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.