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Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Andreas and Oswald Achenbach

Storm on the Sea at the Norwegian Coast, 1837, Andreas Achenbach
In the past I've written often about father and son artists, sometimes even as many as three or four generations of artists of the same family. However, seldom, perhaps never, have I written about two brothers, the younger taught by the elder, who have both been outstanding artists. That's not to say that both have been equally outstanding. That's unlikely in any case. Andreas Achenbach was the elder of the two by twelve years. Oswald was the younger brother, born in 1827. His older brother was born in 1815. Both were German, both born in Kassel (central Germany), though the family moved to Munich in 1835 when Oswald was around eight. By the time the younger of the two would have been old enough to benefit from art instruction, Andreas would have been in his early twenties and about to embark on his career as a landscape painter.

View of the Doge's Palace and St. Marco, Oswald Achenbach
As one might judge in comparing Andreas Achenbach's Storm on the Sea at the Norwegian Coast (top) with Oswald Achenbach's View of The Doge's Palace and St. Marco (above), there is little more than superficial similarities between the two brothers' work. Andreas' style is quite literal while that of his brother, Oswald, tends more toward Romanticism. The two brothers were sometiems referred to as the "A" and "O" (alpha and omega) of German landscape painting.

Andreas, 1815-1910
Oswald, 1827-1905
II's not known what type of personal relationship the two brothers may have had. Andreas was apparently the oldest of the family's ten children. Oswald was the fifth-born, and by far the more talented of the two. Whatever talent either of the boys displayed did not come from their father's side of the family. Nothing is known of their mother, Christine, but their father, Hermann, was employed in a series of jobs, including beer and vinegar brewer, guesthouse owner, and bookkeeper. Both his sons studied at the Dusseldorf Academy of Painting (below). The younger son, perhaps because of his older brother's early tutelage, started his training there at the tender age of eight, at a time when the minimum age for enrollment was twelve. He had finished his studies by the time he was fourteen, even having spent a full year studying architecture.

The Academy of Fine Arts in Düsseldorf, 1831, Andreas Achenbach
Andreas Achenbach studied at St Petersburg, though his studies also included travels in Italy, Holland and Scandinavia. In his early work he followed the pseudo-idealism of the German Romantic school, but in moving to Munich, the stronger influence of Louis Gurlitt turned his talent toward German Realism. The elder Achenbach is sometimes criticized in that his landscapes seem aimed too much at picture-making (below) while lacking personal temperament. Nonetheless, he was a master of technique, bearing some importance historically as a reformer.
Westphalian Mill, 1869, Andreas Achenbach

In 1843, Oswald Achenbach, still only sixteen, began a journey of several months through Upper Bavaria and North Tyrol where he continued his nature studies. His earliest known works in oil come from this period. Two years later, Achenbach undertook a journey to northern Italy. The paintings Achenbach completed from this period predominantly consist of Italian landscape scenes such as his Venetian panorama, View of the Doge's Palace and St. Marco. Although few of Achenbach's paintings from before 1850 survive today, those that do indicate that his early choices of subject matter and technique were heavily influenced by the art academies of the time. In the oil studies that Achenbach produced during these trips, he adhered closely to landscapes and details of the typical Italian vegetation. Architectural motifs, figures, and other elements play a lesser role than in his more mature work (below).

Triumphal Arch In Rome, 1886, Achenbach Oswald.
Well into the 19th-century, art training in Germany was strongly influenced by the art academies. These academies became extremely formal, rigid, and not at all responsive to new artistic movements. The academies also organized the major exhibitions through which artists sold most of their work. As a result, artists who were opposed to the ideas of the academies were seldom exhibited and had few opportunities to sell. Eventually though, individual artists and representatives of entire artistic movements began to stand in opposition to the culture and concepts of the Academies. Oswald Achenbach was one such artist who opposed the Düsseldorf Academy. He became an early member of the "Association of Düsseldorf Artists for Mutual Support and Help" and the association "Malkasten" ("Paintbox"), organized in 1848, with Achenbach as one of the original original founders. These Associations jointly staged plays, organized music evenings and put on exhibitions.

Outbreak of Vesuvius, 1872, painted in 1890, OswaldAchenbach.
During the summer of 1850, Achenbach took a third trip to Italy, including Nizza, Genoa, and Rome. Together with Albert Flamm, he traveled from Rome into the surrounding countryside and visited the areas where earlier landscape painters had been inspired. Achenbach's surviving studies indicate he was not much interested in details, but instead, concentrated on the characteristic colors, forms, and the distribution of light and shadow (bottom). His work focused on his color impressions, with layers of paint in different thicknesses laid in over one another to find the desired tone (not far removed from Impressionism).

Marktplatz Amalfi, Oswald Achenbach
By the time Achenbach returned home, his paintings were already well-known internationally. In 1852, still only twenty-five years of age, the Art Academy in Amsterdam admitted him as a member. Several of his works were well received in Paris at the Exposition Universelle of 1855. During the following years, Oswald Achenbach was honored with a gold medal at the Salon Exhibition in Paris; granted an honorary membership to the St Petersburg Academy; and in 1862 membership in the Art Academy of Rotterdam. Achenbach followed Hans Gude as Professor of Landscape painting at the Academy. After 1866 he taught one of the highly regarded "Master Classes." He emphasized the decisive role of light and dark for the composition of paintings, a role more important than the choice of subject. He advised his students to familiarize themselves with the paintings of J.M.W. Turner. Of course, he also recommended the works of his "big brother," Andreas.

Ice. . .
Snowy Forest, 1835, Andreas Achenbach
and Fire--
A Mountainous Landscape, Oswald Achenbach


Monday, May 30, 2016

Parc Guell, Barcelona, Spain

Barcelona's Guell Park--a fanciful fantasy landscape by Antoni Gaudi.
If you've ever seen a landscape painting which you wished you could walk right into, then you know something of the nature of what might be called the greatest art media ever known--that of the landscape designer. Some might assign this designation to the art of the architect, but for the landscape designer, architecture is but one of many tools he or she has at their disposal in creating not a painted illusion of a beautiful landscape world, but that world itself. Perhaps we might go so far to say that such an artist is following in the footsteps of God himself who, after all, was the greatest landscape designer in history, known first and foremost for His legendary Garden of Eden.

Gaudi's Dragon, near the entrance to his park.
Parc Guell, in the midst of Barcelona, Spain, is no Garden of Eden (apparel is mandatory). Likewise, its designer, the famed Catalonian, Antoni Gaudi, was not God, though some might argue that his talents were, indeed, godlike. Last year (2015) my wife and I spent an extended weekend in Gaudi's Barcelona. It seldom fails that, having visited a legendary city such at Barcelona, when I return home, I find myself distressed and dismayed by what I didn't see, or worse, what I almost saw, but didn't. In Paris it was the Luxembourg Gardens. In Rome it was the Palantine Hill. In Cairo it was the Egyptian Museum. In Florence it was the Uffizi (closed the day I was there). In Venice it was the Bienalle. In Barcelona, it was the Parc Guell. Even though I try to prepare myself and my itinerary to see as much as possible in what little time I have available, in each of these cases the main cause of my not seeing each landmark was simply the fact that I was not thorough enough in doing my homework before leaving.
The art, architecture, and landscape design skills of Antoni Gaudi
all come together in what some have rated high among the top ten
parks in the world.
In Barcelona I made a point of paying homage to the great Senor Gaudi in visiting his Sagrada Familia church and his nearly as famous Casa Mila. At Casa Mila, I was less than a mile from Guell Park. Not only did I miss seeing it, I must confess, I'd never even heard of it at the time. Park Güell is a public park complex composed of gardens and architectonic elements located on Carmel Hill, in Barcelona. As he watched Barcelona grow into an industrial hub, a wealthy businessman named Eusebi Güell, in lieu of an unsuccessful real estate development, assigned the design of a park to Antoni Gaudí, a renowned architect and and the driving force behind Catalan modernism. The park was built between 1900 and 1914, though not officially opened as a public park until 1926.

Guell Park occupies the green area in the central portion of the map.
In accepting such a once in a lifetime commission, Gaudí aimed his artistic naturalism of the first decade of the 20th century at perfecting his personal style, taking inspiration from organic shapes. He put into practice a series of new structural solutions growing out of a new analysis of geometry. To that, the Catalan artist added creative liberties and an imaginative, ornamention. Starting from a sort of Baroque modernism, his works acquired a structural richness of forms and volumes, free of the rational rigidity or any sort of classical premise. In the design of Parc Güell, Gaudí unleashed all his architectonic genius, putting into practice many of the innovative structural solutions that would later become the symbol of his organic style, culminating in the creation of his masterpiece, la Sagrada Familia.

The Gaudi House, la Torre Rosa, Parc Guell, Barcelona.
Guell Park is not free. Since October, 2013, there has been an entrance fee of seven euros for adults (€4.90 for children and seniors) to visit the Monumental Zone (main entrance, terrace, and the parts containing mosaics). Admission to the rest of the park remains free. The Gaudí's house, "la Torre Rosa," (above)containing furniture that he designed, can only be visited for an additional entry fee. There is a reduced rate for those wishing to see both Gaudí's house and la Sagrada Família across town.

Gaudi's "Sea Serpent" bench winds its way around and
about the main entrance to the park.
The focal point of the park is the main terrace, encompassed by a long bench in the form of a sea serpent. The curves of the serpentine bench form a number of enclaves, creating a more social atmosphere. Gaudí incorporated several motifs of Catalan nationalism, and elements from religious mysticism and ancient poetry, into the Park. A large cross at the park's highest point offers a spectacular view of Barcelona and the bay (top). From there it is also possible to view the main city in panorama, with la Sagrada Família and the Montjuïc (a fortress) area visible at a distance.

Gaudi's columns of "The Grand Place" looking up
from the park's entrance plaza.
Gaudi had a fascination with broken crockery.

For those accustomed to straight, vertical lines,
Gaudi can be quite disorienting.


Sunday, May 29, 2016

John F. Kennedy Portraits

JFK Portrait, 1967, Jamie Wyeth
In commemorating the birthdays of the forty-three Presidents of the United States, I've noticed they fall into two categories--those for whom I have to really dig to find good painted portraits, and those presidents who have become so iconic in the history of our nation that they have very many painted portraits. Choosing the best ones becomes a fairly daunting chore. Our 35th president, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, falls into the latter group along with the likes of Washington, Lincoln, and Franklin Roosevelt. That's not to imply any order of greatness, only that they, and a few others, have come to personify our image of the highest office in the land. Today, May 29th, 2016, marks Jack Kennedy's ninety-ninth birthday.
The official White House portraits of President and Mrs. Kennedy,
both by Aaron Shikler. Both date from around 1970.
Normally, when I lay out a posting which explores various artists' portraits of presidents, I place the official White House portrait at the top followed by that from the collection of the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. This time I've placed at the top a portrait of John F. Kennedy which, from the moment I first saw it, I've always considered the best painting ever rendered of President Kennedy. Mrs. Kennedy is said to have wept when she first saw it. Its painter, Jamie Wyeth; is the son of the famed Andrew Wyeth and heir to the long tradition of excellence associated with the Brandywine School. He was born in 1946, which makes him a year younger than myself. The portrait of President Kennedy was done in 1967, when the young Wyeth was a mere twenty-one years old. It marked Wyeth's first taste of fame. The official White House portraits of Jack and Jackie Kennedy (above) by the more widely-known artist, Aaron Shikler came later.

From traditional to Expressionist, no other president has inspired
so many widely varied portrait artists. 

When it came to highlighting the Kennedy portraits by other well-known artists in the National Portrait Gallery Collection, I was surprised to find not the usual one or two but a total of four by American artists as diverse as William Draper and Elaine de Kooning. The great thing about this grand total is that it allows a broad sampling of how such artists viewed the personality and character of their subject. It would seem that virtually every portrait artist alive now or then (myself included) has painted this president. My version, from 1972, may be seen at the bottom. Keep in mind, I've improved somewhat in the last forty-four years.

The Time magazine cover artist, Henry Koerner, painted the portrait on the right. Little is known about the Man's Magazine cover artist.
From the time he was a mere junior senator from Massachusetts, the heroism and charisma of John F. Kennedy has inspired artists, first in the form of magazine covers (above), and later, following his tragic death on November 22, 1963, in the form of everything from canvas paintings to bronze sculpture, and any number of less appropriate media. Some artists, such as Norman Rockwell, (below) have become part of the birth and growth of the modern-day "Camelot" legend.

The campaign poster at left says it all: "A TIME FOR GREATNESS."
Like the National Portrait Gallery works, those by lesser-known artists, as well as some who have become iconic figures themselves, offer a broad variety of painted images. Below we see the works of Ben Solowey, Ralph Wolfe, David Shannon, even a digital artist with the moniker, Dancin Artworks. Below those we find four JFK portraits by the famous Peter Max and two possibly by Andy Warhol (or an imitator). Notice, I placed my own ancient effort as far from that of Jamie Wyeth as possible.

Often the most interesting of all.
The Andy Warhol attribution is doubtful.
That of Peter Max is not.

JFK, 1972, Jim Lane


Saturday, May 28, 2016

Costa Rican Art

Parrots, Victor Chavarria
When traveling to various countries around the world, I always try to make a point of supporting and collecting the work of local artists. A month or so ago, in visiting the small, Central American country of Costa Rica, my wife and I were scheduled to take a combined bus/train/riverboat tour of the Costa Rican rain forest. In Costa Rica, they don't call it a rain forest for nothing. It rained in the morning of our scheduled tour in the afternoon. One of the morning tour buses got stuck along a muddy road resulting from the sudden tropical downpour. Though the small riverboat had a canvas awning, nonetheless, all the passengers got soaked to the skin in the torrent. Our afternoon tour was canceled. We were offered a bus tour of the highland areas near Puntarenas which included a children's native dance performance in a city park, a narrated history of the country by a personable and highly knowledgeable tour guide and--surprise, surprise--a stop at a fairly large and well-stocked souvenir emporium. We sampled Costa Rica's fabled coffee, availed ourselves of the local comfort facilities, and spent lavishly for a few choice local handicrafts. Among these were the two small, inexpensive painting by a local artist named Victor Chavarria.

Like most Costa Rican art, the work of Victor Chavarria is
colorful, to say the least.
I, of course, had never heard of Victor Chavarria, but was assured by others that he was among the best Costa Rica had to offer. I purchased two small paintings (above) for my growing international art collection. As they say, I didn't know much about Costa Rican art, but I knew what I liked. Each was about five by seven inches and set me back fifteen dollars apiece. I left happy with my purchase and hoping I'd acquired the early work of an up and coming young Costa Rican painter for a bargain price. It wasn't until I got home and did an Internet search that I discovered my Senor Chavarria was neither young nor "up and coming." Judging by the fact he began his painting career around 1985 he would be by now about fifty years of age. I could find only one example of his work online (top) which apparently is representative of some thirty-three of his paintings commissioned by a resort hotel to adorn the walls of their luxury suites. In perusing the work of other Costa Rican painters, I found I was the proud owner of two rather average examples of tourist art.

The Croaker, 2008, James (Yimi) Parker
I don't regret my purchases. I still like the work of Victor Chavarria. I wish I could have met him (assuming he spoke English). By comparison, The Croaker (above) by James (Yimi) Parker is also typical Costa Rican art. Chavarria's work compares favorably. Having said that, I should also point out that Costa Rica is hardly the art capital of the world...or even Central America. Costa Rica is literally a "banana republic," though it's far better known for its gourmet coffee than for either its art or bananas.

I'm no coffee gourmet, but I tried it. It was good. I didn't buy any, though.

Costa Rican fish painting, un-stretched
and easy to pack and carry home.
Although there are a few traditional art galleries in Costa Rica (mostly in the capital, San Jose) the vast majority of Costa Rican art is sold unframed, un-stretched, and thumbtacked to plywood (left) with a tiny price tag (literally and figuratively) attached to the unpainted edge of the canvas. There are seldom any titles and no information about the artist. Most such works are on canvas though some images may be found painted on native woods (below).

Formularized art covering beautiful wood grains.
Yellow Clavelón, 1997,
Elizabeth Steinworth
Despite the luscious watercolors of artists such a Elizabeth Steinworth (left), probably the most famous painter from Costa Rica was Francisco Amighetti, whose work can be seen below. He was born in 1907, and died in 1998 at the age of ninety-one. With the work of Amighetti, you won't find any colorful birds of the jungle nor blooming Birds of Paradise. As seen in his watercolor (below), Amighetti was a landscape painter, a man of the people, recording the day-by-day drudgery endured by the vast majority of Costa Ricans as they struggle to eke out a living in what is still a fairly crude, agricultural economy choking on dense jungles which are only rarely high-lighted with the local flora and fauna seen in the nation's tourist oriented art. Historically, the painter Aleardo Villa, with his Founding of San Jose, Costa Rica (bottom), would probably be considered the country's most revered artist.

Francisco Amighetti, the real Costa Rica
--beautiful but not "pretty."
Founding of San Jose, Costa Rica, Aleardo Villa,
on the ceiling of the National Theater


Friday, May 27, 2016

Gertrude Abercrombie

Demolition Doors, c. 1957, Gertrude Abercrombie
Abstract Expressionism, Jazz, poetry,
film, drama, all came together to
form the "Beat" era.
Many (many, many) years ago as I was growing up in a remote corner of southeastern Ohio, I was vaguely aware of what was known as the "Beat Generation." They were called by some "beat-niks," their characteristic image being a black turtleneck sweater with tight blue jeans or black leotards (for the women). Long hair had yet to become fash-ionable for men but was appro-priate for females while pointy goatees were favored by males. They played improvised jazz and recited bad poetry exploring, while at the same time influencing American culture in the urban post-World War II era. They were the generation which came just before the onslaught of baby boomers (like me). The bulk of their work was published and popularized throughout the 1950s, its central element being a rejection of standard narrative values, spiritual quests, the exploration of religions, rejection of materialism, explicit portrayals of the human condition, experimentation with psychedelic drugs, and sexual liberation. All of this not to be confused with "hippies," which came later, but otherwise were virtually identical except for a more colorful mode of dress. The Chicago painter, Gertrude Abercrombie, was an early card-carrying member of the "Beat Generation."

Gertrude Abercrombie, though no great beauty,
painted some of the ugliest self-portraits I've ever seen.
Gertrude and Jazz great
Dizzy Gillespie, 1948.
Gertrude Abercrombie has often been called "the queen of the bohemian artists." She was involved in the Chicago jazz scene, being friends with musicians such as Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, and Sarah Vaughan, whose music inspired her creative work. Gertrude Abercrombie was not, as one might expect, an abstract expressionist. Born in 1909, her artistic roots went back much further than the so-called New York School, which was, in any case, a thousand miles removed from the "windy city." Gertrude's meager training dated from the late 1920s when she earned a degree in Romance Languages from the University of Illinois and later studied very briefly at the Art Institute of Chicago. She also spent a year studying commercial art at Chicago's American Acad-emy of Art. Her style and content was a rather pristine Surrealism, which she apparently de-veloped quite apart from any then-prevalent French influences. Abercrombie's Slaughter-house Ruins at Aledo (below), from 1937, is typical of her early work.

Slaughterhouse Ruins at Aledo, 1937, Gertrude Abercrombie
Gertrude Abercrombie had
rather unique tastes in fashions.
Gertrude Abercrombie's first job was that of drawing gloves for Mesirow Department Store advertisements. She also worked briefly as an artist for Sears. In the mid-1930s Gertrude moved from her family's home and became active in the regional art scene. Within Aber-crombie's avant garde social circle was the lawyer, Robert Livingston, whom she married in 1940, and in 1942, gave birth to their daughter, Dinah. They divorced in 1948, the same year she married the music critic Frank Sandiford. Dizzy Gillespie performed at their wedding. The couple were active in Chicago's bo-hemian jazz scene. They met musicians through Sandiford and Abercrombie's own skills as an improvisational pianist. The couple divorce in 1964. Gertrude was the inspiration for the song, Gertrude's Bounce, by her friend, Richie Powell.

A Terribly Strange Tree, 1949,  Gertrude Abercrombie
By the time the Beat Generation was in full swing during the late 1950s Gertrude Abercrombie's health had begun to decline. She endured financial difficulties, alcoholism, and arthritis, causing her to become reclusive. Bound by a wheelchair Abercrombie was eventually bedridden. After 1959 her paintings diminished in number and scale. During the final year of her life, a major retrospective of her work was held at the Hyde Park Art Center. Gertrude Abercrombie died in Chicago in 1977. Her will established the Gertrude Abercrombie Trust which distributes her work and the work she owned of other artists to cultural institutions throughout the Midwest.

Design for Death, 1946, Gertrude Abercrombie--
said to have been Charlie Parker's Favorite Painting.
White Cat, ca. 1935-38,
Gertrude Abercrombie

Black Cat, Gertrude Abercrombie


Thursday, May 26, 2016

The Cruising Art Gallery

Art at sea is a bit more compact, but otherwise not too unlike what
one would find in a storefront gallery.
Elvis Rocks, Scott Jacobs
As I've mentioned a from time to time recently, we just got back from a fifteen-day cruise aboard Princess Cruise Line's Island Princess. Being the "arty" sort, I find it fascinating to view from afar the world of art as it applies to the ubiquitous cruise ship art gallery. Virtually every cruise ship I've ever been aboard (twelve in all) has a generous amount of space leased to a land-based art gallery in order to tempt the comfortably well-off guests aboard into purchasing various types of art (usually limited edition prints). Originals are a bit pricey even for this crowd. Although there are some "off the rack" sales, most of the money changing hands for art comes as a result of numerous art auctions on "sea days" during the cruise. To their credit, these floating art purveyors do make some effort to educate potential buyers. Their seminars are a quick and easy way to pick up a few interesting tidbits on art from the past. Princess Fine Arts featured a presentation, "Thirty Thousand Years of Art." This they covered with a PowerPoint presentation lasting forty-five minutes. I could probably have done a reasonably decent job narrating the show myself, but even at that, my head was spinning by the time the art "expert" finished his discourse.

On Caribbean cruises, works such as this by Alex Pauker are always
a crowd-pleasing favorite.
I use the term "art expert" cautiously in that most of these people's art expertise is in selling art rather than expounding upon it to any great degree other that to hype their stable of living artists. There are always a few headliner artists who have become household names (Peter Max, Thomas Kinkaid, and LeRoy Neiman, for instance). But by and large, most are relatively unknown, many of them not without good reason. Roughly three years ago I wrote glowingly about the lavish art collections many cruise liners boast. I also mentioned in passing my unfavorable opinion of onboard art auctions. Maybe I've mellowed a little but in more recent years I've come to the floating art racket with something more like an amused fascination. I kind of enjoy watching fellow passengers pour good money into mediocre printed art as an investment. Some investment! Limited edition prints are exceedingly hard to resell at a profit, though they do exceedingly well in covering up cracks in the plaster.

Duplex with 6 Mattresses, Fanch Ledan
Despite what I said a moment ago about the stable of living artists floating galleries such as Park West and Princess Fine Art maintain, I did find a few which, insofar as my own tastes are concerned, stood apart from the others. One or two, such a Fanch Ledan and his Duplex with 6 Mattresses (above), I found refreshingly creative in a clean, simple manner rare in narrative art today. Then there was the very generous space Princess offered Alexander Chen (below) with his urban scenes from New York and many other major cities around the globe. I was utterly captivated by his work.

New York, New York! Alexander Chen.
Kudos to Princess Fine Arts for highlighting his work.
And while I'm touting favorites, let me mention another artist by the name of Chen (no relation so far as I know). I'd seen and admired the work of Hua Chen in a number of other seagoing art galleries before. Princess's showing of his work (below) was somewhat meager, but seems to be a favorite of both those who abhor art auctions and those who flock to them. I wouldn't buy one of his paintings (even if I could afford it) and you already know what I think regarding prints, but that doesn't keep me from admiring his loving warmth whenever I see it.

Warm and loving or cool and glamorous, Hua Chen handles exorbitant quantities
of paint with confident strokes few other painters have mastered.
Also exceedingly well represented in the Island Princess art gallery was the work of the fifty-year-old Russian painter, Victor Shaivko. Although he and Alexander Chen both paint urban scenes, any other similarities end at that point. In viewing Saivko's work (below) he seems more Italian than Russian with perhaps a little Parisian thrown in for excitement. I suppose I like his work because I like Venice (despite having visited there for only two days). Saivko appears to not only like Venice but to be infatuated with it's quaint canals and narrow passages lined with picturesque shops and sidewalk cafes. it's all fantasy of course. Venice may be picturesque but "quaint," as seen by Saivko, it's not. Still, we can all daydream if we like, and Victor Shaivko seems to like nothing better, except for painting his daydreams.

Shaivko is not totally Venetian. He gives equal time to other
quaint, picturesque, Mediterranean venues as well.
And finally, last but not least, comes the wildlife of Andrew Bone. I saved him for toward the end because, as wildlife painters go, while his work is above average in many ways, he's also just one of many wildlife artists working today of equal or greater talent. However, he stands apart as seen in the movable feast of cruise ship art only because, either inadvertently or deliberately, these galleries do not display much along the line of Bone's specialty. There are probably dozens of marketing and economic factors in play with regard to selling wildlife art and I'm guessing few of them are particularly favorable to the art auction scenario. Be that as it may, the work of Andrew Bone deserves more exposure than it gets on the limited movable partitions and the forest of easels on a cruise ship.

How's this for exposure?

Marine art is never far removed from seagoing
art galleries. Try as I have, I can't decipher the
artist's signature on this one.

They say elephants can create abstract
paintings. Looks like they're right.
Princess Fine Arts has a sense of humor.