who’s drunk over on the left having a good time, feeling no pain. And then you see people in the center of the painting who are engaged in very earnest political arguments and sometimes deal-making, as they approach the ballot box. </p><p>You see that elections are public things. They didn’t have as many rules then about how far you had to be from the polling place before you could be engaging in politics. Nowadays, you can’t be right up by the polling place trying to convince people how to vote. That’s illegal in most jurisdictions. But in Missouri in 1852, you could politic right up until the instant that you cast your ballot. And you can tell that the judges on the porch, the election judges and vote counters, they are separated by only a few feet from the mob. And so you can understand how sometimes elections were not entirely conducted on the up-and-up, either then or now.</p><p>I covered the Florida recount in 2000 and I was in Tallahassee as Florida was deciding whether George W. Bush or Al Gore would be President of the United States. And it was tremendously exciting and there was a lot of activity and a feeling of intensity in the way people talked to each other that is not associated with every election, but sometimes if it’s especially close or if the stakes are very high, you’ll get that intensity, that excitement. And this painting conveys the excitement and the intensity of elections. </p><p>Look at the gentleman with the red handkerchief coming out of his pocket and how intently he’s making his point to the two men who are listening to him, all three wearing hats. Or the candidate in the middle. He’s taking off his top hat and he’s trying to ingratiate himself with voters as they go up to cast their ballots. That’s almost a universal sign of a politician: smile on his face, tipping his hat. Even though politicians don’t wear hats anymore, they have that same ingratiating expression on their face when they want your vote.</p><p>And then you can see others talking very intensely to one another. The gentleman in the middle of the painting who’s pointing his finger intensely into the palm of his other hand—he’s making a point. The two people who are leaning over, looking over the third man marking out his ballot, show that voting was not confidential all the time in those days.</p><p>So you get a sense of the vividness of politics in local life. And in that sense, this painting conveys the emotions and intensity of feeling that were part of our democracy in the mid-nineteenth century. And what gives it even more power is the context that this was as the nation was on the cusp of civil war. And government of the people, by the people, for the people "might," as Lincoln said, "perish from this Earth." So the stakes were high. And the people in this painting understand at some level, maybe a subconscious level, that they’re engaged in something that is deeply important for their community and for their country.</p><p>But while they’re doing it, they’re human. And they’re enjoying it, which is as it should be. It shouldn’t be a dreary process. Elections in other paintings that come to mind are depicted as solemn, civic rituals, almost like people going to church. Well, that’s not what elections in this country have been about. So this painting does a terrific job of connecting the ritual of Election Day to the broader themes of everyday life and of conveying the vibrancy and fun of American democracy.</p><p><strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>:<strong> </strong>This work, along with the rest of the paintings in the exhibition, can be viewed online at metmuseum.org in the special feature for “American Stories.” There, as on the Audio Guide program in the exhibition galleries, you can also hear a range of perspectives by Barbara Weinberg and me, as well as by artists, historians, and other experts from a variety of fields.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Alamo Rent A Car, The Marguerite and Frank A. Cosgrove Jr. Fund, The Peter Jay Sharp Foundation, the Henry Luce Foundation, and the Oceanic Heritage Foundation.</p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p><p>The Audio Guide is sponsored by Bloomberg.</p><p>“American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from October 12, 2009, through January 24, 2010.</p> 050 Special Exhibition: Pablo Bronstein at the Met The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Artist Pablo Bronstein and curator Gary Tinterow discuss Bronstein’s new drawings and etchings that suggest mythical histories and hypothetical futures of the Metropolitan Museum. Artist Pablo Bronstein and curator Gary Tinterow discuss Bronstein’s new drawings and etchings that suggest mythical histories and hypothetical futures of the Metropolitan Museum. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10262009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_050 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10262009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_050 {E13FC5D1-A9D4-4DBD-9AA5-338FB3FB2814} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={E13FC5D1-A9D4-4DBD-9AA5-338FB3FB2814} Learn more about this exhibition. 050.B.jpg 050.S.jpg Mon, 26 Oct 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 11:17 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Pablo Bronstein Gary Tinterow spex no <p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Hi, I’m Gary Tinterow, Engelhard Chairman of the Department of Nineteenth-Century, Modern, and Contemporary Art at the Met. I’m here with the artist Pablo Bronstein to discuss his new work, featured in the exhibition <em>Pablo Bronstein at the Met</em>, at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</p><p>Pablo, it seems that you’ve created in your drawings, etchings, and computer drawings a mythical history of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. And I wondered why it was important for you that the events you depict—the construction of the façade, the transport of The Temple of Dendur—why are these demonstrably false histories?</p><p><strong>Pablo Bronstein</strong>: They’re false because the Museum is relatively new, and so we know that the history did not happen this particular way. They’re not false in the sense that they are outright lies, because there is a sense of emotional truth to them. So, for example, when you’re looking at The Temple of Dendur, the impression that the Museum wants you to have is one of awe. And so the idea would be that, as it is so impressive, this temple was also brought into the Museum in an impressive way. I think the Museum—all museums—that show art at world-class level talk about their heritage in an emotional sense, as if it were a kind of Napoleonic exercise.</p><p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Okay, but, you know, an important difference, let’s say, with an American museum as opposed to, say, Napoleon’s Louvre is that, as far as we know—this could be debated—everything is brought here legally. It’s not a question of invading armies removing works of art against the will of the local powers. But you seem to want to criticize museums, in a way, but you also seem to do it from the position of an insider.</p><p><strong>Pablo Bronstein</strong>: That’s right. In fact, this exhibition really grew out of a collaboration that we had about how to capture not only a mythical past of the Museum but a present and a future of the Museum, which is perhaps different now than it was two or three years ago. But I think, going back to the reason why I might have betrayed a lot of these seminal, mythical events in the foundation of the Metropolitan Museum is because the Metropolitan Museum, in a lot of ways, looks towards Europe and looks towards the glory days of museums in its construction and in its composition of the collection.</p><p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: And is that good or bad or indifferent or simply an object of interest for you?</p><p><strong>Pablo Bronstein</strong>: That depends on when I’m asked that question. I realize that I give very different answers to that all the time. I think I tend to think that the worse it is, the more interesting I find it. I can’t help but love the huge, awful endeavors of European museums of the nineteenth century. It’s politically very incorrect, but I’m a sucker for theater. And so I love theatrical excess and paraphernalia, and it’s not always a happy place. </p><p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: One thing that interests me is that you have a completely unabashed love for the Baroque. Most artists would have looked at the Baroque as the purest example of bad taste, and yet you clearly love it. What aspects of the Baroque do you most respond to?</p><p><strong>Pablo Bronstein</strong>: Well, I think that one of the things that I find most interesting is that throughout the twentieth century, the Baroque has been used as a rebellious force against high modernism, high modernity. And so you have these characters—they may have been within the tradition of modernism, or they may have been really rebellious and outside it—that used the language of the Baroque in order to draw our attention to the fact that modernity, modernism, the white-wall aesthetic, the Machine Age technology, is an aesthetic as much as anything else. And so people like Chick Austin become very important in this debate, in this history. And I’d like to feel that I am a part of that kind of history. It’s a history that still continues. The fact that art fairs, museum galleries, the homes of collectors tend to be white-wall, minimal interiors means that to put something in a funny Baroque frame or to make a very, very decorative—shamelessly decorative—piece of art, is, on certain levels, a rebellious position to be in.</p><p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Can you tell us a little bit about your interest in the work of previous architects and how you explore their work?</p><p><strong>Pablo Bronstein</strong>: Well, the way I explore their work is two pronged. On the one hand, I look at a lot of the historical material around these architects and so I do a lot of research into their drawings and their drawing techniques. On the other, there’s a moment in which a bit of theater has to take place and in which I have to assume their mantle—their architect’s wig or their architect’s pen—and get into their shoes and then make work as if I were them. And in that situation, all sorts of new things can happen. I’m not an academic and I’m not an architectural historian and so I’m not making a piece of work that is precisely in the style of something that Pietro da Cortona would have made. I pretend to be Pietro da Cortona and then I lose the plot a little bit because, of course, I’m speaking to a twenty-first-century audience.</p><p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: So why, Pablo, when you drew the construction of the façade of the Metropolitan Museum, you drew it in such a way that was innately inaccurate? One simply can’t build buildings the way you show the Met being built.</p><p><strong>Pablo Bronstein</strong>: And in particular, the Metropolitan was absolutely not built in this way. Not only would it be impossible to construct any building, but the Metropolitan was constructed in a way that is exactly the opposite. It was built in stages, over a very long period, with a lot of haggling and different interested parties, and with very, very modern building techniques. And in this drawing, the building is constructed as if it really were the construction of the Louvre in the 1660s or so. I was really referring, I think, to, in particular, a history of engravings depicting construction sites in the eighteenth century. But I think I wanted to portray the Metropolitan façade in that way because the idea is to show the Museum not as a history of haggling interests, competitions, thoughts, arguments, collapses—which any large construction creates—but as a building with a single and powerful ambition, such as, for example, the building of the Louvre by Louis XIV. </p><p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Then you give us a beautiful, small rendering—a bit in the style of Hugh Ferriss, who was, you know, one of our early-twentieth-century urban planners and American architects—that shows the Met as the Museum that ate the Upper East Side. </p><p><strong>Pablo Bronstein</strong>: Yes, that’s right.<strong> </strong>I think that was the kind of excessive point of the optimistic strand in this exhibition: to take a building such as the Met in the 1920s and to really take it to its utter limit, in terms of the way that it was imagining it could develop. </p><p>Until very recently, the Metropolitan Museum, along with all of the other major museums in the world, really did feel that they would last for a thousand years, that they were going to have almost limitless expansion, bar this or that minor blip, and that they would just continue to grow. And, as we both know, since the economic crisis, a lot of the cultural institutions all over the world have had very, very serious problems. And so that’s how these two bodies of work within the exhibition began to separate. So on the one hand, we have an incredibly optimistic set of drawings that is really about the Museum without limits, the Museum as the originator of all of these monolithic exercises, like transporting an enormous temple halfway across the world, and on the other, we have a series of computer drawings that are really developers’ plans, very cheap developers’ plans, that really talk about a future of the Museum, using the Museum façade as an example, that talk about a future of the Museum that is far more uncertain and far more risky and problematic. </p><p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: One of the most charming aspects of the exhibition, I think, are the set of etchings that you made almost as an afterthought for the show, which really show your wit—I think they're like Goya <em>Caprichos</em> or like Piranesi sketches—that show familiar, well-loved aspects of the Museum in decline, with a jungle growing in the American court and a dog standing on one of our best American Neoclassical sofas.</p><p><strong>Pablo Bronstein</strong>: The meaning of that work I find very complicated, because I feel that I can adopt two sides in my relation to it. So on the one hand we have the series of etchings, which show the Museum as really a place in which a bunch of rich Fifth Avenue women will come and get inspiration for how to decorate their apartments. I don’t know whether that’s good or bad. I mean, I think the engravings don’t make that clear. I love coming to museums and getting inspiration for my home. But I also love the museum as a place where I can get a lot of information on social history or on the cultural value of a particular object. And so I’m very confused by that work, if that makes sense. I don’t think it’s clear what the meaning is, if there is a clear political meaning. I don’t think there is a clear political meaning.</p><p>It’s also, in a sense, portraying the Museum as a kind of ruin—it’s true, that a dog would be allowed. It’s not just any dog. It’s clearly a very, very well-groomed pug dog. So there might be a little bit of fun being poked, but I’m not going to be more specific than that.</p><p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Well, like Piranesi—he showed the things that he loved in his <em>Capricci </em>as ruins—and so for him, the state of decay also was evidence, in another way, of the perpetual value of the great thing and that even in ruin there is something to respect, admire, and beauty to be found.</p><p><strong>Pablo Bronstein</strong>: Absolutely. I mean, and that’s why Piranesi is absolutely more the source for these prints than Goya is. These are not whole-heartedly vicious attacks on the human condition; these are ways of, I guess, trying to scratch a surface a little bit.</p><p><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: <em>Pablo Bronstein at the Met</em> is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art through February 21, 2010.</p> 049 American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915: Cooking with Lilly Martin Spencer The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Cookbook author and New York Times columnist Mark Bittman savors the food depicted in two paintings by Lilly Martin Spencer, on view in the exhibition "American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915." <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 12, 2009–January 24, 2010</font></span><br/>Cookbook author and New York Times columnist Mark Bittman savors the food depicted in two paintings by Lilly Martin Spencer—<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.2.25"><em>Kiss Me and You’ll Kiss the 'Lasses</em></a> and <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.2.23"><em>Young Husband: First Marketing</em></a>—on view in the exhibition "<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/">American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915</a>." http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10192009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_049 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10192009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_049 epNum049 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={264FD9D3-6A90-457E-B97C-404AFC2382B8} Learn more about this exhibition. 049.B.jpg 049.S.jpg Mon, 19 Oct 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 7:28 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Mark Bittman Lilly Martin Spencer American Stories spex no <p><strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>: Hello. I’m Carrie Rebora Barratt. My colleague Barbara Weinberg and I are co-curators of the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</p><p>The exhibition includes more than one hundred iconic works by many of America’s most acclaimed artists, who tell stories about their own times by depicting ordinary people engaged in the tasks and pleasures of everyday life. The paintings range in date from the Revolutionary era to the eve of World War I.</p><p>The most accomplished—and only successful—woman painter in mid-nineteenth-century America was Lilly Martin Spencer. She brought a spark of romantic wit to her work, showing women in charge of their kitchens, their children, and their men. In <em>Kiss Me and You’ll Kiss the 'Lasses</em>, of 1856, a sassy young woman wards off romantic attention with the flirtatious threat of a sticky spoonful of molasses. We asked <em>New York Times</em> columnist and cookbook author Mark Bittman to comment on the painting.</p><p><strong>Mark Bittman</strong>: We’re seeing what look to me like currants, but they’re covered with cabbage leaves, probably to keep them cool, and pears or apples—those are the mottled brown things next to the pineapples—some kind of berries and maybe some cherries as well, green grapes . . . I mean, a whole variety of fruit, or what we take to be fruit, because we think she’s making compote or jam or jelly or something like that.</p><p>And the dipping of the spoon in that liquid is the giveaway, because she’s probably checking for jelling—for thickness of the finished product. To do this, to make jam, you cook fruits, usually for a pretty long time, and usually with a lot of sugar, like maybe fifty percent sugar. And that is an equal weight of sugar and fruit. Doesn’t have to be that much, but for preserving power, you need a lot of sugar. And, in the old days, since there were no freezers or even refrigerators, when you made jam, you were making it to can it and keep it for, you know, up to a year or even longer. So you had to cook it for a long time with a lot of sugar and then seal it in jars.</p><p>I wouldn’t call this woman a chef. I don’t know what I’d call her. Clearly a cook. And she certainly has a kind of devil-may-care attitude about her. It’s not like this process is intimidating her at all, and probably she’s done it a thousand times. And she seems in quite good spirits. What the come-hither look is all about, I really have no idea. I’m not sure it has anything to do with the cooking. You know, I mean, clearly, it’s a painting about a time of bounty, a time of joy, a time of lusciousness. And if you read all of that into the woman as well, then obviously you change what everything is about. But, as an innocent, I just see a young woman who’s happy making jam.</p><p>Normally when you’re cooking, you’re not posing at the same time. You’re looking at the food. You’re working with the food. And you’re not looking up and giving whoever you’re greeting a huge grin. You can read whatever you want into this, but, it’s hard to know for sure what’s going on. </p><p>I’m really, really into the currants that are on the floor covered by the cabbage leaves. Those are absolutely beautiful. And then the berries and whatever else is on the table above them, which, you know, I take to be a kind of golden-red cherry, but I’m not sure. But those also look really, really delicious to me. </p><p>There’s no question that this is mid- to late summer, because that’s when you’re going to have all these things. That’s jam-making time. That’s harvest time. And of course the pineapples are imported, unless this was painted in Jamaica, which it wasn’t. The pineapples are coming from elsewhere. But everything else is summer bounty here.</p><p><strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>: Spencer took a comic approach to real social anxieties of her time, especially in portraying her favorite subject: the roles of men and women. The young man in Spencer’s painting <em>Young Husband: First Marketing</em> is inept at his attempts to do the food shopping for his new household. In the background, a leering gentleman and a sheepish young servant girl compound the shopper’s embarrassment as a chicken tumbles from his basket. </p><p>Although men often did the grocery shopping in Ohio, where Spencer spent her early married life, this task would have been unheard of in the East. While viewers may have been amused and perplexed, the press deemed <em>Young Husband</em> to be offensive because it ridiculed publicly the man’s gentility and competence.</p><p><strong>Mark Bittman</strong>: There are a couple of things I really love about this painting. One is how contemporary it is. I mean, I think all of us who love food have had the experience of going to a good market and then finding ourselves in the position of going home with way too much. And, I mean, I do it all the time. I just love that here’s this guy who bit off more than he could chew, no pun intended. And, to me, that just makes it a very cool painting.</p><p>It looks like we have a brace that is two chickens or pheasants or whatever birds they are. But on the ground, we have broken eggs. We have some kind of vegetable. We have a tomato. It looks like in the basket are small potatoes, although they could be mushrooms. But I think they’re potatoes. We have asparagus or something like it, more tomatoes, some bread or something else that’s hard to see up in the upper right of the basket, and then another green, maybe cabbage or —you know, these days it would be bok choy. Who knows? It may have been bok choy. This could either be one massive stew or a few meals' worth of foods here.</p><p>Another thing I love about this is that it’s a guy. This is a young guy. We know he’s married, from the title of the painting. And he’s bringing this basket home, where presumably his wife is going to cook. Whether he’s been sent out to do the shopping and doesn’t know what he’s doing or he’s overly enthusiastic and experienced but still bought too much or whether he knows what he bought, that’s all hard to tell. But clearly, he’s the person doing the shopping for this meal or this week. And I love that also.</p><p>It’s a bit of a comic painting, because you’ve got this sort of sneering-looking—not exactly mean, but not exactly friendly—guy walking past him to the rear who’s clearly having a bit of a giggle at this poor dude’s misfortune. And it gives the whole painting this kind of great levity, to me.<br /> <br /> <strong>Carrie Rebora Barratt</strong>: These works, along with the rest of the paintings in the exhibition, can be viewed online at metmuseum.org in the special feature for “American Stories.” There, as on the Audio Guide program in the exhibition galleries, you can also hear a range of perspectives by Barbara Weinberg and me, as well as artists, historians, and other experts from a variety of fields.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Alamo Rent A Car, The Marguerite and Frank A. Cosgrove Jr. Fund, The Peter Jay Sharp Foundation, the Henry Luce Foundation, and the Oceanic Heritage Foundation.</p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p><p>The Audio Guide is sponsored by Bloomberg.</p><p>“American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from October 12, 2009, through January 24, 2010.</p> 048 American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915: Winslow Homer's Civil War The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Distinguished Civil War scholar James McPherson comments on Pitching Quoits and The Veteran in a New Field, two of the Winslow Homer paintings in the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915.” <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 12, 2009–January 24, 2010</font></span><br/>Distinguished Civil War scholar James McPherson comments on <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.3.8NY"><i>Pitching Quoits</i></a> and <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.3.6"><i>The Veteran in a New Field</i></a>, two of the Winslow Homer paintings in the exhibition "<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/">American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915</a>." http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10122009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_048 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10122009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_048 epNum048 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={264FD9D3-6A90-457E-B97C-404AFC2382B8} Learn more about this exhibition. 048.B.jpg 048.S.jpg Mon, 12 Oct 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 16:14 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org James McPherson Winslow Homer American Stories spex no <p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: Hello. I’m Barbara Weinberg, curator—with my colleague Carrie Rebora Barratt—of the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</p><p>The exhibition includes more than a hundred iconic paintings by many of America’s most acclaimed artists, who tell stories about their own times by depicting ordinary people engaged in life’s tasks and pleasures. The paintings range in date from the era of the Revolution to the eve of World War I.</p><p>The painter who made the most compelling chronicle of the Civil War and the period of reconciliation that followed it is Winslow Homer. We invited James McPherson—Professor Emeritus of American history at Princeton University and distinguished Civil War scholar—to comment on two of Homer’s great paintings: <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.3.8NY"><i>Pitching Quoits</i></a> of 1865, on loan to the exhibition from the Harvard University Art Museums, and <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.3.6"><i>The Veteran in a New Field</i></a>, also of 1865, from the Met’s own collection.</p><p><em>Pitching Quoits</em> is Homer’s most ambitious Civil War scene. While photographers documented the war’s carnage and other painters depicted its battles, Homer primarily chronicled life in camp. In this painting, we see Union soldiers who chose to outfit themselves in the picturesque red uniforms associated with the Zouaves, North African tribesmen who had fought with the French in North Africa. These Union troops are trying to relieve the boredom of time spent between battles by playing a popular nineteenth-century game.</p><p><strong>James McPherson</strong>: I think about my youth when I used to play horseshoes a lot, mainly with my father-in-law and his friends. I never became super-proficient at it but I became good enough so that occasionally I could beat them.</p><p>And, of course, the game of quoits is similar to horseshoes. And, in fact, in Homer’s painting, they are actually throwing horseshoes, not actual quoits, which is a complete circle. So pitching a horseshoe is actually a little bit easier than pitching quoits to score, because you have an open end on the horseshoe and it might slide around the post, whereas with quoits you have to loop it directly over the post itself.</p><p>Several of the Union regiments—and indeed, at the beginning of the war, some of the Confederate regiments—imitated the French Colonial troops called Zouaves, who operated in North Africa, in Algeria, in the middle part of the nineteenth century. And their red uniforms and fez caps and knee britches all became the rage at the time; it was kind of a fad. And several of these volunteer and militia regiments in 1861 outfitted themselves in the Zouave colorful garb. Some of them retained—at least, for dress uniforms throughout the war, but most of them discarded this uniform, at least for combat, because, of course, the bright red uniforms made a wonderful target for the enemy.</p><p>And I do remember that the Fifth New York—which had the Zouave uniforms and fought at Second Bull Run—was almost wiped out by Confederate attack. And part of the reason for that was the high visibility of their red uniforms. And, as a consequence, some of these Zouave regiments stopped wearing the Zouave outfit, although some of them actually did continue through the end of the war. It’s the exact opposite of the idea of a camouflage uniform. But even the ones that had abandoned it for combat sometimes continued to wear it as a dress uniform. And Homer was much attracted to painting these Zouave-uniformed troops, because of the color and the composition of the uniforms. It was a painter’s delight.</p><p>A lot of the time, the soldiers’ experience in camp was one of boredom. They, of course, had to police the camp. They had to drill. They spent a lot of time reading and writing letters, reading newspapers that were available in camp, playing cards. But they also played games to pass the time and enjoy themselves. And quoits, or horseshoes, was one of those games. Baseball was another one. And, in fact, the Civil War armies gave baseball a great boost. Baseball had been played in the years before the war but the popularity would spread quickly as a consequence of soldiers playing it in camp. And I suspect that the popularity of the game of horseshoes also spread quickly after the war as a consequence of the soldiers’ wartime experience playing these games.</p><p>Homer is one of my favorite American artists and I have two or three books of his Civil War paintings and a biography of Homer. And he did like the Zouave uniform, because a lot of his paintings of soldiers in camp do portray these colorful uniforms. He went to the front several times during the war for months at a time as an illustrator for <em>Harper’s Weekly</em>, which was the most widely circulated illustrated weekly newspaper in the North. And Homer drew hundreds of woodcut drawings for <em>Harper’s Weekly</em>. Some of them later became the basis of his paintings, but most of his Civil War paintings were not actually exhibited until the very end of the war or after the war.</p><p>I think that battlefields drawn by artists during the Civil War tended to be fairly stereotyped and that was even true of Homer’s woodcut drawings for <em>Harper’s Weekly</em>. Mostly the artists did not actually witness battles. They were not in the army itself; they were behind the lines. Soldiers relaxing around the camp, around the campfire, playing games like pitching quoits or horseshoes—that was something that they witnessed personally and they could take their time painting it and make it realistic in a way that they could not do for battle drawings or paintings.</p><p>There’s a saying that the past is a foreign country, and I think that’s probably true for a lot of people. But to see these human-interest paintings of people just like ourselves, caught up in a much different situation from our everyday situation today, I think may be an eye-opener for a lot of people. And maybe it will start them thinking about the way in which our present today is connected in many ways with these traumatic events in American history a century and a half ago.</p><p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: Homer’s painting <em>The Veteran in a New Field</em>, which was painted in the summer and fall of 1865 after the end of the war, shows an emblematic farmer who is a Union veteran. This is signified by his discarded uniform jacket and canteen at the lower right. James McPherson explores the dual symbolism of death and life, sacrifice and redemption, in this work, which Homer created at a pivotal moment in American history.</p><p><strong>James McPherson</strong>: Well, April of 1865 witnessed the end of the Civil War, with the surrender of Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia at Appomattox and then the surrender of the second largest Confederate army, the Army of Tennessee, at Durham Station in North Carolina. So it was clear that the war had come to an end. The national tragedy of the war had come to an end. But then, of course, it was compounded by yet another national tragedy in the middle of April, with the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. </p><p>What this painting portrays, I think, is both a situation reflecting a reality and also a powerful symbol. The reality is that the Civil War was fought mostly by volunteer citizen soldiers. The young men who enlisted voluntarily back in 1861 and 1862 went from the farm or from the forge to their training camps, but continued to think of themselves as civilians in uniform and to dream of returning home as soon as they could, which was when they could get the job done. So here is a soldier who enlisted—we can use our imagination here—but enlisted at the age of nineteen back in 1861. And now it’s four years later and he’s twenty-three years old, but he goes back to his father’s farm, and he gets back at a time when the wheat is ripe, time to be harvested. So he’s out there in the field returning to his civilian occupation, just like the famous Roman general Cincinnatus, who returns to the plough after his wartime experiences. And so Homer, I think, is using this painting to portray the return of peace and the return of normality to a country that has experienced anything but normality for the previous four years. So it’s looking forward toward a future of peace and plenty and a reunited nation, and maybe, one can hope, a returned prosperity. So that’s one meaning of the painting.</p><p>But I think there’s a second, maybe a little bit darker, meaning, as well. When Homer originally painted that picture, the soldier was wielding what was called a cradle—not a single-bladed scythe, but a scythe with wooden framework attached to it to catch the sheaves of grain as he cut them. And you can see in that painting that Homer painted over the cradle and turned it into the single-bladed scythe. And most experts think the reason he did that was to symbolize the Grim Reaper, the death of so many hundreds of thousands of Americans in the Civil War. Here is this citizen soldier who is returning to his peaceful pursuits, but at the same time he’s the symbol of the enormous death toll taken by the American Civil War. So he is both a figure of peace but also a figure of war, and I think Homer wanted to remind his viewers that this citizen soldier had one time been a killer, not in the negative sense of that word, but clearly a killer, because so many people had been killed in the war. That’s the only interpretation that really makes sense to explain why Homer had turned the cradle into a scythe, which was universally considered to be the symbol of death, of the Grim Reaper.</p><p>Most of the soldiers returning home were able to return to an occupation that they had pursued before the war. About half of them came from farms and so they returned to their family farm. In some cases they were the farm owner, in some cases the son of a farm owner. And so, that was not really a problem. In other cases, they returned to their former employment. I had a great-grandfather in the war who was a printer—a young printer—when the war started and when he came back, he could take up right where he left off as a printer and eventually became a newspaper editor. In fact, most newspaper editors in the nineteenth century had actually started out as printers. </p><p>And while there was some problem of temporary unemployment for soldiers who returned home, I don’t think it was terribly serious. The economy was such that they were able to find their way back into the niches where they had been before. And there was a demand for their labor. The economy was expanding in the years after the war. Many of these soldiers actually remained in the South for a while. Others of them moved west. A lot of them became employees building the Transcontinental Railroad, the Union Pacific Railroad, which had been authorized during the war and was built across the prairies and the plains in the years after the war.</p><p>Psychological adjustment may have been difficult for a lot of these soldiers. We don’t know very much about that, because psychology and psychiatry were virtually nonexistent sciences at the time. But we can assume that a lot of them experienced what we now call post-traumatic stress disorder. And there was a discernible rise in narcotics use after the war. A lot of soldiers had been treated with opium or laudanum or morphine for wounds and some of them became addicted to that. There were some other problems that we’re familiar with from returning soldiers in other wars, but in the case of the Civil War, those problems seem not to have been as serious as they have been in more recent wars.</p><p>In a way, I think, Homer—in <em>The Veteran in a New Field</em>—was assuming, at least, that when a veteran returned home, he would not have a major readjustment to make; that he could go back to the farm and continue just as if the war was a distant memory.</p><p>When I was in graduate school—which was half a century ago, now—it was during the early years of the civil rights movement. I was a graduate student at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore and got caught up in some of the events of the civil rights movement in that at least semi-Southern city. But these were the years of the sit-ins, the freedom rides, the marches and demonstrations, and I became very much interested in the historical roots of the modern civil rights movement back in the Civil War and Reconstruction era and became very interested in the civil rights activists of the 1860s, who were the Abolitionists and their role in civil rights and black education once slavery was abolished. So that was my entrée into the Civil War. </p><p>And as I learned more about that, I became more and more interested in the political context of these events and, beyond that, in the military context. And so, it was a kind of gradual expansion of interests over the years. Homer actually did some very good Reconstruction paintings of the freed slaves. I think he was strongly in favor of civil and political rights for the freed slaves. His portrayal of freed slaves is quite sympathetic; it’s not at all stereotypical. It’s not any kind of a caricature, the way some artists portrayed blacks at the time. And that’s another area where I became interested in Homer, because of my interest in these questions.</p><p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: Winslow Homer’s <em>Pitching Quoits</em> and <em>The Veteran in a New Field</em>, along with many other images from the exhibition, can be viewed online at metmuseum.org in the special feature for “American Stories.” There—as on the Audio Guide program in the exhibition itself—you can also hear a range of perspectives by the exhibition’s curators—Carrie Rebora Barratt and me, Barbara Weinberg—as well as artists, historians, and other experts from a variety of fields.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Alamo Rent A Car, The Marguerite and Frank A. Cosgrove Jr. Fund, The Peter Jay Sharp Foundation, the Henry Luce Foundation, and the Oceanic Heritage Foundation.</p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p><p>The Audio Guide program is sponsored by Bloomberg.</p><p>“American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from October 12, 2009, through January 24, 2010.</p> 047 American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915: A New Look at Sargent's Venice The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Barbara Weinberg introduces artist Eric Fischl, who takes a fresh look at two of the John Singer Sargent paintings that are included in the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915.” <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 12, 2009–January 24, 2010</font></span><br/>Curator Barbara Weinberg introduces artist Eric Fischl, who takes a fresh look at two of the John Singer Sargent paintings—<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.4.26NY"><em>An Interior in Venice</em></a> and <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectview.aspx?an=TT.4.9"><em>A Street in Venice</em></a>—that are included in the exhibition "<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/">American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915</a>." http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10052009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_047 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10052009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_047 epNum047 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={264FD9D3-6A90-457E-B97C-404AFC2382B8} Learn more about this exhibition. 047.B.jpg 047.S.jpg Mon, 05 Oct 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 13:14 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Eric Fischl John Singer Sargent American Stories spex no <p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: Hello. I’m Barbara Weinberg, curator—with my colleague Carrie Rebora Barratt—of the exhibition “American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</p><p>The exhibition includes more than a hundred iconic paintings by many of America’s most acclaimed artists, who tell stories about their own times by depicting ordinary people engaged in life’s tasks and pleasures. The paintings range in date from the era of the Revolution to the eve of World War I.</p><p>John Singer Sargent was the quintessential cosmopolitan American artist of the late nineteenth century. Although he was born in Florence, studied with a leading portraitist in Paris, traveled widely in Europe, and eventually made his headquarters in London, he always considered himself an American. Sargent had a continuing infatuation with the picturesque and evocative city of Venice. There, like many contemporary artists and other visitors, he was able to find isolation from modern developments, an unhurried pace, and invitations to pictorial story-telling.</p><p>In <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectView.aspx?sid=5&oid=23"><em>An Interior in Venice</em></a>, painted in 1899, we observe members of a prominent Boston expatriate family in the elegant <em>salone</em> of the Palazzo Barbaro, where they had lived since the mid-1880s. Sunlight from the unseen windows overlooking the Grand Canal flickers over the furnishings and the four figures: the American painter Ralph Wormeley Curtis and his wife, and Curtis’s parents.</p><p>Painter James McNeill Whistler dismissed the casual composition and vivacious brushwork in this picture as “smudge everywhere.” And the writer Henry James recreated the Palazzo Barbaro in his novel <em>The Wings of the Dove</em> in 1902 to tell a candid tale, as Sargent did, of the most refined end of Venice’s social spectrum.</p><p>We invited artist Eric Fischl to take a fresh look at Sargent’s <em>Interior in Venice</em>, almost as one would take a Rorschach test. Here's what he had to say about the painting.</p><p><strong>Eric Fischl</strong>: I’m looking at a painting that first presents itself as a kind of straightforward genre painting: a portrait of two couples, a kind of interior scene, obviously very privileged people. There’s a couple of things that catch my attention right away that begin to speak to me about something that sort of transcends the genre.</p><p>There seems to be a lot of coupling going on in the composition. There’s two figures in the foreground that are older, two figures in the middle ground on the left that are slightly younger. There’s two blank oval mirrors in the upper-left-hand corner and there’s two chandeliers. And they seem to begin to affect each other in terms of a narrative. </p><p>What I find myself doing is thinking about the couples first. I see in the foreground the elderly couple. The gentleman is absorbed in reading his newspaper and reading some book or large-leafed document. He’s completely self-absorbed. His wife—I’m assuming it’s his wife—is sitting in a chair beside him and she’s isolated, not participating in his activities. And the look on her face—her eyes seem averted. She’s kind of looking away and distracted from everything that’s going on in the room. She’s the only one whose eyes you meet, even though she’s looking away from you, which tells me that you’re entering the painting through her consciousness. So the scene that you’re following is coming through her thoughts or feelings about it.</p><p>The younger couple on the left is totally engaged with each other and not paying any attention to the older couple in the room. There seems to be some frivolity going on there. The gentleman has a nice big smile on his face and there’s a kind of sweet coquettishness that seems present—a flirtation of some kind, an inside joke. They seem to be getting a lot of pleasure from each other’s company.</p><p>The difference in age between the two . . . one way to read it would be a husband and wife and one of their children, and the husband or the wife of that child. The other way to read it would be that there’s a time sequence here and that the younger couple actually exists as a memory. And there’s something about the way the chandeliers work, where the one in the foreground over the couple is illuminated and the one in the middle ground is barely visible, that there’s a kind of dimming that takes place. And so, that’s another way of thinking about memory, as something that moves you backward, deeper into the space of memory, and deeper into the space of time. It becomes a dimmer kind of recollection or presence.</p><p>The thing I find most ominous in the painting are the two mirrors, which are really like blackened portholes. They don’t reflect out. They could be almost like eyes gazing back at you into the scene or portals through which you would disappear. In that case, again, it could be a subtle intimation of death.</p><p>I don’t know the history of it at all, obviously, and my reading of it is really just based on looking at how Sargent, the painter, is constructing a scene. And the things that I look for in paintings are, you know: As a viewer, am I being engaged? What is engaging me? What am I seeing first? What am I seeing second? You know: Is there a consciousness in the painting itself that is speaking back to me? It’s clear that she’s the one that is the focus of everything else that’s going on in this room, even though she’s the most isolated from it.</p><p>Sargent is someone who has such extraordinary bravura, the kind of slapdash quality of the paint combined with his acute observations. It’s incredibly reductive in that he can see so accurately the essentials for what describes an ornate, gold Venetian table or what it takes to capture the quality of the material of the dress or something like that. I mean, it’s so luscious, so direct, and so perfectly observed. At the same time, it’s so fast and facile. It’s pretty amazing.</p><p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: In an earlier painting, <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectView.aspx?sid=5&oid=6"><em>A Street Scene in Venice</em></a> of 1880 to '82, Sargent captures the city’s cool, murky tonalities and the peculiar perspectives of its secluded courtyards and narrow lanes. He records a passing glimpse of a man and woman outside a wine shop in a dim, shabby alleyway. The confining buildings are blurred and the vista terminates merely in a sunlit slice of wall. Artist Eric Fischl responds:</p><p><strong>Eric Fischl</strong>: The speed at which he describes the materiality of this environment, this street scene in Venice, is breathtaking. I mean, it’s so sketchy and yet it’s so accurate. And again, I’m not historically astute enough to actually be able to tell you whether the gentleman in this painting is of the same class or stature as the woman in the doorway, whether they are two different classes.</p><p>He’s wearing a cape that has fur on it. That usually implies a certain degree of wealth or position. His shoes are very shiny. That seems another indication that he’s somewhat privileged or . . . I’m not sure of the hat, so I don’t know if that indicates his vocation or whether he’s even a soldier or something. I don’t know. So I can’t speculate on that. </p><p>Her position in the doorway has a long history of images in which you have to assume that she’s like a prostitute. What’s interesting about the painting is that, again, she’s looking out at you. She’s directly, in this case, looking out at you. So there’s a confrontation between you and your consciousness versus hers at this moment. And you’re implicated in the scene in a very direct way. To some extent, I think you feel like you’ve interrupted something, and something that’s private or intimate. And she’s sort of frozen you in place with her stare.</p><p>The other thing that sticks out to me is the gesture of her hand, which, when I first saw it I thought she was simply holding her shawl together, but there’s something about the way it is that makes me feel like she’s almost signaling him—perhaps even asking . . . if he’d asked her what the price was, she would be telling him with her fingers what the price would be. Somehow the hand is very much involved in this scene. And though I can’t be sure, it seems like she’s signaling to him something that is surreptitious.</p><p>The other thing that strikes me in this painting is the way he’s painted her dress, which looks like a bonfire. If this painting’s about sex, about desire, about lust, whatever, then, you know, she’s absolutely the object of that desire and she’s on fire. And fire is something that is also being consumed by the huge, vast emptiness of that blackness that it reaches up into.</p><p>You rush into that vortex very quickly. He pulls you in and then sort of, at the same time he pulls you into the deep space, he pulls you right back out to the scene of the man and the woman. So there’s a kind of, you know, intense and confined space that he’s created.</p><p>It’s not claustrophobic. Had he put her in a dead end or something like that, you would feel so trapped by it that there’d be a level of discomfort. I think it’s more like the feeling of you’re moving through your life and you come on this scene. You interrupt something. You have the chance to pass by it, but for that brief moment it stops you and you take it in and then you go past, you know, you go into the light.</p><p><strong>Barbara Weinberg</strong>: John Singer Sargent’s <em>An Interior in Venice</em> is on loan to the exhibition from the Royal Academy of Arts in London. <em>A Street Scene in Venice</em> is on loan from the Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Massachusetts. These, and most of the other paintings in the exhibition, may be viewed online at metmuseum.org in the special feature for “American Stories.” There—as on the Audio Guide program in the exhibition itself—you can also hear a range of perspectives by the exhibition’s curators—Carrie Rebora Barratt and me, Barbara Weinberg—as well as artists, historians, and other experts from a variety of fields.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Alamo Rent A Car, The Marguerite and Frank A. Cosgrove Jr. Fund, The Peter Jay Sharp Foundation, the Henry Luce Foundation, and the Oceanic Heritage Foundation.</p><p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p><p>The Audio Guide program is sponsored by Bloomberg.</p><p>“American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life, 1765–1915” is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from October 12, 2009, through January 24, 2010.</p> 046 Special Exhibition: Imperial Privilege: Vienna Porcelain of Du Paquier, 1718–44 The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Co-curators Jeffrey Munger and Meredith Chilton discuss the details of a delightful dessert table—created in conjunction with the Du Paquier exhibition—with culinary historian Ivan Day. Co-curators Jeffrey Munger and Meredith Chilton discuss the details of a delightful dessert table—created in conjunction with the Du Paquier exhibition—with culinary historian Ivan Day. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.09212009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_046 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.09212009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_046 {0F667CB4-A4ED-4F46-B16A-44F09A5100AE} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={0F667CB4-A4ED-4F46-B16A-44F09A5100AE} Learn more about this exhibition. dupaquier.B.jpg dupaquier.S.jpg Mon, 21 Sep 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 14:22 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Du Paquier Vienna Jeffrey Munger Meredith Chilton Ivan Day spex no <p><strong>Jeffrey Munger</strong>: I’m Jeffrey Munger, Curator of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. I’m the co-curator of the exhibition "Imperial Privilege: Vienna Porcelain of Du Paquier, 1718–44" that will be on view at the Met from September 22 through March 21, 2010. I’m with two colleagues: Meredith Chilton, my co-curator, an independent art historian from Canada; and Ivan Day, noted culinary historian from England. </p><p> With this exhibition, we are trying to tell the story of Du Paquier porcelain, which is not well known in this country, and we wanted to enhance the presentation of this extraordinary material with the creation of a dessert table, to give a sense of dining at this time and the importance attached to dining and table settings in the eighteenth century. Meredith, tell me what the inspiration was for the dessert table.</p><p><strong>Meredith Chilton</strong>: This table has been inspired by an engraving of a very particular dinner that was held on November 22, 1740, in Vienna. It celebrated an event. It was the swearing of the Oath of Allegiance by the lower estates of Austria to the future empress of Austria, Maria Theresa. The day was a full one for Maria Theresa. She started off with a service in the cathedral, with the taking of the Oath of Allegiance, and then with a dinner. Her dinner was a state dinner. Now, we think of state dinners these days when the president holds a dinner, or, say, the Queen of England holds a dinner. She invites lots of guests to the table, it’s held in an important room, and only those guests attend and actually see what’s going on. Well, state dinners in the eighteenth century were very different matters. Usually only the monarch or the very close members of the imperial family would have actually eaten at the table, while the rest of the court would have watched. It was like public dining. It was a very particular event, and very special. You imagine how you’d have to have watched your table manners.</p><p>The engraving that we used as our inspiration shows Maria Theresa, the archduchess of Austria and future empress, with her husband Francis Stephen of Lorraine. And they were actually eating the second course. There were usually three courses to a banquet: the first one consisted mainly of savory foods and a soup; the second was also mainly savory foods with roasted meats added, sometimes a few pies and sweet things; and then there was the culmination, the great theatrical event, which was the dessert.</p><p>Now, what’s interesting about the engraving that we have is that on the table are two amazing sugar sculptures of large temples with flowers. And these would have been put on the table from the outset and they would have slept—they’re called <em>dormants</em> in French—and they would have been awakened during the dessert course, when the other sweet things would have been brought to the table. We don’t have an engraving of the dessert course, so what we have done is imagined how it was. We are giving an evocation of how this dessert table might have been for Maria Theresa.</p><p><strong>Jeffrey Munger</strong>: For the creation of this table, we've been extremely fortunate to have Ivan Day’s involvement. I think it’s safe to say no one knows more about dining history and customs than Ivan, and certainly no one has greater skills in creating the sugar sculptures. They were such an important component of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century dining. Ivan, the question that always comes to me as we’ve been installing this exhibition is "What exactly is sugar sculpture?" and, on the most basic level, "Is it edible?"</p><p><strong>Ivan Day</strong>: Well, Jeffrey, you’ve said that porcelain was a very new medium. The sugar paste that the table sculpture is made from is much older. It had been around in Europe for at least a couple of hundred years and ultimately probably came from the Middle East, where the sugar and the binding agent that you make the material to make the sculpture, comes from. This is a gum called gum tragacanth, and it just turns powdered sugar with the addition of a little bit of water into a wonderful, malleable paste, which, actually, in all of its characteristics, is remarkably similar to porcelain.</p><p>We probably got the custom of making table ornaments that were edible, again, from the Middle East. They were pretty well standard in the late medieval period at most European courts. And the table sculpture often had an allegorical program. If it was a coronation feast, it might have symbols in the figures of the saints that were on the table that might be related to the future monarch. This particular table is adorned with what I would call sugar architecture, rather than sugar sculpture, in the form of two pavilions, which are known as <em>baldecchini</em>—<em>baldecchino</em>, singular—and they’re in a very baroque style. What I’ve tried to do is use my knowledge of the history of art to try and enhance these rather vague illustrations that are in the engraving. But they have spiral-twisted columns, solomonic columns, which originated in the Temple of Solomon, and these were always a challenge, whether you made them from marble, bronze, or from sugar paste. But they really give the table this wonderful lift.</p><p>Underneath them, in the engraving, there is a pyramid of flowers. Now, the time that this event took place was a time when there were not many fresh flowers around, so we can assume that they were probably artificial. The ones underneath the two <em>baldecchini</em> are made of paper and some are silk. And probably the reason for not having fresh flowers was that the smell of the lilies and the other aromatic plants disturbed the sense of taste. </p><p>As well as the silk and paper flowers, there are a number of sugar flowers, or <em>pastiage</em>, as it was known in France, which, again, is made from exactly the same material: sugar and gum mixed together. And these are very challenging to make, but I have made them using the techniques of the eighteenth century, which are described in some French texts, but also the materials of that period, too. So all of the pigments are ones that were used. And these were not edible pigments. So, to answer Jeffrey’s question, the flowers are not edible, because the little forget-me-nots, with their wonderful azure blue, are actually colored with lapis lazuli ground up, which is what was used. What you’re looking at here is this extraordinary theatrical setting—if you like, an arcadia in miniature on the table in which all the wonderful porcelain figures can cavort and perform amongst the table sculpture.</p><p><strong>Jeffrey Munger</strong>: Meredith, why don’t you describe the table?</p><p><strong>Meredith Chilton</strong>: First we laid the table with a fine, white linen cloth, which has been folded into squares, and the creases are still visible, as they would have been at the period. Then, on this cloth, we have laid a symmetrical arrangement of dishes. The dishes are filled with fruits and confections for the dessert. The two pavilions sit in the middle, side by side. They are beautifully sculptured in white sugar paste and are filled inside with wonderful paper flowers in multi-colors.</p><p> There are places set for two diners with beautiful Du Paquier porcelain from the Metropolitan Museum’s collection, and, also, we are very fortunate to have dessert knives and forks with Du Paquier porcelain handles from a great private collection. In addition, the table is enlivened by all kinds of other wonderful things in porcelain. There is an exquisite lemon basket with pierced sides, decorated very finely with naturalistic flowers and a type of ornamentation that is known as <em>laub und bandelwerk</em>. It’s a decorative ornamental strapwork, which is exquisite, and you have to come and see it. In addition, there is an endearing dish with a panther on it, and it is filled with delicious figs. The panther is looking straight at you as you come to the table. His tongue is hanging out. He can’t wait to taste some of these sugar delights. There are also little saucers with confections that I’ll ask Ivan to describe in a minute. And then there are porcelain sculptures. There are two large figures of ladies dancing, and then smaller sculptures of white porcelain inspired by characters from the commedia dell’arte. Ivan, tell us more about the confections on the table.</p><p><strong>Ivan Day</strong>: Well, the first thing you’ve got to realize is that the fruit are not real fruits, and they may not have been on the original table. Because there was this idea of artifice and producing something that was incredibly skillful, and the people who made this were not cooks. They were the confectioners—the imperial confectioners—who were extraordinarily skillful. I mean, they could rustle up flowers out of a little bit of paste, and they made artificial fruits that were edible, but which were so trompe l’oeil—looked so like the original ones—that the future empress would not have been able to tell the difference. So we’ve gone really for artificial fruit. </p><p>So this wonderful panther-formed sweetmeat dish is full of an actual eighteenth-century fig called the Monaco fig, which was a royal purple, which I think is a very appropriate color for this occasion. And it harmonizes beautifully with the colors of the panther dish, which are also a lovely purple. We think the dish may have originally been used for holding grapes, so, again, purple would have been an appropriate dominant color. The sweetmeats in the little dishes are actually early eighteenth and mid-eighteenth century, ubiquitous sweeties that were offered at every party in the courts of Europe. We have things which in Italy were known as <em>diavolini</em>, in France as <em>diabolata</em>, and these are the first European chocolates, and they’re covered with little <em>dragées</em>—little sugar-coated seeds—which actually meant that the guests wouldn’t have the very butter-rich chocolate melting in their fingers. So this coating that didn’t melt goes back a couple of hundred years ago.</p><p>Of course, this is an occasion in Vienna, so we have these lovely crescent-shaped biscuits, which are very much an iconic sweetmeat still in Austria. There are wafers, rolled wafers, which were very fine and delicate and had hardly any calorific value. You’d just eaten two courses of soups and meats and fish so the dessert courses tended to be very light. The dessert foods tended to be very, very light. </p><p>Nearly all of the sweetmeats in the little dishes have been made using eighteenth-century wooden molds. The confectioners would press their various marzipan pastes and sugar pastes and other materials into these little intaglio forms and bang them out on the table and let them dry. </p><p> There are little cupids with wings, which have been gilded. They don’t look like sweets but they are; they’re edible. The thing that’s missing from the table is the drink that you washed all these wonderful sweet delicacies down with, and at the court—well, particularly the eastern courts in Russia, but also in Austria—the most popular dessert wine was Tokay, this wonderful, sweet wine from Hungary that almost certainly would have featured on this table to wash these wonderful sweeties down.</p><p><strong>Jeffrey Munger</strong>: This is the first exhibition devoted solely to the works produced by the Du Paquier manufactory. Little is known about Claudius Innocentius du Paquier himself, other than that he died in 1751. He seems to have been more of an entrepreneur than a potter, and yet there’s such a distinct sense of personality to the wares produced in his factory that it seems clear that he must have played a major role in setting the artistic standards for the factory’s works. His works have been little appreciated until the last several decades. They’re not well represented in American public collections, and the Metropolitan is particularly fortunate to have a very strong collection. We are delighted to be able to show the best of our objects with those from the premier private collection of this material owned by Melinda and Paul Sullivan. And it gives us an opportunity to reassess the rather extraordinary success of this small enterprise in Vienna that lasted for only twenty-five years.</p><p>The exhibition was conceived to mark the publication of the first study devoted solely to Du Paquier called <em>Fired by Passion: Vienna Baroque Porcelain of Claudius In</em><em>noce</em><em>ntius du Paquier</em> that is a major contribution to ceramic studies. The exhibition features more than a hundred pieces of porcelain made at the Du Paquier manufactory and offers, really, an extraordinary opportunity to reevaluate the many successes of this quirky but delightful ceramic enterprise.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible by Eloise W. Martin and the Melinda and Paul Sullivan Foundation for the Decorative Arts. Thank you very much for joining us.</p> 045 Special Exhibition: Vermeer’s Masterpiece, <i>The Milkmaid</i> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Exhibition curator Walter Liedtke discusses the unique patronage of Johannes Vermeer and its influence on the artistic and psychological aesthetic of <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/vermeers_masterpiece/view_1.asp?item=0"><i>The Milkmaid</i></a> and other works by the artist. Exhibition curator Walter Liedtke discusses the unique patronage of Johannes Vermeer and its influence on the artistic and psychological aesthetic of <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/vermeers_masterpiece/view_1.asp?item=0"><i>The Milkmaid</i></a> and other works by the artist. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.09082009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_045 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.09082009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_045 {EC38F2E1-BA19-4D5F-845F-A5C44CB90A9E} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={EC38F2E1-BA19-4D5F-845F-A5C44CB90A9E} Learn more about this exhibition. vermeer.B.jpg vermeer.S.jpg Tue, 08 Sep 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 19:14 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Johannes Vermeer Rijksmuseum Milkmaid spex no <p><strong>Walter Liedtke</strong>: Hello, I’m Walter Liedtke, Curator of European Paintings at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. And we’re talking about the exhibition "Vermeer’s Masterpiece <em>The Milkmaid</em>," which will be on view at the Metropolitan Museum from September 10 through November 29, 2009. </p><p>And the reason for this exhibition right now is it’s the four hundredth anniversary—actually the week of our opening, the second week of September in 2009—of Henry Hudson’s sail to the island of Manhattan on behalf of the Dutch. And Henry Hudson was an English sea captain but he was hired by the East India Company in Amsterdam, a merchant marine, to discover a "northwest passage," as it was called even in those days, to Asia, to see if you could actually sail westward across the Atlantic and make it all the way to China somehow. </p><p>And he sailed up the river that now, of course, bears his name, the Hudson River—they called it the North River optimistically—and he got as far as Albany and realized it was too shallow to do that. But it was on the basis of Hudson’s sail that the island of Manhattan was settled by the Dutch in 1624. It was called New Amsterdam in the colony of New Netherland and it remained a Dutch settlement until 1664, when the English seized it by force and named it New York.</p><p>We are one of several New York institutions celebrating this four hundredth anniversary this year. It was the Rijksmuseum itself, which is really a rather gratifying thing, that said, “Why don’t we send you what is really the most famous painting in the Netherlands?” If you just walk up to any person at random in the Netherlands and say, even in English, <em>The Milkmaid</em>, or in Dutch, <em>Melkmeisje</em>, they will immediately think of this image, this picture by Vermeer. </p><p>This is the first time that <em>The Milkmaid</em> has been in America, except for its presence at the famous New York World’s Fair of 1939 to ’40, in a show called "Masterpieces of Art," which was just works from around the world to celebrate that occasion.</p><p>And this is really a wonderful gesture on the part of the Rijksmuseum to another great museum—the City of Amsterdam to the City of New York on its birthday—and from the Dutch government and people to the people of the United States and whatever the many visitors we have in New York City during the fall of 2009. </p><p><em>The Milkmaid</em> is a fairly early work by Vermeer and it should be said right away that there’s only thirty-six paintings by Vermeer. And in the Metropolitan Museum we’re blessed to have five of them, more than any other institution. And of course New York has three more at the Frick Collection, half a mile down Fifth Avenue. The Frick paintings, however, can never be lent. In this exhibition, we’re setting <em>The Milkmaid</em> in a broader context by putting our five Vermeers with it and seven other Dutch pictures of about the same time, most of them from Vermeer’s city of Delft, although not exclusively.</p><p>We have a painting that probably immediately precedes it, and that’s <em>A Maid Asleep</em> of about 1656 or ’7 in the Altman Collection of the Met. And that is probably Vermeer’s first painting of the subject that’s so typical for him: a young, attractive woman in a private domestic interior, and she is actually a maid, as is the kitchen maid in the so-called <em>Milkmaid</em>. It should be said that the title is a bit poetic, because she happens to be a kitchen maid pouring milk. A milkmaid would be a person who actually milks the cows out in the fields, brings it to the towns, and sells it door to door, or in the market. In any case, both pictures represent domestic servants and both of them were acquired by a single patron in Delft who bought about half of everything that Vermeer did in the span of some twenty years. His name was Pieter van Ruijven. He was a minor nobleman and we know that in 1657 he lends to Vermeer and his young wife five hundred guilders—which is a very unusual thing for a nobleman to do with a young artist—and it’s almost certain that what that really was was an advance on pictures to get Vermeer started, give him a little funding, and pay in advance for the right of first refusal, probably, for some of Vermeer’s work. </p><p>In any case, that painting, <em>A Maid Asleep</em>, <em>The Milkmaid</em>, and the <em>Cavalier and Young Woman</em> in the Frick Collection, which is also about 1657, were listed in this collector’s son-in-law’s estate in the 1690s when these twenty-one Vermeers were sold in Amsterdam.</p><p>This is an extraordinary circumstance where Vermeer can actually talk to the owner of the pictures, the direct buyer. So many of these, especially these fashionable scenes of everyday life, but also minor landscapes, still lifes, etc.—most Dutch painters worked for an open market and their paintings were sold through middlemen to people they never knew. But most of Vermeer’s work went to somebody that he knew very well who gradually had this couple of dozen Vermeers around the house and he could go from one to the other and see how themes varied and so on. And Vermeer could be much more allusive, suggestive, subtle in his meanings than the average Dutch painter. And this is what we see in Vermeer, in terms of narrative or imagery. It’s much more poetry rather than prose: a maid asleep at a table is dreaming probably about a boyfriend and there are little hints in the picture. She looks sort of tipsy and dreamy and drowsy. And all of this is so much more evocative and suggestive and psychological than the average Dutch picture would be.</p><p>Similarly <em>The Milkmaid</em> itself looks like and is an earthy young woman who is pouring milk from a pitcher into a bowl on a table. And on the table, sparkling wonderfully in sunlight pouring in the window, is an extraordinary amount of bread—several loaves and smaller rolls broken up. She is probably making something called “bread porridge,” which is the way you make use of bread when it goes stale, and you make it into a kind of mush with some seasoning and so on. And it becomes a kind of unsweetened cereal that is the basic staple of the Dutch diet; any kind of bread is, in this period. And Vermeer is gradually accumulating, eventually, eleven girls and three boys in this household. At this point he’s probably only got four children and a wife and a mother-in-law, but that’s still a fairly big house.  </p><p>So the woman’s doing something quite practical, but she is smiling subtly. She seems to be musing about something other than what she’s doing, like we all do when we perform routine household tasks. And then to the lower right of this figure we see a row of Delft tiles at the baseboard of the rear wall behind her. And right next to her is this figure of Cupid, with his bow held out in front of him. And to the other side of a foot warmer on the floor is the image of a standing man with a walking stick and what appears to be a backpack. And there’s this third Delft blue-and-white tile and the design on that is really illegible, and I think that’s deliberately so.  </p><p>So there’s this juxtaposition of a milkmaid, a Cupid, and the figure of a wandering man, it seems. And between them the foot-warmer itself, which consists of a pot of hot coals shoved into a wooden box that’s perforated on the top so you can rest your feet on it. And this was a very common symbol of amorous feelings in women especially, I suppose because they would rest their feet on top of the foot warmer when it was cold and all that warmth would go up their skirts and this was read in a kind of suggestive way at the time. There are many Dutch paintings of amorous subjects in which a foot warmer occurs. And all of that suggests that romance is in the air for the milkmaid. And you also need to know that there is this long tradition of kitchen maids and milkmaids in earlier Dutch art and poetry and the popular imagination, thinking of milkmaids and kitchen maids as physically available young ladies.</p><p>Now when you look at the painting by Vermeer, you might really object to this line of thought, because it is by no means obvious. And I don’t think that’s all there is to it—that, you know, the milkmaid’s a kind of sex object. Vermeer is aware that his viewer is going to be aware of that long tradition. So he benefits from this reputation and artistic tradition to just subtly suggest that romance is on the mind of the milkmaid. He’s really approaching young ladies in romantic situations with a lot of thought for how they feel about it and how their expressions and body languages are affected by that.</p><p>It’s interesting that a painting that was made for a very sophisticated private collector, treating a fairly common theme but in an unusual and very sophisticated way, is now such a broadly popular work, probably the single most famous painting in the Netherlands after <em>The Night Watch</em> by Rembrandt, which is a totally different kind of thing, a big public picture of a civic guard company in Amsterdam. And this is a single kitchen maid in a private interior. And this woman is so admired that you see countless sort of photographic or other analogies to it and there’s even a sculpture on the streets in Delft, life-size, of the milkmaid and her table, translated into a kind of concrete abstraction, but perfectly recognizable. And I think that since probably the early nineteenth century, certainly since 1850 or so, the milkmaid has been seen as a kind of heroine of the people, a working-class woman who is extremely diligent, who runs a good household for the owner of the house, who performs hard work on a daily basis, happily so; who’s very good at her job, and earthy, and a good, straightforward person. American viewers identified with that kind of subject strongly in the nineteenth century. </p><p>I think I’m the first scholar of Dutch art to write about <em>The Milkmaid</em> as something romantic. And there’s examples of people writing books on Vermeer who give it a very different spin. That’s not wrong, but it’s important to know what people thought about the picture in its own day. And the fact that this painting, which is now visited daily by thousands of people in Amsterdam, was not seen that way originally. It went to one person’s house and was essentially seen by one private collector and that’s true for most paintings by Vermeer. </p><p>A very important aspect of this picture—we’ve said a lot about the subject—but I think the first thing a collector would notice in its day is its astonishing illusionism. And within the scope of Vermeer’s work, he, of course, is famous for naturalistic daylight, atmosphere, kind of soft-focus forms, figures, objects set in space, which make it all look like a convincing vision. We speak of a kind of optical approach to reality rather than a tactile one. But this particular Vermeer, a kind of early transitional work—it’s something you feel like you can touch the bread, you can touch the figure, which is one of his most sculptural, and you can also see very convincingly the sense of daylight coming in the window on the left. And there’s this very clever little hole, a crack in the window that shows you the intensity of daylight outside, and then it plays along the whitewashed wall in the background and in the much damper shadowy wall which recedes on the left. It behaves differently on the different vessels on the table (earthenware), the copper pail, the wicker basket on the wall, and, of course, the very grainy texture of bread.</p><p>And I think the collector of the day, more than in the nineteenth century when photography was introduced, would know that this high degree of illusionism is actually a stroke of genius on the part of the artist. It’s an artistic alternative. Today we think of art, in a way, as opposed to photographic reality but in Vermeer’s day, it was understood as a new style and a creation of the artist. So all of this illusionism, realism, would have been dwelled upon by the collector as an example of artistic virtuosity and genius. </p><p>He may also have known enough—certainly Vermeer’s fellow artists would have noticed—that this composition, which seems so naturalistic that you feel like you’ve just walked through a kitchen door and there is reality itself in front of you—but given a little time, you see that this picture is really put together very carefully in artistic terms. The recession of the table from the lower left corner up to the head of the milkmaid forms a right triangle which is within a rectangle of the composition. And then you have the table, the floor, the window to the left, these various rectangles that balance the triangular figure of the maid. And we see this all from a very low point of view, which is just above the pitcher in the woman’s hand; her higher hand is holding the pitcher over the table. And that low point of view gives us the feeling that if we imagine ourselves in the scene, we’re in a chair in the foreground seated at the table and the milkmaid is really rising above us. </p><p>There’s also the color, of course, which is essentially the primaries: yellow, red, blue. The only mixture is the green sleeves on the milkmaid. All of this creates a sense of peace and harmony and tranquility. But the way the milkmaid rises like a monument above our eye level gives her a commanding presence, a kind of dignity, which makes our attraction to her earthy physique kind of complicated. We think we can go in and, you know, strike up a conversation and get to know her. And at the same time, we’re sort of intimidated by this figure who knows exactly what she’s about and is too busy for our romantic overtures.</p><p>And so, I should say finally that the Dutch in this day, in the 1650s and after that, called these pictures conversation pieces, <em>conversatiestukken</em>. And the English picked up that term later and changed its meaning somewhat. But everything I’ve been saying was what you were supposed to be doing in front of a picture in the 1650s—is stand in front of it for a long time and figure it out and savor the artistic and psychological nuances of it.</p><p>"Vermeer’s Masterpiece <em>The Milkmaid</em>" is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from September 10 through November 29, 2009.  </p><p>The exhibition is made possible by the William Randolph Hearst Foundation, Daphne Recanati Kaplan and Thomas S. Kaplan, and Bernard and Louise Palitz.</p> 044 TweenCast Episode: Young Woman Peeling Apples The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York This TweenCast episode, written especially for audiences ages ten to twelve, imagines the life of a young maid in seventeenth-century Holland. Nicolaes Maes's <i>Young Woman Peeling Apples</i> is included in the exhibition "Vermeer's Masterpiece <i>The Milkmaid</i>." This TweenCast episode, written especially for audiences ages ten to twelve, imagines the life of a young maid in seventeenth-century Holland. Nicolaes Maes's <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/vermeers_masterpiece/view_1.asp?item=5"><i>Young Woman Peeling Apples</i></a> is included in the exhibition <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={EC38F2E1-BA19-4D5F-845F-A5C44CB90A9E}">"Vermeer's Masterpiece <i>The Milkmaid</i>."</a> http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.09082009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_044 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.09082009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_044 epNum044 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={EC38F2E1-BA19-4D5F-845F-A5C44CB90A9E} Learn more about this exhibition. vermeerTween.B.jpg vermeerTween.S.jpg Tue, 08 Sep 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 4:38 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Johannes Vermeer Rijksmuseum Milkmaid family no <p><strong>Narrator</strong>: Welcome to TweenCast, the first in a series of podcast [episodes] from The Metropolitan Museum of Art especially for young audiences ages ten to twelve. A work of art can transport you to another time and place—where you often meet the most amazing people. Look at the painting by Nicolaes Maes titled <em>Young Woman Peeling Apples</em>. </p><p>You’re traveling to Europe, back around 1655—to Holland, or the Netherlands, where Nicolaes Maes made this painting. This was during the Golden Age of Dutch history. The Dutch explored the globe, dominated sea trade, and amassed fantastic wealth. A powerful middle class of merchants and professionals emerged between the aristocracy and the poor. Science, invention, and education flourished. So did the arts.</p><p>The young woman in this painting sits facing the viewer, holding an apple and a paring knife. She turns the apple against the blade, removing the peel in a long, curling strip.</p><p>A strip of apple peel lies on the white cloth over her lap, where three more apples wait to be peeled. When she finishes this apple, she’ll drop it into a wooden pail of water beside her chair. This keeps peeled apples from turning brown. </p><p>The woman wears a red chemise, like a long shirt or smock. Over her chemise, a dark-colored bodice covers her chest, back, and sides. She wears a brown apron over her bluish skirt. The lady of the house in middle-class Dutch homes wore a white apron, collar, and cuffs. This young woman’s brown apron and plain clothes tell us that she’s a serving maid: a lower-class woman earning her keep in a middle-class home. Members of the middle class prided themselves on cleanliness, order, and responsibility.<strong> </strong>This young maid followed a daily schedule of washing, dusting, polishing, scrubbing, scouring, doing laundry, and making beds. Peeling apples might be the most restful moment of her day. </p><p>A multicolored rug covers the wooden table to her right. A basket of apples waiting to be peeled sits at the edge of the table. The maid sits in a room with plain walls: a room similar to a modern eat-in-kitchen. Dutch writers taught that each member of the household had a proper place to be. One author explained, “The husband must be on the street to practice his trade. The wife must stay at home to be in the kitchen.” </p><p>In popular literature, authors often warned their middle-class readers that serving maids were naturally lazy and irresponsible. However, this young maid preparing the apples is clearly hardworking and reliable. She’ll probably marry in just a few years and start keeping house for her own family. Many Dutch paintings taught moral lessons that appealed to middle-class values. This picture may have been intended to teach the virtues of hard work and knowing one’s place. </p><p>When you see <em>Young Woman Peeling Apples</em> at the Museum, you can make out a gentle smile on the maid’s face. She’s happily absorbed in her task. You also see her delicate eyelashes and her fine, red hairband. Glowing sunlight envelops her in a velvety atmosphere. Soft, reflected light brings out the warm brown of the spotless wooden floor. <strong></strong></p><p>You can see <em>Young Woman Peeling Apples</em> and other paintings of the Dutch Golden Age at the Metropolitan Museum. This painting will appear in the special exhibition called "Vermeer's Masterpiece <em>The Milkmaid</em>." This exhibition celebrates the genius of Johannes Vermeer, one of the greatest painters of the Dutch Golden Age. You can see his painting <em>The Milkmaid</em> and five more Vermeer paintings with works by other artists of the time, such as Nicolaes Maes. "Vermeer's Masterpiece <em>The Milkmaid</em>" opens September 10, 2009, and continues through November 29. For more information, visit the Museum's website at <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/">www.metmuseum.org</a>. </p><p>Thank you for listening. Join us for the next TweenCast [episode] from The Metropolitan Museum of Art. <br /><br />The exhibition is made possible by the William Randolph Hearst Foundation, Daphne Recanati Kaplan and Thomas S. Kaplan, and Bernard and Louise Palitz.</p><p>The music on this podcast [episode] is licensed and used courtesy of Naxos Rights International.</p>This has been an Antenna Audio production. 043 Special Exhibition: The Model As Muse: Embodying Fashion The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Isaac Mizrahi, fashion designer, talks with Harold Koda, Curator in Charge of The Costume Institute, and Kohle Yohannan, guest co-curator, about the 1995 documentary <i>Unzipped</i>. In the following excerpts from the conversation, Mizrahi talks about rallying his talent, his team, and his friends—the supermodels—early in his career. A video of the entire conversation is available on the Met's YouTube channel. Isaac Mizrahi, fashion designer, talks with Harold Koda, Curator in Charge of The Costume Institute, and Kohle Yohannan, guest co-curator, about the 1995 documentary <i>Unzipped</i>. In the following excerpts from the conversation, Mizrahi talks about rallying his talent, his team, and his friends—the supermodels—early in his career. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pv18dy_Mlcg">A video of the entire conversation</a> is available on the Met's YouTube channel. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.08172009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_043 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.08172009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_043 {EB2C67EF-1CCB-4EB2-9329-A955A7EDFBC2} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={EB2C67EF-1CCB-4EB2-9329-A955A7EDFBC2} Learn more about this exhibition. unzipped.B.jpg unzipped.S.jpg Mon, 17 Aug 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 6:07 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Isaac Mizrahi Unzipped Model Muse Fashion spex no <p><strong>Kohle Yohannan</strong>: Hello. I’m Kohle Yohannan, co-curator with Harold Koda of the exhibition "The Model as Muse: Embodying Fashion" at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. As part of our exhibition-based film series, we recently screened the 1995 film <em>Unzipped</em>.<strong></strong></p><p>Directed by Douglas Keeve, <em>Unzipped</em> was the first behind-the-scenes documentary to take a close look at the fashion design process and the relationship of fashion to models. Designer Isaac Mizrahi—who was the subject of the movie just as his career was taking off—joined us for a conversation on stage before the screening. </p><p>Here are some of the excerpts from that conversation.</p><p><strong>Isaac Mizrahi</strong>: And the thing is, like, I didn’t realize it at the time. You don’t realize things when you’re going through it at the time, you know? Because I had worked at all these different places before I started my company, and I ended up working at Calvin Klein for three years. And, of course, there it was a big kind of machine. Models were very, very—a big part of it there, you know? He’s a real image-conscious guy. And he’s brilliant at that and brilliant at finding a face and an advertising slant.<strong></strong></p><p>As a matter of fact, I remember the day—I swear, this is a true story, I swear—Calvin had, like, a studio on 39th Street and one day they were looking at models, I don’t remember who. I won’t mention any names. And I was going up to work and in the elevator was Linda Evangelista in a top hat, like, this little Patricia Underwood top hat. And I was like, “Oh, my God, who’s that girl?” So I went up to work, I was like—“Did we just see her?” And they said, “Yeah, we didn’t like her.” And I was like, “Excuse me? That girl’s coming back!” I promise that happened. That is a true story. That’s a true story. I mean, it wasn’t anybody—like they were kind of just casting, somebody was casting that day. Not Calvin, not the design staff, but whoever else it was who was casting.</p><p>But what I wanted to get back to was, like, how little one knows as one is in the process of something. You don’t really know until you look back on it. And then it’s kind of sad, it’s like, “Why didn’t I know? I was such a schmuck!” You know. But I did the same thing again and again for years. You know, it’s like, and like, for me, it’s always like, oh, you know, like when something evolves … an evolution, right? It’s an evolution. Like, when I first saw Linda, I thought, “She is the new Joan Severance." Does anybody remember Joan Severance? </p><p><strong>Kohle Yohannan</strong>: Oh, absolutely. </p><p><strong>Harold Koda</strong>: He keeps pushing Joan!</p><p><strong>Kohle Yohannan</strong>: More Joan, more Joan. </p><p><strong>Isaac Mizrahi</strong>: No, I know, exactly, right? Am I right about Linda being the new Joan Severance? Because she had that kind of like … </p><p><strong>Kohle Yohannan</strong>: … almost feline, kind of boyish quality.</p><p><strong>Isaac Mizrahi</strong>: … feline and also, you know, angular kind of thing about her, too, right? Yet it was like, also, oh, you know, Sofia Loren a lot, too. So you know, I mean, for me it was like an evolution, these girls, and like, so I got to know them at Calvin and I was working with them, and then—and they were nobodies then and then suddenly they were somebodies, and I was starting my company. And I kind of asked. I just asked. You know, I asked. I said, “Oh, girls, you want to be in my show?” And they were: “Yes.” They did. And they showed up and somehow everybody showed up to that first show. I don’t know how it happened. I will … I was so … my head was down, I was, like, making clothes. And I don’t know how anybody found out about that show and came. But in fact I had, like, all of those people—all of the people from Fairchild, all of the people from <em>Vogue</em>. Carrie Donovan was at my first show. I mean, like, literally, all of those people made it. I don’t know how.</p><p>These girls were my friends. They were not like models to me. And in the beginning, I didn’t pay them, I gave them clothes. All they wanted were clothes, for a long time. </p><p>For the longest time, like, you know, my accountants were saying, like, “Oh, no, pay the girls, it’s way better to pay them,” you know? And I didn’t care. I would prefer for the girls to have those clothes because it was meaningful, it was a meaningful exchange, between me and those girls. And you know, and there were moments—I mean, I could tell you stories, like “Iman,” I thought, “I’m not going to call Iman.” I’m not going to call her. Iman’s the queen of the world. And also, she was slightly a generation off. You know, you’re talking about Christy, Linda, you know …</p><p><strong>Harold Koda</strong>: She starts in the seventies, they're in the eighties.</p><p><strong>Isaac Mizrahi</strong>: Naomi. And you don’t really think of Iman. And yet … I’ll book Iman. She’s a beautiful woman, right? </p><p><strong>Kohle Yohannan</strong>: She could set the runway on fire, too.</p><p><strong>Isaac Mizrahi</strong>: And she could. And at the time, it was sort of a great moment for her as well, like it was kind of like a weird revival moment for her. But I remember, like, Ellen Harth calling and saying, you know, “Iman wants to—” I was like, “You’re kidding, I can’t even believe that, I’m shocked!”</p><p>These girls—speaking of muses, they start to, like, really live in your head. You know who really lived in my head a lot, is Veronica. She still does. Veronica Webb. She really lives in my head, because she … I used to joke, “Oh, let’s just leave Veronica in the room and she’ll do the fitting by herself.” Because she has such an incredible sense of style, you know?</p><p>Gisele Bündchen actually is really sexy. She is sexy. You know, like, she was at the Met party that night, in that dress that was really short. And the shoes were like … I said, “What you lack in dress you make up for in shoe.” Right? It was a good line. And I was like, “Who’s this guy you’re with?” And everybody started to laugh, because he’s like a giant star football husband or something.</p><p>How would I define fashion? Uh! Well, what do you mean, what do you mean, how would I define fashion? I would define it as something … it’s like, you know, people wanting to look like a certain ideal and fighting for that. And they keep fighting for it, you know? That’s what I would say fashion is. It’s like, there’s an ideal and everybody wants to look like it, for some reason.</p><p><strong>Kohle Yohannan</strong>: You've just listened to excerpts from an onstage discussion held at The Metropolitan Museum of Art on July 22, 2009, with fashion designer Isaac Mizrahi, Harold Koda, who is the Met Curator in Charge of The Costume Institute, and myself, Kohle Yohannan.</p><p>We were introducing the 1995 film <em>Unzipped</em>, directed by Douglas Keeve, which was screened at the Metropolitan Museum in conjunction with the exhibition "The Model as Muse: Embodying Fashion," which I co-curated with Harold Koda. "The Model as Muse" was on view from May 6 through August 9, 2009.</p><p>The exhibition was made possible by Marc Jacobs.</p><p>Additional support was provided by Condé Nast.</p><p>You can view a video of the entire onstage conversation on The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s YouTube channel.</p><p>Thanks so much for joining us.</p> 042 Special Exhibition: Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Afghanistan’s ambassador to the United States, His Excellency Said Tayeb Jawad, speaks about the rich culture and history of Afghanistan at the inauguration of the exhibition “Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul.” Introduction by Met Director Thomas P. Campbell. Afghanistan’s ambassador to the United States, His Excellency Said Tayeb Jawad, speaks about the rich culture and history of Afghanistan at the inauguration of the exhibition “Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul.” Introduction by Met Director Thomas P. Campbell. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.08032009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_042 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.08032009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_042 {E876B517-DB7F-400A-9810-38DAE7BDB5CA} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={E876B517-DB7F-400A-9810-38DAE7BDB5CA} Learn more about this exhibition. afghanistan.B.jpg afghanistan.S.jpg Mon, 03 Aug 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 9:59 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Afghanistan National Museum Kabul spex no <p><b>Thomas Campbell</b>: I am Thomas Campbell, Director of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. On view in our galleries are treasures of great beauty and delicacy from ancient Afghanistan that—against all odds—have survived the passage of time and the threat of destruction. They now form the exhibition "Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul," at the Metropolitan Museum through September 20, 2009—their final United States stop on a worldwide tour. During the war-torn era of the past quarter century, they were thought to have been destroyed but had actually been hidden away by a heroic group of Afghans and were dramatically brought to light again in 2003. </p><p>We are proud to commemorate the great artistic legacy of Afghanistan through this rich selection of works of art from the celebrated collection of the National Museum of Afghanistan. And we are extremely pleased that we had a special speaker representing Afghanistan at the exhibition’s opening: His Excellency Said Tayeb Jawad, Ambassador of Afghanistan to the United States. Here are his remarks from our June 15th inaugural program.</p><p><b>Ambassador Jawad</b>: Thank you very much for joining us today to celebrate and share the art, culture, and history of Afghanistan here at this magnificent venue, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I am very grateful to the Museum, to National Geographic, and especially to my dear friend, Dr. Hiebert, to bring this exhibit to all of us here.</p><p>Seven years ago, when the Taliban were roaming in the streets of Afghanistan, it was hard—very hard to imagine, for us in Afghanistan, probably for you here, to have the opportunity to display part of the art and culture and history of Afghanistan here in the United States. But since they were discovered, or rediscovered, they have been traveling to different destinations in Europe and the United States, and fortunately close to 1.5 million people have got the opportunity to see them just here in the U.S., in Washington and Houston and San Francisco. And now, in the—really, the best place that we could ask for, for the display and exhibition of these arts—is here, at the Met.</p><p>We are very fortunate to have this opportunity and to have an opportunity to showcase this to our friends here in the United States, especially here in New York. New York has important symbolic significance for us because the same evil forces of the terrorists that destroyed your Twin Towers destroyed the twin Buddhas in Afghanistan. By bringing this collection to you, we want to emphasize that you cannot destroy history, identity, determination, and courage of the people by acts of sabotage and terrorism.</p><p>It’s also a token of our appreciation, as Afghans, to you for your support, to help us recover our country, our culture, and help us rebuild Afghanistan, especially—not only by financial assistance—by having helped us display these items, but also by sending some of your best boys and girls to fight, to make Afghanistan, the world, and the region a safer place, to make sure that there is no terrorist attack in the future in this part of the world or in our part of the world in Afghanistan.</p><p>Ladies and gentlemen, with your assistance, once again Afghanistan is again regaining its historic role of bridging cultures, countries, and civilizations. The artifacts that you see here show the true Afghanistan—the Afghanistan that existed for five thousand years, the Afghanistan that still exists as a bridge of cultures and civilizations. It shows the ancient history of Afghanistan; it shows the rich heritage of Afghanistan; it shows the breathtaking beauty and the dynamic commerce and trade that existed in Afghanistan.</p><p>These artifacts that you see, especially the gold collections, are a symbol of Afghanistan, of brilliant past covered by the ashes of war and neglect. And we are carefully taking a brush and brushing aside the ashes of the war and neglect from the face of Afghanistian. Afghanistan is truly a mosaic of different cultures, countries, and civilizations, from China to India to Balkan, to Greek, to Roman, and that mosaic has been shattered by many years of war and violence. But the spirit of the Afghan people is not shattered. It’s still there. And as I mentioned, we are rebuilding that once again.</p><p>The collection that you see, from gold vessels to Hellenistic city of Aï Khanum to the ivory, gold, and bronze collection, showcase three important phenomena for us in Afghanistan.</p><p>First, you will see the rich history of Afghanistan. And second, you'll see the local wealth that existed in Afghanistan. Just the gold collection, the jewelry that you see, it’s almost 35 kilograms of gold, and belonging to a family—not to a king, as it was, for instance, in the case of Egypt. It was a normal family. And you can be assured that there was not only one family with this kind of wealth, there were many of them. So the country was very wealthy, physically—not only as part of this civilization, but also there was a lot of local wealth in Afghanistan and it's still there, if you get over the war and violence that exists.</p><p>But the third, most important part is the heroic work of the Afghan people who put their lives on the line to preserve these items for you, for me, for our next generations. It’s one thing when you have a passion for the art and buy an additional piece for a million dollars for your living room. It’s another thing that you get paid almost nothing, or if you’re lucky, you get paid something like twenty dollars a month, and still preserve these very precious collections for the next generations. They could have sold—any of them could have sold any piece of these gold jewelries and made their way to a comfortable life, into the West or somewhere else. But they didn’t. So when—these elderly men who were the real key keepers, they kept it. Even when we went back in Afghanistan, they didn’t tell us right away, they were checking on us, too, to make sure that we will keep them. And after a while they just one by one came out and said, “Those artifacts that are perceived to be stolen, looted—they are there, they are safe.” And when we opened those safes back in Afghanistan, everybody’s eyes really...couldn’t believe it that they are still there and that they are preserved for us.</p><p>But fortunately they survived and we have an opportunity to display them here. But at the same time our National Museum, which was built eighty-six years ago—still it’s not in a condition that we would be able to display these things there. It’s not safe yet. That museum suffered a lot, it became a war front for many years. And a lot of the items were looted. Close to probably thirty thousand coins have been smuggled out, looted from Afghanistan. So I would like to take this opportunity to ask all the collectors, the museums, the governments, to help us repatriate and then bring some of the items back to Afghanistan. And some of this is under way. We have got some of the pieces through the cooperation of police and border control here in the U.S. and other countries. But it’s more important also for the private collectors to come forward and send these items back to Afghanistan where they belong.</p><p>And I hope that all of you will get a chance one day to visit Afghanistan. But until that opportunity is there, we are bringing a part of Afghanistan to you, as I mentioned, as a small token of our appreciation, but also as a way of displaying the real Afghanistan, the Afghanistan behind the headlines that unfortunately has been dominant in the past five or six years with the war and violence that’s going on there.</p><p>I am very grateful for your interest. I hope you enjoy the exhibitions and spread the word about what I emphasize, again, is the real Afghanistan, the Afghanistan of rich history, beautiful arts and crafts, and a friendly and hospitable people. Thank you very much.</p><p><b>Narrator</b>: More information about "Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul," is available at metmuseum.org.</p><p>The exhibition is made possible in part by Raymond and Beverly Sackler and the National Endowment for the Arts.</p><p>The exhibition was organized by the National Geographic Society and the National Gallery of Art, Washington, in association with The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, and the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston.</p><p>It is supported by a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities and an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p> 041 Special Exhibition: Michelangelo's First Painting The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Keith Christiansen, the Jayne Wrightsman Curator of European Paintings, and Michael Gallagher, Conservator in Charge of Paintings Conservation, discuss their research and conservation of the first known painting by Michelangelo Buonarroti (Florence 1475–Rome 1564), believed to have been created when he was twelve or thirteen years old. Recently acquired by the Kimbell Art Museum, the painting <i>The Torment of Saint Anthony</i> has undergone conservation and technical examination at the Metropolitan Museum, leading to this new attribution. Keith Christiansen, the Jayne Wrightsman Curator of European Paintings, and Michael Gallagher, Conservator in Charge of Paintings Conservation, discuss their research and conservation of the first known painting by Michelangelo Buonarroti (Florence 1475–Rome 1564), believed to have been created when he was twelve or thirteen years old. Recently acquired by the Kimbell Art Museum, the painting <i>The Torment of Saint Anthony</i> has undergone conservation and technical examination at the Metropolitan Museum, leading to this new attribution. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.06292009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_041 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.06292009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_041 {9D3C7B4F-B278-4162-8EB1-911A90475DF4} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={9D3C7B4F-B278-4162-8EB1-911A90475DF4} Learn more about this exhibition. michelangelo.B.jpg michelangelo.S.jpg Mon, 29 Jun 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 12:57 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Michelangelo Buonarroti spex no <p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>: Hi, I’m Keith Christiansen, Jayne Wrightsman Curator of European Paintings at The Metropolitan Museum. I’m with my colleague Michael Gallagher, Conservator in Charge of Paintings Conservation. We’re standing in the Met’s paintings galleries, in front of a beautiful, small picture, <em>The Torment of Saint Anthony</em>, that has a fascinating history to it because it was painted by Michelangelo when he was twelve or thirteen years old. It’s the centerpiece of an exhibition at the Metropolitan called "Michelangelo’s First Painting," and it will be on view through September 7 of this year.</p><p>I suppose Michelangelo’s one of the very few Western artists who needs no introduction. He is one of the greatest figures in Western visual culture. And the question is: What did he paint? How did he draw? What did he sculpt when he was a kid? Did it look like something I did? It’s a question that has fascinated people for years. We happen to know, from his two principal biographers, that his first picture was a copy of an engraving by the great German artist Martin Schongauer and it showed Saint Anthony elevated above the earth and the sky, tormented by demons. </p><p>The picture that I’m standing in front of in the galleries is that picture. And the identification of it as the lost picture by Michelangelo is something that resulted from careful exam of the picture at the Metropolitan over the last year. The picture was sold at auction in London last July in 2008. It already had a bibliography, since it was first acquired in Pisa in the 1830s. The question was whether it was the lost original, a copy of the lost original—what exactly it was. And Michael Gallagher has played an enormous part in looking at all the technical peculiarities of it, all of which seem to us to point to Michelangelo’s authorship. Michael?</p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>: When the painting arrived at the Museum, it looked very different than it does today. It was under a discolored varnish, a varnish probably applied in the nineteenth century or the very early part of the twentieth century, that had become very yellow, very oxidized. It distorted not only the color but the tonality, so the picture didn’t seem to have much depth. It hid a lot of the detail in the treatment of the figures, the demons. Also, the small damages that had occurred to the painting over the centuries had been very crudely and rather generously retouched, and that retouching had become discolored as well. And so, the overall impression was somewhat crude and I think it was rather underwhelming for someone who didn’t know paintings and the way they can appear under those circumstances. The first part of the process was the cleaning of the painting, very careful looking, examination. And then the very enjoyable part of removing the varnish and seeing these extraordinary colors and the three-dimensionality of the painting emerge. Allied to that was a technical investigation including X-radiography, infrared reflectography to look at the underdrawing, which is done in a carbon-based medium that lie beneath the paint layer. All of which strengthened our own opinion that this painting was, indeed, the earliest work by Michelangelo. </p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>: The circumstances for the creation of this picture are as follows—we have this from Michelangelo’s biographer Condivi, Ascanio Condivi, and we know that Michelangelo was the person who told the story firsthand to Condivi, so this all comes from Michelangelo himself: He’s a youth. He’s interested in painting. His father is dead set against him becoming an artist, because, of course, the Buonarroti family has a distinguished background. Why should you do something that’s manual labor? Michelangelo strikes up a friendship with a young artist who lives down the street, six years his senior, named Francesco Granacci. And Francesco Granacci introduces Michelangelo into one of the busiest workshops in Florence, that of Domenico Ghirlandaio. He shows him around, shows him the painter’s materials—artist’s materials: drawings, pens, ink. And eventually Michelangelo wants to actually paint a picture. And it’s Francesco Granacci who, Michelangelo told Condivi, supplied him with the panel, brushes, paint, and the engraving. At the Metropolitan, we’ve juxtaposed a facsimile of the engraving with the picture so that you have an opportunity to see exactly the changes the young Michelangelo made. Because he may only be thirteen years old, but he’s already an artist who has no hesitation to correct—to improve—on the model that he’s using. Michael, talk a little bit about some of the changes that Michelangelo made. </p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>:<strong> </strong>I think one of the things that is so striking is the way he’s turned this black-and-white graphic image, this graphic embellishment used in the figures, into three-dimensional form. Where he uses the paint to describe textures, leathery wings, bristling spines. All of this elaboration of the demons is an act of imagination. It’s taking an engraving and moving to something that is colored, three-dimensional. </p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>: Well, there’s also the aspect that Condivi tells us—once again, it was Michelangelo who furnished him this information—that he wants the figures to look more truthful, more—have a physical presence. How does he do this? He goes to the food market and he looks at fish. And, in fact, in one of the monsters, that in the upper left, we see that fish scales have been added to Schongauer’s print. This can only have been done by Michelangelo. It’s one of the details that is told by Condivi. The second, I think, really big change is that he adds a whole landscape below. There are rocks that remind us of Netherlandish painting—and Ghirlandaio was a great fan of Netherlandish painting—and then there’s this very distant sea view with a boat sailing across the distant waters. So he’s transformed the whole scene into something much more visionary, I think, and at the same time more palpable.</p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>: In the engraving, there’s only the merest suggestion of a landscape in the bottom right corner. And here, you, in the painting, you really get the sense of the saint that has been swept up by this sort of maelstrom of demonic figures, pulled up above the landscape. And it’s very striking the way, as you reach the horizon, the color is almost bleached out of the picture. And there’s an extraordinary drama, I think, to the placement in the landscape. </p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>: And the other thing is the colors. I mean, Michael talked about the vibrancy of the colors. But it’s more than just vibrancy. There’s a very particular palette. We have in some of the monsters sort of an apple green that moves into a sharp yellow. We have a lavender combined with green. We have a plum that moves into green, combined with a vermilion. These are all extraordinary combinations that, personally, I can’t think of any other fifteenth-century artist using, but that we encounter again in the Sistine Chapel. Colors, I think, are one of the most innate things that an artist has. You’re born with a particular color sense. So it’s not surprising to me that a twelve- or thirteen-year-old, working from a black-and-white print—full license for whatever colors he wants—uses the whole palette of his favorite colors, and they turn out to be the ones that he’s going to use throughout his life. </p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>: Mm-hmm. I mean, if you look at, say, the group of three demons in the lower left quadrant around the figure of Saint Anthony, and you have this amazing almost like bat-eared figure that—he uses a sort of black underpainting, and then this tiny stippling of a very fiery red to create all the volumes and the forms. And then as it gets to the ears, they flush into a sort of bottle green. As Keith talked about, this lavender edge to that, and then beneath it—one of my favorite figures—the demon that is gripping onto the drapery of Saint Anthony and is tipped backwards into this sort of mad howl, where the paint is really stippled and layered on this sulfurous yellow, as it meets the crown of the head. And then again to these wings in this wonderful, leathery chestnut color. </p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>: One of the things that we wanted in the exhibition was that viewers would have the opportunity of seeing details of the pictures that gave them an insight into all the technical particularities of it. There are wonderful panels that Michael has written that will take people right into the whole cleaning of the picture, the technical analysis, and will give them a clear idea, I think, of why this is almost certainly the panel that Michelangelo, we are told, did when he was about thirteen years old. Because the question obviously arises, if this picture was known since 1830, how come everybody else hasn’t recognized it? You guys think it’s so obvious, how come other people haven’t?</p><p>I think that, number one, they didn’t have the opportunity of seeing it cleaned. Number two, the technical evidence is now marshaled in a very extraordinary way. And then there’s a third factor that I would like to suggest, and that is when you think of Michelangelo—the <em>Pietà</em>, the <em>David</em>, the Sistine Chapel, the great Holy Family circular picture in the Uffizi in Florence—these are incomparably great works of art, some of the pinnacles of Western art. It’s difficult to move from these backwards, to something done by a twelve- or thirteen-year-old. And, naturally, this doesn’t look like a great masterpiece. It’s <em>not</em> a great masterpiece; it’s a trial run of an incredibly gifted young person. That leap can only be made with the biographies in mind, with the documentation in mind. So we’ve actually looked at it from the other end of the tunnel—not moving back from the Sistine Chapel, but forward from the actual facts that we know about Michelangelo’s life. </p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>: There are also—aside from the color and the pigments used—there are some very particular techniques of painting, which seem to be something the artist stays with for many years to come. He has an obsession with contour and scrapes back into areas that he’s already painted to tighten the edge of something, to really perfect it. And throughout the picture, you see these—he’s not correcting the work he’s done from the engraving, he’s actually already changed that; even in the drawing stage, he’s made changes to the engraving. But he’s correcting his own painting. He’s tightening up a contour, he’s moving the edge of a bit of drapery, the edge of a leg, all with the idea of this interplay between the positive and the negative spaces. And I think it’s one of the great strengths of the picture, when you look at how the sky pierces through between the figures, each one of those shapes is considered; each of it plays a role in the creation of a rhythm and pattern within the composition. </p><p><strong>Keith Christiansen</strong>: George Lucas fans, this is a <em>Star Wars</em> picture. It’s a picture that only a kid could have really painted. He really pulled out all stops. And I think it’s one of the most intriguing things, that we have a twelve-, thirteen-year-old brilliant kid who looks at a print by Schongauer of the torment of Saint Anthony with all of these mythical monsters around, and he says, “Wow, that’s cool. That one’s for me, and I’m going to turn it into color. It’s going to be fantastic.” And, in fact, when everybody else saw it, it made the impression Michelangelo had hoped. But I think there’s something very enduring about this young artist taking a subject with all of these monsters, obviously in very complex poses, and this must have been one of the challenges he liked, but also that simply set fire to his imagination. To me, looking at this picture, I think that’s the thing that's the most intriguing: the quality of the rendition, but the brilliance of the imagination in the transformation of a simple black-and-white print into a colored vision.</p><p><strong>Michael Gallagher</strong>: And as Keith was talking a bit before about going to the fishmonger’s to look at the scales—if you have the opportunity to look from the engraving back to the painting, you’ll see that it’s not just, say, on the scales with fish. Each of the heads of those demons is more based in reality. They’re reminiscent of a monkey, or a bat, a bird, a lizard, even a sort of iridescent body of a dragonfly. And he’s anchored that nightmarish vision also in reality. But clearly sort of looking for inspiration, because he’s a young man without maybe a stock of images. He would have had to go to nature to provide ideas, but where he’s taken them from and how he’s used them is really compelling.</p> 040 Special Exhibition: The Pictures Generation, 1974–1984 The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Doug Eklund, Associate Curator in the Department of Photographs, speaks with the artist Dan Graham about Jack Goldstein's 1976 series called A Suite of Nine 7-Inch Records with Sound Effects. The records are on display in the exhibition "The Pictures Generation, 1974–1984," and visitors to the Museum can listen to them in the galleries. Doug Eklund, Associate Curator in the Department of Photographs, speaks with the artist Dan Graham about Jack Goldstein's 1976 series called <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/pictures_generation/view_1.asp?item=14">A Suite of Nine 7-Inch Records with Sound Effects</a>. The records are on display in the exhibition "The Pictures Generation, 1974–1984," and visitors to the Museum can listen to them in the galleries. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.06152009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_040 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.06152009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_040 {2051DF8B-82AA-4AA7-85BC-22F72DE7F10E} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={2051DF8B-82AA-4AA7-85BC-22F72DE7F10E} Learn more about this exhibition. coverArt.B.jpg coverArt.S.jpg Mon, 15 Jun 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 15:39 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Dan Graham Jack Goldstein spex no <p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: My name is Doug Eklund. I’m associate curator in the Department of Photographs at the Metropolitan Museum and I’m the curator of an exhibition that runs through August 2 entitled “The Pictures Generation, 1974–1984.”</p><p>I’m here with the artist Dan Graham and we’re going to be talking today about the nine records with sound effects by Jack Goldstein from 1976.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: I used to have all the records, but I think I loaned them to people and never got them back. So I only have a vague memory. But when I first met Jack, I was kind of an unsuccessful artist, although I’d done some big pieces, and I went to a very cheap Chinese restaurant to get a cheap meal, and there was Jack and Helene Wiener. They went to the same restaurant. Jack seemed to be a little depressed. And it was a kind of depressing meal, and he gave me the records.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Did you know him before then, or was that the first time you met him?</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: No, it was the first time I met him. I think he probably was an admirer of my work, but he also thought that maybe I would appreciate his work, because I think he was totally unknown then.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: It’s this series of records that’s called A Suite of Nine Records with Sound Effects. And you look at them and they look like they’re 45-rpm singles, just like you’d get a Beatles single or a Rolling Stones single, except for the sleeves are all white, and in this very bureaucratic, blank font it says “Three Felled Trees” or “Two Wrestling Cats.” And that’s all there is on the sleeve. And then you take the record out of the sleeve and each record is colored a different color. So, like, the record that is the tornado sound effect—it’s a purple disc. And the one that’s the trees being chopped down, I think, when you play the record on one side, it’s the trees being chopped and then when you turn the record over, it’s the trees falling over. So we’re talking about these records that use stock sound effects from Hollywood movies, things like that, and radio.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>:You said the wrestling cats; I remember drowning cats.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Oh, yes, there is. There’s…</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: “Glub, glub, glub?”</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Yeah, yeah, no, that’s the “Six-Minute Drown,” I think. The man drowning for six minutes.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: Oh, “Six-Minute Drown,” I see. See, my memory isn’t that good. There is a kind of sinister humor there, but there is humor. </p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right. I guess he had a dark sense of humor about his work. </p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: Also, I have to mention, talking about humor—“Three Wrestling Cats,” although it’s terrifying, it’s rather humorous, right?</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: Well, I think, he and Walter de Maria have something in common. They're both Libras, astrologically speaking, and Libras, I know, like peace. They like to smile a lot and they're afraid of violence. And yet my friend Glenn Branca, who is a Libra, did one of his early songs for Static. It had a line, “I kill in my dreams.”</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Mm-hmm. </p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: And I think somehow underneath Walter de Maria, and even more so, Jack, there's the fact that fascism and violence underlay the niceness of America’s advertising-oriented culture.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right, so…</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: And, for me, the MGM lion roaring, really shows that. Because you have a corporate symbol, which is supposed to denote courage and dynamism, and underneath, it’s fearsome. </p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: And I think Jack was going back a little in time, because the records, the records actually, were actually from sound effects libraries, and they have a lot to do with radio. So it’s the underpinnings of media, but probably he has childhood memory. And, of course, cartoons, which I didn’t see when I was a child, are also very frightening.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right, yeah. So, the records, Jack handed them to you and described to you what they were?</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: He didn’t describe anything. I actually didn’t understand the work at first. I think I read someplace, in an interview, they said that they’re from, they're—you go to a library, and they're kind of stock things that are used actually for radio plays. </p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: With Jack Goldstein’s records—we’re not able to have a turntable in the galleries, so we’re going to have the records on the wall and you’ll be able to listen to them on headphones. Do you think that something is lost in the aspect of playing the records? </p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: No, I think this is—when I have my retrospective shows, I also use earphones. I think it’s very necessary to do that for a museum situation.</p><p>I also was aware that, in some ways, he was undercutting the generation which was Minimal Art. And of course, in my own way, in my own work, I was actually changing—I was making Minimal Art into something more involved with inter-subjectivity of spectators.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: But I think the psychological aspects were overwhelmingly interesting to me in his work.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Do you think that what was terrifying about them and what was different about them from Minimalism was that Minimalism had repressed the image and the records were bringing the image back but in a very distanced form that caused a kind of—they're humorous, but they're also sort of terrifying.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: Well, I think Minimal artists—and myself—we hated Duchamp, because the work comes from Russian Constructivism, but actually Jasper Johns, I think, who was influenced a little bit by Duchamp, Jasper Johns actually was an inspiration for Minimal Art. And it's going back to—Jack’s work is like going back to Jasper Johns. His work with the American flag, and the Ballantine beer can is also about psychological terror behind American logos.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: There’s something that David Salle says that I wanted to read to you. This is a great essay about how he records <em>Drowning Man</em>: “What we’re asked to consider in these films and records and photo pieces is that Goldstein needs to make a phony record of a drowning man in order to avoid becoming a real one.” Which I think is pretty great, and it talks about that fear of violence, you know, that you were talking about.</p><p>Did the records have any influence on your own work, or did they serve, like, something that you had wanted to see in art that you hadn’t seen in a while? Or did it represent a new dealing with Pop art, maybe, that was not so critically respected, maybe, in the seventies? Or what did you take away from them? Did they influence your work at all or anything?</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: Well, as you know, I consider myself an artist-writer, like Smithson or Dan Flavin. And my writing was often—like, in the article about Dean Martin—was about what academics would call cultural studies. So, in a certain sense, when I wrote “End of Liberalism,” I wanted to combine insights about Ronald Reagan and media with my interest in Dean Martin TV. And I’ve always been interested in media forms from the very beginning. And I think Jack is dealing directly with media forms. And I think, also, art tries to be subversive by bringing up things that people don’t want to deal with that are right under their nose. </p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right. So they were almost like—these records were objects that made you . . . they were objects that were media, they were in the circulation of objects in the media, but then they made you think about the media itself, and the effect that the media has.</p><p>Did Jack—when Jack started making paintings again, after the films and records, did you consider that less successful than the films and records?</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: Well, everything is in retrospect. Because in retrospect, I’ve seen some amazing paintings of his work in museum collections. And of course he was trying to do work that was commercial but also subversive at the same time, so it was…</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right. </p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: Because his work was totally unsuccessful, when it was records. And it reminded me of my early conceptual pieces for magazine pages—they were totally unsuccessful, and people didn’t see them because they weren’t labeled as art. So I think he was trying to label something as art and still undercut . . . in a way there was a kind of calculation, maybe, again, a strategy, and I don’t think it worked in the beginning. </p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: Jack was trying to get out of being totally unknown and unsuccessful. It was only later that I saw his paintings. And I think they were probably experiments. Some would work and some didn’t work. </p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Yeah, they're some of the most successful works that I know, and what I was trying to get at was, when you handle them, there's this bodily engagement and your, sort of, your trace memory of all the records you’ve listened to, and then when you hear this copy of a copy of a copy of a barking dog, your mind has that image, which is—you fill in with other images of dogs. Like, you may think of guard dogs in World War II movies, or, you know, the German shepherds in Warhol’s race riot paintings—all those images of dogs come flooding back to you. So there’s this kind of distance that’s created by the endless copies of copies of this sound. And yet it’s like incredibly poignant, or, it hits you and it’s almost a way of creating an image in the mind of the listener.<br /> <br /> <strong>Dan Graham</strong>: I also think, because I can understand this, I think Jack was afraid of success.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Jack Goldstein was an artist who was in California at a school called Chouinard, which was…</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: Chouinard.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Yeah, and Chouinard was, kind of, the art school that was replaced by Cal Arts. And when Cal Arts started in 1970, their idea was to bring conceptual artists, Fluxus artists, to be the teachers. John Baldessari was hired as a professor of painting but when he got there he said, “I’m not making paintings,” so he started something he called “post-studio” art, which was basically art that didn’t involve the traditional mediums.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: And he influenced his students enormously and I think Baldessari brought in so many different influences to his students. </p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Mm-hmm. Baldessari—Jack Goldstein was one of Baldessari’s first teaching assistants. And Jack Goldstein, at the time, was making what we would consider Minimal, Post-Minimal sculptures. He would put a sheet of glass on a bed of upturned nails, so that the work was incredibly formally elegant and refined and had an almost Zen-like beauty, but they were always infused with this kind of danger or dread. And so it was really when he started being a student of John Baldessari and he was surrounded by these very ambitious students, like David Salle and James Welling, that Jack Goldstein made this leap into making works that were films, in which he would appropriate, let’s say, the MGM lion from the opening credits, and repeat it over and over again on a very high-key background, or made this series of sound-effects records. </p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: It also could be because Jack was living in Los Angeles. And actually Cal Arts was created by Roy Disney.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Exactly.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: To feed into the film industry. In other words, it was supposed to be an academy for people who work in the film industry. </p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: And Jack used Hollywood technicians to make the films and the records. I mean, it was all about that factory aesthetic of farming out the work to professionalize technicians to make a work that had that kind of sheen and surface.</p><p>I think that some of the sound effects he used were of animals a lot of the time—so, a dog, a single barking dog. He also had one of wrestling cats, which is funny. It's mostly funny, because it's this sound that you would never, hopefully, hear in real life, but you've probably heard it, of two cats, you know, and it does sound like Tom and Jerry or something.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: It's also—you have to go back to Disney just because Disney kind of humanized animals.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right. And there's something deeply disturbing about that. And so, I think you're right, he was using these sound effects—like a barking dog or wrestling cats—that would have been sound effects that are recognized in our unconscious from watching cartoons and all of that stuff. And so, Jack Goldstein was referring back to that period of his youth and that kind of forced happiness of the fifties and that kind of thing. But bringing it back in an estranged form that causes a kind of terror. Other sounds in the records are of the three felled trees, a six-minute clip of a man drowning. And those are things that you would hopefully never experience in real life.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: I'm thinking about something else, also, because in the late fifties, with Zen Buddhism, there was this interest in haiku, the haiku form. And it seems like this is a little like a haiku form, right?</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right. There's a brevity and a shortness to these works—the fact that they're just three minutes and it's over, thirty seconds and it's over—that's going against maybe the sort of long, you know, the Lamont Young, the twenty-four-hour drone, and that kind of thing. It's, like, much more concise and aphoristic almost. I know Jack Goldstein was really a master of the short, you know, appropriated quote and that kind of thing.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: In other words, what we call "singles."</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Singles, exactly. It's the three-minute pop song. It's that hitting you with that direction, you know, but something that lingers for a long time after you play it.</p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: But, of course, advertising had to do the same thing, television advertising. </p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Yeah. I don't think Jack Goldstein's records could have been made anywhere other than Hollywood. I mean, it was really about being in that environment. </p><p>Jack Goldstein was born in 1945 and he was Canadian, from Montreal. But he made these films and records while he was moving between Los Angeles and New York. And these records that are in the exhibition were shown in this seminal exhibition at Artists Space in 1977 called "Pictures." And Jack Goldstein died, took his own life, in 2003. And it was just at that time that a lot of curators and artists were interested in his work again. But he had really stopped making art at that point, I believe. </p><p><strong>Dan Graham</strong>: We should also mention that the director of Artists Space was the person who discovered him, his girlfriend, Helene Wiener, who founded Metro Pictures. And Metro Pictures has a lot to do with Jack Goldstein.</p><p><strong>Doug Eklund</strong>: Right. The artists that were in the original "Pictures" exhibition were artists that were discovered, essentially, by Helene, and she was the director of Artists Space. And when she went on to form Metro Pictures in 1980, which was a gallery that showed a lot of these artists, Jack Goldstein was still very close with Helene and I think he actually named the gallery, if I'm not mistaken, and, of course, the name of the gallery makes it sound as if it's a movie studio, and so it has those direct associations with popular culture. </p><p>Jack Goldstein—at the end of his life his career was resurrected and he had a show of his films at the Whitney Museum. And he came back from California and did an interview at the Whitney Museum. And Jack was already sort of on a downward spiral and I think that this belated recognition of him so late in life, was kind of like he just looked at it as too little and too late. </p> "The Pictures Generation, 1974–1984” is made possible by the William Randolph Hearst Foundation and the Andy Warhol Foundation.</p><p>Additional support is provided by the Robert Mapplethorpe Foundation, Inc.</p><p>This interview was recorded on March 12, 2009.</p> 039 The New American Wing: American Art Pottery The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen, the Metropolitan Museum's Anthony W. and Lulu C. Wang Curator of American Decorative Arts,talks with Robert Ellison about his collection of American ceramics from 1876 to 1956, a promised gift to the Museum. The works will be displayed on the mezzanine balcony of the Charles Engelhard Court in the New American Wing, which reopens to the public on May 19, 2009. More information about the American Decorative Arts collection is available on the Museum's Audio Guide. Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen, the Metropolitan Museum's Anthony W. and Lulu C. Wang Curator of American Decorative Arts, talks with Robert Ellison about his collection of American ceramics from 1876 to 1956, a promised gift to the Museum. The works will be displayed on the mezzanine balcony of the Charles Engelhard Court in the <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/works_of_art/american_decorative_arts/american_wing_2009.aspx">New American Wing</a>, which reopens to the public on May 19, 2009. More information about the American Decorative Arts collection is available on the Museum's <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/visit/audioguide/">Audio Guide</a>. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.05182009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_039 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.05182009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_039 epNum039 http://www.metmuseum.org/press_room/full_release.asp?prid={2EB0C7F6-4318-42D2-9FCA-460F6C283C13} Learn more about these works of art. EllisonCase.B.jpg EllisonCase.S.jpg Mon, 18 May 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 4:24 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org pottery Ellison Ohr American Wing woa no javascript:void(0);"></a><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="javascript:metPopSmall('/audio/woa/mp4/mmaWoaPodcast.05182009.mp4') View as a slideshow. (5 MB) <p><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: I'm Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen and we're here doing the finishing touches of this most exciting installation of the mezzanine, which is American ceramics from 1876 to 1956—American art pottery—which is the promised gift of Robert Ellison, who is standing right here with me.</p><p><strong>Robert Ellison</strong>: Yes, that's me. I collected all this works over vaguely a forty-five-year period. Certainly the best of what I collected is here on view, and I hope it'll be an educational experience to show what a marvelous period this eighty-year segment is in American ceramics. </p><p><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: It's an extraordinary collection, and for the Met, it transforms our holdings in this area. It really brings to light for the first time the very best from the time of the 1876 centennial, with sculptor-designed works in a very commercial pottery that were designed for that special exhibition, all the way up through, really, pushing the boundaries in the American wing to the 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, to the mid-1950s. I'm just loving the dialogues that are played up with this opportunity to see them all—to really bring them together.</p><p><strong>Robert Ellison</strong>: There's little small stories throughout the eighty-year period. However, in each period, the painting styles suddenly change, certain glazes become more popular or discovered or little evolutionary things that took place.</p><p><strong>Morrison Heckscher</strong>: They pointed out some favorites. One was in the case toward one end of the mezzanine, containing the earliest pieces in the collection.</p><p><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: I mean, I love the—what I call the "Keramos Vase" and it's a great piece, I think, to start this off because it's really focusing on the art of ceramics, from the Egyptians on one side to the Greeks on the other and then in the front you have the then-modern-day potter.<br /> <br /> <strong>Robert Ellison</strong>: Well, that's a pot that I grew to love, but it's a pot I shouldn’t like because it's a—it's a composite of styles when they still didn't quite know how to produce a style for the times. </p><p><strong>Morrison Heckscher</strong>: And then they turned to a nearby case, devoted to one late-nineteenth, early-twentieth century potter named George Ohr.</p><p><strong>Robert Ellison</strong>: Well, he's an anomaly within this period. He did things that nobody did. At the time, everybody thought Ohr was, like, a joker, was trying to get attention, so they didn't take it seriously, and he had no followers to carry on his—he didn't influence anybody. So when he died, in a sense, his work died. </p><p><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: They're incredibly light, they're featherweight, very, very thinly potted. You can actually see where his fingers have punched in these pieces, twisted it, but highly controlled. I mean, it's extraordinary when you think of how thin these walls were, the control that he was able to achieve. </p><p><strong>Robert Ellison</strong>: Well, even his contemporaries had to admit he was a fantastic thrower and they did like his glazes, but they thought he was torturing his forms.  </p><p><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: Really wasn't until, what, the early 1970s, that. . . ?</p><p><strong>Robert Ellison</strong>: The early seventies. And, at that time, contemporary potters started taking notice, so he had a degree of influence in the last quarter of the twentieth century. </p><p><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: Contemporary artists, too, Jasper Johns and others were very. . . </p><p><strong>Robert Ellison</strong>: Yes, fine artists liked it, potters liked it.</p><p><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: . . . taken with it. </p><p><strong>Robert Ellison</strong>: He often said, "Well, you know, what I'm doing is something informed. And some day you'll appreciate it." And so it remained for a bunch of us in this last quarter of the twentieth century to confirm that George Ohr actually knew what he was doing.</p><p>[image captions]</p><p>[1–5] Installation views of cases on the mezzanine balcony of the Charles Engelhard Court. Photographs by Bruce Schwarz.</p><p>[2] Union Porcelain Works (1863–ca. 1922). Designed by Karl L. H. Müller (ca. 1820–1887). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1876. Stoneware. Brooklyn, New York. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.22). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[3] Rookwood Pottery (1880–1967). Executed by Edward Timothy Hurley (1869–1950). <em>Bowl</em><strong>,</strong> 1929. Earthenware. Cincinnati, Ohio. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.87). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[4] W. Hunt Diederich (1884–1953). <em>Charger</em><strong>,</strong> 1925–35. Earthenware. New York City. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.76). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[5] Maija Grotell (1899–1973). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1938–50. Stoneware. Cranbrook, Michigan. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.80). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[6] Peter Voulkos (1924–2002). <em>Vase</em>, ca. 1955. Stoneware. Los Angeles, California. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.91). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[7] John Bennett (1840–1907). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1882. Earthenware. New York City. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.50). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[8] Charles Volkmar (1841–1914). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1877–78. Earthenware. France. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.44). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[9] Rookwood Pottery (1880–1967). Decorated by Edward Timothy Hurley (1869–1950). <em>Vase</em>, 1908. Earthenware. Cincinnati, Ohio. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.274). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[10] Rookwood Pottery (1880–1967). Decorated by Harriet E. Wilcox (active at Rookwood 1886–1907). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1901. Earthenware. Cincinnati, Ohio. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.270). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[11] Grueby Faience Company (1894–ca.1911). Designed by George P. Kendrick (1850–1919). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> ca. 1900–08. Earthenware. Boston, Massachusetts. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.192). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[12] Installation view on the mezzanine balcony of the Charles Engelhard Court. Photograph by Bruce Schwarz. </p><p>[13] Union Porcelain Works (1863–ca. 1922). Designed by Karl L. H. Müller (ca. 1820–1887). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1876. Porcelain. Brooklyn, New York. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.23). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[14] Installation view on the mezzanine balcony of the Charles Engelhard Court. Photograph by Bruce Schwarz.</p><p>[15] George E. Ohr (1857–1918). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1897–1900. Earthenware. Biloxi, Mississippi. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.283). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[16] George E. Ohr (1857–1918). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1897–1900. Earthenware. Biloxi, Mississippi. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.257). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[17] George E. Ohr (1857–1918). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1897–1900. Earthenware. Biloxi, Mississippi. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.282). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[18] George E. Ohr (1857–1918). <em>Teapot</em>, 1897–1900. Earthenware. Biloxi, Mississippi. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr. (L.2009.22.279a, b). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr.</p><p>[19] George E. Ohr (1857–1918). <em>Vase</em><strong>,</strong> 1897–1900. Earthenware. Biloxi, Mississippi. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Promised Gift of Robert A. Ellison Jr., 2009 (L.2009.22.289). Photograph by Robert A. Ellison Jr. </p>[20] Installation view on the mezzanine balcony of the Charles Engelhard Court. Photograph by Bruce Schwarz. 038 The New American Wing: The Verplanck Room The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Metropolitan Museum curators Morrison Heckscher and Amelia Peck discuss the details of an eighteenth-century period room furnished with the belongings of the Verplanck family. Along with eighteen other period rooms, the Verplanck Room will return to public view when the New American Wing reopens on May 19, 2009. More information about the period rooms is available on the Museum's Audio Guide. Metropolitan Museum curators Morrison Heckscher and Amelia Peck discuss the details of an eighteenth-century period room furnished with the belongings of the Verplanck family. Along with eighteen other period rooms, the Verplanck Room will return to public view when the New American Wing reopens on May 19, 2009. More information about the period rooms is available on the Museum's <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/visit/audioguide/">Audio Guide</a>. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.05112009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_038 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.05112009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_038 epNum038 http://www.metmuseum.org/works_of_art/american_decorative_arts/period_rooms.aspx#05 Learn more about this work of art. DP210660.B.jpg DP210660.S.jpg Mon, 11 May 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 2:24 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Verplanck American Wing woa no <p><strong>Peter Kenny</strong>: Morrie Heckscher, chairman of the American Wing, speaks to us from the Verplanck Room.</p><p><strong>Morrie Heckscher</strong>: The owner of most of this furniture was Samuel Verplanck, a fifth-generation New York Dutch family who married one of his cousins, Judith Crommelin, in the 1760s. It is the one such place, the one such room anywhere that we know, where one can see all of one family's furniture shown very much the way it would have been in the eighteenth century, when it was new. The room is furnished with a suite of matching chairs and tables, particularly the card table in the center, all obviously made by one craftsman in the same style, which is a very English, mid-eighteenth-century, Georgian, or so-called Chippendale style of furniture. But clearly the work of a New York City craftsman. In addition, there are the family portraits, two of which you can see over the settee on the far wall, by America's greatest eighteenth-century portraitist, John Singleton Copley.</p><p><strong>Amelia Peck</strong>: That reminds me of two other paintings that are in the room.</p><p><strong>Peter Kenny</strong>: Morrie Heckscher is joined by his colleague, curator Amelia Peck.</p><p><strong>Amelia Peck</strong>: The two little pictures above the mantel that brings up one of the more enjoyable stories about the Verplanck family. We're not sure if it's totally true, but it kind of gives the room a little more cachet.</p><p><strong>Peter Kenny</strong>: Here’s the story.</p><p><strong>Amelia Peck</strong>: Samuel and Judith Verplanck eventually had a very big falling out. And the falling out came in 1776 when the British occupied Manhattan. And Samuel was a patriot and was very upset by this and fled New York, Manhattan, and went to his country house upriver. Judith, however, being brought up in Holland, was a royalist and stayed in New York. While in New York, the family history says she formed an attachment to Sir William Howe, who was the commander-in-chief of the British army occupying Manhattan. </p><p><strong>Peter Kenny</strong>: And those two paintings above the mantel were a gift of Judith from him. They both depict Eros, god of love. One is <em>The Temptation of Eros</em>, the other is <em>The Victory of Eros</em>. </p><p><strong>Amelia Peck</strong>: And they can only really be interpreted as a love token or love gift. </p> 037 It's Time We Met: A Tokyo Teenager Visits the Museum The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Mimiko, a teenager from Tokyo, visits the Met and tours the new 19th-Century European Paintings and Sculpture Galleries. Mimiko, a teenager from Tokyo, visits the Met and tours the new 19th-Century European Paintings and Sculpture Galleries. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.04132009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_037 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.04132009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_037 epNum037 http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/ho/10/euwf/ho_1993.132.htm Learn more about this work of art. ITWM01.B.jpg ITWM01.S.jpg Mon, 13 Apr 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 4:27 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org family no <p><strong>Mimiko</strong>: Hi. My name is Mimiko. I live in Tokyo but I come to New York every summer with my mom and dad, and visit The Metropolitan Museum of Art whenever I can. </p><p>The Met is a great place to visit, because it’s so huge that you can see whatever you’re in the mood for. It’s got one of the greatest and largest art collections in the world, and it’s also New York City’s biggest tourist attraction.</p><p>All sorts of works of art are on display, like an enormous Egyptian temple and giant statues of Hercules from ancient Rome. There are paintings by Rembrandt and Picasso, beautifully decorated rooms from French palaces, and knights in armor riding on horseback. And there are works of art created by artists who are alive today, like a wavy golden wall sculpture made in Africa out of bottle caps. </p><p>To see an amazing view of Manhattan, I go up to the Roof Garden, where there are huge outdoor sculptures. You can see across the thousands of green leafy trees in Central Park to the tops of the buildings on the other side. </p><p>And if I get homesick, there are lots of rooms with art from Japan. </p><p>Some of the works of art I love most are in the new galleries for European painting and sculpture from around the time of the Impressionists. I want to tell you about a few of them.</p><p>Degas painted and drew hundreds of pictures of ballet dancers. The <em>Little Fourteen-Year-Old Dancer</em> is actually a sculpture made of bronze, but she’s wearing a skirt made out of cloth and her hair is tied back with a silk ribbon. What I really love is her dance pose. She reminds me of my cousin Jade, who takes her ballet lessons very seriously. The girl in this sculpture and Jade are both about the same age and I think they both practice a lot, too—at least, I know Jade does. </p><p>There’s also an entire dining room called the Wisteria Room, named for a beautiful flower. And you can see pictures of that flower in everything that’s in the room: the paintings on the walls, the furniture, the lamps, everything! But you have to look closely. The room came to the Met from a house in Paris that was built near the Eiffel Tower about a hundred years ago. </p><p>The <em>Garden at Sainte-Adresse</em> shows relatives of the artist Monet at the seaside in the summertime, looking out at the ships from a beautiful garden, while flags wave in the breeze. Monet loved Japanese prints, especially by Hokusai, and Japanese art was a big influence on him, especially on this painting. </p><p>There’s a painting that makes me very sad. It’s Repin’s portrait of a Russian writer named Garshin. Garshin wrote about soldiers in the war between Russia and Turkey in the 1870s, and he had a lot of tragedy in his own life, too. He died when he was only thirty-three. You can see the suffering on his face in this picture; it’s so realistic.</p><p>The artist Seurat had a special way of painting, called “pointillism,” where he put lots of small dabs of color next to each other to create a picture. If you stand very close to his study for the famous painting <em>A Sunday on La Grande Jatte</em>, you can see the points of color. But when you step back a few feet, all of a sudden your eyes automatically blend the small patches of color together. And you see the beautiful picture that Seurat wanted you to see: French families with children and dogs, strolling in the park along the water on a Sunday afternoon. I don’t know why Seurat’s dabs of paint fool your eye this way, but it’s a neat effect.</p><p>I think Vincent van Gogh is my absolute favorite artist, and his painting called <em>Wheatfield with Cypresses</em> is incredible to see for yourself, not just in a picture. He paints a field with cypress trees, wheat, and poppies. He puts the paint on his canvas very thick, so the blue sky is filled with clouds that are actually big, thick swirls of white paint. It’s a happy, beautiful scene, all lit up by the sun. </p><p>I’m sure I’ll think of these paintings when I’m back in Japan. And I’ll look forward to seeing them again, like old friends, when I come back to New York next summer. I hope you’ll visit the Met someday, too, and find the art that’s meaningful to you.</p> 036 <![CDATA[日本人少女メトロポリタン美術館へ行く]]> [Japanese] The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.04132009.Japanese.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_036 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.04132009.Japanese.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_036 epNum036 http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/ho/10/euwf/ho_1993.132.htm Learn more about this work of art. ITWM01.B.jpg ITWM01.S.jpg Mon, 13 Apr 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 5:34 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org family no はじめまして。私の名前はミミコです。１４歳です。私は東京に住んでいますが、毎年夏にニューヨークに行く機会があります。そのときはいつもメトロポリタン美術館を見学します。

ニューヨークの人たちはメトロポリタン美術館を親しみを込めて「メット」と呼びます。だから私も「メット」と呼んでいます。

メットのすごいところは、館内がとても広くその日の気分次第で自分の観たいアートが楽しめるところです。メットには世界的に有名な美術品がたくさんあります。そしてその規模も世界最大級です。勿論ニューヨークの観光スポットで一番人気があります。

メットにはさまざまな絵画や彫刻が展示されています。エジプトの壮大な神殿や古代ローマのヘラクレス、ピカソやレンブラントの絵、フランスの宮殿の美しい部屋、そして、鎧を着て馬に乗っている騎士の像もあります。また、古いアートだけでなく現代のアートもあります。ボトルキャップで作られた波打つような金色の彫刻は、今でも現役で活躍するアフリカのアーティストによる作品です。

巨大な彫刻が展示されている屋上ガーデンに上がるとマンハッタンの素晴らしい景色を眺めることができます。きれいな緑に覆われたセントラルパークの向こう側には美しいマンハッタンのビルが立ち並びます。

そしてホームシックになった時、沢山の日本美術を見ると心がなごみます。

私の最近のお気に入りは、ヨーロッパの印象派の絵や彫刻が展示されている新しいギャラリーです。そのギャラリーについて少し説明したいと思います。

ドガはバレーダンサーを題材にした作品をたくさん作っていますが、そのうちの一つに「14歳の小さな踊り子」というブロンズ像があります。布のスカートを身にまとった少女の髪は絹のリボンで結ばれています。なかでも私が一番気に入っているのはこの踊り子のポーズです。この作品の少女を見ていると私のいとこのジェイドを思い出します。ジェイドはダンスに夢中で年もこの少女と同じ14歳。ジェイドはダンスをいっぱい練習しているけれど、きっとこの女の子も一生懸命練習していたと思います。

またメットにはウィステリアルームと呼ばれる部屋があります。これはフランスのダイニングルームを完全な形で展示したものです。部屋の名前は美しい藤の花にちなんで名付けられました。その花は部屋のありとあらゆるところで見つけることができます。壁、テーブル、椅子、ランプのすべてにその花が描かれています。でも近くに寄ってよく見てみないと分からないかもしれません。このダイニングルームはパリのエッフェル塔の近くに約100年前に建てられた家にありました。

モネの作品に「サンタドレスの庭園」という絵があります。この絵には夏の海辺の美しい庭から海に浮かぶ船と風になびく旗を眺めているモネの親戚たちが描かれています。日本の木版画をとても愛したモネは北斎の作品を特に気に入っていました。この作品は日本美術の影響が最もよく表れているそうです。

私を淋しくさせるある一つの絵があります。それはレーピンが描いたガルシンという名のロシア人作家の肖像画です。ガルシンは1870年代にロシアとトルコの間に起こった戦争の兵士について本を書きました。そんな彼の人生にもたくさんの悲しい出来事があったのです。彼は33歳という若さでこの世を去りました。この絵からは彼の苦しみがとてもリアルに伝わってきます。

スーラという画家はさまざまな小さな色の点を集合させて絵を描く「点描（てんびょう）」と呼ばれる特別な技法を使っていました。「グランド・ジャット島の日曜日の午後」と呼ばれる有名な絵は近くで見ると色の点だけが見えます。でも絵から少し離れて見てみると急にその小さな色のかけらが混ざって見えてきます。この絵には子供たちや犬を連れたフランス人の家族が日曜日の午後に水辺の公園で散歩を楽しんでいる場面が描かれています。不思議な描き方をしていますがとても素敵な絵画です。

私はゴッホが大好きです。「糸杉のある麦畑」という絵がありますが、レプリカではない本物の絵を見ると本当に心を奪われます。この絵には糸杉と小麦畑、そしてケシの花が咲く草原が描かれています。青空に広がる雲をリアルに表現するために白い絵の具がとても力強く渦を巻くように大胆に塗り重ねられています。この絵はすべてが太陽の光に満ちた美しく幸せな場面を表現しているのです。

私は日本に帰ったら、メットで見た絵を思い出すことでしょう。そして来年の夏にニューヨークに来るときは、幼なじみの友達に会うみたいにまた同じ絵を見たいと思います。皆さんも是非いつかメットを訪れてみてください。きっと自分だけの何かが見つかるはずです。

]]> 035 Special Exhibition: Cast in Bronze: French Sculpture from Renaissance to Revolution The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curators Ian Wardropper and James David Draper describe <i>The French Parnassus</i>, an extraordinary bronze sculpture featured in the special exhibition "Cast in Bronze: French Sculpture from Renaissance to Revolution," on view at the Met February 24 through May 25, 2009. Curators Ian Wardropper and James David Draper describe <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/special/cast_bronze/view_1.asp?item=7"><i>The French Parnassus</i></a>, an extraordinary bronze sculpture featured in the special exhibition "Cast in Bronze: French Sculpture from Renaissance to Revolution," on view at the Met February 24 through May 25, 2009. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03302009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_035 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03302009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_035 {438DB79A-EB4F-4AC4-8BDD-26105061057A} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={438DB79A-EB4F-4AC4-8BDD-26105061057A} Learn more about this exhibition. castbronze.B.jpg castbronze.S.jpg Mon, 30 Mar 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 14:08 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Korean Renaissance Joseon spex no javascript:void(0);"></a><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="javascript:metPopSmall('/audio/exhibitions/mp4/mmaExhibPodcast.03302009.mp4') View as a slideshow. (10 MB) <p><strong>Ian Wardropper</strong>: Hello. I’m Ian Wardropper from The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. And I’m with my colleague James David Draper to talk about a masterwork of bronze sculpture that is included in the exhibition “Cast in Bronze: French Sculpture from Renaissance to Revolution.” The exhibition includes 125 of the finest statuettes, portrait busts, and monuments, revealing the French genius for bronze from the late Renaissance through the times of Louis XIV, XV, and XVI, and will be on view through May 25, 2009.</p> <p>We’re standing in the Petrie sculpture courtyard of the Metropolitan Museum, a large light-filled hall where we have a permanent collection of our French and Italian sculpture of the seventeenth and eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And we’re standing in front of one of the bronze works from the exhibition, which we put here because it’s so large we really couldn’t fit it in the exhibition space, nor could we do it justice. I think it’s here, with natural light in the grand space, that the public can appreciate it the best.</p> <p>And let me begin by trying to describe this extraordinary confection, which stands about five feet high, all of bronze. It’s pyramidal in shape. And it represents Mount Parnassus, which is a real mountain in Greece but, by mythic association, was where Apollo, the Greek and Roman god of poetry and music, found inspiration. And above him is the winged horse Pegasus, crowning at the apex of this pyramid, a horse associated with poetry, with poetic inspiration, as well. And down the sides of this craggy mountain, which have rivulets cascading over it and sparse vegetation, are ledges on which stand or sit various figures associated with French literary and creative history, particularly of the seventeenth and into the eighteenth century.</p> <p>So beneath the god Apollo, who takes the form of the king, Louis XIV, are three scantily clad women who take the form of the Muses—they are, in fact, Graces—and they hold garlands and laurel wreaths and, in fact, represent some women who are literary figures of the seventeenth century. And then, as one descends the mountain, there are various other figures, about a dozen, all of whom represent either poets, writers, or musicians of the French tradition, mostly from the period of Louis XIV but on into the period of Louis XV. There are, sprinkled among all of these figures, winged genii—little children—who hold medallions with further portraits of literary figures, and many of the figures also hold scrolls, which have further inscriptions of names of people who are to be celebrated in this Mount Parnassus.</p> <p>Finally, the largest figure in terms of scale is closest to the viewer, if you’re looking at this mountain, and it is a statue of the man Titon du Tillet, whose genius, whose baby this was, in a sense. It was he who came up with this extraordinary idea of celebrating French creativity. And I want to turn to my colleague Jim Draper to tell us more about the history of this monument.</p> <p><strong>James David Draper</strong>: Titon du Tillet was a very rich man, son of an arms dealer, who wanted to glorify the period of Louis XIV and especially French contribution to genius, to national pride, in French style, among poets and among musicians. He’s holding up a scroll, clad in semi-Roman drapery, to dedicate these geniuses to immortality, to confer immortality on them. We’ve got several of them recognizable. Mind you, there were more than three hundred names on the monument at one point before successive damages happened to it. </p> <p>We’ve got the great trio of Corneille, Racine, and Molière, and right behind them La Fontaine, the great writer of fables. And he’s identifiable by characters from his fables. There’s a cock, there’s a fox, and a wolf. A lamb long since got lost. And the only contemporary is on the far left flank—Voltaire, because Titon decided to add that contemporaneous touch. He gave this monument to the king for his library at Versailles, and that’s how it’s gone from belonging to the Bibliothèque Nationale that keeps it on long-term loan at Versailles.</p> <p>It hasn’t been on view in a long, long time—not really public view. It’s been in the smaller of the stables at Versailles for viewing upon request. And so, we’re extremely lucky that it hasn’t been on primary view so that it could be lent for this extraordinary exhibition.</p> <p><strong>Ian Wardropper</strong>: Titon du Tillet had this notion of creating this bronze monument to the French genius principally of the previous century, of the seventeenth century. And he started with a man named Louis Garnier, who between 1718 and 1721 cast the first of these statuettes as well as the mountain on which they all rest. And if you look at it closely you’ll see that it’s rather dense with these figures towards the top and as one descends down the mountain there are more gaps. And that was because it was an additive process—that Titon had it in mind that he would add, over time, other figures. So he left room for them.</p> <p>And then in order to include everyone, he came up with the expedient of these little medallions that would be added, little portrait medallions of some of the figures when it occurred to him and others later to add them. Many of these medallions have disappeared over time or have been replaced by others, but what it represents is a kind of accumulation of thought in the eighteenth century of what the greatness of French civilization was in the previous century, with, as Jim mentioned, a few contemporary add-ons, such as Voltaire.</p> <p>As an idea, the Parnassus goes back to the Italian Renaissance. There are representations in the Vatican Palace—paintings by Raphael, for instance, of a scene of Parnassus with Apollo that has ancient figures as well as more contemporary ones, like Dante. So here the French have taken over this concept of the Parnassus and made their own monument. But there was very much an ongoing debate at the time that Titon was creating this work of who should be included. Who are the great French—primarily men, but also women—of literature? And this reflects the best thinking, if you will, of the moment, but of course it was very much in contest. Who deserves to be in this list? This goes on today in the French Academy, trying to decide who are the great people of French literature.</p> <p>When Jim and I first saw this sculpture in the stables at Versailles, it was perched on a painted black wooden base that continued the shape of the bronze mountain. So it was something like twelve feet high and very romantic in the gloom of the stables. We had to perch on ladders in order to examine it. And later it was determined that the wooden base was too fragile to travel for the exhibition so we only took the bronze base, which is enough in itself, as I think the public will agree. It’s really quite an amazing object. But it is an object that was conserved for this exhibition—cleaned, especially—and I think because of its role in the exhibition, the French have gained a new appreciation of this object, which has been somewhat off of view in Versailles for a number of years, and it is the hope that when it returns to France that they’ll find a more permanent location for it, that it can be seen regularly by the public.</p> <p><strong>James David Draper</strong>: Titon’s ambitions for this were absolutely extraordinary. In planning, hoping, for a big monument in stone, he also wanted to raise money, and he did this in the form of causing books of engravings to be published. He had painted copies sent to the King of Denmark and to the King of Prussia, all in an effort—a wholehearted effort, but also one to help him out with the costs of this big project.</p> <p>I would just add that Garnier is not terribly well known. I believe that he belonged basically among the teams of artists who made sculptures for the gardens at Versailles. The additions by Pajou are by a much better-known figure of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, and they include Voltaire in particular, as well as the kneeling figure of Titon. We had an exhibition of him, a monographic exhibition of Pajou, about twelve years ago, I suppose it was. </p> <p><strong>Ian Wardropper</strong>: Though we’ve extracted this work from the others in the exhibition, it reflects, in many ways, sculptures that you will see throughout the exhibition, particularly towards the end, where we have a section devoted to the Enlightenment, where we have bronze busts of Voltaire and Rousseau and other figures who were so famous in the eighteenth century, and that show bronze’s capacity to reveal the character of many of these figures through the precision in which the features of the face can be shown. And this continues here in these small-scale statuettes, this notion of trying to reproduce the character of French literature through the portraits of the men who wrote these works of art.</p> <p>There are also many other monuments throughout the exhibition, particularly to the king. So if Apollo, at the peak of this mountain here, takes the form of the king, Louis XIV, as we know from the writings of the patron is the case, then if you go through the exhibition you’ll see numerous monuments to Louis XIV, particularly equestrian monuments that were erected throughout the realm and which, because of the Revolution, no longer exist or were torn down at some point. So in a sense this is another monument that never quite existed.</p> <p>While many of the monuments to Louis XIV were erected and are now torn down, this is a projected monument that never happened at the scale to which Titon wished. It was to be a fifty-foot-high stone monument with individual figures that would have been something like nine feet high each. Imagine it in the place where the Arc de Triomphe is now, for example, which was one of the locations projected for it, or in the gardens of Versailles. It would have been a bewildering, probably hideous, sight. But this bronze was Titon’s model that he used to try to inspire people to create his monument.</p> <p><strong>James David Draper</strong>: That’s right. All of its associations are royal besides literary. It had the names of kings and queens on it also, and we know only cryptically that those "marks of feudalism," as they were called, were removed also during the Revolution.</p> <p><strong>Ian Wardropper</strong>: Titon wanted this to go to the king, and he willed it to his nephew with the stipulation that it be given or offered to the king. And, indeed, the king did accept it, I believe in 1766. And it was put in the Bibliothèque du Roi, the library of the king at that time. And we know that people came to see it, but other than the fact that the king agreed to accept it, we don’t know precisely what his reaction to it was.</p> <p><strong>James David Draper</strong>: The guy really was unstoppable. He even wanted a pendant group to illustrate the admirals and generals of the ancient rulers. But that just didn’t happen, for reasons that are fairly obvious.</p> <p><strong>Ian Wardropper</strong>: And it is interesting as well, since, as Jim pointed out, Titon was the son of an arms dealer and made his money from procuring and ordering weapons for warfare. So this notion that he would have a monument to military leaders as well as to cultural figures makes a certain amount of sense. But, to his credit, what he thought of first was ennobling the great aspects of French civilization and literature.</p> <p>I’m Ian Wardropper, the Iris and B. Gerald Cantor Chairman of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts, and I’m with James David Draper, the Henry R. Kravis Curator, also of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts, at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. We’ve been talking to you from the Museum’s Milton and Carroll Petrie European Sculpture Court.</p> <p>“Cast in Bronze: French Sculpture from Renaissance to Revolution” will be on view at the Metropolitan Museum through May 25, 2009.</p> <p>The exhibition is made possible by the Iris and B. Gerald Cantor Foundation.</p> <p>The exhibition was organized by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the Musée du Louvre, Paris, and the J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles. </p> <p>It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.</p> <p>Thank you.</p> 034 Special Exhibition: Art of the Korean Renaissance The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York The dynamic works featured in the exhibition “Art of the Korean Renaissance, 1400–1600” provide a glimpse into the extraordinary artistic and cultural renaissance that took place in Korea during the early Joseon dynasty. Soyoung Lee, the exhibition’s curator, narrates. The exhibition is on view from March 17 through June 21, 2009. The dynamic works featured in the exhibition “Art of the Korean Renaissance, 1400–1600” provide a glimpse into the extraordinary artistic and cultural renaissance that took place in Korea during the early Joseon dynasty. Soyoung Lee, the exhibition’s curator, narrates. The exhibition is on view from March 17 through June 21, 2009. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03162009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_034 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03162009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_034 {5CCD5232-A073-4DBE-A06D-36D32D933A74} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={5CCD5232-A073-4DBE-A06D-36D32D933A74} Learn more about this exhibition. korean_renaissance_big.B.jpg korean_renaissance_small.S.jpg Mon, 16 Mar 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 9:17 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Korean Renaissance Joseon spex no <p><b>Soyoung Lee</b>: My name is Soyoung Lee. I am assistant curator in the Department of Asian Art at the Metropolitan Museum, and I’m the curator for the exhibition "Art of the Korean Renaissance, 1400–1600."</p><br/><p>This exhibition focuses on the first two hundred years of the Joseon dynasty, which was the last dynasty of Korea, from the late fourteenth century into the beginning of the twentieth century. </p><br/><p>But the first two hundred years is a really interesting and compelling period, partly because the seeds of cultural and social practices that are still current in modern or contemporary Korea were first planted during this period. And we titled the exhibition "Art of the Korean Renaissance" because, of course, what was going on in Korea was very different from what went on in Western Europe, the area that we’re most familiar with when we think of the Renaissance. But there were comparable trends, such as the transition from a religion-based society, in the case of Korean Buddhism, to a secular society and secular culture, that is, Neo-Confucianism. Now, many people think of Confucianism or Neo-Confucianism as a religion, but in fact it was more a philosophical idea, a political phenomenon, and a way of life. And it really did bring on this incredible secular culture. This period was also in many ways a renaissance, or a rebirth, culturally, because the last century prior to the beginning of the Joseon dynasty was marred by foreign domination, specifically the Mongol empire, and a kind of deterioration internally—politically, culturally, and socially.</p><br/><p>And so the early fifteenth century, with the rise of the Joseon dynasty, brought on a very significant cultural and artistic rebirth. Perhaps one of the most significant cultural achievements during this period was the creation of the Korean alphabet, known as <i>hangeul</i>.</p><br/><p>In King Sejong’s preface to <i>Hunminjeongeum</i>, which is the term that the Korean alphabet was known by at the time, he says: “The sounds of our language differ from those of Chinese and are not easily communicated by using Chinese graphs. Many among the ignorant, therefore, though they wish to express their sentiments in writing, have been unable to communicate. Considering the situation with compassion, I have newly devised twenty-eight letters.” Modern written Korean, in fact, comprises twenty-four letters. But as you can see from King Sejong’s preface, the creation of a native written system, or written language, had as much to do with education and reaching as great a number of the population as it did with creating a national identity. </p><br/><p>Beyond creating the Korean alphabet and his role as a patron of literature, King Sejong was also a great patron of the arts, especially visual art, as were many of his sons and his descendants. And in fact, a number of important artists from the early Joseon period were direct descendants of King Sejong. </p><br/><p>Much like the Renaissance in Western Europe, the art of what we are calling the period of the Korean Renaissance—from about 1400 to 1600—included art that were revivals or transformations of classical traditions. And when I say classical traditions, these are traditions not only within Korea but within the broader East Asian traditions. For example, landscapes from the earlier periods of around the tenth century to the twelfth century—that was broadly shared by both Korea and China. These were the kinds of landscapes that more or less as a tradition died out in China but were revived and completely transformed and made distinctly Korean during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. </p><br/><p>Another significant aspect of the arts of this period, the Korean Renaissance, is the development of some novel contemporary trends, particularly in ceramics, such as porcelain. Porcelain, of course, was first developed in China, and Korea was participating in a broader sort of international revolution, in a sense—a revolution in ceramics, in which production of ceramics concentrated on white porcelain. What is distinctive about early Joseon porcelain, and in fact Korean porcelain of any period, is its emphasis on undecorated white porcelain. So whereas in other parts of the world—such as China, Japan, Europe—there were great emphases on enameled porcelain or very colorful, polychrome porcelain, and where there was active trade, Korean porcelains, particularly of the early Joseon, were much more restrained in aesthetic, concentrated on unembellished sort of whiteness, the purity of form and color. And for the most part, Korean porcelain during the Joseon period were made as domestic products rather than for export.</p><br/><p>So in both its aesthetic and consumption pattern, Korean porcelain of the early Joseon is quite distinctive from porcelain made in the rest of the world. </p><br/><p>In addition to white porcelain, Korea at this time also produced a very striking and unusual kind of ceramics, which were in fact only produced during the first two hundred years of the Joseon dynasty. They are known as <i>buncheong</i> ware and they are a group of stoneware that are embellished with white slip and sometimes with inlaid or stamped or painted designs that are much more, sort of, liberated and dynamic in design than those that you find on porcelain—not just Korean porcelain, but porcelain from any part of the world. </p><br/><p>In addition to landscapes and ceramics, the exhibition also features other genres of art, particularly painting, that are very representative of this period, for example, what are known as paintings of literati gatherings, which are basically pictorial recordings of gatherings of men in government. These are very social gatherings. They get together basically to drink and recite poetry.</p><br/><p>There are also paintings featuring lovable and majestic animals. One artist in particular—a great-great-grandson of King Sejong, known as Yi Am—is very well known for his paintings of adorable dogs and puppies, and one of his masterpieces, <i>Mother Dog and Puppies</i>, from the National Museum of Korea, is featured here. And another painting of a very regal falcon from the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston had for a long time been attributed to a fourteenth-century Chinese painter but through recent scholarship by Korean scholars has been re-attributed as the work of the artist Yi Am. And, in fact, this exhibition is the first public forum in which this work is being presented as a Korean work. </p><br/><p>Many of the works featured in this exhibition are on loan from institutions and private collections around the world, including Korea, Japan, Germany, and the United States. And this is a wonderful and rare opportunity to see these works, which are now dispersed in various collections around the world, in one place at one time. And many of the works in the exhibition have never been seen before in the United States. </p><br/><p>We are presenting a captivating and dynamic sampling of an extraordinary artistic and cultural renaissance that took place in Korea between the years of 1400 and 1600, and we invite you to travel back in time and space to experience its wonder and significance. "Art of the Korean Renaissance, 1400–1600," will be on view at the Metropolitan Museum from March 17 through June 21, 2009.</p><br/><p>The exhibition is made possible by the Korea Foundation and the Kun-Hee Lee Fund for Korean Art. Thank you. </p> 033 <![CDATA[특별전:한국 르네상스의 미술]]> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York <span><font color="#64A8BD">March 17, 2008–June 21, 2009</font></span><br/> http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03162009.Korean.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_033 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03162009.Korean.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_033 epNum033 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={5CCD5232-A073-4DBE-A06D-36D32D933A74} korean_renaissance_big.B.jpg korean_renaissance_small.S.jpg Mon, 16 Mar 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 7:29 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Korean Renaissance Joseon spex no 안녕하세요. 저는 메트로폴리탄박물관 한국미술담당 큐레이터 이 소영 입니다. 이번 특별전시 ‘ 한국 르네상스의 미술, 1400-1600 년’을 기획하였습니다.

 

이 전시는 한국의 마지막 왕조였던 조선시대의 전기, 즉 초기 약 200 년간에 촛점을 맞춘 전시입니다.

 

조선전기는 무척 흥미롭고중요한 시기인데요, 그 이유 중 하나로 현대 한국 사회속에서 보이는 문화나 관례의 시초가 이 시기에 뿌리내린 점을 들 수 있습니다.  이번 전시 제목은 한국 르네상스의 미술(Art of the Korean Renaissance) 이라고 하였는데,   보통 르네상스하면 유럽을 생각하게 되는데, 유럽의 르네상스와 한국의 조선전기와는 다른점도 많지만 한편으로는 비슷한 트렌드들을 찾을 수 있습니다.  예를 들면 종교를 바탕으로 한 중세사회에서 벗어나 유럽의 경우 인본주의 사회, 문화로 이동하였고, 조선의 경우에는 불교사회에서 유교사회로이전했습니다.  서양에서는 유교를 종교로 보는 사람들도 많지만, 유교는 사실 종교라기보다는 하나의 철학, 내지는 정치적 이데올로기이고, 결국은 생활방식이지요. 조선전기는 일종의 문화적 르네상스, 즉, 새로운 탄생의 시기라 할 수 있는데, 고려시대 말기의 정치적, 문화적, 사회적 혼란과 쇠퇴, 그리고 당시 중국 및 온세계를 통치하던 몽고족의 지배하에서 벗어나, 새로운 시대를 열게 되는 것입니다.  그러니까 조선이 건국된 14 세기 말을 지나 15 세기초에 이르면 문화와 예술의 부흥, 즉 르네상스가 일어나게 됩니다.

 

그 대표적인 예로 한국의 고유한 문자, 한글의 창조를 들 수 있습니다.  세종대왕은 당시 훈민정음( 즉, 국민을 가르치기 위한 바른 언어) 를 창설면서 말씀하시기를, 우리말은 중국어와 많이 다르기에, 교육을 받지 못한 사람들이 쉽게 그들의 생각을 글로 표현할 수 있도록 우리 고유의 언어28 자를 만들었다’ 하였습니다.

현대 한글은24 자이지요. 훈민정음의 창조는 한민족의 아이덴티티를 상징하기도 하지만, 세종대왕의 말씀에서도 알 수 있듯이, 한글 창조는 보다 많은 사람들에게 글을 읽히고 쓰게 하기위한 바램이 겻들여 있습니다.

 

조선전기인 대략1400-1600 년 사이에는, 유럽의 르네상스와 같이 고전적 예술의 부흥과 변형이 일어납니다. 여기서 말하는 고전예술이란 한국문화뿐 아니라 당시 동아시아권에서 공통적으로 소유한 예술을 말합니다. 예를 들어 조선전기 회화에서는 산수화가 매우 중요한 장르였는데, 그 중에서도10-12 세기 사이 중국에서 유행한 산수화 화풍은 15 세기 명대 중국에서는 거의 빛을 못보는 반면, 15-16 세기에 조선에서 성행해서, 한국화됩니다.

 

조선전기 도자기에서는 아주 새로운 경향들이 보입니다.  이시기를 대표하는 도자기는 아무래도 백자이지요. 백자의 원조는 중국인데, 백자의 생산은 세계적으로 봤을때 일종의 도자기의 혁명이라 할 수 있습니다. 15 세기 조선에서 백자를 만들기 시작하면서 한국도 도자기 혁명에 참여를 하게되고, 시기적으로는 일본이나 유럽보다 한 두세기를 앞선겁니다. 한반도에서는 그 이전 시대인 고려시대에는 도자기 하면 청자였지요. 조선전기의 백자는 중국이나 17 세기 이후에 유럽, 일본에서 만들어진 화려하고 알록달록한 색상의 디자인을 강조한 백자와 달리, 순백자, 그러니까 표면에 아무런 색채나 디자인이 없이 백자의 백색과 깨끗한 선을 강조하는 순백자가 주류를 이루었습니다. 그리고, 중국, 일본, 유럽의 백자는 물론 자체 소비를 위해서도 생산됐지만, 수출용으로도 많이 만들어졌는데, 조선 백자는 그렇지 않고   조선에서만 사용되었습니다.

 

그러니까 조선 백자는 그 미적 감각이나 수용에 있어서도 다른 나라 백자에 비해 아주 독특합니다.

 

백자외에 조선 전기를 대표하는 도자기로 분청사기가 있습니다.  분청사기는 흔히 가장 한국적인 예술 중 하나라고도 하는데, 조선 초기 약 200 년 동안에만 만들어졌고, 세계 어디에서도 찾을 수 없는 독특한 예입니다. 분청사기는 백토로 표면을 분장한 다음 표면에 문양을 상감하거나 긁어내거나 그리거나해서 디자인을 만든 도자기로, 그 디자인이 자유분방하고 다이나믹합니다.  백자에 나타나는 디자인과는 많이 다르지요.

 

이번 전시에는 산수화나 도자기외에도 여러 장르의 미술품들이 선보이며, 그 중에 하나가 계회도입니다. 조선전기를 대표하는 미술 중 하나인 계회도는 당시 사대부들, 즉 정부의 관리이자 학자였던 사람들의 모임을 그린 그림입니다.  이들은 야외에서 많이 모였는데, 잘 아는 사람들끼리 모여 술 마시며 시를 읊는 그런 자리였습니다.

 

그외에도 이전시에는 동물을 주제로한 그림들도 있습니다. 이암이란 화가는 많은 사람들에게 잘 알려진 이름인데, 세종대왕의 후손으로 특히 천진난만한 강아지 그림으로 유명하지요. (이번 전시에는) 이암의 대표작 중 하나인 한국 국립중앙박물관 소장의 모견도(어미개와 강아지) 가 선보입니다. 그리고, 이암의 또다른 그림도 함께 전시되는데, 매서우면서 위엄있는 매를 그린 작품입니다. 보스턴 미술관 소장품으로 그동안14세기 중국원대 화가의 그림으로 알려져왔는데, 최근 한국 학자들의 연구로 이암의 작품이라는게 밝혀졌습니다. 이번 전시에서 처음으로 조선시대 한국 회화로서 선보이게 되는겁니다.

 

이번전시에 출품되는 미술품들은 세계 여러 박물관, 도서관, 개인소장에서 대여받은 유물들입니다. 그리고 그 다수는 이번에 미국에서 처음 선보입니다. 이 전시는 현재 한국을 비롯, 일본, 독일, 미국 등 세계 각국에 흩어져 있는 조선전기의 걸작들을 한 장소에서 볼 수 있는 귀한 기회입니다.

 

조선전기 약1400-1600 년대에 일어난 문화적 예술적 르네상스를 보시면 당시의 예술에 매료되실 것입니다.이번 전시 ‘한국 르네상스의 미술’은 3월 17일부터 6월 21일까지 메트로폴리탄 박물관 한국실에서 열립니다.

 

이번 전시는 한국국제교류재단 및 이건희 한국미술펀드의 후원을 받았습니다.

감사합니다

]]> 032 The Philippe de Montebello Years: Mangaaka Power Figure The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Alisa LaGamma and Philippe de Montebello discuss the original form and function of this arresting sculpture from Central Africa. Recorded on the occasion of "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions", on view from October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009. Alisa LaGamma and Philippe de Montebello discuss the original form and function of this arresting sculpture from Central Africa. Recorded on the occasion of "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions", on view from October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01262009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_032 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01262009.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_032 {C8A554C3-9111-4994-8456-445CC54CC2B4} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/philippe_de_montebello_years/exhibition/view.aspx?an=2008.30 Learn more about this work of art. 2008.30.B.jpg 2008.30.S.jpg Mon, 26 Jan 2009 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 7:05 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Mangaaka Power Figure Congo Philippe de Montebello spex no javascript:void(0);"></a><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="javascript:metPopSmall('/audio/exhibitions/mp4/mmaExhibPodcast.01262009.mp4') View as a slideshow. (8 MB) <b>Helen Evans</b>: Metropolitan Museum of Art Director Philippe de Montebello and curator Alisa LaGamma discuss the Museum’s African Power Figure. Their conversation was recorded in connection with the exhibition "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions".<br/><br/><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: We are standing in front of this extraordinarily powerful—in fact, it's called a "power figure"—Alisa LaGamma, the curator of African Art, and myself, and you, our listener. And what is fascinating among many, many things about this piece is how it in many ways redefines the term "beauty" for us.<br/><br/>Your instinct is to recoil, because it is a terrifying object. At the same time, it is so captivating you don't quite know what to do. And the reason why I think you have this reaction to the piece is that between the intent of the artist and the execution, there is no slack.<br/><br/>He wanted to create a figure, a cult figure, a reliquary, to precisely—to awe and to frighten, in a way, into a kind of submission to the gods. And he, the artist, has succeeded magisterially. And Alisa LaGamma will tell us a little bit more and with greater precision about just why this was created; what it is. Alisa?<br/><br/><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: Well, one of the fascinating things about our reaction to this work is that in many ways, as Philippe pointed out, our experience of it in the present is very much what a Congo individual would have experienced standing before it in the kind of community that this work was a focal point for.<br/><br/>The author of this work intended it to be a deterrent, a work that would inspire respect for authority and social conduct that adhered to a code of behavior. So that members of the community would feel that there was a vigilant and omniscient force that was looking over the affairs of the community, and that there would be consequences to pay were certain boundaries overstepped.<br/><br/>One of the things that I also think, on an aesthetic level, is very interesting to know about this kind of a work is that the sculptor who was presented with this challenge was giving figurative form, was personifying, an abstract force of jurisprudence. And he brought all his talent and imagination to bear on rendering that subject as a very vital and dynamic presence.<br/><br/>Then some of the other elements that really elicit visceral responses from us—like all of that very intense hardware that projects from the torso—that is all the cumulative use of this work over the decades, where members of the community came before this work and cemented different kinds of agreements and treaties and laws.<br/><br/><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: Oh, so when the sculptor had finished the work, it was smooth. It is the congregation, so to speak, over time that banged these nails and these things into it. That, of course, is part of what gives it so much life. One almost wonders if it's looking back at us, staring with these eyes that look into eternity out of—what is it, shell?<br/><br/><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: It's actually a ceramic that has been—<br/><br/><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: A ceramic, yeah.<br/><br/><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: —embedded into the wood, to real—<br/><br/><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: Almost begging for us to place our own imprint into it. One hopes that it has been neutralized in our galleries.<br/><br/><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: There are over four hundred elements of hardware, of different kinds of nails and blades, that were pounded into this figure, and each one of those represents a particular case that was brought before this figure.<br/><br/><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: It's like an ex-voto in a church. Tell me, what is that gaping hole in the stomach?<br/><br/><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: Well, the figure is produced by the sculptor as a vessel, a receptacle for this force. And the way that the ritual specialist, who is handed the completed sculpture, fills this vessel with its spiritual contents is that he collects special ingredients that are considered to attract the force into the figure.<br/><br/>One of the major materials that is appropriate in this case is earth taken from ancestral burial sites, mixed in with other things. And then the receptacle that is in the abdominal cavity is sealed.<br/><br/>Now, our figure has been emptied of all of that matter. So, in a sense it's been—<br/><br/>Philippe de Montebello: That's rather reassuring, isn't it?<br/><br/><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: It's been desacralized, probably intentionally, when it was taken out of the region.<br/><br/><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: Well, quite clearly this is quite a departure from the Grecian, classical ideal figure that our Acquisitions Committee is accustomed to see. Yet they expended a colossal amount of money for this major object of African art, and I think that is testimony to how compelling the artist has been in conveying precisely what you described, the function of the piece.<br/><br/>Thank you, Alisa, for your insight.<br/><br/><b>Helen Evans</b>: This recorded conversation was produced in conjunction with "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions," on view at the Met through February 1, 2009. The exhibition was organized in tribute to Philippe de Montebello's thirty-one years as director of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Come to the Museum to take an audio tour of the galleries with many of the Met's curators.<br/><br/>This has been an Antenna Audio production. 031 The Philippe de Montebello Years: Onésipe Aguado's <i>Woman Seen from the Back</i> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Philippe de Montebello speaks with curator Malcolm Daniel about Onésipe Aguado's mysterious photograph <i>Woman Seen from the Back</i>, which was acquired by the Museum as part of the remarkable Gilman Collection. Recorded on the occasion of "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions", on view from October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009. <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009</font></span><br/>Philippe de Montebello speaks with curator Malcolm Daniel about Onésipe Aguado's mysterious photograph <i>Woman Seen from the Back</i>, which was acquired by the Museum as part of the remarkable Gilman Collection. Recorded on the occasion of "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions", on view from October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.12222008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_031 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.12222008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_031 epNum031 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/philippe_de_montebello_years/exhibition/view.aspx?an=2005.100.1 Learn more about this work of art. 2005.100.1.B.jpg 2005.100.1.S.jpg Mon, 22 Dec 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 8:02 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Aguado photograph Gilman Philippe de Montebello spex no javascript:void(0);"></a><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="javascript:metPopSmall('/audio/exhibitions/mp4/mmaExhibPodcast.12222008.mp4') View as a slideshow. (9 MB) <b>Helen Evans</b>: Here Metropolitan Museum of Art director, Philippe de Montebello, and curator Malcolm Daniel discuss Onésipe Aguado’s photograph <i>Woman Seen from the Back</i>. Their conversation was recorded in conjunction with the exhibition "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions".<br><br><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: I am with Malcolm Daniel, who is the curator in charge of the Department of Photographs, and we are standing in front of a single image: a very evocative, poetic, mysterious picture of the back of a woman. And there are multiple agendas here. The first is that we are looking at a representative—or very high-level example—of a huge collection of photographs, some several thousand images that we acquired recently; one of the most important and certainly transformative purchases in any curatorial department in this institution.<br><br>But at the same time, we're also looking at a single work of art and concentrating on its effect on us. Malcolm, if you would say a word first about the Gilman Collection and its acquisition, and then we'll talk a little bit about this singular image.<br><br><b>Malcolm Daniel</b>: Sure. The Gilman Collection, which we acquired in 2005, was assembled over the course of about two decades, from 1977 to 1997, by Howard Gilman, the chairman of Gilman Paper Company, and his curator, Pierre Apraxine.<br><br>They collected photographs during a period when few others were willing to believe in and pay what was necessary to collect the very best of photography from the first century of the medium, from 1839 to 1939. It's a period of photography that was poorly represented in the Met’s collection, and this offered us the chance to make a single acquisition that would place us in the top ranks of photography collections worldwide.<br><br>In fact, over the period of the 1990s, we worked closely with them. Our acquisitions were often made with the recognition of what was already in the Gilman Collection, and their acquisitions were made with the knowledge of what we had.<br><br><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: So, in a sense, when we were collecting photography directly, were we doing it in function of what we knew Howard Gilman was collecting, and all of this of course was in the fervent and fervid expectation that that collection would come to the Met?<br><br><b>Malcolm Daniel</b>: That's correct. Unfortunately it didn't play out quite as simply as we expected. We hoped that it would be a gift or a bequest. But when Howard Gilman died in January of 1998, we were somewhat surprised and disappointed to find that it was not in his will that the collection should come to us. And we spent the next seven years, as you know well, negotiating with the foundation that was the chief beneficiary of Howard's estate to bring the collection here. And that involved a partial gift from the foundation, but a major purchase, which required the rallying of all of our supporters and the trustees to make this singular acquisition.<br><br><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: Now, in all fairness to the foundation and to Howard Gilman and his friends, I think we should say that one of the reasons why the process of the acquisition and the price was so high is that at precisely the moment at which we were negotiating, there was a reversal of fortune in paper companies, and particularly that company, and they were not in a position—much as many of the members of the board wanted—to give us the collection.<br><br>This particular image—tell us little bit about it, because the photographer, Aguado, is not a household name. I suspect even in the field of photography it isn't. And we can all certainly feel the affect of the mystery of the figure turning away from us, the way the <i>profil perdu</i>, the lost profile, in works of Watteau and others compel us to kind of a rapt attention.<br><br>But, a question I have, which is of a slightly philosophical nature, is, to a certain extent, when we placed this image on the cover of the catalogue of the first major exhibition mounted before the acquisition of the Gilman Collection, did we not in a certain sense create its celebrity?<br><br>To what extent does a museum have an enormous responsibility and effect, in the end, on our perception of works of art through what it chooses to do, especially major institutions such as this one?<br><br><b>Malcolm Daniel</b>: I think that's absolutely the case, and I think it's part of our mission, is to bring photographs, which are not yet in the canon, but which have an extraordinary presence and extraordinary power or mystery to them, and to bring those before the public, and not to rely only on the great names, the iconic works, which were also richly represented in the Gilman Collection.<br><br>Here was something that was absolutely unknown. Maybe a few photo historians would have known it. Certainly the public did not know it. The public would not know the name Onésipe Aguado. Most photo historians wouldn't.<br><br>And yet, now that this has been celebrated in our 1993 exhibition "The Waking Dream," I think we see it as one of the most beautiful, most enigmatic of nineteenth-century portraits, precisely because of that sense of mystery; what's not revealed. Usually photographs attract us because of the details that they show, the stories that they tell. Here it's what's withheld that is so intriguing.<br><br><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: Mm-hmm. And the fact that—fifteen years after the exhibition of "The Waking Dream," of which this was the cover—this has lasted and established itself now in the canon of the history of photography is a confirmation that the authority of an institution, as opposed to authoritarianism, is something that is highly valuable, that the public should seek, and that one should continue to exercise, lest we fail in the fundamentals of our mission. Is that not the case?<br><br><b>Malcolm Daniel</b>: Right. I think one of the things that is most exciting for me as a curator of photographs, and I hope for the public, is that there's so much still to discover in our field. I think it would be shocking indeed if one discovered a new, French, nineteenth-century painter of supreme quality who had gone until now without celebration or recognition. By contrast, with photography, there are still great figures and great individual works to be discovered, and there are treasures in the Gilman Collection that we have been and will continue to present to the public and hope that they'll have the same sense of discovery that we have.<br><br><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: So on that note, I would say to you listening, "Come often." There will be many familiar sights and many a discovery. Thank you, Malcolm, for your insights, and do enjoy the lost gaze of this lady.<br><br><b>Helen Evans</b>: This recorded conversation was produced in conjunction with "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions," on view at the Met through February 1, 2009. The exhibition was organized in tribute to Philippe de Montebello's thirty-one years as director of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Come to the Museum to take an audio tour of the galleries with many of the Met's curators.<br><br>This has been an Antenna Audio production. 030 The Philippe de Montebello Years: <i>Autograph Quilt</i> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Philippe de Montebello discusses a unique ninteenth-century American quilt with curator Amelia Peck. Recorded on the occasion of "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions", on view from October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009. <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009</font></span><br/>Philippe de Montebello discusses a unique ninteenth-century American quilt with curator Amelia Peck. Recorded on the occasion of "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions", on view from October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11242008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_030 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11242008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_030 epNum030 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/philippe_de_montebello_years/exhibition/view.aspx?an=1996.4 Learn more about this work of art. 1996.4.B.jpg 1996.4.S.jpg Mon, 24 Nov 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 14:00 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Quilt Philippe de Montebello spex no javascript:void(0);"></a><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="javascript:metPopSmall('/audio/exhibitions/mp4/mmaExhibPodcast.11242008.mp4') View as a slideshow. (16 MB) <p><b>Helen Evans</b>: In July 2008, Metropolitan Museum of Art director, Philippe de Montebello, and curator Amelia Peck recorded this conversation about the Museum’s <i>Signature Quilt</i>. The quilt was included in the exhibition "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions".</p><p><b>Amelia Peck</b>: My name is Amelia Peck. I’m a curator in the American Decorative Arts Department of the American wing here at the Metropolitan. And my responsibilities are both the period rooms in the American wing and American textiles. And I was a research assistant many years ago, starting in 1981, and I came to the Museum, and I worked on the Frank Lloyd Wright Room, which was a wonderful introduction to the Museum. And after a couple of years I left because funding had run out of that project when it was finished. And very luckily some of the people in my department valued me and came up with funding for me to come back as a curatorial assistant. I was in my mid-twenties and I was very thrilled to be working at the Museum and a little overwhelmed by the whole experience. And one of the first things that happened was I was brought to meet the director.</p><p>And Lew Sharp, who was my—the administrator of my department—brought me into Philippe and Philippe listened to what it was I was here to do. And I said, “And I am going to work on American textiles.” And he looked up at me and said, “Are there any other American textiles beside <i>quilts</i>?” And I thought, "Oh, I’m in big trouble here." Because in the American textile collection that we have at the Museum, one of the highlights is the quilt collection. Certainly we do have other wonderful American textiles. We have samplers. We have a fabulous collection by a woman textile designer called Candace Wheeler. But the only thing I heard was, “Don’t bring quilts to this man because he doesn’t like them.” So I thought, "hmm, how am I going to do this?" Because I knew that out there was a big constituency of people who adored quilts and who collected, made them, internationally. </P><p>So that was my first thought about what my mission was going to be here at the Museum, and also it’s the reason that I decided that this was the object to put into this exhibition in honor of the director, because I have to say what I value very much about him is his open-mindedness. And the fact is that even though at the beginning he said he didn’t like quilts, he has supported many, many acquisitions of quilts. He supported a catalogue that I wrote in 1990 that was then republished and expanded in 2007. He supported four or five exhibitions in quilts. And so I hope over the years I’ve sort of brought him around a little bit and maybe he’s begun to like quilts somewhat.</p><p><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: I have to interject at this particular point, Amelia, and to say what you cannot say, is to a certain extent it is not only the quilts that you were bringing to me that sold me on quilts, but it is your conviction and your scholarship. Because, to a certain degree, I haven’t changed that much of my mind on quilts, but you are persuasive and I recognize as a professional that it is very important if you have under your charge a huge museum in which five thousand years of art from all continents is presented, that not everything can appeal to one’s own taste. And this is something that the director of this institution must be conscious of, is to overcome individual likes, dislikes, or indifference and consider the importance to the collection, to the history of art, to the history of society and art, particularly when you come with quilts. And it has always been my job, also, to make certain that the trustees who sit on the acquisitions committee and who are not professionals and will often come into a room and say, “Oh, my God, that’s awful" and "What is that hideous thing doing there?” My job then is to say, “But what you think of it is really not terribly relevant. If you are persuaded by the argument given to you by the curator, then your role is to say, 'If this is indeed best of kind, then the institution must have it.'” So it is both the quilt and, in this particular instance—actually, I rather love this one, it reminds me of the floor of a Roman villa—but your conviction which also sold it.</p><p><b>Amelia Peck</b>: Well, I appreciate that, and I think one of the things that I always remember from going to see Philippe with objects, whether they be quilt or anything else, was he would always try to learn about the object and would certainly listen to me and often would say at the end, “Well, if you believe this is an object we should have, we should have it.” And I don’t think a curator can ask for any better than that.</p><p>This is an extraordinary quilt, and very different from anything else in our collection. It was made by a young lady named Adeline Harris Sears who lived in Rhode Island and was seventeen in 1856 and came from a very well-to-do family of mill owners—Rhode Island was a large mill community, mostly cotton mills—and had very little formal education, because in those days girls didn’t need formal education, supposedly. She went to about four years of schooling, which was probably mostly finishing school, and had tutors in her own home. But she was an ambitious girl and a girl who seemed to have a lot of intellectual drive. And the family history is that she wanted to go to college. But in 1856 there were really no colleges that were taking young women. So she was kind of left at her own devices and came up with a project that was going to somehow enlarge her horizons and let her learn about the world. And that project was to make an autograph quilt—an autograph collection, actually—but in a very different way than anyone else was doing it. </p><p>Collecting autographs was quite normal at the time. People liked collecting autographs. They had this idea that if you got the autograph of someone who was famous, you could learn from the autograph, sort of, what made that person famous and maybe some of that would rub off on you if you looked at their autograph long enough. So that was the strange and interesting reasoning behind autograph quilts. But Adeline decided that she would take diamonds of white silk, stretch them over a piece of cardboard and send them off to all the people—mostly in the United States, but around the world—that she thought were the most important people doing the most important work in the 1850s and ‘60s and ask them to sign the card, send it back to her, and then she would eventually put it together into this magnificent little quilt.</p><p>Amazingly enough, I think she sent out about 500 of these; 360 came back, and they were—the largest group of them are politicians from the time, lots of people who were famous in the Civil War, both northerners and southerners. There are signatures from eight or nine American presidents. There are signatures from internationally famous authors like Charles Dickens and William Thackery. There are American artists and painters as well as French and English painters. There are just an amazing array of signatures. And when I first started studying this and looking at all the signatures and researching who they were, I was able to find in just basic biographical dictionaries almost every person on this quilt. She chose very wisely and put together a true picture of the time.<p><p>She worked on it for about eight years, collecting the signatures, and in the process of doing so, she wrote a letter to a well-known magazine of the time, <i>Godey’s Lady’s Book</i>, to Sarah Josepha Hale who was the woman editor there, asking for her autograph and explaining the project. Sarah Josepha Hale was so amazed by the project that she actually published it in Godey’s Lady’s Book, so this quilt was famous.</p><p><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: When was this, Amelia?</p><p><b>Amelia Peck</b>: 1864. So this quilt was famous even in its own day, even before it was really made. So it was sort of thought of as this extraordinary thing even in 1864. When she finally did get all of the signatures back, she seems to have put them together in groupings because we think she actually kept on working until about 1876, sort of from internal evidence of how she put the signatures together. So she grouped all the women authors together and all the presidents together. So we think she actually made it in pieces, sort of sections. And eventually when she felt that she really had all the signatures she was going to get, she put it together.</p><p>One of the most fascinating rows for American history buffs is column number seven. And that’s—if you read over from your left, just count the white rows of diamonds over to column number seven—and that’s where you’ll find presidents, I believe, from Tyler all the way down to Grant.</p><p><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: And including Lincoln. </p><p><b>Amelia Peck</b>: And including Lincoln. </p><p><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: What would have been the purpose and the function of such a quilt? Certainly not a bedcover, so how do you think she would have expected it to be presented or kept? Would it have been hung on a wall, placed on a table? What do you think she was thinking of? </p><p><b>Amelia Peck</b>: I don’t—you're absolutely right. It would never have been a bedcover really, even though it’s funny if you—when you read some little inscriptions that some of the authors wrote, some of the poets actually put little bits of doggerel, they make little jokes about quilts and sleeping and all of that. But I think it was really a collection. And at some point it was hung on the wall, whether by her or by her daughter—this did pass down in her family until it came to the Museum—because there are tiny little rings at the top. So we do believe it was hung for a while by one of the family members. </p><p>The way we acquired it was interesting because it does talk a little bit about how internationally— the international market and interest in quilts. This quilt was published in a book in the 1970s, one of the first books about American quilts, because they didn’t really become popular as art forms until the 1970s, and then it sort of disappeared. A little before we acquired this—I think we acquired this in 1996—a Japanese quilting group came over to the United States and somehow they managed to find this quilt, which was in the great-granddaughter’s home in Long Island, wrapped in an old pillowcase, in a nineteenth-century pillowcase, in her attic. And they got in contact with her, and she was willing to have the Japanese quilting group come in to see this quilt. </p><p>And luckily for us, Nobuko Kajitani, who was our former head of textile conservation, was friendly with the head of the Japanese quilting group and went along on the trip and she saw this and the next day called me up and she said, “Amelia, there’s an amazing quilt out at this lady’s house in Long Island. You must go and see it,” which I did, and it was truly an amazing quilt. </p><p>And the granddaughter who had it was concerned about its condition because it was silk. And when the ink signatures were put on the cards—the ink has mineral salts in it and it was beginning to corrode the silk, and so some of the signatures were sort of being cut in to the fabric, actually. So she, after lots of negotiation between the Museum and the family, because it was co-owned by four great-grandchildren, they decided finally they would sell it to the Museum. </p><p>There was some question, because these are all autographs, of how do you value this quilt? Is the value in the autographs or is the value in the quilt? And we—they did talk to an autograph dealer who said, well, Abraham Lincoln’s signature, which is on this, is worth whatever thousands of dollars, and Ulysses Grant’s signature is worth X thousands of dollars. And so the value, if you went signature by signature, was huge. But then again, the signatures were on little pieces of silk that were being eaten up by the ink. And, of course, I would argue that this is a collection and a magnificent object and you shouldn’t be thinking of it autograph by autograph. So eventually we did convince the family and were able to purchase it for the Museum.</p><p>Elena Phipps, who is our wonderful conservator of American textiles, came up with a solution to keep the quilt from further having conservation problems. And that was we pressure-mounted it between two pieces of Plexiglas—actually the backing is a soft backing, then the quilt is put on, and then it is pressure-mounted against a soft backing with a piece of Plexi, and it basically is holding everything in place so now we can hang it, we can do whatever we want with it, but it won’t corrode further and it’s now in a permanent mount that way. </p><p><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: Well, it’s now a great asset, it’s wonderful to the eyes, wonderful to the mind, it’s just a fascinating object, and, Amelia, you’ve told us a wonderful story about it. And I hope you all enjoy it the way I do now. </p><p><b>Amelia Peck</b>: Thank you very much.</p><p><b>Helen Evans</b>: This recorded conversation was produced in conjunction with "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions," on view at the Met through February 1, 2009. The exhibition was organized in tribute to Philippe de Montebello's thirty-one years as director of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Come to the Museum to take an audio tour of the galleries with Philippe and many of the Met's curators. </p><p>This has been an Antenna Audio production. </p> 029 The Philippe de Montebello Years: Duccio di Buoninsegna’s <i>Madonna and Child</i> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Philippe de Montebello discusses Duccio di Buoninsegna’s <i>Madonna and Child</i>—one of the masterworks in the Museum's collection—with curator Keith Christiansen. Recorded on the occasion of "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions", on view from October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009. <span><font color="#64A8BD">October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009</font></span><br/>Philippe de Montebello discusses Duccio di Buoninsegna’s <i>Madonna and Child</i>—one of the masterworks in the Museum's collection—with curator Keith Christiansen. Recorded on the occasion of "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions", on view from October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10202008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_029 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10202008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_029 epNum029 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/philippe_de_montebello_years/exhibition/view.aspx?an=2004.442 Learn more about this work of art. 029_2004_442.B.jpg 029_2004_442.S.jpg Mon, 20 Oct 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 7:01 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Duccio Philippe de Montebello spex no javascript:void(0);"></a><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="javascript:metPopSmall('/audio/exhibitions/mp4/mmaExhibPodcast.10202008.mp4') View as a slideshow. (18 MB) <p><b>Helen Evans</b>: I’m Helen Evans, and I served as curator for "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions." In July 2008, Philippe de Montebello recorded this discussion with curator Keith Christiansen about one of the Museum’s masterworks: Duccio’s <i>Madonna and Child</i>.</p><p><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: I'm standing with Keith Christiansen, Curator in the Department of European Paintings. And the first thought that comes to my mind when I look at this divine picture is that very few things do tip the scale in favor of man, and this is certainly one of them.</p><p>This is a picture that compels one to rapt attention and from which I have found, since I had the opportunity to hold it in my hands I think for two solid hours when it was being offered for sale, that I couldn't let go of, not just as a physical object, but my eyes couldn't pull away from that extraordinary image of the Virgin, the Child, just the whole divine and yet human communication between these two figures. And what also compelled me to consider the acquisition absolutely mandatory is the assurance that Keith, who knows so much about pictures of this period, had—and communicated to me—as he will to you. Keith?</p><p><b>Keith Christiansen</b>: Well, you know, all of us respond in different ways to different pictures. There's those pictures that speak to one directly and immediately, and you're not really sure why this is so. But this was certainly my experience with Duccio. I can remember very clearly the first time I visited Siena, 1968, and went to the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo and saw the <i>Maestà</i>, and it is one of those pictures that you practically lose consciousness in front of. It absorbs you—the tenderness, the quality of humanity—and it's at the same time something that seems to belong to another world, something that belongs to a sacred sphere that you are a participant in. And when we went to London to look at this picture for acquisition, I thought, "I'm having the same experience before this picture," an ineffable presence—physically present and yet a messenger from another world. </p><p>There are two great monuments in the years around 1300 that redefined Western art: Giotto's cycle of frescos in the Arena Chapel in Padua, and the <i>Maestà</i> of Duccio in Siena. These are the two poles. They are the Sistine ceiling and the <i>Stanze</i> of Raphael in the sixteenth century; they are Picasso and Matisse in the early twentieth century. </p><p>So, I shared completely, Philippe, your love of this picture and your response to it. And it would be very difficult for me to articulate why this is so, but in front of this picture I have a magic moment. But if you were to say, "What is a transforming work of art?" I would say it's this: you seem to be aware of something intangible that you need to be in touch with. It's like a great piece of music. </p><p><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: I think the way that you speak about it and when you say "great piece of music," I'm instantly wanting to say it's that inner vibrato in the painting that touches us so. And I could ask you—and perhaps you could say a word or two—about its art historical place, the significance of the parapet. But what you, who are standing here with us, you listening to us, I think get out of this is that, in a sense, any art historical explanation that we can give you would simply cement your knowledge of the fact that it plays an enormous role in the birth of Western art. But it is that the art historical apparatus that would come from us is secondary to the effect that the picture has on us, as do very few, but this—a consummate work of art.</p><p><b>Keith Christiansen</b>: This, of course, is a fantastic step forward. Somebody's who's working within the heritage of Byzantine painting—Byzantine painting which represents figures primarily as hieroglyphs through a series of conventions that have been passed down, very beautiful conventions that are meant in the Platonic sense to represent things not as they appear but as ideas. </p><p>Duccio and Giotto, in different ways, moved painting from the realm of the idea to the realm of the felt, to the real. Duccio achieves this in two ways. There's this funny little parapet in the foreground with the little corbels—that he sets up an illusionistic basis that separates the pictorial fiction from the realm that we're living in. And then there's the tenderness of the action of the child pushing up the veil of the Virgin so he can get a better view. There's the emotional realm that opens up in this extraordinary—I don't want to say a sad face, but a melancholic face. She obviously has foreknowledge of what's going on, and it seems to well up from some other world. And then there's extraordinary modeling of the draping. Of course, blue is the crucial thing in early Italian paintings. It so frequently has changed, flattened, but here you have the beautiful modeling over her hand, over her arm. And I've always felt that Duccio was looking at Roman sculpture in this. As we know, both Duccio and Giotto looked upon themselves as reviving the Classical period, the great Roman period of painting.</p><p>So it's a picture that hovers between these two realms of the idea and the real that speaks both to our own personal experience—it's a mother and a child—but it's also the Mother of God and Jesus. And this is this extraordinary realm that Duccio explores: how do you maintain the sacred, but make it approachable and appreciable by ordinary people? </p><p><b>Philippe de Montebello</b>: Thank you, Keith. I think this was a wonderful explanation. And you, the visitor and the viewer, I think you will find that although from the point of view of the numbers of inches or centimeters this is a small picture, that it will grow to immense proportions in your imagination. Thank you. </p><p><b>Helen Evans</b>:This recorded conversation was produced in conjunction with "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions," on view at the Met through February 1, 2009. The exhibition was organized in tribute to Philippe deMontebello's thirty-one years as director of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Come to the Museum to take an audio tour of the galleries with Philippe and many of the Met's curators.</p><p>This has been an Antenna Audio production.</p> 028 The Essential Art of African Textiles: Design Without End The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Alisa LaGamma talks to artist Sokari Douglas Camp about her work, including the steel sculpture <i>Nigerian Woman Shopping</i>, which is featured in the special exhibition "The Essential Art of African Textiles: Design Without End." Curator Alisa LaGamma talks to artist Sokari Douglas Camp about her work, including the steel sculpture <i>Nigerian Woman Shopping</i>, which is featured in the special exhibition "The Essential Art of African Textiles: Design Without End." http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10142008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_028 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10142008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_028 {6EB15EDD-CFF8-4E7B-AA28-573CAB5230D5} http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={6EB15EDD-CFF8-4E7B-AA28-573CAB5230D5} Learn more about this exhibition. 028_african_textiles.B.jpg 028_african_textiles.S.jpg Tues, 14 Oct 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 13:23 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met african textiles www.metmuseum.org spex no <p><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: This is Alisa LaGamma at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, where I am curator of African art. And I’m speaking on the occasion of "The Essential Art of African Textiles: Design Without End," a special exhibition that we currently have on view in The Michael C. Rockefeller Wing. The exhibition explores Africa’s extraordinary legacy of textile arts with its explosive color and complex graphic statements, and includes some of the finest and earliest preserved examples of different regional textile traditions and relates them to works by eight contemporary artists. </p> <p>I’m speaking to Sokari Douglas Camp, the author of one of the works on view, entitled <a><i>Nigerian Woman Shopping</i></a>, and I was drawn to this piece in this particular context because of the bold manner in which the patterns of the textile worn by this monumental figure is accentuated very prominently. I think that it really brings to life so many of the historical pieces that surround it in this installation. Sokari, could you talk to me about the significance of the cloth that your <a><i>Nigerian Woman Shopping</i></a> is wearing? </p> <p><b>Sokari Douglas Camp</b>: The significance of the cloth is that it’s Dutch print, which is very popular in contemporary Nigerian society. And the patterns are cut out of thin sheets of steel and welded together. The patterns are moons and stars, and you can imagine the actual cloth, which actually would be very, very colorful. The piece of sculpture is just one tone. It’s black steel. And it’s just varnished and rather dark. And basically I’ve used steel to just draw in the air and the structure is like a cage—it’s not like, you know, a Greek statue, it’s more like a drawing in the air, or jetsam, I suppose, because it’s a collection of patterns just hanging in the air. Because that’s what steel can do. You know, you have little bits of steel just forming a huge structure.</p> <p>And the lady is very descriptive in that she has a hairstyle that is “wet look” hairstyle from the ’80s, and she’s wearing this vibrant fabric that a lot of Nigerians wore at this time. And basically it’s a snapshot of urban life, it’s a snapshot of contemporary life. And she’s carrying a bag, which is called a “Ghana must go" bag, because of the troubles between Ghana and Nigeria and Nigeria and Ghana—they were forever throwing each other out of each other’s countries, just because of—I don’t know—political problems. But I like making that sort of commentary in my work. And, funnily enough, things like that come up in textiles quite often, because people are telling stories. So I don’t feel that I’m having a conversation on my own. There’s lots of things that echo throughout the exhibition. </p> <p><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: This figure is over-lifesize and constructed from steel that you welded yourself. </p> <p>How do you sketch out an idea like this and then execute it? What are the different steps that you have to take to achieve something so ambitious? </p> <p><b>Sokari Douglas Camp</b>: When I start a piece of work, especially if it’s a dressed piece of work, I cut out a pattern. And it’s the pattern that holds the structure together, basically. The stars and the moon shapes are attached and form a sort of net. And I use this as the basic structure, the thing that holds up the sculpture. It’s the fabric that holds up the sculpture. And I’ve always liked and enjoyed dressing my work. I’ve seen more people dressed than naked, so it’s something that I like to describe as people in different types of clothing. And basically I just start off with a sheet of steel, cut a pattern into it, and then I lift it up as if I’m actually dressing somebody. Because I dress in these clothes myself, and so it’s very, very easy to sort of describe how it feels from the inside and the outside, when I’m making these structures. And the wonder of steel is that, you know, very thin sheets can stand up. </p> <p><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: Could you explain to us the role that textiles play in Nigerian society and specifically in the region where you spent your formative years? What is the role that cloth plays in culture that is so profound and important?</p> <p><b>Sokari Douglas Camp</b>: I’m Kalabari, I come from the Niger Delta, in Nigeria, and we live on a series of twenty-three islands and we’re a minority group in Nigeria. And cloth is a way of charting one’s growth, one’s status. As a child, you have a tiny piece of cloth that sort of hides your privates, and you graduate to something above your knee as a young girl. And then when you’re married, you have something that goes down to your ankle. And, you know, you can tell how old a woman is, or what state she’s in, by the way a woman dresses. And in Kalabari culture, all of this tells a story about someone.</p> <p>I think—in a strange way, we’re very material, because we collect cloth. These different cloths that we have come from all over the world. Kalabari people wear plaid or a tartan type of material that is worn also in Surinam and along the West African coast. We consider this to be traditional material, even though it comes from Madras. And we wear lacy tops from Manchester and Hayes headties from Switzerland. And we wear an awful lot of coral, which is a status thing. Fabric is a status thing. So the more fabric you have from different parts of the world, it counts as an heirloom.</p> <p>When we have funerals, we decorate rooms in material, and one of the first pieces that I made in steel, which is in the Smithsonian collection, is <a><i>Church Ede</i></a>, which is about the fabric that’s laid on the bed and the fact that a bed is used as part of the funeral ceremony. So fabric has always played a part in the work that I’ve done, just because it’s part of the fabric of Kalabari art. Masqueraders are dressed in costumes that change their shape. These masqueraded characters are spiritual characters. Women dress in different states to show that, you know, they're in mourning, or they're a young girl, or they're in their prime. They use fabric to make their hips so large and the ladies have to go around with a deck of coral and just a huge skirt, which is a bit like a Rara skirt, but it’s layers and layers of Madras <i>injiri</i> material, to pack the girl out, to show that she’s in her prime. So it’s always played a part in my life, so I use it like people would use paint. </p> <p><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: You’re an artist who was trained in the West but who addresses subjects that relate importantly to traditions in Africa that are historical and ongoing ones, and reference a region where sculpture is really the domain of men. How has that affected your formative experiences as an artist? </p> <p><b>Sokari Douglas Camp</b>: As an artist, I fell in love with steel, and being trained in the West, I quite happily just expressed myself with it. I didn’t really think about, you know, being African and </p> <p>staying true to my background or anything like that. Because that had nothing to do with my current life. I work in steel because it’s a fantastic material, and I can draw with it. You know, the textile shapes and things that I do are very thin and yet they make mighty objects. And that is the only thing that I concentrate on. </p> <p>As far as the art of sculpture being a male thing, it’s not just a male thing, actually. In my Kalabari culture, you’d have to be a priest or some sort of shaman-like person to make an object. So I did have some discomfort as a B.A. student, in that I felt that I might be making magic. [Laughs] But conversations with my family and things put me straight, that I wasn’t going after magic but was going after art. And that helped me a lot. I mean, Nigeria is my inspiration because there were such fantastic things that I saw as a child and I continue to see, when I visit my family, and—that I would like to talk about just because, you know, they’re fantastic. Masquerades are fantastic. The fact that we have oil that comes out of the ground in the Delta is fantastic. How Okada motorcycles are used as local transport is an incredible thing, because you don’t have a man turning into a machine like you would in the West. You have, you know, a man, a woman, another man, maybe, and a child as well, on a motorbike, you know, going somewhere. And it’s the conversations between the West and my traditional culture that follow me around everywhere, and so I feel that I have to express it, just because it’s a conversation that’s very personal and it’s actually all around us. </p> <p><a><i>Nigerian Woman Shopping</i></a> is a snapshot of a woman visiting London, actually, you know, Brixton Market, in the ’80s, when, you know, Nigeria’s currency was the same as the British currency. And Nigerians just hopped off planes, bought up what they could, and—which was an awful lot at that time—and then they left. But if you saw them from the distance, you knew who they were and, you know, which part of Nigeria they came from. </p> <p>And they were just there as an urban picture in the middle of London, you know, and a lovely surprise for me. Just because I recognize them. It’s recognizing my heritage, recognizing my contemporary life, and, you know, knowing a little bit more about myself. So it’s very personal, and yes, there are a lot of elements that I’ve had to deal with. And I love illustrating things about the figure, just because the figure is put into so many different situations in Nigeria. People do the most incredible things with masquerades and, you know, they struggle to do so much with motorbikes and machines. But they do it in a slightly different way from the Western way, and it’s very physical. My work is very physical. And I just echo the things that my brothers and sisters are doing, actually, just because even though I’m in London, it’s something that I seem to carry around with me. </p> <p><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: I want to thank Sokari Douglas Camp for joining us here in New York, all the way from London.</p> <p><b>Sokari Douglas Camp</b>: Thank you. </p> <p><b>Alisa LaGamma</b>: This is Alisa LaGamma at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. "The Essential Art of African Textiles: Design Without End" is on view at the Metropolitan Museum through March 2, 2009. </p> <p>The exhibition is made possible in part by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, Fred and Rita Richman, and The Ceil and Michael E. Pulitzer Foundation. </p> <p>It was organized by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in collaboration with The British Museum, London. </p> <p>This is an Antenna Audio production.</p> 027 Episode for Families: <i>Aesop’s Fables</i> The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Episode for Families: Enjoy the fundamental wisdom of Aesop's Fables in this episode, produced especially for younger audiences. Enjoy the fundamental wisdom of <i>Aesop’s Fables</i> in this episode, produced especially for younger audiences. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.2008.07.21.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_027 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.2008.07.21.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_027 epNum027 http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/ho/09/eustc/ho_1988.19.htm Learn more about this work of art. 027_met_kids_3.B.jpg 027_met_kids_3.S.jpg Mon, 21 Jul 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 5:22 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org family Aesop Fables family no <strong>Narrator</strong>: How about a story? Just sit back, relax, and get ready to listen, because it’s Story Time at the Met. <br/><br/>Once upon a time in the great forest, a lion lay down under a tree to take a nap. Soon a mouse came scurrying past. By mistake, the mouse ran over the lion’s nose. The lion awoke and snatched up the mouse to crush him.<br/><br/>“Please don’t eat me!” cried the mouse. “Let me go, and I promise one day, I'll return your kindness.”<br/><br/>The lion laughed at the thought that this tiny mouse might help him. He tossed the mouse away, went back to sleep, and forgot all about it. <br/><br/>Not long afterward, the lion fell into a hunter’s net. The lion roared until the mouse appeared. He gnawed through the ropes with his sharp, little teeth and set the lion free.<br/><br/>This story is called a fable. Many fables have talking animals, like "The Lion and the Mouse." A fable usually teaches a moral, or a lesson, about the way people should behave. In the fable of "The Lion and the Mouse" the moral is: "A little friend can be a great friend, indeed."<br/><br/>This fable is more than 2,500 old. It comes from ancient Greece, and may have been told by a legendary storyteller named Aesop. You may have heard some of <i>Aesop’s Fables</i>, like "The Tortoise and the Hare" or "The Fox and the Grapes." Here’s an Aesop’s fable you may not know. It’s called "The Frogs Asking for a King."<br/><br/>Once upon a time, the frogs decided that they should have a king to rule over them. So they sent a message to Zeus, the king of the Greek gods, and asked him to send them a king. Zeus knew that the frogs didn’t need a king, but to make them happy, he took a log and threw it down from the sky and it landed in the middle of the frog pond. <br/><br/>The frogs hid in the water until the waves died down. Then they peeked out and saw that the log—their king—wasn’t moving. Slowly they swam toward it, waiting for the log to move or speak. Eventually the bravest of the frogs jumped up and sat on the log.<br/><br/>Now the frogs realized that their king had no power at all. So they sent another message to Zeus, saying, “Send us a <i>real</i> king.” The god grew angry at this complaint so he sent a stork to rule over the frogs. <br/><br/>Of course, storks are birds that live around the water. They have long, pointed bills for catching food, like fish and frogs. So the stork, as king, gobbled up all of the frogs. The moral is: "It’s better to have a harmless ruler than a cruel one."<br/><br/>You can see pictures of "The Frogs Wanting a King" and of "The Lion and the Mouse" at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. They're in the European Decorative Art galleries. Look for a wooden cabinet made in Italy in the 1600s called the <i>pietre dure</i> cabinet. It’s covered with colored pictures made of <i>pietre dure</i>, or hard stone. These pictures illustrate stories from ancient Greece and Rome, like the Greek myth of Orpheus, the first musician. You’ll also see pictures from <i>Aesop’s Fables</i>, like the two we’ve heard today. And this one, called "The Fox and the Stork":<br/><br/>The fox invited the stork to her house for supper. When the stork got there, the fox served soup in a large, flat bowl. The stork dipped the tip of his long bill into the soup, but it was too shallow for him to drink a drop. The fox smiled as she lapped up all of the soup. But the stork didn’t complain. In fact, he invited the fox to <i>his</i> house for supper. So the next night, the fox sat down at the stork’s table and the stork served food in a deep jar with a long, narrow neck. He could dip his beak in and eat, but the fox couldn’t reach. Now it was <i>her</i> turn to go home hungry. <br/><br/>What do you think is the moral of this fable? What lesson does "The Fox and the Stork" teach us? Think about it and put it into your own words. <br/><br/>Well, that's it. Thanks for listening today to Story Time at the Met.<br/><br/>This has been an Antenna Audio production. 026 The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Helen Evans previews the exhibition "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions," which opens October 24, 2008. <span><font color="#64A8BD">Exhibition Dates: October 24, 2008–February 1, 2009</font></span><br/>Curator Helen Evans previews the exhibition "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions," which opens October 24, 2008. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.06302008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_026 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.06302008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_026 epNum026 http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={C8A554C3-9111-4994-8456-445CC54CC2B4} Learn more about the exhibition. 026_pdmYears.B.jpg 026_pdmYears.S.jpg Mon, 30 Jun 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 4:06 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org no javascript:void(0);"></a><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="javascript:metPopSmall('/audio/exhibitions/mp4/mmaExhibPodcast.06302008.mp4') View as a slideshow. (12 MB) <p><strong>Helen Evans</strong>: I'm Helen Evans and I have the honor of serving as the curator coordinating the special exhibition that The Metropolitan Museum of Art will open on October 24, 2008, in honor of Philippe de Montebello.<br /><br/> The show is the curators' salute to one aspect of his many accomplishments as Director—his acquisitions—and, by extension, to many more aspects of his career. The exhibition's signature image is the magnificent self-portrait of the painter Peter Paul Rubens with his family. It was a generous gift of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wrightsman to the Museum early in Philippe's career as Director and represents the standard he has inspired us to seek in all of our major acquisitions.<br /> <br /> As you know, Philippe is stepping down this year after thirty-one years as Director and additional years as curator and Vice Director. When he made his announcement to the staff, we immediately stood up and gave him a nearly ten-minute spontaneous standing ovation. In that spirit, the Museum's Forum of Curators, Conservators, and Scientists quickly brought forward the idea that we should recognize the importance of Philippe's tenure with an exhibition focusing on an area where we know him most—the process of acquiring works of art. That exhibition will be called "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions."<br /> <br /> All of the Museum's curatorial departments carefully selected works for the exhibition. The curatorial Director's Council offered their suggestions. The forum's members submitted their ideas as to the most transformative works that the Museum has acquired during Philippe's tenure.<br /> <br /> This was not easy, because we have acquired more than 84,000 works in his time here, so our department heads had to reduce their number to what could be accommodated in the Museum's largest special exhibition space, the Tisch Galleries. And, of course, Philippe recognized a few favorites that we all would want included, especially the Duccio.<br /> <br /> The final selection represents the breadth of the Museum's encyclopedic collections, extending across time, from a striding horned demon of the ancient world to the invention of modern photography and exciting high fashion; from the incredibly imposing portrait of America's Elijah Boardman of the eighteenth century to the equally imposing image of an Asian standing Buddha, a work that Philippe was intimately involved in acquiring; and from a wonderfully dramatic and compelling twelfth-century medieval European view of the end of the world to Africa's nineteenth-century equally compelling power figure.<br /> <br /> Philippe de Montebello has said that there could be no greater compliment than to have one's curators seek to celebrate one's efforts. We can only hope that he will be as happy with our results as he was in 1986, when Segovia gave him a concert before dedicating the instrument he was playing to the Museum. <br /> <br /> Do come next fall and see our tribute to Philippe—highlights of thirty years of the Museum's acquisitions, presented in new and often thought-provoking juxtapositions.<br /> <br />"The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions" will be on view at the Museum from October 24, 2008, through February 1, 2009. This is Helen Evans, the Mary and Michael Jaharis Curator for Byzantine Art at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.</p><p>This has been an Antenna Audio production.</p><p>[image captions]</p><p>[1] <br /> Philippe de Montebello examining the <i>Madonna and Child</i>, ca. 1300, by Duccio di Buoninsegna, which was acquired in 2004.</p><p>[2] <br /> Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577–1640). <i>Rubens, His Wife Helena Fourment (1614–1673), and Their Son Peter Paul (born 1637)</i>, probably late 1630s. Oil on wood. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wrightsman, in honor of Sir John Pope-Hennessy, 1981 (1981.238).</p><p>[3]<br /> <i>Ritual Figure: Statuette, kneeling man, royal ancestor</i> (Egyptian). Late Period or Early Ptolemaic Period, 380–246 B.C. Wood, formerly clad with lead sheet. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Anne and John V. Hansen Egyptian Purchase Fund, and Magda Saleh and Jack Josephson Gift, 2003 (2003.154).</p><p>[4]<br /> <i>Divan of Hafiz: Allegory of worldly and otherworldly drunkenness</i>. Safavid period, Shah Tahmasp, ca. 1526–27. Illustrated manuscript, folio. Opaque watercolor, ink and gold on paper. Promised Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Stuart Cary Welch Jr., Partially owned by The Metropolitan Museum of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Museum, Harvard University, 1988 (1988.430).</p><p>[5]<br /> <i>Armor of Infante Luis, Prince of Asturias</i>. Drouar, possibly André Drouart (French, Paris), 1712. Steel, gilt brass, fabric. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Armand Hammer Gift, 1989 (1989.3).</p><p>[6]<br /> Paul Gauguin (French, Paris 1848–1903). <i>Tahitian Faces (Frontal View and Profiles)</i>, ca. 1899. Charcoal on laid paper. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, The Annenberg Foundation Gift, 1996 (1996.418).</p><p>[7]<br /> <i>Support for a Water Basin</i>. Roman, Imperial, second century A.D. Porphyry. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1992 (1992.11.70).</p><p>[8]<br /> Giovanni Battista Foggini (Italian, 1652–1725). <i>Grand Prince Ferdinando de' Medici (1663–1713)</i>, ca. 1683–85. Marble; base of gray marble. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, The Annenberg Foundation Gift, 1993 (1993.332.2).</p><p>[9]<br /> Duccio di Buoninsegna (Italian, Sienese, active by 1278, died 1318). <i>Madonna and Child</i>, ca. 1300. Tempera and gold on wood. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Rogers Fund, Walter and Leonore Annenberg and The Annenberg Foundation Gift, Lila Acheson Wallace Gift, Annette de la Renta Gift, Harris Brisbane Dick, Fletcher, Louis V. Bell, and Dodge Funds, Joseph Pulitzer Bequest, several members of The Chairman's Council Gifts, Elaine L. Rosenberg and Stephenson Family Foundation Gifts, 2003 Benefit Fund, and other gifts and funds from various donors, 2004 (2004.440).</p><p>[10]<br /> <i>Striding Horned Demon</i>. Mesopotamia or Iran, Proto-Elamite period, ca. 3000 B.C. Arsenical copper. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Lila Acheson Wallace Gift, 2007 (2007.280).</p><p>[11]<br /> Onesipe Aguado (French, 1827–1894). <i>[Woman Seen from the Back]</i>, ca. 1862. Salted paper print from glass negative. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Gilman Collection, Purchase, Joyce F. Menschel Gift, 2005 (2005.1001.1).</p><p>[12]<br /> Paul Poiret (French, 1879–1944). <i>Coat</i>, Paris, 1919. Silk, wool, metallic thread. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Friends of The Costume Institute Gifts, 2005 (2005.207).</p><p>[13]<br /> Ralph Earl (American, 1751–1801) <i>Elijah Boardman</i>, 1789. Oil on canvas. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Bequest of Susan W. Tyler, 1979 (1979.395).</p><p>[14]<br /> <i>Standing Buddha</i>. India (Uttar Pradesh, Mathura), Gupta period, 5th century. Mottled red sandstone. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Enid A. Haupt Gift, 1979 (1979.6).</p><p>[15]<br /> <i>Manuscript Leaf</i>, Spanish (Castile), Romanesque, ca. 1180. Tempera, gold and ink on parchment, metal leaf. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, The Cloisters Collection, Rogers and Harris Brisbane Dick Funds, and Joseph Pulitzer Bequest, 1991 (1991.232.10).</p><p>[16]<br /> <i>Power Figure: Nkisi N'Kondi</i>. Democratic Republic of Congo or Angola; Kongo, second half of 19th century. Wood, metal resin, shell. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Lila Acheson Wallace, Laura and James J. Ross, Daniel and Marion Malcolm, Robert T. Wall, Jeffrey B. Soref, Sidney and Bernice Clyman, and Steven M. Kossak Gifts, 2008 (2008.30).</p><p>[17]<br /> Hermann Hauser (German, 1882–1952). <i>Guitar</i>, 1937. Wood. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Gift of Emilita Segovia, Marquesa of Salobreña, 1986 (1986.353.1).<br /> <br />[18]<br /> Philippe de Montebello in the galleries with Andrés Segovia on the occasion of three of Segovia's guitars being donated to the Metropolitan Museum. Photograph 1986 (c) Richard Lombard.</p><p>[19]<br /> Vincent van Gogh (Dutch, 1853–1890). <i>Wheat Field with Cypresses</i>, 1889. Oil on canvas. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, The Annenberg Foundation Gift, 1993 (1993.132).<br /></p> 025 Work of Art: A Conversation with Marco Leona, Joan Mertens, and Mark Abbe The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York A scientist, a curator, and an archaeologist discuss the exciting discoveries revealed by the scientific analyses of an ancient Greek funerary stele. A scientist, a curator, and an archaeologist discuss the exciting discoveries revealed by the scientific analyses of an ancient Greek funerary stele. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.06022008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_025 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.06022008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_025 epNum025 http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/pfmh/ho_04.17.2.htm Learn more about this work of art. 025_science_festival.B.jpg 025_science_festival.S.jpg Mon, 02 Jun 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 11:31 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org scientific research world science festival Marco Leona Joan Mertens Mark Abbe Leon Levy Shelby White Court Greek Roman funerary stele woa no <strong>Marco Leona</strong>: I'm Marco Leona, the head of the Scientific Research Department at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. I'm here in the New Greek and Roman Galleries, looking at an ancient Greek funerary stele from the late fourth to early third century <small>B.C.</small> I'm with two colleagues who have been studying this object with me from two perspectives that are very different than mine: Joan Mertens, Curator in the Greek and Roman Art Department; and Mark Abbe, doctoral candidate in archaeology at New York University.<br /><br /><strong>Joan Mertens</strong>: The object that we're looking at is a tombstone and it was made and it was found in northern Egypt in the area around Alexandria. And during this time, which we call the Hellenistic period, Alexandria was an extremely important center with a very cosmopolitan and international population. And in the cemeteries there, we have evidence, especially from inscriptions, of the many foreigners who were buried there, and we know that quite a few of them were mercenaries. The object that we are looking at is very traditional in many respects, and this is why the opportunity of working with two scientific colleagues is so exciting, because it opens up entirely new perspectives that curatorial people like us would not otherwise be aware of.<br /><br />The form of the tombstone, with a pediment on the top and this architectural aspect, was really established at the end of the fifth, the early fourth century <small>B.C.</small> on the Greek mainland and particularly in Athens. And the subject that we have here of someone who has died, who was taking leave of his family—this also has been known on the Greek mainland since the end of the fifth century <small>B.C.</small> And even the fact that there is painted decoration is also, at this time, nothing new. What is very new and very exciting is what our scientific colleagues have been able to discover.<br /><br /><strong>Mark Abbe</strong>: We first examined this stele under a microscope, and then you'll notice all of the different colors that you see. And we did a series of material analyses using X-ray fluorescence spectroscopy, X-ray diffraction, and other techniques that allow us to identify the pigments that you see. One of the fascinating things in our study of this piece is that the yellow pigment that you see on the garment of the central figure is, in fact, a new pigment, unidentified to date. It is a lead-arsenate mineral known as mimetite, and if you scan the Mediterranean basin and look for where this specific mineral may have been found, we find it really in only one place in any degree of significant concentration: the silver mines of Athens at Lavrion, which we know were in their peak of production in the fourth century. It was the silver from these mines that really funded the Athenian empire, in a way. And the discovery of mimetite at these mines really has, to date, not been properly recognized.<br /><br />Mimetite appears naturally as a yellow particle on the exterior, forming almost like a crust, on the dark, black, galena silver ore. And so, what appears to be the case here is that an artisan or someone working in the mines scraped this yellow crust off and began to use it as a pigment in the Greek palette. This mineral was presumably imported into Alexandria where it was used on the stele.<br /><br /><strong>Marco Leona</strong>: Mimetite was not the only yellow pigment available in the ancient classical world. An artist would have had a choice of pigments such as ochre—so, iron oxides that are extremely abundant and widely found—or the more rare and costly orpiment, which is a very warm, rich yellow-in fact, it means "the color of gold". What is significant here with the discovery and use of mimetite is really the connection to an Athenian formation for these artists. The fact that the pigment would have been immediately available and noticeable by artists in Athens. It probably, when originally painted, was a very bright, highly reflective yellow, because that's one of the characteristics of lead pigments—they have high refractive indexes, which, in turn, give a very strong color contrast.<br /><br />The artists in the classical world had access to a variety of pigments of all colors, and that's also significant for us—if you want, from a different perspective than the art historian or the conservator, that of a scientist—because it opens a window into the chemical and scientific knowledges of our ancestors. They would have used a variety of minerals, finely crushed, such as mimetite, such as the ochres ranging from yellow to brown to orange to red. They would have access to natural and semi-synthetic pigments, such as the various lead pigments—lead-white, red-lead. They had discovered—a discovery inherited from the Egyptian tradition—synthetic mineral pigments, such as Egyptian blue. And they had even mastered the art of turning vegetal or insect extract into color, and those would be bright shades of pink that were obtained by fixing the juices of some roots on clays or on alumina—a technique that we find, up to this day, in the use of natural dyes for textiles.<br /><br /><strong>Mark Abbe</strong>: One of the great things about understanding the materials that an artist used is it really allows us insight into the working practices of ancient artists. If you look at this stele, at the center, you'll see the central figure—his hair appears to be blue. It did not appear this way in antiquity. Rather, this is actually the Egyptian blue that Marco mentioned, and it was used as an under-paint to obtain a very rich, complex, black tone. The whole reverse of the painted scene that you see at the center of this stele was prepared with a lead-white ground. This was a new innovation during the Greek classical period and it allowed the painter to really maximize the color effect and color values obtained through the different pigments that Marco has been mentioning.<br /><br /><strong>Marco Leona</strong>: Now, one question that any visitor would have is how is this scientific work done, and what it requires, both of the scientists at the Museum and of the piece that's being examined. What we have here is an object that has survived for 2,300 years. It looks as—most of the color is gone, the image is somewhat fragmentary, but we should regard the fact that there's an image at all as exceptional. Very few works survive from classical antiquity with their entire polychromy extant. So for us, in a museum, it's extremely important to respect the integrity of the piece. Now, analytical chemistry requires, very often, a pretty invasive approach. Something has to be removed and then processed in our instrument.<br /><br />Here at the Museum, we specialize in obtaining analytical information without this type of invasive approach. So some of the techniques that have been used, such as X-ray fluorescence spectroscopy, can be applied in a completely noninvasive way. It's a small instrument that approaches the surface of the piece, shoots X-rays at the pigments, and captures the scattering of these X-rays and the interaction of the primary X-rays with the substrate, deriving a fingerprint for each type of pigment. Other approaches include Raman spectroscopy, where a laser beam is used to excite a response in the minerals present in the pigment layer. That, in turn, gives rise to a fingerprint spectrum of the material used.<br /><br />Finally—and that's actually how we analyzed mimetite, identified mimetite—something that's required for the most complex and difficult cases, we may have to remove a microscopic fragment, in this case something in the order of 20, 30, 50 microns, which is, commonly, the diameter of a human hair. That small fragment was then analyzed in an instrument called an X-ray diffractometer, which gave the crystallographic fingerprint of the mineral mimetite. All this work, of course, is done in collaboration with the curatorial and conservation department. You can imagine that the importance of the piece, the correct identification of the painting layers, the remains of polychromy, and the scope of the analysis—the sampling required—require a constant consultation between the professionals involved in the study.<br /><br /><strong>Joan Mertens</strong>: This is, really, the most exciting part of such a collaboration, and this is the very exciting aspect of what can be done here in the Museum, that a variety of disciplines—some which are relatively traditional, such as the curatorial disciplines, with a long tradition of scholarship and of visual analysis—that we're able to come together with pros in the contemporary disciplines of science and open up entirely new aspects and horizons about, in most cases, relatively well-known classes of material. But through these new processes, they gain entirely unexpected and extraordinarily exciting new dimensions.<br /><br /><strong>Marco Leona</strong>: If you would like to learn more about how collaborative work in art, conservation, and science can lead to new discoveries about works of art, we invite you to come to The Metropolitan Museum of Art to hear a new Audio Guide program: "Investigations: Art, Conservation, and Science." Information about the Metropolitan Museum and its programs is available at metmuseum.org.<br /><br />The Audio Guide program at the Metropolitan Museum is sponsored by Bloomberg.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 024 Episode for Families: Peach Blossom Spring The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Discover the peaceful tranquility of Peach Blossom Spring in this story originally told seventeen hundred years ago by the poet Tao Qian. Discover the peaceful tranquility of Peach Blossom Spring in this story originally told seventeen hundred years ago by the poet Tao Qian. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.2008.03.31.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_024 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.2008.03.31.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_024 epNum024 024_family_peach.B.jpg 024_family_peach.S.jpg Mon, 31 Mar 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 5:06 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org family Peach Blossom Spring Tao Qian China family no <strong>Narrator</strong>: How about a story? Just sit back, relax, and get ready to listen, because it's Story Time at the Met.<br /><br />This story takes place in China, long, long ago. In the ancient city of Wu-ling lived a fisherman. One day this fisherman set sail along a river, looking for fish to catch.<br /><br />As he followed the stream, the fisherman lost track of where he was. Without realizing it, he sailed farther than he'd ever gone before. All at once, he found himself floating through a beautiful forest of blossoming peach trees.<br /><br />The flowers on the peach trees filled the air with fluttering petals and a delicate fragrance. The fisherman sailed on to where the peach grove ended. And there he found a spring of fresh water flowing out of the ground beside a hill. The fisherman thought, "I will call this place Peach Blossom Spring."<br /><br />Then he saw an opening in the hillside, like the mouth of a cave. Light glimmered inside the cavern. So the fisherman left his boat to investigate.<br /><br />Inside the hill was a passageway so narrow that he had to turn sideways and inch his way through. After a few dozen steps, the fisherman came out into the light of day again. He found himself in a strange new land filled with fields, orchards, and gardens. Footpaths flowed through the countryside, from one beautiful, old house to another. People bustled everywhere, hard at work. But everyone wore a smile.<br /><br />Then a woman saw the fisherman. "Who are you," she asked, "and where did you come from?" When he told her his story, the woman invited him back to her home for dinner. As they went home, she told friends, "Here's a stranger from the outside world!" The news spread and people came from miles around to meet the fisherman. They told him how their forefathers had discovered this hidden world long ago and that none of them had ever been outside. "What's it like out there now?" they asked. The fisherman told them how kings and empires came and went, how nations made war, and sickness and hunger threatened the world. The people answered, "Please don't tell the outside world about us. Let us go on living here in peace."<br /><br />But as the fisherman crept back through the hillside, he decided he <em>had</em> to tell the world about this place. He marked the location of the spring along the riverbank so he could find his way back. Then he sailed home and told the authorities what he'd seen. The fisherman took witnesses back along the river to show them the place. But they never found the marks the fisherman had left, or the peach grove, or the spring. And since that time, no one has found the way to Peach Blossom Spring.<br /><br />The poet Tao Qian told this story around seventeen hundred years ago. Since that time, many Chinese writers have described the world of nature as peaceful and happy, like the world of Peach Blossom Spring. People with lots of worries and responsibilities—like the men who served the Chinese emperor—built gardens in their homes to remind them of the world of nature. Their gardens had walls to shut out the city with its noise and distractions—what writers called "the dusty world."<br /><br />You can escape from the dusty world next time you visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Ask for directions to the Astor Court. Inside the Astor Court you'll find a re-created Chinese scholar's garden. You can enter the garden through a round door called a "moon gate." It's like going into a cave and coming out in another world, like the fisherman in "Peach Blossom Spring." Inside you'll find a courtyard with a spring of water—another reminder of the story. Look around the courtyard for big rocks standing like statues. These rocks came from the bottom of a lake. Water eroded them into strange and fantastic shapes. Chinese scholars collected these rocks as examples of the perfect beauty found in nature.<br /><br />Thanks for listening to Story Time at the Met.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 023 Gustave Courbet The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Gary Tinterow visits the New York studio of the painter John Currin to discuss the special exhibition <em>Gustave Courbet</em>. Curator Gary Tinterow visits the New York studio of the painter John Currin to discuss the special exhibition <em>Gustave Courbet</em>. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03032008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_023 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03032008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_023 {13F483EC-3584-41B6-913A-1FE9D6181CBB} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 03 Mar 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 14:32 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Gustave Courbet Gary Tinterow John Currin spex no <strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Hello, I'm Gary Tinterow. I'm curator of nineteenth-century, modern, and contemporary art and one of the curators of the <em>Gustave Courbet</em> exhibition, which is currently at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. And I have the great fortune of being in the studio of the New York painter John Currin, who has admired Courbet's work for a long time and makes reference to it in his own painting. And we're here having a discussion about Courbet and what's meaningful about his work to him.<br /><br />John, I've read that the Courbet exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum of Art had a big impact on you when you saw that exhibition. Can you say something about what that experience was like for you?<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: Well, I'd been told to see it by my friend Carl Ostendarp, an abstract painter. But he was a Courbet freak from when we were in school together. I had been kind of flailing around with a kind of joke-y version of figuration, after having been a kind of New York School-type artist and painter in art school. I'd been feeling that I was moving toward figuration. And kind of yearning to throw away the kind of, what I thought of as progressive abstract style. Seeing the—the show was so weird and so strange and so kind of serious, yet utterly bombastic and. . . . In a way he has no sense of humor, which is kind of the cool thing. They're the funniest paintings, the weirdest paintings by kind of a humorless person. And normally, if someone had said that to me, I'd say "I'm not going to like this artist." But it's his—his seriousness is kind of the weirdest thing about them. Also, the idea of painting things that already look like paint, you know, like snow and soil and flesh, as if it's just a sort of simple translation into paint. And also the crazy palette knife work and the closeness of some aspects of the paintings to what we think of as like thrift-store painting, Bob Ross or, you know, just crummy views of Montmartre. There's actually a loud echo in Courbet's work of what we think of as schlock painting. And that—that was kind of my insecurity and inhibition about figurative painting in the first place. So to see it full bore in Courbet was a huge experience for me.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Well, you're talking a bit about his technique and his use of palette knife and rags and his fingers, et cetera, in order to make illusionistic passages in his paintings. When you say "schlock art," I assume you're talking about some of those landscapes. As you know, he produced many landscapes, some of those with assistants, et cetera. But when you look at the figure paintings, it's hard to use the word "schlock."<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: Well, you know, I mean, I say that with the most awe, you know, and. . . there's a tastelessness to them, I guess is what I mean, at least to our eyes. There's a kind of vulgarity that I found totally refreshing and freed me up to make—you know, a lot of the problem with being a figurative artist now is the automatic badness that's so easy to achieve right off the bat. You know, the kitsch aspect. And whether or not you're going to sort of, you know, go down those rapids or not, and either do it ironically or avoid it altogether and become a kind of classicist, or become a realist . . . you know, Courbet is like—he's like the worst defender, in a way, and also the greatest exponent of, like, a modern realist approach to painting.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Well, many people think that Courbet was one of the first modern artists. People have been looking for who that figure was. Was it David? Was it Manet? Many people vote for Courbet. What aspect of his art would you identify as modern, especially since, when you look at the exhibition, and you visit it, you see a lot of dark paintings, and he seems very Old Masterly, Rembrandt-like, seventeenth-century Spanish painting. I think when, you know, you have the concept of modern art and you come at the beginning of the exhibition, you think, "Whoa, this feels like an Old Master exhibition." But many artists such as you really identify with his work and see this modern element. So how would you characterize that?<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: Well, I always felt there was an alternate route to contemporary life and art via Courbet, rather than Cézanne and the kind of progressive flattening . . . I wouldn't say that actually about Cézanne, but you know what I mean. A kind of progression through Impressionism to Cézanne to Picasso to, you know, the sort of death of painting and rise of sculpture. And so, I always felt like you could sort of see the nuttiness of Dada and of Neue Sachlichkeit, of, really of most of Surrealism and Dada, and actually Duchamp, latent in Courbet.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: You said he was humorless, and I think part of what you mean is there's not evident irony in his pictures. But he was constantly in the face of the arts administration. He was trying to rile up the public, develop controversy, and as you know, he was challenging conventional mores and taste with, say, the sexual aspect of some of his pictures. Although the sexiest images in the exhibition were meant for private consumption only and were not ever publicly exhibited during his lifetime, not until the twentieth century. You have a series that you're working on here in the studio of images with pornography. How does Courbet's approach to that subject or aspect of human sexuality inform your work?<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: I always found it curious that Courbet was described as a realist. First of all, the drawing is absolutely nutty and there's a lack of academic polish and a self-taught aspect, which is another reason why I was drawn to it. Because I sort of feel like everyone's in the same beginning position as Courbet was. Although Courbet himself, you know, had way better training than any of us would have now. But compared to his peers, it was substandard. Which is a blessing, because he—and this gets me to my point about the bodies—is that there's a kind of weird, eyes-closed, made-up, and naïve aspect to his anatomy, notwithstanding this incredible ass coming out of the water and the sort of . . . there's a combination of accuracy and just complete, kind of, naïve thrift-store anatomy and physiognomy in his work that's just . . . which I was sort of trying to think of as a way of approaching pornographic images. You know, half made-up, partly using the accuracy and the kind of authority of the photograph, but then going off into this—there's a kind of inept, imaginative aspect to his figures that I guess I'm trying to emulate.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: We have in the exhibition a number of pornographic images—photographs—several of which were found in Courbet's studio, so we know he had them and he used them, and he used them as visual aids, just like artists like yourself are using. Do you find any kinship with his use of photographic images and then the result that you see in the painting?<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: I found that totally shocking, that nineteenth-century artists used photographs. Of course, I was completely heartened. Because it's one of my big, you know—at least for me, there's always a background of guilt if you use any photographic material. I don't know why, but it's just like, you can't draw, and it's a kind of relief to find that artists who could draw also used them.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Well, you know, it's interesting, the photographs often replicate the poses. I mean, we can find a number of poses in famous paintings by Courbet in contemporary photography and especially in pornographic photography contemporary to him. But what you don't get in that photography, especially because many of them are small, is the illusion of the flesh, is his painting of body hair. And that is what is so extraordinary about Courbet's work, is that extraordinary facility he obtained.<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: And that's the aspect that is absolutely not naïve, and not inept, and not thrift-store, and not—is . . . the rendering of surfaces and of textures is absolutely uncanny and that's where his paintings really rise to the level of any of the Old Masters.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: In a number of your works, you've actually quoted from Courbet. Like in your painting called <em>The Gardeners</em>, you replicate the poses of <em>The Stonebreakers</em>.<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: It wasn't intentional. Believe it or not, it wasn't intentional. People have much more photographic memories than they're aware of. I think I do have a much more accurate memory than it seems like I do. Especially visually, obviously not verbally. But by the time I was halfway through the painting, I realized, "Oh my God, it's the guy from <em>The Stonebreakers</em>." But actually the picture came from a little advertisement that I found. But I think in the back of my mind, the reason I picked that little advertisement out was because it reminded me of <em>The Stonebreakers</em>. I just wasn't aware of it. Little things like that lodge in your brain, and I think you—and especially when it's unconscious, there's no inhibition about completely ripping it off and using it.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Have you learned anything from his use of glazes, for example, in addition to his some of his scumbling and other things?<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: Well, I don't think he has a systematic approach. And I'm not sure he made underpaintings, like the sort of, you know, a cold, a dead color underpainting. I think they're kind of opaque. So in that sense they're not really glazed, not in a systematic way.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: No, but I think when he's finishing a figure, especially a female figure, a lot of the shadows are laid in with glazes. But he's using those, you know, mixing a lot of lead white into his flesh tones.<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: I think you're right about the shadows. The shadows, I think, are painted cold. They're painted in black and white. And then, I think, actually, those are glazed. And then there's a lot of opaque. You know, but they're weird. And that's been a constant . . . you know, I've been trying to learn how to do it, and just sort of what his approach is. He's the only artist that really glazes heavily over thick paint, which normally would mean the painting is going to crack apart, but for some reason it doesn't in his case. Which also leads me to the idea that you can kind of do anything you want in painting as long as you mean it. And then somehow the paint doesn't crack, I don't know. But I've been trying to understand how he sort of . . . what his rationale is for, like, when he paints thick, when he paints thin. And I don't think there is any rationale. I think it's just sort of when it looked good was when it was done.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: You know, Courbet cultivated notoriety and was, as we discussed, challenging conventions and sending . . . you know, nudity, but in a way that was un-idealized . . . there was a lot of nudity, a lot of sex, in the annual Salon in Paris, but usually they were clothed in mythology, and there was a polite agreement among all the visitors that yes, we can look at this titillating nude, but she's really Venus in the waves. What Courbet brought to this was a new sensibility which was showing the body hair, showing dirty feet, saying "This isn't a Venus, this is a real naked woman in a house much like your own." And that added, of course, to the eroticism of those pictures, certainly to the viewers. They were shocking to a lot of sensibilities. You're doing pornography paintings now that are very explicit. Do you feel any kinship with Courbet's method of garnering attention and using notoriety to bring attention to his own art?<br /><br /><strong>John Currin</strong>: No. I don't know what that felt like to see the Courbet after being . . . there's a leftover shocking aspect, but I think that's more the way they're painted. In doing pornography, it's almost the opposite. It's such an inevitable image. It's like the default image. First of all, virtually all advertising has pornographic entrails, and, you know, so that sort of, I guess it informs how I make them, but I don't think I set out to shock anybody. If I second-guess anything, it's the eye-rolling aspect of, "Oh, somebody's doing porno for the 50,000th time." So I don't think it's the same. In a way, it's the exact opposite of what Courbet maybe was doing.<br /><br />You know, in a way, it's . . . the eye, for instance, in <em>Women on the Banks of the Seine</em>—it's really uncanny how pornographic that eye is. But also, the line around the face, in this deep red-black, it's . . . you have a vague feeling that you ought not to be this close to it, or you shouldn't be looking at it. It feels naughty and you can't figure out why.<br /><br /><strong>Narrator</strong>: <em>Gustave Courbet</em> will be on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art through May 18, 2008.<br /><br />The exhibition is made possible by The Philip and Janice Levin Foundation and the Janice H. Levin Fund.<br /><br />It was organized by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the Réunion des Musées Nationaux and the Musée d'Orsay, Paris, and the Communauté d'agglomération de Montpellier/Musée Fabre, Montpellier.<br /><br />The exhibition is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 022 Interview with El Anatsui The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Alisa LaGamma talks to artist El Anatsui about his work, including the sculpture <em>Between Earth and Heaven</em>, which was recently installed in the African art galleries. Curator Alisa LaGamma talks to artist El Anatsui about his work, including the sculpture <em>Between Earth and Heaven</em>, which was recently installed in the African art galleries. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01212008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_022 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01212008.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_022 epNum022 http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/ho/11/sfg/ho_2007.96.htm Learn more about this work of art. 022_el-anatsui.B.jpg 022_el-anatsui.S.jpg Mon, 21 Jan 2008 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 11:48 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org African El Anatsui Between Heaven and Earth sculpture woa no <strong>Alisa LaGamma</strong>: Hello, this is Alisa LaGamma and I'm the curator of African art here at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I'm with El Anatsui, who's visiting us from Nigeria this week. It's the week that he has opened a major exhibition of his work and it's the day that he's just installed a wonderful piece in the Museum's collection that we acquired in 2006. <br /><br />The title of this work that you created in 2006 is <em>Between Heaven and Earth</em>. Can you explain a little bit how you selected this particular title for the work that's on view here?<br /><br /><strong>El Anatsui</strong>: The fact that is this, we live in many dimensions of the world: the physical one—solid earth and with bone and skin—and then the cyberworld, which is intangible. I think most of the time we are caught in between the two of them, we are left in some abeyance. We are left between heaven, which I think the cyberworld, you know, the nearest description of, and earth. And in kind of trying to get at this title, I looked at the elements that I used in the work and saw that a proportion of elements which were open, you could see through them. <br /><br /><strong>Alisa LaGamma</strong>: They were transparent.<br /><br /><strong>El Anatsui</strong>: You know, they were more transparent than the lower one—which is the lower section, which is dense, you know. That's the physical and then the ethereal.<br /><br /><strong>Alisa LaGamma</strong>: One of the things that strikes me when I look at your work and when I hear other people talk about it is how astonished they are by the beauty of the work. Everyone that I've heard react to your sculpture of the last few years says how aesthetically beautiful they find it. In the contemporary art world, it's very rare that an artist creates things that have this dimension of beauty in them. How do you feel being an artist who is creating works that have that effect? Is it unintentional?<br /><br /><strong>El Anatsui</strong>: No, it's not unintentional. I think I always combine content and form in my work, and therefore you can't run away from the works looking beautiful. But then they don't end at beauty only, you know, they have contents. And the content can be gleaned by getting closer and seeing what the work is made of and trying to get some ideas out of what those materials would mean. And—like drink bottle tops, you know, liquid bottle tops, they could come with some names which could be telltale or have some ring about them, and there have been times that we sat down to list the number of titles, or names of drinks that whose tops we've used. And they are a lot more, ringing like a sociological study, or a historical study, or a political study of our environment. So that when people, well, who are careful, or more probing, get close, they can get all this beyond the beauty. <br /><br /><strong>Alisa LaGamma</strong>: It seems to me that your work is very much in step with concerns that all of us are feeling for the way that we're creating waste that is crowding our living environment, and that you're creating works that take that waste and transform them into something not only thought-provoking but beautiful. Can you explain a little bit the process whereby you look for interesting materials to work with as a sculptor?<br /><br /><strong>El Anatsui</strong>: I think for a long—well, since I left art school, I've been an artist who has been given to searching my environment, you know, for material to work with and I want it to be material that relates to the people, you know, to people, not something that is distant from them. Let me give an example. If, for instance, I worked with bronze, it's distant. People, they don’t relate to it. But if I pick a Coca-Cola can—everybody knows what a Coca-Cola can is and can relate to it.<br /><br />As an artist, I think that I should work with processes and media that are immediately around me. And in Africa, just like everywhere in the world—like yester night, we went on a little walk and saw the huge quantities of waste that people brought out and put on the street for the trucks to come and collect. And I thought, "We create . . . we create waste." But I think there's more waste created in other parts than we do, you know. And as an artist, I think—have always even advised to my students to work with materials that you don't have to spend anything to—where they have the freedom to play around. You know, most of the times, art has a huge element of play, has a huge level of play in it. And you can't play with something which is expensive. <br /><br /><strong>Alisa LaGamma</strong>: Could you describe a little bit what some of the great forms of classical African art that have been meaningful to you are, that have inspired you in your own work? I assume that you have looked a lot at textiles and how important a place they have in sub-Saharan Africa.<br /><br /><strong>El Anatsui</strong>: Yeah, not only textiles but sculptural forms. Yeah, I am basically a sculptor. And textile seems to be coming in because of this format that I use now, which is the sheet format. And therefore the closest thing that people associate them with is textile. But actually should be looked at more as sculpture. I do look at works of sculpture and textile, and everything from all over the place. And they do, I am sure, influence me. You know, but most of the time it's a very unconscious thing. <br /><br /><strong>Alisa LaGamma</strong>: I read once that you said that as an art student in Ghana that you paid special attention to observing traditional weavers and carvers and casters and that you had great respect for the processes that they work with and were very engaged with responding to those traditions.<br /><br /><strong>El Anatsui</strong>: Yeah. In school, I think that what we were exposed to was more like—my school was affiliated to an art school in England. And faculty largely from outside of Africa, and a few African members of the faculty were there. And the result was that, toward the end of our course, for instance, some of us began to think or to see that there was something missing, you know. The local component wasn't much there in what we were exposed to. And that led me to—luckily, the National Cultural Center of Ghana is in the town where the university was, that's Kumasi. And I used to go there to sit down and watch all these carvers and textile artists, drummers and all kinds of musicians, and that was where I got influence from, of, or got an attraction for, to, the arts and crafts sides. Which were attractive to me on account of the fact that they were handling very abstract concepts. And I thought that was very interesting, you know. And these were very intriguing to me and therefore I spent some time—many years, about four or five years—trying to replicate the motions of artists who created these forms or signs. In order to have a feel of what it was like the—and I went, kind of trying to kind of indigenize or add a little bit of a local component to what I'd been exposed to in school, in order to become a more rounded artist.<br /><br /><strong>Alisa LaGamma</strong>: Now, very soon after you finished art school, you left Ghana and you went to work in Nigeria, and you've been working there ever since. And I wonder if leaving the place where you studied and you grew up wasn't an important part of being a very inventive artist, being able to break away from—<br /><br /><strong>El Anatsui</strong>: Yeah, I think it might be through that leaving one's—well, the environment that you grew up in, yeah, could be a very good catalyst in the sense that when you are away from a place, you know, you have a more intense feeling of it. And in the sense, also, that you are exposed to new stimuli, so you are combining what you left, which is now intense, with new stimuli. And I think that was—that's what has happened in my case. <br /><br /><strong>Alisa LaGamma</strong>: Thank you very much, El, for joining us today. It was really quite an extraordinary morning and we hope that people will take a lot of pleasure out of seeing your magnificent work on view in our galleries.<br /><br /><strong>El Anatsui</strong>: Thank you.<br /><br /><strong>Alisa LaGamma</strong>: This has been an Antenna Audio production. 021 Episode for Families: Ananse the Spider The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York This episode, produced for younger audiences ages 7–12, features an African folk tale and is inspired by a linguist staff (<em>oykeame</em>) in the Museum's collection. Narrated by actor Ronnie Washington. This episode, produced for younger audiences ages 7–12, features an African folk tale and is inspired by a linguist staff (<em>oykeame</em>) in the Museum's collection. Narrated by actor Ronnie Washington. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.2007.12.24.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_021 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/family/mmaFamilyPodcast.2007.12.24.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_021 epNum021 http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/ho/11/sfg/hod_1986.475a-c.htm Learn more about this work of art. 021_family_ananse.B.jpg 021_family_ananse.S.jpg Mon, 24 Dec 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 6:01 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org African folk tale Ananse Spider linguist staff oykeame family no <strong>Narrator</strong>: Would you like me to tell you a story? Then sit back, relax, and get ready to listen, because it's Story Time at the Met.<br /><br />Today I'm going to tell a story from West Africa about Ananse the Spider, who brought wisdom to the earth. It's a story told by the Akan people in the Republic of Ghana. <br /><br />Long, long, long ago, when the world was new, the Creator made Ananse the Spider. The Spider was a clever creature, always playing tricks on the others to get what he wanted. But the Spider was not wise. So he couldn't understand why his tricks always ended up getting him in trouble. <br /><br />One day Ananse the Spider sat in his web, high in a tree, watching all the creatures below on the Earth and up in the sky above. The Spider said to himself, "I have less wisdom than any of the other creatures. Except for my children, of course: they know nothing at all!" So down the tree climbed the Spider to look for some wisdom.<br /><br />The first creature he met was the Ant busily rustling through the leaves. "Friend Ant," said Ananse, "You must get tired carrying all your wisdom with you everywhere. Why don't you leave it here with me? I'll guard your wisdom for you until you need it."<br /><br />Now, the Ant was wise, but he wasn't clever, so he never guessed the Spider might be tricking him. So the Ant set down his wisdom and scurried away. <br /><br />The moment he was gone, the Spider carried the Ant's wisdom back up the tree. <br /><br />"Now I have a little wisdom," thought Ananse the Spider. "But I need more." <br /><br />So he climbed all the way up to the top of the tree.<br /><br />Then the Eagle came flying overhead, carrying its wisdom in its talons.<br /><br />"Friend Eagle," said the Spider, "you must get tired carrying all of that wisdom. Why not let me guard it for you until you need it?" Now, the Eagle was wise and clever. He knew at once the Spider meant to trick him. The Eagle screamed with laughter.<br /><br />"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha... Spider, you trickster!" said the Eagle. "Can't you think of a better way to get some wisdom than to steal it?" The Eagle laughed so hard that he dropped a bit of wisdom. So the Spider caught it up and ran back to his web. <br /><br />"Now I have a little more wisdom," said Ananse the Spider. "What if I take a little bit of wisdom away from every creature in the world? Soon I'll have more than any of them. I'll be the wisest of them all!" <br /><br />So Spider got a great big pot and traveled all over the world. He took a little wisdom from every creature he met. Sometimes he tricked them out of their wisdom. But the wisest creatures of all shared their wisdom with the Spider. Soon he had filled his pot of wisdom all the way up to the brim. <br /><br />Ananse the Spider came back to his tree, holding the pot carefully in front of him. But when he tried to climb up to his web, he found that his legs couldn't reach all the way around the pot and grab the tree.<br /><br />He stood there wondering what to do. Then along came one of his children.<br /><br />"What are you doing, Papa?" asked the tiny, little spider. <br /><br />"I'm trying to carry this pot up the tree," the father replied. <br /><br />"Oh," said his child. "But wouldn't it be easier to carry it on your back, instead in front of you?"<br /><br />The Spider saw at once that his child was right. <br /><br />"How can that be?" he growled. "My child—who I thought knew nothing at all—has to help his father climb a tree? This pot full of wisdom does no good at all!" <br /><br />And the Spider threw the pot away in anger.<br /><br />It broke open and the wisdom inside scattered all around the world. And that's why today, wisdom belongs to all of us, whether we're young or old.<br /><br />You can see Ananse the Spider next time you visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Go to our African Art gallery. Then look for a tall wooden staff with a golden spider web on top. Ananse sits in the middle of the web, with a man on either side. This staff belonged to a wise man among a group of the Akan called the Asante. The Asante have a proverb: "No one goes to the house of the spider to teach it wisdom."<br /><br />Well, that's it. Thanks for listening to Story Time at the Met.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 020 High School Intern Episode: "One of A Kind: The Studio Craft Movement" The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York This episode, written and performed by the Museum's summer 2007 high school interns, brings the Studio Craft movement to life. This episode, written and performed by the Museum's summer 2007 high school interns, brings the Studio Craft movement to life. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/intern/mmaInternPodcast.11052007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_020 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/intern/mmaInternPodcast.11052007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_020 {5343B0AF-0B73-4509-889E-8F2B79FF7DDE} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 5 Nov 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 7:51 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Studio Craft Movement Durer high school intern spex no <strong>Narrator</strong>: The podcast episode you're about to hear was written and performed by high school interns at the Metropolitan Museum during the summer of 2007. It represents their observations, interpretations, and unique perspectives.<br /><br /><strong>Intern 1</strong>: Hello, there. We are the high school interns at The Metropolitan Museum of Art for the summer of 2007. Today you will be listening to a podcast inspired by the exhibit entitled "One of A Kind: The Studio Craft Movement," running until December 2, 2007.<br /><br /><strong>Professor</strong>: Welcome, class. Today we have a very special tour of the Arms and Armor gallery at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.<br /><br />This piece of armor here was worn by Henry V in the infamous battle against the French at Agincourt during one of his many campaigns . . .<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Yo, yo! This is so lame!<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: I know. Wanna get out of here?<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Yeah, totally. Get those two and we'll peel off.<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: Let's go to the Studio Craft exhibit. It's supposed to be wild!<br /><br /><strong>Professor</strong>: Moving on, we see . . .<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: Okay, wait, wait. . . . Okay, go, now. Go while he's walking.<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Oh, thank God we got out of there!<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: Yeah, I know. This "One of a Kind" exhibit looks pretty cool, though.<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Wait, guys, can someone quickly explain what craft art is, exactly?<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: Well, basically a craft artist does everything related to the piece—you know, comes up with the idea, designs it, and executes it. Everything in this show is from the Craft movement.<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: You know, I think I heard there was this really awesome piece here . . . oh, yeah, this sculpture: <em>Mother Dürer</em> by Robert Arneson.<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: Woah, this creeps me out, man.<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: It's supposed to, I think. I mean, that's what California Funk was all about, right?<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: What?<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: California Funk? You seriously don't remember? We studied this, like, two weeks ago.<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: Hey, it's second semester, I haven't done <em>anything</em> second semester senior year. Chill out.<br /><br /><strong>Student 5</strong>: All right, well, the California Funk movement was basically West Coast pop art of the fifties and sixties. They made, you know, weird, weird stuff, combining things like leather, steel, fur, clay . . . I mean, the whole point was to be as shocking and provocative as possible.<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: Yeah, he did something really great. Arneson took ceramics to a new place, you know, so it wasn't just decorative? He made statements about pop culture that were humorous but also poignant, which is a lot of what the whole Funk thing was about.<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Well, that's cool, but look, it's called <em>Mother Dürer</em>, as in Albrecht Dürer. Wait, guys, wasn't there some really famous portrait that he did of his mom?<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: Oh, yeah, he did make one. It was something like two months before she died. It's pretty intense. He did such a realistic representation of what she looked like. And she was pretty weathered, too. You know she had eighteen kids?<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: Uh . . . why do you know this?<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Whatever, guys. The two pieces are pretty similar, though I don't remember her being as grotesque as this. In Dürer's original, she looked pretty docile. Don't you think Arneson's version looks kind of threatening?<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: Yeah, but that's what I love about it! I mean, look how he stylized her: she's got these huge, oval eyes, you know, like, hollowed pupils; long, jagged nose; and those thin lips that make her look like she's snarling. I mean, overall, this thing's really imposing.<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: Uh, is it just me, or isn't that making her look bad? I mean, Dürer was just trying to reveal some truth of his mom's situation; showing what she'd been through rather than beautifying her.<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: I don't think Dürer was trying to make her look bad at all. See that veil that she's wearing? Back in the day, that veil would have represented—<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: Wait, what day? What are you talking about?<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: The German Renaissance, man. Back then, that veil would have represented her reverence for God and love of her kids.<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: Yeah, not on this veil, though. Look at all the stuff that's written on it:<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: "Be beautiful."<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: "My eyes are too round and my lashes are invisible."<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: "My cheekbones are everywhere."<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: "My skin is too oily."<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: "HELP ME, MERLE."<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: "My tits are too saggy."<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: "My nose is too long."<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: "My face is so blotchy."<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: "Now it's your turn to be beautiful."<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: "I hate those bags under my eyes."<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: Well, isn't that just the written expression of the artist's view of beauty? They're all about beauty and what it is and what it isn't. This woman's thoughts—her worries—are all engrained on this veil. These visions of beauty are literally hanging over her head.<br /><br /><strong>Student 5</strong>: Yeah, but remember what you were saying before about statements on pop culture? I mean, that's exactly what this is. Arneson taxes her features even further than Dürer, so as to make a criticism on the standards of beauty in the sixties and seventies.<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: Yeah, and a lot of these statements are still relevent today. I mean, when you think about it, nothing's really changed, right?<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: Dude, I don't think any of us want to believe that 2007 and 1970 are anywhere near similar.<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: Yeah, but can't you just see it? I mean, what if Arneson were doing this piece today? What would he write on the veil now?<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: "My hair is too frizzy."<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: "My boobs are too small."<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: "My butt is too huge."<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: "My arthritis is acting up."<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: "Arthritis, man? No, Clean, Clear, & Under Control."<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: "My teeth are falling out."<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: "I'm too fat for my skinny jeans."<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: "My eyebrows are so bushy."<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: "My Rogaine isn't working."<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: "My laugh lines are too prominent."<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: "I need Botox . . . again."<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Ooh.<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: But when you think about it, aren't the two similar in their conceptions of beauty?<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: Dürer and Arneson? Yeah, I guess. I mean, Dürer thought perfect beauty wasn't attainable in art; Arneson thought perfect beauty wasn't attainable, period.<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Guys, but we don't know what his intentions were. What if he was trying to say other things about beauty? I think he was saying that perfection is impossible and that we'll all end up looking old and haggard like Mother Dürer someday anyway.<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: Yeah. And that striving for things that we'll never be able to get will just turn us into bitter people. I mean, think about Dürer's original portrait of his mother. She's still old, right? But she looks a lot more complacent than Arneson's, even with all her ailments.<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Wait, guys. What does this one say? "A beautiful new makeup that can give you whatever look you want." Oh my gosh, guys! Did you guys see what's on the back? It's so cool!<br /><br /><strong>All</strong>: What?<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: Ha! See this? Look what he wrote: "Albrecht, stop looking at all the naked girls!" He even drew them.<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: Hey, I think those are Dürer's drawings, too. He had some anatomical studies that look exactly like that.<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: I know, too bad it's all the way up against the wall. I'll bet you half of the people that pass by don't even see it.<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: Yeah. Whether or not Arneson wanted it to be hidden in the first place, you really need to think outside the box to find it.<br /><br /><strong>Professor</strong>: Yes, just as I had to think outside of the box to find you.<br /><br /><strong>Students</strong>: But . . .<br /><br /><strong>Professor</strong>: Seeing as you've all become quite the experts on the Craft movement and this particular piece, I expect twenty pages on this exhibit from each of you by Monday.<br /><br /><strong>All Students</strong>: Bummer!<br /><br /><strong>Intern 4</strong>: The podcast was both created and performed by the following interns. Guys, introduce yourselves:<br /><br /><strong>Student 5</strong>: Hi! I'm Elizabeth McCarthy, co-author of the podcast.<br /><br /><strong>Professor</strong>: Hi, I am Mark Szalkiewicz, and I am co-author of the podcast, as well as the voice of the professor.<br /><br /><strong>Student 1</strong>: Hey, my name is Marina Zarya, I'm reading for one of the students.<br /><br /><strong>Intern 2</strong>: I'm Ali Wilkinson.<br /><br /><strong>Student 3</strong>: I'm Diane Fernandes, and I'm playing one of the students.<br /><br /><strong>Student 4</strong>: Hello, I am Justin Lokossou, and I play as one of the students.<br /><br /><strong>Student 2</strong>: I'm Yevgeniya Ryaboy and I play one of the students.<br /><br /><strong>Intern 3</strong>: I'm Lauren Christensen.<br /><br /><strong>Intern 1</strong>: I'm Rachel Kahn, I read the introduction.<br /><br /><strong>Intern 4</strong>: Hi, I'm Victoria Namanworth. This has been and Antenna Audio Production. Special thanks to Sarah Lidgus and Rae Cohen. And the Education Department, Terry Russo, Aimee Dixon, Florence Umezaki, and Jessica Glass.<br /><br /><strong>Narrator</strong>: <em>Mother Dürer</em> was created in 1979 by the American-born artist Robert Arneson. It was given to the Museum by Joyce and Jay Cooper in 2000. 019 Impressed by Light: British Photographs from Paper Negatives, 1840–1860 The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Guest curator Roger Taylor traces the history and impact of the paper negative, or calotype, which was invented by Henry Talbot in 1841. Guest curator Roger Taylor traces the history and impact of the paper negative, or calotype, which was invented by Henry Talbot in 1841. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10222007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_019 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10222007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_019 {447A8D76-4D51-4E8C-B1A4-B888EF85D7CC} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 22 Oct 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 6:43 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org British Photographs Roger Taylor paper negative calotype Henry Talbot spex no <strong>Roger Taylor</strong>: I'm Roger Taylor. I'm the British curator of this exhibition, "Impressed by Light: British Photographs from Paper Negatives, 1840–1860".<br /><br />Photography was announced in 1839. And in 1840, Henry Talbot, who had been struggling to improve his original process, came up with this understanding that actually you could chemically develop photographs into existence, rather than use the agency of light. And in 1841 he went public with it and in those days he called it the calotype.<br /><br />Talbot's process gave you the negative and positive structure for photography, which was then adopted for the next 150 years. So it's the foundation on which all our subsequent photography rested.<br /><br />Initially, Talbot was very, kind of, guarded with his photography. Because you've got to remember, this was a new way of seeing the world. It was not the way that you look with your eyes. This was monocular vision, a camera vision. So he began experimenting. And he began making photographs, first of all, of very static objects, because exposures still were twenty, thirty minutes long. And he would photograph trees in the winter, with the branches outlined against the sky, Gothic ruins, buildings, and photograph articles of china, haystacks, all of that kind of stuff—which were around him at his country home at Lacock Abbey. And it was only later that he began to experiment more widely and travel abroad.<br /><br />Talbot was a very interesting character in the sense that he was a polymath, came from the English landed gentry. He was in the fortunate position of having sufficient income to be able to, kind of, be of independent means. We later called them the "gentlemen amateurs." But he was highly educated, fluent in Greek and Latin, he was interested in the sciences, in botany. He'd done research into light, he subsequently did research into Assyriology, as well as invent photography.<br /><br />First of all, he patented it—or "patented" it, as you would say in America—that then led to a limited number of people taking up licenses to use it. But people who were within his family circle and his social circle, he encouraged to use freely. They could use his process, and it was largely limited to people of his own class and his own equals.<br /><br />Interestingly, in England, the patent laws there didn't apply to Scotland. So Scotland—it was without a patent. And there was a whole flourishing of this early photography up in Scotland, independent of what was happening in England. And so, we have major photographers—some of whom are in the show, like Hill and Adamson. And they flourished and were—now widely acknowledged as the, kind of, first masters of photography.<br /><br />And after 1850 we have it being used all throughout Britain in photographic societies and by people who would take—with amateur photography—by people who were traveling in Italy and Spain and France, people who were traveling and working in India. So the use of paper negative photography became very widespread after 1851, which is a complete overturn from the general accepted history.<br /><br />The calotype itself is a paper negative. And that paper negative, because it's made of paper, as you print it, the fibers of the paper itself soften the detail of the image. It's not like transparent film. It's not like glass, on which many of the photographs were made in the nineteenth century. This paper introduced a fibrous texture and gave a softness, which was—actually they found very appealing. Part of the reason that the calotype was taken up by people was, purely and simply, because it had an artistic expression. It was felt to be close to the works of Rembrandt. The idea that this could be an artistic means of expression was very important.<br /><br />The calotype never really entered into the trade, despite Talbot's best efforts. He tried to commercialize it. He was trying to market it. He did, in every way possible, try to market his process. But he was eclipsed by the daguerreotype.<br /><br />In Britain, during the eighteenth century, many of the, kind of, landed aristocracy went and finished their education on what was called the Grand Tour. And by the time we get to the mid-nineteenth century, we have their kind of successors coming along and thinking, "Well, I'm going to go on the Grand Tour, but instead of taking a sketchpad and a watercolor box and a notepad, what I'm going to do is take my camera." And so these people went out and explored the face of Europe with their cameras. And they brought back extraordinarily complex images, which were fundamentally, radically different to the way in which we normally expect to see drawings of landscape, classical landscapes in classical size. In India, where the climate was so difficult to deal with, paper negative photography and the calotype were absolutely ideally suited because it was a very tolerant process under extremes of heat. And so, we have a new breed of photographers working in India. And these photographers were, in fact, people who were employed by the East India Company. They were people who were in the military. They were part of the British administration of India. And they are very muscular photographs, they're large-format, they photographed the temples and the shrines and the landscapes, and after 1857, after the Indian uprising in '57, they go around and photograph all the sites of that conflict. And there's a rich body of work. And this show, if nothing else, shows that photography was an entirely personal and human activity.<br /><br />Finding these calotypes was a great difficulty. And in order to do that, I had to identify who the calotypists were. I created a long list of something like two hundred names, and armed with that I then went in search of all the, kind of, major archives. I did the initial legwork and identified these, and then my co-curators came with me and we worked together and selected the work. But it took many years to actually find all this work and pull it together. And as a result, we have many new names that are not in the registered canon of photography. And that's what's exciting.<br /><br />I think if, when we look at the show, one of the things that you have to realize is the endeavor that kind of went into making these photographs. They're not made by digital cameras. They are made as a result of extreme concentration and an appreciation of light. What we do today, we make a photograph and it just goes click and we take it and it's done. And we allow the camera to do all the work. These guys had to think about where to position the camera, they were thinking about their response to light, the way it described a building or a tree or a landscape. And they are very carefully composed and structured studies. And we can take from that. I think we've become too prolific. We make little snapshots. We make them so that they go click, click, click, and we put them in the album. We never look at them again really. These are studies for contemplation. These are photographs that we need to dwell on and linger over and enjoy and savor.<br /><br />"Impressed by Light" is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art through the 31st of December, 2007.<br /><br />The exhibition is made possible by the Hite Foundation.<br /><br />It was organized by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, and the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. 018 The Age of Rembrandt The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Walter Liedtke discusses the Museum's unparalleled collection of seventeenth-century Dutch paintings, and provides insight into nineteenth-century Americans' fascination with these works from the age of Rembrandt. Curator Walter Liedtke discusses the Museum's unparalleled collection of seventeenth-century Dutch paintings, and provides insight into nineteenth-century Americans' fascination with these works from the age of Rembrandt. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.09172007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_018 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.09172007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_018 {EC10158E-6C96-4277-831A-9D4CC85FD00B} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 17 Sep 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 16:29 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Rembrandt Walter Leidtke Dutch Paintings spex no <strong>Walter Liedtke</strong>: I'm Walter Liedtke, Curator of European Paintings at the Metropolitan Museum, and I am also the curator of the museum's exhibition "The Age of Rembrandt: Dutch Paintings in The Metropolitan Museum of Art", which is on view through January 6 and sponsored by Accenture.<br /><br />The exhibition celebrates the birthday of Rembrandt. He was born in 1606, so he had his 400th birthday last year. And he died in 1669. And most of the 228 Dutch paintings that are in the exhibition date from his lifetime. Maybe thirty, forty date from after his death. The other major artists of the "Age of Rembrandt" would be Frans Hals, who worked in Haarlem next to Amsterdam, and, of course, Johannes Vermeer, the famous painter from Delft. There are also great landscape painters, above all, Jacob van Ruisdael, his follower Meyndert Hobbema, Aelbert Cuyp, and a good number of others, genre painters—that is, painters of scenes of everyday life. In addition to Vermeer, there's Ter Borch, Nicolaes Maes, Pieter de Hooch, and many other names that were very familiar to collectors of the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries. And this collection was very much built by those collectors in New York who donated works to the museum. And the installation of the exhibition sketches the acquisitions from 1870 to the present.<br /><br />Americans loved pictures which represented nature, landscapes, the folkways of societies in the past, the family, individuals of strong character. And they tended to avoid the history and the mythology and the religions of other cultures. America in the nineteenth century saw itself as a Protestant democracy of strong working-class or middle-class individuals who made their own way in life. And they compared themselves in that regard to the seventeenth-century Dutch republic. And there was a broad truth to that. And, of course, it was a bit of a caricature. It was overstated for both cultures. But that did inspire people to collect Dutch works—the analogy between Dutch society and the growing American republic. This was, after all, a European culture that had broken away from the king of Spain, was the strongest economy throughout northern Europe. About seventy-five percent of people in the Netherlands lived in houses in urban centers, in cities. As opposed to nineteenth-century Europe, 200 years later—ninety percent of the French population in the nineteenth century was agrarian, lived on farms. So this was an urban culture that collected pictures and had disposable income. They couldn't spend it on land. They invested in ships, tulips, country houses, and great numbers of paintings. The average house in Amsterdam in 1650 had ten paintings. I'm not sure you could say that about New York today.<br /><br />The Museum has twenty pictures that I would say are genuine Rembrandt paintings. There was a time when we thought, or the Museum cataloguers would say, we had forty-two Rembrandts. And that's typical of the evolution of Rembrandt connoisseurship throughout the twentieth century. The catalogues of Rembrandt back in 1905 said there were 700 paintings by him in the world, and most scholars today would say there were 300 today. So that's about forty percent of what we used to think. And the Museum is actually somewhat ahead of that percentage. And this involves not so much mistakes of the past as learning much more about Rembrandt's pupils—he had as many as forty through his lifetime, and immediate followers—and the enormous popularity of the Rembrandt style in seventeenth-century Amsterdam.<br /><br />He deliberately made his reputation in his native Leiden, the university town that's a bit south of Amsterdam. And he was painting there as early as about 1624, and it was sometime around the winter of 1631–2 that he moved to the big city of Amsterdam. He may actually have rushed back and forth between the two. And what Amsterdam really wanted was modern portraits—a large percentage of Rembrandt's work through the 1630s were fashionable portraits in an international style that hadn't been seen in that somewhat provincial location, if you compare places like Antwerp, where Rubens worked, and Van Dyck of course came from Antwerp and was an internationally famous court portraitist working in Genoa, London, and other places at that time. Rembrandt never worked outside of Leiden or Amsterdam, except perhaps very short trips within the Netherlands. But he really was famous throughout the country, more so than almost any other artist. The only competition would be an artist most people don't know today, Gerrit van Honthorst from Utrecht, who was a court painter in a rather Italianate style.<br /><br />But Rembrandt captured the imagination of wealthy Amsterdamers—upper middle-class and minor noble collectors—firstly with his portraits, secondly with history pictures, meaning mythology and biblical paintings. The status of a history painter in the Netherlands or any European country in the seventeenth century greatly exceeded the reputation of portraitists, so they all yearned to be major history painters. That involves a lot of thinking about subject matter and so on. And that really worked for Rembrandt, in good part because he was such an individual, a free thinker, a person who had trouble with authority, in a sense, and was always thinking traditional stories afresh, and doing things in a way which was on the edge of provocative. And also because he was such a serious student of mythology and, above all, the Bible. And Protestant preaching. And of course this is a moment where the Catholic Church has been officially overthrown in the Netherlands and Protestant preachers are advocating that the only proper form of worship is to read the Bible and think about the story for yourself. And Rembrandt really did that. He took this general attitude towards religion to heart, and he would read traditional biblical stories about the Holy Family or whatever it might be, and look at, say, people who were parallels to Saint Joseph, or Mary, or even Christ, in his environment, and think what model would suffice to characterize them. And really retell these traditional stories, in both physically and emotionally naturalistic terms. And that made a great impression on contemporaries.<br /><br />In addition to Protestant preachers of the day, the Dutch did have a rather sophisticated court. And here's where the nineteenth-century American idea that they were all folksy, middle-class people just like us goes slightly astray, because the nobility was still taken quite seriously in the Netherlands at this time. <br /><br />The court was in The Hague, which, incidentally, is just three miles from Vermeer's Delft, and one reason that he's such a sophisticated artist is that he had patronage from court circles. And then there was one artistic advisor to the Princes of Orange in The Hague, in particular, named Constantijn Huygens—or "Hiygens," I guess we would say in America—and he's actually the father of Christiaan Huygens, who is famous for discovering the rings of Saturn and other astronomical works. And Constantijn Huygens had been to Italy, he had been a representative of the Dutch consulate in London already in his twenties, and he read a lot of classical literature and French prose, for example. So this had an influence on Rembrandt in approaching stories from ancient authors like Ovid or Roman history. He did a lot of that in his early years, and he also went to Latin school in Leiden. And he only went there briefly and decided he didn't want to be an academic, he wanted to be a painter. But it's very important that he was reading not only the Bible but traditional secular literature from an early age and was strongly influenced by the culture of learning at that great university city of Leiden.<br /><br />Rembrandt largely confined himself to biblical, mythological pictures—known as history paintings all together—and portraits. He did do some beautiful landscapes. There may be about three dozen known today, so maybe he did fifty in his lifetime. And we have to remember that in addition to painting—we now know some 300 paintings, so maybe he did 400 in his lifetime—he was a prolific draftsman and etcher, turning out hundreds of etchings, and he was very experimental about it.<br /><br />When you look at the Met's exhibition as a whole, you see a great range of subject matter in paintings by ninety-nine artists, plus a few unknowns, in the new catalogue of Dutch paintings. And this really reflects the art market of the seventeenth century in the Netherlands, because this was really the first major private art market. These works were done mostly for private homes. So it's really a question of supply and demand, such as you really can't find in any other European culture until the nineteenth century. We think of, for example, Manet, Courbet, the Impressionists, in nineteenth-century France—is a more analogous situation than you could find anywhere else in Europe in the seventeenth century, other than Holland, which, incidentally, is the major province of the Netherlands and kind of a nickname for the country as a whole. So we see landscapes, portraits, still lifes, marine pictures, views of church interiors, and other kinds of architecture, townscapes, seascapes, flower paintings-a great variety of subject matter. And artists would innovate in subject matter and carve a niche for themselves. There was evidently a great demand for landscape and no one—no historian has really explained it adequately. I think a psychologist might say, "Well, this is the most urban culture in Europe ever seen, so they craved the outdoors," and this is true for the New Yorkers who collected these Dutch pictures. <br /><br />And then within the broad range of landscape paintings, you get all of these specialists: people who do night scenes, snow scenes, river views, foreign topography, trips to Italy where you see Italian landscape bought by people who never went there but are rather cosmopolitan. And the painter is looking for a niche in the market. When it works, he keeps repeating it, when it doesn't work, he tries something else. It's actually the poorest, least successful artists in the Netherlands, generally, who reveal the greatest range of subject matter. And it's not because they have more imagination; they're trying to succeed more. <br /><br />The great exploration of nature that we see around the globe in the seventeenth century with—I mean, after all, the Dutch were in, say, 1620-something—in China, South America, New York, the Arctic Circle, throughout Europe and the Mediterranean. These people really got around and they were bringing back plants and occasionally people from other climates, and writing books about them. So this was a great age of exploring the globe as a whole, and especially nature, and all of that is reflected in the paintings they collected.<br /><br />I think Rembrandt and Vermeer are the two artists that appeal to modern people the most. And in the case of Rembrandt it's probably his profundity. These are quiet individuals in his pictures who are really sitting and reflecting on something. And there is a sort of analogy in the case of Vermeer, where people don't seem to be <em>thinking</em> so hard, but they're in tranquil domestic situations—usually a young woman alone in a rather spare domestic environment, her own home, which is well appointed, looks peaceful. And of course the way he paints is—his style, with its geometry, its restrained color, and its beautiful light, which makes everything look suspended in time—creates an impression of, well, not drama at all, but its opposite: a kind of peaceful tranquility. It's a mood, rather than active thought. And both of those are about inner life. And modern life is so much about the frantic moving—you know, get a job, rush to work, the constant input of all kinds of media, the radio screaming at you, and so many alternatives and stimuli in the environment. And I think, you know, just like going to the beach with an easy book and relaxing and doing nothing for a day is something that modern people might do once in 300 days. And when they look at a Rembrandt or a Vermeer or, in some cases, a quiet Dutch landscape or seascape, they get that out of it. And it's familiar enough to identify with and unfamiliar enough to represent an ideal from another age that they might like to go to, whether it's in a book or a picture.<br /><br />I'm Walter Liedtke, Curator of European Paintings at the Metropolitan Museum, and I've been talking about my exhibition, "The Age of Rembrandt: Dutch Paintings in The Metropolitan Museum of Art", which opened on September 18, 2007, and runs through January 6, 2008, and shows all of our 228 Dutch paintings from the seventeenth century, of which you normally only see about seventy. A collection of great breadth and depth, it's one of the few collections in this great museum where you can show everything we have and wish you could see it every day. 017 The New Uris Center for Education The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Director Philippe de Montebello offers a glimpse of the Metropolitan's state-of-the-art Ruth and Harold D. Uris Center for Education, opening October 23. Director Philippe de Montebello offers a glimpse of the Metropolitan's state-of-the-art Ruth and Harold D. Uris Center for Education, opening October 23. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.08132007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_017 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.08132007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_017 epNum017 017_uris.B.jpg 017_uris.S.jpg Mon, 13 Aug 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 3:11 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Director Philippe de Montebello Ruth and Harold D. Uris Center for Education other no javascript:void(0);"></a><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="javascript:metPopSmall('_slideshows/017_uris/uris_slide_pop.htm') View as a slideshow.</a> (3:11 minutes) <!--MB--> <strong>Philippe de Montebello</strong>: Abraham Lincoln called education "the most important subject which we as a people can be engaged in." And ever since the Metropolitan Museum was founded in 1870, education has been central to its mission.<br /><br />I am the Met's Director, Philippe de Montebello.<br /><br />Today the Metropolitan is a truly encyclopedic museum, with collections of more than two million works of art, spanning five thousand years of civilization from around the globe. With the opening of the new Ruth and Harold D. Uris Center for Education on October 23, 2007—with splendidly re-designed and re-equipped facilities—we will provide a new gateway to learning about art that will transform Museum experiences for students, teachers, teenagers, families, scholars, and all visitors—you—from today into the future.<br /><br />Visitors to the new Uris Center for Education will enter through the majestic and welcoming Diane W. Burke Hall, an orientation area with projection screens and other dynamic displays previewing what is on view in the galleries and the programming that is available that day. The Metropolitan Museum offers more than 20,000 programs to the public each year.<br /><br />Within the center, visitors will find: The Bonnie J. Sacerdote Lecture Hall, seating up to 125 people; a studio for creating art; a unique art study room, where curators, educators, conservators, and scientists can teach students and the public with art from the Museum's collections; classrooms and seminar rooms, for classes and studio activities; a meeting hall, where tens of thousands of students from visiting school classes each year will be welcomed; a teacher resource center, holding a broad range of materials for teachers and other education specialists; and the expansive new Nolen Library—open to all visitors—with books, videos, online resources, and wireless access, plus a special area for families.<br /><br />The new Uris Center teaching spaces are state-of-the-art: equipped for teleconferencing and other media use, so that our programs can be extended beyond our walls to educators, students, and other museums around the world.<br /><br />"I am still learning," wrote Michelangelo. So, too, are all of us. The new Uris Center for Education provides a marvelous threshold through which visitors of all ages can continue to learn about and be inspired by art. With programming of consistently high quality, new offerings in areas such as art-making, and innovative uses of new technologies, The Metropolitan Museum of Art will continue to fulfill its mission to educate this and future generations about the highest artistic achievements of humankind.<br /><br />Visit the new Ruth and Harold D. Uris Center for Education—opening October 23, 2007—and consult our website at metmuseum.org for the complete and up-to-date schedule of programming.<br /><br /> 016 Poiret: King of Fashion The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Harold Koda explains Paul Poiret's significant contributions to the world of fashion. The video version includes a special animation feature. Curator Harold Koda explains Paul Poiret's significant contributions to the world of fashion. The video version includes a special animation feature. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.07232007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_016 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.07232007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_016 {0DC3D00F-4611-4F91-8DC2-CC3C1A5C48D5} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 23 Jul 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 2:10 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Paul Poiret King of Fashion The Costume Institute spex no /audio/exhibitions/ram/mmaExhibPodcast.07232007.video.ram Watch the video.</a> <img src="/art/icons/real.gif" style="vertical-align: bottom;"/> (2:22 minutes) <!--MB--> <strong>Harold Koda:</strong> Paul Poiret was given the appellation "King of Fashion" by his American public. He was, at the beginning of the twentieth century, perhaps the most influential haute couturier in Paris. Known in fashion history for getting rid of the corset and hobbling women's gait, he was in fact much more important in influencing designers that followed him.<br /><br />Among his most important contributions was the way in which he approached dressmaking. Unlike the nineteenth-century practice of cutting and shaping pattern pieces, Poiret worked directly with the fabric on his mannequins, that is, his fashion models. By doing so, he was able to innovate an extraordinary, simplified, almost reductive minimalist cut that one sees particularly well in a cocoon coat that he designed for his wife Denise. Fifteen feet of silk velvet in a simple rectangle is spiraled around the body with one continuous seam to form this marvel of three-dimensional sensuousness.<br /><br />As you watch the animation, you are able to see the fabric deconstruct into its original planarity. The idea in clothing, of course, is it always begins in two dimensions. The marvel with Poiret was he was able—with the most minimalist gesture—to make these two dimensions into the most dramatic three-dimensional and sculptural configurations.<br /><br />This is Harold Koda, Curator in Charge of The Costume Institute, The Metropolitan Museum of Art.<br /><br />"Poiret: King of Fashion" is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art through August 5, 2007.<br /><br />The exhibition is made possible by Balenciaga.<br /><br />Additional support is provided by Condé Nast.<br /><br />The animation is by SOFTlab.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production.<br /><br /> 015 College Intern Talk: Edward Hopper The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Discover the significance and historical context of Edward Hopper's 1929 painting <em>The Lighthouse at Two Lights</em> through a talk by one of our college interns. Discover the significance and historical context of Edward Hopper's 1929 painting <em>The Lighthouse at Two Lights</em> through a talk by one of our college interns. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/intern/mmaInternPodcast.07092007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_015 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/intern/mmaInternPodcast.07092007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_015 epNum015 http://www.metmuseum.org/Works_of_Art/viewOne.asp?dep=21&viewmode=0&item=62.95 Learn more about this work of art. 015_intern_hopper.B.jpg 015_intern_hopper.S.jpg Mon, 9 Jul 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 5:41 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Edward Hopper 1929 painting The Lighthouse at Two Lights Great Depression Summer intern no <strong>Kent Lydecker</strong>: As part of her summer 2006 internship at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, Tatsiana, a recent graduate of Kenyon College, gave public tours in the galleries. Here is an excerpt.<br /><br /> <strong>Tatsiana</strong>: My name is Tatsiana. I graduated from Kenyon College in Gambier, Ohio. Originally I'm from Belarus. And we're going to talk—we're in the modern art galleries right now, in "American Art from 1900 to 1945"—and we're going to talk about Edward Hopper and his painting made in 1929, <em>The Lighthouse at Two Lights</em>.<br /><br />This painting depicts a lighthouse that actually exists till nowadays, and it's in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. In this location, Edward Hopper had his summer house, so he used to go there for the summer very often, starting from 1914, and in one of these trips he made this painting, which is now in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum. And it depicts a lighthouse and guard station located on a hill above the ocean shore. However, in this painting Hopper avoids showing water, so the lighthouse is kind of alienated and taken away from its original context. And I think it's very important because of the context in which the painting was made, because Edward Hopper, who as many other artists from that period—he went abroad, he studied in France, then he studied in the New York School with Robert Henri—however, his personality and his style is most fully developed during the Depression era, so this painting in 1929 kind of coincides with the collapse of the stock market.<br /><br />Hopper is a great representative of the Depression era, and he is one of the artists who managed to capture beautifully the spirit and the state of mind from this period, from late 1920s, early 1930s, when a lot of people were affected by unemployment, inflation, which came with the Great Depression and also with the Dust Bowl. So in his painting, he manages to capture the spirit and kind of show through to a landscape the feeling and the state of mind in the whole society.<br /><br />This landscape is typical for Hopper. It doesn't have people in it. It's only a building in its natural environment. However the composition is cut in such a way so that we get this feeling of frozenness and eternity. This moment seems to be continuous in time, without beginning and without end. This lighthouse seems to be standing there forever, from the beginning of time and for a long, long time. And even though there are no people in the picture, Hopper usually uses windows to create this effective presence. You usually get these dark, black windows with half-closed shadows that create this feeling that maybe there is someone inside that you can't see but the person can see you back. So someone is looking back on you but you don't see them. And it's a great way to reflect the feeling in society of alienation and reservedness and closeness, when people relied only on themselves, because Depression brought not only unemployment and difficult economic situation in the country, it also brought problems in the community and the families because people were migrating, people couldn't help each other, they were just relying on themselves in terms of surviving, basic surviving. So Hopper, in this respect, manages to show this feeling of depression, alienation, loneliness, and also loss of faith and loss of any meaning of life.<br /><br />Another thing that reflects this feeling of depression in the society is that we don't see any water, any sailboats, anything around the lighthouse, and as it looks like the lighthouse is taken out of the context, it doesn't have any purpose, it just stands there forever and ever and ever. And it also reflects this feeling that many people had of being—of just not having any purpose in their lives, just meaninglessness of their lives and their experience.<br /><br />In college, I was an art history major and American studies concentration. And I believe that art is a great way to visualize and to reflect cultural and social and political situations. Because it is an individual vision of specific artist, but it reflects bigger trends in society. And I'm specifically interested in 1930s, Depression-era, New Deal period. So I think Hopper is the great artist who captured the feeling in this period, of this time. There is just something which is hard to describe about him but it really gets you.<br /><br /><strong>Kent Lydecker</strong>: Learn more about Edward Hopper's 1929 painting, <em>The Lighthouse at Two Lights</em>, and about the Metropolitan Museum's internship programs, on our Web site, <em>metmuseum.org</em>. Each year, college and graduate students participate in internships that enable them to teach, to work in various departments of the Museum, and to take part in seminars and discussions. This is Kent Lydecker, the Frederick P. and Sandra P. Rose Associate Director for Education at the Metropolitan, and this has been an Antenna Audio production. 014 College Intern Talk: Neo-Assyrian Reliefs The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Explore stunning wall reliefs commissioned by the Assyrian king Ashurnasirpal II nearly three thousand years ago in a special episode created by one of our college interns. Explore stunning wall reliefs commissioned by the Assyrian king Ashurnasirpal II nearly three thousand years ago in a special episode created by one of our college interns. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/intern/mmaInternPodcast.06252007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_014 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/intern/mmaInternPodcast.06252007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_014 epNum014 http://www.metmuseum.org/Works_of_Art/viewOne.asp?dep=3&viewmode=0&item=32%2E143%2E4 Learn more about this work of art. 014_assyrian.B.jpg 014_assyrian.S.jpg Fri, 25 Jun 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 3:57 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org reliefs Assyrian Ashurnasirpal college intern intern no <strong>Kent Lydecker</strong>: As part of her summer 2006 internship at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, Genevieve from Cornell University gave public tours in the galleries. Here is an excerpt:<br /><br /><strong>Genevieve</strong>: My name is Genevieve. I go to Cornell University, and I will be talking about the Neo-Assyrian reliefs we have in the Near Eastern gallery. And I chose these reliefs to talk about because I am an archaeology major and these are a really beautiful example of monumental relief work done in the Assyrian period, and also because I think this is a part of the museum that doesn't get visited as much as it should.<br /><br />So we're standing here in the Near Eastern galleries at the Met and we're looking specifically at these reliefs. They're Neo-Assyrian from the ninth century, and these are from the palace of Ashurnasirpal II, who was a king in Mesopotamia, and these are from his palace in Nimrud, which is in present-day Iraq. And these reliefs are carved out of alabaster and they're monumental, so they're larger than life. And these reliefs—there are 22 of them here in the Met's collection—they would have been from all different parts of the palace, but these reliefs have been arranged in a style that sort of imitates or replicates what the reception room in Ashurnasirpal's palace would have been like. So when you enter this room, you sort of get the whole impression of what entering that reception room would have been like, even down to the size of the tiles on the floor, the beams in the ceiling—these are all purposely done on the part of the Museum.<br /><br />So looking specifically at these reliefs, starting at the center. The central figure here is Ashurnasirpal himself, and you can tell it's the king because he's wearing this sort of conical hat that identifies his power and his prestige. And he's being depicted as a hunter, so he has an animal skin, and he has a weapon, so he's a hunter. And he's being attended to by two eunuchs of his court. You can tell they're eunuchs because they don't have beards, like the other figures in these reliefs do. And they're holding in their hands fly-whisks, which are a symbol of prestige in the Near Eastern culture, and also cups for libations. So a big theme in these reliefs is worshiping the gods, or divine power of kingship through the gods. So Ashurnasirpal is holding in his hand a bowl, and this bowl would have been used for libations, and he's facing these eunuchs.<br /><br />And the other figures in these reliefs are genii. You can tell they're genii because they have these beautiful wings. Their faces are similar to humans, but they have these wings that show their supernatural powers. And the genii also have these amazing leg muscles, so if you look at them they're really highly stylized, with these very powerful sort of arm and leg muscles that show they're sort of supernatural beings and they're protecting the king. And in their hands they're holding tiny pine cones, and these pine cones represent the tree of life. So they're using these pine cones to plant this tree of life, which is a sort of motif that we see throughout Near Eastern art.<br /><br />So these reliefs—although they are very plain now—they would have been very brightly painted when they were first created, and you can see traces of paint on them. Also on the reliefs we have this cuneiform inscription that goes across the relief, and it's the same inscription that basically talks about Ashurnasirpal and how when he came to Nimrud it was a city of mud brick, but he left it a city of alabaster. And I think that's really a powerful sort of statement, especially when you look at these really gorgeous reliefs. If you imagine an entire palace filled with these reliefs, it would have been very magnificent.<br /><br /><strong>Kent Lydecker</strong>: Learn more about these Assyrian reliefs from the ninth century B.C. and about the Metropolitan Museum's internship programs on the museum's website at metmuseum.org. Each year, college and graduate students participate in internships that enable them to teach, to work in various departments of the Museum, and to take part in seminars and discussions. <br /><br />This is Kent Lydecker, the Frederick P. and Sandra P. Rose Associate Director for Education at the Met, and this has been an Antenna Audio production. 013 Work of Art: Washington Crossing the Delaware by Emanuel Leutze The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Curator Carrie Rebora Barratt tells the story of one of the greatest icons of American painting, Emanuel Leutze's monumental <em>Washington Crossing the Delaware</em>. Curator Carrie Rebora Barratt tells the story of one of the greatest icons of American painting, Emanuel Leutze's monumental <em>Washington Crossing the Delaware</em>. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.02162007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_013 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/woa/mmaWoaPodcast.02162007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_013 epNum013 http://www.metmuseum.org/Works_of_Art/viewOne.asp?dep=2&viewmode=0&item=97.34 Learn more about this work of art. 013_washington.B.jpg 013_washington.S.jpg Fri, 16 Feb 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 12:54 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org President Presidents Day George Washington Crossing Delaware Emanuel Leutze woa no <strong>Carrie Rebora Barrat</strong>: Hi, I'm Carrie Barratt, a Curator of American Paintings and Sculpture in The American Wing at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and I want to tell you a little bit about one of my favorite paintings in The Metropolitan Museum of Art and one that has to be among the sort of top ten tourist attractions in the Museum, if not in the city. The painting I'm talking about is <em>Washington Crossing the Delaware</em> by Emanuel Leutze, painted in 1851 in Germany. And I'd like to tell you about the painting in really three facets: first, the historical background of the event shown itself, which is a fascinating and crucial event in American history; then about Leutze and how this picture came to be painted in Germany; and then a little bit about the painting itself, because a lot of people forget when looking at this monumental, glorious scene that it actually is a painting that was made by an artist for money and for fame and at a time when Washington's own legacy was newly enhanced.<br /><br />The scene that's shown is obvious: it's Washington crossing the Delaware in a boat with a great number of his troops. The actual number was 2,500; 2,500 men crossed the Delaware with Washington as their leading commander on Christmas night, December 25, 1776. They crossed the Delaware River—Washington's battalion—about nine miles above Trenton, New Jersey, and—this is between the Pennsylvania and New Jersey border—on Christmas night, during a nor'easter, one of the most violent storms that hits the Northeast coast—maybe some of our listeners have actually been through such a thing. It might surprise viewers of the painting to see such incredible ice, but because the Delaware River ran south, there was ice—big, huge ice chunks that flowed.<br /><br />The troops were at this point absolutely demoralized, debilitated by winter, you can only imagine how cold it was on that night. And it was sort of a last gasp in Washington's command to revitalize the creation of the United States, the war that was about to be lost after a series of humiliating and tremendous defeats by the British over the Americans. This crossing of the Delaware was an absolute act of desperation.<br /><br />They crossed during the night—a surprise attack—so that they could reach the Hessians in their village camping on Christmas, the day after, and surprise attack. They withstood—the British counter-attacked after this—marched to Princeton, and defeated the Brits there a year later.<br /><br />This crossing, this strategic crossing of the Delaware saved the Revolution and in effect quashed the triumph of the old order, quashed the Brits.<br /><br />The way that Leutze depicts Washington as the key to the hierarchy, let's say—he stands in the boat, which a lot of people think is sort of awkward but might have been true. These were flat-bottomed boats and some of the men in order to fit in the boats did have to stand. Washington led a single battalion of officers across the Delaware with horses, you can see in the background of the painting, in separate boats. They had to be a different kind of carrier to go across the water. And Henry Knox in a separate boat, that's the chief of artillery, whose voice, you might—if you look at the painting hard enough you can almost hear his big, loud voice booming across the river the night that they crossed.<br /><br />Another interesting fact as you look at the painting is to think of the equipment, the clothing supply that George Washington's sort of rag-tag militia would have had as provisions that fall and winter. Each man was given two linen shirts, two overalls, a leather or woolen waistcoat—that's a vest with sleeves—breeches, one hat, two pairs of socks, and two pairs of shoes. By winter, most of the shoes had been destroyed. Some of the men in these boats had no shoes at all, making this very, very cold, strategic enterprise all the more amazing. This episode went down in history immediately as pivotal to George Washington's command of the troops, his abilities as a leader, and his abilities to rouse up the troops at a time when most of them were waiting for their commissions to expire so they could go home. And, after all, it was Christmas, which is something that, you know, is hard to forget, that they're doing this at a time when they all would have been—much rather been home. And these were volunteer militia—important to remember that these are not enlisted men like we know of today. These are volunteers who chose to fight for their country and had no idea what they were getting into at the time.<br /><br />Leutze recalls this battle in the 1850s. The painting that you're looking at and hearing about was painted in 1851 in Düsseldorf. Leutze was German, spent some of his childhood near Philadelphia and then went back to Germany, where he was trained as an academic painter in Germany. This accounts for the level of finish, the accuracy in the portrayal, and the overall extraordinary narrative style. The 1850s—late 1840s and 1850s—were a time of international revolutions. And especially in Germany, the Revolutions of 1848, when the German government went under an upheaval, was a time in which, in a general sense, a lot of world populations were looking for strong leadership. This is precisely the time in American history when George Washington, who had been dead for 50 years—Washington died in 1799—rose to prominence, not only as a memory at being a great president and the commander of our forces during the American Revolution, but as a leader among leaders, a man among men, the kind of mythologized leader that almost any country in the world would have been happy to have. We take this with a grain of salt, of course, it's a mythologized vision of a leader, but Washington was truly a great man. And this is also the time when the Mount Vernon Ladies Association is invented in order to preserve Washington's legacy at Mount Vernon. It's the time when people actually became so interested in Washington that they would have visited his home as a shrine, his property—they wanted to see his things, as if you would visit the relics of a saint or another sort of religious personage. It's interesting to think, since we probably haven't had a president like that since—many, many famous presidents, and those with great legacies. But Washington was really an international hero at the time for having led this great battle. And again, the crossing of the Delaware becomes sort of the paramount event in that legacy.<br /><br />The painting, as I mentioned earlier, was executed in Germany, in Leutze's Düsseldorf studio. The figure of Washington—of course, Washington was gone by then, and Washington never went to Germany. Washington barely got out of the north coast. He went to Barbados, it's the only place Washington ever went. He never went to Germany. He used studio mates and friends. You may see a tinge of sort of Germanic heritage in some of the faces on the men. That's no surprise, as most of the models for the various people in the boat would have been Leutze's German friends at the time.<br /><br />The actual model for Washington himself was the American painter Worthington Whittredge, a great landscape painter whose works you can see in other galleries here at the Metropolitan Museum. He used, for Washington's head, the life mask that was cast by Jean-Antoine Houdon at the end of the eighteenth century, the most accurate depiction of Washington as it was an actual cast of his face. And Leutze got the uniform from the Smithsonian. George Washington's military uniform had been donated to the Smithsonian Institution. So for the figure of Washington, he had a lot of good, very detailed information to go on. He chose to portray the American flag—although, you know, we love to point out the inaccuracies, giving Leutze the benefit of the doubt, he tried as hard as he could to make this as accurate as possible. The flag that he used was not adopted until many years later. This is not the American flag that was in use in 1776. The boats are slightly inaccurate, it may or may not have been the actual formation of ice that had formed. And some of the artillery, the bringing of the artillery across, is misinformation. But by and large, Leutze got it right. Leutze got a scene right. And there are recent books on this subject, which show just how accurate he was in the portrayal.<br /><br />Leutze's object was not only to honor the memory of Washington, but probably more so—he's an artist, after all—to make money, gain fame, and to make a presence of himself in America. He sent this picture to New York in 1851 and its arrival was anticipated in the local papers, various journals, so that by the time it came, there was great fanfare. It was probably unrolled, as a picture this big would have been very difficult to ship from Germany to New York. And it did gather lots and lots of attention in New York in February of 1851.<br /><br />At that exhibition it was sold to a man named Marshall Roberts, an art collector and New Yorker, for, we think, the sum of $10,000. Marshall Roberts later, when he died, the picture was bought by John Stewart Kennedy, the founder of Kennedy Galleries here in New York, and it was given to the Metropolitan Museum in 1897. This is of interest, I suppose, to some, who will find it fascinating that the picture only had one owner. That owner, Marshall Roberts, agreed that the picture could go on display in Washington, D.C., where it was shown in 1852 to just as great acclaim as it had received in New York about a year earlier than that.<br /><br />At the Metropolitan Museum, the painting has always held a place of honor. We have archival photographs that show it front and center, always prominently displayed, sometimes with European paintings, with American paintings. It has never been off view at the Metropolitan Museum, except for a period of years around the 1960s and 1970s, when the picture was lent to none other than Washington's Crossing, New Jersey, the actual site of the crossing of the Delaware, where there is a museum—sent there then because of the renovation of the American Wing. Since 1980, it's hung in the same place, where it will always hang in perpetuity.<br /><br />It represents for us a number of things: as now you've heard me mention, the great moment in American history that we're happy to commemorate; the fervor for Washington at mid-century; but more importantly, and a piece that lots of people might tend to miss, it's an exquisite painting, an extraordinary example of mid-nineteenth-century academic painting, by an American, an artist who lived in America, sought training in Germany, and sent back the best that he could to represent really American art at its highest levels.<br /><br />Leutze was not the first nor was he the last American artist to seek training abroad and send their work back home to show that American artists could compete on an international scale. The picture itself, while evoking an extraordinarily, you know, one would say patriotic and nationalistic American event, participates in its composition and its method of execution in the best European academic painting of its day.<br /><br />I hope that in listening to this very short riff on <em>Washington Crossing the Delaware</em> that those listening will have learned something about the picture, that you've gained something about its history, about its execution, and about its place in the Metropolitan Museum, and that the next time you see it you will enjoy it more than before. Thank you. 012 New Greek and Roman Galleries The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Director Philippe de Montebello offers a behind-the-scenes look at some of the treasures featured in the spectacular New Greek and Roman Galleries, opening April 20. Director Philippe de Montebello offers a behind-the-scenes look at some of the treasures featured in the spectacular New Greek and Roman Galleries, opening April 20. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.02052007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_012 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.02052007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_012 {7C6FEDBD-B52B-4D98-861D-AC352C5C27FC} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 5 Feb 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 4:22 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Greek Roman Etruscan Hellenistic Rome classical spex no http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/m4a/mmaExhibPodcast.02052007.m4a Download the enhanced audio file (with images). (4.9 MB; requires iTunes 4.9 or higher) <strong>Philippe de Montebello</strong>: There is no event in the upcoming season that is so defining for the life of this institution, for New York, and for art lovers around the world than the completion of the New Greek and Roman Galleries, involving the installation of thousands of works of classical art from the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Here is a brief preview of those galleries, which will open to the public on April 20, 2007.<br /><br />Essentially a "museum within the museum" for the Metropolitan's world-renowned collection of Hellenistic, Etruscan, South Italian, and Roman art, the new galleries will completely transform a space that was used for decades as the Museum's restaurant, but that was originally designed by the renowned architects McKim, Mead and White in 1912 as galleries for Roman art.<br /><br />Its centerpiece is the spectacular Leon Levy and Shelby White Court, a monumental peristyle area for the display of Hellenistic and Roman art with a soaring two-story atrium. This colossal statue of the young Hercules, a lion skin draped over his arm, will be there, along with many other works, including our great Badminton sarcophagus, decorated with more than 40 figures-including Dionysus, the god of wine, shown riding his panther-and the seasons.<br /><br />Here you will meet, face to face, the emperors of Imperial Rome: Augustus, Caligula, the young Nero, Antoninus Pius, Caracalla; and a pantheon of great figures from ancient times: Herodotus, Epicurus, and many others.<br /><br />In the Hellenistic treasury, you will see masterpieces of craftsmanship in precious gemstones, glass, and metals, like these great serpentine armbands in gold with two tritons, male and female, each holding a small, winged Eros. And nearby, great bronzes, like the sleeping god Eros, here depicted with great immediacy and naturalism, as a plump baby. It is one of the few bronze statues to have survived from antiquity.<br /><br />In sunlit galleries facing Fifth Avenue, there are great Roman frescoes once buried by the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 A.D. The Met's cubiculum-or bedroom-from Boscoreale, has been restored and moved here, its wall paintings showing architectural vistas and fantasy gardens, and its window bars twisted by the hot lava of the volcano.<br /><br />And another beautiful bedroom, the so-called "Black Bedroom," this one thought to have been made for a villa built by Agrippa, a close friend of the Emperor Augustus. On view near these masterpieces are sculptures, bronzes, and other arts of the late Hellenistic and early Roman periods, now seen together for the first time in generations. They have much to tell us about the domestic life of wealthy Romans nearly 2,000 years ago.<br /><br />Up above, on an entirely new second level ringing the court, will be a large gallery for the display of the art of the Etruscans from pre-Roman Italy. Their culture was subsumed into the Roman State by the early first century B.C. Here you will find the newly restored, sixth-century B.C. Etruscan chariot, inlaid with precious elephant and hippopotamus ivory, and richly decorated with scenes from the life of the Greek hero Achilles. It is one of the only complete chariots to survive from antiquity.<br /><br />For scholars, students, and the public alike, we have also created an important resource: large, airy galleries where more than 5,300 works in all media, dating from prehistoric Greek through late Roman art, can be seen and studied together.<br /><br />These majestic new galleries, more than a dozen years in the making, will bring one of the world's great collections of classical art to light in a new way. Come and explore the ancient world at The Metropolitan Museum of Art this spring. The New Greek and Roman Galleries will open on April 20, 2007. 011 Americans in Paris, 1860–1900 The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York The actor Charles Turner reads amusing descriptions of Parisian daily life by Henry Ossawa Tanner (1859–1937), the first African American artist to achieve international acclaim. The actor Charles Turner reads amusing descriptions of Parisian daily life by Henry Ossawa Tanner (1859–1937), the first African American artist to achieve international acclaim. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01082007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_011 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.01082007.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_011 {6F4EC67D-AAAF-4633-8CFC-651D6A8DC58A} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 8 Jan 2007 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 11:19 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Americans in Paris Henry Ossawa Tanner Charles Turner Black History Month spex no <strong>Charles Turner</strong>: "How strange the city of Paris was, how different the sounds that came to my aerie from those in any other city I had ever been in! The clatter of the wooden shoes on the stone pavement, the cries, the whistles, the horns blown, the songs sung, each with its particular meaning, but to me an incomprehensible din."<br /><br />So wrote Henry Ossawa Tanner of his first days in Paris in 1891. Like hundreds of American artists in the late nineteenth century, Tanner was drawn irresistibly to the world's new art capital, where he learned to paint and established his reputation. His original intention was to pass through Paris on his way to study in Rome. But he was so taken with the sounds and stimulation of Paris that he abandoned his plan and stayed on to study there. In his new city, he settled into an unheated basement studio on the rue de Seine. So much was unfamiliar to him each day, beginning with breakfast, a meal he would often have at a local café along the walk to class at the Académie Julian. He later recalled:<br /><br />"Breakfast meant to me beefsteak or mutton chops, fried potatoes, hot griddle-cakes, etc., but here not for love nor money could it be had. Breakfast for people who were up betimes, as I was, was a cup of milk or coffee, with a roll, or a sou's worth of bread, eaten in a drafty doorway. Afterwards I found a dimly lighted little café where it was warm, and where many students, on their way to Julian's, stopped. Even in this café, it would have been such a job to have gotten a couple of eggs that one soon abandoned the struggle. Like thousands of others in almost all other respects, it had across its door in large letters the words "English spoken." It was kept by a sunny-faced, middle-aged French woman from Alsace—one of those comfortable kind whose waistline had long ago ceased to exist, but whose heart was as warm as the steaming beverage she served. Asked one day who it was that spoke the English she so largely advertised, she replied with a merry laugh, 'Oh, it's you, and you, and you, Messieurs, my clients, who speak English here.'<br /><br />"The Académie Julian! Never had I seen or heard such a bedlam, or men waste so much time. Of course, I had come to study at such a cost that every minute seemed precious and not to be frittered away. I had often seen rooms full of tobacco smoke, but not as here in a room never ventilated. And when I say never, I mean not rarely but never, during the five or six months of cold weather. Never were windows opened. They were nailed fast at the beginning of the cold season. Fifty or sixty men smoking in such a room for two or three hours would make it so that those on the back rows could hardly see the model."<br /><br />Henry Ossawa Tanner knew early on that he wanted to be an artist. He was the oldest of seven surviving children of an African Methodist Episcopal bishop and a woman who was an important presence in the church. He grew up in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, teaching himself to draw by looking at the world around him. During the 1880s, he studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts with Thomas Eakins and Thomas Hovenden, and later opened a photography gallery and taught drawing in Atlanta. It was only after he had spent some time in Paris, as a student and then as a professional artist, that he became acquainted first-hand, quite by accident, with the most exciting and influential event in the art world: the Salon.<br /><br />"As I now look back, it seems curious to me that I should have been able to arrive at thirty years of age with two years of that time in Paris and never to have heard of the Salon or, having heard of it, not to have at all realized its importance in the art world. Its discovery came to me in this manner: I had been to Dr. Thurber's church, and was on my way home when, near the Palais d'Industrie, I saw great crowds making their way into this building—which has now disappeared—such crowds as you might see going into Madison Square Garden to some great sporting event. To my question, it was '<em>Le Salon</em>' and, to see for myself, I joined that good-natured throng. What a surprise awaited me in the court of that old <em>palais</em>! Hundreds of statues that appeared to me nearly all of them fairer than the <em>Venus de Milo</em>, and upstairs the paintings—thousands of them—and nearly all of them much more to my taste than were the old masters of the Louvre. Not that they were really as fine, but they were more within my range.<br /><br />"Here was something to work for, to get a picture here. This now furnished a definite impetus to my work in Paris. To be able to make a picture that should be admitted here. Could I do it? The next summer I worked in Brittany at Concarneau, upon a picture of an apple orchard, which, at that time, despite my best efforts, was refused. Two years afterward, in 1895, it was accepted, but no impression was made. In fact, I was "over them all." You may remember how a son of a western farmer came to study art in New York. He finally had a picture in the Academy, and the proud father came to see the exhibition. Recounting what he had seen in New York to his friends in the west, he said 'Paintings all over the wall, everywhere, but Bob's picture, <em>my boy's</em>, was over them all.' So with mine, it was 'over them all,' it was 'skied.'<br /><br />"In 1895, I painted <em>Daniel in the Lions' Den</em>. For this picture I modeled lions in the Jardin des Plantes and also worked in the summer class of Fremiet. Hoping to receive some help from him, I one day got up courage to show him a sketch of it. 'Well,' he said, 'It all depends upon how you develop what you have here suggested—if you do it well, it will be a good picture; and, if not, why, it will be a very ordinary one.'<br /><br />"Thinking it over now, what could he say? Here was an unknown, untried student, and it was yet to be seen what he could do. It was exhibited in the Salon of 1896—and I received for it my first official recognition. True it was but a '<em>mention honorable</em>', but it was an honor. I could have all the confidence in myself possible. I could believe that I might do something someday, but the day I verified however small a part of that belief, that day was new hope given to me that I might also reach other daydreams which I would never have confessed even to my most intimate friend. So it was that this first little <em>mention honorable</em> gave me a courage and a power for hard work, and also a hope that I had never before possessed. It decided for me the question whether it was better to do a few things—one picture, for instance—and bring it to a fairly successful conclusion or to do many pictures, trusting to some chance that one of them would be better than any continued and more or less labored effort could be. This little honor did spur me on to greater efforts and these efforts were not completely unsuccessful. The only drag was, as it had always been, the everlasting question of money. A gentleman who had enabled me to gain a little by writing up art notes in Paris now withdrew this work because he thought I should come to America and paint American subjects. I refused to come home and paint things I was not drawn to."<br /><br />Tanner did visit the United States frequently but never returned there to live. He exhibited at the Salon annually between 1894 and 1914, focused for many years on painting Biblical scenes, and traveled extensively in Europe and the Near East. He also painted intimate views of Paris that capture the spirit and mutable light of his adopted city. The first African-American artist to achieve international recognition, Tanner died in Paris in 1937.<br /><br />This is Charles Turner and I have been reading excerpts from "The Story of an Artist's Life" by Henry Ossawa Tanner, which was published in <em>The World's Work</em> magazine in 1909.<br /><br />The exhibition "Americans in Paris, 1860–1900" on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art through January 28, 2007 features the work of Tanner and more than thirty other American artists.<br /><br />The exhibition is made possible by Bank of America.<br /><br />Additional support is provided by the Marguerite and Frank A. Cosgrove Jr. Fund.<br /><br />The exhibition was organized by The National Gallery, London, and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, in association with The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.<br /><br />It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 010 Louis Comfort Tiffany and Laurelton Hall: An Artist's Country Estate The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Vivid descriptions, read from letters by Tiffany and his contemporaries, reveal the history behind one of his greatest artistic achievements. Vivid descriptions, read from letters by Tiffany and his contemporaries, reveal the history behind one of his greatest artistic achievements. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11282006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_010 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.11282006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_010 {5D70EF2E-38E2-4F9C-95A4-7582FE0A9B84} Learn more about the exhibition. Tue, 28 Nov 2006 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 8:00 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Louis Comfort Tiffany and Laurelton Hall Artist's Country Estate spex no <strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: Laurelton Hall was the American artist and designer Louis Comfort Tiffany's magnificent country estate in Oyster Bay, Long Island—eighty-four rooms, eight levels on nearly six hundred acres overlooking Long Island Sound. It was more than just a country house, it was one of his greatest works of art. He designed everything: terraced gardens and fountains; the architecture—including the main house, stables, tennis courts, greenhouses, art studios; all of the interior settings and finishes; the furniture; mantelpieces; lamps; rugs. And he eventually incorporated into it all of his major collections: Asian works of art; everything from sword guards to kingfisher feather headdresses; Native American baskets and beaded dresses; Islamic tiles and pottery. And into this extraordinary house he also put his collections of some of the very best of his favrile glass vases, pottery, enamelwork, and a virtual retrospective of his stained-glass windows.<br /><br />Tiffany built the house between 1902 and 1905, and he moved in immediately with his family, using it as their country estate. Laurelton Hall soon became known as the location of some lavish entertaining for the artsy set of Tiffany's day, like his magical Peacock Feast of 1914. When journalists and guests recorded their impressions of the great estate, they always noted the beautiful harmony of nature, both inside and outside the house. In a rare statement on interior decoration, Tiffany himself wrote in 1917:<br /><br /><strong>Man</strong>: "Nowadays, it is the fashion to import from abroad furniture and decorations, but very few examples are consistent with our own civilization, ideals, mode of living, or, for that matter, with a reasonable kind of life anywhere. I would rather make a plea for more restrained and reasonable decoration, with nature as a stimulus, a harmonizer."<br /><br /><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: Visitors to Laurelton Hall described, more than any other aspect of the house, the magical impression of living in the midst of nature. Clara Lyman, a contemporary writer on home decoration, wrote this in 1914 of her arrival at the house and of its main living hall:<br /><br /><strong>Woman</strong>: "The approach to the house through miles of laurel-lined drive puts one into a mood to which wooded glades and running brooks seem the natural accompaniment. And the delight of finding at the journey's end, the moment you step across the threshold, that your mood seems unbroken, is indescribable.<br /><br />"With the charm of the wood drive still upon you, you find yourself presently at the top of a short flight of stairs, looking into a room of vast proportions, whose leafy, green-toned walls are decorated in the laurel design. As you stand at the threshold, masses of blooms seem to grow against this background, as though they belonged there. Twilight was coming on, and the window shades—of a dark green material like the walls and with the same laurel-leaf design—were drawn, completing the illusion of a forest glade. Presently the lights were turned on. The room at once became alive, yet one was scarcely conscious at first of the lights themselves, so wonderfully did they harmonize with their surroundings. Whoever has been under the spell of a deep forest at dusk, with the fireflies for the only light, may catch the mood of this charming room at Laurelton."<br /><br /><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: Another writer, Charles DeKay, had this to say about effects created by Tiffany at Laurelton Hall using water and glass:<br /><br /><strong>Man</strong>: "Gravel walks, flowering bushes, a pool of water, watched over by an immense Japanese bronze dragon, occupy the space on the inland side where the tall clock tower can be seen from finial to base. Entering from this garden of flowers, aquatic plants and fragrant bushes, one comes upon the central apartment, which has also running water, while through its farther windows one can see the blue stretches of Cold Spring Harbor. The tiled pool that freshens this middle room gets its water from a glass jar of wonderful color shaped like the slenderest of Greek amphorae. This rises from the middle of the pool. The water bubbling over the slender jar gains a tint, from glass and sunlight combined, which cannot be described by words. In position it is the center of the house and in fact may be the most beautiful object among the many there. Strange to say, this glass vase changes in color, varies not merely somewhat in accordance with the position of the sun in its fainter shades, but changes during the longer lapse of time as if through some action of the constant running of the water over glass. The vase, it seems, has a term of life.<br /><br />"It is highly characteristic that Mr. Tiffany should be the one to discover this curious effect of running water on glass in the heart of his splendid country house. For who could appreciate better these fine shades of color, delicate as moonlight on dewy cobwebs, than the man who has fixed in favrile glass so many evanescent hues?"<br /><br /><strong>Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen</strong>: In 1918, Tiffany gave the house, its contents, and some of the surrounding land to the Louis Comfort Tiffany Foundation, which he had founded so that artists could study, work, and be inspired by what he had created there. He continued to live at Laurelton Hall until his death in 1933, after which the house continued to be operated as he envisioned it, as a kind of public museum as well as a place for artists. But during the Second World War, it became increasingly difficult to maintain the house and gardens. The foundation made a very difficult decision and sold all the contents of the house in 1946, and then the house itself. In 1957, a fire tragically destroyed Laurelton Hall. The majority of the surviving architectural elements and windows were saved by Hugh and Jeanette McKean and transported to Florida, where they became part of the collections of The Charles Hosmer Morse Museum of American Art. Tiffany's personal collections survived the fire, having been auctioned at the Louis Comfort Tiffany Foundation sale of 1946.<br /><br />This is Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen, curator of The Metropolitan Museum of Art's exhibition "Louis Comfort Tiffany and Laurelton Hall—An Artist's Country Estate". The exhibition reunites hundreds of works by Tiffany and from his personal collections, including many of his most spectacular leaded-glass windows and architectural elements like Laurelton Hall's dramatic Daffodil Terrace, conserved and displayed for the very first time. We hope that the exhibition—on view at the Metropolitan in New York through May 20, 2007—brings Tiffany's extraordinary dream house back to life, in a sense, once again.<br /><br />The exhibition is made possible by The Tiffany & Company Foundation.<br /><br />Additional support is provided by the Gail and Parker Gilbert Fund.<br /><br />It was organized by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in collaboration with The Charles Hosmer Morse Museum of American Art, Winter Park, Florida.<br /><br />We gratefully acknowledge Morrison H. Heckscher and Monica Obniski for their narrations.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 009 Coaxing the Spirits to Dance: Art of the Papuan Gulf The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Excerpts from the unpublished manuscript of the pioneering photographer Kathleen Haddon chronicle indigenous ceremonies and traditions of the Papuan Gulf in the early 20th century. Excerpts from the unpublished manuscript of the pioneering photographer Kathleen Haddon chronicle indigenous ceremonies and traditions of the Papuan Gulf in the early 20th century. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10232006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_009 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10232006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_009 {4945D204-CC0B-44DD-98D0-7D326DA23C2C} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 23 Oct 2006 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 8:52 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Coaxing the Spirits to Dance Papuan Papa New Guinea Gulf Kathleen Haddon spex no <strong>Virginia-Lee Webb</strong>: The art of the Papuan Gulf is among the world’s great sculpture traditions. There, traditional sculptures in the form of masks, figures, and spirit boards represented and became the embodiment of supernatural beings that were placated, cajoled, and coaxed to attend to human needs. The first-ever survey exhibition of these dynamic works was seen at the Museum of Primitive Art in New York in 1961. Now, forty-five years later, The Metropolitan Museum of Art presents this inventive art—and photographs of it in its original cultural context—in a new exhibition, "Coaxing the Spirits to Dance: Art of the Papuan Gulf", on view from October 24, 2006, through September 3, 2007.<br /><br />My name is Virginia-Lee Webb, Research Curator in the Department of the Arts of Africa, Oceania, and the Americas at the Metropolitan, and curator of the exhibition.<br /><br />The medium of photography has played an important role in our knowledge of the original contexts in the Papuan Gulf. Photography was used as early as 1874 by members of the London Missionary Society, who sought to change what they saw around them. Visitors with diverse personal and commercial agendas followed, and many had cameras. For the first time, this exhibition presents a selection of historical photographs that provide a record of what the photographers saw, perceived, and pictured with their cameras. The creativity manifest in the sculptures and the indigenous perspective is apparent in these remarkable images. In several instances, the sculptures are seen in their traditional contexts, or in situ. Many of the photographs have recently been located and are united in the exhibition for the first time with the actual sculptures pictured in them.<br /><br />The visitors who witnessed the events and made the photographs in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries are no longer with us. In addition to the photographs, a few left behind diaries, letters, and unpublished manuscripts that tell us about their adventures and feelings. One photographer who stands out among them was 26-year-old Kathleen Haddon, who lived from 1888 to 1961. She was the daughter of ethnologist Alfred Cort Haddon, best known for leading the Cambridge Anthropological Expedition to the Torres Strait in 1898. Kathleen Haddon received a degree in zoology from Cambridge and traveled with her father several times. In 1914, she was appointed the official photographer for her father’s third and final voyage to Papua.<br /><br />The photographs she made are artistic accomplishments and visual treasures. She is one of the first non-local women to enter and photograph art in the men’s longhouses, and her photographs bridge the gap between the earlier missionaries and travelers. She used two different types of cameras: a standard view camera with glass plate negatives, and a small, quiet Vest Pocket Kodak camera that used roll film. Approximately eighty prints and numerous negatives were given to the Cambridge University Museum, where they remain today, along with an unpublished manuscript she wrote in 1915. The following are excerpts from her manuscript:<br /><br /><strong>Woman</strong>: "As the steamer which had brought us up to Thursday Island from Brisbane glided down the strait and headed for the open sea, I felt that the last link with the familiar world was broken. The voyage along the Queensland coast had been a memorable one, bringing us a glimpse of the tropics and occasional coral reef, but all the time we were in the midst of friends, living on a large steamer with its routine of games and meals, and it was difficult to realize that one was at last in that enchanted region of coral islands and coconut palms. The departure of the steamer, however, and the goodbyes of our homeward-bound companions awakened us to the realities of life; henceforward, for two months or more, we were to cope with unknown phenomena—tides, currents, and trade-winds—as factors in our locomotion, for practically all our traveling was to be done by boat. Our food was to be tinned and our bedding was rolled up in the familiar Australian ‘swag.’ What more could the heart desire? We were both brimful of eagerness, my father to revisit some of his old haunts and friends, and I with the excitement of my first tropical island and the sense of childhood’s dreams of adventure come true.<br /><br />"The ravi at Maipua were of enormous size, the top of the gable being about sixty feet from the ground in some cases. Most of them had great screens over the entrance, and this, we found, was due to the fact that there was dancing going on inside in connection with the initiation ceremonies of some boys. Over the tops of the screens there bobbed four weird masks and the sound of drums and chanting came from within. We made straight for the largest ravi and again to my surprise, I was allowed to enter, in spite of the fact that a ceremony was being conducted. Inside the clubhouse, the light was bad, owing to the great screen across the door, and it took me a little time to become accustomed to it after the glare on the water. A group of men were seated on the ground, beating drums in a rhythmical manner and chanting, whilst one of them blew occasional blasts on a large conch shell. In the space around them danced two men holding long bamboo poles, about thirty feet high, on the top of which were the grotesque masks we had seen from outside. These figures had to be kept continuously in motion and the men moved backwards and forwards in time with the chanting, jiggling the poles in their hands. In the hot atmosphere, this dancing with heavy poles was tremendously tiring work and the dancers were often streaming with perspiration, although they were frequently relieved by others. We heard later that this part of the ceremony was introductory, serving to scare away the evil spirits, and that the dance proper began four or five days later. In preparation for this, all the great masks were ranged along the ravi, a most impressive sight, for they were from six to twenty feet high and painted brilliant white with black and red designs on them.<br /><br />"Orokolo consists of a series of villages scattered along the beach, and the main one—where the London Missionary station is situated—was about three miles from ours. Accordingly, we started off soon after breakfast, deciding to go there by the beach and study the canoes, have lunch, and then return through the villages to see the houses and people. The tide was up, and discarding our shoes and stockings, my father and I kept along the water’s edge on the cool, wet sand. Every now and again, a canoe was drawn up high on the beach, and we went and examined these, taking notes and, if need be, a photograph or sketch.<br /><br />"Now, after several months at home, the whole thing seems more dreamlike than ever, except for an occasional fierce longing to be up and away again. Perhaps someday I shall go back and no doubt find that I have immensely overrated the pleasures of travel in Papua, but meanwhile, with my photographs and my memories, I can revisit it at will and once more glide down the palm-shaded rivers or bask on the coral strand."<br /><br /> <strong>Virginia-Lee Webb</strong>: The exhibition was organized by the Hood Museum of Art, Dartmouth College, in collaboration with The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.<br /><br />Excerpts are used by permission, courtesy of Professor Henry Rishbeth, son of Kathleen Haddon, and the Cambridge University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, England.<br /><br />We gratefully acknowledge Penelope Taylor as the voice of Kathleen Haddon.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 008 Set in Stone: The Face in Medieval Sculpture The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Museum Director Philippe de Montebello provides the historical context behind these medieval sculpted heads, recalling their importance as icons and symbols of power. Museum Director Philippe de Montebello provides the historical context behind these medieval sculpted heads, recalling their importance as icons and symbols of power. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10092006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_008 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10092006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_008 {6BCC8C4E-1870-43E4-AA95-E6A784B41BBD} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 09 Oct 2006 09:00:00 -0500 Podcasts 7:11 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Set in Stone Philippe de Montebello medieval sculpted heads spex no <strong>Charles Little</strong>: The sculpted heads in the exhibition "Set in Stone: The Face in Medieval Sculpture" at The Metropolitan Museum of Art have lost their original contexts. Many of them were violently broken from their bodies or from the monuments they once adorned. One particularly vivid moment in history, in which monuments were destroyed and sculptures were defaced, was the French Revolution. When King Louis XVI was guillotined in 1793, the Commune of Paris decreed that all statues of kings on Notre-Dame Cathedral be destroyed. Here is an excerpt of the edict to remove the statues, read by Metropolitan Museum Director Philippe de Montebello.<br /><br /><strong>Philippe de Montebello</strong>: "The General Council, informed that in contempt of the law, there still exists in several streets of Paris monuments of fanaticism and royalty; and that it is its duty to get rid of all monuments which recall the execrable memory of the kings; the General Council decrees that within eight days, the Gothic simulacra of the kings of France who are placed on the portal of the church of Our Lady will be toppled and destroyed, and that the administration of public works is given the responsibility of accounting for the provisions of the present decree."<br /><br /><strong>Charles Little</strong>: Seen as symbols of the French monarchy, the sculptures were removed from their lofty positions and the heads were violently severed. For some, this parallel act of vengeance was not enough. The great Neoclassical painter Jacques-Louis David, who was a member of the art commission of the National Convention, proposed that the heads of the gallery of kings be used as the base for a monument to the French people, to replace the statue of Henri IV on the nearby Pont-Neuf. He addressed the Convention Nationale in November 1793.<br /><br /><strong>Philippe de Montebello</strong>: "The kings, unable to usurp the place of the Divinity in the temples, had seized their portals; they had placed their effigies there, undoubtedly so that the people's adorations stopped with them before arriving into the sanctuary. Thus accustomed to invading everything, they dared to dispute with God even the incense which men offered Him. You citizens overthrew the usurping insolents; they lie on the ground that they soiled with their crimes, objects of the derision of the people.<br /><br />"Citizens, let us perpetuate this triumph. Let us build a monument within the enclosure of the Commune of Paris, not far from this church of which they had made their pantheon, that transmits to our descendants the first trophy of its victory over the tyrants. Let the truncated remains of their statues form a durable monument of the glory of the people and the kings' debasement; that the traveler who will roam this new land, reporting back to his homeland lessons useful to people, says: 'I had seen kings in Paris; I passed by there again, they were there no more.' Thus, in Paris, the effigies of the kings and the remains of their foul attributes will be piled up in a jumble and will serve as a pedestal to the emblem of the French people."<br /><br /><strong>Charles Little</strong>: That monument was never erected. Instead, the dislocated pieces of the statues were left as a pile of debris behind the church of Notre-Dame and used as a public latrine, according to one contemporary account.<br /><br /><strong>Philippe de Montebello</strong>: "Do you remember, readers, those kings from the portals of Notre-Dame, those shapeless masses, as thick as elephants, that formed a long cordon in the niches of the frontispiece of the most important church in Paris? The whole of the foremost race was there, thoroughly blackened by time; but finally one made out the monarchs in contemporary stones, and which in a day were toppled over. Do you know what became of them? Piled on top of each other behind the church, they remain buried beneath the dirtiest filth. Their monstrous shapes attract attention; and when one sees them holding their great scepters, their various amusing deformations attract pitying smiles; but before long the onlooker reflects on the extraordinary turn of our times and the strange blows struck by destiny.<br /><br />"Chance, no doubt, rather than malign intent, has ruled over their grotesque and humiliating degradation. But it is pointless for both sight and smell to be offended by the sight of them; already their history stinks.<br /><br />"A grenadier, pipe in mouth, climbs over Charlemagne's well-rounded belly, and without fear of reproach knocks against his big nose—an emperor's nose. Calmly he surveys the other colossal figures whose heads still wear a crown. His comrade does the same and scorns knowing the name of the man whose effigy he treads on and soils with his tread. King Pepin is there, sword in hand, a lion beneath his feet in memory of the one he killed in a combat in the courtyard of Ferrières Abbey. His lion and sword are motionless in the presence of so many injuries done him.<br /><br />"Thus it is today in Paris the new St.-Denis, or rather the museum of these ancient and royal statues. The curious visitor who crosses it pinches his nostrils and fears that these effigies that stink worse than corpses may provoke the plague."<br /><br /><strong>Charles Little</strong>: Several of the regal thirteenth-century limestone heads originally from Notre-Dame are on view in the Metropolitan Museum exhibition "Set in Stone" through February 19, 2007. The more than eighty sculpted heads in the exhibition—all from the sweeping period of the Middle Ages between the waning days of the Roman Empire and the Renaissance—are fascinating for their origins and history, as well as for their artistic expression of human identity. The French Revolution was not the only moment to witness a “guillotine of history” against works of art. Many were damaged or destroyed by Protestant reformers in the sixteenth century. Others have been casualties of war, natural deterioration, or rebuilding and restoration. The fate of such works of art is a testament to the power of images over people, in our time as in the past.<br /><br />The exhibition is made possible by The Florence Gould Foundation.<br /><br />Additional support is provided by the Michel David-Weill Fund.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 007 Sean Scully: Wall of Light The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York The artist Sean Scully explores the emotional and narrative themes of his abstract, bricklike forms. The artist Sean Scully explores the emotional and narrative themes of his abstract, bricklike forms. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.09252006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_007 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.09252006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_007 {D46CD5F6-586B-4840-BBE4-8FF1ADB9A98B} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 25 Sep 2006 12:30:00 -0400 Podcasts 9:04 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Sean Scully Wall of Light abstract Mexico spex no <strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: Sean Scully was inspired to create his Wall of Light series, beginning in 1998, by visits he had made to Mexico in the early 1980s. In Mexico, he observed the play of light and shadow on ancient stone walls. This ongoing and distinctive body of work—which includes paintings, watercolors, pastels, and aquatints—explores abstract forms affected by light, evoking a range of emotional and narrative themes. Since 1998, Scully has created the works in this series with rectangular, bricklike forms that are closely fitted and arranged in horizontal and vertical groupings, as if in a wall. They are characterized by broad, gestural brushstrokes and a wide range of luminous colors built up in layers, and varying degrees of overall light and darkness. Created in Scully's studios in New York, London, Barcelona, and outside Munich, these works manifest a commitment to pure abstraction: to its emotional power, its storytelling potential, and, above all, its capacity to convey light.<br /><br />This is Anne Strauss, Associate Curator of Modern and Contemporary Art at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, where we are presenting the first major solo museum exhibition in New York of Sean Scully's work, from September 26, 2006, to January 15, 2007. Following are excerpts from a recent conversation with Sean Scully, who describes the evolution and the process of creating his Wall of Light series; his fascination with the work of particular artists and architects, past and present, and how they handle light and surface; and his thoughts on spirituality in painting.<br /><br /><strong>Sean Scully</strong>: What I would say, then, is about my various sources, my various inspirations, is that they come from different points in history, and I don't make a distinction between current and old, between east and west, north and south. And I've traveled around quite a lot in my life and I tend to favor places that are in some way brutal or primitive, because I find some essential truth in those places. And I went to Morocco in the early 1970s, like a lot of other hippies, and came back painting stripes. And when I moved to the United States, I began to visit Mexico shortly afterwards. And I was fascinated by the ruins. I thought they had a kind of mystical presence.<br /><br />I was sitting on the beach one day in Mexico. This was, I think, my second trip to Mexico. I was sitting on the beach in a place called Zihuatanejo, and I made a little watercolor, which I called <em>Wall of Light</em>. And I left that watercolor—I think that was in 1984—I left it for a long time. And it was a little wall made up of blocks put together that were vaguely geometric, as is my work. My work is geometric but it's a kind of geometry that's been subjected to personal intervention or a kind of drawing that is coming from the ability to draw the figure, let's say. <br /><br />So if you take that and you combine it with the abstraction that one can find in the archaeological sites in Mexico, it makes something very interesting. The other thing is, of course, at different times of the day in these extremely hot places, the light is doing something different—the way that it hits walls, the way that it changes the color. A yellow in the morning will be pale and it will be deep orange in the afternoon. And a green will change to gray in the morning and to a strange blue-black color at night. And I'm very responsive to all these stimuli.<br /><br />Now, Monet is a very great painter for me. And the other very great painter for me in relation to a wall is Cézanne. And, now, if you've ever seen Saint Mont Victoire [sic], you'll see that it rises up stubbornly and it creates a façade that was built almost in a grid, the way that Cézanne builds his paintings. And in a Cézanne painting you've got structure, luminosity, and a kind of erotic charge. And this to me is very profound. So his work is consistent and driven, systematic—as is my work—but it is not dry. It does not give itself over to the system. It does not abandon its humanity in favor of the system. And I think this, for me, is a crucial point in art.<br /><br />The other little group of paintings I'd like to talk about while we're talking about the wall, is Monet's pictures of Rouen Cathedral, where he almost makes stone into spirit, which is, of course, what a church would like to be and is very often not. But what he's doing there is really a kind of metamorphosis and a metaphor at the same time. You've got a building made of stone. Monet paints it with an incredible, heavy surface, very worked-up surface-layered paint with bright, dull color, using a lot of gray in the colors. And the painting is at once a heavy surface and a dissolving surface. Now, of course you can't have a wall of light. There's no such thing yet. There might be in the twenty-second century, I don't know. But right now there's no such thing as a wall of light. You can have a curtain of light. But you can walk through it, so it's not a barrier. So what I'm trying to do, I suppose, in this little watercolor that I made on the beach in Zihuatanejo, is make something that is obviously metaphysical, because I'm trying to turn stone into light. Which has its roots, of course, in mysticism and alchemy from the Middle Ages. <br /><br />And what I'm trying to do in my paintings is make a relationship that has emotion in it, that has the hand in it, and that has color, made with color, and that somehow has a sense of permanence. And this is the relationship with Cézanne, of course, who is a builder, in a way. It's not an accident that he chooses to identify himself with a mountain that's not a very glamorous mountain, either. It's not a mountain that rises up to a high, romantic peak. It's a stubborn mountain that has a very interesting façade. So it's this sense of confrontation with material, the materiality of things, the beautiful surface of the world, that my work is feeding off of.<br /><br /><strong>Anne Strauss</strong>: "Sean Scully: Wall of Light" is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, from September 26, 2006, through January 15, 2007.<br /><br />The exhibition is made possible by Paula Cussi and Ignacio Garza Medina.<br /><br />Corporate support is provided by UBS.<br /><br />The exhibition was organized by The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 006 New Orleans after the Flood: Photographs by Robert Polidori The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York The photographer Robert Polidori describes his experience depicting the loss and pathos of a civilization in chaos in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. The photographer Robert Polidori describes his experience depicting the loss and pathos of a civilization in chaos in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.08292006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_006 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.08292006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_006 {23E721E6-F42D-4773-8FF7-B1EE1CDD00A9} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 29 Aug 2006 12:30:00 -0400 Podcasts 8:54 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org New Orleans after the Flood photographs Robert Polidori Hurricane Katrina Louisiana spex no <strong>Jeff Rosenheim</strong>: Hello, my name is Jeff Rosenheim. I'm an Associate Curator at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in the Department of Photographs, and to commemorate the first anniversary of the devastating hurricane that struck New Orleans and the surrounding area last year on August 29—that is, 2005—I invited the renowned photographer Robert Polidori, who had made photographs beginning late in that month, to show that work to me.<br /><br />Immediately after the hurricane and the flooding that followed, New Orleans suffered great losses. Polidori's photographs of rotting wallboard, of tumbled furniture, of rooms caked with mud, of houses that became unwieldy boats that floated off their moorings, these photographs of the interiors and exteriors of 160,000 homes is the subject of Polidori's recent work.<br /><br />As one of the finest photographers working with the camera in New Orleans after Katrina, the photographs offer a stunning testimony of civilization in chaos, of widespread urban ruin that few have seen, except those who have been in wartorn areas. The effect of disintegration, of chaos, of a society in collapse is revealed in these photographs, filled with pathos. The purpose of the photographs is to remind us that New Orleans is still there, to encourage people to pay attention to the effects of global warming, and to look at how the camera—in a very specific way—how the camera can record the social facts of our time in ways that no other medium really can.<br /><br />"New Orleans after the Flood: Photographs by Robert Polidori" is on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art from September 19 to December 10, 2006. The photographs in the exhibition are also included in Robert Polidori's new book, <em>After the Flood</em>, published by Steidl and released in September 2006.<br /><br />What follows are excerpts from a conversation I had recently with Robert Polidori about his work in New Orleans and how he made it.<br /><br /><strong>Robert Polidori</strong>: Strangely enough, I was on my way to Dubai, on assignment. I had heard about a largest hurricane of thirty years moving into the Gulf, etc., and I was sitting at the airport lounge watching it on CNN and it looked, like, bigger than, like, three states, and it looked like it was going to be a bull's-eye. And I thought, oh my God.<br /><br />And then the next couple days came all the reports about the flooding. And I knew then I had to go. I don't know why. I mean, maybe it's the fact that I lived there for a few years. But also it's because I just knew that this would be a significant event in the perceived history of global warming.<br /><br />You know, it's funny—all these kinds of feelings I have more, like, after the fact. I'm not a courageous guy by nature. You know, I got out of the army and all of that. But for some reason I want shots so much it gives me a kind of a mindless, yet not too reckless, kind of courage. And that courage comes from not thinking about it but only concentrating on what I think that I have to do to get the shot.<br /><br />So basically, I take images of historical events, but that's only the backdrop for the kind of subject matter, which is about psychological loss, pathos, and a kind of paradox.<br /><br />The purpose of the book is to try to give some reflection to all the individual lives that have been irrevocably changed by this. And these houses—they'll never live again. To me, a house is like an exoskeleton of a person's life. And these are exoskeletons that have been shed. They'll never be used again. I mean, you have to rebuild them. You have to rebuild a whole economy.<br /><br />I remember reading what the etymology of "economy" is. It comes from “oicos”—in Greek, means “house.” So it's the measurement of houses. A city, collection of houses. They're like nests. They're like huge nesting areas. And I think there's a kind of collective soul about the whole thing. Because, like, ultimately, the only spiritual aspect to my work is about trying to reveal a kind of soul life and what interests me in interiors is that this is where individuals exteriorize their internal values by what they place on the walls, on the floor, of their houses, and what they do there. It's the materialization of the internal life.<br /><br />To me, to take a photograph is work, and it should look better than what I saw, or else why bother? Then just for my own good, I could just walk through and just look.<br /><br />I use long exposure and I don't use lighting. I prefer natural light because I think that lighting changes the nature of the scene. Because I'm more a sociologist. I'm not trying to make it idealized; trying to make it—impose a vision of what I think it should look like. I'm not doing a makeover. I'm interested in revealing what is there.<br /><br />I like this quote that I recently ran across by Dieter Appelt, a German artist, who said that the snapshot—<em>l'instant donné</em>—is a portrait of a moment that will never re-occur, or occur again, and that the long exposure is a moment that never transpired. And what I like about the long exposure is somehow it's closer to, kind of, spirit photography. It starts to render things that are not so readily perceived by the eye right off the bat and you see them better. Because I can tell you, some of these interiors were extremely dim. And I took 500-, 600-, 700-second exposures. And when I print them I make them look like almost normal lighting. But in reality, they were 3, 4 stops or times darker than what we see in the printed image. <br /><br />I have no shame, I don't think it's wrong to do this. I'm simply trying to make something visible. The thing and the image of the thing is not the same thing. Is that in contradiction to the fact that I'm trying to reveal some truth? I don't know. At the same time, I'm trying to learn what is there. For me, photography is a process of revelation. I want truth to be revealed to me and to us. That's why I do it. It's a constant learning process about the world. I would say, I have certain personal bents, like these tragedy or loss things, for some reason. I like layers of time and the perception of that. But I'm in love with the world. 005 AngloMania: Tradition and Transgression in British Fashion The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Punk legend John Rotten provides commentary on the evolution of British fashion, relating fashion of necessity to social structures and the bravado of the individual. Punk legend John Rotten provides commentary on the evolution of British fashion, relating fashion of necessity to social structures and the bravado of the individual. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.05012006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_005 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.05012006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_005 {8CBD9694-C547-4DB3-A0AE-1CA0F88BED16} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 01 May 2006 12:30:00 -0400 Podcasts 7:32 no Metropolitan Museum Art New York City NYC MMA Met www.metmuseum.org Anglo Mania Englnd United Kingdom UK Great Britain Johnny Jonny Johny Rotten Roten Lydon Sex Pistols God Save the Queen Punk Fashion spex no 004 Hatshepsut: From Queen to Pharaoh The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Actor Sam Waterston narrates the story of the famous Egyptian queen Hatshepsut. Actor Sam Waterston narrates the story of the famous Egyptian queen Hatshepsut. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.04102006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_004 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.04102006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_004 {92C8F718-137B-4AE6-9FAA-C8DA6CCE72CC} Learn more about the exhibition. Mon, 10 Apr 2006 12:30:00 -0400 Podcasts 11:04 no Metropolitan Museum Art Hatshepsut Queen Pharaph Sam Waterston Ancient Egypt New York City NYC MMA sculpture temple www.metmuseum.org spex no <strong>Nimet Habachy</strong>: Hatshepsut was not the first, or the last, or even the most famous female ruler of ancient Egypt, but she was without doubt the most important. She lived in the early fifteenth century B.C., a thousand years after the pyramids were built, and she oversaw an era of relative peace and economic prosperity that was reflected in the remarkable sculpture and decorative arts of her time. One of the most enduring architectural marvels in the world, Hatshepsut's mortuary temple at Deir el-Bahri, has fascinated tourists for centuries.<br /><br />But how had a woman come to rule Egypt? Hatshepsut lived at the beginning of the New Kingdom in the early Eighteenth Dynasty. She was the eldest daughter of Thutmose I, a powerful ruler who had helped secure Egypt's borders, leading an expedition all the way to the Euphrates River in western Asia. She became the principal queen of her younger half-brother, Thutmose II. When her husband died after a very brief reign, Hatshepsut, who had no sons of her own, became regent for her stepson and nephew, Thutmose III, who was a young child. Sometime in the first seven years of Thutmose's reign, Hatshepsut took the titles of king for reasons that are still unclear. By doing this, she was not deposing her nephew, but was acting as the senior of two kings, a role she played for the next fifteen years.<br /><br />About twenty years after Hatshepsut's death, her name was erased from inscriptions and her statues were smashed. This destruction was ordered by her nephew, Thutmose III, for reasons that can only be guessed at. Hatshepsut's name was omitted from the Egyptian king lists, and only a vague memory of a great female ruler persisted in ancient historical sources. It was not until the mid-nineteenth century that her identity was rediscovered and, bit by bit, her story was pieced together.<br /><br />In the early twentieth century, more than 3,500 years after Hatshepsut's death, an American Egyptologist from The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Herbert Winlock, made a stupendous discovery that changed our perception of Hatshepsut's legacy forever. Winlock's team of archaeologists had been working in the area of Deir el-Bahri for several excavation seasons. This site contains two great temples—one built in the Eleventh Dynasty by King Mentuhotep II, and one built about 500 years later in the Eighteenth Dynasty by Hatshepsut. Winlock was concentrating on the Eleventh Dynasty temple and cemeteries when he began the 1922–1923 excavation season, but he was soon sidetracked by what appeared at first to be an annoying distraction.<br /><br />Here to read from the writings of Herbert Winlock is actor Sam Waterston.<br /><br /> <strong>Sam Waterston</strong>: "That branch of the Museum's Egyptian Expedition which excavates in the Theban Necropolis has finished its fourth-consecutive season on the cemeteries of the Eleventh Dynasty. This year we planned to put all of our efforts into carrying on in the same way, and everything was in our favor so far as we could see, when we fell into a hole dug by Hatshepsut and were engulfed for half of the season. Sometimes we almost thought of it as a pitfall maliciously set for us, and we were impatient at being trapped and unable to get away to our Eleventh Dynasty goal. Looked at with less ill feeling after the excitement of the dig is over, it appears as one of the most interesting things we have ever found."<br /><br /><strong>Nimet Habachy</strong>: As often happens in archaeology, Winlock's discovery was made completely by accident. In order to proceed with the excavations at the Eleventh Dynasty temple of Mentuhotep, he had to find a place to dump his debris. A perfect location seemed to be the gap between the two raised avenues that led to the temples.<br /><br /><strong>Sam Waterston</strong>: "This hollow between the avenues was exactly right, for, hidden as it was between the two high banks, it had every appearance of always having been just what we wanted to use it for again—a dumping place. We merely had to take the precaution of assuring ourselves that there was nothing of importance in it. It was, in short, one of those routine jobs which take time and promise nothing of interest.<br /><br />"As the men cleared along, we began to find broken ex-votos from the Hathor Chapels up at Deir el-Bahri. Among them there were innumerable scarabs, mostly of Thutmose III, but also bearing nearly all of the other royal names of the Eighteenth Dynasty. At first they seemed to lie against the sides of the Mentuhotep bank, but eventually pockets of dirt containing them were found deeper and deeper in the bank itself, until finally the foundation stones of the Eleventh Dynasty wall actually hung suspended in air straight above the men sifting Eighteenth Dynasty scarabs and beads out below.<br /><br />"Now, if there is one self-evident axiom in digging, it is that things on top are later than things underneath. Yet here was an Eleventh Dynasty wall, meters above scarabs of the Eighteenth Dynasty. Everything had gone topsy-turvy. Were we to believe that the Eleventh Dynasty followed the Eighteenth?<br /><br />"The next day, the explanation of the hole became more or less evident. Hatshepsut's engineers had first been faced with the task of making a roadway to the site of her temple before they could haul up the massive granite and the heavy sandstone they were to build with. To grade this road, the little valley in front of the temple site had to be filled. The 500-year-old Mentuhotep embankment was temptingly near and easy to dig. The hole, then, dates from Hatshepsut's reign."<br /><br /><strong>Nimet Habachy</strong>: As the excavation season progressed, more and more objects connected with Hatshepsut were found in what became known as the "Hatshepsut Hole," and a new picture of what the temple must have been like in her lifetime began to take shape.<br /><br /><strong>Sam Waterston</strong>: "The tourist and the student are both familiar with the way the masons hacked every mention of Hatshepsut off the walls of Deir el-Bahri, but walking about the deserted colonnades of the temple, one is likely to forget that when it was originally built it must have been a veritable forest of her statues. What had become of them we discovered when we came to clear out the hole in the Mentuhotep causeway. Thutmose's masons had done away with them most efficiently by breaking them up and burying them in the hole her own engineers had dug.<br /><br />"Every day we found scraps of magnificent limestone statues. Some were fragments of colossal Osiride figures of the Queen and others were from a set of her statues about twice lifesize, of delightful workmanship and brilliant coloring. Today they are only maddening relics of Thutmose's spite, for limestone had been easily smashed into little bits. With hard stone it was somewhat more difficult for the iconoclasts. There had been a row of red granite figures of the Queen, probably between the columns of one of the colonnades, for there were certainly at least ten of them. All were alike, showing Hatshepsut kneeling and offering to some god a large, globular vase with a spout on the front shaped like an ankh amulet. Each had been carved with an oblong base. The destruction gang first threw them all on their sides and then hammered them on their hips with a big maul until they snapped asunder at their weakest points, usually the waist and neck, and always along the top of their bases. We never discovered what became of the latter. Probably, being fairly regularly shaped oblong blocks, they made excellent corn grinders and were taken off to the city. The other bits were just a convenient size for one man to lift and were carried off to the great hole and dumped into it."<br /><br /><strong>Nimet Habachy</strong>: Over the next few years, the Metropolitan's excavation team uncovered tens of thousands of stone fragments and began the tedious and often daunting task of reconstructing Hatshepsut's statues.<br /><br /><strong>Sam Waterston</strong>: "The task of piecing together the fragments already found is going to be long and sometimes very discouraging. Imagine nearly a hundred jigsaw puzzles—every one of them lacking some parts—all mixed up together. Picture some of the pieces no bigger than the tip of your finger and others so heavy that it takes a large derrick to move them. Then consider that the edges of these pieces are often so delicate that they crumble away unless they are handled with the most delicate care—even when they weigh a ton or more. That will give some idea of the work that has been going on at our camp at Thebes for the last two seasons, and will have to go on for several seasons more before we can be satisfied that we have made the most out of our find."<br /><br /><strong>Nimet Habachy</strong>: By 1930, the recovery of fragments and the reassembling of the statues were largely complete. In the division of finds with the Egyptian Antiquities Organization, the most complete examples were given to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. A number of nearly complete and fragmentary statues were given to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Winlock's sleuthing work extended to Europe, where he was able to reunite fragments of Hatshepsut sculptures he had found at Deir el-Bahri with pieces that had already made their way to collections in Berlin and Leiden. Winlock's work on Hatshepsut's statues was one of his greatest contributions to the study of Egyptology and to our knowledge of one of the greatest female rulers in history.<br /><br />This is Nimet Habachy of 96.3-FM WQXR, the classical radio sponsor of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Thank you for joining me today. This has been an Antenna Audio production. 003 Kara Walker at the Met: After the Deluge The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York The artist Kara Walker lends new insight into the antebellum world depicted in her work. The artist Kara Walker lends new insight into the antebellum world depicted in her work. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03282006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_003 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03282006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_003 {E4F51062-8A08-4593-8273-8807B8201F95} Learn more about the exhibition. Thu, 30 Mar 2006 12:30:00 -0400 Podcasts 7:28 no Metropolitan Museum Art Vincent Kara Walker Gary Tinterow New York City NYC MMA Drawings Met silhouette slavery race hurricane katrina antebellum south www.metmuseum.org spex no <strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Hello, my name is Gary Tinterow. I'm Curator in Charge of the Department of Nineteenth-Century, Modern, and Contemporary Art here at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. And I'm happy to welcome you, and to introduce you, to Kara Walker, who's here in the exhibition with me, as we're setting up—the final day—the exhibition "Kara Walker at the Met: After the Deluge." About a year ago, we invited Kara Walker to do a project at the Met and we offered her this space. The room that we're in is about 30 feet by 45 feet, and we gave her carte blanche to make new work, to select work that she had previously made, to go through the Metropolitan Museum's collection, choose works that she thought were of interest to her—works ranging from the sixteenth century, Hieronymus Bosch, to Winslow Homer, to works made in the last couple of years by Kara Walker herself.<br /><br />So Kara, what has it been like to go through the Met's collection and how has that shaped your idea for the exhibition?<br /><br /><strong>Kara Walker</strong>: I loved the opportunity and having the freedom to pick and choose. But I actually was overwhelmed initially with the possibilities. Why will I mine the Museum? Am I mining the Museum simply to give contexts to my work or am I mining the Museum to create a narrative similar to the way I try and create a narrative within my work?<br /><br /> <strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: But in the end, it all came together after Hurricane Katrina, and something you call the "story of muck."<br /><br /><strong>Kara Walker</strong>: It took awhile, but around August–September of last year, 2005, when the hurricane struck the Gulf Coast of the United States and we saw images on TV of strife and struggle and a kind of wetness, and there were stories that were being told in real time that had a basis in physical reality and some kind of a hook in a mythical place—I was very interested in trying to create an artwork, or create a situation, where that mythical space could be explored a little bit more fully. My biggest worry, after many weeks of hearing the stories surrounding the aftermath of the hurricane—I was very worried about the way it solidified, the way the story solidified—into comprehensible narrative of structural failure—<br /><br /> <strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: It seems like you're always fighting a conclusion in your work. You always insist on ambiguity and multiple endings to the stories that you invite us to consider in your works.<br /><br /><strong>Kara Walker</strong>: People assume—and I think I know this in myself—there's a great deal of security to be had in a happy ending. And the search for happy endings, particularly with regard to how the media treated Hurricane Rita afterwards, and sort of went out of their way to be involved and sort of actively portray activist reporters rescuing puppies, and just to rescue us from the scenes of failure, to keep us from being reminded of what disaster really feels like.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: We don't actually have in this exhibition any depictions of New Orleans or of hurricanes, but we have lots of natural disasters being shown here.<br /><br /><strong>Kara Walker</strong>: Natural disasters, and I think they're sort of internal disasters, physical disasters. But it's not all about that. I think that it's kind of important to set that Katrina factor—this mucky factor—in place and then deviate. Because some of the exhibition has to do with the kind of shifting terrain that New Orleans sort of occupies in the popular mind, particularly with regard to race, that things are never clearly black or white or solid, or gender and reality, fantasy and reality, all kind of come under some kind of a play, not really scrutiny but they're played with.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Well, to me, one of the juxtapositions that you've set up in the exhibition that's fascinating is the comparison of a painting probably from the 1880s by Winslow Homer, showing what must be freed slaves in a backyard, dressing up for carnival, and a sort of ill-defined family group getting together to comment on one of their members dressing up as a harlequin. And then you've juxtaposed that with a work by yourself that shows very much the stereotypes of minstrel players, banjo players. You don't know if they're actual blacks or Al Jolson, you know, pretending he's black, with what looks like a dead man lurking in the shadows.<br /><br /><strong>Kara Walker</strong>: This image that you're describing, it might be an untitled piece. It's a pencil drawing, and the two performers there, one with his foot stuck through the banjo, were directly taken out of a small minstrel poster, just sort of copied and drawn, and this third figure, this melting, murky figure, sort of female and blackish and not really real at all because it's based on so many false attributes, is the tar, if you will, that they're stuck in.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Sort of a Br'er Rabbit analogy there, metaphor.<br /><br /><strong>Kara Walker</strong>: And also kind of a minstrel metaphor. That piece by Homer, <em>The Gulf Stream</em>, was actually very important, one of the important first pieces I knew I wanted to put in the show. It's a very striking image, just formally. But I think there's a strange, disconcerting nonchalance. The boat is adrift and it's tilted, and the sea is stormy, and the mast is broken, and he's surrounded by sharks, and he has this kind of, there's a kind of clarity in some way, which is not too different from the kind of clarity of seeing a black woman holding her children and crying out. There is a kind of an iconography, I think, in the representation of stoicism in the face of disaster that became, in some ways, one of the attempted metaphors in the telling of Katrina. I don't know that it was a successful attempt.<br /><br /><strong>Gary Tinterow</strong>: Well, one thing that's interesting that one can do at the Metropolitan Museum, which is—can't be done in other museums in either New York or this country—is to draw on these rich collections. And Kara Walker has gone through Netherlandish prints of the seventeenth century showing the breaking of a dyke that was horrendous an event in the seventeenth century as perhaps Katrina was in our own; a copy after John Singleton Copley's famous <em>Watson and the Shark</em> that shows a young white boy attacked by a shark in the Havana harbor, 1749; juxtaposed with Winslow Homer's <em>Gulf Stream</em>, in which you see a black man adrift, looking at an ominous water spout in the Caribbean, with sharks circling him. And I think this is one of the most effective parts of the exhibition, is bringing disparate material from silhouettes to oil paintings to Renaissance pictures to prints by Poussin. And in every instance, I, as a curator, have learned something from looking at these works that are very familiar to me in the Museum's collection but in a completely new light, the light that Kara has shined on these works. Because her own pictures are so startling and new and disruptive and unsettling, that we see paintings that we've walked by hundreds of times in a completely different light. And for me, this is the great beauty of this exhibition.<br /><br /><strong>Narrator</strong>: "Kara Walker at the Met: After the Deluge," on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art until July 30, 2006.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 002 Samuel Palmer (1805-1881): Vision and Landscape The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Explore the Romantic era of Samuel Palmer. Explore the Romantic era of Samuel Palmer. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03142006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_002 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.03142006.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_002 {28321E9A-B028-4573-9594-FAA9C673D1F2} Learn more about the exhibition. Wed, 15 Mar 2006 12:30:00 -0400 Podcasts 4:41 no metropolitan museum art newyorkcity NYC MMA letters met www.metmuseum.org samuel palmer samuelpalmer drawings vision landscape romantic era spex no <strong>Narrator</strong>: Samuel Palmer was one of Britain’s greatest painters. His rich, romantic landscapes are celebrated in an exhibition marking the 200th anniversary of his birth: "Samuel Palmer: Vision and Landscape" at The Metropolitan Museum of Art through May 29, 2006.<br /><br />Palmer’s visionary style was inspired by the vivid imagery and powerful imagination of his friend, the older artist and poet William Blake. As a young man, Palmer absorbed the poetry of Milton, Virgil, Wordsworth, Blake, and others, and it fueled his creativity through his six-decade career as an artist.<br /><br />Here, read by Metropolitan Museum Director Philippe de Montebello, is an excerpt from Milton’s L’Allegro:<br /><br /><strong>Philippe de Montebello</strong>: "Sometime walking, not unseen, by hedge-row elms, on hillock green, right against the eastern gate, where the great sun begins his state, robed in flames and amber light, the clouds in thousand liveries dight; while the ploughman near at hand whistles o'er the furrowed land, and the milkmaid singeth blithe, and the mower whets his scythe, and every shepherd tells his tale under the hawthorn in the dale."<br /><br /><strong>Narrator</strong>: Samuel Palmer’s early work of the 1820s and 1830s—while he was living in Shoreham, England—is intimate in mood, rich in texture, and brilliant in hue. Its original style remains fresh to twenty-first-century eyes. Palmer’s intense correspondence with friends and mentors—like these excerpts from an 1828 letter to fellow artist and future father-in-law John Linnell—reveal his struggle to reflect in art the beauty and ideal order of nature and poetry:<br /><br /><strong>Philippe de Montebello</strong>: "I have begun to take off a pretty view of part of the village and have no doubt but the drawing of choice positions and aspects of external objects is one of the varieties of study requisite to build up an artist, who should be a magnet to all kinds of knowledge: though, at the same time, I can't help seeing that the general characteristics of nature's beauty not only differ from, but are, in some respects, opposed to those of imaginative art; and that, even in those scenes and appearances where she is loveliest, and most universally pleasing.<br /><br />"Nature, with mild, reposing breadths of lawn and hill, shadowy glades and meadows, is sprinkled and showered with a thousand pretty eyes and buds and spires and blossoms, gemmed with dew, and is clad in living green. Nor must be forgot the mottley clouding, the fine meshes, the aerial tissues that dapple the skies of spring; nor the rolling volumes and piled mountains of light; nor the purple sunset blazoned with gold; nor the translucent amber.<br /><br />"Universal nature wears a lovely gentleness of mild attraction; but the leafy lightness, the thousand repetitions of little forms, which are part of its own generic perfection—and who would wish them but what they are?—seem hard to be reconciled with the unwinning severity, the awfulness, the ponderous globosity of art. I am desperately resolved to try what can be got by drawing from nature. I think the pictures at our exhibitions seem almost as unlike nature as they are unlike fine art."<br /><br /><strong>Narrator</strong>: The exhibition follows Palmer’s work through his travels to Wales, Italy, and the southern coast of England, all famous for their natural beauty; to his family years in London, a time of financial struggle and the tragic death of his favorite son; and a creative resurgence in his later years, when his large, vibrant landscapes and shimmering etchings regained the power to transport viewers to exquisite worlds. They still have that power today.<br /><br />This audio program was created in conjunction with the exhibition "Samuel Palmer (1805–1881): Vision and Landscape," on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Fifth Avenue at 82nd Street, New York City, through May 29, 2006.<br /><br />The exhibition is made possible by Gilbert and Ildiko Butler.<br /><br />Additional support has been provided by William G. and Grace Brantley Anderson, The Horace W. Goldsmith Foundation, and The Schiff Foundation.<br /><br />The exhibition was organized by The British Museum and The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.<br /><br />It is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.<br /><br />This has been an Antenna Audio production. 001 Vincent van Gogh--The Letters The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Actor Kevin Bacon reads excerpts from the letters of Vincent van Gogh. Actor Kevin Bacon reads excerpts from the letters of Vincent van Gogh. http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10052005.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_link_001 http://www.metmuseum.org/audio/exhibitions/mmaExhibPodcast.10052005.mp3?refpage=mma_xml_guid_001 {0F524B4E-87C8-47B4-BC8E-84F7A494E84B} Learn more about the exhibition. Thu, 6 Oct 2005 12:32:43 -0400 Podcasts 16:01 no metropolitan museum art vangogh newyorkcity NYC MMA drawings letters modern met kevinbacon VVG www.metmuseum.org spex no