Calder and Rowe

Yesterday we went to the High Museum to see the Calder/Picasso exhibit. Wow.

Assembled by grandchildren of the two artists, the exhibit displays the progression of Calder and Picasso’s work, how they interacted (not a lot, actually), and the differences in the men’s work. I will say up front that Calder walks away with the show.

Let me talk about that for a moment. I became a big fan of both artists in junior high, reading the Time-Life Artists books about them and devouring their output. I made mobiles throughout high school. I just bought a Picasso. So I was very excited to see both men’s work together.

However, I unexpectedly found Picasso’s work (mostly paintings) to be uninspiring and — dare I say it? — dated. Calder’s work, on the other hand, is still clean and modern and awe-inspiring. It was quite a shock.

Neither man was represented by any of his more famous works, although I recognized a couple of pieces. (With Calder it’s hard to say whether you’ve seen that particular mobile or not.)

With that in mind, here are some things I found notable.

First up, a design by Picasso for a monument to Guillaume Apollinaire:

Picasso, design for a monument to Guillaume Apollinaire, 1928

Here’s a maquette of the design. (The monument was not built.)

Lichtenbergian lesson: You will notice that the maquette has very little in common with the sketch. Somewhere in the ABORTIVE ATTEMPTS > GESTALT > SUCCESSIVE APPROXIMATION cycle, Picasso changed (and improved) his design.

The first part of the exhibit focused on Calder’s Cirque Calder, a literal circus of little wire figures that Calder would perform with. (Avant-garde Paris in the 20s was odd.) He expanded the concept into large wire sculptures. I was aware of the period but never really thought much of those works — until I saw them in person. They are, in short, stunning.

The economy of line, the manipulation of 3-dimensional space to give the illusion of solidity, it’s amazing. (Off-topic here, but I have always thought that Picasso was squeamish about depicting male genitalia in his work and was surprised by Calder’s frankness.)

It’s very difficult to show the mobiles in a photograph. They are quintessentially 3-D, even if they’re not moving (as most of the mobiles in the show were not). But they are marvels of balance and integrity.

PRO TIP: If you would like to try to make a mobile, start with the bottom and work your way up, balancing as you go.

I found traces of Lichtenbergianism everywhere. A quote from Calder:

“The universe is real but you can’t see it. You have to imagine it. Once you imagine it, you can be realistic about reproducing it.”

ABORTIVE ATTEMPTS.

In Perspective, Calder, 1931

Clean. Simple, but full of tension and balance.

“Simplicity of equipment and adventurous spirit in attacking the unfamiliar or unknown are apt to result in a primitive and vigorous art.” — Calder

“Primitive and vigorous”? Don’t we want polished and perfect? Hold that thought through the second part of this post.

This piece made you hold your breath waiting for it to free itself from whatever spell was holding it in place against gravity.

“Each time I begin a painting, I have the feeling of leaping into the void. I never know whether I’ll land on my feet. Only later do I evaluate more exactly the effect of my work.” — Picasso

Okay, boys and girls, if Picasso didn’t feel as if he was in control of his work, why should you be? ABORTIVE ATTEMPTS. Explore your work. Leap into the void. (Yes, it’s scary, but you knew that already.)

This piece, Red Sticks, illustrates a couple of things I noticed. One was the insane amount of experimentation Calder did with construction — notice the little “coat hanger” loops on top of the sticks, and the absence of any objects in the piece other than the two black blobs at the bottom. The other was the shadows on the wall, which become their own part of the piece.

Red Sticks, Calder, 1943

Constellation, Calder, 1943

I just discovered that the photo I thought I took of a Calder quote was actually of another part of the display, so I’m going to have to paraphrase.

(upon hearing that Picasso had been to a show of his work at a gallery in Paris) “He was probably looking for some new ideas.” — Calder (paraphrased from memory)

STEAL FROM THE BEST, indeed.

This piece, Ahab, absolutely enthralled me. You may not be able to tell how big it is, but it’s huge, overwhelming.

It was interesting that I didn’t feel the need to see it move. In fact, in general, the lack of movement in the mobiles was not a problem. Maybe a little air movement might have helped, but being able to examine them while stationary was kind of a plus, though no doubt defeating the artist’s purpose.

Here’s one that was moving, and lit well:

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“Simplicity of equipment and adventurous spirit in attacking the unfamiliar or unknown are apt to result in a primitive and vigorous art.” — Calder

Nellie Mae Rowe. You have probably never heard of her. I hadn’t. The basement gallery held the first major exhibit of her work in 20 years, and it’s inspiring.

Working as a domestic for most of her life, Rowe finally got to “play,” as she put it, after the deaths of her second husband and the white couple she worked for. The last fifteen years of her life were a gush of art, from assemblages to drawings to dolls, all in her “Playhouse” on Paces Ferry Road in Vinings, GA.

She was of course completely untrained as an artist and serves as a rebuke to those who think they “can’t draw.” Have a sample:

Untitled (Orange Horse and Blue-Coated Person), Rowe, 1980

Look at that chaotic energy! How did she do it?

“I may make a start with a straight line, and it will come to me what I want to make.” — Rowe

Wait what?

She planned nothing. She just drew.

What if you did the same thing? STEAL FROM THE BEST.

Remember, too, that when she did this drawing she was 80 years old. Are you going to wait till then to start? Are you going to risk waiting till then?

Rowe was lucky enough to attract the attention of art dealer Judith Alexander, who began to provide her with art supplies. Before that, she drew on whatever she could find (much like James Castle).

Untitled (White Horse), chalk on cardboard, 1964

Untitled (Something that ain’t been born yet), pencil and crayon on ledger paper, 1978

Again, the moral of the story is the same: Why aren’t you creating art?

Untitled (Feeding the Two-Headed Chicken), 1980