ArtistsinAuction

Joni Diskint is fortunate to be a full-time artist – not a luxury afforded by many. She has set up her home in Chatham, New Jersey as a gallery – Joni Diskint Fine Art – specifically designed to showcase her work.

Her history probably dictated that she would set out on an artistic path. As a child, she was extremely creative, writing stories and making illustrations at a very young age. In fact, she nearly published a book when she was in the fifth grade.

The early years

But she only fully entertained the idea of being an artist when she was in college. She flourished in color and painting classes, received great feedback from professors, and decided to spend a year in London pursing her craft.

Things started to happen for her rather quickly. While living and painting in Colorado she began to show her work at local shows. At 25, she had her first show in Soho, NY, which marked the beginning of a yearly occurrence – she would show at a different gallery in Soho every year. At the time, she lived in the Berkshires, where she owned a gallery and would exhibit her work as well as that of other emerging artists.

At 30, she moved to the east side of NYC. “There was too much going on in the city not to be here”, she says.  Soon her work started selling in earnest, especially once she started offering prints of her pieces.

Seeing the light

The landscape is her inspiration – the colors and the light, as well as its never ending, constantly changing nature.  In most of her pieces the sky plays an important role because it is forever moving and always conveying a unique type of light.

Take “Lonesome Valley,” a very evocative and challenging piece that conveys a dramatic, dark sky contrasting against the white snow. The piece is very deep and intense and is made from a very dark color palette.  The ominous sky takes the viewer into a depth, to a different place.

The “Oil Lamps” are equally evocative in their portrayal of light. She bought the lamps in India and uses them for meditation, mostly at night when they cast a very solemn glow. Her idea was to capture the dark, that is to paint the light within the dark, and her aim was to go as dark as possible.  She had studied Vermeer and other masters who so artfully conveyed light, and so she felt the need to do so as well.

“Reflected Light” is another play on light, this time using the reflection of the sun against the trees at sunset. These trees are actually in her backyard and she worked endlessly to evoke the light to come through to the canvas.

Joni sells through her home as well as through a variety of charity shows. She also has a separate studio attached to the house where she teaches painting classes.  We invite you to view the work of our featured artist and to “see the light” in her varied works.

To view the ArtistsinAuction website click here.

To view more of  Joni Diskint’s work, click here.

¿Era el amor secreto del pintor Johannes Vermeer o quizás su hija? Aún no lo sabemos con seguridad, pero lo que sí podemos asegurar es que el pintor supo captar su belleza y trasladarla al lienzo de una forma única.

En la película La Joven de la Perla (Peter Webber, 2003) que está basada a su vez en la novela de Tracy Chevalier, nos muestran la historia de Griet, una muchacha que se ve obligada a trabajar para la familia Vermeer. A pesar de no caer demasiado bien a sus hijas, y de los celos que sentía su esposa, ella aprendió junto al pintor a mezclar los colores y a entender cómo utilizaba la luz en sus cuadros.

Lo que más me gusta de la película es cómo han sabido recrear el ambiente de los cuadros en la gran pantalla. Los lienzos de Vermeer se caracterizaban principalmente por representar escenas costumbristas, donde personas anónimas realizaban sus tareas cotidianas. La luz siempre era natural y provenía generalmente de una ventana lateral, y los colores que utilizaba eran muy vivos (azules, rojos, amarillos…) como podemos ver en los ropajes de sus protagonistas:

La Lechera, Muchacha leyendo una carta, Mujer con una jarra de agua, Lección de música

Volviendo al retrato de la joven, nos damos cuenta de que es diferente a los demás cuadros. Realmente, el artista supo plasmar su belleza en el lienzo y despertar la curiosidad del espectador con su mirada. Por eso se dice que es la obra cumbre de Vermeer; la realizó hacia 1665 y hoy podemos verla en el Museo Mauritshuis de La Haya, en Holanda.

I started another study of Vermeer’s “Girl with a Pearl Earring” back in early October. This one was done the same size as the original, but only a portion of the painting.

vermeer study

The main reason I was doing this second study was to try learn to slowly build up the  layers of paint to establish the different values. I still have some work to do on this painting, but I think it is going ok. Another thing I learned was that some of the paints I was using were not capable of producing some of the effects which are necessary for this painting. Also, some of the paint brands I was using were not as good as they could be.

So, I bought some new colors of Winsor Newton paints to tackle this. I also bought a larger palette that has greater area to mix the paints. I have yet to return to this painting after I made these changes, but to plan to some time in the future.

A few of the new colors I got are Indigo, Vandyke Brown, Raw Sienna, and Hooker’s Green. I removed Yellow Ochre and Burnt Umber from my paints. I am going to try and build up the darks rather than mix a dark color and apply opaquely.

Chez les musulmans et les juifs, la représentation est interdite, ce sont les textes qui prônent. L’image, selon eux, véhicule toujours soit la luxure, l’érotisme, le désire, l’idolâtrie ou l’inceste comme dans : « La Nudité de Noé et La Malédiction de Canaan (Genèse 9:18-29) ». On lit : « Cham, le père de Canaan, vit son père nu et sortit pour le raconter à ses frères. Pendant que Sem et Japhet refusèrent d’entrer, Cham n’a eu aucunes hésitations à propos d’entrer dans la tente. Quelque ait été la faiblesse de Noé, il était à l’intérieur de sa propre tente. C’était comme ça que Sem et Japhet le voyaient. Cham y est entré, violant le principe d’intimité, pourtant, pas pour l’aider mais à se divertir à ses dépends. Cham n’a rien fait pour préserver la dignité de son père. Il n’a rien fait pour être sûr que Noé soit proprement couvert. A la place, il est sorti, alla vers ses deux frères et graphiquement décrit ce qu’il vu à l’intérieur. Il me semble que Cham ait put encourager Sem et Japhet à entrer dans la tente pour qu’ils puissent voir d’eux-mêmes. L’un d’eux prit la tunique, celle dont Noé aurait du être couvert, sur leurs épaules, ils marchèrent à reculons dans la tente. Sans regarder leur père, ils le couvrirent et sortirent de la tente. »

La représentation n’est aucunement interdite par le Coran, mais plutôt par un hadit qui dit que toute représentation s’apparente à une forme d’idolâtrie. On peut y lire : « nous ne sommes pas créateurs, seul Dieu a ce pouvoir, de ce fait nous n’avons pas le droit de représenter. » Dans la Torah, lorsque Moise est revenu avec la table des 10 commandements, il découvrit que son peuple avait commencé à vénéré le veau d’or. Il détruisit immédiatement cette statue en la faisant fondre et jeté à la mer. Chez les chrétiens, on peut lire dans la Bible que Dieu est représenté par le feu lorsque Jésus lui parle. On sait également que Jésus, fils de dieu, entité invisible s’est incarné en humain pour être visible aux yeux de tous. Dans l’évangile selon Saint- Jean il rapporte ces termes : « Celui qui m’a vu, a vu le Père.» On traduit par : « Je suis l’image, la représentation de Dieu. » C’est grâce à ce texte qu’il y a eu légitimation de la création iconographique en occident. Chez les peuples Bouddhistes, on a la table des 32 caractéristiques d’un bouddha. Chaque bouddha est facilement reconnaissable, grâce à des caractéristiques dont ne sont jamais pourvus les êtres humains ordinaires. Il existe 32 caractéristiques qui sont propres à tous les bouddhas omniscients. Ces caractéristiques sont déjà toutes présentes au moment de leur naissance, et ne changent jamais, jusqu’au parinibbána. Nous, nous attarderons donc sur les deux peuples qui autorisent les représentations et les créations d’images. On exposera le thème du miroir en occident et en orient. Dans un premier temps, on verra comment le spectateur passe d’un mode « passif » à « actif ». Dans un second temps, on expliquera comment les œuvres asiatiques ont habitué le spectateur a une vision «  active » et à évoluer celui-ci en « acteur ».

Une des œuvres occidentale importante dans l’histoire du miroir est celle de la « La jeune fille assoupie ».

Une Jeune Fille assoupie (Het Slapende Meisje) au Metropolitan Museum de New York Johannes Vermeer, 1657, Huile sur toile.

Si l’on analyse ce tableau ; on peut voir que la lumière provient de la fenêtre située à la place du spectateur qui donne des tons ocres à l’œuvre. Au premier plan, on observe un amoncellement d’objets. Un semblant de désordre règne. Une chaise à bras de lion se trouve en bas à gauche. Ce rapprochement « grossi » crée une bannière entre la jeune fille et le spectateur. On est proche d’elle presque inclus dans la scène, mais en même temps elle reste inaccessible. Les critiques conviennent généralement que de soi-disant le tableau dans le tableau est censé donner le commentaire sur la scène qui a lieu ci-dessous. L’interprétation de cette image a été particulièrement problématique. On suppose que l’inclusion du masque dans la peinture de cupidon a illuminé le thème avec une référence typique ; la désillusion amoureuse. Le masque tombé signifie la fin de la duperie, plutôt qu’étant ivre, la jeune fille peut simuler le sommeil à son amoureux qui est sur le point d’apparaître. En fait, Vermeer avait par le passé peint un cavalier debout dans la pièce arrière, vue à travers la porte, mais il a par la suite décidé de l’effacer. Au 3ème plan, on peut reconnaitre un miroir plat qui ne reflète rien. Ce rien peut faire référence à l’absence.

Depuis des siècles, les artistes ont formé le spectateur à la vision « passive ». Une simple vision monoculaire suffit à déterminer la perspective linéaire ainsi que le point de fuite comme le démontre le livre d’Alberti. Ces idéaux seront bousculé à l’époque contemporaine par des artistes tels que Monet et sa série de nymphéas.

Nous ne pouvons pas analyser une Monet comme un Vermeer. Nous n’avons pas de repère, pas de point de fuite, pas de perspective linéaire. Nous n’avons aucun référent à l’art de la peinture comme chez Alberti. Les nymphéas, ces délicates fleurs d’eau, font partie des sujets de prédilection de l’artiste qui voulait, à la manière de la photographie naissante, saisir l’instant et, surtout en restituer la lumière particulière. Nous ne pouvons que suivre les couleurs vaporeuses. Notre regard se perdant dans cet infini de tons bleus, verts et blancs. Le reflet du Saul et du ciel dans l’eau nous amène à considérer l’eau comme un miroir.  Les nénuphars se déclinent en plusieurs verts plus bleutés que les feuilles de saule. Les artistes occidentaux ont abordé le miroir sous différentes formes. Tout d’abord ils l’ont représenté en peinture, en sérigraphie puis il est devenu comme si dessus un simple reflet, et finalement, une matière de support à l’art. C’est ainsi que le spectateur a évolué sa vision. Il est passé d’une vision « passive » (monoculaire) à celle d’ « active » que les asiatiques maitrisent depuis des siècles déjà.

En effet, les arts asiatiques ont habitué le spectateur à suivre le récit des œuvres. Le regard du spectateur oriental, est en mouvement constant. L’artiste guide le spectateur à travers les couleurs, et les personnages. L’eau des œuvres de Fugaku Sanjurokkei est comme un miroir vide. Il absorbe totalement le paysage. Notre regarde divague aux grès des couleurs à la recherche de repères, mais se retrouve face à une image plate, sans perspective. L’endroit semble être Ninomiya actuel, une ville près de la côte de la préfecture de Kanagawa entre Kozu et Odawara. L’œuvre montre un groupe de grues dans le premier plan avec deux autres le vol au loin vers Fuji. De la série la plus célèbre de Hokusai : Sanjurokkei de Fugaku, les « trente-six vues du Mont Fuji. » L’ensemble de 46 copies éditées par Eijudo c 1830-32. C’est une des conceptions les plus admirées de l’ensemble et une des plus difficiles à trouver dans l’état tôt (comme Kajikazawa). Alternativement, ceux-ci tendent également à être les conceptions qui sont imprimées presque seulement dans les tonalités de bleu et de vert. Elles ont été les premières à être conçues pour montrer au loin le nouveau bleu prussien.

Katsushika HOKUSAI, Fugaku Sanjurokkei, 1830-1832, bois.

A partir des années 1930, une grande artiste va s’intéressée plus au miroir que n’importe quel autre artiste asiatique. A travers sa série « Miroited years», Yayoi Kusama, créa une installation aux multiples murs miroités. On observe des sculptures orangées aux points blancs qui se reflètent partout dans le cube miroité. Lorsque nous rentrons à l’intérieur c’est comme si nous somme passé dans un autre monde, un peu comme Alice qui traverse le miroir (cf. : Alice aux pays des merveilles). L’ingénieux système de miroir, réfléchit à l’infini une couleur orangée parsemée de points blancs. Une sensation d’être perdus, petits nous envahi, puis lorsque nous sortons, c’est comme un retour à la morosité. Le spectateur asiatique devient alors acteur dans ses œuvres car lui-même est reflété partout, sur tous les miroirs.

Walking in My Mind, Yayoi Kusama

Cette morosité est dépassée dans certaines villes où l’on est envahi de gratte-ciels miroités. Nous nous retrouvons donc dans une ville de miroir où le sol ne peut rien refléter, ainsi qu’un ciel trop haut pour être réfléchit. Nous sommes dans un monde où nos buildings reflètent le vide. Les immeubles sont placardés d’images, de photos, de publicité, d’écrans télévisés. Le spectateur ne sait plus où il doit regarder. Il devient donc acteur. Il fait parti de cette œuvre à grande échelle. Il occupe une place importante en tant que spectateur de la vie quotidienne. Nous sommes tous passé d’un rôle de spectateur à un rôle d’acteur, car nous faisons parti intégrante des « shows » de la vie. Tous les jours les médias quotidiens nous présentent les informations comme des « mini shows » c’est donc à partir de cela que nous devenons des acteurs dans ce spectacle de la vie. On peut finir par se demander si : l’acteur, finira dépassé par ce spectacle aux multiples visages, aux milliers de miroirs ?

One of the side effects of a tragedy like the shooting at Fort Hood is its overshadowing of so many other concerns.  The event is just so sad that it makes much else seem, at least, temporarily, insignificant.  (I say, temporarily, because, attention spans are short in our media-drenched culture.)

Such overshadowing can be especially problematic for a writer or artist suffering from writer/artist’s block.  One feels idiotic to even mention such an issue, but there it is–one more reason why one’s work feels stupid, not worth the trouble.   This is especially true if you are a writer or artist whose work doesn’t deal with these kinds of violent tragic impulses, this extent of sudden loss.

This reaction sounds terribly narcissistic.   But usually the struggling writer/artist feels the national tragedy deeply.  He/she may want to respond in some helpful, articulate, way, but can only come up with platitudes.  Writing well about politics and despair may simply not be one’s cup of tea.  However, in the midst of such events, writing about anything else may feel idiotic.

Don’t be driven into inaction because you feel insignificant.  Go on.  You are who you are.  You do the work you do.

This is not to say that you shouldn’t stretch yourself.  You absolutely should.  (Especially if you’re someone prone to blocks or avoidance.)   But don’t give up on something because you feel that it seems silly, inconsequential.

Think about (i)  Dutch interior paintings (Vermeer); and (ii) still lives (Cezanne, Braque, Picasso).

Think  about (i) Charlotte’s Web, (just about the most brilliant children’s book every written – about a pig, spider, and barn);  (ii) Ulysses (a day, mainly, in the life of humdrum Leopold Bloom, (iii) To the Lighthouse (which has, to my mind, one of the most heartbreaking descriptions of the changes in England wrought by World War I, told mainly by the wind rushing through an abandoned house, (iv) The Importance of Being Earnest, (v)  A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream; (vi) almost any poem by Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, lots of  Chinese poets, (vii) too many others to name.

Don’t judge yourself so much.  If you are someone that writes about Columbine, or 9/11, or Fort Hood, that’s wonderful–our world needs help understanding these horrible events.    But don’t worry if you do not directly work on these things;  everything you are and know and think about is in the core, or texture, or background of what you do.  So just do it;  it will do.

PS – check out my many other posts re writer’s block, and writing, and writing exercises, by checking those categories.  Also, check out 1 Mississippi by Karin Gustafson at Amazon, or at link from home page.

That’s the intriguing question I pondered all afternoon.

A colleague and I went to see The Louvre and the Masterpiece at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts today.

The exhibit was mounted by several curators from the Louvre, with the stated goal of exploring “why some artworks are masterpieces, while others are runners-up.”

I found that this philosophical backdrop greatly enhanced my enjoyment of the small—but surprisingly representative—exhibit.

There was no question that Antoine-Louis Baryé’s Lion with Serpent is a masterpiece. My friend commented that you could practically feel the soul of the lion coming through that bronze.

Ditto for Vermeer’s The Astronomer. For me, the man in that painting is still alive, bathed in sunlight, leaning forward in his chair.

To my surprise, though, I pondered whether Leonardo da Vinci’s beautiful Drapery Study was truly a masterpiece. It didn’t communicate anything to me beyond the artist’s extraordinary skill.

I was left wondering: If a drawing is devoid of emotion, is it still art? And what can be said of forgeries? Are they any less beautiful (or valuable) because they were created to defraud? Is a sculpture any less inspiring because it was made by a madman?

In the end, the exhibit didn’t answer any of these questions. But it did frame my appreciation of art in an entirely new light.

The Louvre and the Masterpiece is on display through January 10, 2010.

*

[...] Ed ecco, macchinalmente, oppresso dalla giornata grigia e dalla prospettiva di un triste domani, portai alle labbra un cucchiaino di tè in cui avevo inzuppato un pezzetto di madeleine.

Ma nel momento stesso che quel sorso misto a briciole di focaccia toccò il mio palato, trasalii, attento a quanto avveniva in me di straordinario.

Un piacere delizioso m’aveva invaso, isolato, senza nozione della sua causa. M’aveva subito reso indifferenti le vicissitudini della vita, le sue calamità inoffensive, la sua brevità illusoria, nel modo stesso che agisce l’amore, colmandomi d’un’essenza preziosa: o meglio quest’essenza non era in me, era me stesso.

(M. Proust, La strada di Swann)

*

Op 13 november 2009 om 17.30 uur presenteert het Gemeentemuseum de vernieuwde interactieve website www.delftsaardewerk.nl én de daarbij horende tentoonstelling Delftsaardewerk.nl (besloten bijeenkomst, voor info zie onderaan dit bericht). De tentoonstelling toont een driedimensionale versie van de website, die is opgezet als onafhankelijke expertisesite en door iedereen kan worden uitgebreid.
De website is instellingsoverschrijdend en besteedt aandacht aan alle facetten van de fascinerende wereld van het eeuwenoude Delfts aardewerk. Van de fijnzinnige bewerking van het materiaal tot en met de grootse handel die ermee gepaard gaat. De gekleurde tulpenvazen, potten, kannen, schalen en sierobjecten zijn onlosmakelijk verbonden met het zeventiende-eeuwse Hollandse Delft. Delfts aardewerk is een belangrijke pijler van de Nederlandse cultuur en identiteit en Delft is daarmee (en met Vermeer en zijn vriend van Leeuwenhoek natuurlijk) wereldberoemd.

De bezoeker kan intussen helpen met het uitproberen van de nieuwe website. In de toekomst zal het mogelijk zijn om eigen voorwerpen van Delfts Aardewerk op de site te publiceren en te beoordelen. In de komende maanden het Gemeentemuseum deze functies goed testen met echte voorwerpen en toekomstige gebruikers.
Heeft u een voorwerp van Delfts Aardewerk waar u meer over wilt weten? Meld u aan voor de testgroep via info@gemeentemuseum.nl dan ontvangt u binnenkort verdere instructies.

Voor meer informatie: afd. Voorlichting & PR, Emma van Proosdij 0703381121 evproosdij@gemeentemuseum.nl

Not many people visit this gallery in Potsdamer Platz due to its slightly out of the way location in relation to Museumsinsel. However, it holds one of the most important collections of European art dating from the 13th to the early 19th century.

Rembrant

Most notably, it is home to the second largest collection of Rembrants in the world after the Rembrant Museum in Amsterdam. The collection would have been bigger, had not a fire at the end of the second world war destroyed 11 Rembrants as well as hundreds of other works. 

The gallery currently exhibits about 1500 works, including those by Eyck, Bruegel, Dürer, Raphael, Tizian, Caravaggio, Rubens and Vermeer.  If you don’t have time to take all of them in, here are my top three highlights.

Amor Vincit Omnia

This painting caused a big fuss, not only because of the erotic representation of Cupid, but also because of the realistic touches Caravaggio gives him – such as dirty feet which are unbefitting of a god.

The painting has a photographic quality and striking chiaroscuro lighting. A recent article in The Guardian explains why Caravaggio may have been “ the first master of photographic technique, two centuries before the formal invention of the camera”, and it is interesting to view his paintings in the gallery with this in mind.

Netherlandish Proverbs

Terranuova Madonna

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Mauritshuis Museum, Den Hague 11:00 a.m.

Last night, as I was getting into bed, I decided that rather than dreading the fact that I am another year older, I will instead be grateful for all the years God has given me. My last two birthdays were greeted as just another depressing reminder that I was yet another year older and still did not have a clue what to do with my life. I think that’s two birthdays too many to be spent in that  kind of thinking. On this, my twenty-fourth birthday , I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life. In fact, in some opinions I’ve actually regressed in my current role as a domestic aid. But this is beginning to bother me less and less. The more I get to know my God and how extremely generous He is, the more I can see His grace in my life now and trust that He will continue to provide good things in my future. There is much to be thankful for today. And I will give thanks for these good things.

I am thankful for a warm bed; for waking up to the sound of kids laughing. I am thankful for my bowl of oatmeal and the happy birthday place mat I can eat it on. I know for a fact that strong coffee and milk frothers are a gift from God. I am thankful for packages and letters from family and friends. For orange and cedar lotion, cozy scarves, and colorful slippers. Thank you, God, for music and the joy and comfort it brings. Thank you for showing us in Your Word how eager You were to bless Israel and make them an example to the nations of Your goodness. I am thankful for a bike to ride and the energy that comes from a ride into town. I am thankful for art galleries and year passes, so that a simple girl like me can come and enjoy creative masterpieces that were once available to only an elite few. I thank You for painters, like Vermeer who showcased the beauty of Your creation, so that others could see that You are the God of massive skies, light and shadows, the human eye, and beautiful pearl earrings.

It’s not a sheltered world. The noise begins over there, on the other side of the wall
where the alehouse is
with its laughter and quarrels, its rows of teeth, its tears, its chiming of clocks,
and the psychotic brother-in-law, the murderer, in whose presence
everyone feels fear.

The huge explosion and the emergency crew arriving late,
boats showing off on the canals, money slipping down into pockets
– the wrong man’s –
ultimatum piled on the ultimatum,
widemouthed red flowers who sweat reminds us of approaching war.

And then straight through the wall — from there — straight into the airy studio
in the seconds that have got permission to live for centuries.
Paintings that choose the name: “The Music Lesson”
or ” A Woman in Blue Reading a Letter.”
She is eight months pregnant, two hearts beating inside her.
The wall behind her holds a crinkly map of Terra Incognita.

Just breathe. An unidentifiable blue fabric has been tacked to the chairs.
Gold-headed tacks flew in with astronomical speed
and stopped smack there
as if there had always been stillness and nothing else.

The ears experience a buzz, perhaps it’s depth or perhaps height.
It’s the pressure from the other side of the wall,
the pressure that makes each fact float
and makes the brushstroke firm.

Passing through walls hurts human beings, they get sick from it,
but we have no choice.
It’s all one world. Now to the walls.
The walls are a part of you.
One either knows that, or one doesn’t; but it’s the same for everyone
except for small children. There aren’t any walls for them.

The airy sky has taken its place leaning against the wall.
It is like a prayer to what is empty.
And what is empty turns its face to us
and whispers:
“I am not empty, I am open.”

Tomas Tranströmer
trans. by Robert Bly
in The Winged Energy of Desire (2004)

Commentary: Jan Vermeer was a seventeenth-century, Dutch Baroque painter justly famous for his use of light in his works depicting interior scenes from middle class life. His extraordinary accomplishments have recently come to the attention of the American public because of the novel-turned-film, “The Girl with a Pearl Earring.” In addition, poet Marilyn Chandler McEntyre has written a book of ekphrastic poems on a selection of the painter’s works, In Quiet Light: Poems on Vermeer’s Women.

In our poem, Swedish poet Tomas Tranströmer imagines Vermeer’s studio sharing a wall with an alehouse … the chaos on the alehouse side, the light and life on the art-studio side … and the open attitude of the artist to whatever may come through the wall or from the airy sky.

As I read, I couldn’t help but remember the story from the Gospels of how Jesus appeared to his disciples, walking through a wall when the door to their hiding place was locked. C.S. Lewis has written that to Jesus in his resurrected body, the wall was as ephemeral as mist is to us when we take a walk on an autumn morning. Another human being could not have done it, because “walking through walls hurts human beings,” but Jesus did.

Then he said, “Peace be with you … receive the Holy Spirit.” (John 20:19, 22)

Zwei Fachveranstaltungen der Messe Nürnberg beschäftigten sich mit dem Kundendialog der Zukunft: die Voice Days plus und die CRM Expo. Einen Weckruf an die Denk-und Innovationsbürokraten (Wolf Lotter hat sie in der November-Ausgabe von brand eins aufs Korn genommen) sendete der Fernsehmoderator Ranga Yogeshwar am ersten Kongresstag der Voice Days plus aus. Alle Unternehmensbranchen stehen vor einem radikalen Umbruch, da das Social Web den Kunden mehr Macht und Gehör verschafft. Yogeshwar unterstrich, dass die Innovationsgeschwindigkeit dramatisch steigt und die so genannten „Digital Natives” gerade erst heranwachsen, was hohe Anforderungen an die Anpassungsfähigkeit der Wirtschaft stellt. „Mit meinem neuen iPhone habe ich das Rechenzentrum meiner Studienzeit in der Hosentasche. Mit der WDR-Sendung Quarks & Co erreichen wir rund 500.000 Podcast-Downloads im Monat. Hier erreichen wir Größenordnungen, wo wir im normalen TV-Programm als öffentlich-rechtliche Anbieter zwar sehr viele jungen Menschen verlieren, aber durch die Hintertür im Internet wieder zurückgewinnen. Das zeigt sehr deutlich, mit welchem Tempo der Wandel in Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft verläuft. Wenn Sie das Gefühl haben, es ging in den vergangenen Jahren schnell, dann legen Sie den Gurt an: Es wird noch schneller”, so Yogeshwar.

Den Epochenwechsel machte der Wissenschaftsjournalist an zwei Bildern des Malers Vermeer fest, die im Abstand von einem Jahr entstanden. Das Werk mit dem Titel „Der Astronom” aus dem Jahr 1668 zeigte noch eine Welt, in der Menschen etwas betrachten.

„Der Astronom wagt nicht, etwas zu verändern. Ein Jahr später entsteht ‚Der Geograph’, der aktiv gestaltet und am Fortschritt arbeitet sowie das Schicksal in die eigenen Hände nimmt. Es gibt viele Kunsthistoriker, die sagen, dass es sich um ein Scharnierbild handelt. Es dokumentiert den gesellschaftlich-kulturellen Wandel dieser Zeit. Von einer kontemplativen Welt zu einer Epoche, die Dinge tut. Meine These ist, wenn Vermeer noch leben würde, müsste er heute ein drittes Bild malen, denn wir leben in einer Zeit, die wieder einem Scharnier entspricht”, sagte Yogeshwar in Nürnberg.

Fortschritt sei im 17. Jahrhundert noch sehr langsam verlaufen. Das war eine Geschichte, die von einer Menschengeneration zur nächsten übermittelt wurde. Das ist ein großer Unterschied zu heute. Jeden Tag werden weltweit 20.000 wissenschaftliche Abhandlungen publiziert, jede Minute gibt es irgendwo auf der Welt eine neue chemische Substanz, die synthetisiert wird, alle drei Minuten gibt es eine neue physikalische Erkenntnis. Und das Tempo legt zu”, prognostizierte Yogeshwar.

Konsum, Produktion und Dienstleistungen seien mittlerweile weltweit abrufbar und jeder sollte sich fragen, ob das eigene Business in Zukunft woanders besser, schneller und günstiger gemacht werden kann. Mobilität zähle zum Megatrend der nächsten Jahre. „Wir werden zunehmend Kunden haben, die nicht mehr lokal verpflanzt sind, sondern sich permanent neu organisieren. Es sind intelligente Kunden, die sich nicht mehr abspeisen lassen. Sie sind besser informiert, sie sind schneller, kritischer und sie kommunizieren in einer völlig anderen Weise”, erklärte Yogeshwar. Noch nie zuvor sei derart viel erfunden worden. Das Telefon brauchte rund 100 Jahre, bis es sich durchsetzte. Auf ein Ferngespräch nach Indien wartete Yogeshwar früher noch 48 Stunden und wenn die Leitung zustande kam, mussten sein Eltern schreien, um sich verständlich zu machen.

„Heute ist die Telefonie. Das Medium Internet wächst in einer Dynamik, die man nicht mehr verstehen kann. Wer meint, das Internet zu verstehen, liegt falsch. So hat die Distribution in der Musikindustrie einen Einbruch von 30 Prozent erlebt. Und man darf sich fragen, ob der Job des Verlegers ein Auslaufmodell ist. Die letzte Wetten, dass-Sendung hatte gut elf Millionen Zuschauer und zählt zu den Einschaltquoten-Champions. Die Jeff Dunham-Show ist viel bekannter. Sein Internet-Video ‚Ahmed the Dead Terrorist’ hat über verschiedene Internetkanäle allein in England 96 Millionen Downloads erreicht. Die Musik spielt nicht mehr bei ‚Wetten, dass’, die Musik spielt im Web”, meint Yogeshwar.
Den kompletten Vortrag findet Ihr hier als Audiodatei. Yogeshwar für die Ohren:

Siehe auch:
Yogeshwar und die Scharnierfunktion des Internets: Tempo des gesellschaftlichen und wirtschaftlichen Wandels läuft schneller.

Mit der Design Thinking-Methode die Serviceökonomie verbessern – Das ist in Deutschland leider noch selten der Fall.

Was Sprachcomputer noch leisten werden – O-Töne von Professor Wahlster sind sehr interessant.

Mit sozialen Netzwerken den Kundenservice verbessern – Web 2.0 kein Parkett für autoritäre Kontrollfreaks.

This year marks the 400th anniversary of the day when the Dutch explorer Henry Hudson turned right at Mannahatta Island and was floored to discover a river named after him. To celebrate that boat trip, the curators of the Met — having already rejected the idea of an exhibit of plaster garden statues of the little Dutch boy and little Dutch girl kissing — asked the curators of the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam if they could borrow Vermeer’s famous painting The Milkmaid for a couple of months.

Next thing you know, there I am standing “on line” (as they say in the East) waiting to get into an entire exhibit built around the display of this one painting. Don’t let the photo above mislead you as to the actual size of The Milkmaid. Pointy Hand A indicates the kind of wall-sized enlargement so beloved of exhibit designers. Making the unwashed public feel tiny seems to be as much a goal of museum directors as it is a delight to us, the hoi polloi. Give us an enlarged molecule to stand in, or a capillary to slide through, and we’ll call it a day well-spent. The actual painting is only about 13 inches wide.

As Pointy Hand B tells us, though, no picture-taking was vouchsafed the herd. We had only to drink in the Dutch beneficence in gratitude and shuffle off to the next silk-screened wall-ful of explanatory text in 2-inch type. The Met had turned one painting into a four-gallery affair by bunging in four of their own Vermeers (one was left upstairs for good luck) and other flotsam by contempory painters which we all ignored.

At the show’s entrance, the curators had very cleverly covered a vast wall with repros of all 36 known Vermeers in more-or-less chronological order. I counted the ones I’ve seen in Washington, at the Frick, at Norton Simon, and here at the Met and was surprised to learn I’d seen 13 of the entire bunch. Mrs NiceWork told me of an acquaintance who had made it her life’s goal to see every Vermeer. She planned her vacations accordingly. I thought –I even made that “hmm” sound signifying thought — Vermeer trekking wasn’t such a bad idea, and noted the locations of the other 23.

Also, considering the rapid, ongoing Islamification of the Europe and the fate of the Bamiyan Buddhas under Muslim rule, I wondered if maybe I ought to push the schedule forward a bit.

There’s nothing better than having some slow time on your hands. Many years ago, in late spring, with my university exams finished and the party and vacation mode not yet begun, I bought an art print that perfectly summed up my mood.

It shows a red brick house with step gables. A woman sits sewing in an open doorway while another works at a washtub in an adjoining alley. Children kneel on the street, possibly concentrating on a game of marbles. Warm light floods the scene, and everyone looks completely relaxed and comfortable; like students who don’t need to study any more, I thought at the time.

The painting is Johannes Vermeer’s The Little Street, painted in 1658 in Delft. Having a spare day in Holland, I thought I’d pay that town a visit. Everywhere in the Netherlands is close to everywhere else, and Delft is less than an hour south of Amsterdam.

When my train rolled into Delft, I felt an initial twinge of disappointment; the modern buildings across from the station were nothing like those in Vermeer’s painting. The church tower leaning over the top of them promised better things.

I cut through an alley to a canal called Oude (Old) Delft. This was more like it – rows of little terrace houses with Dutch gables and white bridges arching over the water. Even the glass-topped tourist boat was moving noticeably slower than those in Amsterdam do, inching its way down the narrow canal, either to avoid scraping paint off on the walls or maybe to make the tour of the little town last longer and give the customers better value for money.

The leaning tower turned out to be the spire of the Old Church, where Vermeer now lies buried, and it’s been developing that tilt for nearly 800 years.

The square between the beautiful shuttered town hall and the New Church (well, it was new in the 14^th century and people felt the name was catchy) was closed to through traffic because it was market day. Stalls were selling herrings, huge round cheeses and fresh vegetables. Banter was exchanged. Church bells rang.

I could imagine I was stepping back into Holland’s Golden Age of the 17^th century, when Delft was a prosperous town of potters, brewers and weavers, and HQ of the Dutch West Indies Company. At least until I noticed that the carillon tinkling from the church tower was playing My Way.

Shops lining the square were unashamed tourist traps, selling fluffy clog-shaped slippers and Delft blue pottery. ‘Bill Clinton ate poffertjes here,’ announced the sign on a cafe, referring to the popular Dutch pastries. A little further along were workshops where I could watch through the windows to where genuine Delft women were hand-painting 100% authentic traditional tiles and vases.

Delft itself has no original Vermeer paintings; they’re all in larger towns, where larger galleries have bigger budgets, but a new Vermeer Centre has opened on the Voldersgracht, the canal thought to have been the inspiration for The Little Street. I was the only visitor until a small tour group joined me.

Inside were annotated prints of all 37 Vermeer works. They include two cityscapes and a couple of early classical scenes, while nearly all the others are quiet domestic interiors, with sun filtering in from the left of the frame, through the same leadlight window. Vermeer’s themes are peace, quiet and a celebration of ordinary activities – writing, reading, making music and doing household chores.

Little is known of Vermeer’s private life, though we do know he was active in the arts community of Delft, as a member of the artists’ Guild of St Luke. He died aged just 43, and his output was relatively small. He’d only turned out two or three paintings a year, so he can’t have been rushing. You’d imagine he must have enjoyed a leisurely existence, but maybe he didn’t. He had fourteen children, always struggled for money and lived at his mother-in-law’s, so perhaps life at the Vermeer house wasn’t quite as laid-back as his work suggests.

Moreover, that quiet little street is probably a fantasy scene. Shortly before it was painted, a quarter of Delft and many of its citizens were destroyed when the gunpowder magazine exploded. Vermeer’s images of peace and quiet may well be a result of wishful thinking.

Upstairs in the Vermeer Centre, I learned how he mixed his paint, adding sand grains to the red he used to portray masonry, thus creating the effect known as ‘brick Vermeer’. Sorry.

There was an explanation of the double perspective in his characteristic chessboard-tiled floors. A slightly embarrassed volunteer from the tour group sat at the table by a reproduction of Vermeer’s leadlight window so a guide could explain to us the play of light and shadow, and we examined a camera obscura.

Outside, armed with a small map from the tourist office, I took a Delft walking tour with a Vermeer theme – a pleasant short amble, though there’s little left of the town Vermeer knew, other than those two churches. The city wall and gates he depicted have been demolished, as has the house where he lived. A rather nondescript church stands on that corner now.

There was still time left in the day to see the real paintings. There was no rush. I knew there were Vermeers in The Hague, just a fifteen-minute train ride away.

The Mauritshuis in The Hague is the most beautiful art museum in the Netherlands, according to many, and they’ll get no argument from me. It’s small; a former nobleman’s residence, with polished wood staircases and intimate rooms lined with deep green or red wallpaper.

It holds some of the greatest treasures from Holland’s Golden Age, including two Rembrandt self-portraits and his famous anatomy lesson. I’m afraid I walked past them and went straight to Floor 2, Room 15.

There was Vermeer’s brilliant View of Delft. Two women chat in the foreground as a cloud shades the buildings across the harbour, leaving those behind them in the light of the low sun. As a fully-fledged expert I could now admire the technique at close quarters – thick grainy paint for the bricks, contrasting with the almost translucent reflections on the water.

On the opposite wall was a small painting, bought in 1881 for 2.30 guilders. Even allowing for 128 years of inflation it was still a bargain price for ‘Girl With a Pearl Earring’. Vermeer’s work, only moderately successful in his lifetime, had fallen into obscurity, valued only by a few connoisseurs, until in the nineteenth century he was rediscovered by German art historian Gustav Friedrich Waagen and French art critic Theophile Thore-Burger.

I had the girl all to myself and, at the risk of cheapening great art with popular language, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. The painting is so simple yet powerful, the world-famous pearl rendered by just two brushstrokes in a dark shadow.

It was disappointing to learn that the girl herself is likely to have been invented, because she’s someone you want to know more about. Small wonder that Tracy Chevalier’s novel about her was so popular. I understand too that the evocative film version of the story, starring Scarlett Johannsen and Colin Firth, was largely shot not in Delft, but in Luxembourg.

Finally, back in Amsterdam I dropped into the Rijksmuseum, to take another look at The Little Street. It hangs beside his lovely Kitchen Maid (the girl in yellow pouring milk), and is surrounded by work of his contemporaries, notably Pieter de Hooch and Jan Steen. Steen is famous for crowded scenes of raucous activity, but de Hooch, like Vermeer, specialised in quiet interiors.

That’s a pity for de Hooch. His work is fine, but it’s unfair to hang it on the same continent as a Vermeer, let alone on the same wall. It just seems flat when compared to the master’s magic.

Vermeer’s amazing handing of light does the trick, conjuring up watery sun and still air, and capturing forever those wonderful moments of precious slow time.

TRIP NOTES:

Getting there: Return train ticket Amsterdam-Delft via The Hague is EUR19.30.

Entry ticket for both Old and New Churches in Delft costs EUR3.20.
Vermeer Centre entry is EUR6.
Mauritshuis entry is EUR9.50, including audio guide.

Rijskmuseum Amsterdam entry is EUR10.
Tip: A museumkaart (museum card) costs EUR40 and gives free entry to most Dutch museums, including the Mauritshuis and the Rijksmuseum, and discounts to others including the Vermeer Centre. It can be bought at larger museums and is valid for a year.

I simply must point my readers to a seven part series in the New York Times‘ Zoom blog by filmmaker Errol Morris.  The series is entitled “Bamboozling Ourselves,” and is really an excellent narrative and discussion about Dutch Nazi collaborator and artist, Han van Meegeren, who forged and sold nearly a dozen Vermeer paintings to Nazis during World War II.  I’m linking to the first installment in the series, and from there you can read the following installments.

"Girl With a Pearl Earring" - Vermeer

I realize that this is kind of an old series (from way back in May), but I’m an avid peruser of nytimes.com, and I didn’t unearth it until today, so maybe you, dear reader, missed it too.  And thank goodness for slow work days, I was able to read all seven parts, plus the reactionary eighth part, while at my desk.

First, the story of Van Meegeren is absolutely enthralling.  Now, I’m no art expert, but the general concesus, I think, is that in hindsight, Van Meegeren’s forgeries are really terrible pieces of art.  Look out below…

"Supper at Emmaus" by Van Meegeren, sold as a Vermeer

Bet you recognize the painting on the left.  The painting on the right is on of Van Meegeren’s forgeries.  Van Meegeren did not copy Vermeer paintings – rather, his forgeries were original works that mimicked Vermeer’s style.  They were sold as “undiscovered” Vermeers.

The article brings up a lot of great questions, about why Van Meegeren was able to get away with it, and then how he manipulated the story so that he became a Dutch folk hero rather than a Nazi conspirator.  Really fascinating read, and I highly recommend it – both if you like art, and if you like really good stories.

The reason that I post this is because I would really, really love to see someone curate a Van Meegeren exhibit, with examples of his own art that he produced under his own name:

"Grain, Petroleum, Cotton" - Van Meegeren

along with his forgeries.  I’d really love to see the story told through the images, rather than text (although, the text story is excellent).

The essay was written in response to two books that came out in the past year about Van Meegeren, one entitled The Forger’s Spell by Edward Dolnick, which I believes focuses more on the actual fakery and how Van Meegeren was able to pull it all off, and The Man Who Made Vermeers by Jonathan Lopez, which deals more with the biography of Van Meegeren.  I think I may have to pick both of these up.

And finally, I’ll quote a passage referred to in Part 5.  This is a quote from Goring, the Nazi and art collector who purchased “Supper at Emmaus.”  As Morris says, it highlights the relevance of Van Meegeren’s story:

Why, of course, people don’t want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally, the common people don’t want war… That is understood. But it is the leaders of the country who determine policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along… The people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country.

De entre todas la Novedades recién llegadas a la Mediateca destacamos estos tres títulos…

“La Vida es Un Milagro”,Un Film de Emir Kusturica , premiado con el Cesar de Oro a la Mejor Película Europa de 2005. 

“Quills” un film cargado de sensualidad protagonizado por Kate Winslet y Geoffrey Rush , y con Michael Caine y Joaquin Phoenix entre el reparto.

La sugerente Scarlett Johansson y el actor británico Colin Firth protagonizan la “La Joven de la Perla”

TheEnd

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Geïnspireerd door schilderijen van Vermeer liet de fotograaf zijn modellen vaak in hun eigen omgeving poseren. Zo transformeerde hij hierboven in  Woman reading a possession order (1997) het Brieflezend meisje (ca. 1657) van Vermeer in een jonge vrouw die, sereen en uiterlijk onbewogen, een bevel tot uitzetting leest.

Sommige critici vinden zijn foto’s té gestileerd en hopeloos romantisch.

Ik hou van zijn foto’s en wordt warm van zijn in inktzwart gefotografeerde Swan Song.

Marika Keblusek / NRC Handelsblad

Some sixty years after his death, master forger Han van Meegeren (1889-1947) continues to intrigue: in the past few years, not one but three English-language biographies of him have appeared. In 2006, the British journalist Frank Wynne published his (rather simplistic) I Was Vermeer, and now two new books about “the man who swindled Goering” have just come out in America.

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This is my new favorite book for sexy reading funtime!

It is so very mysterious and a true story about an art forger. He makes pictures to look like Vermeer and is involved also with Nazis. It is soooo well written! I think the author is inside my head and speaks only to me. It is most sexiful feeling!

The author is very handsome! Ellie and Christine want him for sexy funtime in the bedroom! We would make him very happy!

I find this description of the book on the web. It is soooo true!

My advice: Get a copy of Jonathan Lopez’s terrific new book, “The Man Who Made Vermeers.” It’s so jam-packed and nicely written that you’ll burn right through it.

The yearning for Vermeer is central to Lopez’s story, which chronicles how Han van Meegeren was able to successfully produce numerous forgeries of works claimed to be by the painter from Delft. Look at some of those fakes today, and they seem so obviously wrong as to leave one puzzled as to how they could have been accepted by some of the 20th century’s best museum curators, art dealers and private collectors. We must be way smarter than them.

Well, no. Lopez astutely points out: “[A] fake doesn’t necessarily succeed or fail according to the fidelity with which it replicates the distant past but on the basis of its power to sway the contemporary mind. Although the best forgeries may mimic the style of a long-dead artist, they tend to reflect the tastes and attitudes of their own period.” Lopez shows how Van Meegeren split that critical difference.

Since the “tastes and attitudes” of Van Meegeren’s own period included the horrific rise of Nazism in Europe, Lopez’s fresh interpretation of events is very provocative — not to mention convincing. Two important things he brings to his four-year revisionist study: The writer is himself a painter, so he understands art materials in a hands-on way; and, he’s fluent in Dutch, which made interviews and original document research possible.

It would be hard to improve on Lopez’s gem of a tale.

Am dat peste un podcast de 22 de minute despre lumina in pictura lui Vermeer direct de pe siteul National Gallery of Art.
“Atingeti” imaginea pentru podcast

Vizionare placuta!