Friday, April 15, 2011

Peacock Room


ABSTRACT: THE ART WORLD about James McNeill Whistler’s Peacock Room. In 1876-77, James McNeill Whistler altered the décor of the London dining room of his patron Frederick Leyland, a Liverpool shipowner who used the room’s shelves to display his vast collection of blue-and-white Chinese porcelains. The result was one of the most intoxicating decorative ensembles in the world: “Harmony in Blue and Gold: The Peacock Room,” which, since 1923, has been the star attraction of the Freer Gallery, a museum rich in Asian and Islamic art, in Washington, D.C. Charles Lang Freer, an American railroad-car manufacturer, bought the room, after Leyland’s death, from a London dealer, in 1904, and had it installed at his home, in Detroit. Upon Freer’s death, in 1919, his will endowed the Freer Gallery, which opened, four years later, as the first of the Smithsonian art museums. Last week, the Freer débuted a temporary reinstallation of the Peacock Room, by the curator Lee Glazer, which re-create its look in photographs from 1908— adorned not with porcelains but with two hundred and fifty-four of Freer’s own Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Middle Eastern earthenware and stoneware ceramics, which he left the museum. The effect is wonderful. Leyland and his wife, Frances, championed Whistler in England. The gifted architect Thomas Jeckyll had lined the Peacock Room with latticed walnut shelving to accommodate Leyland’s porcelains. Where Jeckyll had envisioned a sun-dappled Chinese pavilion, Whistler contrived a chamber of the night. It realizes a synesthetic fusion of dazzling spectacle and intimate touch. Whistler was quite as modern as his friends among the French Impressionists, though he took a different tack from their common sources in the vehement realism of Courbet and the Spanish revivalism and dandyish urbanity of Manet. Whistler missed the express train to modernism when he moved from Paris to London, in the eighteen-sixties, and set up as a bad-boy darling of high society. But, for a great spell that peaked in the Peacock Room, he achieved a unity of avant-garde spirit and civil decorum. The amazing keynote of the room, given its crowding with visual incident, is simplicity.

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/artworld/2011/04/18/110418craw_artworld_schjeldahl#ixzz1JcM2rnlc

Tim Walker


sometimes my heart beats quicker than it should when facing such beauty.  Is the exposure so perilous 

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Ferragamo residence in Florence


photo-Peter Estersohn

Ferragamo Residence - Florence, Italy

Since I'm into circles again today
what better than a circular
swimming pool
re-enforced by wedges
in the
hedges
and stripes
at the edges

Kenneth Noland



Friday, April 8, 2011

Where is Weiwei




China is too much!
government is too much!
people are too much!
too many people are too much!
getting from here to there is too much!
crying my eyes out for art is too much!

too many bicycles strung
together
weightlessly

is nearly enough

stools that dance and lift themselves
from a clean white floor

is nearly enough

one artist shaping, lifting
pulling the dark, 
heavy load
of us

is not

enough

Jean-jaques du Plessis

emerging young artist-
showing at Valentina Bonomo gallery Rome

and

my nephew


Thursday, April 7, 2011

Loren Mciver




she greeted me at the door
of her Greenwich village
town house 
a fugitive
from another age of New York
the door shut behind us
and into a world long 
left behind
This place was the
last gasp
of Bohemia
the walls with their
crumbling pallor in shades
of death
took the undulating
shapes of her 
crippled shoulders
Up those impossible stairs
 the studio cluttered with
another generation's
worries and joys 
unfolded
before me like a crime scene
there lay remnants
of a night with Calder
twisted into shapes of
champagne cork
housings
were dancers doing pirouettes.
in another corner were exuberances
scribbled on walls by 
Marianne Moore
and ee Cummings
echoes 
of stars gone dark

If I believed in ghosts
then I saw the
hunched shape
of Dylan Thomas
at the kitchen table
crying for
sobriety

A skylight above
crowned the space 
but like on a stage
the light that filtered
through
came from an imaginary
place
We spent our evenings
in the twilight
of her memories
excavating meaning
from an unchanged
narrative

she was its reluctant survivor
left alone
abandoned even
 with her pots of paint
and sticks of chalk
only her gnarled fingers 
at the end 
could scratch out
a clear message
from a
time gone by
a time
she liked better
than 
now




Bill Cunningham New York


Bill is the guardian angel
of Fashion
Through his lens and his
monk like austerity
he transforms,
all that is venal, excessive and
stupid
about Fashion
into what it naturally
is
a delightful tool, a coping mechanism,
an affirmation
of our shared
anxiety
teetering on the edge
of disaster and
ecstasy

The world is again in need of a saviour

Fashion has theirs in
Bill  


Glass Orbs

While I don't love all things
Union Glass
I do love these

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Romeo Gigli - In the 80's


He enraptured the fashion
crowd with a romantic
vision not seen since
the turn of the century
in some hybrid and imagined
orientalist world
Season after season he 
defined beauty
and pageantry
a perfect escape
from the Reagan era
of pearls 
Nancy red
Barbara blue
and everything else
honky white