Fine Arts News

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  Raphaelle Peale is considered the first American professional still-life painter. His Still Life - Strawberries, Nuts, &c., 1822, exemplifies early American efforts to showcase the bounty of North America. (Gift of Jamee J. and Marshall Field)

In the age of celebrity chef fetishism and competitive ingredient sourcing, it can be hard to remember that there was a time when restaurants didn't exist in America.

Before the Civil War, most people ate at home, consuming mostly what they could forage, barter, butcher or grow in the backyard. But just because food choices were simpler back then doesn't mean our relationship to what we ate was any less complicated.

Food as a symbol of politics, diet, gender roles, technology, isolation, gluttony and blatant commercialism has, in fact, been with us for ages and in many forms.

A massive exhibit that opened last month at the Art Institute of Chicago gathers iconic (Norman Rockwell's Freedom From Want) and not-so-well-known (Francis W. Edmonds' The Epicure) American paintings of food from the Pilgrims right on through to Andy Warhol. And it throws in some elegant (Art Deco martini set) and creepy (cabbage-shaped teapot) tableware, menus and memorabilia for good measure.

The curators of the show, called Art and Appetite: American Painting, Culture and Cuisine, "offer a new approach to still-life and food-related genre paintings, revealing their importance in American culture, the history of American cuisine, and the ways that these have shaped and reflected our national identity," says Douglas Druick, president of the Art Institute of Chicago, in the preface to the 125-page exhibit guidebook.
For example, The Epicure, painted in 1838, is one of the earliest-known depictions of a tavern meal in America, according to Judith A. Barter, curator of American Art at the institute.

At first glance, it may just look like a portrait of a well-fed rich guy inspecting the humble daily supper offerings. But Barter points out that the well-marbled side of beef on the table was standard Northern fare, while the pig being offered by the innkeeper was a Southern dish.

"The work may be illustrating as well the political divide that separated North and South," she writes. "During the presidency of Andrew Jackson, the debate over the future of the nation — the Jeffersonian dream of a nation of small farmers and limited national government versus the Hamiltonian vision of centralization and an economy built on international trade, banking, and speculation — came to a head."
All that from just one piece.



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• 
  Raphaelle Peale is considered the first American professional still-life painter. His Still Life - Strawberries, Nuts, &c., 1822, exemplifies early American efforts to showcase the bounty of North America. (Gift of Jamee J. and Marshall Field)

In the age of celebrity chef fetishism and competitive ingredient sourcing, it can be hard to remember that there was a time when restaurants didn't exist in America.

Before the Civil War, most people ate at home, consuming mostly what they could forage, barter, butcher or grow in the backyard. But just because food choices were simpler back then doesn't mean our relationship to what we ate was any less complicated.

Food as a symbol of politics, diet, gender roles, technology, isolation, gluttony and blatant commercialism has, in fact, been with us for ages and in many forms.

A massive exhibit that opened last month at the Art Institute of Chicago gathers iconic (Norman Rockwell's Freedom From Want) and not-so-well-known (Francis W. Edmonds' The Epicure) American paintings of food from the Pilgrims right on through to Andy Warhol. And it throws in some elegant (Art Deco martini set) and creepy (cabbage-shaped teapot) tableware, menus and memorabilia for good measure.

The curators of the show, called Art and Appetite: American Painting, Culture and Cuisine, "offer a new approach to still-life and food-related genre paintings, revealing their importance in American culture, the history of American cuisine, and the ways that these have shaped and reflected our national identity," says Douglas Druick, president of the Art Institute of Chicago, in the preface to the 125-page exhibit guidebook.

For example, The Epicure, painted in 1838, is one of the earliest-known depictions of a tavern meal in America, according to Judith A. Barter, curator of American Art at the institute.

At first glance, it may just look like a portrait of a well-fed rich guy inspecting the humble daily supper offerings. But Barter points out that the well-marbled side of beef on the table was standard Northern fare, while the pig being offered by the innkeeper was a Southern dish.

"The work may be illustrating as well the political divide that separated North and South," she writes. "During the presidency of Andrew Jackson, the debate over the future of the nation — the Jeffersonian dream of a nation of small farmers and limited national government versus the Hamiltonian vision of centralization and an economy built on international trade, banking, and speculation — came to a head."
All that from just one piece.

Check out the slideshow above for some more Art and Appetite morsels. The exhibit closes Jan. 27.


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The Colobus Monkeys diorama at the American Museum of Natural History in New York.

Polina Yamshchikov/for NPR
“ ...to really motivate and generate concern, it's gotta be based on data, but you've got to touch the heart and passion of the person.

- Stephen C. Quinn

You've probably never heard of painter Fred F. Scherer. If you've ever been to the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) in New York City, though, you may have seen his paintings — probably without realizing it.
Scherer died at age 98 a few weeks ago. His art — those big murals you see behind taxidermic animals in museum dioramas — deserves a closer look.

We visited the AMNH to photograph some of the installations containing his paintings, and spoke with Stephen C. Quinn, who recently retired as an artist from the museum, and knew Scherer well.
"Fred worked at the museum at the golden age of diorama production," Quinn says. "He started at age 19 and worked as an apprentice on the famed Mountain Gorilla diorama."



Mountain Gorillas, one of the first dioramas on which Fred Scherer apprenticed.

Polina Yamshchikov/for NPR
Mountain Gorillas, one of the first dioramas on which Fred Scherer apprenticed.
Polina Yamshchikov/for NPR

Most of Scherer's paintings were created between the 1940s and '60s — at a time when city-dwellers may have had little access to nature. Museum artists like Scherer worked to bring nature alive indoors.
According to Quinn, Scherer was one of many working in this genre that went back decades — "to a time that preceded really good photography."


The Birds of the Tundra diorama



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A Pennsylvania man who bought a raffle ticket for $140 dollars has won the top prize – a Picasso worth $1 million.

Jeffrey Gonano, 25, entered a raffle put on by Sotheby's in Paris offering "1 Picasso for 100 Euros" as a , an ancient Phoenician city in Lebanon.

Gonano, who works for his family's fire sprinkler business, found out on Wednesday that he'd won with one of the 50,000 tickets sold and is now the proud owner of the 1914 "Man in the Opera Hat," which dates from Pablo Picasso's cubist period.

"I'm still in shock. It's still very odd," . "I never thought I would win. I just saw a news article on Yahoo and bought a ticket. I don't even know why."

quotes Gonano as saying he "wants to keep the artwork, which features vivid shapes in opaque gouache paint."

"Maybe I'll lend it to a museum and let them put it on display rather than putting it in a vault, so other people can enjoy it," he told the newspaper. "It all depends. I don't know what the taxes are or anything."

Having sold all 50,000 tickets, Sotheby's should have raised close to $7 million for charity event.

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Can wealthy art lovers help save Detroit's pension funds — and one of its museums?

The city is struggling to find ways to emerge from bankruptcy. One idea: sell the city's art to save the pensions of city retirees. The Detroit Institute of Arts, or DIA, has faced serious financial difficulties over the years, and yet it holds the city's most valuable assets: a world-class art collection that includes works by Van Gogh, Rembrandt and Matisse. Estimates vary, but Christie's recently appraised these works at more than $850 million.

Because some of those masterpieces were bought with city funds, they could be auctioned off to pay creditors. "It's the only source of money that exists in the city of Detroit," philanthropist Paul Schaap says flatly.




Philanthropist Paul Schaap says selling the Detroit Institute of Arts' masterpieces would devastate the city's morale. Christie's has appraised some works in the collection; the auction house estimates that this piece could bring in $20 million.
Gladioli, Claude Monet, ca. 1876, oil on canvas.

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David Sommerstein / NCPR
Two turntables carved from wood scratch out the sound of Beat Nation artist Jordan Bennett learning his native Mi'kmaq language.

At the entrance of a new exhibit at Montreal's Musée d'Art Contemporain, visitors are greeted with a red neon glow and a ping-pong of sounds. A dubstep groove thumps. A high-hat skitters. A pow-wow chant echoes from another room.
Beat Nation: Hip Hop as Indigenous Culture has become something of an art sensation in Canada. Featuring more than two dozen artists using beats, graffiti, humor and politics to challenge stereotypes, the exhibit coincides with the growth of Idle No More, an indigenous political movement in Canada.

"The idea behind hip-hop is the idea of a mix," says Mark Lanctot, a curator at the Montreal museum. He says the sonic soup that follows you throughout the exhibit represents the diversity of being indigenous today.

"Aboriginal culture isn't a monolithic, single, static entity. It's always changing, always takes from other cultures," he says.
Listen closer to the sounds, and you'll hear more indigenous stories filtered through hip-hop's lens. DJ Madeskimo mixes traditional throat singing with electronic beats and footage of "Hollywood Indian" stereotypes for a multimedia presentation called Dubyadubs. In another room, Kevin Lee Burton slices and dices his native Cree language into a sort of rap.

A Drumbeat And A Heartbeat

Beat Nation was born in Vancouver in 2006 as an online gallery; today it's a traveling exhibit. Co-founder Tania Willard, a member of Canada's Secwepemc nation, says she first made a connection between native culture and hip-hop when she was 16. She saw breakdancers at a traditional pow-wow.

"Hip-hop was just making inroads in mainstream culture and here was this all-native break-dance crew — this is 20-plus years ago — who are touring around the pow-wow circuit," Willard muses.

Hip-hop blew up in Vancouver's huge native community in the 1990s and 2000s, spawning influential MCs such as Manik 1derful. Willard says hip-hop beats fit naturally into the indigenous worldview. "We sort of talk about Beat Nation as not just electronic beats, but also the drumbeat and the heartbeat," she says.

Hip-hop also filtered into native culture as young people left isolated, poverty-stricken territories for Canada's city streets, where things weren't much better. Many shuttled back and forth, nd that cycle — known as "the churn" — is evident in Beat Nation. Skateboards turned into snowshoes are on display, along with turntables carved from wood, and "indigenized" iPods made of felt.


Artist Dylan Miner worked with indigenous youth to make low-rider bicycles designed to demand attention, just as Canada's indigenous communities have been doing recently.
David Sommerstein / NCPR

Dylan Miner worked with indigenous youth to make low-rider bicycles. tricked out with painted hides and hand drums. He says a theme running through many pieces in the show is the claiming space, like a slow-and-low moving low-rider, backing up traffic and demanding attention. "[We are] asserting indigenous presence in the contemporary moment in a way that's letting people speak for ourselves," he says.

Agents Of Change

That message of presence has been a big one in Canada recently. A year ago, a handful of indigenous women started a movement called Idle No More. The hashtag #IdleNoMore spread virally across the country, and thousands marched to protest poor living conditions and environmental degradation in native territories.

Geromino Inutiq, a.k.a Madeskimo, says Idle No More and Beat Nation are of a piece. "We're not idle anymore. See us in the governments and the institutions and the companies. See us on TV," Inutiq says. "We're not sitting there idly on our reserves, waiting to die. We're agents of change within society and that's what it means."

It's tempting to view Beat Nation as representative of an Idle No More generation, something new and different. Tania Willard doesn't see it that way. She says native artists have been mixing, borrowing and sampling — hip-hop-style — for centuries.

"I see Beat Nation as this continuum of innovation that indigenous peoples have been at the forefront of," she says.
Beat Nation runs in Montreal through Jan. 5. Then it's off to Halifax and, this summer, Saskatchewan.


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Zhao Mengfu was the preeminent painter and calligrapher of the early Yuan dynasty (1279-1368). His Sheep And Goat scroll is estimated to be worth $100 million.

Courtesy of the Smithsonian Institution

Outside of China and Taiwan, U.S. museums hold the world's best collection of Chinese paintings. It's worth billions of dollars, but it's also fragile: Over time, these paintings fall apart. In the U.S., there are only four master conservators who know how to take care of them, and they're all approaching retirement.

Invisible Conservation

Inside the gallery, there's a softly-lit room with a high ceiling. To the right there's a painting that's about 4 feet long. In it, two Chinese scholars dressed in long robes stand under a gnarled tree. There's a river and a soaring mountain range in the background. It's called Summoning The Sage At Wei River and it's from the Ming Dynasty, making it about 500 years old.



Li Tang painted Summoning The Sage At Wei River on silk during the Ming dynasty (1368-1644).

"The lighting in the museum gallery is very good, because it also helps to mask a lot of the damages," says Grace Jan, an assistant conservator at the gallery. "You can see there [are] horizontal lines that are slightly darker, and then you can see there's like kind of a vertical line down the center above the figure on the left."

She says that the faint black streak was once much more serious damage. These paintings weren't done with oil paints on wooden panels, like the Mona Lisa; they were painted on fragile pieces of silk or rice paper, which is why Chinese painting conservation is so important. Summoning The Sage At Wei River had to be carefully cleaned and painted over.

"We just do as minimal treatment as we can so that it doesn't jump at you when you're looking at the painting," Jan says. She points to an example on the Wei River painting. I can barely see it, but that's the point.

A Lifetime Of Training

The Freer has more than 2,000 Chinese paintings and master conservator Xiangmei Gu is responsible for maintaining all of them. One of the first things she shows me is an ancient map that was torn halfway down the middle. She says once she remounted it, it looked fine, and she's right: Standing just inches away, I can't see where the tear used to be.

It took Gu a long time to learn how to do that. She started at the Shanghai Museum as an apprentice to the resident master there in the 1970s. For 15 years, she learned how to repair and remount ancient paintings and calligraphy. In 1987, she came to the U.S. to join her husband, and three years later, she got a job at the Freer.

"I worked so many years, almost 40 years," she says, "[I] still never finished; [I] continue to learn this job."
That's right, 40 years and she says she's still learning. Still, she can't work forever. The Mellon Foundation recently gave the

Freer a million-dollar grant to train an assistant Chinese painting conservator.
In the meantime, Gu is passing her skills on to Jan. Jan has a master's degree in conservation from New York University, and she got interested in the practice because her grandfather was also a painter.

"I remember seeing his paintings turning yellow," Jan says. "They turned yellow after they were mounted, in the next couple years."



Conservator Xiangmei Gu works at a red lacquer table in the gallery's conservation lab.


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In Detroit, a group of local and national foundations has pledged more than $330 million to keep the city from auctioning off assets from the Detroit Institute of Art. The purpose of the deal is twofold: to preserve the collection and to raise money for the city's underfunded pension plans.


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A new exhibit at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Mass., features a flock of 70 finches and an array of tuned and amplified guitars. As the flock fills the open room, the birds are free to land on the guitars, making music of their own as they move and jump off the instruments.


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