associate professor of English and
coordinator of the Creative Writing Program at Randolph College

Sunday, November 13 at 2 p.m.

On November 13, the Maier will host “a poetry reading and musical performance like no other!”

Randolph College’s own Jim Peterson will read from his poetry collection The Owning Stone, as well as from his soon-to-be published chapbook, The Resolution of Eve, which features poems inspired by the untold stories in Francisco de Goya’s prints (one of which, Disparate desordenado, from Los Proverbios, is held in the College’s collection).

This one-of-a-kind collaborative event will also feature musical compositions by Randall Speer...and perhaps a few surprises!

The event is free and open to the public. To read a feature article published in the Lynchburg News and Advance about Peterson and The Resolution of Eve, click here.

]]> http://www.maiermuseum.org/2011/11/poetry-reading-at-the-maier/feed/ 0 http://www.maiermuseum.org/2011/07/2518/ http://www.maiermuseum.org/2011/07/2518/#comments Wed, 27 Jul 2011 13:52:35 +0000 Sarah Bare http://www.maiermuseum.org/?p=2518
September 2 – December 10, 2011

David Bates · Jake Berthot · Lee Bontecue · Richard Estes
Sam Gilliam · Alexis Rockman · Betye Saar · Kiki Smith
Joan Snyder · Donald Sultan · John Walker · William Wiley

The 100th Annual Exhibition of Contemporary Art: The Vision Endures offers a rich diversity of themes and subject matter, signature expressions of important American artists not yet represented in Randolph College’s collection of art. Always with a focus on American art, the collection began in 1907 and has been built over the decades with both careful consideration and intuitive risk-taking.

The opening reception for The Vision Endures will be held on Friday, September 2 from 6-8 p.m., as part of Lynchburg’s “First Fridays” gallery walk offerings. Make plans to join us to celebrate this special milestone in the life of the collection and of the College!

It was a chance experience early in his life that set the trajectory to the canvases for which Stan Brodsky is known today. As a young soldier in the midst of World War II, Brodsky came into possession of his first set of watercolors. He began to use the paints to embellish letters he sent to his family.  Brodsky included what he saw around him, and his reactions to those observations. The captured thoughts and moments formed an illustrated catalog of an extraordinary period in his life. The practice also created an artist.

Tuscan Series 5 is one of a series by the artist that reflect this region of Italy. This abstraction provides quite a provocative contrast to another Italian landscape in the collection, George Inness’ Perugia and the Valley (1874). It may seem unlikely as a landscape, yet in spirit, it is one. Brodsky’s response to a place is to interpret its colors and light with pigment. Varying tones of color move around the canvas – perhaps hills – marked with motion – possibly vines, possibly cypress. The shades of green with mauve forms evoke Tuscany, while the linear elements in red paint stick suggest the vibration of the atmosphere as the artist experienced it.

Stan Brodsky is Professor Emeritus of Long Island University’s C.W. Post Campus where he was Director of Studio Programs until he retired in 1991.

Stan Brodsky (b. 1925), Tuscan Series 5, 2007, oil and paint stick on linen

The Smoker by Edouard Manet

This formal analysis of Manet’s Smoker by Catherine DeSilvey ’13 received the 2011 Helen Owen Calvert Writing Award for academic writing inspired by artwork in the Maier Museum permanent collection.

Edouard Manet’s (1832-1883) Smoker (1879-1882) is a mysterious little print with an unknown provenance currently residing at the Maier Museum. The Smoker is a small print, measuring just 9 ¼ inches high by 6 ¼ inches wide. At first glance, the Smoker appears to be a pen and ink drawing, but upon further examination, the viewer will notice each line and curve has been engraved. What looks like a quick sketch on paper is actually a series of engraved lines. The print was produced from a dry point copper engraving, a process than entails engraving a picture onto a copper plate with a sharp tool. This process is less intensive than etching, which involves burning the image with acid first and then producing prints. One imagines Manet sitting on a bench outside, quickly sketching portraits from everyday life onto his copper plates, and maybe even printing them himself.

The Smoker print has aged gracefully for over a century; the paper is smooth and somewhat yellowed, with a slight impression left from the printing plate. There are a few light blemishes and the print now sits beneath a white acid-free mat. He seems to have been tucked away in storage for some time, away from light. The Smoker himself is an older gentleman with a dark cap and bushy beard. A pipe emerges from somewhere beneath his mustache and rests on his rough knuckles, his index finger hooked over the base of the pipe for steadiness. By the appearance of his thick hat, beard, and coat with hefty buttons, it is a cold day. He is a big man with bright eyes, out for a stroll, or listening to a friend. A slight wisp of smoke is briefly held in the air and then trails off behind his head. This print is nearly photographic, but does not appear to be posed. Through physical dimensions, expressive line, and subject matter, Manet turns this leisurely moment into an intimate one.

Since the dimensions of the print are small but the subject matter is wide and burly, the Smoker fills the width of the paper. His arms nearly touch the sides of the plate impression. His hat is two inches from the top of the page and there are four inches of space underneath him. Though there is more empty space underneath the Smoker, one can imagine the continuation of his figure, such as his hand in his coat pocket. Because of the small size of the portrait, one must come face to face to carefully examine the figure. This creates an intimacy between artist, subject, and viewer; all become part of a shared experience.

Manet has given his Smoker contour by creating a dark outline. His arm, hat, and coat all appear solid, just like the stocky man depicted. The hat is a series of neatly engraved lines, darker in some places than others and shaded so that the hat looks and feels like wool. Well worn, it rests naturally on his head. Deeper lines form the wrinkles in the fabric of his coat, in the bend at the elbow, and at the button. These lines are not as fine as in the shading of the hat. The coat’s lines are more like dark patches, as if the copper plate were scraped a little more haphazardly. Manet gives just enough definition to the coat so that the viewer can recognize what it is; he saves his fine lines for the more important facial features. Darker lines give his eyes expression, his hidden mouth a hint of a smirk, and form a slightly raised eyebrow. The thinnest of lines add age to his face and make his beard appear gray. Up close, his hand and pipe are actually thin delicate squiggles and the lilting smoke is created with just a few short diagonal lines. There is crosshatching (engraving lines over the top of each other in different directions) in areas where shading is needed and less use of this technique in lighter areas such as the hand or in the smoke. By examining Manet’s technique of engraving it is almost like being in the mind of the artist, and seeing where his hand has been.

The man depicted as the smoker is a rather realistic one, which is why it seems that Manet knew him already. This is an everyday person, and the engraving style depicts this. Manet’s engraving is light, casual, and fast. As the viewer studies him, he sees every line, dash, and curve, but they all depict a personality, not just a scene. The portrait Manet presents to us is casual and friendly, and ultimately, a depiction of a brief moment in time. By less technical but more expressive use of engraved lines, the Smoker seems to be looking out at the viewer, as if to introduce himself.

Manet was a painter interested in the everyday, which he ultimately found more interesting than historical or classical subjects. His portrait of the Smoker offers the viewer much to consider on several different levels. Why do we feel we know the Smoker and how does Manet accomplish this? Manet’s use of the small size of the print (so the viewer must come closer to it), expressive engraved lines, and the familiarity and friendliness of the subject himself all contribute in answering this question. This simple portrait holds a large personality within it. Manet’s talent and sincere depiction of this man prove even the barest of lines can transmit meaning.

Catherine DeSilvey ’13 is an Art History and Museum Studies major at Randolph College and 2011-2012 Vice-President and Treasurer of the Prime Time Executive Committee. She enjoys writing prose and poetry and is self-published at www.partialecstasy.com and www.eastcokercathy.blogspot.com. Her love of Manet’s Smoker began after an 19th-century European Art assignment. She is married and has two little girls, Josephine and Beatrice.

dl mattila

			NIGHTJAR
.

Sara Taylor ’12

			third grade, 1957
.

Jennifer Bundy ’12

			Para No Hablar De Ella
.

We hope you enjoy reading these poems paired with the artworks that inspired them. If you are a poet, please submit your own Ekphrastic poems written in response to artwork in our collection for consideration.

One of the perks of working for the Maier Museum of Art at Randolph College is that every day is spent surrounded by incredible art. During my time as the Office Manager of the museum from 2001 to 2005, many of the paintings in the collection became old friends. One of my favorites has always been Tana’s Sink by Joyce Stillman-Myers. I would often stop to spend a few minutes with this painting as it hung in the gallery or on the museum’s storage screens.

I love this photorealistic painting of a kitchen sink for its use of color and the treatment of light reflecting in glass and water and off the metallic stainless sink. Standing away from the painting, it appears smooth and nearly photogenic to the eye. A closer view reveals it to be almost abstract, and the artist’s brushstrokes are painterly and textured.

The baster hints of a turkey dinner. Some of the dishes in the sink resemble those of my grandmother. I  imagine a story of Tana as the matriarch of a large family preparing a meal for her noisy extended brood, much as my own grandmother did every Sunday as I was growing up.

I eventually became curious about the “real” story behind the painting. In March 2003 I contacted Stillman-Myers who agreed to answer a few of my questions:

KF. An artist once told me that she simply wanted people to “feel something” when they viewed her work. Do you have the same goal with your paintings?

JS-M. I remember saying 25 years ago with the ego of a young beginning artist: “All I want is for people to fall down on their knees in front of my paintings, overcome with emotion and awe.” I know better now, but I would have liked to be that good. Having an affect on people is still my biggest thrill, my deepest concern, and the spark that makes me live.

KF. Tana’s Sink is one of my favorite paintings in the Maier’s collection. I never get tired of it. I wish I could have been at Tana’s for that meal.

JS-M. See? That is what keeps me painting when I feel low, stressed or hopeless.

KF. Was Tana a real person?

JS-M. Tana was my best friend, my support, and my biggest fan. She lived in a weird, round house a couple miles away from mine. I lived with my husband. She lived with her lover. All the girls always hung out at Tana’s. We talked feminist politics and listened to music. I often preferred to be there instead of home.

KF. Was she a good cook?

JS-M. Not especially. We all were good together.

KF. Was the sink full of dishes from a party?

JS-M. Yes… and no. Everyone had chipped in helping to create some giant salad. I made a cheese omelet DRIPPING with cheese. It looked like Alien!

KF. When you painted Tana’s Sink, did you work from a photograph?

JS-M. Yes. After things were cleaned up, I set up the sink and put the pestle in the bowl. (We hadn’t used it for the meal.) I climbed up on the sink (which was set in a counter of mosaic tiles—very seventies) with my camera and tool some photos as the afternoon light streamed in the window.

KF. Do you always paint from photographs?

JS-M. Although I used photographs, I found it necessary to have my sink removed from the kitchen and brought down to my studio so that I could see it as I painted. (I had a new sink put in my kitchen.) I took the stuff in her sink home with me and set it up like the photographs best I could. Tana’s sink was stainless, so I had to remember the beautiful purples and other hues I had seen in it that day. Of course, I was always running over there to get another look. Hers was a double sink, but I only painted one side.

KF. The museum has categorized Tana’s Sink under the genre of Photorealism. Would you agree with that assessment?

JS-M. You are the analyst. I am the manufacturer. Is my work Photorealism? My dealer, Louis Meisiel, insists it isn’t. I say it is. On the other hand, compared to other Photorealism, I think it’s more—let me see—it has more mass. I want it to have more presence—to be more palpable than just straight Photorealism. I am not painting the photograph. I am using the photograph. I am painting the thing. Unlike the Photorealists, I don’t have to give any excuses about why I use a photograph. I’m not interested in “flatness”. I’m interested in illusion. The photo is just another tool to help me stop time.

KF. Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions. Have I talked your ear off enough?

JS-M. NO. Do you still wish you had been at the meal?

My answer to Ms. Stillman-Myers was then (as it is now, seven years later) yes—I wish I had been at that meal.

Kathleen Fort ’10 is a former office manager of the Maier Museum, and during her studies at Randolph College, she served at the museum as work study and intern. She continues her relationship with the Maier by providing web content management and graphic design on a freelance basis.

Students planning to submit should carefully read the conditions of entry.

The intent of the Award is to recognize excellence in writing that responds to or interprets works of art in the Maier Museum collection. Each year, Randolph students are invited to submit creative or academic compositions of any type to be considered for this Award. The Award was established in memory of Helen Owen Calvert, by her family. Mrs. Calvert was a graduate of Randolph-Macon Woman’s College and the mother of one of the Maier Museum’s former curators of education, Doni Guggenheimer.

Please note that poems submitted for the Calvert Award that are written about works in the Museum’s permanent collection with images represented in the Museum’s online catalog will also be automatically considered for publication on our online Ekphrastic Poetry Journal.

The artist Edward Hopper is well-known for his use of light in his paintings, including the example in the museum’s collection, Mrs. Scott’s House. His handling of line and prevalence of a remote quality in his works are also frequently discussed.

A contemporary painter who also uses light to great effect is Alice Dalton Brown, represented by two paintings in the collection. Her watercolor painting, Kathy’s Room, relies on line and complementary colors to emphasize a slant of light that slices diagonally into the image of French doors and a darkened room beyond. Much like Hopper does in Mrs. Scott’s House, Dalton Brown uses geometric shapes and a minimum of detail. In addition, the use of color gives Kathy’s Room a strong graphic quality.

In contrast, Dalton Brown’s oil painting, October Doorway, conveys a much softer light. Neither the line nor the color is as stark as in Kathy’s Room. The sunlight streaming onto the porch in October is cooler, more diffuse. Lines are given less weight in this painting, and the forms are less demanding on the eye. However, like Mrs. Scott’s House and Kathy’s Room, Dalton uses the contrast between the diagonal bands of light and shadow across the porch floor and the greenscape beyond to great effect.

Hopper is also well-known for the lack of human presence in his works. In comparing the paintings by Dalton Brown to Hopper’s, all three are devoid of people, yet a human presence is somewhat eerily evoked. In Mrs. Scott’s House and Kathy’s Room one might question whether the structures are occupied or abandoned.  Viewed from a distance, is the house on the hill being observed, or watched? Kathy’s Room lacks any sign of its owner. In October Doorway, the curtain may imply the place is inhabited, but does the occupant stray somewhere beyond the open door, or remain within? The sense of isolation and loneliness typical of Hopper is evident in Dalton Brown’s work as well.

Mrs. Scott’s House is currently on display in the gallery. Alice Dalton Brown’s paintings are included in the Online Collection Catalogue.

A visitor to the Museum asked: “How many works of art does the Museum have in the collection?”

Museum Registrar, Deborah Spanich:

This is a good question, because the answer is multi-part. At of the end of the last fiscal year, the permanent collection for which the Maier Museum of Art cares was comprised just shy of 3,700 object records.

However, due to a large and heretofore uncatalogued, collection of works on paper donated by the family of Margaret Hardon Wright over the period 1967-1987, the estimate of the total number of works in the collection is 4,000. As those objects have been carefully catalogued by the Museum staff and student assistants, they have been gradually added into the record database. In the fiscal year 2008-2009, student assistants and the Museum registrar catalogued nearly 200 prints belonging to the various Wright family gifts.

The breakdown is something like this:

• Over 3000 works on paper
• Over 600 paintings
• Around 25 sculpture or three-dimensional works
]]> http://www.maiermuseum.org/2010/12/ask-us-how-many-works-of-art-does-the-museum-have-in-the-collection/feed/ 0 http://www.maiermuseum.org/2010/09/on-and-off-the-wall-by-deborah-spanich-7/ http://www.maiermuseum.org/2010/09/on-and-off-the-wall-by-deborah-spanich-7/#comments Sat, 25 Sep 2010 15:50:47 +0000 Debbie Spanich http://www.maiermuseum.org/?p=1732 On and Off the Wall is a series of brief reflections on or about works in the collection, including those that may not often make an appearance on the gallery wall due to shortage of display space. Deborah Spanich is the museum registrar. She compiled the digital database and fell in love with many of the works in the collection.

Two-dimensional works of art can be created on many types of support. Paper can range from heavy watercolor weight to rice to vellum, and fabric from silk to canvas to velvet. There are also various woods and metals—essentially any flat surface that will accept a mark can be used. How about the ubiquitous Manila file folder? While not the best choice for archival purposes, sometimes an artist just has to make do.

One of the most endearing pieces in the Museum’s collection incorporates oil with house paint on a pair of Manila folders opened out and attached to wood composite board. The late Purvis Young taught himself art as a way of becoming a contributor in the world rather than a burden. He had few resources, and therefore used what he could find—what others would call trash. He saw a beauty in his environment, where others might say there was only ugliness. Purvis Young was privy to a radiance that he shared with the viewers of his art, often despite their expectations.

In 2003 Young’s work was included in a traveling exhibition by the Smithsonian. He was in the good company of such well-known artists as Romare Bearden, Gordon Parks, and Jacob Lawrence. He became an area icon in Miami’s Overtown section through the allegorical quality of both his work and his life, and not long ago Miami honored him with a key to the city. Yet, he lived and died in relative poverty.

The file on this work notes: “The condition is poor. The support is two open manila folders mounted on a wood composite board. Paper is discolored and stained.” Knowing a bit about the artist, this seems exactly as it should be.

Young’s Carryin’ a Figure is currently on view at the Maier. Come visit to view it in person!

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