This spring I was fortunate enough to lead an art history study abroad program to Europe, where I had many amazing, even life-changing, experiences with art. In fact, I had so many of them that I became overwhelmed about blogging and wrote nothing but the occasional Facebook post. But I knew that I needed to start blogging again and that I should probably start with Manet.

I, like almost every modernist art historian I know, adore Manet. And I kind of hate that I love him, given that everyone else does, but I can’t help it. Now over the years, I’ve had lots of artist crushes: in fourth grade, it was Leonardo; in tenth grade, it was Van Gogh; my senior year in high school, it was Monet. But it was in the art history survey class I took as a sophomore in college where I was introduced to Manet in all of his glorious sophistication . . . and I was smitten.

Manet introduced me to the extraordinary world of modern Paris and inspired a passion for nineteenth-century literature: it was Manet who made me want to read Zola and Flaubert and Baudelaire and even Proust, thus taking me into literary spaces that continue to fuel my creative fires (I keep toying around with an idea for a paper on Manet’s Olympia and Zola’s Nana and Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance). Manet also helped me to look again at Old Masters that I had dismissed as tired and boring–think Titian, Rubens, and Velázquez–and to discover their conceptual genius and marvelous handling of paint. My interest in earlier nineteenth-century painters such as Goya and Ingres grew sharper because I knew that Manet had prized their work and saw himself as their descendant.

As a first-year doctoral student, Manet was my go-to guy, my good-luck charm, my security blanket. In my theory class, I chose to review a book on Berthe Morisot, in part because I knew of the artist’s close associations with Manet. When I had to pick a paper topic for my Velázquez seminar, I immediately noted the similarities between Manet’s work and the seventeenth-century painter and wrote a Michael Fried-esque paper on theatricality in the philosopher portraits of Veláquez and Manet (and later that year, I presented this paper at my first professional conference). And I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I had to translate Baudelaire’s The Painter of Modern Life for my French qualifying exam–because I had read it before in English while writing a paper on Manet as an undergrad. Looking back, I’m a bit abashed of how tightly I clung to the artist.

And still cling to the artist. My students know how I feel about Manet: how I admire his sophisticated nods to art of the past while recognizing the demands of the contemporary art market; how I relate to Manet’s desire to be both accepted by the Académie and viewed as the leader of the avant-garde in modern French art; and how I respect the complexities of his representations of women. It would be fair to say that I don’t just teach Manet–I preach Manet.

This is a long-winded prologue to my review of the Manet retrospective at the Musée d’Orsay. I saw the show twice: once with students and once with colleagues. The first time I saw it, I was disappointed. The second time I saw it, I was devastated. Not because Manet’s art didn’t amaze, impress, inspire–because it did. Manet’s métier is astounding: his virtuosity in terms of color, of spatial constructs, of light and dark, of form, and of finish are almost unparalleled (but I’ll write about Giotto, Rembrandt, Goya, and Delacroix later). The psychological tension of his works are so much more palpable in person than in an illustration.

In terms of the works that were there, it was astoundingly comprehensive. There were the expected masterpieces of Olympia and Luncheon on the Grass and Bar at the Folies-Bergère. And there were relatively unknown works, such as his An Amazon, or Summer from the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, along with a number of rarely-shown religious pieces by this alleged secularist, such as his Saint Francis. And then there were my favorite paintings–those inspired by his love affair with Spanish art. In my opinion, Manet is at his best when he is looking to Velázquez and Goya, and it was thrilling to see his Dead Toreador and Carmen and Lola de Valence and The Balcony displayed side by side.

So Manet’s art was magnificent, but the exhibition of his works wasn’t just flat–it was ugly. The show aimlessly wandered about the artist’s oeuvre, throwing in a few contemporaries’ paintings for variety (although it must have been utterly confusing to the novice as to why one would suddenly see a Morisot or Degas in the mix, as their presence was never explained). With both visits, I found myself moving in and out of rooms, looping back to the beginning and skipping from room to room trying to find some thematic thread that held the show together. All I could come up with was chronology. Seriously, this was the best the organizers could do?

To a Manet lover, this was heartbreaking. I’ve started worrying about the possible ramifications of this failed exhibition: Will future generations look to this exhibition (and its accompanying catalogue, which offers the blandest art history possible), and dismiss Manet as one of those overrated masters? Will he become a has-been as future modernist historians look increasingly to the twentieth century and art of the now? In other words, is Cézanne the new Manet? Will Manet only be of interest in terms of how the likes of Picasso and Murakami appropriated his art? Is Manet now the poster child of the Establishment? And if he is . . . am I, by virtue of my love for him?

Conversation topic: Talk to me about Manet. What does Manet mean to you? Do you like his art? Is he overrated? Am I overly obsessed?

I am posting a letter that was sent recently to all Women’s Studies minors at Brigham Young University because I think it will be of interest to many of my readers. Those of you who have spent more than five minutes with me know that I am passionate about women in the arts and women in contemporary society and that my teaching and research centers around these issues. While I mourned the loss of the Women’s Research Institute (WRI) in the fall of 2009, I was fortunate enough to be part of the re-chartering of Women’s Studies at BYU and am now part of its executive council. I am especially enthused that a class that I have been teaching under various course numbers and guises is now an official course that will be taught once a year–ARTHC 301: Women in Art, c. 1750 to the present.

For those of you who knew about the WRI and its demise–spread the word that Women’s Studies at BYU is like a phoenix rising from the ashes and I am confident that it will become a more vital and significant entity on campus than ever before.

* * * * *

Dear Women’s Studies Minors:

I [Dr. Valerie Hegstrom] recently received a list of your names, and so I take this opportunity to introduce myself and the members of the new Women’s Studies executive committee. Academic Vice President John Tanner appointed me to serve as the Coordinator of the Women’s Studies Program on February 1 this year, and I am very pleased to work with you in this important minor. My teaching and research often deal with Early Modern Spanish and Portuguese women writers. If you want, you can read more about me here. So far, we have five other Women’s Studies faculty members serving on the WS executive committee. Ana Birkhead, a faculty member of the College of Nursing, specializes in Women’s Health issues, especially in Latin America. Amy Harris, from the History department, works on women, gender, and family history in the British Isles. Jamie Horrocks deals with gender issues in her work on Victorian Literature. The research of Heather Belnap Jensen focuses on women in the art world of post-Revolutionary France. Anca Sprenger teaches and researches both French and Romanian literature and culture, and has particular interests in the French-Canadian author Gabrielle Roy. As a committee, we are working together to update the WS curriculum, create learning outcomes, make information about the minor and classes more accessible to you, and plan conferences, guest speakers, and activities to enrich your academic experience. Additionally, seventeen other faculty members from across campus have applied to affiliate with the WS program.

Women’s Studies Brochure and Website A new brochure about the WS minor will soon be printed. It contains information about the program, the minor requirements, mentoring, advisement, and our new global perspective. I will let you know when the brochure is available to you and any of your friends who might be interested in the WS minor. The Humanities Technology and Research Support Center has begun to update our WS website. The website will get a whole new look, and you will be able to find information about affiliated faculty members, current and upcoming courses, advisement, scholarships, news and events, getting involved, campus resources, and more. Some of these website changes should be in place by the end of this semester.

Scholarships for Women Students in Social Sciences We are pleased to announce two scholarships for 2011-12. Applications (available here) are due Tuesday, April 5, 2011. Please apply or tell your friends about these opportunities.

The Ella Carpenter Jensen Fellowship

ELIGIBILITY: Applicants must be female, and officially pursuing a graduate degree in the College of Family, Home, and Social Sciences at Brigham Young University.USE: Funds may be used for tuition, or to fund a research project leading to a thesis or dissertation.AMOUNT: Up to $2000.LENGTH OF AWARD: One year (starting in Fall 2011). May be renewable, depending on progress.APPLICATION DEADLINE: 5 April 2011.

•••

The Beverley Nalder Scholarship

ELIGIBILITY: Applicants must be undergraduate single mothers majoring in the behavioral sciences at Brigham Young University.USE: Funds may be used for tuition and books.AMOUNT: Up to $1500.LENGTH OF AWARD: Two semesters, 2011-12. May be renewable.APPLICATION DEADLINE: 5 April 2011.

For more information and application materials see http://womensstudies.byu.edu/

For more information about the Beverley Nalder Scholarship see  http://magazine.byu.edu/viewarticle.php?a=2541

Women’s Studies Student Academic Association A few of you have been working diligently with us to write a charter for a student academic association in connection with the WS minor. Once the charter is complete and approved by the Associate Academic Vice President’s office, we will be able to begin planning and announcing association activities. We are considering establishing a chapter of the National Women’s Studies Honor Society here at BYU. If you are interested in helping out, getting involved, or you have suggestions and ideas about the student association and/or honor society, please contact us at byuwomensstudies@gmail.com.

Conference on Women’s Creativity We have begun work on a WS conference on Women’s Creativity (women writers, painters, composers, scientists, business women in developing nations, etc.) to be held during fall semester 2011. The conference will include papers by faculty from across campus and other Utah universities, as well as an invited keynote speaker. We hope you will want to get involved in preparations and the on-site tasks necessary to make this conference happen, as well as to attend sessions to meet and learn from the conference presenters. If you would like to help make the conference happen, please contact us at byuwomensstudies@gmail.com. Watch for updates during the summer months on our website: womensstudies.byu.edu.

Upcoming Classes In the coming months, we will make some exciting changes to the WS curriculum, and we hard at work on program and course outcomes. We plan to add a capstone experience to the minor, and develop some more WS courses in the Humanities, including a new course on European women writers in translation. We also enthusiastically announce a new WS religion course–WS 390R: Mormon Women’s History–taught by Rachel Cope. Professor Cope will offer the course for the first time during winter semester 2012. Don’t miss this fascinating new course! Here is a list of courses available in spring term that will count toward the WS minor. We will make a similar list for summer and fall available very soon.

Spring Term 2011 WS Courses:

Questions about the Minor? The Humanities College Advisement Center can answer many of your questions about minor requirements and applying for graduation. My current office hours are 2:00-2:50 p.m. MW (3148 JFSB), and I am also available at other times by appointment. You are also welcome to visit the Women’s office (1065 JFSB). The office phone number is 801-422-2276. The current office hours are 10 am – 1 pm MW, 4 – 5 pm TTh, and 9 am – 1 pm F, and my assistant, Annette, will be happy to help you with questions about the program. Our office also has a small library of books and journals related to WS–come browse the books to get ideas as you finish your term papers.
Congratulations to our graduates! Five of our WS minors and one of our WS teaching assistants are graduating this month! If you see Cindy, Hillary Anne, Lindsie, Rebekah, Shannon, or Ellen, be sure to wish them well.

I wish you great success as you finish your coursework and exams this semester, and I look forward to working with you in the coming months!

Professor Valerie Hegstrom

Coordinator of Women’s Studies

Brigham Young University

Conversation Topic: What would you like to see developed in BYU’s Women’s Studies program?

[In the face of a particularly stressful semester, I had more or less decided to let the blog go, but after fielding queries from several generous readers regarding its status, I've decided to recommit myself to the Art History Salon. That said, I'd love to post guest blogs, so please feel free to contact me if you'd like to participate . . . I'd happily adopt the original role of the salonnière, which was to merely facilitate conversations and work to foster communities.]

One of the matters I’ve been consumed with of late is organizing a European art history study abroad program for spring term. Knowing that most of the readers of this blog are current and former students who have participated in such programs, I’m hopeful that I can get suggestions on must-see museums and sites. I want this trip to be a mix of the expected (the Louvre) and the unexpected (Musée Gustave Moreau), and while I definitely have opinions about where to go (Stonehenge at dawn) and what to see (every Caravaggio we can feast our eyes upon), I’d love to hear from you as to your favorite art-related places in Italy, England, and France. Suggestions regarding good restaurants, parks (my kids will be with us for the first part of the trip), shops, and so on are also welcome.

We’ll be in the following places: Rome, Naples, Pompeii, Florence, Siena, Venice, Milan, London, Bath, Salisbury, Paris, Versailles, Chartres (and possibly Chantilly, Fontainebleau, and/or Rouen).

Conversation topic: What are your suggestions as to the not-to-be-missed sites and experiences of Italy, England, and France?

One of the primary ways I see the world is through the lens of art. I remember a remarkable professor, Norma Davis, saying that after she saw the sculpture of Henry Moore, she never looked at natural rock formations in the same way again. That’s stayed with me and I often find myself looking anew at the world–and people–because of my relationships with art.

Yesterday, the Provo Tabernacle burned down and all who have attended concerts, church services, addresses, and other events in this nineteenth-century architectural gem are mourning its loss. Delicate stained glass, elaborately worked wood, and paintings by beloved LDS artist Minerva Teichert were among the casualties. When I heard the news, I cried. And when I ventured downtown to see its remains, I wept.

And I saw the works of Romantic artists J.M.W. Turner and Caspar David Friedrich appear before me. And I recall how hordes of Londoners gathered to watch the burning of the Houses of Parliament and how they stood entranced before the sublime spectacle, with flames engulfing the architecture and mirrored in the waters of the Thames, and the billowing clouds of smoke obscuring the familiar lines of the building’s gothic architecture and creating new contours to the cityscape. Turner captured this powerful experience in his iconic canvases of 1834. And when I looked with dismay at the carcass of the most architecturally interesting and culturally meaningful building in Provo, Friedrich’s Abbey in the Oak Forest of 1809-10 appeared before me. In this painting, the tracery of the lancet windows, emptied of their stained glass, is mimicked by the delicate lines of the branches of the oak trees that surrounded that ruined abbey.

Over the years, these two paintings have spoken to me about the power of nature and of God, of the cycles of seasons and ages of men, and of the inevitability of loss and death, yes, but also the assurance of generation–and regeneration.

Check out the story and photographs of the tragedy here.

Conversation topics: If you have lived in Provo, share your favorite memory of the Tabernacle. If you’ve had an experience that was filtered and refined by your engagement with art, share it.

And P.S. Apparently none of my tweets for the last two or so months have been linked to the site. I’m working on fixing it. But you can follow me with my erratic tweeting @ ArtHistorySalon

I’m sorting through images for a conference presentation I’m working on for CAA 2011 and came across one of my favorite Boilly paintings, Public in the Salon of the Louvre, Viewing the Painting of the ‘Sacre,’ (c. 1808). Recently, I tried to explain to a couple of friends why I actually enjoy going to crowded museums, and I think this painting captures some of my sentiments about art spectatorship as a shared experience. Whenever I’m in Paris on the first Sunday of the month, I drag family and friends to the Louvre precisely because it’s free and that means that a lot of people will be there. In 2007, my family was with me, so with husband and kids in tow, we went off to seek the treasures they would immediately recognize, e.g., the Mona Lisa, and love to see–as I recall, my oldest daughter was madly reading all of the Magic Treehouse books, and several of these focus on artists. Anyway, my crowd-hating but ever-obliging husband took each of our kids and put them on his shoulders so that they could actually see the painting. Every time I look at the Boilly, I think about this experience (note the two children on their father’s shoulders in this canvas) of having my kids recognize and connect with art and see people from the world over who are also thrilling to see such masterpieces.

In the early part of the 19th century, the Salons were an especially popular entertainment venue–much like our movie houses and sport stadiums–and people talked of the best days and times of the week to go. One of the women critics that I work on admonished her female readers not to bother going to the Salon in the mornings, because that was when the connoisseurs would go . . . and all that they were interested in seeing was the art, and not, malheureusement, the spectacle of beautiful women. One goes to the Salon not just to see, but more importantly, to be seen, don’t you know. I yearn for that kind of social experience in the museum, where there is intellectual and aesthetic engagement and connection with kindred spirits who share your passion–this is why I love taking students on study abroad (more on that later).

Conversation topic: Have you had one of those shared experiences in the museum? Where were you, what were you looking at, and what was so rewarding about it?

The other day, I ran across this charming little painting by Caspar David Friedrich that is currently part of a “custody battle” in France (le patrimoine). You can read more about this court case here. I’m sort of amused at the claims the French government is making on this (very) German painting, but it isn’t the story that interests me (outside of the fact that I didn’t know that David d’Angers had visited Friedrich’s studio in Dresden; we’re always talking about foreign artists in French ateliers and not vice versa). Anyway, I’m intrigued with that painting. Generally speaking, I prefer French art and high drama. But I have a soft spot for Friedrich. I remember the first time I saw one of his works: it was his Cross in the Mountains and it was like I was receiving or witnessing a revelation. Seriously, I was so moved by the painting’s brilliant luminosity and utter stillness and absolute serenity. Hence began my love affair with this quiet, melancholic artist.

The romantics liked their birds. Probably the most famous owl image is by Goya, with his Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters Even though I am a huge fan of Goya and the darker side of romanticism, I am much more drawn to Friedrich’s little hibou (owl).

Conversation topic: Whose romanticism do you prefer and why?

One of the most frequent questions a college student is asked is, “What is your major? Now for me, this conversation would go one of two ways.

Conversation 1:

Person: “So, what are you majoring in?”
Me: “Art History.”

*pause where person would have to determine whether or not I was serious*

Person: “Oh. So, what are you going to do with that
Me: “Go to dental school.”

*person laughs, thinking I’m joking, then they realize I’m not.*

Person: “How does that work?”

Quite well actually.

Conversation 2:

Person: “So, what do you want to do?” (as in, with my future.)
Me: “I am planning on becoming a dentist.”
Person: “So, what’s your major? Biology? Chemistry?”
Me: “No, actually. I am majoring in Art History.”
Person: “Oh. That’s fun.

Yes, it is. But that isn’t the reason I chose Art History as my major. It seemed that I often had a hard time explaining my seemingly conflicting choices of career and undergraduate major, but to me, they were never conflicting in the slightest.

The most important aspect of a major is learning to think. I could have majored in a science and spent most of my undergraduate time memorizing facts for a test and then forgotten those facts shortly thereafter. But, in the study of art history, I learned how to analyze. I learned how to organize and present my thoughts. I learned how to make coherent arguments based on evidence. These skills, the skills of learning and assimilating knowledge, rather than just rote memorization, have been more beneficial to me since my time at BYU than anything else could have been in my undergraduate education.

As most college graduates can attest, the actual facts and figures that you spend hours memorizing for exams are quickly lost to time. But, if you approach your education with the goal of learning to reason, think, and observe you will truly gain an education worth obtaining. This will be an education that will benefit you no matter what field you go in to.

From my experience, majoring in Art History was the perfect discipline to cultivate those skills, and more students should consider this field of study in preparation for all manner of graduate programs and career fields, from law to dentistry to medicine to business and more.

Conversation topic: What skills did the discipline of art history teach you that have benefited you in your future education or work experiences?

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how people cope with the (inevitable) difficulties of life. This train of thought has been fueled by the experience of watching a dear friend endure a life-altering trial and seek to find meaning in her suffering. Since this is a blog about visual culture, I’ll keep my proselytizing focused on the therapeutic powers of art–although I’m happy to chat privately with readers who are looking for other sources of healing:).

For some time, I’ve noted with interest that one of my former students kept a quote by artist Jenny Holzer as his status on Gmail chat. This is a quote from a series by contemporary artist Jenny Holzer: IT IS IN YOUR SELF-INTEREST TO FIND A WAY TO BE VERY TENDER. This, incidentally, just might be the best practical marital advice I’ve ever encountered and I’ve seriously thought about having cards made up with this statement–ones that I could slip into wedding cards, pockets of young lovers, and so on. None of that lame “don’t go to bed angry with each other” kind of advice for me. Anyway, this “truism” comes from a series Holzer did in 1983-85 called “SURVIVAL.” As I reread some of these statements, I was struck anew by the power of her language, which alternates between the poetic and touching to the ironic and disheartening.

In the last few days, I’ve been posting some of these truisms as my Gmail chat status as a sort of sociological experiment. I’ve had several friends ask me about what I’ve posted and why, spawning conversations that ranged in subject matter from rampant consumerism and forbidden desires to ecological sustainability (and several started these discussions by asking if I was OK. Which I am. More or less.). So I want to post all of the truisms from this series, in the hopes that this will encourage a broader conversation about the form and content of these statements and what they say about the human condition and how we find ways to survive.

And P.S. It’s kind of fun–and disturbing–to see how some of these statements have been appropriated and commodified over the years . . . Google a few of them.

Holzer, SURVIVAL, 1983-85

YOU ARE TRAPPED ON THE EARTH SO YOU WILL EXPLODE

WHAT URGE WILL SAVE US NOW THAT SEX WON’T?

PUT FOOD OUT IN THE SAME PLACE EVERY DAY AND TALK TO THE PEOPLE WHO COME TO EAT AND ORGANIZE THEM

SAVOR KINDNESS BECAUSE CRUELTY IS ALWAYS POSSIBLE LATER

DANCE ON DOWN TO THE GOVERNMENT AND TELL THEM YOU’RE EAGER TO RULE BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU

THE BREAKDOWN COMES WHEN YOU STOP CONTROLLING YOURSELF AND WANT THE RELEASE OF A BLOODBATH

SPIT ALL OVER SOMEONE WITH A MOUTHFUL OF MILK IF YOU WANT TO FIND OUT SOMETHING ABOUT HIS PERSONALITY FAST

MOTHERS WITH REASONS TO SOB SHOULD DO IT IN GROUPS IN PUBLIC AND WAIT FOR OFFERS

OUTER SPACE IS WHERE YOU DISCOVER WONDER AND WHERE YOU FIGHT AND NEVER HURT EARTH IF YOU STOP BELIEVING THIS YOUR MOOD TURNS UGLY

DIE FAST AND QUIET WHEN THEY INTERROGATE YOU OR LIVE SO LONG THAT THEY ARE ASHAMED TO HURT YOU ANYMORE

IF YOU HAD BEHAVED NICELY THE COMMUNISTS WOULDN’T EXIST

TRUST VISIONS THAT DON’T FEATURE BUCKETS OF BLOOD

IN A DREAM YOU SAW A WAY TO SURVIVE AND YOU WERE FULL OF JOY

IF YOU’RE CONSIDERED USELESS NO ONE WILL FEED YOU ANYMORE

WHEN YOU EXPECT FAIR PLAY YOU CREATE AN INFECTIOUS BUBBLE OF MADNESS AROUND YOU

YOU ARE SO COMPLEX THAT YOU DON’T ALWAYS RESPOND TO DANGER

MEN DON’T PROTECT YOU ANYMORE

WITH ALL THE HOLES IN YOU ALREADY THERE’S NO REASON TO DEFINE THE OUTSIDE ENVIRONMENT AS ALIEN

WHEN SOMEONE BEATS YOU WITH A FLASHLIGHT YOU MAKE LIGHT SHINE IN ALL DIRECTIONS

FINDING EXTREME PLEASURE WILL MAKE YOU A BETTER PERSON IF YOU’RE CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT THRILLS YOU

USE A STUN GUN WHEN THE PERSON COMING AT YOU HAS A GOOD EXCUSE

IT IS IN YOUR SELF-INTEREST TO FIND A WAY TO BE VERY TENDER

THE BEGINNING OF THE WAR WILL BE SECRET

THE CONVERSATION ALWAYS TURNS TO LIVING LONG ENOUGH TO HAVE FUN

WHAT COUNTRY SHOULD YOU ADOPT IF YOU HATE POOR PEOPLE?

USE WHAT IS DOMINANT IN A CULTURE TO CHANGE IT QUICKLY

PROTECT ME FROM WHAT I WANT

YOU ARE CAUGHT THINKING ABOUT KILLING ANYONE YOU WANT

IT’S HARD TO KNOW IF YOU’RE CRAZY IF YOU FEEL YOU’RE IN DANGER ALL THE TIME NOW

YOU CAN’T REACH THE PEOPLE WHO CAN KILL YOU ANY TIME SO YOU HAVE TO GO HOME AND THINK ABOUT WHAT TO DO

THE FUTURE IS STUPID

HIDE UNDER WATER OR ANYWHERE SO UNDISTURBED YOU FEEL THE JERK OF PLEASURE WHEN AN IDEA COMES

SOMEONE ELSE’S BODY IS A PLACE FOR YOUR MIND TO GO

WHEN THERE’S NO SAFE PLACE TO SLEEP YOU’RE TIRED FROM WALKING ALL DAY AND EXHAUSTED FROM THE NIGHT BECAUSE IT’S TWICE AS DANGEROUS THEN

IT’S EASY TO GET MILLIONS OF PEOPLE ON EVERY CONTINENT TO PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO EATING AND EQUAL OPPORTUNITY

GO WHERE PEOPLE SLEEP AND SEE IF THEY’RE SAFE

HANDS ON YOUR BREAST CAN KEEP YOUR HEART BEATING

TURN SOFT AND LOVELY ANY TIME YOU HAVE A CHANCE

IT IS FUN TO WALK CARELESSLY IN A DEATH ZONE

YOU LIVE THE SURPRISE RESULTS OF OLD PLANS

LET YOUR HAND WANDER ON THE FLESH TO MAKE POSSIBILITY MULTIPLY

IT IS EMBARRASSING TO BE CAUGHT AND KILLED FOR STUPID REASONS

SHOOT INTO INFINITE SPACE TO HIT A TARGET IN TIME AND CALL IT INEVITABLE

YOU HOVER NEAR LOVELY UNCONSCIOUS LIFE-FORMS THAT OFFER NO IMMEDIATE RESISTANCE

PEOPLE LOOK LIKE THEY ARE DANCING BEFORE THEY LOVE

BODIES LIE IN THE BRIGHT GRASS AND SOME ARE MURDERED AND SOME ARE PICNICKING

SILLY HOLES IN PEOPLE ARE FOR BREEDING OR ARE FROM SHOOTING

YOUR MODERN FACE SCANS THE SURPRISE ENDING

Conversation topic: Which “SURVIVAL” truism speaks to you and w

Confession: I don’t think much of artist Takashi Murakami. I know he’s held up as a sort of golden child in the contemporary art scene, but I think his art is glib, trite, and plebeian. So I wasn’t particularly thrilled when I heard about the Murakami-Versailles collaboration. This exhibition opened a few weeks ago amid protests from “conservative” factions (I hate these designations; I’m fairly liberal and yet object to it on aesthetic, if not political, grounds). The show has garnered quite a bit of press. I’ve looked at a lot of the images and while I think that initially, there is something visually striking about the contrast between the Louis XIV style and Murakami’s manga-inspired works, there doesn’t seem to be a sophisticated, productive dialogue going on between the two artistic modes. Such juxtapositions should help viewers look anew at the art–old and new–and I just don’t see it happening (of course, it’s awfully dangerous to review shows without actually seeing them. Too bad I won’t be back in Paris until after the show closes). Readers should know that I’m not opposed to such installations; in fact, I thought the Koons-Versailles collaboration of a couple of years ago was quite engaging.

All of this said, I know that many of my readers are Murakami fans and so I want to open this up for discussion.

Conversation topic: What do you think about Murakami’s art in general, and the exhibition at Versailles in particular?

I have to do a quick post on this most important evening of the fashion world (at least stateside): Fashion’s Night Out, which kicks off Fashion Week in New York. Some of you know that I have both a personal and academic interest in fashion and spend way too much time reading style blogs. Fashion is entering into mainstream art history like never before and should I be disciplined enough to work on my manuscript, Art, Fashion, and the Modern Woman in Post-Revolutionary France, (rather than roam the blogosphere), I may have something to contribute to the discussion. In the meantime, I wanted to give a shout out to Cindy Sherman and her collaboration with Balenciaga. Tonight, her series of six self-portraits, in which she wears Balenciaga (and who created fabrics that feature quotes from interviews and reviews of Sherman), will enjoy its U.S. debut. Read more about this and see a slideshow featuring several of these photographs, on the NY Times Magazine fashion blog, The Cut. If you ask me, Sherman’s collaborations with Nicolas Ghesquièr are way more compelling than the Murakami/Vuitton art-fashion ventures. But many of you know how I feel about Murakami (not good), who will be the subject of my next post; the controversial exhibition of his works at Versailles is slated to open next week.