art say what?

Cornelius Norbertus Gijsbrechts (c.1610 - after 1675), Trompe l’oeil with Studio Wall and Vanitas Still-Lifes, 1668. SMK, Copenhagen.

In April, I finally made it to Statens Museum for Kunst in Copenhagen after so many years of missing every opportunity to visit it. It’s a great museum, full of varied gems from all of the high points of early-modern European art. It’s not huge (like if you compare it to the Met), but it’s a sizable and substantial collection that has an interesting history (a lot of the works in the first few European galleries were formerly— or maybe still— part of the royal collection that dates back to Christian 2).

If you find yourself in Denmark’s capital city, try and squeeze it in alongside the Glypototek, Rosenborg Slot, and Thorvaldsens (OK, maybe make it the first on your list). The gallery space is refreshing (well-lit, high ceilings, good layout and exhibition design) and the art is varied and fantastic (besides OMP, they also have Danish Golden Age and Mod/Con stuff).

About this trompe l’oeil, though, I thought it was really cool how it combined vanitas with portraiture and artistic studio practice. This is especially evident in the second painting on the left-hand size of the canvas where you see that the background has been completed but the figure has yet to be filled in (or is it vice-versa? Was the figure removed later for some reason?). It gives you some clues into how artists work, what tools they used (the palette, the different sized brushes) and even how they regarded themselves, as evidenced here by the presence of the artist’s carte de visite (Gijsbrechts was the court painter for both Frederik 3 and Christian 5 in Copenhagen). I think it’s so cool how trompe l’oeil’s from this period really give you a lot to look at and discover. 

Up next: My taken on Thorvaldsen. Stay tuned…

Coming soon, to an art blog near you: Neoclassical sculpture, Danish style

While at this year’s annual conference of the Association of Art Historians, I had the pleasure of listening to a fantastic paper on eighteenth-century mask fans. They’re apparently fairly rare items, and include different unique sets of imagery on the fans themselves (this one has a picture on the right of a woman beating her husband with a cat-o’-nine-tails). It was cool because they combined the use of the masquerade mask with the popular women’s accessory. Two in one!

Would love to know more about them and I’m definitely keeping my eyes peeled for more examples in the future. 

English for the Spanish market, Mask fan, 1740s. Guard: 26.3 cm (10 3/8 in.); Maximum open: 48.5 cm (19 1/8 in.); Arc: 155º. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1976.179.

I found these the other day while cleaning. Look familiar?

Postcards all from Moderna Museet, Stockholm (L to R: Tatlin’s Monument to the Third International (1919-20), Warhol’s “Machines Have Less Problems” exhibition poster (1968), and Ed Ruscha’s Drops, 1971).

So I’m back in Berlin and I took a return trip to my favorite of their many art museums: the Gemäldegalerie. I had company this time, so it was really great getting to gush over paintings with someone other than myself.

I’m not the biggest fan of Rembrandt. I mean, I appreciate his contribution to art history, painting, and the field of general awesomeness, but his work is really inconsistent in my eyes. I don’t know, it just feels like his ups are really up there and low points are super distinct, as well. (I’m talking more about portraits here, by the way.) 

But this painting is different. I haven’t seen many of his historical/mythological works, the one that’s in Stockholm (The Conspiracy of Claudius Civilis) sticks out in my mind, so maybe I don’t have much to compare this to. However, I find it to be accessible, intimate, and full of drama and intensity. Seriously, the way that Artemis and Athena are pulling her gown and trying to reel her back in is phenomenal; you can clearly see the stark look of desperation on their faces (and Persephone’s, as well).

My picture doesn’t do it justice at all, so I recommend seeing it in person, whenever that may be. I think it’s safe to say that it will blow you away.

Rembrandt, The Rape of Persephone, 1631. Gemäldegalerie, Berlin.

(Source: smashingtoast)

This looks super interesting. Plus, it’s co-organized by the MFAH (represent!).

From the Met’s website:

In the early 1800s, furniture from the workshop of New York City cabinetmaker Duncan Phyfe (1770–1854) was in such demand that he was referred to as the “United States Rage.” This exhibition—the first retrospective on Phyfe in ninety years—re-introduces this artistic and influential master cabinetmaker to a contemporary audience.

First retrospective in 90 years? I believe it since the first time I heard of him was literally two minutes ago. So great that he’s finally getting some recognition.

Closing: 6 May 2012