Robert Brackman

Life About Me, Robert Brackman--a painted biography.

Robert Brackman Self-portrait

Perhaps the most distressing thing about being a portrait painter is that the artist is known primarily based upon the identities of those he or she paints. The only way around this is to paint a significant number of non-portraits. However, if the artist is quite good at portraiture, there evolves such demand that there is little time for anything else. Traditional portraits, especially in the past, demand hours upon hours of time spent by artist and subject in attaining the kind of results making the artist a major name in portraiture. This was exactly the case with the Russian-born Robert Brackman.

 

Charles Lindbergh, 1938, Robert Brackman

Brackman was born in Odessa, Ukraine, in 1898. At the age of ten, he emigrated with his parents to the United States where he eventually studied art at the National Academy of Design in New York and the Ferrer School in San Francisco. In 1931, he began teaching at the Art Students League in New York, a position he held virtually for the rest of his life. Among his portrait subjects were John D. Rockefeller Jr., his wife Abbey Aldrich Rockefeller, Charles Lindbergh (left), John Foster Dulles, and numerous other well-known personages commissioned by various departments of the U.S. Government from the 1950s until his death in 1980. Brackman became so popular as a portrait artist he was forced to pick and choose among those wishing to sit for him, limiting himself to about four portraits a year. It's an enviable position to be in unless you're in it.


Portrait of Jennie, (Jennifer Jones),
1948, Robert Brackman,

Perhaps Brackman's most well-known portrait was not of a famous statesman, explorer, or wealthy financier. In 1948, Brackman was called upon to paint a portrait of Jennifer Jones. The painting was to be used as a movie prop for David O. Selznick's Portrait of Jennie in which the movie actress played opposite Joseph Cotton in a fantasy melodrama reminiscent of The Portrait of Dorian Gray. The painting was one of Selznick's prize possessions until he could have the real thing. He married Jennifer in 1949. 


Somewhere in America,
1934, Robert Brackman, a
touching portrait of the
unfamous.



 

 

Floral Design

A floral design buffet.



Chinese floral design by Li Song,
11th century.

I've long been an advocate for elevating designers in virtually all fields to the rank of artists. I've written on various of these design fields too many times to list them all here. If you wish to pursue any of these areas, simply type "designer" into the search box at the top of this page. You'll get everything from architecture to tattoos. In discussing still-life painting, a major endeavor of painters within this genre involves painting flowers--florals, as art historian shorthand calls them. As pretty as such paintings may be, they are merely an inadequate record of the efforts of the floral designer (usually the artist, of course). Such floral designs date back at least as far at the 11th or 12th centuries as witnessed by Chinese painters. Egyptian art also suggests the presence of floral artists.

Floral designs aren't usually associated with
men. Perhaps this is a Father's Day Bouquet.

Don't confuse the floral designer's art with "floristry" (growing flowers), which is more science than art. And don't call such design artists "flower arrangers," though, as with virtually all design work, their task boils down to "arranging" various parts into a pleasing whole. Unlike other design artists, floral designers do not begin their designs on paper. Likewise, most designers don't usually "make" things, they simply direct others in doing so. To some extent, at a professional level, that may also be true of floral designers, however more often than not, the floral designer has a great deal in common with those artists who paint florals in that their work is fairly instinctive, designed "hands on," and is one-of-a-kind.

 

Floral designs are classified as
traditional, oriental, or modern.
This one is modern, one in which
negative space is as elemental
as the flowers themselves.

Unlike the work of most designers, the floral designer's creations are very often associated with holidays, which far outnumber designs for weddings, funerals, birthdays, anniversaries, combined. Christmas is important, but takes a backseat to Valentines Day, Mother's Day, Independence Day, even Halloween. Floral designers are at their best when they have such themes, which often spark creative genius. As with all design efforts, originality is important, so long as it's not too original. Floral design work is rather forgiving of errors (if it doesn't work, adjust, re-evaluate, or simply start over). Although flowers are expensive, they pale in comparison to the raw materials other designers employ--concrete, glass, steel, precious gems, furniture, fabrics, or sheet metal. As instinctive as floral design might be, the professional is, of course highly trained, either formally or informally, even though there also remains the element of trial and error cited above. And since the stakes are not as high, neither is the remuneration. However, since floral designers usually produce individual pieces by hand, they are far more in demand than many other design professionals.

 

Laura Dowling, White House chief floral designer caters to Mrs. Obama's
tastes for loose, informal floral designs.

Florists (those who grow and sell flowers) employ large numbers of floral designers, but so to do churches, hotels, restaurants, boutiques, millionaires, and at the top of the professional job postings, the U.S. Government. Long time White House floral designer, Nancy Clark, served for thirty-years under six presidents (Carter to Obama) and was witness to the various changes in floral decorating tastes over such a long period. In her book, My First Ladies, she also details the many individual floral tastes of the Presidents and First Ladies she served. Today, current White House floral designer, Laura Dowling reigns over a staff of three (plus up to a dozen volunteers) from a large flower shop on the ground floor under the North Portico. The shop features a brightly lit work area, offices, and large walk-in coolers for storing the uncut flowers and finished designs, as well as cans of diet cola and yogurt.

Former White House Chief Floral Designer, Nancy Clark, was a workaholic stickler for detail. Such traits are valuable when accommodating the changing tastes of six presidents and their wives over the course of thirty years.

 

The Automobile in Art

Automobiles are designed to "knock your eyes out." This was never more so than
in the phantasmagorical 1959 Cadillac. When artist, David Chapple, transports it
to New York's Times Square, the viewers eyes may never be the same again.

Having dwelt at length on "Car Art," less than a week ago (09-14-13), and some months before that on Automobile Design (04-03-13), I decided then to also explore the impact this vital transportation device has had on art itself, specifically painting. I've limited this to painting in that there are simply too many photos of cars to deal with as art, and I eliminated the sculptural element simply because the automobile, is a 3-D work of sculpture in its natural state (ever more so in the hands of a creative artist/owner as covered with the "Car Art" item).

 

Speeding Automobile,  1912,
Giacomo Balla

The Dynamism of the Automobile,
1912, Luigi Russolo

The automobile has made its presence known in painting almost from the first flat tire. The Italian Futurist, Giacomo Balla painted Speeding Automobile (above, left) as far back as 1912, the same year his friend, Luigi Russolo painted The Dynamism of the Automobile (above, right). The best that can be said regarding these early efforts at automobile art is that painting is never at its best in depicting movement. In 1941, Salvador Dali contributed his Surrealist bit to Automotive art for General Motors with his Special Automobile, a 1941 Cadillac, which appears about to launch into some mystical dream world. In the same year Dali painted another '41 Caddy, Automobile Clothed, in an effort to combat the tendency artist have always had toward painting naked cars.

Special Automobile, 1941, Salvador Dali

Copyright, Jim Lane

Varoom-Varoom, 2001, Jim Lane,
(yes, the painting is wider than the frame).



Peddle Car Cruiser, Airborne Creations

Few male artists have not tried their hand at painting their beloved automobiles (at least once). I've probably done as many as a dozen cars I've owned (or would like to have owned). Add to that approximately a dozen more automobile portraits painted for collectors over the years, and I'd like to think I've gained some "feel" for the subject. Yet, seldom does an artist ever grow comfortable painting such shiny, anamorphic shapes while utilizing cubistic-prone, two-point perspective. Add to that the difficulties in balancing the local color of glistening paint with the ambient colors and reflections of the environment, and virtually all automobile artists run screaming and yelling for a photographer (or try to be one themselves). Perhaps second only to painting the face, depicting an automobile in paint may be the most challenging task an artist can face.

Future Rolls Royce, 1967, Cyd Mead. Just as paint is not well-suited for depicting movement, the same is also true of any effort at prognostication.



 

 

Dieric Bouts

Altarpiece of the Holy Sacrament, 1463-4, Dieric Bouts

Dieric Bouts by Hendrick Hondius

One of the many difficulties facing modern-day art historians is the ineptitude of past art historians. When Giorgio Vasari published his Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, in 1550, he started a publishing trend. Often credited as the first art historian in modern times, Vasari was at least as good a biographer as he was a painter and architect. He'd actually known many of those he wrote about. In 1604, the German biographer, Karel van Mander published his own art history book, Schilder-Boeck dealing with Netherlandish artists (he also included a German translation of Vasari's tome). Alas, Van Mander was no Vasari. In at least one case, he wrote two separate biographies which turned out to be about the same artist. He confused "Dieric of Haarlem" and "Dieric of Leuven." His subject, Dieric Bouts, lived and worked in both cities. To make matters worse, he further muddied the water by confusing the name Dieric Bouts with Hubrecht Stuerbout, of Leuven, who was a sculptor, not a painter.

 

Christ in the House of Simon, 1440, Dieric Bouts.
Painted at the age of 25, Bouts' instinctive perspective is awkward, at best.

Dieric Bouts was born in Haarlem around 1415. However, as mentioned above, he worked most of his life in Leuven. Bouts, himself, was guilty of creating another difficulty art historians hate--he named his oldest son after himself. When the son grew up to become an artist (as did his brother, Aelbrecht), art historians were saddled with the perennial (elder/younger) nuisance designation. And, unlike today when biographical documentation runs literally from "womb to tomb," art historians now, as then, aren't so fortunate in dealing with artists like Bouts. Researchers frequently encounter the phrase: "Little is known regarding the artist's early life." Indications are, however, he may have studied under both Jan van Eyck and Rogier van der Weyden.

 

Lamentation, 1450, Dieric Bouts

One of Bouts' earliest works, his 1440 Christ in the House of Simon (above) is quite scripturally accurate, even down to the rather awkward woman ducking under the table to anoint Christ's feet. However, his landscape background is highly stylized while the one-point perspective is instinctive, at best. Twenty years later, in 1460, Dieric Bouts painted a rather stiff, somewhat Gothic Lamentation (left), typical of German painting from this period. The intervening years seemingly having had little effect on his work.

Even as it developed in Italy during the mid-15th century, the Early Renaissance migrated north. By 1464 when Bouts painted his Altarpiece of the Holy Sacrament (top) for a Leuven church, there is much improvement. After just three or four years, we see him trying to assimilate Brunelleschi's rediscovered formulas for one-point perspective. His central panel, featuring the first Northern Renaissance depiction of the last supper, shows a reasonable grasp of the fundamentals, though his single vanishing point (above the head of Christ) is too high for his horizon (seen through background windows) while his adjacent room employs a separate vanishing point (also too high). As my seventh grade students used to complain, perspective is tricky. I might add, the same could be said for art history.



 

Poor Mona



No woman should have to put up with such humiliation.



Unfunny, not to mention sexist.

Yesterday, in writing about Fernando Botero (the item directly below), I featured his version of Leonardo's Mona Lisa (1503-06). In doing so, I stumbled upon an incredible stash of satirical images of the great master's iconic beauty queen (along with Botero's). It wasn't that I was unaware of what other artists and, more recently, PhotoShoppers have done to the hapless Signora Giaconda; what struck me was the sheer number of such images, their viciousness, their crudity, and yes, their exceptional lack of humor. I'd be the first to admit there's nothing sacred about the Mona Lisa. I mean, it's a good, perhaps even a great painting, arguably one of Leonardo's best; but it's not the Virgin Mary (on the rocks or otherwise). Moreover, I've explored this realm of art humor before (03-25-13) so I'm familiar with the territory. I guess my real purpose in revisiting this topic is simply to say: "enough already." Give it a rest. Pick on somebody else for once...like...on second thought, I'm not going to suggest any alternatives.
 

The first Mona Lisa satire?

Ripping off the Mona Lisa is nothing new. Art historians have recently speculated about a nude painting (right) probably done during Leonardo's own lifetime. The similarities to his Mona Lisa are remarkable, and the physical condition of the canvas itself within acceptable archival limits. It's not a Leonardo and probably not Mona, but was it done with her in mind? In modern times, Marcel Duchamp may have started it all in drawing a moustache on Mona's smiling face, (L.H.O.O.Q., 1919, 07-26-13) while Salvador Dali couldn't resist adding his hairy handlebars a generation later. That was parody, and personally, I have no problem with satirical art. Artists should indulge in such shenanigans. Otherwise art risks becoming stale, humorless, pompous, and proudly pretentious. Such creative endeavors may even have something important to say about who we are as a civilized society, opening our eyes, denying denial. And, I suppose, pummeling poor Mona under such circumstances serves some purpose. But familiarity breeds contempt. Too much of a questionably "good thing" quickly become a bad thing. Such art desecration, even when undeniably funny, even when cleverly conveying valid social comment, loses its impact when we become overwhelmed by its sheer quantity. The Mona Lisa becomes trite and so too, eventually, do attempts at satire.

 

Why? It's not satirical; it's not
the least bit funny. Just stupid.

I could post here a parade of examples featuring the funniest, or the best of the worst of such "non-art." But, in doing so, I'd only be propagating such travesties. Instead, I'm bringing to light the "worst of the worst," not to glorify but to outrage. This is how bad it's gotten. This is what a whole platoon of talentless non-artists have foisted upon the digital art world. This is what they have descended to. This is what we hate! This is what we're fighting! True artists of the world ARISE! UNITE! Write your Congressman!...or something...



Mona mangled, by Naoto Hattori
(yes, I'm naming names)

This has gone WAAAAY to far! Mona should sue--defamation of character.



 

 

 

Fernando Botero

 "Celebration" exhibit, Fernando Botero, 2012-13, Museo de Bellas Artes, Bilbao, Spain

Self-portrait with Flag,
Fernando Botero.

Writers and critics have to tread lightly when discussing the work of Fernando Botero. We have to choose our words carefully. Botero, by the way, is a Medellin, Colombian-born artist who seems quite intent upon living elsewhere, Paris at the moment, but also New York for several years, and an extensive list of other major art capitals around the world where he has worked and studied. Yet Botero calls himself the "most Colombian Colombian artist living today." Redundant, perhaps, but probably true; there simply aren't that many Colombian artists. Botero is a figural artist born in 1932. Having recently achieved the impressive age of eighty, he shows no sign of slowing down. Given current trends in political correctness, the reason writers have to be somewhat circumspect in discussing Botero and his work is that, without exception, his figures (often nude) are what could most politely be called "pleasingly plump." That's true even of his still-lifes, nice plump fruit.


 

Head of Christ, 2010,
Fernando Botero

La Giaconda, 1978,
Fernando Botero

Unlike those writing about him, Botero does not burden himself with volumetric niceties. He openly talks of his "fat" figures. Not since Hans Holbein painted Henry VIII have such figures graced art museum walls. Although it would be hard to imagine a Botero version of Henry VIII, Botero delights in creating his plump versions of the Mona Lisa, (above, left, which he titled, la Giaconda). There's also a Botero version of van Eyck's famous Arnolfini Wedding (with a very pregnant looking Mrs. Arnolfini), a quite hefty Louis XIV (ala Hyacinthe Rigaud), Adam and Eve, even Jesus Christ himself (above, right). By today's standards, none of these renderings could be considered flattering, nor, I suppose, are they meant to be. Botero makes no comments regarding today's "thin is in" standards of figural beauty, but then again, he doesn't need to. His work, most notably his sculptures (below) speak "volumes."

Liegende 1, 2010, St. Petersburg (FL), Fernando Botero. His sculptural figures are especially sensuous (nice tan). Renoir would have adored his work.

Abu Ghraib, 2005, Fernando Botero

Botero is not just about avoirdupois. He also paints current events, especially when they disturb him, as did the scandal involving the American-run Iraqi prison, Abu Ghraib (right). First exhibited in Europe during 2005, Botero did some 85 paintings accompanied by more than 100 drawings expressing his outrage--what he termed "painting out the poison." In 2007 this series was displayed at two U.S. museums. Botero refused to sell any of them, choosing instead to donated them to museums around the world. Botero has also weighed in on the drug violence in his own country with his bullet-ridden painting of Pablo Escobar, and similar images of his slain countrymen. Botero is often criticized, even hated for what is seen as his "making fun" of fat people. An overweight Mona Lisa is funny. A fat Jesus could be seen as sacrilegious. Tortured Arabs, even chubby ones, are not funny. Painted images of dead victims of Colombia's drug wars (bottom), even those responsible, regardless of their physical dimensions, are tragic.

Massacre, 2008, Fernando Botero

 

Angel Botello

Reclining Figure, Angel Botello--the warmth of Gauguin, the style of Picasso.



Angel Botello
(Apparently a very modest man;
he painted no self-portraits
and left but one photo of his
handsome face.)

What would you get if you took equal parts of Picasso and Gauguin, then stirred in a pinch of Modigliani, a snippet of Miro, and maybe just a touch of Chagall? The result would be the art of Angel Botello. If you've never heard of him, you probably don't live in Puerto Rico. Some have referred to Botello as the Caribbean Gauguin. Inasmuch as Botello was born in the small town of Cangas do Morrazo, Spain (1913), we can't very well call him the a Spanish Picasso, though there is a generous dollop of his fellow countryman's influence in this tasty mix, which can readily be seen in his work. Perhaps it would be appropriate to refer to Botello as a Caribbean Picasso, in that the artist spent more than half his life living and working in that region.

3 Young Girls, Angel Botello, a
favorite subject, a favorite style.

Botello was one of six children born to a Spanish businessman in the fish canning industry. When the family went broke in the 1920s, they moved to the Bordeaux region of France. Angel's mother wanted him to become a farmer but having come of age in a country where architecture was valued as perhaps the greatest of the fine arts, the boy (and his younger brother too) insisted upon studying art at the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris. It was apparently a good choice, they both graduated with honors in painting, drawing, and modeling (French for sculpture). From there, in 1935, Botello moved back to Spain to study at the San Fernando Academy in Madrid. He would seem to have been an aspiring, talented, hardworking young artist with a promising future.

Haitian Landscape, 1950, Angelo Botello, in the spirit of Gauguin.

Unfortunately history intruded. In 1936, the Spanish Civil War enveloped his country. Botello joined the Republican Army as a cartographer. As if the war alone wasn't bad enough for a budding young artist, Botello joined the losing side. In 1939, dictator, Francisco Franco, came to power. Botello fled the country to join his family in a French refugee camp before they all decided to pack it up and move to the Dominican Republic. Though welcomed warmly by local artists, Botello roamed the Caribbean for some time looking for a home, residing briefly in Cuba, and for some ten years in Haiti before moving to Puerto Rico with his wife and family. During those years his career prospered, his work gaining recognition locally and abroad.

Playa, Angel Botello

Originally a painter, Botello could move quite easily among several media--painting, drawing, photography, printmaking, lithography, serigraphy, mosaics, and sculpture. Writers are always tempted to highlight one or two media in which such artists most excelled, but in Botello's case that would be difficult, not to mention misleading. He seems not to have favored one media over others either personally or professionally. His success in the 1950s allowed the Botello family to open two art galleries where gradually, he shed references to Gauguin, Picasso, and others to foster what has come to be known as the "Botellian" style. Not unlike many Latino men of his generation, Botello was a heavy smoker. In 1985 he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Then, as is still often the case, this amounted to a death sentence. But for the stricken artist, it was the impetus for the production of some 22 large-scale bronze sculptures before finally succumbing to the disease in November, 1986. He was 73.


Toro, Angelo Botello--what could be
more Picasso?

Nina Jugando, Angel Botello.
He had three daughters.