Ebook Gallery

I will neither confirm nor deny any drugs I may or may not have experimented with in the past. In the present, I find many intriguing and interesting, despite being unsure of the things they’ll do to an already over-active mind and imagination – but again will not admit what they are.

(This is your brain … on drugs. Does anyone else remember that PSA from the 1980s/1990s?)
Salvador Dalí, Eggs on the Plate without the Plate, 1932.
Oil on canvas, 60.3 x 41.9 cm.
The Dalí Museum, St Petersburg (Florida).

Whilst bad, and mind altering, sometimes forever, various drugs are at the very forefront of the entertainment industry. Walt and Jesse are nearly household names because of their mad skillz (I hope you heard that in Aaron Paul’s voice) as meth cooks on Breaking Bad. Mary Louise Parker has given so many of us a soft spot for the middle-class single mother that is forced to sling drugs in Weeds. The Wire took a groundbreaking look at inner-city dealings and addictions (on all sides of the spectrum). And, of course, whatever the heck V in True Blood is meant to mimic. Meanwhile, Lindsay Lohan and Charlie Sheen are in and out of trouble for cocaine use. Whitney Houston MAY have overdosed from prescription pills or crack. But, friends, where are the hallucinogens?!

Salvador Dalí, Soft Construction with Boiled Beans (Premonition of Civil War), 1936.
Oil on canvas, 99.9 x 100 cm.
Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia.

Reviewing Salvador Dalí’s work, every single time, without fail, makes me question what’s been slipped into my beverage (or brownies). The melting and sliding images of obscure sizes and shapes make my skin crawl in a way that only a proper hallucinogen can – or so I imagine. Not to mention his bizarre obsession with ants, which appear so innocent as they skitter across our counters and up our walls that we don’t take them very seriously, but really – why don’t we? I cannot delve further into their utter disregard for human space and existence for fear of not being able to sleep tonight. But know that I do not find them harmless.

Salvador Dalí, The Temptation of Saint Anthony, 1946.
Oil on canvas, 89.5 x 119.5.
Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels.

Dalí made it very clear: “I don’t do drugs. I am drugs.” And fine, I respect that. But wouldn’t you agree that being as full of yourself as he was, perhaps he was his own drug? A bit too much serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, endorphins – simply too much everything? Get off of your ridiculously long-legged high horse, Dalí, and paint something the rest of us can relate to, you pompous, self-absorbed, egotistic maniac. Good day.

Feel like you’re on drugs without the terrible next-day comedown while getting your fill of melting clocks, long-legged horses, and women from behind at Le Centre Pompidou through 25 March. Bring my nightmares home with you in The Life and Masterworks of Salvador Dalí by Eric Shanes.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Death: one of life’s greatest mysteries, and therefore one of people’s greatest fears.

Whilst many peoples and civilisations turn to religion and faith to answer the question of the meaning of life, and the purpose of death, and whether or not life after death exists, the prospect of the actual process of dying causes fear and trepidation.

Although we cannot know for sure what the exact experience of death holds for us, many people do take comfort in the knowledge that heaven, or an afterlife, awaits them. Why, therefore, is the prospect of death such a scary one?

Rembrandt
The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp, 1632.
Oil on canvas, 169.5 x 216.5 cm.
Mauritshuis, The Hague.

Perhaps it is the fear of leaving the known, of leaving people behind, or the fear of pain in passing. Whatever it is, one thing is certain: death is one thing we cannot escape. As Brad Pitt discovered, in his extremely good turn as Joe Black in Meet Joe Black (a straightforward title if ever there was one), the only two things certain in this life are death and taxes.

Unfortunately, the probability that death will greet us in the form of Brad Pitt is extremely remote (I’m not giving up hope though….), so let us turn away from Hollywood’s interpretation of death, and take a peek at how past celebrities interpreted it.

Being an art blog, these celebrities will of course be artists such as Rembrandt and, perhaps surprisingly, Monet. Both of these artists painted death, or dying, as a means of trying to understand what it meant.

Rembrandt painted his famous Anatomy Lesson as a means to pay homage to both the doctor (Nicolaes Tulp), as well as to the science of dissection. Death had become a teaching tool, allowing others to learn from the bodies left behind.

Claude Monet
Camille on Her Deathbed, 1879.
Oil on canvas, 90 x 68 cm.
Musée d’Orsay, Paris.

However, Monet’s interpretation of death is a lot less clinical, and we can really feel the depth of emotion that the artist is putting into his work. Camille on Her Deathbed is a painting of his wife – and it is as if he is trying to come to terms with her passing, and trying to understand why she has left him. It is this emotion which resonates through the ages, and is something which I think everybody can identify with.

Ultimately, I think death is something not to be feared, but when life is cut short it is the hardest for those that are left behind. But as we mourn the loss of our friends, loved ones, life-long companions, let us also celebrate the time that we have been able to share together, and be thankful for the privilege of being able to know them. And finally, let us not forget, but keep their memories alive with us.

To discover how the mystery of death has been portrayed over the years, the Wellcome Collection, London, is the perfect place to start. Death: A Self-Portrait is the exhibition which is getting everybody talking, so why not find out for yourself what all the fuss is about? On display until the 24^th February 2013, this is one collection that you do not want to miss! If you would like to discover more about how the masters treated the subject of death and the afterlife, look no further than Art of the Devil by Arturo Graf. Alternatively, to discover what Rembrandt was all about, check out Harmensz van Rijn Rembrandt by Emile Michel.

At first this topic had my mind atwitter; I mean how often does a girl get to write about naked men outside of her bedroom? Not that I believe there’s anything particularly aesthetically pleasing about the male physique below the happy/snail/treasure trail; maybe I’m a sucker for a nice bum, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss. Nor do I spend my private time writing about nude male bodies, and even if I did, you couldn’t prove it.

Given the opportunity to pick famous men I wouldn’t mind seeing naked, I would say: Channing Tatum? Yes, please. Donald Glover? Abso-freaking-lutely. Joseph Gordon Levitt? Please and thank you. John Cho-know-I-would. And, for our older crowd, I’d appreciate a little Benjamin Bratt (pun absolutely intended). Though, discussing this with a colleague, I’ve concluded that while I would enjoy seeing Tatum in the buff under any circumstance, I’d rather see JGL in the sensual privacy of my own home.

Large Sleeping Satyr (“Barberinischer Faun”), c. 220 BCE
Marble, height: 215 cm.
Glyptothek, Munich.

The longer I thought about the topic though (we’re talking at least a week of reviewing male nudes here, nothing but the best research for our readers), the more confused I became. We live in a society that fawns over the nude female body – heck, I’ve even blogged about it – but what about the male body? In film, art, television, and billboards, exposed female curves are everywhere, whether in bits and pieces or full on (to the point in which we need to discuss body image with our sisters/daughters/nieces). We’ve all seen Basic Instinct. However, the double standard remains. Is it because men find other male bodies threatening or uncomfortable? Is it the absurd fear of “catching” homosexuality, as if that were even possible? Women make up half of the consumer market – can’t you try and lure us in with the promise of naked men?

Ginch Gonch, Boys and Toy Bikes, advertising campaign.

I’ve always had the pleasure, or displeasure depending on how you look at it, of male housemates, including growing up with a brother. They were able to openly walk around without shirts and in their underwear, whilst I was discomfited into wearing a bra in my own home. Ladies, help me out, isn’t the most amazing time of day those five seconds after you’ve finally removed your bra? I’ve actually gone so far as to say, “Sorry friend, I can’t come out tonight; I’ve already taken my bra off.” My point being, this is a society that tells women to remain covered or they’ll be slut shamed, but men can wear next to nothing as long as their junk is covered.

Andrew Christian, 9215 Gigolo Thong, Black.

Women shouldn’t be ashamed of their bodies or shy about them, and men, get over your ridiculous fear of other naked men. We’re all beautiful, robed or not, and nudity shouldn’t be a topic of exploitation. We’re born nude, why can’t we stay so? Hurry over to the Leopold Museum to see the nude men exhibition through 4 March. Not possible? Rather look at the goods in private? Get your hands on The Story of Men’s Underwear by Shaun Cole or Nudes by Jp. A. Calosse. You won’t be disappointed.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

It is at dusk that our imaginations and fears start to play tricks on our minds. The sun-filled, logical part of the day is over. Twilight deepens. Looming shadows, the scuttling of animals, and eerie, indiscernible shapes; the witching hour approaches. This is the time, walking home from work on a cold winter’s night, when your brain conjures up all those things that go bump in the night. You walk faster, trying to get ahead of the possible footsteps behind you, jump at the tree branch when it brushes your shoulder, and peer ahead into the gloom, trying desperately to make out what the troll-like shape is in front of you (it’s a wheelie bin).

Now, transfer those feelings of wintery evening walks back to a time when people still actually believed in the creatures of the night, to a time when such mythological creatures were symbols of doom, and to a time when they were used as warnings; to frighten and warn people away from religious and moral transgressions. In the 15^th, 16^th, and 17^th centuries, witch-hunts were a prevalent issue. Folk-stories about wolves and other predators waiting in the depths of forests were used to frighten small children into being good. Tales such as these, which the Brothers Grimm were so good as to collect for us, were allegories for good and evil. The unknown and the unexplained were evil, the known and explainable were good.

Leonardo da Vinci. Study for the Fight against the Dragon, c. 1480. Pen and ink, grey wash, 19 x 12.5 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

Artists of these time periods were able to use these stories and their own imaginations to create works to frighten, intrigue, and instruct. Leonardo da Vinci was one such artist. Perhaps best-known for the Mona Lisa, the Virgin of the Rocks etc., it is also true that he composed many studies using mythological creatures. In one such, his study of a knight killing a dragon is both fantastical and allegorical; the dragon being the symbol of evil, and the knight-in-shining-armour… well, being the knight-in-shining-armour.

Hieronymus Bosch. The Garden of Earthly Delights, c. 1500-1505. Oil on panel, 220 x 389 cm (triptych). Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid.

Artists such as Hieronymus Bosch understood the human fascination with the fantastic, and the mythical. A fascination we retain today. (Think Twilight, the Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter…) This understanding of the human mindset led to Bosch’s work ‘The Garden of Earthly Delights’ to becoming one of the single most well-known pieces of art to come out of the 16^th century. The creatures which sprung out of his imagination and onto the canvas in the central panel also serve as allegories. The fictional creatures such as mermaids and mutated unicorns (no longer the pure white of the Garden of Eden panel, and no longer pure horse) serve to portray the indulgences and excesses of mankind, initially fun and exciting, but in the end , they lead to creations far out of the realms of my ‘bump in the night’ imagined creatures. (See the third panel.)

So, it seems that every century has had a creepy, winter’s night walk feeling. But the best part about experiencing it in this century? For me, it’s getting into my warm, well-lit hallway, and laughing at myself for all the stories I’ve been making up in my head. I’ll take the walk over a witch-hunt any day!

To experience the mythical and the monstrous, without having to endure the feeling that ghouls and ghosties are on your trail, check out the Beautiful Monsters exhibition at the Art Gallery of Alberta, Edmonton(Canada). Being held until the 3^rd March 2013, banish your winter blues by taking a walk on the mythological wild side with artists such as Dürer, Callot, and Beham. For a perhaps more local night in (and what could be more local than your own sitting room?) try cosying up to a copy of John Bascom’s Beauty of the Beast.

I grew up about an hour outside of Philadelphia – a hub of culture, art, and United States history. Being introduced to the arts and science (I still, in my late twenties, love to touch things in the Franklin Institute) at a young age, Auguste Rodin’s sculptures are amongst my earlier memories. I always stared at them the longest and hardest, waiting for them to breathe. You should also know I stood quite a distance away because works like Adam (bronze, modelled 1880-1881) are fairly frightening for a ten year old.

It’s said that marble is the most flesh-like material; naturally cold and hard, it needs to be warm and supple to produce the desired effect. An effect which Rodin always managed to take a bit further in all of his works, whether marble, bronze, or plaster. Viewing the lovers of Eternal Springtime (Philadelphia Art Museum, plaster, modelled 1884), it appears as if they are simply holding their breath for passers-by because they’ve been caught in a private moment and hope to be ignored so they can continue with their business.

(Okay, not the one in the Philadelphia Art Museum of which I boasted, but equally good!)
August Rodin, Eternal Spring, or Eternal Springtime, probably modelled 1881, executed 1906-1907.
Marble, 71.1 cm.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Greatly admiring Michelangelo, Rodin strove to equal his mastery of the human body so far as giving life to his statues. I would argue that Rodin accomplished this goal many times over, before even travelling to Italy to better study Michelangelo’s works. Depending on the piece, sadness, happiness, strength, despair, or love exudes from Rodin’s masterpieces.

The Danaïd daughters, subsequent to murdering their husbands after betrothal (49 of the 50 girls), were sentenced to the Underworld and forced to carry a jug of water to fill a bottomless bath to wash away their sins. In Rodin’s recreation, the back is beautifully rendered, as is the nape of her neck, but most of all she oozes despair at the profound error of her sin.

Auguste Rodin, Danaïd, 1889.
Marble, 36 x 71 x 53 cm.
Musée Rodin, Paris.

The Musée Rodin, already a breeding ground for magnificence and splendour, is exhibiting Rodin, flesh and marble now through 1 September 2013. You’ve got plenty of time to go and experience all of the emotions and see the intricacies of Rodin’s masterworks. Also, Auguste Rodin by Rilke is sure to be a much appreciated gift this holiday season! Wonderfully written and breathtakingly illustrated, don’t miss out on these books (Rodin by Rilke) about nearly-modern day Rodin!

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Imagine you’re Dorothy. You have just escaped Auntie Em and a life of rusticated farm-life. You step out of your house, and no more black-and-white, but BOOM! It’s a colour explosion, where you are literally on the other side of the rainbow. And never mind those Munchkins…
What would you think, honestly? That you are in some strange kind of fever-dream? Or that you have accidentally ingested a potent hallucinogenic (let’s forget for the moment that Dorothy probably doesn’t know what that is)? Or, simply, that you’ve just gone crazy?

Henri Matisse. 1869–1954, Portrait of Lydia Delectorskaya, 1947. Oil on canvas, 64.5 x 49.5 cm. The State Hermitage Museum, Saint-Petersburg.

I think it fair enough to say that these feelings may be eerily similar to those experienced by Matisse and co. upon their first discoveries of the Impressionists, and the likes of van Gogh and John Peter Russell. Whilst initially taken aback by the liberal use of colour and the breaking of the rules in their painting, Matisse, Munch, and the Fauves (which literally means “The Wild Ones”), went even further. They broke into abstraction, broke the subject down and simplified it, and colour: bold, unadulterated colour was the basis of all their work.
Do you think that if Dorothy knew what lay in wait for her on the other side of the rainbow that she would have been as eager to go? Unlike Dorothy, as the Fauves opened up a bright, shiny, new Technicolour world with their artwork, it is impossible for us to go back. The age of suppressed and reserved art, the era of black-and-white, has gone. The question is, do we behave like the Scarecrow and the Tin-Man, ready to face this new and exciting world (albeit one tinged with a few flying monkeys), or do we cower like the Cowardly Lion? I leave it to you to decide… Remember, there’s no place like home but it’s up to you how you decorate it!

Henri Matisse, The Dance, 1909-1910. Oil on canvas, 260 x 391 cm. The State Hermitage Museum, Saint-Petersburg.

The Museum Folkwang in Germany is giving visitors a chance to step into their very own version of Oz, with the help of the Fauves and the Expressionists. I promise that you will not encounter a single Wicked Witch of the West…and no, mother-in-laws do not count. The Ecstasy of Colour exhibition is ongoing until the 13^th January 2013, so if you are in the area, make sure to pencil it into your diary! If you can’t quite make it before January, not to worry. You’ll be able to catch up with Parkstone International’s very own Munch, by Elizabeth Ingles, or Expressionism, written by Ashley Bassie.

Michelangelo da Caravaggio – what a drunken, jealous, hot-headed mess. I’m sure if psychiatric hospitals existed in the late 1500s, he would have spent time in one – and probably lived a bit longer because of it. Today it seems artists (mostly actors and singers) encourage us commoners to “feel our crazy”, you know, to see where it takes us. But Caravaggio wouldn’t have even made it to even 39 were he alive today if he kept up his shenanigans. Fun to party with, perhaps, but no one you could possibly (read: should) take too seriously.

Caravaggio, Judith Beheading Holofernes, c. 1598.
Oil on canvas, 145 x 195 cm.
Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica di Palazzo Barberini, Rome.

Upon discovering Caravaggio, you generally learn about his tumultuous behaviour and mis-behaviour. We’re all aware that he wasn’t a very well-liked person, yet we manage to appreciate his major contribution to the art world – even if he only had 15 years to pull it off. We also all know that his art and name essentially dropped off of the face of the earth after his death until the 20^th century. BUT! There were people from before and after his death that greatly admired his strong contrast between light and dark – chiaroscuro – and quickly followed suit – copycats.

Caravaggio, Christ at the Column, c. 1607.
Oil on canvas, 134.5 x 175.5 cm.
Musée des Beaux-Arts, Rouen.

Highlighting the face, hands, ::cough:: bosom, of the characters in a painting draws viewers in. It’s dark, it’s sexy, it’s alluring – okay, maybe not Caravaggio’s The Tooth Puller (1608-1610). It’s almost like anyone in a chiaroscuro-styled painting is up to something that we may not want to see in the light – which, face it, Caravaggio probably was. Viewing one of these paintings is like being in on a dark secret, and who doesn’t like gossip?

Georges de La Tour, The Magdalen with the Smoking Flame, c. 1638-1640.
Oil on canvas, 117 x 91.76 cm.
Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Los Angeles.

I wouldn’t suggest following your crazy too far (cue in my strong distaste for Lady Gaga). Rather, see eight of Caravaggio’s darkest and most alluring paintings along with 48 others by artists whom he inspired now through 10 February 2013 at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Can’t get to LA? Order this equally dark, but well-illustrated, ebook and learn more of his secrets: Caravaggio by Felix Witting and M.L. Patrizi.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Let me steer you away from the realm of art for a moment, and instead let me ask you to consider the many love/hate relationships that we so often have. Take chocolate for instance; LOVE chocolate, HATE myself afterwards (for all those who have consumed an entire large Galaxy bar in one sitting, you know what I mean….). And then there’s Reality Television. You know it’s wasting your life, minute by minute, and yet it can be so voyeuristically compelling. And finally: marmite. Of course, the old ‘you love it or you hate it’ phrase was seemingly created for this food product. Personally, I fall into the ‘love’ category, but I won’t judge if you don’t like it. To each their own. This leads me to… Paul Klee.
Apologies for the (apparent) abrupt change in topic, but bear with me. If Klee were to create his paintings today, would he still be given all the acclaim that he received in the past?

Camel in Rhythmic Wooded Landscape, 1920. Oil on gauze with chalk, 48 x 42 cm. Kunstsammlung Nordrhein Westfalen, Düsseldorf

Klee deals with the abstract. This is all well and good, but abstract art, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, is much like marmite. Ergo, Paul Klee is much like marmite. Within the ‘pro-Klee’ camp, there will be abounding arguments such as ‘his work was groundbreaking’, ‘he offered a cuttingly sharp perspective on the events of his time’, ‘he was a creative genius, none of his works are the same’, and ‘his works almost talk to us, through them we can see his humour, his moods, and his beliefs’. In the ‘anti-Klee’ camp, counter-arguments may well follow to include; ‘the “childlike simplicity” in his art is pretentious’, ‘he couldn’t decide which medium to work with, so he tried them all’, and ‘he couldn’t paint what he wanted to communicate straight out, he often hides his true meaning so it requires a fine toothcomb to uncover it’.

Departure of the Ships, 1927. Oil on canvas, 50 x 60 cm. Private Collection, Switzerland

Of course, if Klee were to paint today, his work would no longer be groundbreaking. Strike one. On first impression, his work is simplistic to the point of that of a childish amateur. It requires deeper understanding and analysis to see the depth that is actually in his work. In today’s society, do we have the patience required to do this or have we become a ‘Banksy’ culture, where we require a message to be painted on a wall in order to appreciate it? …Strike two.

Thirdly and finally, are we still capable of appreciating abstract art in its pure form? Having been to the Tate Modern and seen the nearly blank canvasses with squares of colour, and Dali’s lobster on the telephone, I have to concede. Yes, the abstract is alive and well and living among us. Welcome to the 21^st Century Paul Klee, it seems your art will always have a place within society.

For any Klee sceptics out there, allow me to point you in the direction of Dusseldorf’s Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, where the exhibition 100 x Paul Klee is ongoing until the 10^th February 2013. You may find yourselves acquiring a new taste for this particular artist, and as I always say to my non-English compatriots about marmite, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it! Paul Klee aficionados will love the Klee eBook by Donald Wigal, or alternatively discover Klee in Beauty of the Beast, written by John Bascom.

Picture this: it’s 1876 and you’re a dapper young heir to the Guinness name, fortune, and business – beer! You recently turned 29 years old, just bought your brothers’ shares of the company because you’ve got big plans for it, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. When it comes to culture and art, you’ve ensured that you are just as important as the Rothschilds, J.P. Morgan, and Henry Clay Frick. However, rather than collect a harem of courtesans and countesses, you’ve chosen to collect paintings of such ladies from the Belle Époque.

Sir Anthony van Dyck, Princess Henrietta of Lorraine Attended by a Page, 1634.
Oil on canvas, 213.4 x 127 cm.
Kenwood House, The Iveagh Bequest, London.

Is it because you’re an Irishman in England and long to feel closer to your neighbours? Is it honestly because you love your third cousin more than anyone else out there? (Did I mention that you married her three years ago and she mothers your three sons?)

Thomas Gainsborough, Lady Brisco, c. 1776.
Oil on canvas, 235.2 x 148.5 cm.
Kenwood House, The Iveagh Bequest, London.

I think that many a woman would have doted on you, especially after considering your immense fortune (though, we’re not all gold diggers), your heartfelt donations to urban renewal and medical research, and your keen eye for art and skill in Gainsborough, Rembrandt, and Van Dyck (amongst many others). The Guinness brand isn’t especially my cup of tea (or beer, har har), but any man that takes value in art and its history could definitely have a shot at courting me, or any other self-respecting, well-cultured woman.

For the first time ever, Edward Guinness, 1st Earl of Iveagh’s Kenwood House collection has crossed the pond! See Rembrandt, Van Dyck, Gainsborough: The Treasures of Kenwood House, London now through 13 January 2013 in the Milwaukee Art Museum. Find yourself infatuated with his collection? Check out Anthony van Dyck by Victoria Charles and Harmensz van Rijn Rembrandt by Émile Michel today!

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Everyone is an artist in some way or another, wouldn’t you agree? Whether it’s with words on a page, musical stylings, in the kitchen, or paint/pencil/chalk on a board/canvas – everyone has their own unique way of expressing themselves. Many of us do it in the privacy of our own homes, never daring to show it to anyone for fear of rejection, being misunderstood, or simply not caring that the rest of the world learn to value our talent. “My momma thinks I’m special and that’s enough for me.”

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Top of the Mountain, 1918.
Oil on canvas, 79.5 x 90 cm.
Private collection.

If you were, however, to venture out of your comfort zone and introduce your talent to the world, wouldn’t it be nice to already have a critic in your corner? That’s exactly how it went down for Altenbourg, Bacon, Braque, Kandinsky, Kirchner, and Klee. These men, members of Die Brücke through Art Informel (a branch of Bauhaus) and everything in between, were tirelessly supported by the one and only Will Grohmann – a German art critic and enthusiast – for over fifty years. That’s a long time to say nice things about a person, friend or not.

Paul Klee, Engulfed Landscape, 1918.
Watercolour, gouache and ink on paper on cardboard, top and bottom borders in satiny paper, 17.6 x 16.3 cm.
Museum Folkwang, Essen.

And while I do find Grohmann rather biased in his shameless support of his mates, I greatly admire his collection of correspondence. Having over 2500 pen-pals, I imagine Grohmann was quite busy writing letters, post cards, and, of course, his artistic criticisms. It’s really a pity that our own generation has found it nearly impossible to hold on to the beauty of the hand-written letter.

Feel free to sit down and write me a hand-written letter anytime, and I promise to respond in the same form. However, in the meantime, head over to the Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden, now through 6 January 2013, to see In the Network of Modernism and admire the same works that captivated one of the most influential art critics of the 20^th century. When that’s not enough, order these colourfully illustrated ebooks: Kirchner by Klaus Carl, Klee by Donald Wigal, and Kandinsky by Victoria Charles.

-Le Lorrain Andrews