ELIZABETH SHIPPEN GREEN ON THE BRINK

 In 1902, this is how Elizabeth Shippen Green illustrated moonlight:

Less than ten years later, her treatment of moonlight was far more accomplished:

How do we account for the great transformation of her work within a decade?

Green worked at the dawn of the 20th century, on the brink of many great changes:

• The art world was evolving: Green's beloved teacher and mentor, Howard Pyle, passed away along with other great classical illustrators such as Edwin Austin Abbey.  Green had been a member of Pyle's first art class in 1894; she recalled, "he did not so much teach me how to draw but how to interpret life."  Now a new generation was elbowing its way onto the stage.   In the decade following 1902, Picasso and Braque invented cubism; Fauvism made its debut at the Paris salon; and Marinetti introduced his "Futurist Manifesto."

• Opportunities were changing dramatically for women illustrators:  Previously, illustration had been almost exclusively a man's profession.  In 1907, Green was among the very first women elected to the Society of Illustrators.  She earned a long term contract with Harper's Magazine doing a higher quality of illustrations. As Green's biographer Alice Carter wrote,  "The first generation of educated American women was becoming successful in a variety of careers, and their achievements were beginning to attract considerable attention."

• Color printing was undergoing a revolution:  Green began her career drawing black and white illustrations with thick outlines.  Look how her work changed as new technologies increased her powers.

Slowly, crude color was added:

Color became more accurate and subtle:

Finally, here are some details from the example I used at the start:

• Wrenching changes in Green's personal life:  The changing role of women forced difficult decisions on Green.  She had to choose between working as an artist or higher education at one of the colleges now available to women. Green, along with illustrators Violet Oakley and Jessie Wilcox Smith, stayed briefly at Bryn Mawr college where Green said she got her whole education sitting on the college lawn breathing in the knowledge left unabsorbed by the coeds. 

Most importantly, during this decade of change Green lived as one of the "red rose girls," three talented women illustrators who lived together in an intimate, loving relationship made possible by the new freedom for women.  The three had vowed never to get married, but in 1911 Green broke her vow and left the group to marry a man. Her decision was agonizing for the entire group. Green was so torn by her choice, she prolonged her engagement, on and off, for 7 years.  

Green lived on the brink of these great trends; she had to gamble, making choices before the outcome was clear.  As we've seen, these changes in art, technology, relationships, and popular taste for illustration caused her great distress but didn't stop her art from improving. 

We all live in times of change. Today we have uncertainty swirling all around us, from technological revolutions caused by AI to radical transformations in the audience for illustration.  It remains to be seen if we navigate them as well as Green.

THE MAN BEHIND J.C. COLL'S DOOR

 

There's a lot going on in J.C. Coll's little drawing of a sword fight by a stranded stage coach.

Look how knowledgeable Coll's line is!  He understands that the coach would be tilted by the natural slope of the road, not upright.  He knows how the wheel would look caked with mud.  He even understands the suspension system of the coach, and is smart enough to make the lines dissipate before the details become boring.

There are six figures interacting in this little roadside ballet, each one posed with elegance

And each face, though tiny, retains its own integrity:

Hidden away in the back, behind the door of the coach, is another swordsman, this one a buffoon who couldn't quite make it out of the coach to defend the fair maiden.  (In the shadows we can just make out his hand fumbling the sword and his feet slipping out from under him.)

If you saw this illustration in a magazine today, who would even notice the small figure behind the door? It's debatable whether a narrative this complex even needed another figure.  

My point today is that this drawing was done in a very different era for a very different kind of audience, an audience that had time to linger over subtle details and get pleasure from small, hidden elements and surprises.  An audience without a computer or television competing for its attention, an audience that was not skimming over dozens of images, often in thumbnail sized icons.  That difference has a major impact on the incentives for the artist and the reaction of the audience.  

HOW ART SET MAD MAGAZINE FREE

Compare these two cartoons from MAD about father/son relationships.  The first is by Jack Davis:

The second is by Mort Drucker:

The first joke is a wisecrack using generic cartoon characters. The second joke involves a different kind of visual humor. It uses sharp observations about the personalities of the father and son: contrast the thick, rough lines used for the father with the delicate lines of the meek son; note how the angle of the picture points us right to the boy's upturned face and frail shoulders. The father’s cigar in his immense paw is a prop strategically placed in the foreground. The father's "smile" is misshapen from years of chomping on those cigars.

We know nothing about the lives of the father or son in the Davis cartoon but it doesn't matter; the joke doesn't depend on it. On the other hand, Drucker’s drawing tells us everything about this boy's life and the life of his father.

The first cartoon could've been drawn by any of the artists in MAD's talented stable.  The second cartoon could only have been drawn by Drucker.

MAD's evolution from the first type of joke to the second type of joke is the story of how art set MAD free.

__________________________

MAD started as a ten cent comic book, containing mostly silly spoofs of other comics or movies. It had an excellent collection of artists such as Davis, Wally Wood and Will Elder but its content remained mostly slapstick. MAD couldn't graduate to a more challenging and relevant form of humor until it acquired a different kind of artistic talent– a talent capable of handling a wider range of facial expressions, psychological staging and body language, of cultural and political references. 

This doesn't mean the early MAD art wasn't wonderful and hilarious. My point is that the new drawing ability gave MAD's writers a vehicle for more ambitious humor with far greater range.

MAD moved from Superduperman to questioning authority around the kitchen table...

... and from questioning authority around the kitchen table to questioning the veracity of TV commercials or even Presidents of the United States. It was this new, more mature brand of humor that was primarily responsible for transforming MAD into the inspiration for The National Lampoon and Saturday Night Live. Terry Gilliam (of Monty Python) said, "MAD became the Bible for me and my whole generation." Its irreverence conquered America.

Consider some of the fruits of MAD's new artistic reach:

Drucker’s version of West Side Story was not a satire of the movie, but rather a story about a street gang rumble between the communist eastern block nations and the democratic western nations. Drucker had to draw recognizable caricatures of dictators dressed as juvenile delinquents, dancing in front of photos of the United Nations. Earlier MAD artists couldn't do this.

The movie, Fiddler on the Roof was converted into Antenna on the Roof, a commentary about the culture shock of Jewish families who came to America and found "success" to be a mixed blessing. Earlier MAD artists could never support such a story.

Drucker's drawings were crucial to introducing young readers to strange new settings, some of them real and some of them not so much.   For example, Drucker's drawing of a crowded wedding buffet (below) helped readers understand a world they might not have personally experienced but which nevertheless rang true.

Or look at how Drucker takes us to the other side of the world, showing the plight of laborers crowded into the hull of a 19th century southeast Asian steamer ship:

Or into a frontier saloon.  Note the gilded tacky decor and the ornate cash register:

MAD readers were transported into hundreds of such scenes, made more believable by Drucker's details.  And this is the crucial point: Drucker believed that accurate drawing would make the most preposterous premises seem more real.  He felt that if he followed the laws of realism most of the time when it came to anatomy, perspective, time, space and gravity, he might buy himself a longer leash when it came to strange and loony situations.  

Drucker: making the nutty drawings believable by alternating them with accurate ones.

Mad became great and influential by offering a menu of talented artists and writers working in a variety of styles.  Some fans will always love Don Martin more and some will always love Wally Wood.  

But it seems to me that MAD became a more formidable cultural force not because its writers suddenly became smarter or more talented; it was because the quality of the art suddenly enabled the writers to present smarter, more talented ideas.  Art was always the pathogen that carried MAD's humor and made it so infectious, spreading rapidly from schoolchild to schoolchild around the world.  Once the art was good enough to host a wider range of content, it set MAD's humor free to infect the world.  

ONE LOVELY DRAWING, part 77

In one of the greatest passages of western literature, Dante begins The Divine Comedy:

Midway through the journey of life, I found myself in a dark wood where the right way was lost. 

For me, this lovely etching by Martin Lewis, titled Which Way? is the visual equivalent. 

We all set out on life's path eager to digest the world, but there comes a point midway through the journey when we realize that the world has been quietly digesting us all along, and that it's likely to win the race.  

Like Dante's dark woods, Lewis' blanket of snow covers the road and obscures the landscape. Our puny headlights are outmatched.  The road ends ahead but is that a cross or a telephone pole?  

I love the mood of this drawing, the fear rising in our chest from uncertainty and the lump in our throat from those stars in the sky.  

This image wouldn't be nearly so meaningful if it wasn't handled so effectively.  The lighting is brilliant.  The control of value is extraordinary.  Compare the information Lewis shares (the sharp details in the snow, for example) with the information he withholds (the silhouettes in the car).  

A beautifully orchestrated piece. 

ELEVEN REBELS ON THE ROOF

In 1961, two noteworthy events occurred in the art world: 

           1.  The artist Piero Manzoni sold cans of "Artist's Shit" as 

                 conceptual art.

          2. Eleven young realist painters took to the rooftops of 

              New York to rebel against the modern art trends of their day.

 

Today Manzoni's canned shit enjoys a place of honor in the prestigious Tate Art Museum in London.  I've been unable to locate a single work by the eleven realists at the Tate, but I'm displaying their work today on the equally prestigious IllustrationArt blog.

In an exhibition of paintings called “A Realist View” at the National Arts Club, the eleven questioned whether the new so-called freedom of modern art was an improvement.  They wrote, “This freedom from obligation has resulted, very largely, in an impoverishment of the artist’s imagination, not an enrichment of it.”  New York Times art critic Emily Genauer described the eleven as "the new rebels."

For a century modern artists had prided themselves on being rebels against the establishment.  Post-impressionists, cubists, fauvists, futurists, surrealists, modernists, dadaists, orphists, expressionists, abstract expressionists, conceptual artists, and pop artists (quickly followed by op artists, postmodernists, neo-expressionists, minimalists, color-field artists, graffiiti artists, installationists, performance artists, earthworks artists and assorted other types) have all enjoyed their time in the headlines.  By 1961, "rebellion" was commonplace.  But Genauer asserted that the eleven were "the most rebellious of all the new rebel art groups around today." 

The eleven artists were committed to realism, but they wanted to show how reality, when perceived through different eyes, could be original, diverse and fertile. 

Artist Burt Silverman painted psychologically insightful pictures.  He didn't speak in symbols or concepts.  As Auden wrote, "God must be a hidden deity, veiled by His creation."

Contrast Silverman's brand of realism with Harvey Dinnerstein's allegorical mural representing the parade of the 1960s:

Dinnerstein painted it in a sharply realistic but fantastical style, very different from the work of the others.

Daniel Schwartz explored bold colors and patterns in his work:

"Epiphany" by Schwartz

David Levine worked very differently, with a powerful graphic style

Aaron Shikler softened realism for his elegiac tribute to President Kennedy which is hanging in the White House  (unless of course the current occupant has taken it down):

The work of the eleven demonstrated different faces of realism, showing how it still offered plenty of meaningful opportunity for innovation, variety and growth.

The excitement of the new is difficult to resist.  Art that surprises us with unexpected valuations of things can be titillating... at least for a while.  After 1961, the role of the artist-- and the definition of art-- have expanded to the point where boundaries are almost impossible to find.  

During this same period, astrophysicists discovered that the increasing speed of the expansion of the universe will eventually rob the universe of all life, heat and meaning. Unless its trajectory changes, The future universe will be one in which even subatomic particles will no longer cohere, and matter will dissipate into a formless sea of entropy.

KENT WILLIAMS RELINQUISHES CONTROL

You put your left foot in, you take your left foot out,

You put your left foot in, and you shake it all about.

                                                        --- The Hokey Pokey 

Many contemporary artists seem to have have concluded that accuracy and realism are no longer sufficient, so they start a picture in a careful, realistic style then rough it up with an element of wildness-- a spill, a splatter, a deconstruction, a crude gesture.

Here, for example, the talented Jack Unruh proves that he can master fine detailed pen work but then offsets it with a loosely applied thick, wet black brush:

Next, the talented Joe Ciardiello draws with a sensitive, delicate line, but comes back with spatters of fluorescent paint and a primitive black brush that runs dry halfway through its mission:

Each in their own distinctive way, artists seem to feel that a picture benefits from the open clash of two opposite extremes.  They first demonstrate their great control of technical skills (as if to prove their credentials) then balance it with with pagan elements (as if to avoid the shame of appearing too civilized).  When done well, this increases the range of the drawing.

Andrew Wyeth, after slaving away on a very precise, careful painting, looked at it in despair and decided the only way he could cure it was to risk everything by throwing a cup of paint right in the middle of the picture. Then he quickly left the room before he lost his nerve and attempted to re-assert control. 

One of my favorite artists who pairs control with lack of control is Kent Williams:

Note how the fine line, detailed realism of this bird is enhanced by a messy ochre stain:

It contributes freedom and a casual looseness to what otherwise might be a too tight drawing.  It improves the composition and design, expands the range and contributes a more organic, natural feel to the work. 

Here is another example of an accomplished drawing where Williams gambled with an out-of-control spill and ended up improving it beyond what tight drawing might have accomplished:

 

After paying the terrible dues necessary to learn how to draw with control, how much of that control are we willing to surrender?  That is the question:

THE VIEW FROM SAVONAROLA'S WINDOW

 

Savonorola by Fra Bartolomeo (1498

Be sure to keep your eyes open if you visit the convent of San Marco in Florence where the fearsome Dominican friar, Girolamo Savonarola (1452-1498) launched his fiery tirades against modern art.

Savonarola, one of the earliest art critics, lived in a small cell which has been preserved complete with his famous chair. 

Savonarola preached contempt for the world (contemptu mundi) which was a sordid place of adultery, sodomy, murder, and envy.  One of its worst culprits was modern art which focused on humanistic subjects, luring people away from proper religious subjects.  Such art was a "vanity" which deserved to be burned in bonfires in the Florence public square, along with books, mirrors and other sinful, unauthorized objects.   

Savonorola proclaimed that "crude scenes that make people laugh shall not be painted" (which would essentially put this blog out of business).  He said that art should be viewed through "spectacles of death" to keep us focused on our mortality, and he railed against art with "indecent figures." No one, he wrote, should be permitted to paint "unless they... paint honest things." 

The convent knew that the world had its distractions, such as blue skies, green grass and singing birds.  To help protect the friars from temptation, the convent windows were boarded up, leaving only a small opening.

The beauty of nature could only be countenanced in limited doses.

As I stood in Savonorola's cell, thinking of the man whose eloquence caused the burning of Botticelli's paintings, I noted a tiny imperfection on the bars of his window.  I walked over, took a closer look, and was startled to discover a small devil's head looking back at me.  

I checked with an official at the convent and yes, Savonarola had instructed that a devil's head be affixed to his bars in case he was ever tempted to linger too long looking out at nature.