Showing posts with label Portland Art Museum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Portland Art Museum. Show all posts

Friday, 21 June 2019

Art imitating art: Kehinde Wiley

One of the things I like about going to new cities is visiting galleries with which I am not familiar, and just wandering about noting artworks that I like for whatever reason. I have no preconceptions and I tend not to go to a specific exhibit; I just like to see what is prized by the local populace.

Indio Cuauhtemoc (The World Stage: Brazil), 2017 by Kehinde Wiley
In Portland Art Museum, this vibrant piece of art caught my eye - how could it not; check out that background! I had not previously heard of the artist, so I looked him up.

Apparently Kehinde Wiley paints young men and women of the African diaspora in majestic poses based on the glorified portraits of the European Renaissance and Enlightenment eras. The World Stage series expands the artist's view across the globe. For his Brazil paintings, Wiley began with the nationalistic monuments that stand in city streets and parks. He then selected Afro-Brazilian men from favelas, the poorest neighbourhoods in Brazil's cities, to stand in these aggrandized roles. Wiley depicts them in their everyday clothing against abundant floral backdrops.

His artistic choices draw attention to the troubling history of colonialism, the pervasiveness of American culture and fashion, and the ways we fetishize and desire 'the tropical'. The man in this painting poses like the statue of Cuauhtemoc, situated in Rio de Janeiro.


Cuauhtemoc was the last Aztec emperor who ruled Tenochtitlan from 1520 - 1521 before being executed by the Spanish. The government of Mexico gave the sculpture to Brazil in 1922 to recognise the 100th anniversary of Brazilian independence from Portugal.

I then learned that Wiley was chosen by Barack Obama to paint his official portrait which would hang in Smithsonian's National Portrait Gallery in the 'America's Presidents' exhibition. Again Wiley uses the style of having his subject seemingly floating among the foliage. This foliage comprises chrysanthemums (the official flower of Chicago), jasmine (symbolic of Hawaii where Obama spent much of his youth), and African blue lilies (alluding to the president's Kenyan father).
Barack Obama by Kehinde Wiley
Many people compared the image of Obama to the scene in The Simpsons where Homer attempts to avoid attention by backing into a hedge. Seeing similarities between modern photographs and classic works of art is not new, and technical folk have a lot of fun with it on the Net. An article in the New York magazine, Intelligencer, points out that this particular expression is both banal and bathetic.
The comparison between Wiley’s portrait and the iconic Simpsons moment is obviously meant as dumb fun, but it has an emotional resonance: a former president, watching from the sidelines, exiting quietly into history as his successor turns American politics into a petty, dysfunctional, egotistical mess.
The painting was unveiled in February 2018 together with Amy Sherald's portrait of Michelle Obama. These portraits mark the first time two African-American artists were commissioned by the National Portrait Gallery.

Michelle Obama by Amy Sherald
And this is why I like art galleries so much. They lead me down artistic pathways of mental exploration. Whenever I am looking; I am learning.

Saturday, 16 March 2019

Rolling Sculpture: The Shape of Speed


I'm not particularly a fan of vintage or classic cars, or any cars come to that - they're a fine mode of transport, but if it's not an E-type Jag; it's just a car. The exhibition at the Portland Art Museum, however, intrigued me. It was called The Shape of Speed and it featured nineteen rare streamlined vehicles. These models are shiny and glorious with many Art Deco features and precision details but, as with anything new, they took a while to catch on with the public at a time when people wanted something that looked like everything else. 

The concept of streamlining has fascinated people for generations. The years between 1930 and the outbreak of World War II saw rapid advances in the design of aircraft, trains and highways. These changes, along with global events like the 1939 World Fair in New York spurred automotive designers and engineers to create streamlined cars that were aerodynamic, fast, and increasingly fuel-efficient.

The 1934 Chrysler Imperial Model CV Airflow Coupe was miles ahead in safety and strength, and its 'dramatically different shape' was influenced by the fastest railroad locomotives of its time. Unfortunately, however, people purchasing cars wanted something more conservative, and 'its unconventional design was also miles ahead of public acceptance'. Sales figures were 'disappointing'. A less radical and simplified style was brought out the following year, which proved to be 'more marketable to the car-buying public'.

1934 Chrysler Imperial Model CV Airflow Coupe
The cars on display, presented as kinetic art, are indeed rolling sculpture, yet they are eminently capable of dynamic function. As guest curator, Ken Gross, former executive director of the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles notes,
"The seventeen cars and two motorcycles in this exhibition were designed without the myriad safety and crash-absorbing constraints that affect the look and form of the modern automobile. The operative charge was that they be sleek and streamlined. We will not see their like again."
The Spirit of Motion, more popularly known as the 'Sharknose Graham' appears to be moving while at rest. Its massive headlights are Art Deco-inspired with elaborately scribed lenses and a squarish-shape that must have encouraged considerable comment in the day. The styling was a complete flop in sales.

Graham Spirit of Motion
The 1937 Lincoln-Zephyr Coupe is considered to be 'the first successful streamline car in America'. It sold more than 180,000 units (finally ending production in 1942), saved the faltering Lincoln brand from oblivion, and helped pave the way for more aerodynamic successors. I like the back of it; it looks like there's speed and power in those curves.
1937 Lincoln-Zephyr Coupe
These automobile designs were organic, with many of them emulating the teardrop shape then considered to be perfect for cheating the wind. The results were brought to life in cars whose startling shapes seemed to invite them to be embraced and caressed. Even if they weren't noticeably faster than their predecessors, they looked fast.

American Paul M. Lewis planned an affordable, lightweight, aerodynamic and distinctive-looking car of the future. The museum catalogue informs me that, 'The Airmobile's independent front suspension was composed of tubular shock absorbers, coil springs and control arms. The odd car's single rear wheel, which was smaller than the two front wheel, was supported by a longitudinal, semi-elliptic leaf spring, a lone trailing arm, and a single hydraulic shock absorber.' No, I don't know what any of that means, but it looks like an inverse Reliant Robin from The Jetsons. And it's bright orange.


This shape of speed found prominence in countless other designs of the period, ranging from the architecture of Streamline Moderne to kitchen appliances, radios, and pencil sharpeners. The automobile, however, became the perfect metal canvas for streamlined design. 

The Cord 812 Supercharged is an impressive machine. It was the first American front-wheel-drive car with independent front suspension. New features included hidden door hinges, petrol cap, and headlights (obviously these were visible when they were turned on), rear-hinged bonnet (rather than the side-opening one more usual at the time), and variable speed windscreen wipers. 

The most famous feature was the 'coffin nose', a louvered wraparound grille, which came from designer Gordon Buehrig's desire not to have a conventional grille. The supercharged models were distinguished from the ordinarily-charged models by the brilliant chrome-plated external exhaust pipes mounted on each side of the bonnet and grille. 

As we've established, when it comes to cars, I'm more interested in the design than the details, and I think this looks pretty distinctive. I'm not alone; in 1996 American Heritage magazine proclaimed it, 'The Single Most Beautiful American Car'. In 2006, the 'Classic Cord' Hot Wheels toy car of the 1960s, a convertible coupe, was one of the most valuable and commanded up to US$800 if still in an unopened package. 

Cord 812 Supercharged

The 1938 Mercedes-Benz 540K Streamliner was specially built as a test vehicle for the German branch of the Dunlop tyre company. It was a unique vehicle, used by a US serviceman after the war and then returned to Mercedes-Benz in the 1950s, whereupon its bodywork was removed and most of its mechanical components were taken off and lost. Following the rediscovery of the chassis, restoration technicians at Mercedes-Benz elected to build a new body using traditional methods. Car enthusiasts were suitably enthused. 

Mercedes-Benz 540K Streamliner
Motorbikes are often romantic pieces of engineering design - unless they are those ones where the rider sits back like they're in an armchair: those may be comfortable, but they're ugly and don't really seem to be playing the game. This one is glorious - if probably impractical. The Henderson KJ Streamline Motorcycle from 1930 is a one-off, built by craftsman Orley Ray Courtney. The catalogue notes that it had a 'power hammer-formed steel body and a rear end that looked like it belonged on a speedboat.' Probably.

Henderson KJ Streamline Motorcycle
The catalogue notes, 'Chrysler confidently touted the 1941 concept car, the Thunderbolt, as 'The Car of the Future'. Sporting a smooth, aerodynamic body shell, hidden headlights, enclosed wheels, and a retractable, one-piece metal hardtop (an American first), the roadster was devoid of superfluous ornamentation, with the exception of a single, jagged lightning bolt on each door. It stood apart from everything else on the road, hinting that tomorrow's Chryslers would leave their angular, upright, and more prosaic rivals in the dust.'I think it looks like a liquorice torpedo.

Chrysler Thunderbolt

This 1938 Talbot-Lago T-150-C-SS has lots of numbers and letters in its name, so it must be highly qualified. Or something. Apparently it was the first one of three built with aluminium alloy coachwork and is unique in several ways, thanks to its lightweight body, fold-out front windscreen, and competition-style exhaust headers. It's also pretty and shiny with nice curves and a gorgeous glossy shine.
Talbot-Lago T-150-C-SS
The Bugatti Type 57 Aérolithe is one of my favourite models on the car-walk. Designed by Jean Bugatti, the Aérolithe (French for Meteorite) was a one-of-a-kind model that was built by Bugatti to star at the 1935 London and Paris Auto Salons. After the touring continental show circuit, the one-off Aérolithe disappeared. The one on display is an exact re-creation of the earliest known Type 57 chassis.

Bugatti Type 57 Aérolithe

It may be partially that mint green colour, but it is such a dramatic example of Art Deco styling. It may be reminiscent of luggage or a sofa, but those sloping lines and rivets are glorious. According to the catalogue, 'the avante-garde couple was sensually curvaceous, with a flowing sculptural body that was in marked contrast to the era's square-rigged competitors'. This is not something I would usually say, but just look at that rear end!


Joseph Figoni (French, born in Italy, 1894-1978) and Ovidio Falaschi (French, born Italy, unknown-1978), renowned Paris-based carrossiers (coachbuilders) were noted for their swoopy, elegant custom coachwork in the mid to late 1930s.

Richard Adatto,  resident of Seattle, author and expert on pre-World War II French aerodynamic cars wrote, "Joseph Figoni took modern streamlining to the next level by allowing the optimal aerodynamic shape to dictate the styling. Instead of two pontoon fenders that protruded from the car's body, Figoni found a way to incorporate them into the body, heightening the impression of a singular, flowing form."

1938 Delahaye 135M Roadster

"These sensuous curves are considered the quintessential expression of 1930s luxury European automobiles. Often described as 'rolling sculptures' or 'Paris gowns on wheels', Figoni and Falschi's voluptuous creations were the epitome of Art Deco automobile elegance." It is believed that only eleven of these roadsters were built.

Wednesday, 25 July 2018

Arty explanations

I've always been fascinated by those explanatory panels beside artworks in galleries. When I was younger I liked landscapes.  I liked pictures of mountains, lakes, rivers, villages, and cottage gardens. I was keen on animals too - even fields of cows held my interest - but people bored me. I used to avoid the halls of stuffy portraits of primped up posers in dark suits and darker oils, or (less frequently) women in layers of frills and nonsense, always with sour expressions and sallow complexions.

But at least I knew what they were. The abstract art confused me. People didn't have multiple noses and dozens of eyes; they weren't made out of cubes. I was completely impervious to wibbly blue lines on yellow backgrounds, or random dots and geometric shapes. Surely, if you had to describe and explain it; it wasn't art.

And then I began to understand how words can narrate more intimate pictures than paint or pencil, and I began to appreciate the fine art of criticism. Analogies are drawn and connections made. I don't believe a picture is worth a thousand words - I feel that words and pictures can exist harmoniously, each adding value to the other. Incidentally, the BBC TV programme Words and Pictures began the year I was born, was a feature of my childhood education, and my introduction to the magnificent (Sir) Tony Robinson - long before he was Baldrick. 

At one point I wanted to be a curator. I wanted to be the person who put exhibitions together and wrote the blurb that went with them. What a wonderful creative outlet, I thought. I later discovered that the job was far more orientated towards filling in forms, applying for grants and fundraising, than being creative with writing and interpretation, so I gave up on that idea. I do, however, retain the greatest respect for those who provide the words for those little white cards, which in turn provide the insight into a piece of otherwise indecipherable art.

For example, this piece of art is made from a wood table, chewing gum and resin cast. It is an oval mosaic of a bearded bloke, with a slightly unusual back board. It is called Egghead and it is by Sean Healey. It is okay, but I wasn't particularly drawn to it. 

Egghead by Sean Healey
And then I read the reasoning, which explains that the cameo is a portrait of Melville Dewey, inventor of the Dewey decimal system used to classify books and other publications. It is constructed from over fifty pieces of chewing gum, chewed by Healey and his son and coated in resin. These fragments of the whole are then placed on the bottom of a repurposed school library table. The curator elucidates that the artwork "explores the rationales of social power structures. Healey's process-orientated installation work is infused by pop culture and the urban environment." He or she adds that the materials used and the placement thereof is "a nod to youthful defiance yet ironically requires much strategy and intelligence".

Suddenly I like the piece more, and have a greater appreciation for its subversive message and its ironic intent. Without these words, I would not have recognised the full implications of the work. So, do we need these statements to justify the art? Or is it mere pretension and aggrandisment? What do you think?
Detail of Egghead by Sean Healy