The Art of Amy Winehouse

This post is heartbreaking to write. In fact I was thinking just yesterday morning that I should write something soon about Lucian Freud. Then, just then, I got the news that Amy Winehouse had been found dead in London. The voice who had been with me in the studio throughout the past 6 years, painting along side me. Pushing me through the hard spots at eardrum breaking decibels to the other side. The loss for music lovers is gut wrenching. There will be no new songs. But most tragically there will be no Amy... for her family, her friends, her fans.... for Amy. Farewell my studio companion. And thank you.

                                                             

The Art of Knowing When Not To Do Something.

In 1974, a man went up the stairs of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, and looked for his prey. That day this man was going to skip the steps to infamy by what was in his pocket, a spray can with bright red paint. Everything was right on cue. He called the press outlets just three minutes earlier to alert them of what he was about to do. He claims that he had no one painting in mind, that he went to the Guernica quite by opportunity and sprayed "KILL LIES ALL" across two thirds of the painting. In his words, he wanted to "bring it up to date". A museum visitor tried to stop him but was pushed back. The guards came and took him away. The police arrested him and he was out on $1,000 bail, paid for by Richard Serra, the sculptor. Why would Serra bail out this lunatic? This destroyer of a Picasso masterpiece? Because Tony Shafrazi was a self proclaimed "artist" and after all he only wanted to make a statement against world events at the time. Yeah, I remember those world events too. Not to be so preachy but I went to an anti-war demonstration every fucking week, sometimes twice a week. And let me tell you that for a 17 year old with a lot of crap on their plate, that was pretty damn good. 

At the time, people in the art world were horrified and thought he was either nuts or another "artist" wannabe. Get that 15 minutes of fame and you are in like Flynn, right?  Well, not so fast...let's look at the newspaper story from that week.

Tony Shafrazi got 6 months probation. That's it. MOMA did not want any publicity on the ease of which a person can go up to any work of art in MOMA and deface it. 

So what happened to Shafrazi? Well, he made a nice little life for himself as an art dealer in the 80's. He continues to sell work on the secondary market. But he does not escape the vandalism that he perpetuated on Guernica on that frigid winter day in 1974. 

In 2008 Shafrazi had a show that he named "Who's Afraid of Jasper Johns" in his New York gallery. At the after show party he was presented with a cake, on top of which was a Guernica done in black and white icing. He was then presented with a can of red icing. His guests awaited his next action.... he takes the can and writes on the icing Guernica, "I'M SORRY". He dramatically waits a few seconds and then writes "NOT".  

It's been said that Shafrazi defaced the Guernica in 1974 because of all the world issues pressing his conscious. No, my belief is that he chose that cold day in Febuary 1974 because Picasso had died in April of 1973. And that was an act of complete cowardice. Because I believe that had Picasso been alive, he would have punched Shafrazi square in his dilettante face.

After show party of "Who's Afraid of Jasper Johns?" with Guernica cake. Shafrazi is the grey haired man in the middle.

In Memoriam to an Artist's Artist.

Cy Twombly died today.
He was a Seer and a Prophet. He was an artist's artist. Early on, when all the critics didn't know what to do with his work...when they could not pin down where he could be pinned down, they dismissed him.
He was a life long friend of my parents and even shared a studio with them in the late 1950's on Via Margutta. He eventually got the studio after it was abandoned by them. He used it well. In Italy Twombly got the freedom he needed to create the art that impacted with the force of a tornado, contemporary art. He made art from places some artists never even get remotely close to...but most importantly,Twombly made art from his soul. So with that in mind, he will never leave us. He is still very much here.

The Italians, 1961

The Art of Being a Woman Artist or The Art of Penis Envy Done Correctly

The Guerrilla Girls, are a glorious group of women artists who protest (in Gorilla suits) the fact that women have still not penetrated (I like that) the art world glass ceiling. This is a poster manifesto they wrote and printed in 1988. How very sad that almost a quarter of a century later all those bullet points still hold true. 
The art world is a cold and unfriendly place. It's good to know that I have these courageous women fighting in my corner with me. Pass the Gorilla suit and give me a protest destination, I'm there!

The Art of Fatherhood

Today I present a work by Paul Cezanne. It is a tender and loving portrait of his father Louis-Auguste in 1866. Louis was a father that all artists would love to have. He was kind. He was generous. And he was supportive of his artist son. Yes, it may have taken a couple of years for this banker father to finally let go of the bourgeois fantasy of his son Paul coming into the family banking business as a lawyer, but he did. And his financial support and generosity gave the world paintings that are a gift to all. So Happy Father's Day, especially to loving fathers of artists. You hold a special place in this heart.

Paul Cezanne, The Artist's Father, 1866

One Person Show

Hello Muse,
It's nice to see you again! I won't ask where you have been because I will only get jealous and possessive. And that might scare you away...So take a seat, be comfortable. Would you like a drink? Or two?
Yes, I'm back in the studio painting a big canvas and I'm hoping that I can finish it by the opening at the end of June. It will be my first one person show.

British-Born Surrealist Painter Leonora Carrington Dies at Age 94 in Mexico City

British-Born Surrealist Painter Leonora Carrington Dies at Age 94 in Mexico City


This woman had a great gift. She was the last of the original Surrealists. A mind that made the most incredible creatures live and breathe in oil. The story of her life reads like a great novel. Born to privilege in the U.K, she left to live a life of courage, rebellion and art. And along the way she painted the marvelous paintings that I love to look at...often.
I salute you Leonora Carrington. 

The Art of Time Travel

I have always wanted to time travel. The sense of being at the wrong place at the wrong time has been with me since childhood. The right place and the right time has always been Paris at the turn of the century.  Art was changing in ways that could not have even been imagined by those doing the changes. Cubism and Dada were taking art and throwing it sideways and forward. How I would have loved to be a painter then. To be alive then. To have conversations about the work then.
The clip above is from Woody Allen's new film called "Midnight in Paris".  It is a film exactly about my time travel fantasies to turn of the century Paris. Although I'm sure that Woody Allen will take my fantasy and slap me in the face with it!... Ah, but I don't care. It's all about appreciating what we received from history. Of course I do appreciate my very rare upbring with two very important players from the Post-War European/American art scene. I mean, how many children got to play in the backroom of Leo Castelli's gallery, right? I get it. I appreciate the magic. But just for today, let's live my fantasy and go into the work studios of two of the artists from the turn of the century Paris.
                   

Bateau Lavoir or "The Laundry Boat" circa 1905 

It was in this strange structure that art changed forever in 1906/07 with one canvas. When Picasso painted five hookers from Barcelona in a painting later titled Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, he broke and shattered the foundation of art. His circle, who adored him and worshipped his every brushstroke, saw it for the first time a few years after he painted it. It took that long because he was so unsure of it that he actually put the painting facing toward the wall behind a staircase. When his circle finally saw it they all gossiped about how this was the end of him. That he would now decline and disapear from the art scene. Well,eh, not quite. But the painting was not exhibited until 1916 and remained with Picasso until it was sold in 1924.

Right, Picasso at his studio in Bateau Lavoir in 1908 and left, Les Demoiselles d'Avignon

              

Above is young Picasso. Does he know that the canvas he has been working on and is hiding behind the stairs in his modest studio will make him an art deity? No,he actually looks fairly angry and he is probably pissed off that his live in lover, Fernande Olivier is off modeling for Van Dongen yet again. 
Look at the beautiful collection of tribal art Picasso has in his studio. It has been written over and over that the influence of tribal and Iberian art is evident in Les Demoiselles d'Avignon. Picasso was an artist collector. And the collection of Iberian and tribal art he amassed throughout his lifetime is sublime. There have been books written on it. 
Yes, I would travel gladly to this time and place just to have a day with this great man... And now on to Duchamp!

Marcel Duchamp in his Studio 1916

And then there is the father of Dada and the uncle of the Surrealists, Marcel Duchamp. In the photo above, we see the mind of the man who gave us the "Readymades" in art. Is that the R. Mutt urinal "Fountain" of 1917 hanging above his doorway? Duchamp is the one who brought "Art" to the masses by taking the "IT" away and bringing in the "everyday". Swipe a hammer at Art and break the incomprehensible and the God-like! Take away the capital A in Art so that it may enter different dimensions and come out new. If you can't tell, I love this man. He even borrowed some money from my mother one night in the 1950's after a night of partying with her and some other friends. He must have felt quite comfortable with her to have asked for a few bucks to get home. And if I have not convinced you to love him as well, then take a look at Duchamp as his alter-ego, "Rrose Selavy" which sounds like "C'est La Vie", no doubt he had that intentionally in mind when naming his Rrose self. The photograph below by Man Ray is the forerunner to the work of the wonderful Cindy Sherman, but even more complex because Duchamp lived part of his time as an artist as "Rrose" and even attributed work to her. 

Duchamp as Rrose in 1920 by Man Ray

Oh yes, I do want to time travel to early 20th century Paris and spend time with Rrose, Duchamp, Picasso and all the artists there. What a time and place to be... Anyone want to  join me?












                      

Art in Real Time

Flipped version of Rembrandt's The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulip, 1632
(Thanks to my collaborator in Rembrandt thoughts Susan Felleman)

The painting I need Rembrandt to paint...The White House situation room watching the Bin Laden compound raid going down in real time. 

"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."

"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity"....meaning that all that is material will soon fall away and all that will be left is our immortal soul. All the things that give pleasure and sustain our egos and gluttony are fleeting. Easily gone in a flash. So what is an artist to do? We make entertainment. That too is fleeting. And I really cannot think of a more vain and self-centered line of work. With that said, how many times has the artist in history been the fortune teller of things that come to pass? Perhaps what we do is not so fleeting after all.

Vanitas,Jacques de Gheyn the Elder, 1603

Above is a Vanitas by de Gheyn the Elder painted in 1603. The tulip in this Vanitas cost 10 times the amount that a skilled craftsman would make in one year. But fast forward to 1637 and you could get this same tulip for the cost of an onion. From the cost of a house to the cost of an onion in just a blink of an eye. It all came crashing down in Febuary of 1637. Fortunes lost. Fortunes based on a flower.  But if you had told that to a Dutchman in 1603, he would have thought you a madman. Or an artist.

Vanitas, Georges Braque 1939

A work above by Georges Braque made in 1939.  I realize that in 1939 it was not such a leap for an artist to predict WWII.  Still, it gives one pause to see symbols of religion and mortality just before the Nazi Jackboots tore apart all that was taken for granted in life. And this from the artist, who with Picasso, his partner in the invention of Cubism, changed the face of art forever some thirty years before.

And now I end with a Vanitas by Damien Hirst made in 2007. This Vanitas is the mother of all Vanitas, made with more gluttony and greed than any 17th century Flemish painter could imagine. It's made of platinum and 8,601 perfect diamonds including a 6.5 million dollar pink diamond on it's forehead. The cost to make this pure and most perfect Vanitas was a mind blowing (especially for this humble artist) 30 million dollars. It was sold one year prior to the October 2008 crash of our global economy, in August of 2007, to a consortium of businessmen for 100 million dollars. It has been speculated that Hirst himself is one of those in the consortium so that he can retain exhibition rights.

For the Love of God, Damien Hirst 2007

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It's A Lovely Post War Italian Art World.

My mother Clotilde Scarpitta is holding the balloon with her friends, painter Piero Dorazio and his wife Virginia, and sculptor Pietro Consagra and his wife Sophia, in Rome 1962.

                              
This is where I came from. Everything that comes from my head onto that canvas in front of me comes from this world.
A world of studios on beautiful streets like Via Margutta. That was our street. My family had a studio on that most lovely of Roman streets. Full of yelling, paint and the sublime European attitudes of the 50's and 60's. After their marriage finally and officially ended in 1958 (but really it was 1956 if one wants to be truthful) my mother and I moved to large and elegant apartment on Via Bocca di Leone, just a whisper away from the Spanish Steps. 
I have so many lovely memories of Rome during this time. My earliest is of my mother coming back from France when I was around two or three. I was in my playpen that I'm sure by it's construction would have strangled a lesser child. Darwinism is always at work...She brought with her a small toy camera. I can still remember her hand coming down at me holding this perfect little metal camera. My mother was always coming and going. She was a force of nature because when she appeared a whirlwind of conversation, yelling and her raw beauty took everyone by storm. This is no exaggeration. A world of men, important and not, were always trying to catch her eye. And women just wanted to be like her.
She was born a child of two eccentrics. Intelligence and anarchy ruled the family. She showed promise as a portraitist in elementary school painting Mussolini's portrait for the entrances of all the public schools in Rome. The principal knew he had a good thing going so he made her do portrait after portrait of Mussolini's mug until she made dozens and dozens of them. She must have seen his face in her sleep.
When that bit of exploitation was over, she ended up in the art conservatory in Rome called Belle Arti.

Belle Arti is where all the artists in the photo above went to. Just imagine going to a state art school in fascist Italy. Neither can I. But what a wonderful way to learn subversion. Art that impacts with thunderous meaning. Or not... The fascists loved the figure, the ideal. And what did these artists do when they were finally permitted to paint, sculpt and do just whatever they pleased?


I leave you today with these images, born from struggle, war, censorship and finally, invention.

Untitled, 1957
Piero Dorazio

Gli Scar, 1947
Giulio Turcato

Blue Concentric, 1947
Carla Accardi

                                      
                                                            

Conversation with the Wind, 1962
Pietro Consagra

    

Artist's Shit, 1961
Piero Manzoni

Salvatore Scarpitta, 1959, Forager for Plankton

The Art of Critique.

My name shall be nameless. I'm just an artist. An old fashioned easel artist. I paint disturbing. I paint sad. I paint funny. I paint the ironic. I'm really just a Diarist because the work are pages from my mind and memory.
I like what I paint. And if I don't, I euthanize it. I don't give a rats ass if other people don't care for it or it makes them uncomfortable. If I like it, chances are there are others who will too. The odds are pretty good if you take into account that there are over 7 billion people in the world.
But this blog is not about my work. This blog will be about other people's art.  Famous and dead. Alive and unknown. Sometimes, famous and alive. Or dead and unknown. But for obvious reasons that is my least favorite combination. But please bear in mind that all in art is subjective. Just one more thing, I do think my muse will be back soon and my studio looks so lonely without me dancing around in it with a paintbrush. So I will not be posting a whole helluva a lot.
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