review–“The Beautiful Person” (“La Belle Personne”) even the angst of teen love plays better in French, San Francisco Film Society, Sept 4-10, 2009
Léa Seydoux as "Junie," the new girl in class in Christophe Honoré's "La Belle Personne"
“The Beautiful Person,” set in Paris, in an upscale high-school, made me contemplate the unthinkable—if I ever had to do high-school over again, how would it go? How would I react to the various opportunities—amorous and otherwise– that unfold? Loosely inspired by the scandalous 17th century novel La Princesse de Cleves by Madame de La Fayette, director Christophe Honoré (“Ma mère,” “Love Songs”) continues his exploration of French romantic intrigue. Instead of Parisian aristocracy in the court of Henry II, Honoré and co-writer Gilles Taurand set their action in contemporary Paris in an upscale high school. The students are interesting, beautiful, and unkempt– the teachers too–and they explore love and passion while trying to stay engaged with what seems a very loosely regimented but awesome program of poetry, humanities, Italian, English and math. Junie (Léa Seydoux, “The Last Mistress”) is the new girl at school, a transfer student, who has come to live with her cousin Matthias just after the death of her mother. Voluptuous, alabaster-skinned, with a tragic air, she becomes the object of male attention and is quickly welcomed into Matthias’ clique of school friends.
Mild-mannered Otto (Gregoire Leprince-Ringuet), falls hard for her and their first conversation sets up a loose plot. Otto tells her that Junie is also Néron’s tormentor in Racine’s 17th century tragic play “Brittancus” and they discuss how it ends badly for Junie who takes vows and never marries. Later, egged on by his friends, Otto professes his love to Junie. She tells him what she needs “Don’t lie to me and look after me, always.” Otto agrees. Junie French kisses him publicly in the school hall and the two become an item. Junie is bursting with magnetic mystique ..she is photographed in the hallway by a student who is an amateur photographer; she is noticed by women as well. At one point in the film, an evocative song on a jukebox plays lyrics that compliment what is going on throughout the film– “She was so pretty that I didn’t dare love her.”
When newbie Junie arrives in Italian class, a student is in the midst of a presentation about Donizetti’s opera Lucia di Lammermoor. Junie sits down by the teacher Mr. Nemour (Louis Garrel) and the two eye each other nervously. She abruptly walks out, in tears, during Maria Callas’ spellbinding aria, leaving her books behind. After this brief encounter, Mr. Nemour too falls hard for Junie and even steals a picture of her from her notebook. Nemour, a dark-eyed dreamy lothario, who barely looks like he is out of high school, is in the midst of two affairs–one with a colleague (Florence Perin) and the other with a student Catherine (Anaïs Demoustier). Nemours breaks it off with both women and confesses his love for Junie to his colleague who advises him that “loving a student is too easy.” “Not this one” Nemours replies “I’m a total love-sick mess.” To which his friend insighftfully replies “You seem more disappointed in love than in the concept of love at first sight.” Indeed the complexity, no mess, that ensues is overwhelming.
Louis Garrel and Léa Seydoux in Christophe Honoré's "La Belle Personne"
We get subtle hints that stalwart Junie is falling for Nemour but trying hard not to. She is terribly afraid of giving in to what she assumes will be a grand, once in a life-time love and denies herself Nemour but snacks on safe love with endearing Otto. Meanwhile, a subplot emerges involving a love letter that is passed around and mistakenly thought to be Nemour’s but really involves Junie’s cousin Matthias (Esteban Carvajal-Alegria) and his affair with fellow student Martin (Martin Siméon). Mathias has hidden his homosexuality and, in addition to Martin, has carried on with another student Henri (Simon Truxillo) who is in love with him and very vindictive. The letter threatens to expose everything if the correct author and intended recipient are revealed. But it’s all a mess. The letter changes hands several times and when Junie reads it, she assumes that Nemour has written it to her and takes actions that push this volatile group into certain doom.
This has all the makings of a great drama but falls short. The performances of the lead characters lack real depth and it’s very hard to get inside their heads, with the exception of Otto. Léa Seydoux and Louis Garrel are enthralling to look at…and, based on looks alone, we can certainly envision them in bed together, but how would that happen? Their conversation is basically flat and they fail to connect naturally or with any tenderness…time after time. Junie is cold or indifferent, sending Nemour into confusion after confusion. By the time they finally come to an understanding, it is too late. And even when it is too late, we don’t get any feeling of implosion. Junie’s constraint, fear of succumbing to her passion, is what needs to be further explored. The potential is there but there’s no spark. Nicole (Chantal Neuwirth), a maternal and wise older woman who works at the local café where they all hang-out, takes a shine to Junie, and delivers one of the most authentic, but too brief, performances in the film. The cinematography is marvelous, capturing gray, drizzly Paris and some candid close-ups. The sountrack ranges from opera to Nick Drake , the lyrics tracking or accentuating the action in the film.
Screens Sundance Kabuki Theatre, September 4-10, 2009: 2:05 pm, 4:05 pm, 7:15 pm, 9:35 pm. Saturday and Sunday matinees at 11:40 am.
review–“Lords of the Samurai” dog-chasing, tea totling, elite warrior poets, Asian Art Museum, June 12- September 20, 2009
Portrait of Hosokawa Sumimoto (1489–1520), by Kanō Motonobu (1476–1559); inscription by Keijo Shūrin (1440–1518), Japan. Muromachi period (1392–1573), 1507. Hanging scroll; ink and colors on silk. Eisei Bunko Museum, 466. © Eisei Bunko, Japan.
For more than 800 years the Samurai helped lay the foundation of Japanese culture and that legacy is explored in “Lords of the Samurai,” the Asian Art Museum’s stunning summer exhibition of over 160 rare objects from the collection of the Hosokawa family, one of Japan’s most elite warrior clans. The exhibition, in its final three weeks (ends September 20) includes priceless armor, several breathtaking swords and other weaponry, paintings, lacquer ware, ceramics, costumes and other rare objects from Tokyo’s renowned Eisei-Bunko Museum and in the Hosokawa family’s former home, Kumamoto Castle on Kyushu island, Japan. The objects reveal that the samurai and their daimyo (hereditary feudal) lords of pre-modern Japan were much more than just skillful military strategists and fighters; they were also artists and patrons of art and culture in its highest form. The show is organized by the Asian Art Museum and the Eisei-Bunko Hosokawa collection, Tokyo. This is the first time the Hosokawa’s precious collection of weaponry and artifacts have been shown in the United States and the Asian Art Museum is the sole venue for this exceptional show. Due to the light sensitive nature of roughly 50 of the initial artworks on display, the show is now on its second rotation and new artworks have replaced those that were rotated out.
Samurai—from loyal followers to fierce and principled elite warriors
The term “samurai” comes from the Japanese word saburau, meaning “to serve,” and was first used in A.D. 702 to describe mid-to-low-ranking court administrators and, later, armed imperial guards. Their title, mostly metaphorical, referred to their loyalty to the emperor. By the 10th century, when provincial governors began offering heavy rewards for military service, the samurai as we know them came into being. By the end of the 12th century, samurai became synonymous with the term “bushi” and were closely associated with the middle and upper echelons of the warrior class. The term “Samurai” held strong aristocratic overtones and brought great prestige to the samurai’s lineage—so much so that warriors would recite their ancestry on the battlefield. The distinguished lineage of the Hosokawa clan, which can be traced back seven centuries, trumps that of the imperial family whose history extends back only a few hundred years.
Hosokawa Clan, weilding power for centuries
The Hosokawa clan descended from Emperor Seiwa (850-88) and a branch of the Minamoto clan, via the Ashikaga clan. It wielded significant power over the course of the Muromachi (1336-1467), Sengoku (1467-1600), and Edo periods, and over the centuries moved from Shikoku, to Kinai, and then to Kyūshū. The first generation of lord of the Hosokawa clan, Hosokawa Yūsai (1534-1610), came of age in the “envisioned age” of Seven Samurai and fought valiantly in eight major battles. The samurai’s role in life was to follow a code of conduct called the Bushidō or “Way of the Warrior” and to follow the Way of Poetry. Poetry was studied and used among the samurai as vehicle of exchange and cohesion. Yūsai was the third person in history to have been taught the entire 15th century Kokin denju tradition, an orally transmitted commentary on the first Imperial anthology of Japanese waka poetry (kokin wakashū). As the sole possessor of this vital key to waka tradition, Yūsai was entwined with Japanese culture. Yūsai is renowned because the emperor intervened in one of Yūsai’s long battles to save him proving that Kokin denju was more important than military victory. The literary ethos of this great warrior-gentleman, who also mastered cultural, artistic and spiritual pursuits, has carried on through the ages.
The samurai maintained their elite status into the mid-1800s when Western influences started to take hold. The question of how and when Japan’s modernization occurred is still debated but after Japan opened its port to foreigners in 1854, it went on to modernize its military forces and did away with many of the samurai’s special rights. Following the abolition of the feudal class in 1871, the Hosokawa clan and its branches were made part of the Kazoku, the Meiji era’s new nobility. They were given the hereditary title of Marquis (kōshaku); the title became obsolete in 1947. The present head of the main family line, Morihiro Hosokawa, former Prime Minister of Japan, is a descendant of the Hosokawa of Kumamoto.
Ōyoroitype armor (replica), white cord lacing with diagonal corner accents (tsumadori), replica of a suit worn by Hosokawa Yoriari (1332–1391), Japan. Edo period, 1829 (after 14th century original). Iron, gilt bronze, metal, tooled leather, lacquer, braided silk, fur. Eisei Bunko Museum, 4082. © Eisei Bunko, Japan.
Armor—object and symbol
Lawrence Ellison, Oracle founder/mogul, who in the 1980’s liked to call himself “the Silicon Samurai”–has been a passionate collector of Samurai antiquities, including an extensive armor collection. He frequently remarked that he treasured Samurai armor for its beauty and strength and because “it encapsulates the fundamentals of Japanese character. As comprehensively as any people on earth, the Japanese know that while we are predators, we are also constantly trying to capture our humanity through a code of ethics and a sense of honor. (Forbes 156, n.7 (September 25, 1995).
The show opens with a 19th century reproduction of the Ōyoroi armor worn by Hosokawa Yoriari, founder of the Hosokawa clan, in the battle of Kyoto in 1358. This reproduction is basically a synthesis, containing parts that are historically accurate as well as parts that have been reinvented. The exhibition also includes five other full sets of armor of different styles that span several eras, up until the end of the shogunate in the mid-1800’s. Painstakingly handcrafted by leading artisans of the day, it is hard to imagine these ever being bloodied in combat. In fact, most of the suits on display in the exhibition have not seen actual battle, nor have most of the battle trappings, but some objects, even ornately lacquered stirrups, do show moderate signs of wear.
Ōyoroi armor (big armor) is the most formal armor and was used from the late Heian period (794-1185) to the Kamakura period (1185-1333) in one-on-one mounted combat. The suit weighed about 60 pounds and consisted of a helmet (kabuto), cuirass (dō), tassets (kusuzuri which are overlaced with lames) to protect the hips and shoulder guards (sode). It had great aesthetic value and is called “shikisei no yoroi,” the right ceremonial armor. Because a warrior’s armor became his funeral attire if he was defeated, a great deal of attention was paid to decorative details and ornamentation and it was very costly and time-consuming to produce. An early 10th century legal compendium discussed in Karl Friday’s Samurai, Warfare and the State in Early Medieval Japan indicates that the production of Ōyoroi required between 192 and 265 days, depending on the season and length of day. Modern-day craftsmen normally require ten months to two years of full-time labor to construct Ōyoroi replicas. It has been documented that this reproduction, begun in 1824, took five years to complete. This stunning suit of armor, with its combination of white cord lacing with diagonal accents of multicolored lacing in the shoulder guards and tassets, was popular in Yoriari’s time for its exquisite refinement.
Swords—deadly and stunning
Ceremonial long sword (tachi) blade, signed “Moriie zō” (Made By Moriie), Japan. Kamakura period (1185–1333), 13th century. Forged and tempered steel. Eisei Bunko Museum, 1784. © Eisei Bunko, Japan.
It has been said that the samurai’s sword was his soul. The legendary katana, or curved sword, invented a millennium ago, remains a marvel of aesthetic beauty and skillful engineering. The katana embodies the perfect melding of form and function. While most bladed weapons were designed to either pierce or slash, the katana’s two different types of steel gave it optimum qualities for both, making it a highly versatile weapon in battle. Human bone-cutting qualities were tested and refined during actual executions. Delivered with the proper single blow by a trained warrior, the very finest swords were able to slice but through as many as five human bodies at once. (“Secrets of the Samurai Sword,” NOVA, an exceptional tv program airing in Sept., goes into the history of samurai swordmaking and visits contemporary Japanese metalworkers as they craft a sword from scratch using ancient techniques. ) The exhibition includes several highest quality examples of ceremonial long blade, long blade and short blade swords that were either used directly or collected by the Hosokawa clan as evidence of their family status.
A supreme 13th century ceremonial long blade, crafted by Moriie, has been designated an Important Cultural Property. Moriie (active from 1249 to 1256) was from Hatada, which was near Osafune, the greatest sword-making center in the Bizen region. This area is currently known as the southeast Okayama prefecture. In addition to the superb workmanship on its surface steel and edge, this tachi sword (designed for cavalry combat) exhibits Moriie’s hallmark temper lines– irregular clove-shape (chōji midare) lines alternating with tadpole (kawazugo) lines. The sword would have been sheathed with the blade edge pointing downward and slung from a waist belt.
Equally valuable were the sword’s guards and mountings which were often embellished lavishly, elevating them to works of art. The sword guard balanced the blade and hilt and protected one’s hands from slipping onto the blade while using it. The imperial sword guard mounting pictured here was made in late Edo period.
Mounting for a ceremonial long sword (tachi) with nine planet family crests and gold fittings, Japan. Edo period (1615–1868), 19th century. Lacquered wood with sprinkled gold (makie) decoration, gilt bronze, gold, ray skin, leather. Eisei Bunko Museum, 29241. © Eisei Bunko, Japan.
Its scabbard is decorated in the makie lacquer technique, with nine-planet Hosokawa family crests in gold on a sprinkled pear skin (nashiji) background; variants of the family’s cherry blossom crest adorn the hilt. Other works include exquisite fans, costumes, helmets, saddles and stirrups.
The Osher Gallery contains the workmanship of Miyamoto Musashi (1584-1645) the greatest Samurai swordsman of his day, perhaps of all time and a renowned painter. Musashi was sword instructor to the Hosokawa family and founded the Niten Ichi-ryū School of swordsmanship “the school of the strategy of two heavens as one” that uses the long and short swords together. In 1645, he wrote his great book Gorin no shô (A Book of Five Rings), a martial arts strategy manual, that is in the exhibition as a set of five scrolls. The original of the book was lost but his trusted disciple made a copy and it has remained with the Hosokawa family. During the 1980’s, Musashi’s popularity stateside soared as American businessmen, eager to penetrate the Japanese mind, consumed his Book of Five Rings. Can adroitness with a sword carry over to brushwork? Not to be missed are Musashi’s stunning folding set of two six-paneled folding screens “Wild Geese and Reeds” designated “Important Cultural Property.” In the left screen, gracefully-rendered light-featured geese rest beneath a tree and in the right screen, dark-featured geese rest and feed. Throughout the work, he achieves economy in brushwork while conveying energy and movement.
Dog-Chasing: a sport for mounted Samurai
Of the many antiquities in the Hosokawa family collection, dog lovers, archers and equestrians will be fascinated by a late 17th century Edo period six-panel folding screen depicting inuoumono (dog-chasing)– a samurai archery drill that originated in the Kamakura period during the reign of Emperor Gohorikawa (r. 1222-32) and evolved into a very popular spectator sport. The dogs were not harmed: the goal was to shoot the running dogs with heavily padded arrows, a task that challenged the samurais’ skill as horsemen and archers. The event typically took place in the center of an open riding ground where two concentric rings were formed with ropes. The warriors were divided into teams, and the teams waited outside the larger circle until the dogs were released from the smaller circle by a dog-handler. Each archer the same number of padded arrows; skill and accuracy were judged according to the length of the chase and the location of a hit. Closely codified rules governed the size of the field and the number of dogs and archers participating.
Left 6 panels “Inuoumono” (Dog Chasing Event), Pair of six-panel folding screens; ink, colors, and gold foil on paper, H 139.9 cm x W 351.8 cm (each), Japan; Edo period (1615-1868), Eisei-Bunko Museum, 4005.
Only when a dog passed over a rope was it a target and then, the only shots that counted were torso shots; shots to the head or limbs drew penalty points. This screen is typical of early 17th century folding screen compositions of the sport which emphasized mounted archers around the concentric ropes, watching or chasing a dog. The brilliant colors and detailed action figures are set against a gold leaf background. Today, only about a dozen of these folding-screen compositions are known to exist and most date to the 17th century. Interestingly, as genre painting took hold, artists’ compositions of inuoumono changed somewhat, with increased emphasis on the spectators in attendance–their clothing, gestures, so forth.
An Adopted Son becomes a Samurai
Other scrolls in the show range from albums of flower paintings to portraits of Hosokawa daimyos. An exquisite hanging silk scroll portrait of Hosokawa Sumimoto (1489-1520) by Kano Motonobo has been designated “Important Cultural Property.” Hosokawa Sumimoto, distant ancestor of the Hosokawa lineage was a warrior who experienced continual conflict and was engaged in war most of his life. He was adopted into the line of Hosokawa shogunal deputies and into a family that already had an adopted son from the powerful Kujō family. The Warring States period (late 15th and 16th centuries) was an extremely brutal time when warriors were consumed by ambition, suspicion and jealously and many members of distinguished warrior families turned against their own family members in a grab for power. The two adoptees quarreled over succession to the Hosekawa line and Sumimoto’s brother was killed by one of Sumimoto’s supporters. An attempt was made on Sumimoto’s life but he fled Kyoto to the Ōmi province and remained there until his position as head of one branch of the Hosokawa clan was secured. His victory was short and he was unseated in 1508 and failed in subsequent attempts to regain his power. He died disappointed and alone. The portrait depicts him at age 19 mounted on his grand horse, wearing haramaki armor, a helmet with a horn like crest, his sword mounting is slung at his left side. He carries his halberd blade up, a whip in his right hand and his reins in his left hand. A short sword is tucked in his belt. An inscription in fine calligraphy by Keijo Shūrin of the Nanzenji temple in Kyoto dates the portrait to 1507. A portion of the inscription reads—“Hosokawa Sumimoto, a great archer and horseman, is far above other humans. He is also versed in waka and appreciates the moon and the wind….Outside the citadel he takes bows and arrows; in meditation and reading of sacred books he protects Buddhism…”
Teabowl entitled “Otogaze,” black Raku ware, Raku Chōjirō (d. 1589), Momoyama period (1573-1615), 16th century, glazed earthenware, H. 8.2 cm x Diam. 10.8 cm (mouth), Diam. 5.0 cm (foot), Eisei-Bunko Museum, 1297.
Samurai Tea Practitioners—Ritual with Awesome Cups
It might be easy to dismiss this humble raku tea bowl, but this 16th century object, called “Otogaze,” bears the designation “Important Cultural Object” and is attributed to Japan’s most famous potter, Raku Chōjirō, and as such bears rock-star status. The bowl takes its poetic name from the jovial female deity Otafuku, also called Otogaze, and it’s thought that the bowl’s volumptuous shape inspired the name. In early raku wares like this, the raw clay was coated with a lead glaze and then fired in a small-scale kiln.
The Hosokawa family’s meticulous records of art objects and tea utensils mention this bowl by name and indicate that it was beloved by Hosokawa Sansai (1563-1646). Sansai was one of the family’s most important tea practitioners and one of seven disciples of Sen Rikyu (1522-1591), the tea master who perfected the Way of Tea (chanoyu). Rikyu composed a poem which is still quoted “Though many people drink tea, if you do not know the Way of Tea, tea will drink you up.” Without any spiritual training, you think you are drinking tea but actually tea drinks you up. The age-old tradition of chanoyu has been maintained throughout many generations of the Hosokawa family and is observed today. Former prime minister Hosokawa Morihiro (born 1938), the eighteenth generation head of the Hosokawa family, is a celebrated tea practitioner and an acclaimed ceramist and calligrapher. A number of his tea bowls and implements for the Japanese tea ceremony, no doubt inspired by ancient ones are included in the show.
The show concludes with a series of works relating to Zen Buddhism whose emphasis on obtaining inner autonomy and self-awareness by learning to control the body through the mind and the mind through the body appealed to the highly-disciplined samurai warriors.
Ticket prices for the exhibition show include a $5 surcharge over regular museum admission. A fully illustrated catalog of the exhibition published by the Asian Art Museum is available at the museum store, $30 softcover, $45 hardcover.
review-Masters of the Southwest Georgia O’Keeffe and Ansel Adams Natural Affinities, SFMOMA May 30- September 7, 2009
Georgia O’Keeffe, Ranchos Church No.1, 1929; oil on canvas; 18 3/4 x 24 in.; Collection of the Norton Museum of Art, West Palm Beach Florida; © 2009 Georgia O’Keeffe Museum/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.
Few American artists have attained the tremendous popularity of photographer Ansel Adams and painter Georgia O’Keeffe, the subject of a fascinating show at SFMOMA which explores how these two monumental artists converge. “Natural Affinities” consists of roughly 100 works by O’Keeffe and Adams and focuses on their approach to landscape and their mutual use of natural forms such as trees, mountains, and water as well as their vital contributions to American Modernism. The exhibition was organized by the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Santa Fe in 2008, toured nationally and is in its final leg at SFMOMA, where it was curated by Sandra Phillips, SFMOMA, Senior Curator of Photography. The show closes on Monday, September 7, 2009 and there is a $5.00 surcharge for admission.
Adams (1902-1984) and O’Keeffe (1887-1906) knew each other for 56 years, from 1929 until Adam’s death in 1985. They met in Taos, New Mexico, in 1929 at the home of mutual friend, Mabel Dodge Luhan, and immediately became friends. They met again the following year in New Mexico when Adams was there making photos
Ansel Adams, Saint Francis Church, Ranchos de Taos, New Mexico, c. 1929; gelatine silver print; 13 5/16 x 17 9/16 in. (33.8 x 44.6 cm); Collection of the Center for Creative Photography, University of Arizona; © 2009 The Ansel Adams Publishing Rights Trust.
for his first book, Taos Pueblo, published in 1930, and when O’Keeffe was spending her first of many full summers painting there. They traveled together though the Southwest in 1937 and 1938 and visited the Yosemite High Sierra, which Adam immortalized in splendid images. Their most obvious affinity is their mutual emotional attraction to the American Southwest which led each to produce important bodies of work based on their responses to the landscape, enticing desert vistas, mountains, architecture and history. Their iconic images have become so pervasive, so much a part of our mindset, that artists working with this subject matter today, still find themselves compared to, and falling short of, what these two achieved decades ago.
Forces of Modernism
Both artists became leading forces in American Modernism, a period of American artistic innovation roughly dated from the 1890’s to 1960 when artists began to depict contemporary life through experimental forms and new mediums. Modern artists shared a desire to break away from the conventions of representational art and abandoned the old rules of perspective, color, and composition in order to work out their own visions. These new attitudes were reinforced by scientific discoveries of the time that seemed to question the solidity of the known world and the reliability of perception.
Adams’ legacy is as the preeminent American photographer and as a leading environmentalist. In the realm of the grand landscape, Adams is in a class by himself—his vision, perfectionism, unprecedented combination of technical virtuosity and inspired eye are unmatched. His landscapes stand out as moody, exhilarating, near operatic experiences.
Ansel Adams, Foam, Merced River, Yosemite Valley, CA, 1951; gelatin silver print; 7 1/16 x 6 5/8 in. (17.9 x 16.8 cm) smaller variant; Collection, Center for Creative Photography, U of AZ; © 2009 The Ansel Adams Publishing Rights Trust
Perhaps his most significant contribution to modernism though is through his lesser known but equally impressive images that depict nature’s intimate details—his close-up camera work, his interaction with nature on a human scale, that led him into abstraction. Adams’ close-ups captured aspects of form and texture in the natural world—the lathery foaming of water in motion, the purity of a new delicate blossom, the fuzzy perfection of moss in symbiotic harmony with a tree trunk. These works, many are included in the exhibition, were very personal interpretations in terms of angle, framing and light, and moved photography in a very contemporary direction.
O’Keefe is regarded as one of the leading American female artists of the first half of the twentieth century. She too was inspired by close-up examinations of natural forms and her gift was her ability to distill these into their pure essence leading to abstract, energetic, spiraling, undulating, vibrantly colorful artworks. The critics frequently identified her form of abstraction as the definitive feminine pole and attached Freudian analogies. This pigeonholing annoyed her but also secured her fame in the art world, an arena from which women had traditionally been excluded. In 1970, when the Whitney Museum of American Art opened a retrospective exhibition of O’Keeffe’s work, she became the heroine of the feminist movement, thus positioning her in the limelight, which she had first enjoyed in the 1920s.
Stieglitz shared mentor, promoter
Both O’Keefe and Adams enjoyed a special relationship with the famous photographer and gallerist Alfred Stieglitz. O’Keefe’s interaction was complex to say the least—they met when she was 28 and he was 52 and he became her friend, mentor, agent, lover, and husband and he played a tremendous role in launching her career, which she was loathe to fully acknowledge, going so far as to barely mention him in her best-selling autobiography. Stieglitz was her agent from 1916 until 1950 and organized her first solo show in 1917 and another in 1923 at the Anderson Gallery that was tremendously successful and annual shows thereafter. Barbara Buhler Lynes, curator of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, has written excellent chapter on this in Georgia O’Keeffe and Ansel Adams Natural Affinities, the book accompanying the exhibition.
By the end of the 1920’s, O’Keeffe was regarded as one of the country’s leading modernist painters and a millionaire (in today’s dollars) in her own right. The languid nude photographs that Stieglitz took and exhibited of her from the early years of their relationship are among the most talked about in twentieth century art history—they immortalized O’Keefe and drew thousands to his gallery. The couple never stopped exciting and challenging each other and stayed married even while living separately—he in New York and she in New Mexico– and each benefited tremendously from the other. By the time she met Ansel Adams in 1929, O’Keeffe was already famous and had the means to do whatever she wanted, which was to devote herself entirely to her art and to spend her time in the American Southwest.
In 1933, Adams traveled across country to meet Alfred Stieglitz, who he called “the greatest photographic leader in the world.” Stieglitz welcomed Adams, eventually giving him the attention and affection he had bestowed upon Paul Strand (Natural Affinities, p. 16). In 1936, Stieglitz gave Adams a solo show at his influential gallery, An American Place, which established Adams as one of America’s leading photographers. Stieglitz and Adams remained lifelong friends and carried on a remarkable and vital dialogue about photography.
Adams and O’Keeffe: Not Always Chummy
There is not much existing written correspondence between Adams and O’Keeffe about their art, so their impact on each other, what they found compelling in each other’s work, and how that might have influenced them must be inferred. I have the impression that even if they had never met, each would have become pretty much the artist that he/she became. There is evidence of enjoyable and creative time spent together as well as some unexplained rifts in their friendship. In 1937, O’Keefe introduced Adams to David McAlpin, Rockefeller heir and arts patron, and the three traveled together later that year photographing and painting throughout the Southwest. It was on this trip, at Canyon de Chelly, that Adams snapped his famous unposed portrait of O’Keeffe beaming at him. In 1940, Adams and McAlpin would play a key role in establishing a photography department in the Museum of Modern Art, the first museum department for photography of consequence. (Adams’ archived correspondence with MOMA.) About that same time, O’Keeffe abruptly broke off her relationship with Adams and chilled towards him for years, with each embarking on extremely productive separate artistic paths, only to pick up their relationship a decade later with genuine warmth. In 1955, at O’Keefe’s request, Adams printed Stieglitz’s negatives for his posthumous show at The National Gallery.
Connections–Shared motifs, subject matter, different sensitivities
The 100 works on display in several galleries across SFMOMA’s 4th floor reveal both interesting commonalities and differences. The curators tried to present the works in a sequence that best allows us to see natural connections but, for the most part, the works remain separated by artist. I came expecting to see more pairings of works. In actuality, most of that work is left for the viewer to do and it’s hit or miss based on your ability to take time with the works as they communicate. I found myself walking through a gallery and needing to turn around and check a work across the way that bore resemblance to one I was standing in front of. Fortunately, I have the catalog so I was able later to flesh out convergences. Even then, I found myself wishing the book was a portfolio so that I could lay works out side by side and conduct my own examination.
Ansel Adams, Winter Sunrise, the Sierra Nevada from Lone Pine, California, 1944; gelatin silver print; 15 5/8 x 19 1/4 in. (39.7 x 48.9 cm); Collection of the Center for Creative Photography, University of Arizona; © 2009 The Ansel Adams Publishing Rights Trust
The most obvious pairing in the show is a New Mexico motif that both artists tackled in 1929–the small adobe Saint Francis Church in Rancho de Taos, New Mexico. O’Keeffe’s depiction is softer, more organic in feel that Adams’ but both churches seem to grow out of the ground. Adams wrote in The Making of 40 Photographs that he was taken by the church’s “magnificent form” and its “rigorous and simple design and structure.” He shot intentionally from the rear of the church, the angle that he thought made it “one of the great architectural monuments of America.” He did not use a filter either and this allowed the blue sky to appear quite light in his photo, and the shadows were softened.
Several works that share a similarity in subject matter, composition and temperament— O’Keefe’s “Church Steeple” (1930) and Adams’ “The New Church, Taos (1929-30) illustrate each artist’s fascination with the interplay of light and shadow on a starkly geometric architectural form. Adams made several famous shots of this church from different angles, including a full side view. Other comparisons can be made too—a number of Adams’ photos from his Sierra Nevada: The John Muir Trail (1938) —“Lake Near Muir Pass, Kings Canyon National Park” (1934), “Dead Oak Tree, Sierra Foothills, Above Snelling,” (1938), resemble O’Keeffe’s landscapes.
Both artists also emphasized the abstract component of the Southwestern landscape as can be seen in O’Keefe’s “Black Hills with Cedar” (1942) or her “Black Mesa Landscape, New Mexico/Out Back of Marie’s II (1930) and Adams “Ghost Ranch Hills, Chama Valley Northern New Mexico” (1937) or “Winter Sunrise, the Sierra Nevada from Lone Pine, CA” (1944).
Georgia O’Keeffe, Black Mesa Landscape, New Mexico/Out Back of Marie’s II, 1930; oil on canvas; 24 1/4 x 36 1/4 in.; Collection of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, gift of The Burnett Foundation; © 2009 Georgia O’Keeffe Museum/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York
The show also includes a number of interesting close-ups done by each artist, revealing a fascination with natural texturing, repetition and light. O’Keefe’s Petunia No 2. (1924) is somewhat comparable to Adams’ “Dogwood Blossoms (1945) and her “Birch Trees (1925) are similar to his shots of “Roots, Foster Gardens, Honolulu, Hawaii (1947). Both artists clearly appreciated the rich texturing of wood—O”Keeffe “Stump in red Hills” (1940) and Adams “Wood Detail, Eroded Stump with Knothole” (not dated). Adams, clearly mesmerized by nature, and highly sensitive to its processes, however, produced close-up works seem more chaste, delicate and poetic in form. O’Keefe seemed more interested in unleashing the power within the plant or object before her, depicting it as if it were about to transform from one form to another.
Ansel Adams, Leaves, Frost, Stump, October Morning, Yosemite National Park, c. 1931; gelatin silver print; 9 1/8 x 11 11/16 in. (23.2 x 29.7 cm); Collection of the Center for Creative Photography, University of Arizona; © 2009 The Ansel Adams Publishing Rights Trust
For all the vibrant energy her works convey though, I was disappointed with a close-up inspection of O’Keeffe’s brush work which was flat and expressionless. Adams’ work, on the other hand, with every imaginable shade of gray, entices you to get closer and closer–even the shadowed areas speak volumes—the work keeps giving until you run out of patience to look.
The show also attests to each artist’s ability to capture their subjects’ most essential qualities, creating brilliant abstractions. O’Keeffe’s gift was her ability to distill her subject down to its core and pump it up with rich pulsating color, imbuing it with a breathing proximate presence that starts to impact you even before you know exactly what you are looking at. “Red Canna,” an oil painting from 1925/28, bursts with heat, intensity, while “Abstraction White Rose” (1927) undulates in concentric swirling layers.
O’Keeffe battled interpreters eager to see every open flower and hollow form she drew as a symbol of womanhood. She said in her autobiography “Nobody sees a flower, really, it is so small. We haven’t time – and to see takes time like to have a friend takes time.
Georgia O’Keeffe, Abstraction White Rose, 1927, oil on canvas; 36 x 30 in.; Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, gift of The Burnett Foundation and The Georgia O’Keeffe Foundation; © 2009 Georgia O’Keeffe Museum/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York
If I could paint the flower exactly as I see it no one would see what I see because I would paint it small like flower is small. So, I said to myself—I’ll paint what I see—what the flower is to me but I’ll paint it big and they will be surprised into taking time to look at it—I will make it even busy New Yorkers take time to see what I see of flowers. (O’Keeffe, Georgia O’Keeffe, NY, Viking Press, 1976, text accompanying images 23-26.)
Adams works have not invited erotic readings like O’Keeffe’s have. Even in abstraction, he tended to produce photos that were truer-to-life representations of nature, more faithful to optical reality, an optical reality he alone had the patience to look for and to then capture in brilliant composition. “Ice on Ellergy Lake, Sierra Nevada, CA” (1959), starkly captures the meandering line of ice formation on the lake, while “Sand Dune, White Sands National Monument, New Mexico” (1942), captures elegantly rippled sand dunes. “Frozen Lake and Cliffs, Sierra Nevada, Sequoia National Park, CA” (1927) and “Wood Detail, Eroded Stump with Knothole” (not dated) seem to bow to a romantic vision of nature, one of poetry in form.
Ansel Adams, Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico, 1941; gelatin silver print; 15 9/16 x 19 11/16 in. (39.5 x 50.0 cm); Collection of the Center for Creative Photography, University of Arizona; © 2009 The Ansel Adams Publishing Rights Trust
Adam’s “Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico” (1941), is a stand-out in the show, one of the best known and most sought after photographs in the field of fine-art photography. The moon sits low but centered in a black sky, against a back-drop of white clouds, mountains. In the bottom lower right, a line of white sunlit gravestones sits against a backdrop of gray pueblos. “Moonrise” said Adams “combined serendipity and immediate technical recall.” Serendipity means lucky chance. He “felt at the time it was an exceptional image” and when he took it, he felt “an almost prophetic sense of satisfaction.” Ironically, Adams happened upon this shot by chance while driving along a roadside heading towards Santa Fe, NM, after an unproductive day of photographing. The conditions were perfect but he was basically unprepared because he didn’t have access to his light meter. He used his knowledge of the luminance of the moon and was able to get this precious shot. Adams said it “is a romantic/emotional moment in time.”
An excellent YouTube interview with Barbara Buhler Lynes, Curator of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe reviews several of the works in the show.
film review: Séraphine–Yolande Moreau shines as she scrubs, paints, chants
Yolande Moreau as Séraphine, Music Box Films
I’ve been waiting to see Séraphine, the French film about naïve painter Séraphine Louis aka Séraphine de Senlis that swept France, gathering 7 Cesars for best film, best screenplay, best cinematography, best sound, best costumes, best décor, and best actress for Yolande Moreau. It was worth it. I left the theatre both nourished and disturbed by this film and got in my car and found myself chanting to the top of my lungs, self-soothing in the very fashion of the film’s heroine, Séraphine. We are all a little crazy and some of us have access to resources that lighten the load and allow us to excel and be celebrated while others among us stagger and buckle in obscurity. The film asks us to consider the rare circumstances that must come into play for artistic genius to flourish.
Belgium-born Moreau delivers the performance of a lifetime embodying a woman whose creative light will not be dimmed by her status, environment, lack of recognition, formal education or war. Whether we see Séraphine’s cup as half-empty or half full, or both is left for us to decide. The film is set in the small village of Senlis, France, northeast of Paris, and begins in 1914, when war in France is eminent. The film starts slowly, introducing us to Séraphine through her long and drudging daily routine as a maid. Middle-aged and ragged from wear, she is both ordinary and extraordinary all at once and that is what makes Yolande Moreau’s performance so captivating. The film also focuses on German
Yolande Moreau as Séraphine with Ulrich Tukur as German art dealer Williams Uhde, Music Box Films
critic and collector William Uhde (Ulrich Tukur) who worked with several prominent artists early in their careers including Picasso and Henry “Le Douanier” Rousseau. Uhde, who resides in Paris, has rented a room for the summer in Senlis with his sophisticate female sister.
Uhde and Séraphine have very limited interaction until he stumbles upon her artwork at a dinner party hosted by his gadfly landlady who mocks Séraphine’s small floral work stashed in the corner. In a single glance, Uhde responds to the raw power of this piece, buys it on the spot, and leaves the party. Hence begins his important and complex relationship with Séraphine whose art nurtures his sole and inspires him to organize a show for her in Paris “when the time is right.” Uhde gives Séraphine the all-important push and respect that she needs to take herself seriously as an artist. As Séraphine labors by day scrubbing floors in the villa and washing bedding down by the river, Uhde demands more and more of her attention. She works through the nights passionately painting on whatever materials she can scrounge—typically small and warped pieces of wood– with paints she mixes herself from pilfered materials like candle wax and blood or plants she collects in the countryside. There is something tender in their interaction—she admires his lovely handwriting and expresses empathy for his depressive state, while he attempts to nurture her talent. His attention inspires her and her unique tableaus of sprawling botanicals pour forth, pulsing with life force and seeming to dance before the eye.
Yolande Moreau as Séraphine, Music Box Films
Uhde’s dream of introducing her work to the Parisian art world is waylaid by the start of WWI and he has to flee back to Germany with his sister. He leaves Séraphine with some cash and the two don’t meet again until many years have passed. At this point, Séraphine is down on her luck and battling inner demons but has been painting steadily sustained by her belief that she is being guided by her guardian angel and that her act of painting is a holy ordained act
Uhde sees the tremendous growth in her work and the two fall into agrrement that he will support her while she devotes herself to her art. Séraphine gradually achieves some recognition commensurate with her talent and the money starts to flow but she spends capriciously. Unequipped for her newfound success, she begins a devastating emotional decline that ulitmately leaves her instituionized.
Director Martin Provost keeps a tight focus on the complex relationship between Séraphine and Uhde who live and suffer through each other. Moreau steals the show. Her weathered face is astonishingly evocative and at times seems lit from within. Tukur is also great as the troubled art dealer, ever in search of great art, living to collect.
Séraphine, at Bay Area theatres, directed by Martin Provost. In French with English subtitles. (Not rated, 125 minutes)
Tall Tales, Healing Stitches, Carol Larson “TALLGIRL Series” Petaluma Arts Council, August 8, 2009
"The Bullies," 2006, 59"x34", commercial fabrics, digitally printed words.
Last weekend, I met artist Carol Larson whose “Tallgirl Series” of two dozen mixed media fiber collages was exhibited at the Petaluma Art Center in conjunction with the annual Petaluma Quilt Show. The quilt show is an annual one day extravaganza sponsored by the Petaluma Museum Association involving quilt displays at several downtown Petaluma venues and it draws a huge crowd from all over the Bay Area. The Art Council’s sponsorship of Carol Larson, along with its recent shows devoted to Indian textiles, indicate the center’s strong support for fiber artists. A large audience turned up at the Art Center for Larson’s talk, which is no surprise—since the center’s opening last year, every event has been packed to capacity, indicating our community’s hunger for interaction with artists. The Center’s decision to focus on Larson, a fiber artist, during the local quilt show, indicates it is doing its job…prodding us to take note of the possibilities inherent in textile art and to note the divide between fine art and craft.
There is a strong conceptual basis for Larson’s pursuit of this art form, separating her work from popular hobby quilting which often produces an object of beauty that carries no clear message. Larson’s “Tallgirl” collages, 2006 to 2008, are comprised of dozens to hundreds of stamped or pieced vibrantly colored strips of fabric–all referencing her gripping life story as an outsider—an exceptionally tall and unhappy girl who became a guinea pig for medical experimentation. These collages are stitched messages of abuse, chronic pain, isolation, transcendence and self-acceptance.
"Why I Dropped Out of College," 2008, 36"x49," commerical fabrics, screen-printed fabrics, Angelina fibers.
Larson grew up in the Bay Area and by age 17, she was 78 inches tall or 6’6″. The subject of constant ridicule, Larson was ostracized and deeply depressed. She was surgically shortened six inches with experimental surgery with the intention of giving her a normal life. Standing before a large group at the Petaluma Art Center, Larson explained that, at that time, fitting the norm was equated with having a normal life and normal was thought to lead to happy. She was “cut to fit.” The grueling procedure which cut her bones but not her muscles took away all hope of athleticism as she was left unable to balance properly and with chronic pain which she has endured all of her adult life. Ironically, when she later questioned her parents abut the decision to have the surgery, they told her that she had made the decision to proceed with the surgery. Larson had no recollection of making this decision because she had suppressed the experience.
detail, "Why I dropped Out of College," 2008, 36"x 49", commerical fabrics, screen-printed fabrics, Angelina fibers.
The topic became taboo in her family and led to estrangement with her parents and her siblings. Her confusion over this and over her parent’s lack of accountability festered for years.
When Larson was in her twenties, she became a case study– the focus of medical research for an orthopedic team at a teaching hospital. She was routinely called in, stripped down and paraded around for humiliating clinical examinations. She finally put her foot down and refused to participate. Until she was 35, she avoided discussing her surgery, despite the fact that she walked with an obvious limp that people frequently commented on. By age 55, Larson understood that repressing her feelings was self-destructive and she went “into rebellion” and began use art as an outlet.
"On A Sacle of 1 to 10," 2008, 43"x61", Commerical fabrics, hand-dyed silk charmeuse, batiks.
Made from commercially purchased fabrics and some hand-dyed silks to which she applies successive layers of dye, dye removal, over-dyeing and screen-printing of her own imagery, the “Tallgirl” collages combine elements of abstraction with intimate self-portraiture. Within the series itself, there is evidence of tremendous growth in experimentation with form and materials. Among the most powerful works in the series are her self-portraits– caricatures of herself in various states of compromise or transcendence. Her body is large, solid and awkward, a mass to be reckoned with and her face, all facial features, are absent. Despite this, the scenes convey a tremendous amount of emotion. “Why I Dropped Out of College” (2008) depicts her as a college student in Northern Utah experiencing a catastrophic fall on ice. She is flat on her back, alone, sliding on ice, textbooks askew, hands outstretched to grasp her books. Constant throughout these portraits is Larson’s expressive treatment of her hands—always elegant with long fingers. Through her hands, Larson found her voice, healing and identity.
"Anatomy of Rage," 2008, 29" x39", hand-dyed and commerical fabrics.
“On A Scale of 1 to 10” (2008) is a fabric work comprised of a horizontal scale of graduated flames–vibrating chromatically—that are pieced from commercial fabrics and hand-dyed silk and machine stitched to a gray border. The work is as much as scale of the off-the chart pain Larson endured as an index of the psychic energy she expended.
"So many Stories," 2007, 44"x45", Digitally printed words, gesso, screen-printed.
“Anatomy of Rage” (2008) is a fabric landscape executed in fiery red hues that radiates hot energy. What appears to be a large time bomb done in benign patchwork sits off to the left alluding to the explosive power of pent-up emotion.
“So Many Stories” (2007) is a mishmash of Larson’s stories which she typed in tiny fonts that were digitally printed and then silk-screened and gessoed onto fabric.
Overall, there is a fascinating proliferation in this series and its psychic scatter, maybe it’s too orderly–Larson’s got a lot more to say and she is on a roll–getting looser, freer and more expressive with her materials over time. I am curious to see what she would do with the immediacy of paint and canvas. With their saturated colors and hand-crafted applications, these highly personal textile collages evoke enough discomfort and vulnerability to give them a powerful edge.
review-“Looking In: Robert Frank’s “The Americans” a capitvating study of how The Americans came to be, SFMOMA May 16, 2009 – August 23, 2009
Robert Frank, Parade—Hoboken, New Jersey, 1955; gelatin silver print; 8 3/8 x 12 3/4 in.; Private collection, San Francisco; © Robert Frank
“To Robert Frank, I now give this message: You got eyes.” Jack Kerouac.
Now in its final two weeks, SFMOMA’s fantastic exhibition “Looking In: Robert Frank’s “The Americans” celebrates the 50th anniversary of The Americans, one of photography’s most influential books. The Americans is an unforgettable suite of black and white photographs that Frank made on a cross country road trip as a Guggenheim Fellow in 1955-56 that changed photography with its somber depiction of America, calling to question its postwar optimism and very wholesomeness. Not only was Frank’s view of America bleak, his black and white prints were often fuzzy, grainy and off-kilter in composition, nothing like what was commonly seen in newspapers and leading magazines. But the pictures he took in two years of roaming the country resonated with deep unspoken truths, foreshadowing the social upheaval that would later come.
“Looking In” is an art-historical feat that not only delves into every aspect of The American’s story; it shows us how far the photography retrospective has come in terms of comprehensive research. All 83 photos that were published in the original volume are present, including a full set of Frank’s contact sheets, a reconstruction of Frank’s image selection process, his early work leading up to the essay, his later reuse of these famous images, a new film by Frank and a segment on photographers who have been influenced by him. SFMOMA is the show’s only West Coast venue before it moves on to the Metropolitan Museum in September, 2009.
The exhibition was organized by the National Gallery of Art, Washington, the premiere center for the study of his art, and spearheaded by its senior photography curator, Sarah Greenough, who has organized several important Frank shows over the years. Corey Keller, SFMOMA Associate Curator of Photography, organized the show’s San Francisco leg. In 1990, Frank donated a large portion of his archives from his 40 years of work to The National Gallery—making it the first time it collected the work of a living photographer—over 3,000 strips of negatives, 1,000 rare vintage and work prints, his rarest handmade book, and 2,296 contact sheets. Around that time, the National Gallery also increased its commitment to exhibiting photography by adding a wing that would permanently display the works of important photographers.
The American’s iconic status lies both in the work itself and what it has come to symbolize. Very much a product of his time, Frank, with his unique Swiss-émigré outsider’s vision–saw and gave expression to important undercurrents that were brewing across America—racism, poverty, a culture of consumerism, shady politics and growing disconnection, alienation. Frank photographed the same America that everyone lived in and knew, but with an outsider’s perspective, drawn to and identifying with outsiders. As the catalogue discusses, he dismissed the notion of making individual masterpieces early in his career and instead focused on the sequencing of a suite of photos whose collective message was greater than any individual picture could be.
Robert Frank, Political Rally—Chicago, 1956; gelatin silver print; 23 1/4 x 14 3/8 in.; Collection Betsy Karel; © Robert Frank
Not that single images from the book haven’t risen to become icons but his emphasis was on sequencing and creating a collective that added up to more than any single image. This communicated his vision and gave anyone looking at these images an invitation to step into the work, into this collage of a nation, and to embark upon their own private act of sequencing.
The permanence of the book format was also essential—unlike an exhibition which had an end date and was geographically accessible to only a few, if you had access to the book, you could take this vision in again and again, letting it chew, nag and grow on you. Walking through the SFMOMA show, we can’t help but revisit our own individually-held notions of America, ideas born in our childhood and formative years, experiences that live inside us and bind us to each other as Americans. I found myself often overwhelmed with deep unexpected feelings of tenderness, sadness, and recollections of my childhood in the 1960’s in Petaluma, once a small rural chicken-farming community.
Early Work, 1941-1952
The show opens with Frank’s early essays of sequenced photos and does a very good job of showing how he honed his photographic eye. Frank, now 85, was born in Switzerland in 1924 and was a young admirer of Henry Cartier Bresson and André Kertész. By the time he arrived in New York in 1947, at age 22, he already had enough experience in photography to garner prominent commercial assignments from Alexey Brodovitch, the legendary art director at Harper’s Bazar. Frank quickly grew tired of the commercial work and set out to explore Paris, London, Wales, Spain, Italy and Peru. In each place, he produced works that focused on one or two topics that expressed his understanding of the people and their unique culture. He also made three books of hand-bound photographs, experimenting with vital sequencing techniques that would pay off in The Americans. This part of the exhibition demonstrates that, from early on, Frank challenged the viewer to look at the unorthodox in the ordinary, shedding light on things that were often overlooked.
Guggenheim Fellowship, 1955-1957
A highlight is the detailed look at Frank’s grant application to the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation that supported his work. Frank was no wizard with words and initially he produced an awkward one-page written summary of the project. Photographer Walker Evans, who he met in 1950, was an accomplished writer who had penned over twenty book and film reviews. Evans contributed enormous editorial clarity and direction to Frank’s original application, turning one page into four and capturing the essence of Frank’s work and project. As a past Guggenheim fellow himself, Evans was a member of the foundation’s advisory committee and not only did he rewrite Frank’s application but he wrote his own independent letter of recommendation for Frank and, when it was time, voted to grant the fellowship. Frank’s draft application and a transcription of the final copy of the 1954 application are on exhibit.
Also included in this section are also two early manuscript versions of Jack Kerouac’s introduction to the book which was first published with little fanfare in November 1958 in France by Robert Delpire under the title Les Americains as part of their Encyclopédie essentielle series, which presented foreign countries to a French audience. Frank had fretted over the book’s introductory text, wanting it to set the correct tone for his work which he wanted designated as a serious art book. When his friend filmmaker Emile de Antonio suggested that he and Jack Kerouac, the fresh voice of the Beat generation, had a similar vision, Frank asked Kerouac to write his essay. Much to Kerouac’s and Frank’s surprise, the American editor, Barney Rosset of Grove Press, chose Kerouac’s second and longer essay, not the spontaneous, smoothly flowing one that accompanied had the French release. (Looking In, softcover edition, p.139.) It’s fascinating to pour over the two essays and contemplate their nuances.
Several of Kerouac’s oft-quoted lines from the American edition capture the essence of the Frank’s work—
The faces don’t editorialize or criticize or saya anything but “this is the way we are in real life and if you don’t like it I don’t know anything about it cause I am living my own life my way and may God bless us all.”
“anybody doesn’t like potry go home see Televisin shots of big hated cowboys being tolerated by kind horses.”
The American publisher, Grove Press, did an initial run of 2,600 copies on January 15, 1960, though the book was dated 1959. This was 4.5 years after Frank had received his first Guggenheim grant. Frank received a $200 advance for the book while Kerouac got $30 for his introduction. (Looking In, softcover edition, p.139.) The book’s bold cover design bearing similarity to the American flag was done by painter Alfred Leslie who at the time was working with Frank, Kerouac and Ginsberg on the film “Pull my Daisy.”
Robert Frank, Guggenheim 340/Americans 18 and 19—New Orleans, November 1955, 1955; contact sheet; 10 x 8 1/16 in.; National Gallery of Art, Washington, Robert Frank Collection, gift of Robert Frank; © Robert Frank
During Frank’s nine-month road trip across America, he took 767 rolls of film (more than 27,000 images) and made over 1,000 work prints. The curators give us experimental prints, contact sheets and a very good discussion surrounding the book’s layout, including a fabulous book wall showing the development of the sequencing of photos presented in work print collages. Frank actually took a year editing, selecting and sequencing these photographs and the mock-up process ultimately yielded additional fluidity. Frank gracefully knitted together urban and rural, black and white, military and civilian and poor, rich and middle classes in ways they had not been seen before.
The Americans
All 83 prints are presented in their original sequence with several large rare vintage prints. With their grainy, gritty, shadowy and tilted frames, composed at odd angles, these photos rewrote the rules of photography. The standard emphasis in the 1950’s of photojournalism or street photography on single summary images, mainly wholesome images, shot straight on.
Robert Frank, Charleston, South Carolina, 1955; gelatin silver print; 16 1/4 x 23 1/4 in.; Collection of Susan and Peter MacGill; © Robert Frank
Frank used a quiet hand-held Leica and his compositions were greatly influenced by the fact that he was often shooting from his car. What emerged was an immensely poetic portrait of mainly ordinary people going about their business, waiting in lines, moving from one place to another, gathering, resting. A lot of the faces are heartbreaking, lonely, even empty, but the shots are not about sadness per se they are about getting through what unfolds on any ordinary day in America. A black woman in Charleston, South Carolina, leans against a wall as she holds a white infant in her arms, staring out into space, the child looks in another direction. Four adults stand at a distance looking at a dead victim of a car accident wrapped in a blanket on US Route 66 at Flagstaff, AZ. The lower, middle and upper classes are all captured in moments of emptiness, moving monotonously back and forth, and towards death, in the land of plenty.
After “The Americans”
The final section of the exhibition address the impact The Americans had on Frank’s subsequent work. The book was initially critcized as anti-American but during the 1960’s, as many of the issues that Frank had alluded to literally exploded, The American’s came to be regarded as ahead of its time and attracted a cultlike following from many within the art world. Fame did not sit well with Frank and he became increasingly reclusive. Soon after the book was published, he put away still photography and switched to a film for a good decade; since the 1970’s, he has moved back and forth between the two, carrying insights from one medium into the other. His first film “Pull My Daisy” (1959), co-directed with Alfred Leslie with narration by Jack Kerouac, showcased the Beats and also managed to capture the contemporary pulse. The film proved significant and liberating for independent filmmakers in its unpolished rambling form.
A catalogue to keep you louping
The catalog is exceptional and is offered in two different editions, both authored by Sarah Greenough who has been working on this project since Frank’s Moving Out show in 1994. The softcover edition ($45, 396 pages, 6 4-color, 168 tritone and 210 duotone images) includes reproductions of all the works in the exhibition, along with essays from Sarah Greenough, Stuart Alexander, Philip Brookman, Michel Frizot, Martin Gasser, Jeff Rosenheim, Luc Sante, and Ann Wilkes Tucker exploring most facets of the work. The hardcover edition ($75, 528 pages, 108 4-color, 168 tritone and 210 duotone images) is a breathtaking expanded edition that includes all the material in the softcover, plus additional essays, a map, a comparative chart of the various published editions including notations on the various croppings from each edition, and—get your loupes– it reproduces 83 actual size contact sheets, each of which features a frame from the final edit.
ARThound 