“American art did not exist until 1945.” Thus, in what can certainly be described as a “sweeping generalization”, one of my art professors consigned a legion of artists to fine art purgatory. And, in one of the most egregious lapses of critical thinking in my adult life, I pretty much adopted his thinking as my working philosophy. Well, I’m here to tell you, if you are a disbeliever in the riches that can be gleaned from art in America prior to the mythic deluge of Abstract Expressionism, go to the new American wing of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Walking from the neoclassical core of the original museum toward the monumental glass-walled entrance of the brand-spanking-new wing, visitors are greeted by the incandescent John Singleton Copley portrait of Paul Revere. The silversmith gazes directly at the viewer. One hand cradles the curve of his jaw, while the other encircles a silver teapot of his own design and making. Then, in a dazzling array, Revere’s actual silver is ranged around the portrait. Bold and sensitive decisions made throughout each of the new wing’s galleries create active visual relationships amongst pieces that are strikingly distinct, so that finding intersections of color, scale, media, or subject is an exhilarating intellectual and visual adventure.

Wink & Charlotte at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden

We are refreshed from our epic journey visiting our grown children (all living east of us), galleries, and museums from Cincinnati and New York to Boston. Our children are each embarked upon interesting lives. And, Craig and I traveled well – a feat that can’t be minimized between two such contentious people. It was as we were walking with the irrepressibly sunny, seventeen-month-old Charlotte Campbell-Raw between us in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden that Craig looked over to me and said simply and slowly, “This is like heaven.” and he was right.

Ocean Park 17 by Richard Diebenkorn / 1968 / 80 x 72 in from the collection of the University of Iowa Museum of Art

Pausing in front of Ocean Park, #17, I recalled a student’s observations about the work of Richard Diebenkorn. I had shown images of his work to my Drawing I class. Reverentially turning the over-sized pages bearing color reproductions of the California painter’s art- I attempted to share my admiration, only to look up to a circle of nonplussed expressions. A year later, one of those same students wrote about seeing Ocean Park, No.17: … “I never understood what was so great about his (Diebenkorn’s) work… my thinking changed when I saw this painting…” This young woman described perfectly what the moment of seeing an art object rather than a reproduction can yield: “subtle, atmospheric blocks of layered color…dematerializing in some spots- adding an exciting element to the entire painting.”

Kimberlee Rocca’s foil stamping

You can’t beat the real thing and the rich, material evidence of its facture. Layers of paint, the gliding, stabbing, or staccato mark of a pencil tip across paper, and the deeply embossed lines of an intaglio can be our most direct connection to the thoughts of the artist. Campbell Steele is the only gallery in the region that exhibits original work exclusively. Today, as I look around the gallery taking in Kristin Quinn’s complex, vibrant paintings, Kimberlee Rocca’s T-A-L-L, foil-stamped sheets of aluminum, and the radiant surfaces of Gerald Patterson’s glass platters are all a testament to the power of the art object.

Gerald Patterson’s glass platters

A stalwart and really friendly crew will be here to greet you while Craig and I visit (the real thing!) our kids in Cincinnati, Brooklyn, and Boston. We’re on abbreviated hours: 12- 4, Tuesday through Saturday until March 17th.

Kristin Quinn’s complex, vibrant paintings

Try a road trip yourself, and see the fantastic presentation of the University of Iowa Museum of Art’s collection in the galleries of the Figge Art Museum. Ta-ta-for-now!

Grant Wood, Portrait of John B. Turner, Pioneer, 1928-1930, oil on canvas, 30 1/4 x 25 1/2 in., Collection of the Cedar Rapids Museum of Art

I must have walked past Grant Wood’s sallow-faced portrait of John B. Turner hundreds of times at the Cedar Rapids Museum of Art before I stopped and genuinely saw the intensity of the old man’s gaze. It was a “Whoa!” moment. I recalled that confrontational portrait while I considered the truth in R. Tripp Evans’s quote.

The demands of the holiday season had subsided in the gallery, and I had allowed myself to start the book that had been a Christmas gift. A day later, I finished it. For me, it was simply riveting. Since then, I have spoken with many people who have questioned the validity of the author’s homoerotic interpretations of Wood’s imagery, and I don’t dismiss their skepticism. I, however, enjoyed the frank insight of Evans’s writing. From his depictions of the child in an isolated rural household, to a man sharing a tightly knit family circle with his mother and sister, and eventually as an uneasy academic in an unlikely marriage, the author endows this familiar artist with a depth of humanity that matches the ambiguity which makes American Gothic or Woman with Plants the oddly compelling works that they are.

It’s Grant Wood’s birthday this Sunday, and Bonnie and Roger Schmidt and Craig and I are hosting a brunch at the gallery to benefit the Cedar Rapids Museum of Art that will celebrate the imminence of Valentine’s Day and the birth of this native son.

There are still a few tickets left. Did I mention that we have some delightful jewelry, pottery and glass that we’ll gift wrap – just for your valentine? Read on!

Pit-fired stoneware vessels, Dean Dunkel

Trying to wrestle the mythic, transformative “power of art” to the ground in casual conversational terms is the humble goal of this on-going series. This Thursday night, October 22nd, ceramic artist Dean Dunkel will be the featured speaker. The organic forms of the Cedar Rapids artist’s stoneware vessels have been developed over the period of fifteen years of studio work, and are recognizable for their irregular, fluid profiles.

While inviting people to attend this event at the gallery, I found myself using the simplest of terms” “Why should I care?”, “Why do you care?”. I was reminded of the importance of these same questions when Craig and I recently traveled to New York and Boston. We had the chance to visit two great museums, The Metropolitan in NYC and Boston’s Museum of Fine Art. Always, when I visit museums I am awed by seeing the “stars”- those images that are reproduced in every basic text about art. There’s nothing like being in the presence of the real thing. This time, however, I was struck by my attention being drawn to pieces that were not the celebrities. Importantly, in Boston, I marveled at the power of a self-portrait by the American painter Ellen Day Hale.

Self Portrait, Ellen Day Hale

I didn’t know anything about Hale except the dates of her life which were printed on the label that identified her painting: 1855 – 1940. She was a contemporary of the fabulously famous John Singer Sargent.

Lady Agnew, John Singer Sargent

I found her likeness as a 30 year-old woman so filled with a command of her medium and the spirit of her subject: herself. Not to diminish the painterly elegance of Sargent, but the direct gaze of Hale’s face was so much more compelling than what I was seeing in Sargent. I wrote down Hale’s name as a reminder to learn more about her.

As it happens, Hale had a rich life. She was from a noted Boston family, the Beecher Hales. Her father was a well-known orator and pastor. Her great-aunt was the writer, Harriet Beecher-Stowe. She and her seven younger brothers were all encouraged by their mother to draw, and she helped promote the artistic career of her brother Philip. That her own career was valued is evident inasmuch as she studied with the prominent American artists, William Morris Hunt and William Rimmer. Indeed, her emergence as an artist occurred at the same time when a critic proclaimed, “There is nothing that men do that is not done by women now in Boston.” (!) Hale would go on to attend the prestigious Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, and then on to study in Paris.

Gabrielle de Veaux Clements by Ellen Day Hale

In 1883, she met her life-long companion, the Philadelphia artist, Gabrielle de Vaux Clements, and learned from her how to make etchings. They taught. She wrote. She painted. They had vacation homes where artists regularly visited in a circle of easy friendship. Though she moved to Washington D.C. to be her father’s hostess when he was appointed to be the chaplain for the U.S. Senate in 1904, she would continue to “summer” with Gabrielle in Massachusetts. Eventually, they also wintered in Charleston. The outward balance and the breadth of Hale’s artistic activity intrigues me. After viewing images of other works, I found that I enjoyed an etching for its richness, but the paintings that I saw were disappointing when matched with forthright strength of her self-portrait. It’s as if the self-portrait was a single moment of aesthetic clarity in a life-time of forgettable work! That’s an incredibly harsh conclusion. I wish that I could go hear her speak.

Come see Dean. The opportunities to speak with artists about their work are rare treats indeed!

Recognizing the stylistic differences amongst the painters who since 1874 when they were first ridiculed by critics as “Impressionists”, was a daunting task to me as a young art major. All those pastel colored landscapes with women drifting through them in gauzy white dresses- honestly, my first response was, “Who cares?” But, I did come to care, and be excited about the aesthetic perseverance of those whom I regard as the “heavy-hitters” of this loosely associated group. I love a world that has in it Degas’ drawings, Mary Cassatt’s aqua-tints, Seurat’s drawings (NEO-impressionist that he was), and Monet’s water-lilies.

Water Lilies, Claude Monet

Created at Giverny, the home that he purchased with the proceeds from his first successful sale, the water lily paintings are the culmination of a lifetime’s work. Monet’s subject dissolves as the rhythm of color and light transcend the notion of a “picture of something”. Art historian, John Canaday, likens these late works of Monet to Jackson Pollock’s drip paintings. At first, I was struck by the cheekiness of this comparison of an Impressionist’s works to those of the mythic giant of Abstract Expressionism, but I think it’s simply brilliant- like Pollock’s drip paintings, the edges of the water-lily paintings seem arbitrary, as if image extends beyond them. Likewise, the drama of these pieces lies in their grand scale and the bravura of their execution.

Convergence, Jackson Pollock

As a place that inspired Monet’s tireless examination of light, color, form, and rhythm, Giverny has become a destination for tourists to see what he saw. Sharon Burns Knutson did just that. She also drew what she saw. Leafing through her oil pastels of this legendary site, I was entranced by her personal vision, sensitivity, and industry. Few artists I know go on vacation and get more work done than this mighty, little woman! It was also a pleasure to be reminded of the breath-taking scope of another artist’s creative power- especially when that artist’s work has seemed too easily pigeon-holed by passing time.

Oil crayon on black paper, Sharon Burns-Knutson

Hope you’ll stop by!