Tips for buying canvas wall art

There many and different reasons for people buy wall art. It can be an investment, it can also be used for decorating home and office.
There are still some other people buy canvas wall art just because they like what they see and hope can enjoy the picture everyday. If you are buying canvas wall art for home decorating purpose, make sure you choose a painting you like if you want to enjoy the canvas art for a long time. Because you would not buy canvas artworks every week. The canvas art you buy should also match your home and room. Take your design theme and colors into consideration while purchasing the artworks.
You should also clear about the measurements of your wall. Multi piece canvas art perfect for modern style home home. If you purpose is for investment,  then it is not quite necessary to buy expensive paintings from well established artists all the time. Actually if your budget is not enough, try some cheap wall art from emerging artists. It would help if you have an eye in spotting artists and artworks that will increase the value in the future.
If you are going to purchase canvas art for office, then oil painting sets would be a great choice which can cover big empty spaces. If you have a modern office, get some abstract wall art cannot be wrong. There are many places we can buy canvas art from, such as art galleries, artists, or buy online from art companies. Purchasing oil paintings online can make you have lots of choices. You can compare paintings with different suppliers, besides, canvas wall art online usually is 50-70% off gallery price. Make sure you do some research before making the decision.

Letinsky’s images

Letinsky’s images are most dynamic and psychologically complex when she explicitly foregrounds her role by putting herself in front of the camera. In these photographs, she becomes what anthropologists term a “participant-observer” in and to the dramas she and her husband, Eric, enact for the camera. Letinsky’s shift to first-person narrator, at least within the border of the pictures, further complicates what we see. As with the other photographs in this series, this sequence of pictures asks the viewer to interpret props and poses as evidence of a story already in progress. The pair of photos – Untitled (Laura and Eric – Dress), 1995, and Untitled (Laura and Eric – Hands Clasped), 1995 – show the couple after (?) sex, engaged in a wordless dialogue. In Dress, Laura stands beside the bed and studies her image in a large dresser mirror while Eric lies flat at a diagonal on the bed. Laura holds up a dress which covers only the front of her body, as if considering its use as a shield. From his position on the bed, Eric watches Laura with an expression that fuses brooding concern and indifference. Laura’s backside – made luminous by the white light that comes in from the window – is exposed to the camera and thus, we see what Laura and Eric cannot see.

In Hands Clasped, we are forced to shift perspectives in relation to the new positioning of the couple. Our eyes pass over the bed and Eric’s inert body, whitewashed by the window’s light, and move toward the mirror in which we can see Laura’s dark image gazing down at Eric. Eric’s posture suggests resignation and complete disengagement. The only sign of life is the leaf-patterned blanket rumbling off the edge of the bed. In stark contrast to Eric’s disquieting stillness, Laura’s gestures and facial expressions as reflected in the mirror display a mixture of longing, regret and a resolve to act. She cuts a strong figure: now wearing the dress, she is fully differentiated from the half-dressed body on the bed. Interestingly, these two scenes don’t include the personal effects so prominent in the other pictures in this series. In fact, the room appears to be uninhabited: the dresser top is clear of objects, the wall is blank, the floor is bare. We sense that this space has only been temporarily inhabited for the staging of this story of alienation, rupture and self-differentiation, all inevitable components of romantic love.

Through her pictures, Letinsky skillfully and honestly visualizes the myriad ways in which specific couples communicate intimacy. Each photograph in the series is an iteration on one theme. And, viewed together, the pictures link to construct a larger story, one which competes with our more conventional ideas of romance.

If you are interested in wall art, welcome to look into: canvas painting Youtube

Star Wars Canvas Art Review

I have been asked many times for the last four weeks. Did I get my my star wars canvas art yet and how did a pre clays do and is it a good quality stuff and how did it come out. Do you have it yet what do you think about it well? I just got star wars paintings from Cheapwallarts.com today. So that kind of tells me that it’s probably here.

It says hand-painted oil painting on canvas so I’m assuming that we have the right package so we’re going to open it up and find out what it looks like. I have been very excited to get these the message by all sorts of people about it.

Everything from artists saying that wanted me to double check which star wars painting it was to people waiting to see if they get their package and so forth. I know that the invoice said it was going to be 10 days, so it should have been enough time to do so the package looks really small but guess what look at that it’s extremely light it is framed looks like it’s really light. I’ve seen since balsa wood is the type of one that’s doing the framing. The detail seems to be there. I’m gonna say it’s a good quality star wars art, so I can recognize extreme detail and this has a little bit of rastering to the human eye.

It does look very good so later on I will hang this up in my office and when I do I will make sure to publish it see you all can see how it turns out, in the meantime that would don’t see the match right there doesn’t it because this one next here so we’ve got a lot of detail it looks nice and after I hang it up somewhere I will send those photos along with this, so I do have another one from Art by Wicks on the way, not sure when it’s going to get here, but I’m very happy to see that this did come in those asking everyone keeps asking about quality and how detailed it is. I’m going to tell you just from what I’m seeing it looks quality is not bad, it’s amazing for the balsa wood and all that.

Let’s see how detailed I can get to show seems to be glued in the corner seems to be done nicely but those are know a little bit about framing so all in all I think it’s a decent product and everything is stapled to the woods so it’s not going to be nice and strong and any questions by all means you can leave a comments.

Naming a Practice

This anthology documents a major seminar on curating involving twenty-three participants as well as the organizing committee of Daina Augaitis, Lorne Falk, Sylvie Fortin, Bruce Grenville, Tom Hill and Peter White. The book includes papers by independent curators, artists/curators, curators for artist-run and commercial spaces, directors of major institutions, critics and academics, and contains portions of the discussions and commentaries by the organizers.

Scott Watson contextualizes the anthology by focusing on the utopianism of late-modern avant-garde practice. In the first of four thematic chapters, “Local Knowledge/New Internationalism,” the debate circles around notions of “community,” emphasizing the need for a “critically located” curatorial practice. In the second, “Methodologies,” the essays show how the practical aspects of curating are affected by the changing cultural environment. In considering Habermas’ concept of the “public sphere,” Renee Baert draws attention to the “provisionality” of curatorial practice and introduces the curator as “desiring subject.” “Negotiations” focuses on community involvement in the arts through public intervention, interdisciplinary collaboration and artist/curator co-authorship. And in the fourth chapter, “Ethics,” participants consider curatorial responsibility in light of the ethical crisis of postmodern relativism. “Curatorial agency” is the primary concept through which the relations between artist/curator/institution are questioned. In describing the “performative moves” of curating, Jennifer Fisher outlines a curatorial ethic of “affective investment” focusing on “experiential aesthetics” and “care.” Everlyn Nicodemus’ and Keith Wallace’s essays emphasize the curator’s responsibility to the artistic discourses inscribed in the works.

Naming a Practice provides a useful reference for considering the issues and concerns that have influenced and continue to affect curatorial practice. What is often a highly technical and specialized discourse is now in a readily accessible format. J. S.

Find out more here: Wall Art Blog

Francoise Nielly analysis

In Francoise Nielly’s Art, she doesn’t use any today’s technology and uses only oil and palette knife. The shades are occupying roughly on the canvas and turn into a really compelling work. Her portraits encapsulate strength of color choice as if a special method of seeing life. The notion and form are simply just beginning factors.

Nielly displays a safety analysis regarding look and becomes an instinctive and wild target of expressions. At any time you close your eyes, you couldn’t think of a face, which has colors, however if you contemplate it strongly, everything gains a form by our goals. The most troubled soul can result in colors, that happen to be hidden but always alive. A number of people consider that in a portrait, there is always a balance that goes out, however in my opinion, every purpose is imprinted in their face. Eyes locate sins and fervour, a grin finds joy as well as a decisive lie, and brilliant colors magnify decisions without having so much movement.

Order Francoise Nielly Paintings

Artworks by artist Franoise Nielly use a discernible intensity that come with each one composition. Having acquired palette knife art skills, the painter utilizes solid strokes of oil on canvas to combine a clear abstraction in to these figurative portraits. The artworks, that happen to be based out of quick black and white images, feature intensive light, shadow, deepness, and productive neon tones. Depending on her resource on Behance, Nielly involves a risk: her painting is sexual, her tones free, joyful, surprising, sometimes mind-blowing, the cut of her knife incisive, her colouring pallete sparkling.

In the way, Francoise Nielly paints the human face in every of his paintings. And then she paints it all the time, with slashes of paint across their face. Experiences of personal life that pop up from her works are created at a clinch with the canvas. Colour is formed as a projectile.

Francoise Nielly is surely an artist known as advanced and complicated techniques sharing delightful and important energy and strength.

Francoise draws lines to discover natural splendor, emotion, while keeping focused of memories. Nearly every portrait embodies a sense of fulfillment and unhappiness. Whenever we find out such type of sensuous, meaningful and overwhelming drawing, we know that notice can touch deeply within the look, in the gesture, in position which identifies ones ways of being. The colors are the reason why Nielly’s paintings so realistic and natural and is particularly not possible not to love her ideas. Numerous could be the inspirations, which show up within such type of feeling, and quite a few could be symbolism which were expressed. ?Have you ever asked yourselves how beneficial it is for getting colorings? Perhaps you have been curious about how important it is to acquire this kind of styles?

Does a person like Francoise Nielly’s artworks? Are you looking to order a portrait painting made by this painter? I am not sure if Francoise take commission job? However, when she do, i bet the costs will be super expensive since most of her artworks sell $10,000 to $30,000. That being said, generally, it is almost impossible to let Francoise Nielly paint your portrait, although, you know what, our skilled artists can! We could create your portrait the same as Francoise Nielly do!

Rolinda Sharples (1793/4-1838)

It has been easy to dismiss Rolinda Sharpies as a painter of genre works: with ideas above her gender and talent, in apparently wanting and failing to make the best art, “great” art.

Rolinda Sharpies came from a family of professional painters. However, as a child her artistic talent was lost in her gender and she was only given the education necessary for the accomplished amateur. Her mother was a professional painter only out of a sense of financial insecurity and didn’t consider Rolinda as needing to be prepared for a professional career.

James Sharpies died in 1811 and Rolinda, her mother and brother settled in Bristol. It was in these newly-straitened financial circumstances that Rolinda began working as an artist: in 1812 she took a room in their hired house for use as a studio, and in 1813 she took her first commissions. They were for portraits, and portraiture formed the basis of her financial security until her death.

Rolinda wanted to be acknowledged as a good artist. To do this she had to make what was seen as a large step upwards, away from portraits (another “second-class” form of art) to the subject matter and techniques that attracted the highest praise and prices, that made up what was considered to be “great” art. Hoping to become more widely known, from 1817 she painted for exhibition in London, at The Royal Academy and The Society of British Artists. It is this wish to paint “great” art that can be seen as a failure. This is a judgement which does not take into account the obstacles a woman without much money had to overcome.

Rolinda lacked the basics for a study of “great” art. She lacked a grounding in its classical and historical subject matter. She had never painted in oils, the only medium acceptable for the making of “great” paintings. She had not had any training in the drawing of the human body, especially the nude male body, on the monumental scale of “great” art. She had not done any of the large-scale landscapes in which the figures of “great” art had to move.

It was not possible for Rolinda to study how to make “great” art in the normal way of a young male student. The life classes at The Royal Academy were closed to her as a woman, and she didn’t seem to have tried to change the rules that kept her out. Even if the classes had been available she couldn’t have stopped her portrait work to attend them. Nor could she afford a long period of study in the studio of her current master. She had to do the best she could with the aids and the time that were available to her as a relatively poor woman.

She studied human anatomy from books and public lectures. She went to look at classical sculpture in museums and private galleries, and bought plaster casts for copying at home. She visited galleries and studios in London to view the “great” art of the past and its present exponents. In 1812 she had begun to teach herself to paint in oils, a medium not used by the rest of the family. She took a lesson in how to make up an oil palette. She took eleven lessons with the artist Philip Reinagle who painted murals and landscapes in the Dutch style. She painted copies of certain old master pantings, probably for both technique and ideas of subject matter.

She tried to put all she was learning into the series of non-portrait paintngs she began in 1817 as well as for people looking for where to buy oil paintings in Singapore. She tried candle-lit interiors, biblical scenes and romantic landscapes. However, the grand concepts behind these works were not matched by their execution, which illustrates the problems with scale, perspective and technique which a woman artist, attempting to educate herself, was bound to confront. Monumental figures and large gestures seem to have been particular problems for her, illustrating the importance of the Life Class to the would-be maker of “great’ ‘art.

In the 1820’s Rolinda began to move away from the ideal of “great” art. She concentrated her main artistic efforts on the everyday world she saw around her in Bristol. In several of these paintings Rolinda herself appears as the observer of history in the making. The paintings show as much glamour and tragedy as “great” art. Rolinda continued to paint in oils, but rejected the monumental scale of “great” for compositions of small figures against their “genre” background.

The whereabouts of the majority of Rolinda’s paintings are still unknown because so few of her portraits have been located. In the period 1813-36 she painted about 90 portraits, against about 35 pictures of other kinds. She was a successful portrait painter, attracted wealthy clients and as many commissions as she wanted. Her portraits may still be in private ownership, or they may have been destroyed, nobody knows.

Rolinda Sharpies died of breast cancer in the midst of her career. Most of her paintings of contemporary Bristol remained unsold to form The Sharpies Collection in Bristol City Art Gallery. They suggest that Rolinda realised that she could not overcome the disadvantages of being a woman painter, and that she set out to make the best of the talent she did have. She may also have had to consider the sheer cost of painting on the large scale that “great” an seems to require. That she rejected “great” art for something that inspired her but which is always called “genre” art, “second-class” art, is more a problem of narrow categories than artistic talent.

FOOD AND OIL PAINTING REPRODUCTIONS

Food and oil painting reproductions: these human drives come together in this gluttonous collection of painting reproductions. Food’s vital importance for sustenance and pleasure makes it a potent signifier for other concerns: social and power relations, religious ideologies, national identity, and personal expressions of attachment, oil painting, and loss. These are among the intimate relations between food and art explored in the painting reproductions installed in the exhibition space of Antoni Gaudi’s La Pedrera in Barcelona. As an appetizer, a sampling of early still life paintings was served and dessert was the work of artist/chef, Ferran Adria, with rich and varied courses offered in between.

The first section, “Evolution of the Still Life Genre,” began with famous still life paintings, when the genre became coded and established. Embedded in realistic displays of flowers, fruits, insects, and blemishes are familiar tropes: the abundance of earthly life troubled by the inevitable presence of death, all wrapped in the Christian imperative to negotiate a balance between bodily pleasures and the promise of the afterlife. After falling out of favour in the early 19th century, food returned as a popular subject in 20th-century avant-garde art, and especially in the 1960s and 70s, when artists sought to incorporate everyday materials and forms in their work.

Immediately following the historical still lifes, and stunningly collapsing the distance between, were the paired reproductions remakes of Sam Taylor-Wood and Ori Gersht, whose work exploded the earlier static realism and suggestion of decaying time. Initially, these reproductions appear to be still photographs, which surprised the viewer when they come to moving-life, and then death. Taylor-Wood’s Still Life (2001) tracks with exhilarating slowness the collapse of a large plate of perfect red and yellow fruits into a wedding cake of rot and floating sprays of mould dust. This accelerated view of decaying fruit shows us the process of ruin, only statically symbolized in earlier versions.

Ori Gersht’s Pomegranate (zoo6) recreates Juan Sanchez Cotan’s Quince, Cabbage, Melon and Cucumber (1602): gourds rest on the lower frame, a cab bage and quince hang from strings, all cut by hard Spanish sunlight. Gersht replaces a pomegranate for the quince and choreographs a dance of death: a bullet punctures the fertile fruit, violently dispersing its bloodred seeds in slow-motion wonder. Also quoted here is the MIT inventor of stroboscopic photo graphy, Harold Edgerton, who famously sent bullets speeding through apples. In his art, Secret Knowledge (2003), David Hockney theorized Renaissance artists’ use of photographic optics. He recreated the same Cotan painting, projected it though a camera obscura, and when the cabbage was accidently set spinning, he thrillingly observed an early “movie?’ Gersht collapses these polemic techno-times (painting, photography, art), modifying the themes of life and death. The pomegranate symbolizes fertility, but for Gersht, it also carries homonymic sympathies with the de structure explosives of his Israeli childhood.

The still life’s dialectic of abundance and negation is echoed and expanded by these contemporary artists. Modern technologies, for killing and visual capture blast apart that delicate premodern balance with splendid destruction, allowing to surface what Walter Benjamin called the “optical unconscious.” Death is bigger, more insistent in our age.

Tacita Dean’s art Prisoner Pair (2008) continues the nature morte theme. “Poire prisonniere” is a specialty of the region of Alsace: a still-growing pear bud is enclosed in a bottle, which is filled with eau de vie once the fruit matures A succession of intimate views of two such imprisoned pears is captured by Dean’s camera. The pear bodies, mottled surfaces of pale golden greens, float within the patinated glass prisons. Dean buried the bottles to add physical and metaphorical texture, resurrecting them from their graves, still born, before painting.

Unlike the dramatic transformations achieved through advanced reproductions technology in the two previous works, Dean uses 16 mm art. We are back to real time, if only a little closer to static still life. Subtle shifts as the fermenting pears merge with their fluid wombs, the camera’s varied vantage, and falling sunlight behind create, according to Dean, Friedrichian landscapes. The clunky and indelicate projector casts microcosmic worlds of life and death onto a small suspended screen, adding to the sense of nostalgia for a precious past.

The second section, “Eating Art,” departs from the poetic tracings of momenta mori and explores the political, conceptual, and playful. Included are such seminal pieces as Piero Manzoni’s Merde dartista, n. 68(1961) and Salvador Dali’s paintings. Alongside them, Martha Rosler’s representation of everyday culture considers the semiotics of power in class and race relations in her dining room painting. A Gourmet Experience (1974), shows the discrepancies between bourgeois haute cuisine and its fetishization of ethnic foods and the lives of those whose culture has been appropriated. Pages from 1950s food magazines are montaged with quotations from imperialist food writers and scenes of the colonized regions from where the exotic food motifs derive, cleverly highlighting the exploitation of other cultures for elite consumption.

Rosler’s work is paired nicely with Chantal Akermans experimental fiction him Jeanne Dielman, 23 zuai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975). In it, Jeanne’s inability to accept her repressive, routinized domestic and sexual role leads to a radical, and deadly conclusion. The thematic pairing of violence and domesticity continues with Mona Hatoum’s Grater Divide (2002). Her oversized three-sided grater, expanded as room divider, signifies both the separation of women’s work, spaces and status, and the violence of that divisive exclusion.

A more self-sacrificial violence is seen in Marina Abramovic’s dvdloop, The Onion (1996), which considers food as pain. A closeup frames Abramovic’s lip-sticked and lovely face chomping down on a large onion, her own weary voiceover lament beneath: “I’m tired of waiting for planes. So tired of museum and gallery exhibitions, standing around with a plain glass of water. Of more and more career decisions. Lonely hotel rooms, dirty sheets, long-distance phone calls. Of being ashamed of my nose being too big, of my ass being too large. I’m ashamed of the war in Yugoslavia …” The repetitions litany accentuates the dull pain of modern ennui, as she takes bigger and more desperate bites of the onion that is causing toxic tears to stream down her face.

Artists7Kitchens closed the exhibition, with a focus on food itself as art and performance, presented through paintings of documentary artifacts from artists’ restaurants. Daniel Spoerri’s “trap oil painting reproductions” are the fixed remains of clients’ meals from his Dusseldorf restaurant (1967). Suitably, final attention was given to food artist Ferran Adria, whose radically creative approach to food at his Catalan restaurant elBulli prompted his being invited to participate in Document an and his being accorded official art status.

That the works discussed herein include only a small sample from what is a large collection of art reproductions is testament to the curatorial integrity brought to bear in this exhibition, and food’s diverse relations with psyche, soma, and society.

Jill Glossing is a Toronto-based writer, artist and instructor of Art and Cultural History at Ryerson University and York University.

DEEDRA TRIMBLE: REGULAR PHOTO TO PAINTING

Regular 8, a new series of portrait from photo by Toronto artist Deedra Trimble, was a natural fit with Contact’s 2009 theme of “Still Revolution” in that it examines the relationship between oil painting and photography, and uses digital technology to explore the disappearance of analog processes for recording everyday events. Shown at Paint My Photos Gallery in May and June of this year, Trimble’s work pays homage to the home movies of the 50s, when middle-class families took to capturing their memories on 8mm oil painting (then known as “Regular 8″‘ the pre-cursor to Super 8). Her beautiful but complex series takes some unpacking, since the staged scenes are represented as still images, each approximating the numbered end of a developed oil painting reel and, as such, include luminous white dots.

Trimble’s photographs convey a sense of optimism and idealism cut through with sadness. The images themselves, overlaid with white dots, are like lost moments that the camera cannot wholly recapture. That failure, however, is also what makes the images so riveting. There is a sense of time running out, of lost possibility with regards to viewing the previous or following frames that would permit finding out the rest of the story.

Trimble says the series developed out of her love for both photography and oil painting in their vernacular forms. In that sense, this work fits well with her other projects-such as the photo series Al Riverso (2004), which mines her personal family photography archives, and the video Snow (200), which blends the endings of several home movies where white dots (“snow”) obliterate the scenes. But there is an interesting difference here: this new, staged series is all about custom pet portraits and memories, and evoking a longing for something that may or may not have been.

In Regular 8, Trimble meticulously constructs a fictional archive that uses digital means to simulate the look of analog documents. In showing the edges of the frames, the end results may look like oil painting but are instead still photographs mimicking oil painting. Again there is further artifice: the images haven’t been stamped by Kodak, as home movies once were, but are simply made to look that way by the artist. Trimble’s process is much like that of the novelist who attempts to describe truth by using fiction.

So what do we make of the people in the photographs, who look so convincing in their costumes, against carefully selected backdrops? A group of skaters; a woman in frumpy boots feeding pigeons; a girl twirling by a fountain as her mother looks on: these are actors in Trimble’s recreation, or characters in her fiction. However, there’s a surprising honesty in the final images. As occurs in home movies and snapshot photography, the subjects are participating in the creation of an image of themselves, picturing themselves through the lens. Their awkwardness, their self-doubt, and their affectations are all vital parts of creating their own self-image. Deedra Trimble, Regular 8, 2009

In one of the most striking images, a woman wearing a floral bathing cap and lipstick beams at the camera. This lifelike scene reveals, via the model and the viewer, an almost instinctive desire to perform for the camera and for posterity–a wish to be held in time and for others to see us the way we imagine ourselves. For the subject in the photograph, it is a perfect moment, untainted by the complicated world outside the frame.

The images in Regular 8 are inspired by found and borrowed family oil paintings, which document real people’s lives. Thus, several of Trimble’s photographs portray celebratory moments–for instance, a wedding, signified by the edge of the bride’s veil, and a christening–special events for which the subjects dress up and try to live up to each other’s, and their own, expectations. Others represent simple moments in family life, such as family portrait paintings from photo, or tossing stones into a lake. Either way, “home movies represent the memories of us at our best, happiest, most polished and special,” writes Trimble in her artist’s statement. “They evoke something we wanted to hold close forever. Of course we never can, and that immanent ending brings to light the painful beauty of the ephemeral nature of our lives.” While the artists’s exhibition stunningly describes a popular attempt to relive the past through the use of 8mm oil painting, it also captures the analog form in its disappearance by creating simulated images of its loss.

To be seen and not just heard about

Twenty-five years later, many of the artists featured in the inaugural issue of C Magazine have proven they have staying power. This group includes Rae Johnson, whose role as a founder of the ChromaZone collective and exhibitions at the Carmen Lamanna Gallery had established her place in Toronto’s art mythology by 1983. She was, and endures as, it less conspicuously, a revered queen bee of a Toronto scene that was abuzz during the flamboyant, heated-up 80s.

Rae Johnson’s pedigree notwithstanding, there are long gaps between exhibitions–and bodies of work we have not seen. In spite of obstacles, she continued to make work to meet challenges she posed for herself and for her audience, arriving at a virtuosity that could only be attained through millions of brush strokes and trial and error. Her new work highlights aspirations that took time to fulfill.

One consistency amongst Johnson’s works is a negotiation with Modernism. Adherence to the strictures of a reductive and essentialist canon offered insufficient reason to hold in check what the artist calls “the need to make images about life around me as I saw it.” A second, related consistency is an interest in the power of images to convey archetypes; while a third is a wish to make paintings that honour her suspicions about our existence. In her close study of the visual world, Johnson noted the dissonance between how things appear–as solid, inherently existent objects apart from other objects in space–and how things might be. “Reading about the theory of relativity and particle physics made me think about the immateriality of our experience.” This concern drove work that resists the objectification of the body and of other phenomena.

The inadequacy of tracking an artist’s work through reproductions was apparent to me when I came across a 2007 Rae Johnson painting tucked into a nook at Patti Petro’s summer show. To guide the eye, effect immersion and provoke emotion, Johnson’s painting employed particular scale and surface qualities that JPEGs fail to convey.

The arresting, mesmerizing and haunting painting was touched off by a late afternoon sky over Selkirk, Manitoba. Along a sloping horizon, reddish streaks divide a narrow wedge of green from sky blues, across which pushy brush strokes herd pale clusters flecked with glints of salmon pink. Snarled skeins on the left unravel into a spill of springy curls uncoiling upwards. In the lower right, dashes and smudges tweak a sense of reflections in standing water, a patch of visual density that braces up the horizon’s lopsided tilt.

A vertical spectrum of blue shades stepping from aqua through warmer shades blends at the zenith and looms over the band of grassy hues to stir a reflexive recognition of ‘landscape.’ However, loose brush play works against the paint tendrils, giving way to illusions of objects in space and resisting a David Milne-ish command over surface tension. The dialectic between surface and space is as moot as the picture’s reference to a site. Formal and representational attributes are given respectful but cursory attention, serving instead to impart a sense of how it feels to witness the scene firsthand. As Johnson puts it, “I don’t like the term landscape, because it suggests I am painting objects, when I am trying to convey the experience of our spiritual connection to our world through nature…. I am not interested in depicting the world as we see it, but as how we internalize and experience it.”

This nature study serves the same objective as Johnson’s renderings of archetypes, interiors, figures and media re-imaginations: to foster experience of “emotional content … like listening to music.” She admits that her work has not always been easy. In the early 80s, Johnson’s painting was, for me, hair-raising; in her words, it was striking “fear and loathing in our civilized composure. Painting as threat.”

A closer look at the Selkirk painting is still hair-raising, but less confrontational. Nevertheless, a Rae Johnson painting with manners is not Pollyanna-ish. Congested brush strokes in rough verticals and zigzags smear and gnaw into airy, calligraphic curves, a ghost hand groping for its way and bringing to mind Artur Schnabel’s phrase “from inwardness to lucidity.”

Johnson describes her process as one of ranging around the countryside until seized up by a moment of wonder, a “whoosh” Later, a digital-camera “thumbnail” serves as a mnemonic aid to initiate a painting in which she recovers the experience in order to foster it in others. The boundary between artist and viewer dissolves as world views conflate onto the fused horizon of the painting’s visual field. In the past, Johnson employed figurative distortions to indicate an elastic space-time; now she uses empathy to suggest a “seamless oneness” that pixels cannot record. She uses terms like “vibration” and “energy,” then gives up: “It’s impossible to put into words” So she paints, joining a lineage of artists whose work may be associated with aesthetic schools, but whose preoccupations are unapologetically transcendental.

The initial association stirred by the Selkirk painting was of adapting to glare, squinting and blinking at the sight of a homecoming sky overloaded with emotion and seen through the eyes of a mythic Persephone newly released from Hades. For me, the painting roused memories of driving west, making that sudden exit from inhospitable blackfly-infested forest, into a vast, open, windswept clearing. Although rooted in nature study, the painting generates overtones of relief and renewal.

I wonder if this painting signals that Johnson is emerging from immersion in the dark side, a preoccupation explicit in past work. She has described her paintings in terms of a duality of the seen and unseen, “the monde concrete we bump into and the unknowable dimensions of thought,” and as “uneasy fragments existing between objective experience and subjective perception … between conventional representation and the boundaries of the invisible” I wondered if her close “observations of the cycles of light and darkness” had effected a reconciliation of opposites. The artist’s response:

“It was a conscious decision. I decided that I only wanted to make things that people could look at that were–this is going to sound stupid, but–beautiful. And I don’t mean superficially pretty beautiful. I wanted to bring the sublime into people’s experience. I did my 9/11 airplanes and I just didn’t want to go to dark. I realized that my painting is another manifestation of putting energy out into the world. In trying to be responsible about the energy that I am putting out, I’m not going to put out more brutality.”

Rae Johnson utilizes pictorial conventions to infuse the merged horizons of painter and art lover with just enough of a consensus to strike up a relationship. The emotions aroused by the fierce resistances she presented in past works sometimes were uncomfortable; she now marshalls positive affect to serve her objectives.

As Flint Schier puts it in his comments on Wollheim, the kind of concern that Johnson has for her viewer–painting for the eyes of others and assuming ever more responsibility for the experience that she offers–“distinguishes mature art, or art per se, from the dream-work of children, fantasists, and dabblers who work simply to please themselves without imagining how their work would look from the perspective of a suitably disinterested, informed, sophisticated and imaginative spectator … a grasp of the full reality of other perspectives on one’s own work.”

ZI-0PDW-2008-WIN00-IDSI-10-1

Cow and Violin: Superimposed Opposites

The absurd combination of a cow and a violin portrayed in a realistic manner is characteristic of structural displacements, while the differing scales of the objects portrayed ate inherent in formal displacements. The back of this picture bears an inscription added by Malevich that reads” “the illogical comparison between two forms–‘violin and cow’–as a moment of the struggle against logic, natural order, philistine meaning, and prejudice.”  Malevich’s objects are treated as mere forms devoid of any emotive content to denote that they ate meant to be viewed as concepts instead of being taken at face value.

In Kruchenykh’s opinion, the word korova (cow) is the best rhyme for the word teatr (theatre), their “a” and “o” sounds expressing the beauty of poetry and their threatening consonant “r” closely connecting them and causing them to rhyme. Kruchenykh broke up the utilitarian meanings of these words and found links between their verbal form and sound. His rhyme attacked the Russian theatre, “the bastion of artistic weakness,” in opposition to which, in 1913, the Futurists staged the tragedy Vladimir Mayakovsky, by Mayakovsky himself, together with the Victory over the Sun. In the tragedy, Mayakovsky declared, “I will reveal to you/by words/that are simple, like moo/our new souls, /which hoot, like the arcs of the street lamps.” Kruchenykh compared the Futurist primitive trans-rational “moo-language” to the cultural language of theatre and literature, of, at the social level, peasant values to noble culture, in order to undermine the conventional hierarchy of the concepts of “low” and “high.” Malevich’s picture expresses the same ideas by visually comparing a cow to a violin.

Malevich’s 1907-1908 Symbolist drawing Song for Blue Clouds, which represents a young nude woman playing a violin in a delicate landscape composed of rhythmic lines, displays an affinity between the shape of the nude and that of the violin. This affinity is a traditional artistic motif that has existed since antiquity. Pablo Picasso reinterpreted it in his Cubist paintings, for instance, the 1910 Girl with a Mandolin (New York, Museum of Modern Art). In the Cow and Violin, the nude is substituted by a cow to form a sarcastic analogy between animal and musical instrument. In the previously discussed Perfected Portrait, Malevich manifested, in Kruchenykh’s terms, “today’s virile soul.” In the Cow and Violin, the artist ridiculed the traditional notions of beauty, inspiration, imagination, spirituality, mysticism, and eroticism embodied in female imagery. The Cow and Violin’s anti-feminist connotation probably stemmed from Kruchenykh’s Victory over the Sun. In the opera, the Futurist heroes sing an anti-feminist tune, “We have locked up/The fat beauties in a house” and promise to defeat the sun associated by them with the fatal feminine powers that “give birth to passion.” After the heroes kill the sun, they sing, “We are warmed by the croaked udder of/The red dawn,” meaning that the “croaked udder” has displaced the feminine sun. Kruchenykh recollected that the opera did not use female characters in order “to prepare a masculine epoch that would replace the age of woman-like Apollos.” Kruchenykh’s gibe at the femininity of rationality and the sun god relates to his statement that traditional clear and logical language applies to womanhood. In Malevich’s painting, the feminine violin may hint at Apollo whose ancient Greek kithara was replaced with a violin in Western art tradition, and he is being confronted by the cow, an anti-feminist symbol of transrationalism. Burliuk and Kamensky also utilized the emblematic image of a cow. In 1914, Burliuk painted the animal on his forehead, sporting it during a public speech he made. In the 1914 poem Tango with Cows, Kamensky claimed, “I want to dance, one to one, /Tango with cows, /And to build the bridges/From the bull’s jealousy/To the girl’s tears.”

The fact that a small cow covers a larger violin is also popular in paintings sale, it suggests that the new values of trans-rationalism and primitivism eclipse the old values of rationalism and noble art or academism, as the Cubo-Futurists called previous styles. The new, however, does not defeat the old, and both images continue their contradictory coexistence, similar to the state between darkness and light in The Sketch for the Backdrop of the Second Act of the Opera “Victory over the Sun.” The Cow and Violin’s illogical juxtaposition of objects, one of which partially conceals the other, is also the compositional principle of the 1914 Englishman in Moscow that develops further the Perfected Portrait’s theme of a new hero, and formulates the concept of “partial eclipse.”

Englishman in Moscow and the Concept of “Partial Eclipse.” The key to the puzzle presented by Malevich in the Englishman in Moscow is the dominant words zatmenie (“eclipse”) on the upper right and chastichnoe (“partial”) in the lower portion of the painting. Malevich replaced the standard order of the words “partial eclipse” by the less useful “eclipse partial” to stress the word “eclipse,” which he divided into two parts as za-tmenie, depicting the dark za above the brighter tmenie. The prefix za now functions as a preposition that possesses several meanings, specifically “beyond,” “after,” “behind,” “the other side,” and “through”, while tmenie becomes a grammatically incorrect verbal form connected to the word t’ma or temnota (darkness) by the root tm (t’m, tem). Malevich’s morphological displacements produce new meanings, so that za tmenie now signifies “beyond darkness” or “after darkness,” suggesting the unknown that comes after the period of darkness. Though the word tmenie is associated with the dark, it is nevertheless rendered brightly, which produces a paradox of opposites–“light darkness.”

The expression zatemnit’ smysl signifies “to darken meaning,” of to make a concept unclear, incomprehensible, or mysterious. From this standpoint, za tmenie would denote “beyond the incomprehensible,” indicating that the work presents a trans-rational meaning that is unintelligible to the viewer who attempts to decipher it through common sense. The expressions zatmenie uma (“eclipse of the mind” or “madness”), temnyi um (“dark mind” or “unclear thinking”), and temnyi chelovek (“dark man,” “unlearned man,” of “mentally challenged man”) contrast with svetlyi um (“light” or “clear mind”), svet razuma (“light of reason”), and svet znania (“light of knowledge”). Malevich’s “beyond darkness,” therefore, implies a new light of trans-rational reason and knowledge.

The concept of “beyond darkness” corresponds to Kruchenykh’s “beyond mind” or zaum’, a grammatically incorrect noun composed of the prefix za (“beyond”) and the root um (“mind”) that form the standard verbs zaumit’sia (“to become reckless”), zaumnichat’ (“to surpass the limits of reasonable norms”), zaumstvovat’ (“to become entangled with unclear concepts”), as well as zaumnet’ (“to become more clever”). In Russian folklore, the fool always turns out to be the clever man who achieves his goal, and there is a Russian proverb that “for the fool, the law is not written.” Kruchenykh’s concept “beyond mind” is meant to signify the overstepping of intellectual norms, thusly pointing to a trans-rational way of thinking. Both Malevich’s “beyond darkness” and Kruchenykh’s “beyond mind” transform the rational into the trans-rational by the inversion of the signifying components of the binary structures of light and dark and reason and madness.

In the Englishman, Malevich divided the adjective chastichnoe (“partial”) into the syllables chas-tich-noe. This division is a morphological displacement that breaks the root chast to highlight the standard noun chas (“hour”), composing a syntactically incorrect combination with the upper word zatmenie (“eclipse”), i.e. zatmenie chas, the correct form being chas zatmeniia (“the hour of eclipse”). The term “partial eclipse” denotes the world’s state between darkness and light, a further elaboration on the square composed of the black and white triangles in the backdrop sketch for the opera Victory over the Sun. The concepts “beyond darkness,” “after darkness,” and “the hour of eclipse” allude to impending change in the world’s present state.

In the upper right of the Englishman, the yellow electric light coexists with the daylight denoted by the white clouds. The dominant yellow ray on the upper left is the single source of light illuminating the dark sky. The ray that emita from the Englishman’s black top hat characterizes him as a Futurist hero, recalling both the Italian Futurists’ admiration for electric light and Mayakovsky’s assertion in Vladimir Mayakovsky, “Me is the king of the lamps!”

As a result of the structural displacements present in the Englishman, the objects depicted lose their standard meaning, but find new ones. The spoon on the hero’s top hat refers to a particular event in Malevich’s life. On 8 February 1914, he and his friend, the artist Aleksei Morgunov, pinned red wooden peasant spoons to their lapels and crossed the Kuznetski Bridge in Moscow. The indignant public called them jesters and good candidates for admittance in a mental asylum. They were not the first to don scandalous Futurist fashions as these were initiated by Larionov and Goncharova who in September 1913 walked with painted faces in the streets of Moscow. Mayakovsky, Kamensky, and Burliuk adorned their costumes with a bunch of radishes. As Kliunkov explained, they parodied the so-called aesthetic artists and poets who wore chrysanthemums on the lapels of their coats in imitation of Oscar Wilde and English dandies. The Futurists consciously played the roles of jesters, fools, and madmen to declare their independence from conventional social and aesthetic norms. In 1914, Kruchenykh wrote, “[Mayakovsky] plays a fool, he scares the public when he represents madness; and in this, there is our (I am speaking about the Futurists, the so-called ‘Cubo-Futurists’) salvation! Madness will not touch us, although, as the imitators of madness, we will outshine both Dostoevsky and Nietzsche!”