Painting in the Style of Hans Hofmann

Mark Rothko is one of the main colorfield artists we studied in our American Humanities class, but upon researching colorfield painters, I felt that pre-conceived thoughts of what my abstract expressionism painting would be like aligned better with Hans Hofmann, an influential German immigrant. Hofmann, born in 1880 in Bavaria, came to America in 1932, and died in 1966. He grew up with a gift for mathematics and science but later gravitated towards creative art instead. Students flocked to his school of art in New York where had many successful students, among whom was Helen Frankenthaler.

New York, being the birthplace of abstract expressionism, was an opportune place for Hofmann to develop his style: a mixture of cubism, fauvism, and colorfield. It wasn’t until the 1940s that his paintings became completely abstracted. Hofmann strove to prune away the unnecessary from his works, leaving only the necessary. Nature was his passion; he created new landscapes composed of color, the tension between those colors, and abstract shapes and lines. He is often known for his pictorial style, spacial illusion, and color relationships. Hofmann is also well-known for his push-pull theory—three-dimensional items transmitted into two-dimensional shapes. Positive space was turned into light forms and negative spaces into dark. Hofmann never led a new artistic movement, but he is known as a synthesizer of many 20th century artistic movements. Hofmann is significant because of this synthesizing to make his own style, because of his push-pull theory, and because of the hundreds of art students who felt his influence.
American landscape artists often depicted the American land in a romantic, dramatized way; Hofmann’s style is opposite of that. Instead of elaborating the land for aesthetic appeal, he simplified it to get at the core truth of what nature is: an open search for the real. This simplification is culturally significant because, like Rothko, Hofmann tries to get at what is truly meaningful. On seeing Hofmann’s paintings, the audience begins to see the world around them differently—they search for the simple meanings. He also emphasizes the meaning of color and harmony in our world.

Hofmann’s paintings are probably just as well understood by the inartistically minded audience today as they were when he first created them. Maybe they are more accepting of his work today just because his abstraction is very much like reality compared with very abstract art that has followed. It is not understood that he is showing reality, not a pure abstraction. His is a pictorial style. Art critics, however, have always loved his work because they are very human, and yet still abstract.

The meaningo f his paintings have continued to stay the same in many ways because he was very specific in titling them in ways that the meaning cannot be easily misconstrued: “The Rope Swinger,” “Rising Moon,” “Morning Mist,” etc…There is, however, room to superimpose a modern landscape onto the colors and forms he uses.
“The Gate” is a piece of his that I used for inspiration when doing my own artistic piece. After reading of how many Abstract Expressionists comment on themes of the universal society in comparison to the individual and the internal and seeing Hofmann’s landscapes, I chose to do a painting of myself in comparison to the society and landscape I’m daily surrounded by. My landscape is the classroom. I learned of how hard it is to make colors harmonious and with one another. At times you want the colors to be balanced, and other times you want an imbalance. The negative and positive spacing was also difficult to control. I ended up having too much positive space, but it was something I wasn’t practiced enough to change. I learned that Hofmann and other Abstract Expressionists are much more attuned to creating in calculated ways opposed to creating randomly without meaning as often accused.

20th Century American Music

Go to this address and you'll find "The 100 most important American musical works of the 20th century" --> http://www.npr.org/programs/specials/vote/list100.html#F. I listened to a couple and here are my responses to them:

“Ain’t That a Shame” by Fats Domino

The historic interplay between white popular music and the more soulful jazz and blues music of African Americans is interesting to behold. From past knowledge, I already knew that copyright issues were a huge problem when African Americans came up with songs that had promising futures but were then thefted by white recording labels and then became popular with audiences giving merit to the copyrighters. These problems were re-established in the commentary that I listened to, but I was amazed to find that Fats overcame the deterring copyright hurdle with his song “Ain’t That a Shame!” A white Pop singer remade this song but Fats’ version and voice overshadowed it. Why? Listening audiences must have realized that there are irreplaceable qualities that Fats possessed in his version that were more appealing. His French Creole accent gives him an almost indiscernible edge that cannot be easily copied. I had heard this song before, but never realized that there indeed is a slight accent in his voice.

Though it was his originalities that sustained him, Fats did make slight efforts to conform to popular music standards that would appeal to audiences other than his own culture. The commentary said that for “Ain’t That a Shame” Fats sped it up to make him seem more youthful and less bluesy and also to make it harder to copy. This was the first song that Fats recorded in Hollywood instead of New Orleans—a move that led to large success. African American musicians needed white American companies to spread and publish their musical efforts just as much as the white music community needed the soulful music of African American singers to enliven and further their own musical styles; though there were clashes at times, they worked nicely hand-in-hand. Fats was a great example of this in that he pandered in ways to what white audiences would like to hear and he (along with other New Orleans blues musicians) helped found the basis of Rock ‘n roll and other genres in white society.

“Good Vibrations” by Brian Wilson

Much to my amazement, the way that “Good Vibrations” was talked about made it sound like it was such a groundbreaking, different, revolutionary song that my formed thoughts of it being a perfect example of a classic oldies song was smashed. Growing up, I remember well the uncomfortable staging of dad in the driver’s seat, me in the passenger’s, as he would look and point at me while singing high harmonies to his oldies on the radio—he sang as if I were the one the song was written for and he the one who wrote it. I, being his daughter, blushed several times when love songs would come on. “Good Vibrations” was among this repertoire. My four older brothers took turns in having a Beach Boys phase and now my younger brother has revitalized the fad: his favorite album being the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds. Without the context of time, it is easy to look at a piece of artistic creativity and think it unrevelutionary. Knowing the preceding history and are eye-opening and help me to appreciate why it as such a good piece of work apart from it being merely a good song or painting. Originality, though it may be the only merit of a work, deserves applause.

I thought “Good Vibrations” was a classic song that was very traditional in its time, but hearing the explanation of what went behind the scenes and how it came to be, I now appreciate this song in a new way. Wilson got sounds from three different studios and then pieced together slices from different recordings and versions. Wilson had these studios use different instruments in their recordings that were not normally played together: cello, harmonica, keys, organ, and other more common instruments. The slices are really interesting to note and are something that I’ll be listening for to make the traditional sing-a-long in the car more appreciated experience.

4:33, Tolstoy, and Danto

Above is the performance of 4:33 that I watched and also an interview with Cage.

After watching a video of American composer John Cage’s 4:33, composed in 1952, I decided to try performing this piece of complete silence myself—after all, it isn’t that difficult of a piece. The video I watched took place in an opera house. People were restraining coughs and the tension was thick. 4:33 held the main honor for the night, the conductor sweated from the strain of leading it, and a full orchestra helped perform it. I found the directions for this piece online, printed out the “musical composition,” and chose a guitar, borrowed from a roommate, as my instrument as any instrument is allowed. Sitting in my recently cleaned living room (to create a better atmosphere), I played the three movements of complete silence stupendously! Never have I felt so good about a performance of mine. The first movement lasts 30 seconds, the second 2 minutes 23 seconds, and the last 1 minute 40 seconds. Humming from the household appliances and street did not always capture my fancy as being musical, but I tried to have an open mind. My performance may not have been a fine art performance, but then, it might have been—to me. In this paper, I will critique 4:33 using the philosophies of Leo Tolstoy and Arthur Danto.

For Tolstoy, art transmits the emotional feeling of the artist to others and true art is infectious. The contagiousness rests upon three factors: individuality, clearness, and sincerity of the artist. A sure sign of art is infectiousness, and 4:33 certainly has that. All who are familiar with classical music know of it. Tolstoy’s three factors all are evident in 4:33, though they are weak. Cage’s individuality of feeling, that which he felt when listening in the silence, is seen in others who experience his piece. He is clear in what he wants out of the piece—perception of musical sounds in the atmosphere, but at the same time, John Cage said, “I’m interested in making something I don’t understand” which would be the antithesis of clarity. It is clear in that he understood some things about 4:33. To be sincere, the artist must evoke in oneself a feeling previously experienced and then, by means of movement, transmit that feeling to someone else. So Cage did evoke the same feelings he felt in others—that feeling being one of awe at the sounds around us. Cage met all three requirements for his piece to be contagious, but some of them were met weakly.

When considering Danto’s theory of “artworld,” or world of theory, and criteria for art, the reception and acceptance of 4:33 as art very subjective. What could be seen as a work of art in one context might not be seen as a work of art in another and vice versa. The difference between art and non-art comes from the author’s intent and then the individual needs to make the decision as to whether or not it is truly part of the “artworld” for them.

Two requirements Danto does set in order for something to be seen as art is first an atmosphere of artistic theory and, second, a knowledge of the history of art. Cage has both in his musical composition. He places his work in an atmosphere of high art, an opera house. If it were not for the history of artworld theory, 4:33would not be considered art. Cage builds upon the history that went from Imitation Theory to Real theory. Classical music had abstracted sounds, like a waterfall, and made waterfall music into a new reality. Cage brings us back to real sounds, not just abstractions. At the same time, Cage changes the piece into a sense of is rather than of artistic identification. He restates what reality is.

For both Tolstoy and Danto 4:33 meets the requirements of being dubbed “art,” but there is room for disagreement because both philosophers rely on subjective criteria. The concert hall draws a parallel to the art gallery that Warhol displays his Brillo cartons in Danto’s example. Outside the artworld, the objects are not high, fine art, but inside they are supposed to be artistic. What in the end makes the difference between a concert piece and street noises is the theory of art that the work is placed in. And still, as Danto would agree, we cannot expect all individuals to admit that 4:33 is art merely because it is surrounded by art theory; the individual has to learn to see it as art and make the decision that it is artful.

Fantasy Waterfall (Music by Jonn Serrie)

Henry L.A. Culmer’s Shoshone Falls

the blog/video entry above is some music that will help you really get in the mood for this next reading! Start it and listen while you read!

Shoshone Falls by Henry L.A. Culmer

Utah landscape artist Henry L.A. Culmer combined diverse artistic attributes from many western artistic schools throughout his career to create his own style. Hanging in BYU’s Museum of Art is a painting by Culmer, Shoshone Falls, in which he depicts both the spirit and beauty of America through sublime grandeur as he does in his other works. His painting of Shoshone Falls can be seen as a cultural representation and a combination of three art schools: the Rocky Mountain School, Hudson River School, and French Impressionism.

Shoshone Falls is a waterfall in Idaho Falls, Idaho and was painted around 1905. The artist, Culmer (1854-1914), was born in Darrington, England and "is noted for his expansive panoramic views and paintings of rock formations” (Springville Museum of Art). He joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and in 1868 and soon came to the United States to travel to Utah where others of his faith resided. In Utah, he studied with a few other early landscape artists, but had little formal training himself. He took an interest in and painted the natural arches in Southern Utah and also many other mountain scenes. He eventually travelled all over the West painting landscapes—Alaska, California, Idaho, etc... His painting of Shoshone Falls hung in the church Administration Building, was gifted to BYU, hung in the Wilkinson center, and then was removed to the Museum of Art on campus due to damage; It has now been conserved.

My personal reaction to Shoshone Falls, upon seeing it displayed in the Museum of Art, was that of wonder and awe. Later this view underwent a change of disposition. Happily, the change of sentiment helps me form a flexible opinion useful in deciphering elements enjoyed by some audiences and elements that might be disdained by others. The utter immensity of the painting gives it an unfair advantage in invoking a sense of reverence upon its audience’s unarmed thoughts. I cannot say whether it was a shameful lack of food in my stomach or whether it was the painting itself that made me slightly dizzy. I had to step back to take in the full sight with any level-headedness. After deciphering that this was the painting for me, I left the museum, thought about the painting, and in hind-sight decided that I hardly like the painting at all! What brought about this marked contrast of admiration? I have to attribute it to an “out of sight, out of mind” theory. The only way to really appreciate this painting’s aesthetic value fully, or at all, is to be in front of it in a good setting; the size is its main virtue.

Putting away my confused aesthetic enjoyment of the piece, I was glad to find deeper cultural meaning in this captivating immense painting. Landscape paintings were the chief artistic creations of 19th century European painters. In the following time, Americans and Europeans found landscapes to be bona fide fragments of spiritual scenes. Culmer’s slightly idealistic rendering of Shoshone Falls lends itself brilliantly to this expectation of spiritual significance. These idealized, fashionably exotic landscapes are seen to rise up in such common places as Idaho—a small fulfillment of the American dream and attraction. The vast size of Shoshone Falls is itself a nationalistic statement of grandeur and power. Culmer relayed this message, and others, by infiltrating elements of three schools into his painting.

First is the Rocky Mountain School. Western landscape paintings abound in the 19th and early 20th centuries as painters of that genre strove to capture the grand expanse of the American land. Culmer “came out of the Rocky Mountain School, which was epitomized by stark contrasts of perspective, grandiose vistas, misty recesses, and artistic license with locale” (Poulton and Swanson 42). Like Western landscapes before it, this school still captures the majesty of the Western land, but it utilizes the aforementioned techniques to create a more mystical view—though still possessing very solid elements. First, the most prominent elements are those of Culmer’s emergence as a Rocky Mountain School painter. There are misty recesses both at the bottom of the painting where the water falls to an unseen end and another receding point at the right top of the painting. The long lines of the mountain plateaus and falling streams of water reinforce and lead the eye to these opposing directions making the imagination stretch beyond the canvas to the beginning and end of this body of water. Shoshone Falls also encapsulates other defining elements of Rocky Mountain painting as given by Poulton and Swanson previously: a grandiose vista and artistic license with locale. Culmer fill Shoshone Falls with rock and water, little room is given to the small streak of sky, emphasizing the grandeur of the landscape.

Second, a prominently contributing school is the Hudson River School: panoramic and spiritually enlivened values. Culmer uses that very same panoramic view. The later artists of this school used a technique called luminism to depict dramatic landscapes, especially water, to highlight contrasts of light and dark. Culmer’s painting of Shoshone Falls is filled to the brim with this luminous water. Though Culmer was a Rocky Mountain artist, his meeting with Thomas Moran, a painter of the Hudson River School, greatly influenced him and his style. It is specifically the later Hudson River painters who were prone to paint grand, fear-provoking elements of nature—those that overwhelm the senses in a subliminal, Kant-like way—instead of painting mere ethereal, pleasant, large expanses. Shoshone Falls itself invokes fear. Who would wish to stand where the artist places us in real life at the edge of a plummeting cliff? The techniques of the Hudson River School, that Culmer pulled on so constantly, sought to create spiritual meaning, oneness and communication with nature and God in landscape depictions. Traditional elements of a Hudson River painting include an impressive panoramic view, dramatic serenity, Romantic touches, and they often use haziness and lines to lead the eye into an imaginary, reaching, further expanse.

Thirdly, another contributing school in Shoshone Falls is that of French Impressionism. This is mostly found in the impressionistic colors of green, blue, and purple profusely apparent. Impressionism rejects the rules of solid vision, lines, and color. It is through his impressionistic color that the viewer understands that this is not a true reliance of an Idaho scene, but the artist’s personal impression of what he saw.

In conclusion, Culmer’s painting does not challenge the norms of his time: it is a conglomeration of different traditions, a stewing pot of various techniques that mesh various visions. Isn’t that very American? Yet why can’t I like it? I have decided that it is because it is busy, gives the feeling of motion, and is unnatural in its mix of coloring—also just like America. This is not a normal painting of a serene countryside; it represents a metropolis that is America. His painting of a beautified Idaho scene can be appreciated because of its very mixture of American ideals in the midst of relative provincialism.

Works Cited

Poulton, Donna L., and Vern G. Swanson. Painters of Utahs Canyons and Desters. 1st ed. Salt Lake City, Ut: Gibbs Smith, 2009. 42. Print.

Springville Museum of Art, . "Henry L.A. Culmer." J. Willard Marriott Library . University of Utah, Spring 2010. Web. 26 Oct 2010. < vgnextoid="34e920da69a08110VgnVCM1000001c9e619bRCRD&vgnextfmt=">.

Cultural Report: Milena Kalinskova

Last Thursday, I went to the Museum of Art (MOA) here on BYU campus and listened to Milena Kalinovska (on right) converse with the MOA's curator of modern art, Jeff Lambson. Kalinovska is a well-known curator who currently works with the Hirshhorn Museaum in Washington, D.C. She told us about her career--coming from Czechoslavakia to London and and then to America. Her pull in keeping the audiences' attention was mainly due to her pioneering of Contemporary artists; questions at the end seemed the most helpful and interesting as she gave advice on how to edge your way into the world of recognized artists and curators and what people are looking for in art.

Something that I felt relates well to American Humanities is her mentioning of an artist many years back at the Hirshhorn. I couldn't find his name online and didn't pick it up when she said it. Oops. During that time, controversy over what constituted desecration of the American flag was a hot topic: was just a slight touch to the ground burn worthy? This artist took the issue and added to it--often rephrasing an issue in extreme terms helps to clarify the situation...or just confuse it more. He took wrapped candies that were red white or blue and put them in a heaping pile. Visitors of the museum were invited to eat a piece on their way past it. Was this eating of the flag or eating of the candy?! If an artist tried to recreate this, it would be less significant now. What a beautiful example of art as a commentating medium!

As seen in the example above with the visitors eating the art, one of the themes I picked out from Kalinskova's conversation (and from what I, myself, have seen) is that Contemporary art is becoming more and more reliant on audience participation. Kalinskova said "art is very generous--accessible for all." This is where American art has come. The gap between high art and folk/pop art is narrowing. She also said that "we want to interact with the art." This made me think of the MOA's exhibition, Mirror Mirror, that had a camera which would record the viewers face and added it to a collage of other human faces on a screen underneath. I loved that! Art is also becoming increasingly decentralized (Facebook for example); thus, artists have a broader range of what they can to do and where they want to do it.

Along with advising the student artists to give the audience a chance to participate and interact, Kalinskova also advised young artists to keep moving to keep there name out there. "You don't have to stay in Utah." They have to GO make something of themselves. I found it interesting that she gave this advise. Artists can't make something of themselves in ordinary Utah?

Thanks for reading!

Thomas Dewing

Studying the American Aesthetic art movement in class and, we talked over major artists of that time such as Winslow Homer, James Whistler, a little bit of William Chase. The Aesthetics' rejected the traditional need for moral value and meaning in a work of art--art for art's sake became the motto! Organization of color and shape became what was important to please the eye and the mind. Going back over the reading selections from American Art, an artist that I couldn't remember talking about was Thomas Dewing. I found the one painting shown of his, After Sunset, tweaked my fancy and was resolved to discover more.

Thomas Dewing (1851-1938) was born in Massachusetts, studied art in Paris, returned to live in New York, and spent his summers with the Cornish Art Colony. While rejecting some of the artistic traditions still upheld in--and because of--high society, Dewing created his paintings for their benefit and catered to their tastes in many ways. His paintings of richly dressed women (one seen above) abound.

His paintings remind me of a gauzy dream: the clearest details are given to the figures of his slightly removed women and all around them is a haze of smokey tones. Dewing is said to be "under the spell of the Aesthetic movement and the tonalist technique of Whistler" (American Art pg. 290). Tonality in art connects objects in a harmonious atmosphere of color--without tone, objects would be stark and jutting. This dreamlike atmosphere is enhanced by unnatural poses. Rarely can we find a figure in his paintings who does not look affectedly posed.

The prevailing theme in his works is of a small group of women (1, 2, or 3) set against a inconsequential, fairly solid background. In American Art, the descriptive panel reads, "this painting was partially inspired by...Dante Gabriel Rossetti whose sonnet...asked the question of what awaited the individual soul after death" giving the reader the idea that perhaps the painting they are looking at has added meaning behind it. This seemed ironic to me because that is exactly what I imagine Dewing, himself, being against! Added meaning. If he truly was such a fan of the Aesthetic movement, why would he not follow the standard of putting no moral story behind the image? Non-narrative seems to be the thought that comes to my mind if I were to look at his paintings--especially in conjunction with one another. I would have to stretch to imagine what he was trying to narrate. I am ever grateful for the "partially inspired" in the text that saves Dewing from being the laughing-stock of the Aesthetic society.