Real Art, Real Food

Universe in Itself

2011-10-19T08:20:00.000-07:00

Two quotes about unity in painting...

The first by Milton Resnick, whose work was recently on view at Cheim & Read. The second by Rosemarie Beck. Resnick's quotation has been on my mind since I saw the show and flipped through the book of his talks. I like the way he sees an artist's work as a reflection of him/herself, his/her humanity.

Recently I had a conversation with a critic who said he was able to easily separate his feelings about the work of artist-friends from his personal feelings. I confess I don't find this so easy. At a certain point if I know an artist and his work well, I see so much of the person in the work: his "handwriting," light, spirit, and outlook on the world.

Beck, here, is speaking about how Titian's late work becomes more unified than the early work, so that we feel the overall surface - the "vapor" - more than individual figures and objects.

Resnick writes about that possibility that a painting can become a complete universe: an object that is a full realization of the artist.

Milton Resnick, Straw, 1982, 80 x 60 inches

"Painting is - when you are together in an internal sense - a correspondence between what you are and what you see. It's a moment when something is holding together in such a way that it is a universe in itself. It approaches as much completion as it possibly can. Within this is a test and also a judgment upon yourself, your capabilities, your promises, and the part that you play in the world. And nobody else can test that for you."

- Milton Resnick (New York Studio School, Talk Four)

____

Rosemarie Beck, Self Portrait, 1999, oil on linen, 72 x 54 inches

"When we think of the early Titians (they're always so very great) one thinks of this figure, that figure, but in his later work, it's all a flame, or it's all water, or it's all earth. Something begins to happen, it leaves the real "thing-ness" and becomes the vapor. You couldn't take anything apart from anything. The total unity of the spirit goes beyond the confines of the object. I'm bound by edges sometimes too. But the music in me tells me to let it go - you don't need that edge. You need something else. But that's always a question with me. To go further means which way to go further. As a confined, defined form, or as part of an ongoing situation? It becomes subject. Language and subject become one. That's what "Style" really is. If one could ever reach it."

- Rosemarie Beck, personal interview, 2002

Titian, The Flaying of Marsyas, c. 1575

The Role of Empathy in Art

2011-09-30T15:11:00.000-07:00

i'm back from an inspiring and beautiful visit to Roanoke, Virginia,

where I gave a talk on the occasion of the opening of exhibitions by Bill White and Jan Knipe

at the Eleanor D. Wilson Museum at Hollins University.

if you like, you can find the transcript here.

it was entitled The Role of Empathy in Art.

and here is a link to the powerpoint images.

1) With Amy Moorefield, Director of the Eleanor D. Wilson museum; 2) projection outside of the museum, after the opening; 3) with Bill White and Alison Hall at University President Nancy Oliver Gray's house; 4) and 5) the beautiful Hollins campus; 6) Alison Hall, making an adjustment to her student's drawing; 7) her students' copies of Leland Bell paintings; 8) self portrait in a restaurant ladies room!

painting tables; summer with painters

2011-09-26T17:58:00.000-07:00

1) Kurt Knobelsdorf painting by the Hudson River; 2) with Tine Lundsfryd and Paul Resika (photo by Steven Harvey); 3) dining in front of Ellen Trumbo's painting in Grand Haven, MI; 4) PINY exhibition (photo by Chris Protas); 5) with Kurt in Coney Island; 6) Studio Visit with Sangram Majumdar; 7) in front of a Graham Nickson painting; 8) Elena Sisto painting table; 9) Ryan Cobourn painting table; 10) Sangram Majumdar painting table; 11) Bill White painting table; 12) Andrea Belag brushes; 13) Tyler Loftis painting table; 14) summer (photo by TL).

on art collecting and bread-making

2011-05-21T16:35:00.000-07:00

an extra piece i wrote for the painting in new york show. ( & check the exhibition catalog here.)

Every picture tells a story, for Steve Stoppert. A regular guy, funny and irreverent, in the East Village, the walls of his home are stacked, floor to ceiling, with paintings and drawings by all the members of the Painting in New York group, and fellow travelers. Overflow lines the corners, fills the spaces under the beds, next to sofas. He tells me I should write about art for the average fan, and so I will.

A tour begins with a bread-making lesson. Three cups of white flour, a half-cup of wheat, plus some seven-grain mix, although Tyler wants more. Time is told through their—and our—common stories. Working in construction together, then his hardware store. A trip to the Met, which made his heart start beating. Before or after the towers went down? Before or after the break-up? And then, a painting, made by Chris, about Steve’s turmoil. He bought it, instead of buying that flea-market nothing. The beginning of a collecting impulse, which now won’t stop. He’s in too far, they all are. Time is told as we add the salt, yeast, water – cold. He buys their work because it’s easy, they are there, and because, by now, he loves them. Knows about the divorce, the heartbreaks, their families, and the great love affairs. Knows the way the faces change, the paintings change. Knows now how to look at painting, what makes it work. Adding vinegar, beer, and stirring. Covering the bowl. Bread rising. Twelve hours. He looks while he sits on the couch and smokes; it’s time to sit still. He’s trying it; a drawing group – they meet in his house. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, here’s $200, make me a painting, here’s a pizza stone, make me a painting, you’re working too hard, make it in half an hour… It works. Move the dough to the counter, knead it exactly fifteen times. They’re out working on the street because of him, because he loves Shepard Fairey, Jim Joe. Heat the cast-iron pan. Eating bread, drinking tea, looking, and laughing, and drawing.

The Inner Teacher

2011-04-14T06:18:00.000-07:00

I was invited to be the guest speaker at the Cum Laude ceremony last night at my former high school, Dwight-Englewood. It was a great honor and allowed me to think back on some special work I did there and my life and work since. The theme of my talk was the "inner teacher" and I brought together lots of the sectors of my life-- art history, childbirth, yoga, and family. I'm attaching a link to the text of the speech here, if you'd like to see.

The evening was quite moving. I had spoken about my own teachers there seeing and recognizing us as individuals. After my talk, each of the 22 students was welcomed individually into the Cum Laude society with a brief personal speech by one faculty member who had worked closely with him or her and reflected on that student's work, mind, and personality! Wow!

What I'm Reading

2011-04-03T11:16:00.000-07:00

I recently read Gabrielle Hamilton's memoir, Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef. She's the owner of the restaurant Prune in the East Village. It's filled with some magnificent, sexy, visceral accounts of food and life, and was a real page-turner, if you can still call it that, since it was the first book I read exclusively on my phone! She does leave us hanging, though, with some half-explored relationships. She has a bitter and estranged relationship with her mother that she can't fully explain, and the phrase "my husband" is casually and shockingly dropped in after we learn she's gay. But I loved the chapter in which she internally meditates on gender politics and female chefs on a day that her overwhelming emotion is sadness from having to leave her two little boys at home asleep early in the morning, knowing she'll only return after they go to bed for the night. And the passage in which she compiles her most intense taste and sense memories into a list of what she hopes her restaurant guests will experience is also incredible:

"I wanted to bring all of it, every last detail of it - the old goat herder smoking filterless cigarettes coming down the mountain, crushing oregano and wild mint underfoot; Iannnis cooking me two fried eggs without even asking me if I cared for something to eat; that sweet, creamy milk that the milk wallah in Delhi frothed by pouring in a long sweeping arc between two pots held as far apart as the full span of his arms from his cart decorated with a thousand fresh marigolds - into this tiny thirty-seat restaurant. I wanted a place with a Velvet Underground CD that made you nod your head and feel warm with recognition. I wanted the lettuce and the eggs at room temperature. The waiter to bring you something to eat or drink that you didn't even ask for when you arrived cold and early and undone b your day in the city. I wanted the toasted manti from a Turkish wedding I'd been part of in Goreme-Nevsehir, the butter and sugar sandwiches we ate as kids after school for a snack, the tarnished silverware and chipped wedding china from a paladar in Havana, and the canned sardines I ate in that little apartment on Twenty-ninth Street. The veal marrow my mother made us eat as kids that I grew to crave as an adult."

Sounds pretty good, doesn't it?

What I'm Reading

2011-02-20T13:40:00.000-08:00

... Island of the Blue Dolphins, by Scott O'Dell (to my 5-year-old)!

This is definitely one of the most incredible, beautiful children's books I've read. A classic, but I had never heard of it until I was browsing the bookstore a few weeks ago. Have you?

It is a fiction based on the true story of an Indian girl who survived for years by herself on an island off the coast of California. While there, she hunts and gathers her own food, builds a home for herself, staves off wild dogs, and makes her own clothes and jewelry. She survives psychologically without human contact by befriending a few special wild animals. After this happens, she stops killing others of their kind.

It is written in wonderful matter-of-fact, direct prose, echoing the level-headed thinking of this resourceful girl. Just when a section gets almost too sad to read, something happens that is so purely uplifting you just can't dwell.

The book was so compelling that Jules begged for me to keep reading even when my throat was too dry to read another word. And I actually found myself reading silently ahead when my reading voice couldn't keep up with my anticipation!

Vacation

2011-01-31T08:04:00.000-08:00

We had a break from the normal routine - and the snow - this past week by visiting my uncle and his wife in Florida. I noticed how this kind of break seems to clear your mind, allow you to think about things a little differently. During the trip, Steven and I both were reading Simplicity Parenting, by Kim John Payne. We both found it our favorite parenting book we've read in a while. I was struck by how I agreed with almost every idea and suggestion he makes. Payne says that by eliminating things - too many scheduled activities, too many toys, too many choices, too much screen time - and leading simpler, quieter, more rhythmic days - our children will be happier and more grounded. I like that while Payne has a definite perspective, he is not rigid, and acknowledges how hard it is to make these changes. Instead he asks us to "imagine" the possibilities. One of my (many) favorite passages was this:

"How was your day?" When your child answers "Regular," or "Average," do you feel a sense of disappointment? Even if your day, too, was quite ordinary? Ordinary days are the sustaining notes of daily life. They are the notes that allow high notes to be high and low notes to be low; they provide tone and texture. If a child's happiness is not hinged on the high notes - not hinged on exceptional events or having exceptional talents - then they have a true gift. An exceptional character. They may be able to live their life with an appreciation for the moment, for the simple pleasures of an ordinary day. Can you imagine anything better?

I highly recommend this book, which I had first read about on Emily's blog, where she wrote a great, comprehensive summary.

As if in direct response to our reading, our days in Florida were very enjoyable -- we had no dramatic travel troubles, and we also forewent all of the "adventures" we had considered, like looking for manatees, dolphins or crocodiles from special tour boats. Instead, we went to the beach, dug in the sand, collected rocks and shells, took a walk at a beautifully serene wildlife refuge, enjoyed the company of our hosts, and the delicious meals they prepared.

My uncle is a fantastic cook - the kind of guy who (literally!) carves roses out of tomato peels. When we arrived on Monday evening, he had a meal waiting for us that included locally grown kale, braised with onions, garlic, shredded carrots, and tomatoes. I've already replicated the dish at home. Below is my version of the recipe. Hopefully it's close to his own.

Visiting him is also an opportunity to maintain a connection to my mother - his sister, who died over 20 years ago. He has this painting of hers - an intense, direct self portrait she made as a young person - hanging in a room he uses as his own art studio.

Braised Kale with Carrots and Tomatoes

Saute one diced onion in 2 TBS of olive oil until softened. Add 2 cloves of minced garlic and about a cup of shredded carrots, and saute for another 5 minutes. Add 2 bunches of chopped kale (or another leafy green such as chard). Add about a half cup of water, salt to taste, and stir. Add one cup of chopped tomatoes. Cook over medium heat until kale is soft and "melted," about 15-20 minutes. Add 1-2 TBS of red wine vinegar halfway through cooking. Maintain enough liquid in the dish, by adding water if necessary, so that it is pleasantly soupy. Re-season to taste.

Bread

2011-01-23T20:24:00.000-08:00

Shortly before Christmas, I got myself a present - a Le Creuset "dutch oven" in blue enameled cast iron. It had been missing from my kitchen equipment for too long, and I had just the right amount of credit at Williams Sonoma to finally purchase it.

So, what did I plan to do immediately with this $250 pot?

Make bread, of course!

Not just any bread.... the Mark Bittman / Jim Lahey "no knead" bread.

Let's just say, that even knowing the stir this recipe has caused in the baking and home cooking world since it was published four years ago, the results still blew my mind.

It is really, really good.

What I'm Reading

2011-01-18T19:34:00.000-08:00

... the new biography of Alice Neel, by Phoebe Hoban.

I'm just partway into this book, and already have a lot to say about it (but not much time).

So, just quickly -- I'm intrigued by Hoban's take on the early work and the traumas of Neel's early adult life (her first-born died as an infant, and her second child was taken from her by her in-laws). These traumas resulted in a nervous breakdown, multiple suicide attempts, and institutionalization.

Hoban characterizes Neel's early work as autobiographical and reflecting feelings of guilt about her personal "dichotomy" - painting versus mothering. I'm noticing, though, how much Neel's early body of work is also a social commentary on the obstacles facing women, and female artists/intellectuals. Neel's own words about this "dichotomy" strike me as unreliable, and mostly an attempt to mask unfathomable feelings. I'm wondering about connections between these early experiences and the pregnant nudes that Neel will later make. Hopefully, more about this in another post.

p.s. check out Charlie Finch's characteristically witty serialized review of this book for ArtNet.

p.p.s. a fun aside: The author, Phoebe Hoban, is the daughter of Russell and Lillian Hoban, the children's book authors / illustrators, of the Frances the Badger books.

new year's resolution

2011-01-05T08:17:00.000-08:00

photo by his brother

I said my new year's resolution out loud over breakfast this morning, so i figure i can share it here.

anyway, it is:

to play a little every day (with my boys).

I feel like i get caught up with doing everything else there is to do, that i hardly allow myself to get down on the floor with the boys and PLAY.

I plan to get in on the fun... even just a little.

What I'm Reading

2010-12-30T10:50:00.000-08:00

Jeannine Parvati Baker's book, Hygieia, was the only one I didn't yet have, when I received it as a Christmas gift from my hubby. She just makes me so happy! Unafraid to speak her mind, express the radical point of view, which always seems to hold so much truth. I'm not sure I will be able to implement a lot of the herbal remedies / suggestions, but the chapters with more general advice and wisdom on women's health matters are truly inspiring.

Also enjoying the sensation of simmering in Patti Smith's (and Robert Mapplethorpe's) world as I read this book. Evocative, clear words that capture their ideal of ART above all else... and that heady time in New York City.

What I'm Thinking About

2010-12-29T13:11:00.001-08:00

I teach childbirth education classes, and last week, there was a fairly heated discussion on the practitioner list-serve about offering discounts on our services. Whether it psychologically de-values the service. The importance of making the information available to people in financial need. The potentials for gaining more (referrals, connections, etc.) after giving a discount.

But my favorite response came from a teacher in Holland, who is using a system she called "Validation Afterwards." At the onset of the classes she recoups the cost of the book, CD, and handouts. She asks the students to pay for her services only after the series is completed, and to pay whatever they feel is the value of the classes, at their own discretion. She trusts in the human desire to feel good, knowing they will not feel good if they don't offer a true compensation.

She posted links to these (two) articles, by a Dutch pioneer of this system.

What I'm Looking At

2010-12-29T12:51:00.001-08:00

A second visit to the MoMA Abstract Expressionist New York exhibition yesterday, this time with Andrea. These are some of the paintings I am still thinking about today.

Pollock, Number 1A, 1948

Guston, Edge of Town, 1969

Gorky, Summation, 1947

De Kooning, A Tree in Naples, 1960

Motherwell, The Little Spanish Prison, 1941

The Aesthetic Impulse

2010-12-23T10:41:00.000-08:00

Picasso, Portrait of Olga, 1923

Courmes, Portrait of Peggy Guggenheim, 1926

The common denominator of the art in the Guggenheim Museum's current exhibition, Chaos and Classicism, is a general interest in a "return to order." Curator Kenneth Silver amassed an extremely diverse range of work which all deals, in some way, with the classical. Some is "classicist" work by avant-garde painters such as Picasso and Leger; others paintings have "classical" subject matter, and were co-opted by the Fascists or Nazis in service of their political agendas.

The problem is that by focusing singularly on history, subject, and content, we sublimate the aesthetic intent of the artist as secondary. Two artists can paint the same motif or subject, but does that mean those two artworks should be viewed in tandem?

What does it mean that these two paintings illustrated above were paired? Do Picasso and Courmes have anything in common beyond the fact that they both made "classicist" portraits of women, in somewhat similar poses? The aesthetic impulses that motivate these two paintings are completely disparate. The Picasso radiates expressive potential although he reduces extra information and formal means to the essentials. Courmes gives us everything (in terms of subject and detail) but very little otherwise.

Lessons of a HomeBirth, Part 2

2010-11-17T04:35:00.000-08:00

Paul Cezanne, Hortense Breastfeeding Paul (1872), via Marvelous Kiddo

When baby L was born on Sunday, he was kept skin-to-skin on mom, without interruption, for hours. The midwife asked that he be allowed to "crawl" to the breast, rather than mom actively putting him on the breast herself. The "breastfeeding crawl" practice is based on the idea that babies instinctively know how to nurse; we don't have to assist or teach them. Also, they have the ability and mobility to get there on their own. If they latch on their own, their latch will be perfect and any potential breastfeeding difficulties will be eliminated.

I have been fascinated by this since I began nursing. My now-five-year-old was a preemie and it didn't come easily. There were a lot of "experts" in our life in those early days, and it seemed like the common knowledge - even for full-term babies, was that newborns and mothers both needed to LEARN how to nurse - it was not instinctive. How could this be?? How did we survive, biologically, if it was not instinctive?

So I watched, avidly, as L was rooting, opening his mouth, even sucking on his mama's skin and his own thumb while he looked for the nipple. Indeed, he moved his own body up by pushing his little feet against mom's hands, and he was lifting his head by himself.

The search lasted quite a while. He kept going a bit too high, and was at the center of her chest. I will admit that even I was starting to wonder whether it wouldn't also be "instinctual" for mom to just help him along.

Then dad took action. He moved baby back down mom's abdomen, and put his head a bit to one side. In minutes, L crawled back up, now perfectly in line with the left breast. He sniffed and rooted around.... and latched on with a perfect wide mouth, sucking eagerly!

While this was all happening, dad told us how this moment was the real reason they wanted a natural birth. They had seen the film, Delivery Self Attachment. It shows a newborn's self-initiation of nursing, and contrasts the behavior of babies whose mothers were medicated versus un-medicated during labor. I can not wait to order this film myself and begin showing it to my students. Another resource is the UNICEF website Breast Crawl.

But there's more. The next day, dad told my husband another gift the experience had given him. He felt that all the women in the room were placing L in an impossible physical position for getting to the breast. He waited, assessed the situation, and finally decided where L should be. It worked. He had made his first decision as a father.

Lessons of a HomeBirth, part 1

2010-11-16T12:15:00.001-08:00

Last week Erica Jong published a controversial article, attacking Attachment Parenting as anti-feminist. As a feminist who practices attachment parenting, I couldn't really ignore it. I find the article difficult to even respond to because she conflates so many different issues, changing perspective wildly from sentence to sentence and paragraph to paragraph, to construct what is, in my opinion, a pretty lazy intellectual argument.

Instead, I wanted to share. This past weekend I had an amazing experience. I helped friends birth at home, along with their midwife and doula. It was magnificent. Jong doesn't really discuss birth (although she mentions prenatal preparation and breastfeeding). But, the thing is, pregnancy, birth, and mothering are women's rights issues. Birth and mothering can be transformative. She calls attachment parenting a prison, but she ignores what happens when women are deprived of the possibility to experience their own power and potential.

We talk a lot about "mommy wars" (that's really what Jong is addressing) and how mothers can make one another feel guilty for not living up to impossible standards. But it is not other mothers -- or Dr. Sears -- who are to blame for this. As Jong herself admits, it is society / policy that doesn't always properly support mothers. Okay, let's just go ahead and call it the male establishment!

So many mothers who want it, end up deprived of a fulfilling birth experience. Not because they aren't strong or able or determined enough. But because of the current culture around birth.

When I watched A. birth, I knew how much she was realizing about herself and her own power. As a woman, as a mother. This is not anti-feminist. We may assume it has nothing to do with career or other issues traditionally labeled "feminist" ... but it can. A positive birth experience, rather than a traumatic one, can have repercussions we can not even imagine. I know it did for me.

Leland Bell: Painter and Teacher - A Panel Discussion at the New York Studio School

2010-11-01T11:13:00.000-07:00

Leland Bell, Dusk, 1977-78, Acrylic on canvas, 60 x 96 inches.

Last week I was honored to lead a panel discussion at the New York Studio School on the painter Leland Bell, as part of their lecture series. I was joined by Stanley Lewis and Simon Carr. I think my favorite moments were 1) when Simon stood up and animatedly demonstrated what Bell taught by showing a Durer painting from the Met; and 2) when I asked Stanley to clarify what exactly he does as a teacher, that Bell did, and said "I point!" Meaning, he points to art historical works that are good, that should be emulated. Having dinner afterward in one of the School's most beautiful rooms, the former Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney studio, was pretty sweet too. Thank you, Graham!

Here is a transcript of my presentation, if you'd like to read it, and here's a link to the images we showed. I wish I could share Simon's and Stanley's portions... There was a video recording of the entire discussion, which is available by appointment at the School's library.

Interview with Carl Plansky (1951-2009), Painter and Founder of Williamsburg Oil Paints

2010-11-01T10:29:00.000-07:00

Carl Plansky, Self Portrait, 2005. Oil on linen.

The painter Carl Plansky has been on my mind all fall, since I wrote about Ryan Cobourn's work. Cobourn's work has a relationship to Plansky's, and their work is both shown by Fischbach Gallery.

Plansky died one year ago of a heart attack, in the final week of his exhibition at the New York Studio School. I had interviewed him in 2004, and I wanted to make this interview available here. I spoke to Plansky about his time at the Studio School, where he enrolled in 1969. I love how Plansky conveys the headiness of being a shy and enthusiastic 17-year-old at the School, but also reflects on some serious ideas about painting and art. There's a nice chunk in there about Leland Bell, who has similarly been on my mind, since I led a panel discussion on Bell last week.

For some more great writing on Plansky, check here and here.

And to read about the line of paints that Plansky made, which was recently acquired by Golden Artist Colors, look here and here. An exhibition of Plansky's work and his friends is currently on view at their gallery.

Interview with Carl Plansky, September 18, 2004, by Jennifer Samet

How did you decide to go to the New York Studio School?

I grew up in Baltimore City. I always knew I wanted to be a painter. I actually had a scholarship to the Maryland Institute but I tried it and was very frustrated because I couldn’t really learn to paint there. I read a little blurb about the New York Studio School in the library. I went on an interview and loved it, so that’s where I went. I was 17 at the time. It was a very exciting thing. Even then I never understood why a painter would want to go to a university and get a degree. I never thought I would be trying to be an art teacher. I just wanted to paint, and there weren’t a lot of resources out there. 1969 was my first year there. I remember it was very much a school run by the students. I had to go on an interview with students who were there. I had to prove my work. I brought my work in; it wasn’t your typical university application where you show particular exercises. They just wanted to see what I could do. I brought paintings that I had done down in my basement when I was a kid. After the interview with students, I had an interview with Mercedes Matter and Morton Feldman, who was the dean.

Who did you study with there?

The first year I studied with Leland Bell, and with Mercedes, and I was lucky enough to be critiqued by Guston when he came in. It was very exciting for me. The next year I studied with Harry Kramer and Steven Sloman and Andrew Forge. You drew for half the day and painted for half the day, but you weren’t in a particular class – it wasn’t structured in that sense. The first time I experienced the idea of it being a class was Steve Sloman’s class. It was a fantastic class. It was very good. Everyone that came in as a visiting artist you would grab and make them look, even if you weren’t on the list. The thing that was quite marvelous was being with other people trying to learn about painting. It was fantastic to have your peers there all the time exchanging ideas. Our idea of fun was going to see someone’s work and discussing it.

School was very cheap back then. Luckily I did get a merit scholarship. All the time, I never had any money. I didn’t come from money. I always had to make my own money. I had a night job. Luckily it was right across the street; I worked at a deli. I had to leave school everyday early to be at work on time. I worked the 4 – 11 PM shift. After work, sometimes I didn’t go home. I would go back to school and paint, and therefore get quite a lot done that way. It was a time of great energy. I remember walking around SoHo and around 57^th Street, and seeing work and being mauled over by some beautiful painting. I remember going to Pearl Paint and they would have Soutine’s painting hanging. But it was never as energetic as it was when I walked into the Studio School. People were painting like mad. Big painting and a lot of painting. You have to imagine yourself at 17 years old. I just thought all those 22 and 23 year olds were great artists. It took a while to hone my eye. We didn’t have those exercises like color theory. There was nothing theoretical about the Studio School. It was work, work, paint. People were doing huge paintings and there was energy and in the sculpture room, people were crazy, making things. I remember thinking, why isn’t there this much energy in the rest of the art world? It was great, period.

Carl Plansky, Aprile Millo, 2009. Oil on linen, 68 x 58 inches.

What do you think was the momentum behind all that energy?

It was the late 1960s, and there was a lot of energy in society at that time anyway. In 1969, there was a show at the Whitney about technology and art. Even by then – post-Pop Art, people were talking about painting being dead. I mean painting with brush on canvas. I went to a lecture about how science or technology has to be incorporated into art, because people don’t have to draw anymore. I was such a little kid; I actually went home and cried, thinking, oh, I want to paint. A lot of people who were painting and wanted to be painters reacted very strongly to that. I think it made them paint even more. The Studio School was a place you could go and paint instead of learn to toss ideas about painting. Pop Art was already entrenched in society’s aesthetic and the canon of art. There were people who didn’t really get into that. It was a time of great hope; we were going through a lot of changes. There was no cynicism in the air. No “painting was dead” and no one was jaded. It wasn’t “Oh, I’ve seen that before.” It was an “up” period and there was a lot going on. Handmade art was still in; people still liked handmade art. None of it was packaged; no one thought that art would ever be slick. There was a lot of faith in the individual finding of one’s self. People back then encouraged us to find oneself, rather than fit in to what the galleries were showing. In fact, the Studio School was built on that ideal. It was started as a sort of alternative. It was not a degree mill; it was an art school. And I loved that. That just spoke to me.

Were there specific teachers or students who made a particular impression on you?

I’ll never forget the first time I saw Philip Guston speak. It wasn’t a formal talk; he was there and Mercedes was asking him some questions, and students could listen. He must have spent two hours talking about two square inches of an Ingres painitng. I know it sounds corny, but I saw the cosmos in a two inch drawing. It was quite incredible. I really did learn a lot from Mercedes. She used these deep, profound words, basically saying things like “Your timing is off,” “tension.” These are words I’d never heard, so that was exciting. Another highlight – we went to the Brancusi show at the Guggenheim in 1969 or 1970 with Sidney Geist, who, as far as I’m concerned, is the Brancusi expert. I remember going to the Met with Leland Bell, and to this day, I remember certain things that he pointed out. The scales just dropped from my eyes. I saw painting in a different way. They were all very good – Steven Sloman, Andrew Forge, Harry Kramer. It was like learning a new language, seeing painting and thinking about painting.

I was such a child when I went there my first year. I was painfully shy; I could go weeks without talking to anyone. Leland was a little surprised because I absorbed everything that people told me, but I never gave back. He would be surprised because he would say something and then come in a week or two later, and everything was out in my painting. He said, “You were really listening, but you don’t say anything.” Milton Resnick was giving a painting class, and I loved his work, so I stopped in there – so shy and nervous; I never liked painting in front of people. Milton came, and said, “Don’t worry, just put some paint down.” I was so mortified that he saw through all this terrible fear I was having.

Carl Plansky, Callas Paints Her Self-Portrait, 2008. Oil on linen, 84 x 72 inches.

Considering your total admiration of your teachers at that point, how have you felt about them later in your career? Did you ever rebel against what they taught?

It took a long time to get Leland out of my system but I never really rebelled. It’s more that I tried to temper what I learned from Leland’s absolute admiration of School of Paris painting – Derain and Rouault. He was the one teacher who had a “this is good, this is bad” sort of thing about painting. It took a while to qualify what he’d said, to put it into perspective, because he was such a powerful teacher to a 17-year-old kid. He was very supportive. He was very sensitive to the fact that I couldn’t speak, that I was tongue-tied. And I thought, oh, he understands me.

All my life, I’ve always painted from observation, so I fit right into that. I joke with my students now, and say, I don’t have an idea, just an eye. I look at things and react. In fact, often too much emphasis is put on observation and invention in art, and not enough on interpretation. What happens when you are constantly told to invent and innovate, art becomes about novelty, instead of temperament. I think a lot of artists have lost their temperament, which comes from interpreting, seeing a beautiful model and responding to them in charcoal or paint. People just don’t do that anymore. But I fit right into that. The Studio School and I were a perfect match. I never had ideas, it was not conceptual; it was more a physical thing -- I always had a vision.

Garlic and Vintage Trains

2010-10-21T08:04:00.000-07:00

I'll never forget, years ago, waking up in Umbria, Italy, to the smell of... garlic. We were visiting our friend Alex, and his family. We had driven past fields of sunflowers to get to his house, and his son, then two years old, greeted me with special enthusiasm. I was wearing a yellow dress, and it was explained that he was absolutely obsessed with the color yellow.

Alex has some eccentric ideas about food, and I love him for them! In particular, he believes in garlic. In its taste, and in its healing properties. That morning he was sauteeing garlic for breakfast - for his oatmeal, I think! Another summer found us all in Cape Cod, and when I came down with a cold, he wanted to cure me by serving me a raw clove of garlic. I refused to eat it, so he settled for brewing me a cup of garlic tea.

Alex also believes in meat, served quite rare, and marbled with fat. I remember how much he relished a bowl of braised short ribs at a restaurant in Williamsburg some fifteen years ago - way before short ribs became a mainstay on New York City restaurant menus.

Now he lives upstate, and we don't often get to see him. But I always enjoy his company, and hearing his thoughts on food - and family.

This weekend, we took the boys on a scenic railway train in the Catskills, to ride on vintage train cars past the autumn foliage. Alex agreed to meet us there, and I planned to pack a picnic.

On the menu:

Grilled steak salad, with green beans and golden beets.

And a chickpea-feta salad with herbs, courtesy of this wonderful cookbook, Falling Cloudberries. I urge you to read it; it is chock-full of delicious recipes and gorgeous photography. It wasn't until I was already preparing the salad that I realized the recipe called for *5 cloves* of garlic!

Even though I was going to be serving this to Alex, I still wasn't quite bold enough. I only used 2 cloves. We were eating on a train, after all! It was still garlicky. And Alex loved it. But he did say I should have served red beets with the steak... to make it look more bloody.

p.s. Alex and his family were the first people I saw babywearing, about 15 years ago. And it always stuck in my mind. I thought it was crazy and interesting all at the same time, kinda like his ideas on food. And of course, I ended up a babywearer myself.

Chickpea, Feta, and Cilantro Salad

adapted from Falling Cloudberries by Tessa Kiros

1 14-oz. can chickpeas

1/4 cup olive oil

1 shallot or red onion, chopped

2 garlic cloves, very finely chopped

1 red chile, finely chopped OR dried chile pepper flakes, to taste

1 cup crumbled feta cheese

2 scallions, chopped

1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro

1 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley

Juice of 1 lemon

Rinse the chickpeas and put them in a bowl.

Heat 3 TBS of the olive oil and fry the shallot or onion gently, until it is cooked through and lightly golden. Add the garlic and chile and cook for a few more seconds, just until you can smell the garlic. Let cool completely.

Add the feta, scallion, cilantro, parsley, and lemon juice to the bowl and season with pepper and a pinch of salt. Add the cooled garlic oil and the remaining olive oil and mix well.

(This can be made ahead and served at room temperature).

on the train.

Garlic photo found here.

Scenes from Applefest!

2010-10-12T17:45:00.000-07:00

from Steven: Last year Jen came up with the idea of Applefest as a personal alternative family holiday. We go apple picking at an orchard and then Jen cooks a meal where every dish includes apples. Last year it struck a chord in our friends who came over to celebrate with us. So we were all looking forward to Applefest 10/10/10...

Apple picking at Seven Ponds Orchards.

Trying to get lost in the Corn Maze...

Jen: We came home and while I made dinner and the little one napped, his big bro and dad made a centerpiece of corn husks, apples, bamboo, and autumn blooms.

on the menu was:

green salad with apples, toasted walnuts, and beets

pork loin roasted with applesauce

baked squash stuffed with apples, pears, and raisins

whole grain sourdough bread with apple butter

tarte tatin

Our friend contributed these gorgeous place cards which she collaged from a yard-sale-find print, that she later realized was "of note" (oops!)

and after dinner, we screened the apple section of The Botany of Desire film!

Babywearing and Art

2010-10-08T08:01:00.000-07:00

I have a guest post today on Marvelous Kiddo, about babywearing. Thanks, Leigh!

So I thought I would post this photo here - with my son in a ring sling when he was about 6 months old, looking at Peter Agostini sculptures. Agostini was a wonderful artist, and a teacher at the New York Studio School. Like the painters I wrote about, Agostini shifted from abstract work to representational (as you can see in this photo). You can read more about Agostini here and here, and see his work here. And I hope to write more about him in the future.

By the way, that is Nicolas Carone in the corner, looking at a sculpture. I posted a link to an interview I did with Nick here.

The Botany of Desire

2010-10-05T07:36:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the Michael Pollan documentary, The Botany of Desire? I streamed it on Netflix this past weekend.

It's an incredible film, chock-full of fascinating facts. I was surprised by Pollan's mellifluous voice, since his books are so polemical. Pollan uses the conceit of looking at plants from the metaphoric "plant's point of view" to change our perspective and offer new insights. How have these plants evolved and adapted to fulfill specific human desires? Pollan looks at four plants: the apple, the tulip, marijuana, and the potato.

Of course, a major theme in this film is the dangers of "monoculture" farming - i.e. growing just one variety of a plant, and the negative effects that has on the environment, us, and the plant itself. When we plant a single, uniform crop, it can become extremely vulnerable to disease and insect damage, leading to increased pesticide use. Diversity can be the key to successful organic farming; it's a simple way to hedge our bets.

Pollan discusses how the apple, in early American times, was used exclusively to produce hard cider- it was the drink of choice. Cider production didn't require sweet or even edible apples. The orchards, therefore, were comprised of dozens of different varietals. It wasn't until modern times that the apple served a different purpose - we began to eat apples as a fruit, and since we needed a good-tasting, sweet fruit, we started to plant only a few types.

And this reminds me: this coming weekend, on 10/10/10, my family will be celebrating what we call AppleFest!! I got the idea last year from the lovely parenting book, Heaven on Earth, by Sharifa Oppenheimer. We go apple-picking at one of our local orchards on the East End, we decorate the table with an autumnal centerpiece, and we prepare a meal in which every element includes apples as an ingredient. We're all looking forward to it...

Myth of New York at MoMA

2010-10-04T17:53:00.000-07:00

Jackson Pollock, Mask, 1941, from the MoMA exhibition, Abstract Expressionist New York

The myth of the New York art world in the age of Abstract Expressionism is alive and well in the new exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art. Yes, it is full of marvelous paintings, but it is shocking, really, that the exhibition is not revisionist in any way.

The museum reopened in 2004 after a major renovation promoted as an architectural way to break away from a meta-narrative of art history. People could choose from many possibilities of how to move through the museum, room-to-room: chronology was democratized. I've never gotten used to it; I find it results merely in a criss-crossing of the hordes, which eliminates the possibility of a contemplative experience.

But here, the old canon is purely, and enthusiastically embraced, leaving most critics wondering why. Roberta Smith calls it a "generous show-and tell"; Jed Perl is harsher but expressing the same sentiment when he calls it a "predictable display of blue-chip stuff."

I was most curious about how they would deal with the figurative question -- i.e., that not all of "Abstract Expressionism" was abstract, and that so many contemporaries, and the next generation (many students of Hans Hofmann) made representational painting. The answer: it was treated in a predictable way, nearly ignored. There was the token inclusion of one Larry Rivers painting; there were the few early figurative Pollocks (including the incredible one illustrated above) -- quickly leading to and culminating in his high style drip paintings; and the Philip Guston room included one of his later, figurative paintings.

Of course, the Modern doesn't own many works of the painterly representational artists I wrote about, so a show drawn exclusively from their collection couldn't have included them. Still, I could not help but wonder how amazing it would be to see a Leland Bell, a Robert De Niro, or a Louisa Matthiasdottir painting among the works in this show.

Harvest Lunch and Tarte Tatin

2010-09-28T10:09:00.000-07:00

Another visit with the Whitneys, old friends who farm on the East End; I wrote about them here. This time we were invited for Sunday lunch. The season has quieted down a bit, but the harvest continues: their porch and kitchen were overflowing with tomatoes, squash, mason jars filled with beach plum jelly, and others empty - ready for more canning.

Regina served a mexican tomato-cheese-bean dip and several of us hunkered down around their kitchen table, eating and talking. Our boys were whisked away by the host and friends to see the chickens (gotta love that!) Then Regina presented lunch on their lovely porch which looks over the lawn and gardens. There was tomato, mozzarella, basil salad; oven-broiled kielbasa, yellow wax beans dressed with vinaigrette, and her signature tomato pie. This tomato pie has been a major hit at the Sag Harbor Farmer's Market and Regina has clients calling from the city to order it and arrange meeting places. But - it is a secret recipe. I tried my hardest to get information, but Regina would not divulge a thing! All I know, after tasting and many persistent questions, is that the crust is not blind-baked, the pie is filled with more than one kind of cheese, and it is topped with thinly sliced tomatoes and ribbons of basil.

Just when we thought we couldn't eat another bite, dessert was brought out to us. It was tarte tatin... and for good measure, a traditional apple pie with a lattice-top crust.

Tarte tatin is one of the most beautiful desserts --- so much fun to prepare. It's a caramelized upside-down apple pie. I always think of our good friends Marc and Taina when I make it; I think they were the first guests I served it to. They love good food and Marc is an amazing cook, and I remember how much they enjoyed it (as I recall, they had second helpings!). They still talk about it years later, which is a huge compliment, because, as I said, Marc is a superb chef with very high standards!

So, of course, you have to start with very good, local apples. Regina's may have been from her own trees, or from the farm in Riverhead that supplies the fruits she sells at her stand. I've adapted the recipe from Patricia Wells's cookbook, Bistro Cooking (which is actually for a pear version of Tarte Tatin.) The pastry dough is simple: just flour and butter.

The fun part is caramelizing the apples and sugar in butter to get that rich, dark, syrupy top. I recommend using a cast-iron pan. The secret, as Wells notes, is to take the time - and be brave enough - to let the apples get a deep, golden brown (but not burn!). This is where all the flavor comes from. When this is accomplished, you roll out your pastry dough, set it on top of the apples, and bake in the oven. Then - the other moment that calls for courage and strength (personally, this is when I call my husband into the kitchen) - you invert the pan and release the tart onto a serving platter!

Tarte Tatin (Adapted from Patricia Wells)

For Pastry:

1 to 1 1/4 cups all purpose flour

7 TBS butter, chilled and cut into pieces

1/8 tsp salt

3 TBS ice water

Place 1 cup of flour, the butter, and salt in a food processor. Process until it resembles course crumbs. Add ice water and pulse just until pastry holds together. Transfer to waxed paper and flatten into a disk. If it is too sticky, sprinkle with some additional flower. Wrap up the pastry and refrigerate for at least one hour.

For Tart:

6 TBS unsalted butter

7 to 8 apples, peeled, quartered, and cored

1/2 cup sugar

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Melt butter in a 12 inch skillet (preferably cast-iron) over medium-high heat. Stir in the apples and sugar. Cook, stirring, for 20 minutes. Increase heat to high and cook until apples and sugar are deep, golden brown, about 15 more minutes. Stir from time to time and watch carefully so that they don't burn. Next, you can either pile the apples into a glass baking dish, or simply continue to use the cast-iron pan as your baking dish. You roll out your dough into a circle slightly larger than the pan or dish. Place the pastry on top of the apples, tucking some dough around the edges and down into the pan. Place the pan in the center of the oven and bake until it's bubbling and the dough is golden brown, 35 to 40 minutes. Remove from the oven, and place a flat serving platter top-side down on top of the pan. Invert the pan and give the bottom a firm tap. Slowly release so that the tart falls evenly onto the serving platter. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Keith Richards on School and Learning

2010-09-26T17:29:00.000-07:00

Reading the Victor Bockris bio of Keith Richards, and found this passage. It's a critique of traditional school - and shows how a dose of "unschooling" played a part in his becoming Keith.

RICHARDS: "When you think that kids - all they really want to do is learn, watch how it's done and try to figure out why and leave it at that. You're going to school to do something you want to do, and they manage to turn the whole thing around and make you hate 'em. I don't know anyone at school who liked it. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. The older I got, the more I wanted to get out...

I had lost all formal contact with music and might have lost interest in it except for my grandfather Gus. Since I was three I used to think his guitar lived on top of the piano. In fact, it had always been kept in its case, but every time he knew I was coming over, he would for some reason take it out, polish it up, display it. He never pushed it on me. He never said, 'You should do this.' He would just leave it there as sort of an icon.. he just let me discover how beautiful that guitar was...

I don't know what he saw in me, but whatever it was, he created it. It must have been just appalling [when I started to play]. But every time, he would say, 'OK, OK!' and pretend he liked the way I played it. It was like, 'Wow, I'm turning my granddad on!' Which is an amazing way of teaching."

On Turtles and the Kindergarten Crisis

2010-09-17T11:14:00.000-07:00

I overheard in the bookstore this week a very distraught mother telling the staff her son had started kindergarten and wasn't enjoying it. He was expected to know all sorts of things, she said. The teacher was holding up printed words for the days of the week and asking them to identify which day it was. The staff commiserated about this "new phenomenon" in kindergarten. Then they pointed her in the direction of books and teaching materials so she could "prep" her son.... for kindergarten!

Our boys go to a small cooperative program, and their teacher (my good friend!) has been expressing similar concerns. She has shared these alarming articles on "The Creativity Crisis" and "The Crisis in Kindergarten," which discuss the implications of teaching to the tests and eliminating play-based learning. Witnessing this mother's distress, though, made it all real for me.

Through Leigh, I found this inspiring article, "What a Four Year Old Should Know."

Thinking about all of this made me happy we've held off on kindy for now, and I was feeling especially grateful when we spent a family afternoon in the park this week. As far as my 4-year-old's knowledge goes, I was grateful he knew:

- the difference between the male and female ducks

and

- which one was a mommy turtle, which one a daddy, and which ones the babies :)

and

- how to make a completely new friend. We spent hours wandering around the pond and waterfalls, enjoying the company of a family we had never met before...

Marvelous Kiddo

2010-09-14T09:34:00.000-07:00

Jeannine Parvati Baker and her baby, photo from Prenatal Yoga and Natural Childbirth

Please take a peek at my guest post today on Marvelous Kiddo! It's a blog where everything style and design meets attachment parenting, natural birth, and unschooling. Leigh is a dear friend, as are our kiddos, and her site is one of my favorite places on the internet.

I've written about a book I love, by the natural childbirth guru Jeannine Parvati Baker.

Peter Heinemann

2010-09-14T09:19:00.000-07:00

Peter Heinemann, Head, oil on linen, 38 x 38 inches

Excerpts from my 2002 interview with Heinemann:

"I went to the Art Students League at night after work - I would get a candy bar for dinner and go there. I got my first bit of good advice from my teacher who I never saw - he came in twice a week... He would go around and try to figure out what was wrong with their paintings. He never got around to me until the very last day. I said, 'Mister, I can't get this foreshortening.' And he said, 'Oh, keep at it, keep at it.' Which is very good advice."

[In 1948-49, Heinemann went to Black Mountain College and studied with Josef Albers.]

"We were all saying goodbye to Albers, and he was shaking our hands, and saying a few words, and when it came to my turn, he said, 'Yeah, Peter. Don't be stubborn.' My second great piece of advice. Here's a man that for thirty years was painting a square within a square. So, 'don't be stubborn': it must be an omen."

Thank you, Peter.

In the Light of...

2010-09-13T20:32:00.000-07:00

In the Light of Corot.

The opening reception is Tuesday, September 14, 6-8 PM, at 21 East 73rd Street.

With paintings by lots of our favorite people: Kurt Knobelsdorf, Sangram Majumdar, Paul Resika, Lennart Anderson, Hank Pitcher, Fairfield Porter, Seymour Remenick, and Stuart Shils, Israel Hershberg, and EM Saniga.

Top to bottom: paintings by Seymour Remenick, Sangram Majumdar, Stuart Shils, and Kurt Knobelsdorf. For details, see our website.

Real Food Reunion

2010-09-12T19:00:00.000-07:00

There was a definite shortage of real food preparation in my kitchen this week. Life -- and Art -- got in the way.

On Tuesday, we thought the boys needed some evening air, so we got snacks at Fairway and ate on the pier overlooking the Hudson River.

On Wednesday, we celebrated Rosh Hashanah, but my father prepared the lovely meal (including apples and challah dipped in honey - yum), so I can't take any credit.

Thursday, we attended the exhibition "Decameron" at the New York Studio School - the final curatorial project at the School by Gallery Director David Cohen, who is stepping down. With over 60 artists, it references exhibitions held during Cohen's tenure over the past decade, and includes one of Steven's paintings!

I also loved seeing the Carl Plansky nude self-portrait which I selected for an exhibition there in 2005, installed in its original spot.

Friday, I stopped by Ryan Cobourn's opening at Fischbach, for which I wrote the catalogue essay.

Saturday, I moderated a panel discussion at the Westbeth for the exhibition East Meets Midwest. The discussion, which included 8 panelists, was entitled The Role of Empathy in Painting. The painters made beautiful statements about their personal connections and responses to nature and form... Henry Finkelstein called it "the humanity in art."

But, anyway, those last few nights we were dining on things like scrambled eggs and takeout. Steven was starting to complain that we were skipping meals, although I did remind him that while we always ate dinner, we very rarely went to openings! But by the end of the week, I wasn't quite feeling like myself. In the book, Coming Home to Eat, which I just wrote about, the author maintains that even while going through all-consuming, distressing life events, he still needs good, local food to fortify himself.

By tonight, we were all ready for a Real Dinner. We picked up some fresh veggies at a farmstand in Greenwich, Connecticut on the way home from a birthday party. I made a roast chicken with crisp fingerling potatoes, steamed zucchini, salad, and leeks vinaigrette. The leeks were definitely a highlight of the meal for me. They were inspired by reading the recipe and story on Orangette. So easy - just trim, halve, and clean the leeks (leaving the root end intact so they stay together), boil for ten minutes, and dress with a mustardy vinaigrette. They emerge mild and velvety. And isn't roast chicken perfect for a rainy Sunday supper?

the little one riding a pony at the birthday party today (because, well, he's cuter than a food photo!)

Birthday Dinner... and What I'm Reading

2010-09-07T15:25:00.000-07:00

I discovered, this weekend, a book which had been sitting unread on my cookbook shelves, Gary Paul Nabhan's Coming Home to Eat. Written in 2001, several years before Barbara Kingsolver's amazing Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, it also tells the tale of eating local for one year. Nabhan writes from the perspective of a conservationist who has worked for years to preserve indigenous foods, farming, and cooking traditions. His family is Lebanese and the book opens with an amazing scene of being welcomed there with a feast homemade by long-lost cousins. (This is contrasted to the impersonal extravagance served to him by businessmen at a Beirut casino the evening before.) Back home in his own desert climate of Arizona, Nabhan goes to great lengths to dine on sand fruit, mesquite flour tortillas, and saguaro cactus fruit, and explores how connecting or detaching from the local land is intertwined with ethics, policy and a personal sense of well-being.

Also, on my cookbook shelves, I noticed the August 2009 issue of Gourmet, which I decided, in a fit of nostalgia, to read this August! Oh, I miss Gourmet. It included this menu for a picnic, which inspired my birthday dinner.

Steven set a table in the garden, and added bouquets of dahlias from a road-side stand. The boys spontaneously decorated it with black-eyed susan blossoms.

Before dinner, they played badminton and had toy dinosaur hunts with their uncles and the gorgeous Taco.

There was local corn tossed in feta-mint butter, a Greek salad with Marilee's red and yellow tomatoes, and crisp cucumbers, cumin-scented beef kebabs, pita bread, and a roasted red pepper-walnut spread.

After darkness fell, we came inside for pear-raspberry crisp. Perfect end-of-summer and early-fall fruit merge. Pears came from the Milk Pail, and raspberries were from Bette and Dale's. (Check out this oh-so-thorough, illustrated pear crisp recipe by the Pioneer Woman!)

[Lead image: a pre-dinner detour - the boys help tend to our oyster beds.]

Late Renoir

2010-09-02T06:51:00.001-07:00

I have been amazed, all summer, by the critical reaction to the Late Renoir exhibition at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It is the same old, same old thing. The late work is considered a "retreat" from the avant-garde, and the nudes are just too big.

The organizers and curators practically plead, in the exhibition catalogue and in interviews with reporters, for a new, fresh look at this work, but it never happened. Guy Cogeval, President of the Musee d'Orsay, writes, "From old-fashioned Puritanism to the accepted, targeted iconoclasm of the new censors, nothing in this controversy over the painter has changed except more water under the bridge... If it is quite a challenge to try to confront a whole set of established norms through the exhibition, then that strikes us as something we want - and need - to be doing."

The Barnes Foundation is on everyone's mind this summer, as it prepares to close in Merion and move to Philadelphia. The Barnes collection makes a convincing case to evaluate Cezanne and Renoir in tandem, comparing their greatness and innovations. It is the same position that Matisse took: he was influenced at different points in his career by each of these painters, understood what each had to offer.

The Philadelphia exhibition includes a painting by Matisse, as well as paintings by Picasso, Bonnard, and others who revered Renoir. Matisse said Renoir's were "the loveliest nudes ever painted: no one has done better - no one. ... I've always felt that recorded time holds no nobler story, no more heroic, no more magnificent achievement than that of Renoir." In this way, the exhibition asks us to reassess Renoir's achievement. Unfortunately, most critics were unwilling to do so.

It leaves me wondering whether people are so biased against literal fat that they can't see past the expanses of flesh in Renoir's paintings. A curator at the Barnes noted the paintings are often described as "cream puffs," saying it's as if the paintings themselves have too many calories. A fascinating idea! The subject and the painting become conflated. Roger Benjamin, in his exhibition catalogue essay, doesn't mince words: "The sin of late Renoir is to have proposed as aesthetically pleasing the very figure of the XXL woman."

I see his large nudes as a desire to create monumental form with liquid strokes. Light and luminosity radiate from canvases dominated by a solid core of sculptural form.

Renoir's late work is commonly criticized for anatomical inaccuracy, but it was his naturalism and classicism that Matisse and Picasso responded to. Renoir's post-1880 shift was catalyzed by a trip to Italy and the feeling he did not yet know how to draw. Matisse and Picasso would both have similar "crises" and turned to Renoir in the 1920s.

The other popular misconception is that the work is too easy, too beautiful, his love of the nude somehow reflecting frivolity. But the exhibition included a film of Renoir working at the end of his life, where we see his arthritic hands grasping a brush in his fist. His wife died before he did, and his two sons were injured at war. Painting was in fact an intense challenge. Renoir's example of persistence, despite physical pain and continual self-doubt, would motivate Matisse in his own later years.

I'm glad I had a chance to see the show before it closes this weekend ... I love the late Renoir.

Images: Renoir, Self-Portrait, c. 1897, and Gabrielle with a Rose, 1911

Jane's Ceramics

2010-08-26T19:44:00.000-07:00

I'm lucky enough to live with - and use every day - the most wonderful, quirky, inventive ceramics.

They were made by my very talented and creative mother-in-law, Jane O'Leary Harvey (1918-2006), whose birthday was this week. I am remembering her and thinking of her by sharing these with you.

What I'm Reading

2010-08-25T08:18:00.000-07:00

Light Years, by James Salter. When I finished Memorable Days, the correspondence between Salter and Robert Phelps, which I wrote about here, I knew I had to go back and read Light Years. In his letters to Phelps, Salter discussed the writing of this novel, issues around publishing it, and the mixed reviews it received. There's also a fabulous letter that recounts Saul Bellow's reaction to the manuscript. [He loves a character-Viri's second wife-that most readers find horrifying... and if you read the book you'll see how bizarre and intriguing Bellow's opinion is.]

Anyway, I love the book; it is sad and beautiful. I read it slowly. It is about the passage of time, of life. We watch the marriage of Nedra and Viri gradually dissolve amidst life around the hearth, intellectual conversation, dinner parties, summers in Amagansett, and the great human longings for fame, beauty, and passion.

At times, Salter tells of their lives and the ambiance in an almost distant way. He gives us the surface details, like we are looking in through a window, or, to use a leitmotif of the book, skimming over the river. Then, suddenly, a dramatic plot development occurs, and we realize how captivated and hypnotized we were by the characters, the story, and Salter's gorgeous, perfect prose, the whole time. I think this book will haunt me (in a good way) for quite a while.

Marianne Faithfull, and Art as a Tribute to the Goddess

2010-08-24T20:10:00.000-07:00

I recently read Marianne Faithfull's autobiography, and my favorite line in the book came at the very end. Her relationship with her mother was pretty complicated, but this quote shows one redeeming aspect. Faithfull writes:

"My mother’s true religion was Art. People used to ask me, “What did your mother think of “Why D'ya Do It?” My mother, of course, thought it was absolutely great: “Darling, at last you’re getting some of your real things out!” she would tell me. She knew that art was art and it was judged by different rules. She was European, she was an aristocrat, she had none of that British prudery. She knew the true aristocracy was that of art. All art is a tribute to the Goddess."

I have to say, I totally agree with her mother.

Faithfull's description of the making of the song Why D'Ya Do It, and the journey getting there, was pretty amazing, too. Here she is. Put on your headphones and get blown away.

(Photo=Faithfull with her son Nicholas at a Rolling Stones Concert, 1969)

Soup

2010-08-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

A Resolution: Make more soup. I really love to eat soup, but I often forget to prepare it. Generally speaking, I prefer to do quick sautés and fresh pasta sauces, rather than stews and roasts. But when I do make soup, it is wonderful. Plus, there’s almost always enough to serve it one or two more times during the course of a week.

This weekend I was craving corn chowder after reading an evocative article on corn in the fantastic book In Season, about cooking and eating in the San Juan Islands. At 6 PM I was still doing other things, debating whether there was enough time before everyone got hungry, to start. But by 7 PM, we were eating it. I used this recipe, with corn from the Sag Harbor Farmer’s market, small Yukon potatoes from Bette and Dale’s, and an outrageously deep red tomato from Marilee. Since there are so many tomatoes around, I liked that this recipe included them (I think it's unusual for corn chowder). And I appreciate that Mark Bittman recipes always make me feel that dinner is within reach, even when I’m spent from a day with two little boys.

I like serving soup at dinner parties. It forces everyone to slow down, spend more time at the table. This carrot soup is one of my favorites for a dinner party. The color is gorgeous - a bold reddish-orange. Like the chowder, this soup also has the unusual inclusion of tomatoes. The taste, with the acid of tomatoes and freshness of lemons combined with carrots and ginger, seems completely new. I will say that whenever I’ve made the point of using exceptional, fresh, local carrots, it is taken to new levels.

My younger son’s birthday was last week, and I spent some time thinking about the wonderful day he was born. His birth took place at home. My midwife had given me some suggestions for snacks and drinks to have on hand. But I knew exactly what I wanted, and it was the same thing that had fortified me in the days after my eldest was born. It’s part of my father’s repertoire, and he calls it cheese rind soup. It’s salty and brothy and rich, but not too heavy - just the thing for replenishing any nutrients I needed. One of my favorite memories of that day was when my midwife realized I was starving after several hours of laboring. She requested that a bowl be warmed and brought to the bedroom. Then she proceeded to spoon-feed me, until I finished every last drop. Newly energized, I was ready to bring my little boy into the world.

Cheese Rind Soup

Saute a chopped onion, two or three chopped carrots, two ribs of chopped celery, a tablespoon of chopped rosemary, and salt and pepper in a combination of olive oil and butter. When they have softened, add 3-4 zucchinis (chopped into half-moons) for another few minutes. Add 1 quart of chicken or vegetable broth and a quart of water. Add the rind from a wedge of parmigiano reggiano. Bring to a boil and let simmer for 30 minutes. Then remove the rind, add 2 handfuls of chopped parsley, a cup of white rice, and simmer for another 15-20 minutes. Re-season to taste and serve.

(Photo=Corn Chowder)

Nicolas Carone: 1917-2010

2010-08-19T13:12:00.000-07:00

Nicolas Carone, the painter, passed away on July 15, at the age of 93.

I am grateful to have spent some time with him when I was researching the history of the New York Studio School for a show I curated there. My favorite body of Carone's work is his Heads, and Nick let Steven and me spend hours at his studio, poring through dozens of them when selecting the piece for the show.

I also interviewed Nick. I'm excited to finally share some excerpts from this interview, which has never been published. He talks about studying with Hans Hofmann at night while being in the army, the beginning of Abstract Expressionism, the historic 1948 Venice Biennale, the Stable Gallery, the origins of the Studio School, and his own process as a painter and a teacher. You can find the interview here.

For me, the revelation of our talk was hearing about Carone's interest in esoteric philosophy. He studied the teachings of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. Spirituality converges with formal concerns (Cubism, the picture plane, the principles of Hans Hofmann) in Carone's process. Carone had a huge impact on so many people. I think of the work of Elena Sisto, Bruce Gagnier, and Chuck Bowdish, just to name a few.

Thank you, Nick, for sharing a bit of your life, work, and ideas with me. You will be deeply missed by so many.

Photograph by Robert Beloit, via Dreams and Scraps.

Better With Chocolate

2010-08-11T13:45:00.000-07:00

So, I've actually never been much of a chocolate obsessive. But it turns out, my four-year-old likes chocolate. Really likes chocolate. Along with the life lessons young children tend to impart, he's taught me that many things are improved with some chocolate.

His forays into recipe-amending began one day when we were baking bran muffins, and he requested that we add chocolate chips. At first I balked; weren't bran muffins supposed to be healthy, or at least "healthy"? But luckily I decided to go with it. They are fabulous - everyone who has tasted agrees. We use this recipe from Gourmet, substituting Ghirardelli semi-sweet chocolate chips for the raisins. I love how Gourmet bills them as the "Rolls-Royce of bran muffins."

I only recently discovered the very popular food blogger, Molly Wizenberg of Orangette, when I read her June column in Bon Appetit on granola. I promptly tried her granola recipe - it is so good, and will make your home smell delicious, since it includes cinnamon and ground ginger. She casually remarks that she sometimes makes a "sexed-up version" by eliminating the spices and adding a chopped-up bittersweet chocolate bar to the toasted oats. So, of course, we had to try that too. Turns out Molly would agree with my son; she has a whole chapter in her book about how everything is better with chocolate, even a recipe for an arugula salad with chocolate!

Some other things we've added chocolate to: pancakes, banana bread, yogurt, oatmeal cookies. A pecan pie baked with a layer of bittersweet chocolate has been on our Thanksgiving menu for the last couple of years. And we discovered a remarkable thing from our favorite local bakery, Silver Moon - chocolate bread, baked with cocoa and chocolate chips. I still have to try Molly's chocolate arugula salad.

Sag Harbor: the book

2010-08-10T07:21:00.000-07:00

Yes, now I am writing about a local book.

Colson Whitehead's novel, Sag Harbor, was published last summer and is now available in paperback. I read it recently, and was blown away.

By design, nothing much happens in the book - it is not plot-driven. Rather, it is about evoking an atmosphere, a time (Summer, 1985), a place (Sag Harbor), a community (of African-American professionals who summer by the bay), a phase of life (15 years old). Although it is a novel, the community, the culture, the places described are all specific and real; and Whitehead did grow up coming to Sag Harbor.

It is not a coming-of-age story in the traditional manner. Although the main character, Benji, is hopeful that this will be his summer, Whitehead wants to show us the truth - what can really happen over the course of a single summer? Just the most minute bit of character development. [As Benji narrates at the very end of the book, "I was definitely more together than I was at the start of the summer. It didn't seem like that much time had passed, but I had to be a bit smarter. Just a little. Look at the way I was last Labor Day. An idiot!"]

Instead, what Whitehead gives us are the details of the passing of days. Benji and his brother are left to their own devices when their parents drop them off at the summer house, and return to New York City to work, returning only for sporadic weekends. What do they do? Eat frozen dinners and drink their parents' beers, beg rides off their one friend who's old enough to drive, work at the ice-cream shop, hope for contact with girls, and make Plans.

Whitehead's prose is simultaneously brusque and evocative, each word perfectly chosen, but never dwelling or lingering over heavy experiences. He gives us just enough information.

As I've moved through Sag Harbor this summer, I keep conjuring his phrases.

His descriptions of townies, of posers, of coordinates (the Rock, the Point, the Burned-Out House).

Of time-markers ("It was that time of year. At night we started closing the windows. The breezes woke you in the middle of night or startled you at dusk with their sudden lacerations. You remembered packing at the beginning of the summer and trying to figure out how many long-sleeved shirts and sweaters to bring, and realized you chose the wrong number like you did every year. It was almost over. The city rose higher and higher on the horizon.")

Quirky personality types ('Kids with the Empty House" "Those Who Didn't Come Out Anymore.")

Funny rules ("Thou Shalt Not Clean Thy Brother's Soup Pot").

Issues like the Other Family epidemic ("Oh, it turned out Mr. Barrows had another family so they're selling the house.")

It is so rare to read such a well-crafted book; I've been giddy with the excitement of it, raving to whoever will listen... now here.

Rackstraw Downes: Empathy, Part Two

2010-08-09T13:55:00.000-07:00

Last week I had the opportunity to see the Rackstraw Downes exhibition at the Parrish Art Museum in Southhampton, a beautifully installed show of powerful, evocative paintings. I re-read a small publication of Downes's writings, which includes his essay from 1973, What the Sixties Meant to Me, and another from 1981, What Realism Means to Me.

The first essay describes Downes's relationship to the Painterly Representational artists I wrote about. He terms it the "unofficial" art world. I like how effectively he describes the scene:

"To see the official art of the 1960s, you tramped Madison Avenue beginning at Emmerich and ending with Castelli. But there was another route which some people took; it included Frumkin, de Nagy, Zabriskie, Schoelkopf, Peridot, Graham among others. In these galleries one saw an art which looked awkwardly inexplicable; like so much of the liveliest art of any time it eluded critical dialectic. By the official art world it was virually dismissed. And so I would call it the "unofficial" art of the 1960s. This was the world which interested me."

I was struck, in the Downes show, how his work transcends "realism" and how the paintings have an almost magical element. I wrote about Matisse and the issue of "empathy" in relation to portraiture here. In Downes's landscapes, empathy also plays a big role. Downes works on-site at the various locations he depicts - the industrial underbelly of the city and country. But his paintings, despite their rich details, are not theatrical. They have a surprising restraint and muted harmonies that act as a foil. He revels in the poetry of the scene but also comes to own it.

I believe this effective dichotomy comes from a process Downes articulates in his 1981 essay on Realism. Downes says the landscape painter must ultimately inhabit a role that incorporates both the excitement of the tourist, as well as the understanding of the resident, because: "what we're outside of we don't really understand, what we're inside of we can't really see." The traveler must empathize with the resident, be "intensely, thoroughly observant." Downes discusses some writers and painters who achieve this, like Chekhov and Rubens, and what it means for their work:

"Chekhov shines floods from all around; he shows events in their context like gold in the matrix... the real hero turns out to be the texture of life. The realization that events have happened sneaks up on one like those realizations in our own lives that children grow up and adults grow old...

"Rubens shows you around his newly acquired country place the Chateau de Steen with exhilarated rapidity and an eye for the typical, rushing you off into the distance like the pilot of a tiny plane skimming the hedges in an eager take-off."

Note: Although the Parrish exhibition is now closed, you may see other work by Downes at the Aldrich Museum in Connecticut.

Painting reproduced above courtesy Betty Cuningham Gallery: Rackstraw Downes, Daphne Cummings' Brooklyn Studio, 2006, oil on canvas, 23 5/8 x 32 inches.

Local Dirt, Local Dish

2010-08-03T08:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we visited our old friends, John and Regina Whitney, and they gave us a tour of their farm. They now have chickens and ducks, and they will soon be selling eggs. This year they also began renting a plot from EECO (East End Community Organic) Farm. EECO is a not-for-profit organization and offers plots to community gardeners and local farmers. John explained that EECO boasts some of the best soil in the world, the legendary Bridgehampton loam. While home gardeners and farmers might struggle with their home turf if they've been growing crops in the same spots for several years in a row, the EECO soil is rich and a pleasure to farm. The Whitneys were clearly relishing the fruits of their labor as they took us through rows of flowers and vegetables. My younger son enjoyed something of a raw salad as he and Regina together picked tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots. He (and I!) sampled everything with gusto.

For years, I've been lucky enough to eat the products of this area - the East End of Long Island, and swear it tastes better than food anywhere. I'm a huge fan of the New York City Greenmarkets when I'm in the city, but I especially revel in what I bring home from these local farm stands. I liked hearing John talk about the soil; our friend, the Sagaponack farmer Marilee Foster, often says the same. I also relate to the Italian tendency - a dedication to the products and cuisine of their micro-region.

By the time we got home, I was inspired, and dinner was easy. It came from a few of my favorite places. We had a grilled, butterflied chicken from Iacono Farms, tomato salad (from Regina's and our home garden), green beans from Marilee Foster, and roasted red potatoes from Bette and Dale's. Although it was a feast, all the preparations were simple, letting the ingredients shine, and enough time for me to relax on the lawn while potatoes roasted in the oven inside.

Details:

Roasted Potatoes - I cut red potatoes into thin wedges, tossed with olive oil, chopped fresh rosemary, salt and pepper, and roasted at 425 degrees for about an hour, until the outsides were nice and brown and crispy, and the insides were soft.

Grilled Chicken – I had the farmer butterfly the chicken, and just before grilling, I rubbed with mustard, oregano, olive oil and lemon juice. I kept the grill at a low flame and the cover open, and cooked for about 20 minutes on each side.

Romano Green Beans – Trimmed and steamed for about 10 minutes, dressed with olive oil and salt.

Tomatoes – Rubbed the bowl with a smashed garlic clove, cut tomatoes into wedges, tossed in the bowl with olive oil, chopped parsley and julienned basil. (I often also toss with chopped shallots).

Picnic

2010-07-30T07:55:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week my family and a couple friends decided to have a picnic on the bay beach near our home in Sag Harbor. In discussing a simple meal to bring, Steven suggested pasta with pesto sauce. I was mulling it over, not feeling the pesto vibe, and about to give up and get take-out when a basket of gorgeous, multi-colored local tomatoes caught my eye.

Pasta with uncooked tomato sauce... I've been making this about once every summer for the last ten years. The technique is simple, but I'll share a few tricks. The first one I think I got from Martha Stewart -- take the large serving bowl you will use, and rub the inside with a smashed garlic clove. This way you get the garlic flavor without having to eat raw bits of garlic. Next you roughly chop the tomatoes, toss them right in the bowl with a couple handfuls of mixed herbs (I used basil, parsley and rosemary from my garden), and salt, pepper, olive oil, red wine vinegar and balsamic. This time we had some flat romano beans on hand (my favorite) so I started cooking the pasta in the boiling water, and after about five minutes, added the beans (chopped into 2 inch pieces) along with the pasta to cook together for another 7 minutes. This is a time-saving, pot-saving trick I learned from Mark Bittman. When the pasta and beans were done, I added them to the bowl with the tomatoes, tossed, and re-seasoned/re-dressed to taste. It's incredibly fresh tasting and flavorful, there's hardly any cooking involved, and very few dishes to do after you return from the picnic!

The dinner was fantastic, but I think the best part was the light, water, and air, tossing a football with the boys and our friends on the beach, and an ecstatic session on the swing set.

Matisse and Empathy

2010-07-23T08:52:00.000-07:00

I saw the Matisse exhibition at MoMA yesterday, and was particularly smitten with his portraits, especially those of Auguste Pellerin and Sarah Stein. The essence of the sitter resonates so powerfully in these two paintings.

The exhibition catalogue entry for the Stein painting includes this quotation by Matisse in 1954, about the process of making portraits:

"... I am surprised to see appear on the paper little by little, a more or less precise likeness of the person I am with. The image becomes visible to me as if each line in charcoal was clearing mist from a mirror, mist that up to that point had prevented me from seeing the person... At the same time, something is born of an interpenetration of feelings that makes us feel the warmth of the other's heart, and this ends in the conclusion of the painted portrait."

This process Matisse describes is surely part of what makes art, "real art."

It reminded me of something I wrote about the great painter and teacher, Hans Hofmann, in my dissertation. He called it "empathy." Hofmann wrote:

"The process of seeing is invariably accompanied by feeling projection… a psycho-spiritual picture of the world develops within us that becomes the pictorial basis for creation."

image via SFMOMA. Henri Matisse Portrait de Sarah Stein (Portrait of Sarah Stein), 1916; painting; oil on canvas, 28 1/2 in. x 22 1/4 in. (72.39 cm x 56.52 cm);Collection SFMOMA, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Orchard Hill

2010-07-20T10:30:00.001-07:00

I spent the past week in New Hampshire, visiting our friends Anton and Eleanor, who have a farm, orchard, preschool, and camp on their land. Their son Noah also has a bakery, where he sells amazing artisanal bread and hosts a weekly community pizza night. They provide the dough and a massive pot of marinara, and guests bring toppings and assemble their own pizzas. Then Noah whips the pizza into his outdoor brick oven for about five minutes. Everyone sits and eats at picnic tables and on the lawn. Each week the event benefits a different local organization through the guests' contributions.

Needless to say, I enjoyed some real food during the week. Our boys attended camp, we helped out, and ate lunch with the children outdoors. One day my lunch was a radish I pulled from the school's garden. I sliced it and put it on Noah's bread with some fresh local cheddar. Yum.

After the camp day, we returned to the lakeside cabin we had rented. The path to the house and the shore was lined with wild blueberry bushes, bursting with fruit. While wandering and wading, we picked and ate berries.

Anton and Eleanor have been practicing sustainable living and farming for decades, and everything they do emphasizes community, respect for the land, and in particular, nourishing children in every way. This year I admired a beautiful outdoor kitchen that camp counselors have built, where they harvest vegetables and prepare meals together. I am always renewed by a visit to our friends. To say this is a magical place is an understatement.

What I'm Reading

2010-07-20T09:34:00.000-07:00

Another guest I was happy to see at ArtHamptons was the novelist James Salter. Jim brought me a copy of the book, Memorable Days: The Selected Letters of James Salter and Robert Phelps. Phelps was a writer and literary critic best known for his Colette scholarship. Jim knew I would be interested in the book because Phelps's wife was the painter Rosemarie Beck. Beck is one of the subjects of the dissertation I recently completed, Painterly Representation in New York, 1945-1975.

I have been greatly enjoying the book, a compilation of a decade's worth of regular correspondence between the two writers. A theme that runs through this correspondence - and editor John McIntyre's commentary - is an examination of productivity and success. During these years Salter writes Light Years and numerous screenplays. Phelps regrets that he is forced to devote much time to journalistic and critical work, unable to complete the novels and memoirs he imagines and begins. But these two men adore, envy, and are huge fans of one another. It is some of the richest and most beautiful correspondence I've read.

When Jim gave it to me, he laughingly apologized that "Becki" (Beck's nickname) might not even be mentioned in the letters. But she is. When I researched my dissertation, I heard about what many characterize as an unusual marriage between Beck and Phelps. But the letters made me realize what must have been a deep connection ... Beck and Phelps were sophisticated intellectuals and fierce, existential examiners of the artistic life. Their personalities, in this sense, were remarkably akin.

Real Art - and Real Food

2010-07-20T08:43:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago we exhibited art from our gallery at the Hamptons Art Fair. It got me thinking about real art (and real food). A friend, who runs the local farmer's market and is involved with the Slow Food organization, commented upon visiting the art fair that it was like going to a supermarket. She said this to me non-judgmentally, just referring to the magnitude of the event. But after a while I realized the analogy was unfortunately apt on another level - viewers were faced to wade among a lot of work to find the few examples of what might be considered real art. Supermarkets force us to do the same thing - if we are so inclined. Some real food can be found amidst a lot of fake food.

Photo by Steven Harvey, of Sangram Majumdar and Kurt Knobelsdorf with their paintings at our ArtHamptons booth.