Latest news with #NorthernRenaissance
Winnipeg Free Press
02-08-2025
- Entertainment
- Winnipeg Free Press
Sharing a gaze across centuries of time
WHAT IT IS: A painting of oil and tempera on wood, Portrait of a Lady (dated about 1540) by German artist Lucas Cranach the Elder, is from the WAG-Qaumajuq's permanent collection. It is currently on view as part of the historical collection of paintings, sculpture, furniture and decorative art in the long, narrow Gallery 1. Shows of new works and big-name travelling exhibitions tend to grab all the art-world attention. But the permanent collections of large art institutions are important resources for scholarship and research. They're crucial in the preservation of cultural heritage. Beyond that, there's just something satisfying for regular gallery visitors in being able to return to favourite pieces over the years, visiting them like old friends. MIKAELA MACKENZIE / FREE PRESS Portrait of a Lady (dated about 1540) by German artist Lucas Cranach the Elder. WHAT IT'S ABOUT: Cranach was a painter to the Saxony court in Wittenberg, and his portraits of women generally express Northern Renaissance ideals of beauty and fashion. Here, the subject has a high, unmarked forehead, which was considered a sign of beauty and serenity. (Elegant women of the day often painstakingly plucked their hair to achieve this look.) She also has the physical slightness, the narrow sloping shoulders, the extreme paleness that Cranach favoured in the female form, holdovers of the Gothic style. The sitter's outfit shows off not just her wealth and status but also the artist's ability to capture texture and detail. We see the sumptuous, velvety material of the dress, the hard metallic gleam of the chains, the delicate puff of feathers atop her intricate headgear. But underneath all this finery, who is this unnamed woman? In historical portraiture in the European tradition, men are generally defined by their achievements, while women are defined by their physical appearance. Cranach has painted her as she is expected to be — beautiful and stylish. The one place where her individuality might break through is in her facial expression, and that remains enigmatic, hard to read. This mysterious quality was only underlined when a radiographic examination revealed that at one point the good lady had a platter with a severed human head under her arms, in the lower left of the panel. This suggests the sitter was initially portrayed in the guise of Salome, who danced before Herod and then demanded the head of John the Baptist as a reward. Cranach had kind of a thing for lovely women and decapitations, and he often painted women of the court as Salome or as Judith with the head of Holofernes. There are weird juxtapositions in these works, between the smooth, pale, composed faces of the women and the gawping mouths and raggedly bloody necks of their victims. WHY IT MATTERS: Galleries and museums often reframe and recontextualize works in their permanent collection through themed exhibitions. There are two such shows on right now at WAG-Qaumajuq, Crying Over Spilt Tea and a matter of time, and these are important projects, demonstrating how the meanings and effects of art can shift over time, as culture, society and audiences change. But there's also something valuable in the serendipitous experiences that can be found when wandering through the historical galleries, where groupings are loosely chronological or regional. Without a lot of connecting information, a viewer often ends up in an odd, unexpected, one-on-one connection with a work that just draws them in, sometimes for reasons that aren't initially clear. Monthly What you need to know now about gardening in Winnipeg. An email with advice, ideas and tips to keep your outdoor and indoor plants growing. Cranach's work might just be an arrangement of paint on wood, but because it's a portrait, it can feel like a personal encounter — we look at her, and she looks at us, across centuries of time. In the daily art posts he wrote during the COVID-19 lockdown, Stephen Borys, WAG-Qaumajuq's then director and CEO, said he finds her gaze 'both intense and gentle,' and I can see that, too. At other times, I think I see a hint of haughty, dangerous eroticism, perhaps a holdover from her incarnation as Salome. Is there even something a little challenging in the direct way she looks at us? I honestly don't know, which is frustrating but also fascinating — and why I keep going back. Alison GillmorWriter Studying at the University of Winnipeg and later Toronto's York University, Alison Gillmor planned to become an art historian. She ended up catching the journalism bug when she started as visual arts reviewer at the Winnipeg Free Press in 1992. Read full biography Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.
Los Angeles Times
19-05-2025
- General
- Los Angeles Times
Presenting Image Issue 35: Stillness
In my early 20s, I gave tours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I co-taught this series called 'The Observant Eye,' during which we spent our Friday evenings looking at a single artwork for one hour. On folding chairs, we'd look at Dutch still-life paintings and Northern Renaissance portraits, Baroque sculptures and ancient Chinese scrolls. We'd spend the first minutes observing the given artwork in silence, and then share what we noticed, what caught our eye: a protruding vein on a hand, a curled toe, an open door. From there, a conversation would fluidly build; we'd reach collective epiphanies and uncover historical lessons by simply looking at the artworks for what sounded like an inordinate amount of time — most people on average don't observe an artwork for longer than 20 seconds — but we always wrapped up the hour with more to say. 'The Observant Eye' became, for its regulars, a sacred ritual, a time for pause in a city that didn't nurture pause, a balm in the frenzied pace of our urban and digital lives. But this need for stopping and contemplation is not only a contemporary one, as evidenced in those artworks in the galleries, many of which were centuries old and made with the intention of being pondered in the dark corners of churches and chapels. It's helpful to have a framework, a structured environment, for marinating in stillness. It can feel uncomfortable and unnatural to just sit, absorb and not move. Meditating on a yoga mat has never worked for me personally, but I can stare at a painting for 60 minutes in a museum. The stories in this issue journey through various environments that encourage or require stillness — from the hot tub at the spa to the temple and even the dentist's chair. If there's one thing these spaces hold in common, it's that they remove us from our routines through a shift in temperature, a vibrant color, an absence of sound. At the Met, I felt this shift as soon as I walked through the entrance hall and saw the fresh flowers spilling out of the tall ceramic vases. It wasn't only the artworks that I came for on Friday evenings. It wasn't even the conversations (though they were nourishing too). It was mostly for the feeling that came over me after having stared at the cracks in the oil paint or the slippery shadows on chunks of marble — as though my eyes had been washed and they were finally seeing, not thinking. When I walked toward the exit, past the flowers and into the night, I felt for a moment a kind of clarity. Elisa Wouk Almino Editor in Chief Image logo by Angelica Baini For The Times Steam, soak, repeat. Bathing in L.A. is an art — just ask these spa devotees Leonard Koren began documenting L.A. bathing culture back in 1976 with Wet magazine, which featured contributions from David Lynch, Debbie Harry and Ed Ruscha. Read the story 🧖🏿♀️ A city built by seekers: A journey into L.A.'s spiritual architecture It would be too easy and too inaccurate to write these places off as strange anomalies — one-off quirks in a city filled with so many quirks. They are part of L.A.'s history. Read the story ⛪️ Dental offices don't need to be sterile holding pens. This Beverly Hills project is plush, pink and magical In the circular office designed by Charlap Hyman & Herrero, each and every room is a unique experience. Read the story 🦷 Issue 35: Stillness Order now 'Everything feels more beautiful in the bathhouse.' At the Japanese spa, the lens comes off Zoé Blue M. on her paintings of women at bathhouses and how caring for her body has become a part of her practice as an artist. Read the story 🛁 Called to the threshold, a death doula learns from the dying Transitions and transformations can be fraught, even torturous. As a death doula, a big part of the work is sitting in that liminal space. Read the story 🥀 My father photographed David Hockney and his mother in the '80s. It's an image I haven't stopped thinking about The image Lester Sloan took of Hockney has become a hall of mirrors, an entrance into the very notion of what a mother means. What it means to lose her. Read the story 📷 Diego Cardoso is painting L.A. as it really moves, one street at a time Cardoso worked for the Metropolitan Transportation Authority for 30 years, affording him a special perspective of the city's architectural fabric. Read the story 🚸 A shopping experience bringing rare design, art and fashion — with a little bit of intimidation felt like being in the fanciest department store in an upscale mall 30 years ago. Read the story 🛋️ I want to soul-bond, but can't commit. What gives? Our advice columnist holds court in a starry place to answer your heart's questions about love. Read the story 🌋 From the perfect toasting glass to a delightful can opener, elevate your summer with these design-driven pieces Our curated guide brings you items from Baccarat, Loewe, Rick Owens and more. Read the story 👓 May is giving jasmine scents and conversation pits. Here are 11 L.A. happenings in art, fashion and fragrance From Scent Fair L.A. to Jacquemus' newest boutique, May's offerings will give you the necessary refresh. Read the story 🖼️
Los Angeles Times
19-05-2025
- General
- Los Angeles Times
What if we spent more time practicing stillness?
In my early 20s, I gave tours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I co-taught this series called 'The Observant Eye,' during which we spent our Friday evenings looking at a single artwork for one hour. On folding chairs, we'd look at Dutch still-life paintings and Northern Renaissance portraits, Baroque sculptures and ancient Chinese scrolls. We'd spend the first minutes observing the given artwork in silence, and then share what we noticed, what caught our eye: a protruding vein on a hand, a curled toe, an open door. From there, a conversation would fluidly build; we'd reach collective epiphanies and uncover historical lessons by simply looking at the artworks for what sounded like an inordinate amount of time — most people on average don't observe an artwork for longer than 20 seconds — but we always wrapped up the hour with more to say. 'The Observant Eye' became, for its regulars, a sacred ritual, a time for pause in a city that didn't nurture pause, a balm in the frenzied pace of our urban and digital lives. But this need for stopping and contemplation is not only a contemporary one, as evidenced in those artworks in the galleries, many of which were centuries old and made with the intention of being pondered in the dark corners of churches and chapels. It's helpful to have a framework, a structured environment, for marinating in stillness. It can feel uncomfortable and unnatural to just sit, absorb and not move. Meditating on a yoga mat has never worked for me personally, but I can stare at a painting for 60 minutes in a museum. The stories in Image magazine's May issue journey through various environments that encourage or require stillness — from the hot tub at the spa to the temple and even the dentist's chair. If there's one thing these spaces hold in common, it's that they remove us from our routines through a shift in temperature, a vibrant color, an absence of sound. At the Met, I felt this shift as soon as I walked through the entrance hall and saw the fresh flowers spilling out of the tall ceramic vases. It wasn't only the artworks that I came for on Friday evenings. It wasn't even the conversations (though they were nourishing too). It was mostly for the feeling that came over me after having stared at the cracks in the oil paint or the slippery shadows on chunks of marble — as though my eyes had been washed and they were finally seeing, not thinking. When I walked toward the exit, past the flowers and into the night, I felt for a moment a kind of clarity.
