Wandering the Museum

I spent a hour or so wandering the National Gallery of Art. Wanted to reconnect with some pictures I hadn't seen in a while. I've written about the plague of hipness and its detrimental effect on modern art at some length already in previous posts. So it was with some irony that I noticed a book on the new books table of NGA's bookstore called The Birth of the Cool. Yes, well, I suppose that proves my point.
But if hipness is the illness, what then is the cure?
I looked at many things, a very odd assortment -- Dutch 17th century paintings generally, including a new acquisition by Salomon Van Ruisdael, and "Mary Queen of Heaven" by the Master of the Saint Lucy Altarpiece, some French 19th century landscapes by academic painters, and a whole mish mash generally.
But I stopped among the Degas sculptures and drew horses briefly, using the only thing I had, a ball point pen. As I was drawing, I was struggling a little with being able to see (my contacts were not good drawing eye wear), but I focused on what I was seeing in the sculptures by asking myself this question: "What was Degas looking at or remembering when he made these sculptures of horses?" So I let myself get lost in the forms and just doodled the ideas that I had, my ideas, as I looked. I was, in other words, trying to "draw from life" while drawing from his sculpture of, his idea of, a horse. The drawing at the top of the post is one of Degas's off-hand horse drawings, and below it is one of the drawings I made today while looking at his sculpture.
I was thinking with the pen in my hand

Drawing

For a long time I remembered a passage I'd read somewhere about Degas, that his was the art of the "ensemble." A group of dancers, a group of horses, the audience of a concert, or the loitering people at the ballet rehearsal, all these collections of things have the sense of being united in very natural and unself-conscious ways. Ever since reading that -- and of course noting it in Degas's pictures -- I have had some curiosity about how to capture a similar sense of things in my paintings.

This drawing of horses is made from my daughter's toys. I arranged them to overlap, to seem as though they were moving in a line together, perhaps out of a corral. Drawing them, one thinks about real horses and wants them to seem life-like. Yet, I also think about them as toys. They have many happy associations as my daughter's toys, all the loveliness of watching her learn and grow.

The green that surrounds the horses is added without reference to anything. It's amazing how just the addition of the color creates the beginnings of landscape and weather and temperature.

The spiral coil of the notebook, the fact that the drawing spilled over into the facing page, prevents this drawing from being framed for sale. But artists of course have drawings that are made strictly for personal reasons, and they should always make many such drawings. Some of the best drawings in history were privately made for the appreciative audience of one.

The Fine Art of Art Collecting

The first wise rule of collecting is to start with beauty. Try to find it, try to understand it. It leads you into interesting discoveries about yourself, as you find out what kind of beauty speaks to you. It also leads you into an education in what has been beautiful in the history of man, during different times, in different cultures.

The first stop in one's education about beauty needs to be a museum. However, for many people there isn't a world class museum next door. The alternate place to learn is a library that has strong holdings in art history books. Barring that, the internet.

Many artists begin their own education with reproductions of masterworks. They assemble works they love on the studio wall, sometimes in reproductions the size of a postcard. Collectors might be wise to begin their own search in a similar manner. Before you buy real art, start collecting reproductions (including ones printed off the internet) to use in adorning your wall with images that have meaning for you. It's the first step in connoisseurship that ultimately leads to buying real works.

That said, consider this: the Degas at the top of this post is already in a museum and would be beyond the financial resources of most collectors even if it were on the market. But the nude drawn with sanguine conte by Don Srull that I saw recently in a regional art venue was priced at $300. It's a beautiful work. Whether Srull will make future works as valuable as Degas is uncertain, perhaps unlikely. But he has already assimilated certain characteristics of figure drawing, learned ideas from predecessors like Degas which he translates with wonderful and sensitive mastery.

If I wanted an elegant, classic image for my living room, I would invest $300 in a work like this.

I am not arguing that buying a beautiful drawing like this one is the end product of collecting. Quite the contrary, this might be the wise first step.

To see some paintings in my own collection, click here.