Overrated Paintings: Botticelli, da Vinci and Picasso

Birth of Venus - Sandro Botticelli - c.1486

Mona Lisa (La Gioconda) - Leonardo da Vinci - begun c. 1503

Guernica - Pablo Picasso - 1937

Some paintings, like some people, are famous because they are famous. And, like some people, they might not be deserving of their fame. Consider the paintings shown above.

To begin, I assert that I have nothing against Botticelli's Birth of Venus. Well, I don't think his Venus is a real knockout -- but I can say the same about most other Venus paintings I've seen ... tastes do differ. Worse, the average viewer no longer can see the painting unhindered; the Uffizi Gallery has it shielded by a thick layer of transparent material (I'm not sure what it is, but it dulls down the painting considerably). But my core position is that the painting doesn't strike me as being superior to any number of fine Renaissance-era paintings that are better-composed and just as well executed.

Da Vinci's Mona Lisa is another painting in the same category: nothing wrong with it, but not outstanding compared to other works of its time. I first saw it in Washington, D.C. when it was on tour and manage to be in the same room with it when visiting the Louvre (though the crowds make it hard to get very close). In every instance I found it shielded like Botticelli's painting, so I can't claim to have really seen it in the sense of being able to do an examination.

Pablo Picasso's Guernica is another matter.

Five years ago when I was part of the 2Blowhards blogging team I wrote this post about it. Here are the relevant remarks:

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This is going to be difficult, but try looking at "Guernica" as if you had never heard of Pablo Picasso and knew nothing about what the painting was supposed to depict. Close your eyes, click your heels twice, spin around three times and pretend really hard that you're seeing it for the first time. Okay?

Open your eyes. What do you see? It's a value-painting: no real colors, just various shades of gray with tendencies towards brown or blue. There are straight lines serving as edges of flatly painted or patterned areas. In the top-center is a crudely-drawn light bulb and reflector. The rest of the painting is populated by images of people and animals that are crudely-drawn, distorted. A hand attached to what might be an arm is clutching what seems to be an oil-lamp. There is a crudely-drawn woman at the left who might be screaming while holding a crudely-drawn baby who is sick or dead. On the right is an extremely crudely-drawn human with raised arms. To the lower right is a very crudely-drawn woman leaning forward. Along the bottom is a crudely-drawn man on his back whose eyes are at angles to each other. He seems to be grasping a broken sword in his right hand and might well be dead. There are three creatures depicted. The smallest could be a bird whose head for some reason is raised to the sky. Towards the left is what seems to be a bull gazing back at the viewer: it too is crudely drawn. At the center is what might be a horse.

The compositional effect is jarring, not placid or soothing. Composition aside, the painting has whatever impact it has because it is large, being a mural.

A curator or art historian would likely pigeonhole "Guernica" as a mix of Cubism and Expressionism.

Asked to tell what the painting represents, an ignorant viewer might stumble on the fact that it has to do with war (there is that possible broken sword) but might well come up with a different interpretation.

When I viewed "Guernica" I knew its background and knew that it was supposed to be a masterpiece of Modernism. I tried really hard to like it. But I failed.
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I'm far from being the first to lament about works of are that are so famous that people feel compelled to love them. I saw Guernica once again last October and the crowds were cooing over it. That seems to be the nature of things, so all I can do is shrug my shoulders and write the occasional blog post pointing out that there might be less than meets the predisposed eye.

Norman Rockwell, Colorist

There's a Norman Rockwell exhibit rattling around the country called American Chronicles: The Art of Norman Rockwell. It's currently playing in Tacoma, Washington, so of course I had to see it -- the goal being to reinforce impressions gleaned from seeing his works at the Norman Rockwell Museum. Not surprisingly, that museum is the organizer of the exhibit, because its collection of Rockwell's paintings and artifacts is comprehensive.

Years ago when I lived in Albany, New York, I drove across the hills to Stockbridge, Massachusetts, a charming town that was Rockwell's last residence. He was living there then, just around the corner from the Red Lion Inn; you could easily spot his detached studio near the house. There was a Norman Rockwell Museum even then. It was housed in ... a house (if my memory is correct: a house or another structure in or near the Red Lion). I went through it once, but at the time was out of touch with art and still in thrall of the modernism that Everyone told us was what was true in Fine Arts. Rockwell was considered a curiosity.

Setting aside the subject-matter, what one finds is a high level of technical skill. One aspect of this that impresses me is that this skill shows even though Rockwell had to do the actual execution (not including planning, reference photography, etc.) in a matter of days or perhaps a week or three to hit his deadlines. Contrast this with some of the Pre-Raphaelite artists who might labor for months on a single work.

One example that struck me was his treatment of a wooden chest of drawers that served as part of the backdrop to the main subject; the wood grain was very nicely handled and more detailed than other contemporary illustrators might have bothered with.

The title of this post asserts that Rockwell was a "colorist" -- to me, that means someone appreciative of color subtleties and interactions and who is able to include such in a painting. Fine Arts painters are most likely to fall into this category, but illustrators also can make the grade. Examples include Frank Frazetta, N.C. Wyeth and, of course, Norman Rockwell.

Lincoln for the Defense (click to enlarge and improve quality)

The painting shown above was part of the exhibit. If your computer allows enlargement, this can be done in two stages; after the first enlargement, click on it again and you might get an even larger view. Even if you are able to enlarge it, Rockwell's use of colors is still not as apparent as when viewing the painting in person. In the stage-two enlargement you might notice areas of dark red in several places, especially on the sleeve folds of his bent arm. In person, this red is much brighter and, in my judgment, unnecessary. Otherwise, Lincoln's skin and clothing contain many hues and not just the basic color.

Many of the faces Rockwell painted have bits of blue and green along with the expected variations around red-orange. I was often a little startled when a sort of turquoise kept popping up on subjects' skins. These subtleties often didn't make it all the way to printed magazine covers, so Rockwell clearly felt he had to do his artistic duty in full knowledge that his fans wouldn't be able to see all that he'd actually wrought.

Other items in his illustrations also were painted with traces of color complementary to the main hue, creating a rich appearance. For example, a large leather bag slung over a coachman's shoulder contains more dark green than tans and browns.

I could go on, but perhaps the best thing I can do is urge you to view some of Rockwell's originals. The best site is the museum in Stockbridge. If you can't get there, then try for the exhibit I've been discussing (the link lists locations following its Tacoma stand). And there might be examples of his work here and there; check the internet to discover if a Rockwell is nearby.

Pusher Military Aircraft: Failed Concept

From what I read, "pusher" propeller-driven aircraft have certain theoretical aerodynamic advantages over conventional "tractor" aircraft (where the propeller is positioned in front of the engine).

Though it's not obvious from looking at a photo or a prop-driven airplane in flight, a forward-facing propeller whips a lot of air into a spiral pattern that twists around even a highly streamlined fuselage (if it's a single-engine aircraft) and disrupts airflow over the wings almost no matter where the propeller is positioned.

The solution to all this nasty propeller-induced turbulence? -- place the propeller behind the engine so that it pushes rather than pulls, leaving the churned air behind the plane rather than engulfing important parts of it.

Even though the convention was the tractor arrangement, a number of early airplanes were pusher types including the Wright Brothers' 1903 flyer and some Great War combat planes. From time to time aircraft with tractor and pusher propellers were built. But designers quickly and nearly universally preferred the tractor arrangement.

The siren song of the pusher was heard once again in the late 1930s and early 40s for military planes. This post deals with some designs that reached flying prototype status, but only two of which entered real military service.

Despite the potential advantages mentioned above, the pusher configuration had its limitations. One was that it was often difficult to provide sufficient cooling for the motors. This is obvious for air-cooled engines requiring a large blast of air passing around the cylinders, but apparently was even the case for water-cooled engines requiring radiators.

Another problem was propeller clearance on takeoff and landing. There was a risk the the props might dig in to the ground when the aircraft was assuming a nose-up attitude. Tractor aircraft had much less to worry about in this regard.

But perhaps the greatest problem was what to do when the pilot had to bail out of a single-engine plane; without special steps taken, he would be chopped up as he passed through the propeller arc. Solutions included feathering the prop or detaching it before bail-out. Another solution was the ejection seat common on jet fighters but something that didn't emerge until towards the end of World War 2.

It is possible that the ejection seat and contra-rotating props of comparatively small diameter might have let to successful fighter designs by the late 1940s. But the advent of jet propulsion along with diminishing returns to increased piston engine power ended propeller-driven fighter planes regardless of whether they were tractor or pusher. The only real pusher success was a huge bomber, as noted below.

Bell YFM-1 Airacuda
YFM-1 was a pre-war concept for a plane that could serve either as a bomber escort or an interceptor. It had a five-man crew including a 37-mm cannon operator in the front of each engine nacelle (and subject to being decimated on bail-out). The planes were too heavy for the power available and the pusher system created pitching problems. There were even more problems -- see the link for an enumeration -- so that even though a test batch had been ordered, the Airacuda never entered full-scale production.

Vultee XP-54
The XP-54, along with the XP-55 and XP-56 were results of the Army's attempt to unleash airplane designers to create wild and crazy stuff. For some reason, all three participants in the program opted for the pusher layout. Every project resulted in disappointment, one important factor being that the engines planned initially were technical failures and replacement motors lacked enough power for performance superior to existing production models such as the P-51 Mustang. The XP-54 was the most conventional design, featuring a twin-boom arrangement to support the tail.

Curtiss-Wright XP-55
The XP-55 was more radical, having a "canard" layout where instead of tail-mounted horizontal stabilizers, they are placed near the nose.

Northrop XP-56
Most radical of all was the XP-56 which had no stabilizers at all, being close to a flying wing design with a fat fuselage. Note that the XP-56 had contra-rotating props with a smaller diameter of arc than a single-prop version might have. This would lessen the risk of prop dig-in on takeoff rotation or landing.

SAAB J21
This Swedish fighter actually reached production and saw service in the late 1940s and early 50s. Interestingly, it was adapted to jet power and that version also was produced.

Northrop XB-35
Two Army pusher configuration "intercontinental" range bomber designs reached prototype and test-batch status in the late 1940s. The XB- and YB-35s are manifestations of Jack Northrop's fascination with the flying wing concept. Like the J21, the YB-35 was adapted to jet power as the YB-49, but production contracts went to the plane below.

Convair B-36
Several hundred B-36 bombers were built and served in the U.S. Air Force's Strategic Air Command during the 1950s. It featured a pusher layout soon augmented with four jet engines mounted in pods below the wings for greater target-dash speed. Although the B-36 had its problems, it stands as the most successful military pusher aircraft since the Great War. The B-36 was replaced by the eight-jet B-52 which has remained in service for more than half a century.

Botero and the Art of Fat

Fernando Botero (1932 - ) likes to paint fat people such as these:

He seems to make a good living at it through sales of his paintings and reproductions -- good enough that he can flit from Paris to his native Colombia once a year and indulge himself by painting a large number of canvasses that proclaim his political views. For more details, a lengthy Wikipedia entry on him is here.

What interests me is that the man has succeeded commercially by painting what are fundamentally cartoons. And apparently he gets enough Art Establishment respect to be featured in art museum and university gallery exhibits.

The art career pole strikes me as being greasier than most, so I'm almost never completely critical when an artist gains some fame and even fortune in his own lifetime. Nevertheless, the rewards system in the Modern era usually favors artists who I consider undeserving. Botero is one of those. Based on his output, he really should have been a Postmodern magazine illustrator creating whimsical little drawings of fatties to decorate articles.

Reality Amidst the Abstraction

The painting shown above caught my eye last month in a gallery on El Paseo in Palm Desert, California. It has a lot of Abstract Expressionism business going on, yet it also contains an image that is representational and for the most part correctly proportioned. (The open mouth on the figure to the left is exaggerated, but nothing like the usual Postmodernist nudge-nudge, hey I'm being Ironic distortions gracing all too many gallery walls these days.)

The artist is Vanni Saltarelli. A biographical snippet is here and a slightly longer one (in Italian) is here.

Saltarelli earns his keep by portraying mostly undressed women, but also does other scenes for variety, as can be seen below.

I find his work interesting and rather likable thanks to the representational elements, though occasionally he spoils things by getting the shape of, say, an arm a bit wrong (see painting above).

But of course there's nothing new under the sun, as the saying goes. Consider the paintings below.

These paintings are by Kenneth Callahan (1905-1986), one of those "mystic" Pacific Northwest painters I wrote about here. A longish biography of Callahan is here. Interestingly, it mentions that Callahan didn't consider himself a "mystic" (a true self-assessment, I think) and didn't think Guy Anderson should have been included either (I also agree).

As for Callahan's work, I was never taken with it. A case of an artist active before 1945 who was trying to come to terms with Modernism and simply struggled without coming to a breakthrough style. Saltarelli, who seems to have been born in the 1940s, strikes me as being comfortable with Modernism, and thereby able to transcend it.

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.

Fastback Comeback

A rose may be a rose even if we call it a tulip. Nevertheless, be it by politicians or public relations flaks, there exists the practice of renaming things in order to affect how they are perceived.

Normally the hoped-for change is targeted at outsiders, but from time to time it's insiders who are intended to change perceptions with the change of name. Consider "garbage man" as opposed to "sanitation engineer."

A more art/design related case might be General Motors' renaming its Art and Colour Section as Styling Section and, later on, Design Staff. Of course work went on as before, regardless of the monicker.

I'm particularly amused by the last change because it implies that the staffers actually design an automobile from the tires up. This is clearly not so. Creating cars, like creating movies, is a team effort. In the early-stages mix for a totally new model are market researchers, product planners, engineers and the aesthetic specialists. In recent decades, even production specialists have been included to keep an eye on cost and ease of assembly. So there is no single "designer" in the sense of a 1903-vintage Henry Ford. Instead, we have a committee tasked with coming up with something as little camel-like as possible.

To me, "Styling Section" was the most descriptive name of the lot. That's because the guys with the Prismacolor pencils, airbrushes and (nowadays) interactive software systems are mostly playing around with visual themes rather than creating a vehicle from total scratch, unaided by non-aesthetic considerations. To be called "designers" is a means of improving self-esteem, the term "stylist" seeming oh-so-superficial.

Sorry guys, but fashion it is. Consider:

Above is an advertisement for a 1947 Pontiac. Note that it's a "fastback" model, a style popular from the end of the 1930s into the early 1950s. The concept was that the shape was more streamlined, or aerodynamically efficient, than alternatives -- the Platonic such shape being the so-called "teardrop" with a rounded front end that tapered to a point at the rear. More recent wind tunnel testing indicates that the taper isn't as important as first thought. But fastback cars were considered Hot Stuff for a few years until buyers began to realize that trunk space was limited compared to "notch-back" designs and sales dropped to the point where it wasn't worth the cost of tooling new fastback models.

Still, fastback cars have a certain stylishness, so from time to time one appears. In recent years, two major German car builders introduced such models.

First was Mercedes with its CLS (above). I recall some critics pooh-poohing its looks, but it looked plenty sleek and desirable to enough buyers for the car to be a marketing success. Recently Volkswagen got into the fastback act with its Passat CC which basically plops the CLS roofline and windowing scheme onto a Passat lower body as can be seen below.

Is all this Design or is it Fashion pure-and-simple where an innovation is imitated by sales-hungry competitors trying to grab a piece of the pie. I give you one guess as to where I place my bet.