Ebook Gallery

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night, 1889.

Oil on canvas, 73.7 x 92.1 cm.

Museum of Modern Art, New York.

Close your eyes and picture an angel. Now open them again so you can read the rest of this blog. What did you imagine? I’m guessing a woman wearing a long floaty white dress, effortlessly hovering in the sky (though mysteriously not beating her wings), with a halo atop her long blonde hair and maybe strumming a harp.

Was I right? It is no coincidence that our imagined angels conform to the same stereotypes. In 2008, 55% of Americans, 67% of Canadians and 38% of Britons professed their belief in the existence of guardian angels, and for many they take the “classical” form (human appearance, exceedingly beautiful and blindingly bright), as this is familiar to us and comforting in times of great need.

Our ideas about angels’ appearances have been shaped over the centuries by their depiction in art. Originally, angels in early Christian art were based on their ancient Mesopotamian and Greek predecessors. Though the Bible never mentioned wings, angels suddenly sprouted a pair in the late 4^th century, and have worn them ever since. They started out wearing military-style uniform, with a tunic and breastplate, or in the style of a Byzantine emperor. In the Middle Ages they began to dress like a deacon, in long white robes similar to how we would imagine them today.

The Renaissance introduced cherubs to us, and in the first half of the 18^th century, the angels’ dress became more effeminate and revealing, draping over the body like a badly-fitting bed sheet. Although angels were usually depicted as young men, female angels arrived on the scene.

This was the mainstream fashion for Christian angels, but how we view them can be very subjective and easily swayed by religious, cultural and fashion-related factors. One eccentric example can be found in the late 17^th to early 18^th centuries in Latin America: the ángel arcabucero, who would dress in the manner of the Spanish aristocracy, wielding a great big gun.

If the fashions through the ages have impacted so greatly on the representation of angels in art, what will angels of the future look like? I would like to think that my great great great great great grandchildren will be comforted by a hipster angel, or a 1970s disco dancing diva angel at their bedsides.

As angels have become disassociated with religion, the belief in them has increased, and references to them are rife in popular culture, from representations in Anime to a Robbie Williams song, and even selling out to front a deodorant marketing campaign.

All of this begs the question – what if the ancient Mesopotamians and Greeks had envisioned the winged messengers of the gods as, for example, winged hippos? Would we be visited on the eve of a loved one’s death by a stampede of bellowing hippopotami? Would Robbie Williams have sung an ode to them? It seems unlikely, but as the artistic representations of angels have impacted on the human psyche to the extent that we share one common vision… who knows what could have been?

The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, currently has an exhibition about these celestial beings called Divine Messengers: Angels in Art, until 3 November this year. You can also read more about angels and their representation in art through the ages in this ebook.

I will only admit this to a group of viral strangers once, and maybe this will cause outrage and disowning or maybe you’re sitting there nodding your head in disappointed agreement, but I’m originally from the USA. Not only do I despise calling it “the USA”, I’m also exhausted to the core of defending calling myself “American”. It is not my fault that my country never established some other name that could end in -ish, -i, -ese, -ian, -ic, etc., etc. Further, Canada = Canadians, Mexico = Mexicans, and don’t even get me started on the many, many countries within South and Central America that have their own suffixes.

Having been away from “my” country for a substantial period of time, I not only find myself relating less and less to my compatriots, I also quickly find myself exhausted with their behaviour, comments, arrogance, and ignorance. For much longer than I’ve been away, I’ve considered myself a citizen of the world; but the world’s other citizens never cease to remind me of my roots. Thanks for that; how dare I nearly forget?

And here we are, in the midst of the Olympics, and I’m supposed to inherently care about the US teams. Admittedly, I don’t care for the Olympics outside of a very few, select events in the first place, but I suppose it’s a nice time to show national pride, even when your country is already blamed for being entirely too nationalistic as it is. Just a reminder, friends: nationalism and patriotism are different. I’m happy to be United States-ish for all of the opportunities I am afforded (and therefore am patriotic); however, I do not dislike any other countries or their people for any reason, nor do I think my country is superior to others (and am, therefore, not nationalistic). Look it up.

Jasper Johns is a true vision of the USA: from a broken home, he grew up with a range of members of his extended family in various, small east-coast towns, eventually moving to New York before serving in the Army. He returned to New York after the Korean War and got heavily involved in the artistic scene of the 1960s. He now lives in Connecticut and also owns property in St Martin. Johns is best known for Flag:

Most of his iconic work depicts national emblems, especially flags and maps. I almost need to look away in embarrassment of my near-shame of a country that he seems to admire and venerate. Maybe I should get myself to Connecticut and watch the Olympics with Johns; he may be my last hope at holding on to my motherland. This is my favourite of his:

The Whitney Museum, a United States-ic museum of United States-ese art, is exhibiting strong United States-i artists and their strong patriotic images. Bake an apple pie and leave it to cool while you get yourself over there to restore your own patriotism. While you’re at it, check out a Yankee (or Mets if you must) game. For entertainment on the subway ride, be sure to procure this beautifully illustrated ebook: Jasper Johns.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

The National Gallery is exhibiting three of Titians most famous paintings from his Metamorphosis series, as well as reactions to it by contemporary artists, poets and choreographers, as part of the Cultural Olympiad, a “summer”-long festival in the UK celebrating Britain’s cultural landscape. Nowhere does it say that the events, acts, performances and exhibitions of this Cultural Olympiad are for British self-promotion, but with a bouncy castle Stonehenge and 37 Shakespeare plays performed in 37 languages, not to mention the patriotic opening ceremony, you have to assume that promoting Britain and her diverse cultural landscape is indeed the aim of the Games.

I was surprised, then, to see that Titian was chosen to feature in this cultural festival, given his tenuous, if at all visible, link to British art history or the Olympics themselves. I would even be willing to eat my own words and suggest that even Turner would have been a better candidate. Yes, Titian was an inspirational and iconic painter, whose legacy lives on nearly half a millennia after his death and whose use of colour changed the course of art forever, but he’s still an Italian Renaissance painter who has been dead for 435 years.

Whatever the justification for its being featured, Titian’s Metamorphosis series hangs alongside pieces it has inspired from contemporary artists, in order to show Britain’s multi-layered cultural presence in the world and its ability to draw inspiration from many sources past and present to create something wonderful and novel. But I fear that the aim of this exhibition may well backfire, as these contemporary artists will constantly be compared to some of the most famous paintings by one of the most revered artists of all time.

I can’t help but feel that instead of celebrating British high-culture and interest in the arts, this exhibition has wound up paying homage to a great master, whose involvement in the cultural landscape of Britain has been less notable than others. Wrong time, wrong place, National Gallery – could it be that they are trying to get their money’s worth out of their £95 million investment?

You can see these three Titian paintings (Diana and Actaeon, The Death of Actaeon and Diana and Callisto) together for the first time since the 18^th century at the National Gallery, London. The exhibition Metamorphosis: Titian 2012 will be around until 23 September 2012, or you can get this Titian book featuring many more of his masterpieces.

Fashion is not my thing. I’ve stated before that I am a neutral, solid colour kind of girl. Occasionally I’ll throw on something bright to mix it up, usually a pair of stilettos. Leading me to the point in which I must confess to my deep, inherent, undeniable love of shoes, and, more specifically, boots. (Cue in blaming my mother, who tried to get me to care about blouses, skirts, and dresses as well, but was less successful. Apologies and gratitude, mom!)

Once upon a time my friends wanted to go out for the evening; I didn’t want to open my closet, because it can get very taxing as a 20-something, even if she doesn’t care that she’s seven years out of style. I sent a nearest and dearest to do my dirty work. She called out, “Do you want to wear black … or black?” Noting and making fun of the fact that my wardrobe was by and large black. I’m not Goth, not that there’s anything wrong with anyone that is, I just happen to think black is complimentary to everything else I’ve got going on.

All of that said, Jean Paul Gaultier the designer does not stir any excitement in my brain or gut. I do not feel the need to overcharge my credit card or make sure I grab the latest magazines with his newest lines in them. However, Jean Paul Gaultier the man is a man among men, a hero for anyone that’s ever tried to fit in, and for that, I salute him.

Persistently causing a stir from the mid 1970s until now, Gaultier keeps the world guessing as to which multicultural controversy he’ll strike next. Performing artists and film makers all vie for his talent and creative eye (Madonna, Marilyn Manson, and Luc Besson to name a few). And who could blame them? This enfant terrible stands up for what he believes in and is not ashamed to do so. Unlike Gaga, though, his outbursts do not irritate me to a point of soundless fury.

See all of his glory at the de Young Museum’s The Fashion World of Jean Paul Gaultier: From the Sidewalk to the Catwalk through 19 August 2012. And while you’re envisioning yourself in his latest trends, grab The Art of the Shoe to try and coordinate colours and styles.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

So you think you know Edvard Munch? Think again. That’s the tag-line for the Tate Modern‘s new Munch exhibition, whose premise is that Munch is an under-analysed artist, pigeonholed as a troubled loner and worthy of reassessment. They profess that there were more sides to his personality than just ‘the man who painted The Scream’, and the exhibition seeks to find out what else made him tick through an analysis of the other themes in his work, such as his debilitating eye disease, the theatre and his burgeoning interest in film photography. They implore us to see past the “angst-ridden and brooding Nordic artist who painted scenes of isolation and trauma”, but do people really want to strip off the interesting layers to reveal the normal, everyday Eddie underneath?

Within the art community, it is a dream come true to find another piece of the missing puzzle, to “discover” the man behind the artist and to know exactly what his motives and inspirations were for every piece or artistic period in his life. However, representing the “whole picture” detracts from what made the artist interesting or unique in the first place, or even what makes the paintings so breathtaking. It is scientifically proven* that the longer you spend with a partner, the less interesting they become; in this way, the more you know about the banal aspects of an artist’s life, the less legendary they are. Stick to what makes Munch alluring – a tortured, unloved soul who expresses himself through his harrowing, yet awe-inspiring paintings.

It is more than agreeable to believe that Munch painted his masterpieces in an oxymoronic frenzy of despair – catharsis for his traumatic youth. But this new wave of “understanding” of every aspect of Munch’s life has led to an interpretation that Munch was well aware of the techniques and visual effects that he employed to such devastating effect, and that it was in fact the commercial viability of reproducing a popular painting that drove Munch to rework his favoured themes time and again. If this is the case, then Munch knew how to play us like a fiddle.

Have these people learned nothing from Munch? Angst sells, big time, and if the Tate wants to increase its footfall, it too should sell out and give the people what they want – a slice of the despondent Munch we think we know. I’ve heard that The Scream is supposed to be a pretty good painting…

Edvard Munch: The Modern Eye is showing at the Tate Modern from 28 June – 14 October 2012. Or, to view some of Munch’s popular works (including The Scream), why not try this Munch art e-book?

*it is not really scientifically proven.

Don’t get me wrong, Gustav Klimt was inherently remarkable at all of his accomplishments and I am fond of his work as well as those he influenced (even if they were on the brink of lunacy, Egon Schiele). However, to be quite honest, I’d never heard of him until approximately seventeen months ago – his impact on art history itself was miniscule in comparison with more notable greats. But suddenly he was all I read about and pieces of his art were unexpectedly in the strangest places. In celebration of his 150^th birthday (this past Saturday, to be exact), museums the world over are head-over-feet presenting his works to the public. Who is this man and why can’t I get away from him?

Not the first, and certainly not the last, truly erotic painter, I often find myself entranced by his pieces. The bright, glittery gold and patterns that would normally do in my neutral and solid coloured brain are unforgettable. Nevertheless, I find it difficult to separate the artist in the smock/robe/dress/thing from the philanderer (he had fourteen children, two also named Gustav, by different women!) who seems to have been in love with his muse. That he could be so lucky for her to love him back! Did she?

What woman wouldn’t love a man that painted beautiful, timeless portraits of her? That referred to her as his treasure and life? The fact of the matter is that unless science finds some way to bring people back from the dead, not that I think Emilie Flöge and Gustav Klimt would be first on the list, her secret is dead and buried. I hope I have enough wherewithal to destroy all of my love letters before I die – it seems she’s certainly more interesting to talk about because of it, rather than women whose names I can’t pull from the recesses of my brain that wrote for pages and days of their undying love for their own philanderers. Thank you for being a role model for young women everywhere, Emilie; I hope you were happy.

If celebrating birthdays of long-dead people is something you’re in to, go to the Neue Galerie before 27 August to see Gustav Klimt: 150^th Anniversary, they are pulling out all of the stops – cakes AND cufflinks! But if you’re more like me and find celebrating the birth of a dead person morbid and disconcerting, enjoy his work in the privacy of your own home with these print and ebook collections: Klimt and Gustav Klimt. (I won’t judge you too harshly if you toast to him, I promise.)

-Le Lorrain Andrews

The British Museum has managed to wheedle the donation of all one-hundred of Picasso’s etchings which make up the Vollard Suite – no, not the name of a room in a curiously themed hotel, but a massive series of prints created in exchange for a couple of paintings, including two by Cézanne and Renoir.

The critics are clambering all over each other to fawn, simper and gush about the prints and to offer their unsolicited opinions about what the lines and shading could possibly mean, squabbling like children over who can kiss the most arse. I agree that the series does reveal the inner workings of the mind of the artist during a transitional period, but only insofar as my absent-minded phone-doodling offers an insight into my thoughts at that particular moment in time. Ok, so a picture of a stick man and a flower might not be quite as impressive as a Minotaur with breasts, but doodles was what they were, no more, no less.

Trading a couple of paintings by known masters for prints by a living artist was a bit of a gamble, but the trick certainly paid off. Well, not for poor old Ambroise Vollard, who died the same year the prints were completed, but a few generations and changes of hand later, and the set is now worth a staggering £900,000. The fools! Picasso’s status as an excellent artist is well-deserved, but just because he is a good artist does not mean that all his art is good art. Once the buzz from this discovery evaporates, I wonder whether they will realise that they’ve been had.

In case the British Museum is interested, I have a few prints for sale, entitled “Tree”, “Swirly Pattern” and “To Do List”. Each one costs £4,500, a bargain at half the price of a Picasso print!

If, contrary to my warning, you want to see these scribblings, the British Museum is holding this exhibition for free until 2 September 2012. If, however, you’d rather see some of Picasso’s real artwork, why not get this Picasso art book, instead.

I could make another reference to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and discuss how, both Leonardo the man and the turtle are the eldest, wisest, and most level-headed of their pairings; however, part of that would be false (Donatello [the sculptor] was older by 66 years) and I’d have no way of proving the rest.

Jack of all trades, master of… all trades. Leonardo da Vinci was a painter, sculptor, architect, musician, scientist, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, geologist, cartographer, botanist, and writer. His friends described him to have extraordinary powers of invention, incredible strength and generosity, boundless grace, an infinite mind, a majestic spirit, and in addition to all of that, he was quite the looker. In his time, a person of such vast skill and personality was considered to be a polymath and amassed many friends. In our time, Da Vinci would likely be thought a gross over-achieving, suck-up nerd and I doubt anyone would go near him.

Leonardo of all trades probably would have been a better turn of phrase, though, not that he needs any more credit.

Lesser known for his ground-breaking understanding of the human body, Da Vinci found interest in dissecting not only human corpses, but also cows, birds, monkeys, bears, frogs, and horses. Over the years Da Vinci found himself particularly apt at recognising illness as well as a being’s emotions – rage being a specialty.

Pop over to The Queen’s Gallery in Buckingham Palace for a crash course on anatomy at the Leonardo da Vinci: Anatomist exhibition. Realise that Da Vinci is much more than the human body? Bring him home with you in either print or digital form: Leonardo da Vinci: Artist, Thinker, Man of Science or Leonardo da Vinci.

-Le Lorrain Andrews