Color within Form

Study of Josef Albers' Design Strategy 

Josef Albers used his “Homage to the Square” series to try to contain color in form, but to keep color the center of attention.

A tree painted in saturated and vibrant colors will still be a painting of a tree, irrespective of the strength and force of the colors. Thus, form takes precedence over color.

Albers managed to side-step this difficulty of form almost always overriding color by making the most basic of forms, the square, the container of color.

There is no pronounced visual, psychological, cultural, contextual meaning attached to the square. It is just a square.

Thus, Albers put his juxtaposition of colors in this square (or nested squares) to get us to concentrate on color instead.

No randomness, no abstraction and no alien shapes and elements. A simple form of a square saturated with color.

But, what was his intention?

His response, as all artists will have a reason as to why they do things, is that he wanted people to interact with these colors in their own time, and in their own way.

How does an outer dark blue square interact with a nested bright green one? How about the an outer-most square of a brighter blue and its relationship with both these nested squares?


Study for Homage to the Square: Beaming 1963

[The squares] move forth and back, in and out, and grow up and down and near and far, as well as enlarged and diminished. All this, to proclaim color autonomy as a means of plastic organization.'
Josef Albers


Homage to the Square: MMA-2, 1970

---

Visual Experience

In NYC


Josef Albers, Hommage to the Square, 1963

I took advantage of my recent trip into New York City to upgrade my visual vocabulary, or at least my visual experience.

Besides realizing the greatness of New York architecture, there was a lot to see.

The Metropolitan had the Weimar Republic German artists do their rendition of that decaying society. But, one can see their supreme (for lack of a better word) talent when viewing their drawings. I believe it is the drawing that makes the artist, and these ones are no exception.

Since the theme was German (well, I also got to see the Tiffany estate collection, the American Painters in Paris and Sean Scully’s Wall of Light - more of a patchwork colorist - I went to the nearby Whitney to see the exhibition on the Bauhaus designers Josef Albers and Moholy-Nagy. These were the artists that were eventually kicked out of Germany by the Nazis.

Albers experimented with color extensively. His deceptively simple squares are really an attempt to put color, and our interactions with color, to the forefront.

I think he succeeded both experimentally and in a small, genius sort of way, artistically.

I am working on another blog entry called “Albers and the Abyssinians”. Another charming genius creation, which I’m sure Albers would have appreciated.

---

Ode to Cathedrals

Jacques Brel's Poetry

Here is some Jacques Brel, to enjoy reading and to listen to.
Audio/Video of Le Plat Pays.

Le Plat Pays Avec la mer du Nord pour dernier terrain vague Et les vagues de dunes pour arrêter les vagues Et de vagues rochers que les marées dépassent Et qui ont à jamais le cœur à marée basse Avec infiniment de brumes à venir Avec le vent de l'ouest écoutez le tenir Le plat pays qui est le mien Avec des cathédrales pour uniques montagnes Et de noirs clochers comme mâts de cocagne Où des diables en pierre décrochent les nuages Avec le fil des jours pour unique voyage Et des chemins de pluie pour unique bonsoir Avec le vent d'est écoutez le vouloir Le plat pays qui est le mien Avec un ciel si bas qu'un canal s'est perdu Avec un ciel si bas qu'il fait l'humilité Avec un ciel si gris qu'un canal s'est penduvAvec un ciel si gris qu'il faut lui pardonner Avec le vent du nord qui vient s'écarteler Avec le vent du nord écoutez le craquer Le plat pays qui est le mien Avec de l'Italie qui descendrait l'Escaut Avec Frida la blonde quand elle devient Margot Quand les fils de Novembre nous reviennent en Mai Quand la plaine est fumante et tremble sous Juillet Quand le vent est au rire, quand le vent est au blé Quand le vent est au sud, écoutez le chanter Le plat pays qui est le mien

The Flat Country With the North Sea for the last bit of waste land And the waves of dunes to stop the waves And the shapeless rocks that the tides pass over And who forever have their heart at low tide With an infinity of mists still to come With the wind from the west listen to it hold The flat country that is mine With cathedrals for its only mountains And black church towers for greasy poles Where devils in stone unhook the clouds With the passing of the days for the only journey And roads of rain for the only good evening With the wind from the east listen to it want The flat country that is mine With a sky so low that a canal lost itself With a sky so low that it acts humiliated With a sky so gray that a canal hung itself With a sky so gray that you just have to forgive it With the wind from the north that comes tearing itself through With the wind from the north listen to it break The flat country that is mine With a little of Italy which will climb down the Escaut With Frida the blond when she becomes Margot When the sons of November return to us in May When the plain is steaming and trembles under July When the wind is for laughter, when the wind is for the wheat When the wind is from the south, listen to it sing The flat country that is mine

---

Warhol's Universe

Mastery over the stars


Andy Warhol, Silver Liz as Cleopatra, 1963
Silver paint, silk-screen ink and pencil on linen

The small but effective Andy Warhol Supernova: Stars, Deaths and Disasters exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario ended just after I got a chance to visit it. There were a few bonuses for this delay, including a free audio device with commentary by David Cronenberg, who acted as guest curator.

Warhol was a savvy promoter. He did work as a graphic illustrator for various agencies before becoming "an artist." The medium he eventually settled on, silk-screening, avoids all the meticulousness and time required for painting or drawing. And unlike photography, there is no attempt at continuously and obsessively trying to get the perfect image.

One of the things that always struck me about Warhol's silk-screens was how his images started off grid-like and relatively unblemished, with each image squeegeed with more-or-less the same amount ink. Then, progressively near the end, they are full of smears and overlaps.

My only conclusion was that he wants to degenerate his subjects, destroy them. Not only that, he wants to destroy the "work" altogether. I think that his lazy and controlling nature spawned this proclivity for destruction. Since he cannot make a masterpiece, he may as well dramatize his incompetence by destroying it. I've noticed such a tendency toward degeneration by many "artists" who have forfeited mastery and skill for self-expression, which eventually portrays itself as outrage and destruction.

Warhol's unimpassioned car crashes and race riots silk-screens are really a camouflage for his real interest – his desire to control creation and destruction all at once. He cannot be those Hollywood stars, so he may as well create, then destroy them, from his alternate Hollywood in his New York art studios.

It seems his whole being was infused in finding his own star. He certainly found something, albeit longer than the fifteen minutes he predicted for everyone else. But then, he was always a savvy self-promoter.

---

Warhol's Icons

Heeding the warnings of Byzantine Emperors


Golden Marilyn, 1962

I've been busy these past few days, with visitors and also updating my website and completing a design study. I'll be posting on those soon.

Meanwhile, a lot has been going on. The Pope initiated a scholarly dialogue about Islam, and has had to make some amends with public relations meetings with Muslim leaders.

He quoted a Byzantine Emperor’s interaction with a Persian scholar, on the nature of Mohammed.

An exhibition entitled Andy Warhol / Supernova Stars, Deaths and Disasters is currently on show at the Art Gallery of Ontario.

Now, there is a connection somewhere, which I will try to elaborate in a later blog entry and possibly an essay.

Mainly, that Warhol, who was Byzantine Catholic, produced some very iconic-like works which are reminiscent of the Byzantine religious imagery.

If the Byzantine Emperor were to see Warhol’s imagery, given that his Empire went through the infamous Iconoclastic period where icons were destroyed following the 10th commandment’s ordinance against worshiping graven images:

Exodus 20:4-5 4 Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. 5 Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them

I wonder what he would think of Warhol’s art? And does art like Warhol put Christian civilizations at risk for the kind of Islamic invasions the Byzantine Emperor was describing?

The whole of Warhol’s life, and not just his art, appears to be forsaking these very Biblical verses. He made iconic images of famous stars and people who were the subject of admiration, at the very least, by great numbers of people, including himself.

---

St. Paul's Conversion

Depictions in Images


Left, Conversion on the Way to Damascus,Caravaggio,1601
Right,The Conversion of Saul, Fresco by Michelangelo, 1542-45
[Click on images to see larger versions]

And here is a late Medieval one by a less-well-known French painter Jean Fouquet (Paul's Conversion). Less emotional, but still full of symbolism. And Saul's horse is ever present. I couldn't find detailed information on it, but I think it is part of an illuminated manuscript, with the curved writing at the top, and the simple formality of its design.

---

Article: Vermeer's Discerning Light

The Art of Painting, 1667

It is probable that Vermeer traced his images projected from the camera obscura - that precursor to the photographic machine. We feel that his paintings are attentive to every detail in the frame, as though he had the luxury of viewing and contemplating these domestic scenes day-in and day-out. We do know that Vermeer took many liberties with his compositions, and not all details are articulately present, and some might even have been invented. Nonetheless, what lures us into his paintings' sense of completeness is light. His paintings invite us into the glowing chambers of the camera obsucra by gently receding the heavy curtains that cover the entrance into that magical box.

The Milkmaid,1657-58

Vermeer floods his paintings with light. It is not the harsh glare of the spotlight, or the diluted glow of foggy ambience, but the honest light that touches upon everything and reveals all of the subjects and objects in equal clarity. It is almost as thought Vermeer were rebelling against the drama of his countryman Rembrandt, whose light was inseparable from the composition, and who was still in the thralls of the biased chiaroscuros. Vermeer's light is separate from his compositions. It is the illuminant or the revelation to his paintings. What influences us to what is worth seeing isn't just the arrangements of the objects, but the light which puts things into view. Vermeer separated (or freed) light from the painting and made it the master instead.

Vermeer's light-infused paintings always take us aback. We as moderns are used to the illuminated, light-dependent photographs, and their infinite points of detail. It is always a surprise that a painting seems to do the same. Perhaps it is his view-finder the camera obscura, which like our modern-day camera cannot produce anything in the dark, that influenced Vermeer to use light in such a way . What he saw through the camera obscura, and probably tried to copy, was its uncanny ability to make images and colors exceptionally vivid and saturated, as thought they are bathed in light. Like the figures we see on a piece of photographic slide or the incredibly fluid and concentrated images that are on film celluloid, it is the light that makes them work. This democratic lighting system, imbuing everything within its reach, is no longer a tool, as in the chiaroscuro tradition of composing a picture, but rather is an aesthetic device – the aesthetic device - of Vermeer’s painting. And I strongly believe that when Vermeer saw everything so clearly through his camera obscura, he fell into the spell of the all-illuminated picture. His was a clear, dispassionate view that had few of the dramatic shadows and glaring spotlights so popular of his contemporaries and predecessors.

But here lies the genius of Vermeer's art. We can see everything of say the beautiful Lacemaker down to the last workings of her industrious fingers. But do we really know who she is? Light may externally illuminate her, but the secret makings of her inner world remain a dark mystery to us. Vermeer's dispersed light exposes this subtle contradiction, and make his paintings all the more poignant. We may see all the details, yet that still doesn't make us any closer to the subjects (or objects). Rembrandt's emotional chiaroscuros (even, or especially, the darkened corners) reveal more of the characters of his men and women than Vermeer's photographic light ever does. In the ambiguities of Vermeer’s art it is all exposure but little revelation. Upon freeing light from composition (and emotion), Vermeer has turned light into a warden of his subjects. He has frozen them in the enclosure of his perfect light. Yet Vermeer's strategy is a blessing in disguise. Since his unfaltering, unexcitable light cannot make his subjects tell us who they are and how they feel, his subjects become our symbols instead. We begin to idealize them. We put our own generalized labels upon them with words like “industrious”, “heroic”, or even merely “faithful”. They become our emblems of an unswerving humanity.

The Lacemaker,1670

In our modern world, with all these light-dependent image recording devices available at any corner store, subway station, mobile telephone and even the now good old-fashioned tourist's camera, we are in constant reach with reproduced images. At one time image production was sacred or at least time-consuming. Now the recorded image (the photographic image and now the digital image) occurs at the click of a finger and of course with the cooperation of the surrounding light. Yet we know as little or perhaps even less about ourselves as we do about Vermeer's personalities. Our quick photographic light may illuminate, but it doesn't make us any wiser? And photography, for all its modern prowess as revelation and information, still refuses to give us what the subject doesn't want us to know.

Eminent painters like Vermeer understood this and used this with such patient finesse. Some of his paintings took years to finish. He labored hard to make his emotionally distant figures into iconic representations for the human race. Unlike Vermeer, we haven’t really learned the art of patient discrimination. Everything still has to happen at the quick click of the finger. Vermeer may have been generous with his light, but he was very discerning about who received it. The Milkmaid, the Astronomer, the Lacemaker, all have somehow earned his prejudice, and with that given us an enlightened world.

The Geographer, 1669

References:

Steadman, Philip. Vermeer's camera : uncovering the truth behind the masterpieces. Oxford University Press, 2001