M. F. Husain

Horses, M.F. Husain, one of the artist's favorite subjects.                   



M.F. Husain Self-portrait, ca. 2009



One of the benefits in writing daily about art is the fact that it is such a great learning experience. I come upon important artists which I've never heard of. I dig into their background, their art, even the historic period in which they live and I come up with a new, or sharper perspective of their style, their content, their philosophy, or perhaps simply art itself in the broadest sense. Today I came upon a very important Hindu artist from India named M.F. Husain. (I've had to avoid using "Indian artist" inasmuch as that leads off into a whole different direction, especially for Americans.) My point is, as I started looking at his work and exploring his life and times, I found I knew virtually nothing about Hindu art and barely more than that about the art of India.

 

Gopala, 1972, M.F. Husain

Maqbool Fida Husain was born in 1915, into a Muslim family in India. Mostly self-taught, Husain began his art career painting cinema posters in Mumbai. Later he worked designing toys for a toy company while all the time traveling about painting landscapes. Husain first became known as a painter in Bombay during the 1940s. He joined with a group of Modernist artist wishing to break with the nationalist traditions of the Bengal School of Art. His first solo exhibit was in 1952 in Zurich. Husain's first U.S exhibit was at India House in New York in 1964.

 

Bewildered Brown, 2006, M.F. Husain

Then, in 1967, finding paint and palette too limiting, M.F. Husain turned to film, releasing his first effort, Through the Eyes of a Painter that year at the Berlin Film Festival. He won a Golden Bear Award in the short film category. In 1971, Husain was invited to sit next to his aging idol, Pablo Picasso at the Sao Paulo Biennial in Brazil. Even a cursory look at Husain's work would indicate there's a lot of Picasso resting within him. A critic has referred to him as "the Picasso of India."

 

Kirishna Lila, 1980s, M.F. Husain

Raised a Muslim in a mostly Hindu country, Husain treated the many gods and goddesses of that faith as inspirations, though not as traditionalist might have liked. He often painted them nude and even in sexually suggestive poses. Needless to say, these works, created as early as the 1970s, but not shown until the mid-1990s stirred controversy. A Hindi magazine, Vichar Mimansa, published them in an article headlined "M.F. Husain: A Painter or Butcher." Husain's house was attacked by Hindu groups and art works were vandalised. Twenty-six Hindu activists were arrested by the police. Protests against Husain also led to the closure of an exhibition as far away as London, England.

 

Gaja Gamini, M.F. Husain

Later, eight criminal charges were filed against Husain in India for "promoting enmity between different groups." All were dismissed. Perhaps deciding film making was a safer and more profitable enterprise, Husain went on to direct so-called "Bollywood" films such as Gaja Gamini, a tribute to Madhuri's contribution to Hindi cinema, and a musical, Meenaxi: A Tale of Three Cities, the latter of which made the Muslims mad (for various and sundry reason). Husain was forced to pull it from distribution, though he claimed there was no intention to offend anyone. The film was loved by the critics and went on to win several awards.

Meenmaxi: Tale of 3 Cities, 2004, M.F. Husain

After more arrest warrents, a reward of $11.5 million placed on his head, and hounded by death threats, in 2006, Husain gave up his Indian passport and became a Quatari citizen, living there in self-imposed exile until his death in 2011. After his death at the age of ninety-five, a former president of India referred to him as having "left a void in the world of art." A fellow painter, Akbar Padamsee, noted, "[It was] a pity that a painter as important as Husain had to die outside his own country because of a crowd of miscreants."

Autobiography, 1996, M.F. Husain

 

Picasso Ate Here...and Here

Cafe Du Dome, ca. 1900, unknown artist. 108 Boulevard Montparnasse, Paris               

Cafe Le Dome today.

In searching for interesting artist to bring to light, sometimes I accidentally come upon far more interesting topics than my initial search. In exploring the life of the turn-of-the-(20th) century Lebonese artist, Youssef Howayek I came upon the mention of Cafe Le Dome. Old Youssef turned out to be of little interest to me or (likely) anyone else. But Cafe Le Dome, where he hung out with the likes of Gibran Khalil Gibran, Amedeo Modigliani, and Pablo Picasso, now that intrigued me. Inasmuch as I've previously written about other artists' hangouts such as the Impressionist's Cafe Guerbois (Paris), Picasso's el Quartre Gats in Barcelona, and the Cafe Michelangelo of the Macchiaioli in Florence, I decided, why not add to that list?

 

The Cafe De Da Rotonde Picasso knew sometime before WW I.

Cafe De La Rotonde today.

Here's where it gets tricky, however. I began finding references to Cafe de la Rotonde. I figured, well, Rotonde means Dome in French (not exactly, but close), it was likely just a different calling. I began collecting photos and other interesting tidbits under both names, only to realize an hour or so later when I saw Cafe Le Dome referred to as a competitor of Cafe de la Rontonde, that what I was dealing with was, in fact, two different restaurants. Indeed, they were (and are today) competitors in that they are directly across the Boulevard Montparnasse from one another. And, it would seem, Picasso and other artists of the early 20th century were about equally fond of both. To add complexity to complications, it turns out there were two or three other colorful French bistros clustered in the same area sharing virtually the same clientele.

 

Modigliani, Picasso, and Andre Salmon at Cafe De La Rotonde, 1916.

And OH what a clientele it was! The list of artists, writers, intellectuals, and other famous, or not-yet-famous personages from this era is as long as my arm, and those are just the ones I've heard of. Not to overwhelm you, but they included our virtually unknown Lebonese friend, Youssef, as well as Henri Cartier-Bresson, Max Ernst, Paul Gauguin, Ernest Hemingway, Gibran Khalil Gibran, Wassily Kandinsky, Sinclair Lewis, Henry Miller, Amedeo Modigliani (above), Pablo Picasso (above), Man Ray, Chaim Soutine, Andre Salmon (above), Leonora Carrington, Leonor Fini, Jean-Paul Sartre, Somerset Maugham, Jean Cocteau, and Diego Rivera with Vladimir Lenin and Leon Trotsky thrown in to add a little pre-revolutionary Russian flavor to the mix.

 

Intellectuals at the Cafe De La Rotonde, 1925, Tullio Garbari

Some likely preferred one eatery over another, and I wouldn't contend that they all ate together every night. but it is likely they all at least knew one another, influenced one another, and in some cases, were quite good friends. Picasso, who had his studio nearby, painted some friends dining at De La Rotonde (below), as did Tullio Garbari, with his Intellectuals De La Rotonde Cafe (above), from 1925 (now estimated to be worth ten-million dollars). Writers among the group wrote about what went on in both establishments. Others simply got drunk there, even starting the occassional, stereotypical, barroom fight as depicted by Japanese artist, Tsuguharu Foujita, in his 1925 etching, A la Rotonde.

 

At the Cafe De La Rotonde or L'Hippodrome, 1901, Pablo Picasso

Le Dome was the first cafe in the arty Montparnasse neighborhood, opening in 1898. In Picasso's time a plate of mashed potatoes and a sausage at Le Dome cost the present day equivalent of a dollar. Even at that, many of the restaurant's artist clientele were so impoverished they paid for their meals in drawings, which, in later years, turned out to be quite a bonanza for the proprietors. Cafe de la Rotonde was a latecomer, founded by a benovolent restauranteur named Victor Libion. Very often he would allow artists to loiter for hours nursing a ten centime cup of coffee while pretending not to notice as the hungry painters broke off the ends of his breadsticks to nibble on. On his walls too were drawings by artists who couldn't afford to pay.

Picasso at De La Rotonde, ca. 1915, with his mistress at the time, Paquerette.

Today, both restaurants are still in business at their same locations. De La Rotonde was rennovated after the war in 1958 so it is considerably more "upscale" today, losing much of the noisy bohemian charm that Picasso knew and loved. The food and service at De La Rotonde is said to be somewhat better (or at least more consistent) than that of it's competitor across the boulevard. Cafe Le Dome is today, as it was a hundred years ago, pretty much a seafood place with diners advised to "close their eyes" when the bill arrives. In that I'm no great seafood lover, I'd probably have to do so much sooner.

Le Dome seafood platter. The cost? If you have to ask, you can't afford it
(roughly 200 Euros or $268).

 

Ken Howard

Dora at Oriel, Spring 2009, Ken Howard.

"For me painting is about three things. It is about revelation, communication and celebration."

                                        --Ken Howard













It's always exciting to come upon an artist who has painted scenes of places with which I'm familiar. I once stumbled upon a scene by an 18th-century artist of the Coliseum in Rome 

Ken Howard, Self-poratait

depicting a spot which I'd stood not long before. I was surprised how little it had changed in some three hundred years. The same thing has happened as I've come upon scenes of the Island of Capri, which I've painted several time, or scenes on the French Riviera such as Villefranche Sur Mer. Most recently I came upon the work of the British painting Icon, Ken Howard, and numerouos images he has created of Venice, Italy. We visited Venice last years (2013) thus what he saw, what he painted, was quite fresh in my mind. I've not painted Venice, though I had planned to. After seeing Ken Howard's work, I'm having second thoughts. He's rather intimidating.

 

San Marco, Venice, Ken Howard.
I was there. I saw precisely this view. I wasn't inspired. Ken Howard inspires me.

A Flooded San Marco, Ken Howard

First of all, as an artist, he's intimidating, bigger then life, if you will. With his tall stature and mane of flowing white hair, his eighty-two years of age, his overall physical presence, he appears, quite frankly, rather awesome. Moreover, he paints on location. That alone scares the bejesus out of me. I could never set up my easel in the middle of Venice's San Marco Piazza with hundreds of people watching and start painting the cathedral. First of all it would take me hours upon hours in the hot sun, and secondly, under those circumstances, I probably would do a very good job of it. Howard has apparently done just that, and in the middle of the winter with paths through the snow; and in fact, in the midst of the high water which periodically floods the place. I'd get cold feet (literally).

Tower Bridge, October, Ken Howard. There's a lot of Monet in his paintings of London.

Long Rock, Sennen, Summer,
Ken Howard

Ken Howard is British, so of course he paints London landmarks such as his Tower Bridge, October (above). I've never been there so I don't know as to his verisimilitude for that city. His London looks pretty much as I've always imagined it. I plan to visit there in a year or two. I'll get back to you on that later. Among his other favorite locales is the coast of Cornwall, an English art mecca near the southwestern-most tip of the island. I'm rather fond of beaches and I've painted one or two myself. As seen in his Long Rock Sennen, Summer (right) and Summer Evening, Sennen (below),  Mr. Howard has nothing to worry about in terms of competition from me in that area. And, of course, no two beaches are alike. Mine have mostly been Caribbean.

 

Summer Evening, Sennen, 2005, Ken Howard

Self-portrait with Nude,
Ken Howard

Finally, Ken Howard loves to paint naked ladies in the comfort and warmth of his London studio. My wife won't pose nude and refuses to allow me to ;paint nude models, so I guess I'll have to enjoy that experience vicariously through his works such as Self-portrait with Nude (left). I mentioned that Ken Howard was eighty-two years old. If you haven't already done the math, that means he was born in 1932. A London native from birth, Ken Howard studied art at London's Hornsey College of Art and the Royal College of Art in the 1950s during which time he was also a Royal Marine for two years. Later, from 1973 to 1980 he became an official war artist, first in Northern Ireland and later in trouble spots all over the world. In 1991 Howard was elected a Royal Academician, which entitles him to add the abbreviation (RA) after his signature. It also increases the price of his works significantly, his oils now in the upper five-figure range--not bad for an artist that hasn't even died yet.

Morning Light, watercolor, Ken Howard

 

Oluf Høst

Photo by Małgorzata Miłaszewska

The coast of Bornholm in the summer.  What artist would ever want to leave        

such a beautiful place? Yet, Oluf Høst painted it far more often in the winter time.      

Oluf Høst, Self-portrait,
ca. 1910

Few of us, even those who have served in the military, have ever come face to face with the ugly face of war. Fewer still have ever seen our comfy little geographical hideaways invaded by a foreign army or bombarded by planes and artillery. Artists, on the whole, have long been pretty good at staying out of the way of such war machines, fleeing at just their threat, or becoming refugees as they approach. As I've written many times, art and war don't mix well, and when they do, art always loses. But what do you do when you live on a tiny island, a cold, snowy pile of rocks in the middle of a sea full of enemy ships and submarines, making a fright flight impossible, or even more dangerous than staying put? That was the dilemma on April 10th,1940, when the Danish expressionist painter, Oluf Høst, came to realize his homeland had fallen to the Nazis, and indeed, they would be sitting up shop just down the road from his home.

Denmark and the Baltic, the island of Bornholm is at right.

 It wasn't a massive occupying invasion force.  The island of Bornholm was captured without a fight, being far too insignificant for much combat--not worth defending by the Danes nor fighting over by the Germans. The Nazis never numbered more than about 12,000 and mostly they only manned  coastal guns that were, in fact, fired only once (as a test) during the entire war. The German navy set up an observation post, the army a listening post on the island. That was about the size of it. Host continued to paint, worried perhaps, but his life remained virtually unchanged during most of the German occupation. That is, until sometime in 1943 when Oluf and his wife received word from the Germans that the older of their two sons, Ole, who had joined the Nazi SS, had been killed during fighting in a small town on the eastern front. Oluf never forgave himself for introducing his son a Nazi sympathizer who had undoubtedly influence the young man to join the war, fighting with the Germans. That's coming face to face with war on a very personal level (below).

 





The Dying of a Winter's Day, 1943, Oluf Høst
painted shortly after the death of his eldest son during the war. 

However, the entire island would suffer a similar fate starting in May, 1945, when the Soviet Air Force began bombarding the German occupiers of the island, in the process doing far more damage in just a few days than the Germans had in five years. The bombardment destroyed some seven-hundred homes and heavily damaged another three-thousand more just during a single night. The next day, the Soviets landed, the Germans surrendered, and the Russians held the island for almost a year before returning control to Danish government in April, 1946.

 

Oluf Høst. I love the painting, but can find no information on it.
If anyone can come up with a title and date for this work I'd be much obliged.

Oluf Høst at work, ca. 1914

The island of Bornholm was Oluf Høst's home. He was born there in the small town of Svaneke on the north eastern coastal corner of the roughly rectangular island in 1884. Except for a few years studying art in Copenhagen, where he met and married Hedvig, the mother of their two sons, Høst spent his entire life on the island. He was an expressionist cut from the same cloth as van Gogh and Cezanne, whom he greatly admired.  Yet his work is more colorful (Nordic people love color) than that of Cezanne even that of van Gogh. Stylistically, his handling of paint is also much looser than either of his primary influences, more in line with German Expressionism, verging, at times, on the abstract.

 

Winterscape, 1931, Oluf Høst

Oluf Host was reclusive, especially after the death of his son, retreating to a remote studio during the summer month where he did little besides paint and write--1800 volumes of an extensive, highly introspective diary (he called them log books) which he ordered sealed upon his death for a period of fifty years. Oluf died in 1966. Its been almost fifty years. In 2012, the diaries were unlocked, read, and became the source of a biography Host titled himself: Oluf Høst: jeg blev væk i mig selv

(Oluf Høst: I was lost in my self). Much of his work can now be seen in the The Oluf Høst Museum in Gudhjem, Bornholm (below(.



Oluf Høst home and museum, Gudhjem, Bornholm.

 

Charles Hopkinson

Growing old on canvas.            

I like to think that I'll grow old and gray, passing away with a paintbrush in my hand sometime after the centennial of my birth. Perhaps minus the paintbrush, we all have such delusions. Actually quite a number of artists born in the past century or two have often come close to that distinction. Picasso was ninety-two when he died. Marc Chagall lived into his 97th year, Hyman Bloom, the Jewish modernist lived to be ninety-six, Willem de Kooning, ninety-two, and of course, Anna Mary Robertson (Grandma) Moses lived to be 101. Charles Sydney Hopkinson lived to be ninety-three. For those not familiar with the name, Hopkinson was mostly a portrait artist. He was born in 1869, died in 1961. I'm a portrait artist, born in 1945. I'm in relatively good health; I have a wife who watches my diet; an agile mind, good genes, a few cases of prolonged longevity in my family tree, and still get around pretty well--so far so good.

 

Charles Hopkinson Self-portrait,
ca. 1890, around twenty years of age.

Charles Hopkinson Self-portrait,
1961, age ninety-two.

Hopkinson struck me as interesting in that, as a portrait artist, he painted his first self-portrait around the age of twenty (above, left). He painted his final self-portrait when he was ninety-two (above, right). Obviously he was no Dorian Gray. What is most interesting are the self-portraits he painted between 1890 and 1961 (top). He painted some sixty-seven other self-portraits at irregular intervals throughout his life, approximately one every two or three years. Even Rembrandt didn't leave such a painted record of himself growing old (counting Rembrandt's etched self-portraits, they're about neck and neck). And while Hopkinson was no Rembrandt, his self-portraits offer a level of insight into his character and his own self-image to rival any by van Gogh, Rembrandt, or Picasso.

Edward Estlyn Cummings, age one,
(though he looks somewhat older than that),
Charles Hopkinson

Charles Hopkinson was a New Englander, born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, his father the owner of a private school from which Charles graduated in 1887, then enrolled in nearby Harvard where he began his art career drawing cartoons for The Harvard Lampoon. Choosing to become an artist, Hopkinson graduated from Harvard straight to New York's Art Students League and from there to the Academie Julian in Paris. By 1895 he was exhibiting in the Paris Salon. He returned to New York in the mid-1890s to try and establish himself as a portrait painter. His first commission came to be something of a curiosity, the first portrait of the poet, E.E. Cummings, before he became famous. Cummings (right), is said to have been about a year old at the time.

Hopkinson, his wife, and five daughters pose for a family portrait, 1923-24.

Yacht Races, Charles Hopkinson. Sailing is in
the blood of virtually every New England artist.

Despite E.E. Cummings, Hopkinson's career as a portrait artist was off to a rocky start. He had better luck in returning to France where he became adept at painting with watercolors along the Brittany coast and touring Europe in pursuit of Velasquez, El Greco, Frans Hals, and Rembrandt (who perhaps inspired his penchant for self-portraits). The early 1900s were a turbulent time for Hopkinson as he divorced his first wife, Angelica, married a second, Elinor, and became the father of a daughter, Harriet, born in 1904 (four more daughters were to follow during the next ten years). Although he displayed in prestigious shows and won several awards (usually bronze) it wasn't until he began painting portraits of his uncle and his friends that his career began to gain altitude. His uncle happened to be Charles William Eliot, president of Harvard University. He painted his uncle six times. During the next several years, Hopkinson became the Harvard house portrait artist.

Photography magnate, George Eastman, poses for a 1929 Hopkinson portrait
(apparently not done from a photo).

President Calvin Coolidge, 1931,
Charles Hopkinson

Although he exhibited in the landmark 1913 Armory Show in New York, Hopkinson was not a part of the New York art scene. He was too "Boston" for that, preferring to paint watercolor seascapes of the rocky New England coast or racing yachts (above, right) instead. But for the most part, that was just a summer diversion. During the course of the next several years, as a popular portrait artist he painted such personages as John D. Rockefeller Jr, (1927), George Eastman (of Eastman Kodak, 1929), Oliver Wendell Holmes (1930, the first of three). And in 1931, Hopkinson painted the official White House portrait of President Calvin Coolidge (left) after he'd left office.

A much more relaxed 1952 portrait of the Hopkinson granddaughters,
Mary, Alice, and Marjorie

Two generations of Hopkinson girls.

Over the course of his lifetime, Hopkinson painted over eight hundred portraits, some bearing the likenesses of those quite famous, others simply friends and those who could afford his fees. In later years, following the death of his second wife in 1947, Hopkins mostly collected awards and honors. He traveled around the world, spending time with friends in Europe and one of his daughters in New Zealand. He painted what he saw there in watercolor, and what he saw in the mirror each morning in oils. His palette lightened, his style became looser, his later portraits centering mostly on his five daughters and their daughters.

Embassy Garden, New Zealand, 1952, Charles Hopkinson

 

 

Gerard van Honthorst

The Concert, 1623, Gerard van Honthorst--more Dutch than Italian.           

In the art world today, it would be ludicrous to suggest that any one artist, much less a single painter, has any great amount of influence over the work of other artists. Perhaps the movie industry comes closest, but even there, stylistic cinematic influences are so diluted and problematical, few critics would elevate any one director to such status--okay, perhaps Steven Spielberg. That has not always been the case, however. During the sixteenth century, it would be difficult to overstate the influence of one painter. His name was Michelangelo--not Bounarrati, Caravaggio--Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio born in 1571 and perhaps named for the famous Florentine sculptor and painter. There, however, pretty much any similarities cease to exist.

 

Adoration of the Shepherds, 1622, Gerard van Honthorst
--a favorite of greeting card publishers around Christmastime.



Gerard van Honthorst,
etching by Pieter de Jode II

I can't tell you the number of times I've come upon outstanding artists from the 17th Century, and to a lesser extent the 18th-century, whose primary claim to fame rests upon their having studied under Caravaggio, or simply studied his work. The Italian rapscallion's influence stretches far beyond the meager thirty-eight years of his lifetime (1571-1610). One example of this far-reaching influence can be found in the work of Gerard van Honthorst. Van Honthorst was a Dutch "Golden Age" painter (yes, another one) born in Utrecht in the Netherlands, the son of a decorative painter. The year was 1592. Caravaggio was just starting his career in Rome at the time. Van Honthorst journeyed to Rome in about 1616 and stayed there for a mere four years. Caravaggio had been dead for more than six years when he arrived, and many art historians would have us believe he was also long-forgotten by then, only to be rediscovered in the 20th century. Van Honthorst and his work (and that of several others) is a good reason to believe this may not have been the case.

 

The Procuress, 1625, Gerard van Honthorst, the presence of Caravaggio so strong he might well have been one of the figures in the foreground (given the subject matter).

Smiling Girl, a Courtesan, Holding
an Obscene Image, 1625, Gerard
van Honthorst

Gerard van Honthorst returned to his native Utrecht around 1620. There is evidence in his portraits of a strong Netherlandish style. But it would seem, despite his relative brief exposure to Rome, the lingering ghost of Caravaggio, must have been thoroughly absorbed as seen in the dramatic, Italian qualities of lighting and chiaroscuro we now associate with Caravaggio and the Baroque era. So powerful was the influence of Caravaggio during his lifetime, and perhaps to a somewhat lesser extend in the years immediately following his death, that it's difficult to separate that which is Caravaggio and that which is more generally considered Baroque painting. The same holds true as to Bernini and Baroque sculpture. We see in the work of van Honthorst the same mindset, embracing the "low" life while dignifying the "high" life in his religious works and portraits. The Concert (top), while somewhat less dramatic than anything Caravaggio did, is nonetheless just as vibrant, lively, and exciting. Yet, van Honthorst's Adoration of the Shepherds from 1622 literally glows with Caravaggio's theatrical exposition. And to read the work of both artists, one might think they painted only at night by candle light.

Supper of Emmaus, Gerard van Honthorst, the Dutch Caravaggio.

Christ Before the High Priest,
1617, Gerard van Hothorst

Van Honthorst was quite prolific. The great bulk of his work consists of portraits which, with a couple exceptions, could well be classed as "ho hum," not at all different from the high quality work done by dozens of other Dutch artists during this period. It's when the artist climbs down from his studio stool and takes up residence on the local bar stool (did they have bar stools back then?) that we see the brilliance of Caravaggio shine forth. His Childhood of Christ (bottom) from 1620 is one of his more touching scenes of religious genre. It's said that Rembrandt's Caravaggio influences were derived from his having known van Honthorst and seen his work. (Rembrandt was some fourteen years younger than van Honthorst.) Despite the common street people which populate the work of both van Honthorst and Caravaggio (Caravaggio was severely criticized for using a prostitute as a model for the Virgin Mary), it is in van Honthorst's religious paintings such as his Supper of Emmaus (above) or his Christ Before the High Priest, (right) painted in 1617 while still studying the work of Caravaggio in Rome, that van Honthorst can best be seen as the Dutch Caravaggio.

The Childhood of Christ, 1620, Gerard van Honthorst.
(Point of authenticity, Mr. van Honthorst--the Jews used oil lamps, not candles for lighting.)