Philadelphia Museum of Art Presents a Major Collection of American and European Modernism
Oscar Bluemner, (American, born Germany, 1867 – 1938), Composition for Color Themes, 1932. Watercolor on paper, Sheet: 7 3/4 x 10 1/2 inches. Collection of C.K. Williams, II. Image courtesy of Will Brown.
PHILADELPHIA, PA.- The Philadelphia Museum of Art this summer will present Adventures in Modern Art: The Charles K. Williams II Collection, an exhibition of approximately 100 paintings, sculptures, watercolors, and drawings from the early decades of the 20th century. It is drawn from the collection of Charles K. Williams II, a distinguished archeologist and Director Emeritus of the Corinth Excavations of the American School of Classical Studies in Athens, who has amassed in under two decades an important and personal collection representing most of the major ...More
Larry Weinberg The Wire Sculpture of Ruth Asawa
Until recently, Ruth Asawa was an under-appreciated artist whose work in looped wire mesh began after WWII ended. Partly, this was due to art criticism at the time, which attempted to pigeonhole her work as craft-based and feminine, not an odious description in a general way, but dismissive in the rarified circles of avant-garde art. A retrospective exhibition in 2007, and the accompanying catalog titled “The Sculpture of Ruth Asawa: Contours in the Air,” should help relocate Asawa as an important figure in post-war American art.
This is not to say that Asawa was unknown. Her work graced the covers of Arts and Architecture in 1952, and the “lxii American Exhibition”at the Art Institute of Chicago in 1957. She had her first one-person show in Cambridge in 1953, and was the subject of an exhibition at the San Francisco Museum of Art in 1973. Still, her career was due for re-evaluation.
Read more at: The Wire Sculpture of Ruth Asawa
There we were sitting on the patio after our “hometown” island parade, relaxing with a glass of wine, our neighbor’s flag fluttering in the breeze, when I noticed an unusual sound. Looking up I was excited to see three bald eagles swooping overhead dive bombing each other right above our pergola. Fortunately I had my camera close by. What could be more 4th of July – the stars and stripes and bald eagles – pretty amazing!
Above our pergola…………..
The start of the parade, marching for a NW greyhound rescue organization……….
Festive decorations…………………
Crowds along the route…………………
And a lone eagle…………………..
Fireworks SuckThey really do.
By Troy PattersonPosted Wednesday, July 1, 2009, at 8:01 PM ET
Fireworks
With Independence Day upon us, Americans are coming together once again in celebration of all our many freedoms, among them the freedom to drink outside during daylight hours. Some of us will fish Bud tallboys out of an Igloo on the National Mall; others will knock back rosé on picnic blankets and applejack at backyard barbecues; still others will sip on a pint bottle of Cutty Sark on the same park bench as always. We are a diverse nation.
Then, a bit after 8 p.m., the sun will set. The civilized thing to do at this juncture would be to go home, kick back with a little John Locke, and pass out fast. But, no, we must reckon with the stupid fireworks, an integral part of the Fourth of July since 1777, when they befouled the skies above Boston and Philadelphia. Even if you manage to avoid actually looking at their meaningless nonsense—which is essentially the same nonsense, show after show, year after year—their noise will disturb what should have been a pleasant lack of consciousness. Do we not have an unalienable right to be left alone?
Let me be clear: I have no beef with firecrackers or bottle rockets or Roman candles or anything else that one might set off in one’s cousin’s backyard. Those are pretty fun, especially if you happen to be in any of the magnificent states where that particular type is banned by law at that particular moment. Doing dangerous stuff in your cousin’s backyard is an important element of American folk culture. Those firecrackers are handsomely humble.
Read more at: Fireworks really suck.
Troy Patterson is Slate’s television critic.
From:
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Poetry |
A selection of classic poems about America for reading around the 4th of July holiday, by William Blake, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Emma Lazarus, Walt Whitman, Carl Sandburg & Stephen Vincent Benét.
| I Hear America Singing | |
| by Walt Whitman (from Leaves of Grass, 1900) | |
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench—the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter’s song—the ploughboy’s, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work—or of the girl sewing or washing—
Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day—
At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.
Fireworks And Greyhounds (Other Breeds Too), Cats and Wild Creatures, Do Not Go Well Together.
I am dreading July 4th. I feel for all the young children, the domestic and wild critters that will be scared out of their wits for the few hours of raucous human reveling.
For the past two weeks someone in our neighborhood has let off a lone fire cracker in the middle of the night. This distant “popping” sound has induced our greyhound Gracie to leap up off her cushy dog mattress in our bedroom and make a dash for the dark, windowless safety of the walk-in closet, the door of which now remains open for just this purpose.
Thunderstorms in the Midwest elicited what looks like the same, “I got to get out of here fast,” response from this lanky, elegant beast as she fled whatever room she was inhabiting – even though she was around her favorite humans – in order to get to a place without windows. As dogs go she’s a pretty smart one, knows when I tell her to check out her water or food bowl for fresh “additions,” she’ll go to the specific one mentioned. (And it’s worked dozens of times.)
I have a slightly different response to pyrotechnics in that they don’t do that much for me. Mostly there are similar looking explosions year after year which elicit the same obligatory “oohs and aaahs.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a cynic, I just feel for all those creatures, human and animal, who are scared to death. The best part of all of the “hoopla,” is being with family and friends, often huddling close together for the same “best” view.
I remember the first time I went to a July 4th celebration quite a few years ago at the small park in the town I was living in in Wisconsin. Friends were gathered close to the band shelter in an area that was completely ringed by very tall trees. Blankets were strewn around every square inch of grass and many folk were already lying on them. Where on earth would the fireworks be and how the heck would one be able to see them? I discovered that the fireworks were lit on the baseball diamond behind the trees and the reason everyone was lying on their backs was to enjoy the boom, bang, wow as they soared above the trees. It was fantastic! What fun it was to be stretched out on a hot July evening with no-one’s head or body in one’s line of sight.
I think I’ll get to see very little of the celebrations this year, as I’m going to stay fairly close to Gracie and sooth her each time there’s an “explosion.” After all as intelligent as she is, she has no clue as to why us humans resort to such horrendous noisy behavior, far too often as far as she is concerned.
So have a great and safe 4th of July! And please remember “those” who might not be enjoying it quite as much as you.
Not even close. Can a generation of synthetic objects be saved?
By Sam Kean in Slate MagazinePosted Wednesday, July 1, 2009, at 11:32 AM ET
Duane Hanson’s 1974 sculpture Drug Addict, observed by a museum guestIn the early 1960s, curators at the Philadelphia Museum of Art noticed something funny about one of their modern-art sculptures: It smelled like vinegar. Worse, the once-clear plastic sculpture had begun browning like an apple, and cracks had appeared on its surface. By 1967, Naum Gabo’s translucent, airy Construction in Space: Two Coneslooked like Tupperware that had gone through the dishwasher too often.
The volatile Gabo got so angry at the curators (he blamed the deterioration on their keeping his work in an airtight display case) that he took the sculpture back to repair it. That didn’t work—things, in fact, got worse—and he finally gave up. He cast a replica of Two Cones, donated it to the Tate in London, and gave Philly back the degraded original.
The incident would have remained a footnote in art history, except that other Gabo pieces (including the Tate’s replica) started falling apart, too, and in much the same way. They flaked into pieces, turned strange colors, and began to reek. Gabo found a reason to blame other owners for mishandling his work, but curators soon discovered a common factor: rhodoid, an early plastic made of cellulose acetate.
Read more at Slate Magazine: The World’s Greatest Plastic Art Is Crumbling. Can It Be Saved?
From: artdaily.org
Working in thematic series since the early 1980s, Koons has explored notions of consumerism, taste, banality, childhood and sexuality. Photo: EFE/Andy Rain.
LONDON.- The Serpentine Gallery presents an exhibition of the work of the celebrated American artist Jeff Koons. This will be England’s first ever major survey of Koons’s work in a public gallery. For his exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery, Jeff Koons presents works from his Popeye series, which he began in 2002. The works incorporate some of Koons’s signature ideas and motifs, including surreal combinations of everyday objects, cartoon imagery, art-historical references and children’s toys.…More
Before this past May’s trip to Italy, the last time I was in Naples was when I was 18 years old. Not much has changed. The old buildings are still there – older of course – it is way more congested, both street traffic and pedestrian wise, and a lot of people still smoke. There’s virtually no outdoor space, including sidewalk cafés, that’s free from secondhand smoke. Although I have to say that, thank goodness, the indoor air quality seemed to be good.
Like a lot of folk, foreign lands always seem more magical to me than my homeland; the obvious unknown element of the terrain, the people/culture (including food), plus one is usually “out of oneself” when traveling. A different part of the persona seems to emerge: one that says “yes” to a lot more things, some that might seem a little on the “dangerous” side. Sometime during the two hour flight south from Rome down the coast of the “boot” of Italy, the terrain felt more “familiar” to me, a little less mysterious. Don’t ask me why, the only explanation I have is that it looked like an American coast-line (if you can ignore Mount Vesuvius as you approach Naples). I remember the last time I was in Naples, as I stepped off a train I felt immediately thrust into the heart of the city, this time I enjoyed the gentle approach flying over luscious green landscapes and coast line.
The traffic, the commotion……………
The laundry dangling from washing lines, all added to the hustle and bustle of this busy city………………
We arrived in the “center” of the city just time for lunch……….
And witnessed a gathering demonstration, apparently about lack of jobs. There’s no place “exempt” from this economic down turn.
The crowd was composed of mostly young people, all behaving in an orderly manner. They were still “congregating” when we left our little restaurant and headed off to Pompei, Mount Vesuvius always close by.
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- Laura Cumming
- The Observer, Sunday 28 June 2009
Yayoi Kusama’s installation Metamorphosis, part of Walking in My Mind, Hayward Gallery, London Photograph: David Levene
Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama once wrote to Richard Nixon offering to paint his body with her trademark polka dots. It was 1968 and her aim was political. Tricky Dicky would be so soothed by the experience, she believed, that he would immediately halt the war in Vietnam. The president clearly took a raincheck.
It may be worth keeping this anecdote in mind when visiting the Hayward’s new show where Kusama’s dots spread contagiously over every inch of an entire gallery before spilling out to a balcony scattered with what look like gigantic mercury globules. Even the trees on the South Bank have come out in spots. Kusama has spoken of the hallucinations she suffered as a child, of seeing dots both inside and outside her head and of her work as emerging from this dizzy continuum. But the personal was also political.
Yet you would never think from this show that Kusama had been a pioneer of Sixties happenings, of polka-dot parades against Vietnam. Nor that she was a formative influence on Claes Oldenburg and Andy Warhol. She is presented here as an octogenarian obsessive, a woman who has chosen to live in a psychiatric institution since 1973 for whom art is lifesaving therapy. She has said as much herself, it is true, but she also speaks of herself as a dot lost in a milling universe of dots. At the very least, her work is metaphorical.
Read more at: If you could get inside their minds…
