New Objectivity as Echo

In the shattered aftermath of the Great War and the emergence of Modernism during the first 20 years of the 20th century, painters were faced with a What The Devil Do We Do Next situation. Various this's and that's popped up including a German movement called New Objectivity (Neue Sachlichkeit).

It was rather ill-defined, as this Wikipedia entry indicates. There was the gross (pardon the pun) , crudely-drawn work of George Grosz. And then there was the calmer, less anger-fueled work of Christian Schad, who I'm likely to return to in future posts.

Schad fell into the distorted, cartoon-like New Objectivity practice, but not very far. What I find interesting is that his work sometimes resembles early paintings by untrained or poorly trained American painters. I doubt that he was aware of this American art, so what we have is simply a striking coincidence and not inspiration. Take a look:

Graf St. Genois - Christian Schad, 1927

Man Holding a Large Bible - Anni Phillips, c. 1826

Bettina - Christian Schad, 1942

Girl With Bird and Cage - Unknown artist, c. 1735-40

Franz Bischoff: Best California Impressionist?

It's too late. The exhibit closed and all that remains is this book which served as a catalog. But for once I lucked out and happened to be in Southern California while Franz Bischoff's paintings and painted vases were on display at the Pasadena Museum of California Art.

Pasadena is an opportunity-rich zone when it comes to art museums. The Huntington Library and Norton Simon hog the limelight, so I wasn't even aware of the PMCA until I noticed someplace on the Internet that a Bischoff exhibit was there. Bischoff's paintings seem to be mostly in private collections or art galleries, so it's a rare treat to be able to view a significant number of them. PMCA teamed with the Irvine Museum (probably the center of gravity for California Impressionism) and between the two were able to tease out enough of Bischoff's work to fill three rooms.

Franz Bischoff (1864-1929) was born in the Austro-Hungarian Empire and emigrated to the United States when he was 21. He worked as a porcelain decorator in the Midwest, eventually becoming famous in that field and gaining a certain amount of wealth through his work and a line of glazing products he developed. Intrigued by California, he eventually moved to Pasadena's Arroyo Seco (fancy Spanish for "dry gulch" -- not far from where the Rose Bowl stadium now stands). Once there, he took up easel painting.

He painted a few scenes with people, more of flowers, but focused on landscapes. In my judgment, he was very good at capturing classical California. Perhaps he was even the very best at it, though there were some others in his league who I'll present in future posts.

As for his technique, he tended to combine a basic color for an area, be it in light or shade, with bits of complementary color and perhaps some other hues. This approach was current in the early 1900s -- the illustration work of N.C. Wyeth followed this practice, for example. The result is a rich, interesting surface.

Also, Bischoff seems to have been careful in his selection of paints and how he used them because the examples I saw at the exhibit were in good condition with no apparent color deterioration.

Here are some Bischoff paintings:

Gallery

Evening Glory, Santa Barbara Mountains

Afternoon Idyl, Cambria - c.1922

The Yellow Dress

Bathers in a Mountain Stream - 1917

Carmel Coast
This was a highlight of the exhibit. Unfortunately, the original image I downloaded (top) distorts the painting's colors towards red-orange. I couldn't find a better image, so the lower image is my attempt to adjust it to be more like the original.

Carmel scene

Cypress Point
Bischoff didn't paint the Carmel area until the 1920s. The light there is usually more subdued and misty than along the Southern California coast and interior where he began doing landscapes.

Zion scene
Bischoff's Utah paintings were done near the end of his career. They are simpler than his earlier work, perhaps influenced by the artistic zeitgeist of the late 1920s.

The Greasy-Face School

Not long ago, in this post, I featured Michael Carson, whose style evolved recently. Commenters mentioned that his earlier work reminded them of that of Malcolm Liepke.

That was true for me as well, and it's mentioned in the Wikipedia entry on Liepke (above), which also notes Liepke's friend Milt Kobayashi as a subject of his influence. And it turns out that Carson, like Liepke, has Minnesota ties; something in those 10,000 lakes affecting the artistic air there?

But there's more! While noticing Carson's new work in Palm Desert I chanced upon yet another painter doing the Liepke thing. The name is Leslie Sanbulte, but I couldn't find any background information on a quick Google search. That is, nothing regarding Minnesota.

In light of all this, I now proclaim a new school of painting: the Greasy Face School. In support, I humbly offer the examples below.

Gallery

Malcolm Liepke - Over Her Shoulder

Malcolm Liepke - Watching the Crowd

Michael Carson

Michael Carson

Milt Kobayashi

Leslie Sanbulte - Bonnard's Fantasy

Leslie Sanbulte - Favorite Blue Wrap


In another recent post I compared a currently active painter with Joaquin Sorolla and wondered about similarities in style and subject-matter.

I halfheartedly offered the thought that perhaps it was subject-matter (the coast around Valencia) that contributed to the Sorolla effect. But the similarity in treatment of skin for the artists featured here cannot be explained away in the same manner.

It's a big world and the USA is still pretty much a free country, but I question the wisdom of artists painting in the same off-natural style. Since Liepke seems to be the originator, that's okay by me: I like a fair amount of his work. But the others ought to try something else for their own professional good, I think. And as I posted earlier, Carson seems to have realized this and is now doing work I find more interesting than his Greasy Face stuff.

Frank R. Paul: Bad Art That Spawned a Genre

Yes, there existed what might be called science-fiction art before Frank R. Paul (1884-1963) appeared on the pulp magazine scene, but many believe Paul is the guy who counts as the effective inventor of the genre. And that "many" includes illustrator Frank Wu who posted this strong endorsement of Paul that includes a gallery of his magazine covers. So if the examples shown below aren't enough Paul, be sure to explore the link to Wu.

Paul was born in Vienna, trained as an architect, studied in Paris and migrated to the United States before the Great War. He came to the attention of Hugo Gernsback, who published science-hobbyist magazines. Science-related fiction was part of the content, and by the 1920s Gernsback had spun off a new magazine -- Amazing Stories -- that dealt with what we now call science-fiction. Frank Paul did the cover art.

Paul's strength was his imagination. He conjured up space ships, space suits, flying saucers and other items central to visualizing ultra-high-tech futures.

Paul's weakness, in my opinion, was that he was at best a journeyman artist. His magazine cover paintings strike me as being little more than elaborated cartoons. While I'm happy to give him his proper due as a pioneer, I also cannot deny that I almost wince whenever I see almost any example of his work.

Here are a few of Paul's magazine covers. As usual, try clicking on the images for larger, crisper views.

Gallery

Amazing Stories - April, 1926

Amazing Stories - July, 1926

Amazing Stories - November, 1926

Science Wonder Stories - October, 1929

Amazing Stories - August, 1930

Wonder Stories - December, 1935

Science Fiction - no date

Combat Art: Worthwhile?

An art genre that has been virtually invisible for decades is Combat Art or War Art -- there's no definitive name for it. In the broadest sense, it can be any art where war is the subject. But for the purposes of this post, I'll narrow things down so that it means works by artists sent into war zones by military organizations for the purpose of recording events they encounter. For background, check out the links here, here and here.

Why combat art? The first link noted above offers a justification by Brigadier General Robert L. Denig, Director of Public Relations for the United States Marine Corps about the time America entered World War 2:

The combat photographer must snap his picture of an action as it happens. If he is busy taking part in the action, as he so often is; if it happens so fast he is unable to adjust his camera in time; if conditions are not good, the action is never recorded- and the picture is never made.

The artist, on the other hand, with his photographic eye, can take part in the action, and then paint any moment of it from memory at his leisure.

The painter can provide his own lighting; he can give a picture any degree of intensity he desires. He can reconstruct a scene from whatever angle he considers most dramatic, centering attention wherever he wishes.

I disagree, for the most part.

The most famous war paintings created before 1850 tended to be done by artists who were seldom witnesses to the events depicted. By mid-19th century, photography had been invented and improved to the point where cameras could be brought to scenes of battles (siege sites, aftermaths of combat), but were too cumbersome to record combat itself. This remained the case up to the time of the Great War. For example, the turn of the century Boer and Spanish-American wars were mostly recorded by sketch artists hired by newspapers and other publications. The Great War marks a transition where photographers and sketch artists coexisted. And by the time of World War 2, photography became the best means of recording warfare visually.

My disagreement with General Denig? I base it on the combat art I've encountered over the years. Nearly all the on-the-spot sort of work is no better than contemporary photography. Most often, the scenes were not actually combat -- instead, they showed the often dull daily life in the military. Furthermore, in my judgment, the really fine depictions of combat from, say, 1940 on have been done after the fact, often by artists who were not on the scene. No change, really, from pre-1850 times.

Although I'm sure I missed a really outstanding example or two, below are examples of Combat Art I found on the Web to document my case:

La Mitrailleuse - Christopher Nevinson, 1915
This is perhaps Nevinson's best-known painting. It abstracts what he possibly viewed in more ways than one.

Self Portrait - Sir William Orpen, 1917
Orpen was a top portrait painter who went to France to depict the Great War. Unfortunately, he totally botched the image of the British "tin plate" helmet; see below for a more accurate treatment.

Marines in France by Harvey Dunn
Although famed illustrator Dunn was in France for the war, I doubt he captured this image on the spot even in sketch form; if this was real combat he stood a good chance of being killed in such a setting and viewpoint.

Gassed - John Singer Sargent - 1919
This mural can be seen at the Imperial War Museum in London. Sargent witnessed this behind-the-trenches event and worked it into the painting, adding details to a quick sketch to make an interesting composition.

Sighting the sun by McClelland Barclay, 1941
Barclay was a successful illustrator in the 1920s and 30s who entered the U.S. Navy as a commissioned officer and war artist. The ships in the background of this painting are not realistically portrayed and the perspective is off. Some of Barclay's painting were used in Navy recruiting posters. Unfortunately, he payed a high price, being lost when his ship was sunk in the Pacific.

Mission briefing by Alex Raymond
Raymond was yet another famous artist before he joined the Marines. Although he did some commercial illustration, he was best known for his comic strips Secret Agent X-9, Jungle Jim and -- especially -- Flash Gordon. The non-combat scene shown here is typical of World War 2 combat art.

Moving Up - Howard Brodie
This Brodie scene, like much WW2 combat art, could just as easily been photographed.

Landing at Saipan - William Draper
Yet another case where the artist probably would have been killed if he actually was in the position suggested by his painting. The marines shown are clearly part of the initial attack wave. Draper would have to have been in a Japanese slit trench or bunker to capture this in person.

Ambush at Saipan - Theo Hios
Here is a sad example of both modernist sensibility and likely absence from the fight shown.

Surprise Attack in the Suburbs of Metz - Alphonse de Neuville
This depicts an event from the Franco-Prussian war. De Neuville was not there. But nevertheless, it is probably the best combat scene in the set of images above.

To summarize, in the era beginning with the development of the compact Leica camera, just about anything a combat artist might have captured directly, a photographer could have done an equally good or better job of recording the event. War paintings of superior artistic quality seem to be generally done much later by men who were not on the scene (though they might have been exposed to war or military life otherwise).

First, You Put an Airship on the Cover

Science Fiction was simple when I was younger, ranging from "space opera" (cowboys and Indians plots adapted to interplanetary settings) to more genteel, literary "speculative fiction." And when I dropped by the Sci-Fi section of a bookstore, the displayed books dealt pretty much with the spectrum just noted.

Alas (as Sci-Fi writer Jerry Pournelle would preface many a remark), these days matters are a lot messier. It seems that something called Fantasy invaded and then merged with the Sci-Fi book displays. More recently, books about vampires have been added to the mix. The result for me is that I have to do a good deal of serious screening to distill a selection of books dealing with blasters, energy shields and bug-eyed monsters.

That's not all! Over the last couple of decades, a new genre has materialized: steampunk.

This is not a bad thing because I'm prone to like it thanks to my interest in history and technology. My problem is finding steampunk novels that are actually pretty good (I keep wasting money on stuff I discard in boredom or disgust after 40 or 50 pages).

A further confession: What hooks me into buying some of those substandard novels is an image of an airship on the book's cover. Apparently, there are enough folks out there who are fascinated by airships that such covers pop up with alarming regularity. Here are some examples.

The last three illustrations are by Stephan Martiniere, the final two for Jay Lake's "Escapement" and L. Neil Smith's "The American Zone."


Real-world airships come in three structural flavors. At one extreme are those where the main "hull" is the gasbag itself, what we commonly call a "blimp." A more technical name is "non-rigid airship" where rigidity refers to its structure. Opposing this are "rigid airships" that traditionally have a light aluminum frame structure within which is a set of large gasbags. There is an intermediate type called "semi-rigid."

Another term for rigid airships is "dirigible," but sometimes this is sloppily applied to blimps as well. Yet another term is "Zeppelin," but that really should be reserved for German-built dirigibles, the name coming from their great proponent Count (Graf) Zeppelin.

German dirigible LZ 127 Graf Zeppelin, the most successful of its breed.
For whatever it's worth, in the steampunk book cover world, airships seldom get displaced by actual airplanes. But if a cover actually did feature a Victorian airplane, I suspect sales would comparatively suffer.

Do Political Paintings Age Well?

Painting overtly political subjects can be a risky task. There's the obvious risk of supporting a side that eventually loses -- will the winners seek retribution? But another risk is that, once an issue is no longer current, the paintings will be forgotten and the artist as well. Which might be why political paintings represent a rare genre.

Another consideration related to transitory political issues is painting technology. While a painting might take weeks or even months to complete, posters can be on the streets in a matter of days from when an inspiration strikes. This is why most political art is in poster form.

Before the 19th century most art was commissioned by the church, state, and rich or powerful individuals. Political content, such as it was, therefore was mostly in support of those who hired the artist. That is, anti-establishment painting subjects were rare because they were seldom funded. As painters became less reliant on traditional commission sources, they became increasingly able to create critical art.

Liberty Leading the People - Eugène Delacroix - 1830
As is noted here, Delacroix's famous work commemorates a successful regime change even though it appears to be a call to arms. The new regime (that of Louis-Philippe) eventually entered history's dustbin, but the huge painting lives on in the Louvre.

The Arsenal - Diego Rivera - 1928
The Russian revolution is glorified and a Mexican version encouraged in this mural that even includes Rivera's occasional wife Frida Kahlo as the central subject. Mexican governments at the time regarded themselves as "revolutionary" and tolerated such themes for murals on public buildings.

Eternal City - Peter Blume (1906-92) - completed 1937
I wonder how many people today would be able the grasp the context of this painting if they encountered it at New York's Museum of Modern Art and saw a plaque containing only the information above. The subject is anti-Fascism and the green jack-in-the-box figure represents Italian dictator Benito Mussolini. No one under age 70 can remember the living Mussolini who is increasing an historical footnote.

By Zina Saunders
This looks like a computer-generated "painting" (note the treatment of the plane's engine cowling) though in principle it could have been rendered in oil, acrylic or gouache. Like Blume's painting, it is likely to age poorly because it isn't very interesting artistically and deals with an ephemeral subject requiring specialized knowledge (i.e., Sarah Palin likes to hunt).

"Truther" poster by William Groshelle
Here is the sort of political-themed "art poster" common since the mid-1960s and reaching a climax during the presidency of George W. Bush (shown). Many current political-themed posters make use of computer-manipulated collages such as seen here; it's a quick way to create something with visual interest and realistic looking detail. Were this a painting, I doubt it or its artist would be long-remembered. It's too topical and historically questionable.