The Neon Blog

In the years between the two World Wars, Surrealist photographer Claude Cahun explored the conceptions of identity within and through her various mise-en-scènes.  Often the subject herself, Cahun assumed many guises, creating images that reflected back onto the viewer questions about gender and role expectations.[1]  While her photographs do succeed in making a statement, a very personal air remains of them.  In rejecting normative gender behavior and appropriating a masquerade of multiple identities, Claude Cahun reveals her intent to return to her personal reality through the Surreal.

            Relatively little is known about Claude Cahun’s personal life, therefore it proves difficult to relate her work to her life.  However, this aspect should not be overlooked, especially considering her obscurity following the Second World War.  This fact shall also be explored, how such a controversial artist remained essentially forgotten for much of the twentieth century.  As one of the few women Surrealists, Cahun holds importance for she questioned the reality of gender, a topic that still remains subversive today.   Her relationship within the predominantly male Surrealist community will be explored as well.  In defining Surrealism as “the denaturalization of vision, an uncompromisingly anti-realist bias, and most programmatically, access to unconscious processes and the aleatory,”[2] one may ask if the emphasis on the Unconsious allowed Cahun the freedom to explore her true identity or identities in its primitive state, unfettered by the notion of gender standards. 

            While only basic research has been accomplished thus far, I intend to study works by Cahun herself, such as Aveux non avenues and Les paris sont ouverts in an attempt to understand her thoughts directly.  I will also be studying Joan Rivière’s “Womanliness as Masquerade,” and how she interprets Cahun’s notions on gender.  I intend on consulting many more sources through research, however at this stage I wish to remain more broad with my investigations.  I would like to conduct this paper using a combination of a feminist and social history perspective, as I feel that I must have a greater understanding of the time to truly appreciate her work.  In my research thus far, I have noted that she is often compared to the artist Cindy Sherman[3] and would like to explore why contemporary art historians connect the two.

            In researching Claude Cahun, I hope to acquire a better understanding  the artist’s intent and how she was viewed by her contemporaries and non-contemporaries, and what that says the viewer, or society as a whole.

[2] Ibid., 74.

[3] Ibid., 77-80.

This may sound strange, but when thinking of the canon for art history, I envision two things (stupid metaphor alert) one of which is a giant cave filled with the art of great artists past.  You’d see a Titian hanging from some stalactites, a Renoir resting against a stalagmite, the rest of the cave littered with the likes of Rembrandt, Picasso, da Vinci, essentially all the artists we as an art history community have agreed upon as “great.”  The Surrealists would have their own room sectioned off, for obvious reasons.  But one may have to ask the question, how did all these works of art end up in the cave (and by cave I mean canon)?  Certainly there is no force of nature to do such a thing, therefore humans must be involved.  

Due to my inherent need to humanize abstract, often trivial concepts, I also liken the canon of art history to an extremely pretentious and exclusive party. You know, the parties where everyone drinks an ironically cheap beer, feigns indifference and listens to Japanese punk bands while you sit at home and Tivo Gilmore Girl reruns.  While nearly impossible to score an invite to such a party, if you have the correct ratio of perfect bed-hair to flannel to obscure taste in music and film, you might just find yourself at one of these parties, discussing the symbolic references in Fellini’s 8 1/2 with a guy sporting a handlebar mustache.  But what about the rest of us?  This exclusive party would like you to think that they are the only group worth mentioning, are the only ones capable of such refined cultural taste, while the rest of us listen to Kelly Clarkson.  

Now that I’ve satisfied my pointless elaborate metaphor quotient for the day, I guess what I’m really trying to say is that my personal definition of a canon would be a collection of pieces deemed the most important to study and to teach.  Now, the whole concept of a canon isn’t a terrible idea, it’s just that I think we need to redefine how we decide “greatness” and thus, which art belongs in the canon.  There are many problems with the current canon, seeing as it’s essentially an elaboration of Vasari’s Le Vite delle più eccellenti pittori, scultori, ed architettori.  One can bring up the major problem of the absence of women artists from the canon.  This brings us to the fact that a historical context must be taken into account to explain why a certain piece was received in such a way, or why an artist never obtained critical acclaim.  However, I would like to discuss another problem for the canon, that of modern art.  Now when I say “modern art” I personally mean art that has been produced in the past thirty years or so.  Much of this art has been exhibited and celebrated, yet it remains outside of the canon.  While I understand the concept of time ultimately telling the worth of a piece, if we do not update the canon but continue to progress temporally and artistically, it will lose relevance.  The art history community needs to keep pace with current artists, analyzing, documenting and critiquing them as Vasari did to artists of the Renaissance. 

An artist that I have chosen that I would like to see added into the canon would be Jean-Michel Basquiat.  He was certainly not an unknown artist, with his art extensively shown in New York, as well as internationally.  However, due to his recency, he is not within the canon.  We must be able to add artists such as Basquiat to show the direction of current art.

Upon finishing my paper on John Ruskin, I think it is safe to say that at least for a period of time, Ruskin was Mr. BigGuns in the world of art criticism.  I didn’t realize one person could be so influential within several fields of study.  

Born in 1819 in Surrey, Ruskin received his education mainly through home-schooling and traveling.  In traveling throughout the continent, he discovered his penchant for landscapes, as well as architecture.  The emergence of the artist, J.M.W. Turner gave Ruskin an opportunity to study a contemporary artist.  He took a stance against most other art critics at the time and defended Turner’s style.  This defense could be found in the first volume of his five volume masterpiece, Modern Painters.  Ruskin would continue for seventeen years in completing this work, and over the course, his subject matter shifted.  In the later volumes, he goes on to approach sculptures, architecture, and the functions of art, all the while intertwining a religious subtext.  What was so significant about Ruskin’s Modern Painters was the attention to detail and a fluid, almost poetic literature used to describe works of art.  In defending Turner in the first volume, Ruskin in a way validated his work, as most other critics at this time were still focusing on the Renaissance.  After completing the fifth volume, Ruskin drifted out of the art world but absorbed himself into many other areas.  He lectured throughout the country, although sometimes controversial and was the first Slade Professor of Fine Art at Oxford.  Unfortunately, towards the end of his life he suffered from mental illness and died in 1900.  However, his legacy of an exuberant knowledge and a willingness to defend his passions is still felt today.

Bradley, J.L. Ruskin:The Critical Heritage.  London: Routledge & Kegan Paul plc, 1984.

Modern Painters John Ruskin, Modern Painters, 1843-1860. Vol. 1. London: André Deutch Ltd., 1843.

Clark, Kenneth.  Ruskin Today. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books Ltd,1964.

“Modern Painters”  The Oxford Companion to English Literature. Ed. Margaret Drabble. Oxford University Press, 2000. Oxford Reference Online. Oxford University Press.  University of Mary Washington.  15 February 2009  http://www.oxfordreference.com.ezproxy.umw.edu:2048/views/ENTRY.html?subview=Main&entry=t113.e5138

 ” Ruskin, John “  The Oxford Companion to English Literature. Ed. Margaret Drabble. Oxford University Press, 2000. Oxford Reference Online. Oxford University Press.  University of Mary Washington.  15 February 2009  <http://www.oxfordreference.com.ezproxy.umw.edu:2048/views/ENTRY.html?subview=Main&entry=t113.e6635>

Now go buy his album, Grace. You're welcome.

Due to my complete ineptitude with technology, I have given a better image of Picasso’s David and Bathsheba for you all to look at.

Now, to be brutally honest, after reading the story of Bathsheba and King David, I found David to be a bit of a jerk, not unlike a spoiled child in the candy aisle.  I just really felt that Bathsheba was getting the short end of the stick and I wanted to see what she had to say about the whole thing.  Both Rembrandt and Picasso certainly had their words about this story, but Rembrandt really captures a moment of time and thought in Bathsheba’a life.  Just look at her face.  There’s this underlying sorrow, but atop that there’s a flattered blushing.  She has just read the note and is embarrassed to have been so pleased by it.  Think Diane Lane in the train scene from Unfaithful.  The viewer can see that Rembrandt rendered Bathsheba affectionately.

In contrast, Picasso makes more broad statements with his work.  Rather than focusing on Bathsheba’s thought process, he emphasizes the villainy of David.  The viewer is no longer David, but rather a third party.  The women try to hid behind the hats, but they are still prey.  While Picasso has commented on gender differences, he hasn’t really attempted to unravel Bathsheba.  There is a distance in his lithograph not found in Rembrandt’s painting.

I really appreciated this project because I never really took the time to pay attention to an artist’s perspective on a narrative before.

Upon finishing my paper on Abby Rockefeller, I have to say I feel quite unaccomplished.  Perhaps this is inspiration or even Abby herself kicking me in the shins, telling me to do something productive with my life.  Regardless, I have nothing but complete respect for her.

Born the daughter of a powerful Rhode Island senator, Abby went on to marry John D. Rockefeller Jr.  Thus she always had a prominent social status.  To say she used her power for the common good is to say sometimes it rains in Seattle.  With a generosity rarely found today, she became involved with programs such as the YMCA.  However, her appreciation and staunch belief in modern art led her to co-found this little museum you might have heard of, the ahem, Museum of Modern Art.

Mrs. Rockefeller started to collect pieces of modern art under the advice of William Valentiner and later, Edith Halpert.  The abstract and the bizarre did not deter her, in fact drew her in.  All the while, her husband seemed nonplussed at her fascination with such “rubbish.”  After showcasing the works of George Overbury “Pop” Hart to a small gathering in her own home, Hart’s sales and recognition increased dramatically.  The woman had a keen eye for art, that’s for sure.  Rockefeller became increasingly more entrenched within the modern art scene and continued to collect works.  She then realized that to share with others the the ability to discuss such works of art was to give the community an opportunity to engage in a contemporary issue.  She believed in these artists, and that their work was important.  By co-founding the Museum of Modern Art Mrs. Rockefeller gave a voice and a home to the modern artists and their works.  Still today, the museum carries Mrs. Rockefeller’s belief “That art deserved to be brought into the lives of ordinary citizens, and more significant, that even the most extreme and unpopular art had the right to be seen.”

-quote from Bernice Kert’s Abby Aldrich Rockefeller p. 285.

While considering this question, the right side of my brain practically screamed into my eardrums the answer while my left side sat cowering in the corner.  I have never particularly cared for mathematics or science.  Any subject in which the answers are definite and logical bore me to tears.  I have a much easier time getting the big picture and placing it into a context than oh, solving differential equations.  (Let’s just say calculus challenged my will to live and leave it at that.)

However, I chose art history for more reasons than the fact it has little to do with the Pythagorean Theorem.  Ever since I can remember, my aesthetic environment has highly influenced my thought process.  I insist on surrounding myself with art and other visually stimulating objects in order to fully function.  For me, a fate worse than death would be to place me in a room with bare white cinderblock walls.  Art gives me an opportunity to place myself in different contexts as books sometimes do.  I get wrapped up in it.  In my mind, looking at an interesting piece of art is not unlike swimming in a perfectly warm pool where there’s a free buffet when you emerge.  Plus I’ve always been a bit of a history buff.  Learning about influential people and the patterns of countries and cultures is something I could sit around a fire and roast marshmallows to.  Once I discovered I could make a major and hopefully a career of the combination, it seemed like a no brainer.  Unfortunately, I’m still unsure as to what direction I would like my career to go, but it certainly will be in the field of art history.  

To me, art history is learning about not only art but the historical background, social context and what it says about the society that responds to such art.  And quite frankly I couldn’t ask for something more interesting.