To Alice Neel’s retrospective at The Met I must return, and with another startling video that the museum has pulled from their vaults. Made by two young women in 1978 (a recent interview of sorts with the film makers is at the bottom of the page and should not be missed); it is only twenty minutes long, and is a wonderful insight not only into the working life of an artist – in general and of this remarkable painter in particular – but also of a woman with a particular way of seeing and reproducing that insight in her paintings, and without prejudice. To appropriate Neel’s own opinion of herself: A rare “collector of souls” she is indeed!
The Book Review (2) – The Podcast
As The Book Review looks back over a 125 year history, an accompanying podcast does so of its own modest 15 years, and with fifteen favourites. The Review editor and podcast host, Pamela Paul, admits the difficulty in culling down her selection to an acceptable level, and provides some brief and succinct notes of recommendation.
For me; some that are mentioned were caught in a timely way and some missed, some naturally interest more than others; but certainly there is something to be learnt from all. Given that, as I write, I am in the midst of Caste and fairly recently read The Warmth of Other Suns, I especially appreciate Isabel Wilkerson speaking in 2018 on her own work and Michelle Obama’s memoir and the Great Migration – one of those missed, and which is now very relevant to some of my reading projects.
More from the Met
In celebration of the 151st anniversary of The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, a delightful Google Doodle to wake up to this morning!
And here is a direct link to an overview of the art objects featured.
One of these that I would particularly like to mention is the above self portrait by Samuel Joseph Brown, Jr. , a Black artist that The Met states to have “gained international acclaim”, which may very well be so, but I do wonder why that doesn’t run to having a Wikipedia entry, and biographical information elsewhere in the internet seems to be scant – there is this 1982 speech at Howard by an admirer and this at the University of Kentucky library and obituary pieces in the Philadelphia Inquirer archive that I can’t access. I should say, my interest was sparked by Brown being of the same generation as Alice Neel (see previous post), both having received their art education in Philadelphia and both involved in the Public Works of Art Project and WPA, and it seems to me at approximately the same time. The possibility of paths crossing always interest me. [Postscript May 2, 2021: Have I read about Black under-representation in Wikipedia? The J. Clay Smith, Jr. who wrote the above mentioned Howard speech on Brown warranted this Washington Post obituary, for obvious reasons, and is also absent from Wiki! ]
During these times dominated by the corona pandemic and all the restrictions that implies, I have been wondering about the viewing possibilities in the greater worlds’ museums and galleries, so it is heartening to know that The Met’s doors are at least ajar, allowing for limited access. And irrespective, for those (very many) of us who probably wouldn’t be able to get there anyway, the online offerings at least allow us a glimpse behind even closed doors – and to dream on!
An art interlude
Alice NeeL: People come first
At The Met: March 22 – August 1, 2021.
A rare retrospective of the work of the American realist painter Alice Neel. Even virtually, her images can be appreciated as powerful reminders of our shared humanity and strived for dignity; irrespective of where we may be on our eternal search for self and place; sought by the privileged or the deprived, in home, studio or on the street. Terrific pictures in my opinion, and I love that she insists upon “pictures”; snapshots from real life, not for her the formalities of portraiture! The exhibition primer explores the sources of Neel’s inspiration; to be seen written in the faces and on the streets of Harlem.
In an excellent piece at The New York Times, Roberta Smith lauds Neel into the pantheon of modern painting; contextualising her radicalness in terms of the social and political turmoil of the twentieth century, and the complex interaction between those powerful exterior forces and the equally palpable interiors of the subjects, and in the virtuosity in which Neel, with colour and texture, bring all these facets together in her composition.
One reads, also, of the brilliant Met installation; the curators playing with chronology, thematics and historical; Kelly Baum and Randall Griffey have their say in the following excellent little video which was a virtual opening of sorts. I don’t know the pandemic status in respect to museums in New York at the moment, but it is to be hoped that, through this show, Neel’s work will find renewed attention and viewership into the Summer months.
Oh Lord, kum ba ya
It was only last year on seeing an episode of Padma Lakshmi’s Taste the Nation, that I connected the Gullah Geeshee and their cultural heritage with the Sea Islands and their significance to the history of slavery, the Civil War and Emancipation, that I had concurrently been studying. A travelogue piece in the NYT from the previous year interested me further, with its depiction of the region and how it is being endangered by tourism and environmental changes – and ignorance.
Then, on reading this, I was surprised to realise the Gullah Geeshee had touched me, and unbeknownst to me, as a young school girl – a lifetime away and thousands upon thousands of kilometres as birds fly and fish swim. I see before me an orange songbook and there it is: Kumbayah! Do I also remember a “negro spiritual” citation? I think so, but not much more – certainly nothing of its specific origins nor even that it meant “come by here”. What I do remember, is that my class sang it as a round at a regional eisteddfod – I do declare if we didn’t win!
H. Wylie, a Gullah Geechee man, singing “Come By Here” in 1926. It is the first known recording of “Kumbaya.” [ Gordon, Robert Winslow, and H Wylie. Come by Here. Audio. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <www.loc.gov/item/ihas.200197143/>.]
My imagination may stretch as far as the Georgia, South Carolina shores, but the reality of my life is elsewhere so here is another version. I can’t even tell you how famous The Seekers were in my childhood, and may well explain the song’s popularity in Australia.
Wherever and for whomever – a song of invitation, and an opening of home and heart. Belatedly, but I am glad to have learnt – and by chance – the roots of Kumbaya and little bit about the Gullah Geeshee.
Before she was dead she was very alive – & very often ill
Last year, Olivia Laing suggested in a piece for the NYT that, as we navigate the trials and tribulations that the Covid pandemic is demanding of us, we should take heed from Virginia Woolf when it comes to matters of illness; use these uncommon times of seclusion to sharpen our perception and turn loneliness into a creative force. And at the The New Yorker at about the same time, Evan Kindley pondered that famous one day which we have been gifted to share with Mrs. Dalloway as she steps out into the June sunshine and savors the vibrating life of the city; coming as it did after years of war and grief and illness. Of all these things Woolf was so very well acquainted.
Reading these pieces at the time, I wondered whether only the most privileged would have the luxury of time and resources to spend in such moments of profundity. And, how many of us could accept the hardships bestowed upon us, certain of our day in the sunshine? Now though, on reflection, I think my hesitation was based on a very narrow and materialistic view of what creativity is and from where it comes, and ignores its diversity in forms of expression and reception. An inner life and an imagination have we all – and it is affordable for most. And an imagined future has a sort of reality; one that spans each fleeting moment and affords a myriad of possibilities.
Writing up my notes on Woolf’s diary recently, I was prompted to reread her 1926 essay “On Illness”, which was received without much enthusiasm for publication by T.S. Eliot, and having thought about her death in the last days, the trials of her physical well – and not well – being during her life time are never far away.
In this spirit of reflection, I liked very much this piece in The Conversation by Cardiff University lecturer, Jess Cotton; she writes of how after a year of pandemic and difficult conditions for teachers and students alike, and now with some reason for optimism, Mrs. Dalloway provides one way to rediscover the simple joys and pleasures of life – a way that does not deny nor is vengeful, rather that looks inward; mining all the moments and memories that allow one to regret and to mourn, and then move on. (The essay may also be read here.)
Eighty years ago, and a last walk…
On Friday 28th March, 1941, Virginia Woolf walked across the downs to the flooding River Ouse near her beloved home in Sussex, as she would have done so many, many times before; but on this day she filled her coat pockets with stones aplenty and just kept on walking into the watery depths.
On her desk she had left a note to Leonard, written a few days previously. Her body was not found until the 18th April. In the midst of war and tormented by mental illness and personal anguish, Virginia Woolf departed the mortal world.
Not long ago I dug up this review at The New Yorker by W.H. Auden of the so-called “Writer’s Diary” published in 1954 – and admiring and generous it indeed is, of Woolf in particular but also of a neglected generation of women writers in general. I don’t think Auden lived long enough to read the whole kit and caboodle; which I suggest would have delighted him even more. He finished his piece thus:
I do not know how Virginia Woolf is thought of by the younger literary generation; I do know that by my own, even in the palmiest days of social consciousness, she was admired and loved much more than she realized. I do not know if she is going to exert an influence on the future development of the novel—I rather suspect that her style and her vision were so unique that influence would only result in tame imitation—but I cannot imagine a time, however bleak, or a writer, whatever his school, when and for whom her devotion to her art, her industry, her severity with herself—above all, her passionate love, not only or chiefly for the big moments of life but also for its daily humdrum “sausage-and-haddock” details—will not remain an example that is at once an inspiration and a judge. […]
“A Consciousness of Reality” by W. H. Auden in March 6, 1954 issue of “The New Yorker“.
In retrospect, Auden would perhaps have been surprised at just how profound and enduring Woolf’s influence has been on following generations of writers and readers alike, and that it is an influence that is intrinsically emotional and psychological rather than stylistic – for most know only too well, that to be so tempted would certainly end in, what Auden rightly predicted as, “tame imitation”.
The Bacchae
Listened to this week, and with (Dionysian!) pleasure: Melvyn Bragg’s BBC Radio 4 program “In Our Time”, and his conversation about Euripides’ tragedy The Bacchae with Emily Wilson, Edith Hall and Rosie Wyles.
Mention of Donna Tartt’s novel The Secret History from 1992, led to some moments of reflection. A few years ago after reading The Gold Finch, and remembering the hype surrounding the publication of Tartt’s first book (I guess it became a bestseller), I read The Secret History, and whilst I would have recommended it as a good enough read, I recall my expectations for literary fiction were not really fulfilled. (By the way, similarly so, my opinion of The Gold Finch.) A likeable enough but vacillating narrator and his capricious bunch of classics cohorts at an elite college, certainly sucked one into their vortex of deceits, large and small, but I had the feeling at the end of having been chewed up and spat out – unsatisfied, left cold. That the story’s murder and mayhem was created in the pursuit of Dionysian pleasure and dabbling in bacchanalian ritual, I had all but forgotten; rather, what stayed with me was the disturbing ease in which the accoutrements of privilege could be weaponised by an amoral didactic, catapulting young lives into the abyss (in the novel: both in a real sense and an allegorical).
But back to Bragg’s program…On the website there is further information – both concerning the subject matter and the guests. The text can be found here at Perseus; not as easy reading as the above discussion is to listen to, but the theatre of life rarely is – the truth being in the performance, and the borders of pleasure and tragedy fluid.
To set the stage, so to say, and to understand the context of Ancient Greek performance, I recommend Edith Hall’s Gresham Lectures of 2018, of which the following video is part.