Saturday, April 28, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Seafood, you get in my belly!
Seafood sea food seafood! Bolognese pasta pasta pasta! Gorgonzola with proscuitto pizza pizza pizza! Vino! Limoncello! Chocolate hazelnut gelato gelato gelato! In my tummy down you go, yummy yummy yummy! Basta basta basta (Italian translation: enough enough enough)! Oh so good, I love you so much Sicilian food, mamma mia, oh so good, I eat you every day, ah la la la. In the morning you give me loving with frothy cappuccinos and little chocolate cannolis. I come back in the afternoon to find little family owned lasagna specialty cafes on the top of a luscious green hillside filled with exotic Mediterranean plants and palm trees. Oh mamma mia my life is so hard, twelve different types of lasagna to choose from, which one will I have today? Today I get some meaty lovin with fresh plucked succulent tomatoes, hand made thick slabs of lasagna layered one on top of another with oven crisp sizzling mozzarella and three creamy fomaggios (translation: cheeses) bubbling on top. Oh mamma mia, soo good I eat you all the days. Deep in my belly you go to make a little cushiony home which will soon develop into a little village of pasta and lasagna. Then I come back for dinner and I get SEAFOOD! Aye yaye yay yaa I love you Mr. Seafood. You float along the depths of the Mediterranean into the Guardini Naxos beach and a little Sicilian fisherman chillin on a rock hooks you up for me to eat you, ha ha ha. Fork and knife in hands banging on the table for more of you, Papa Nimo (chef from our favorite restaurant) comes out happy to see me for the fourth night in a row to tell me what he cooks for me tonight. While sippin on delicioso vino blanche, I see mama and son Salvatore coming from the kitchen to deliver the seafood masterpiece. Risotto chillin on the bottom with black mussels, white clams, little pieces of octopus, and baby shrimp piled high on one plate. Jumbo shrimp, a full sol fish from head to fin, chunk of squid and swordfish sprinkled in pepper sea salt oregano green onions and bits of raw garlic, all neatly displayed on the other plate with a piercing yellow lemon to saturate the perfectly grilled fish in. All accompanied with fresh bread with olio (translation: oil) by its side waiting anxiously to be dipped into the seafood risotto sauce. Motta Benne (translation: very good)! And lets not forget but of course a little homemade from mama, limonchello night cap to finish off the perfect Sicilian seafood bellisimo experience. Arrive derche ( have a nice day) gratzie (thank you) and chow chow (bye bye). Put a fork in me I am done, meaning done for about three hours until the intoxicating smells reach my nose again and somehow like a dreamlike trance I find myself helplessly floating into the next café.
Guardini Naxos the first Greek colony in Sicily, lays out endless rocky beaches with crystal clear rich blue water softly rocking back and forth but never creating huge waves. So clear and tranquil, peering into the deepest part of the water, I can see down at the depth of the waterbed the color of the polished stones. Lying vulnerably on its own, only surrounded by water, Sicily was like an open wound for warriors to invade into from both the East and West. Therefore way before even the Roman Empire the Greeks, Moors, far east, and nomads had already left their marks. So close to its northern Italian family, but yet so incredibly different due to mass colonization for many centuries. From the powerful untouchable Roman gladiators, up to the wealthy merchant Venetians following the economic ways of Austria and Germany, over to the north west richly fashion diva known as Milan. All encompassing their own distinct cultures that upon arrival in Sicily, you can actually here the difference in their unique dialect, smell it in their Mediterranean delicious meals, feel it in their warm big loving hearts and kind smiles, and see it in the impressive Greek ruins and abundant flora and fauna along the agricultural countryside’s. Such a shame that many fear to head south due to Sicily’s reputation of years of depression, poverty, and organized crime from the Sicilian mafia. After all, the movie Godfather was shot only 10 km. from our hotel and you just have to come across my intimidating five foot tall best friend Phoebe who is half Sicilian and you would go running the other way in utter fright. Nevertheless, Sicily is filled with so many hidden treasures waiting to be discovered.
Sitting on the ancient stone layers of the Greek theatre on the top of the hill Taromina, I imagine the ancient Greek civilization that originally hosted numerous theatrical performances; lifetimes later the Italians will have taken over and host their own performances; and now in our present world of 2007, the theatre remains intact to continue the ancient tradition of musical concerts playing into the wee hours of the starry night. Across the hillside I see the gigantic Mt. Etna encrusted in snow blowing out puffs of smoke from its opening. In shorts and flip flops bathing in the rays of the sun I think to myself, tomorrow I will start my journey to volcano Etna.
Oh shit balls maybe the whole daydreaming of climbing a volcano while laying out on the cliffs of a sunny beach sippin on ice cold beer wasn’t such a good idea. Volcanic ash in my hair, ears, face, and feet. Pants shredded on the bottom from the sharp lava rocks and hands cut from eating shit twice on the slippery slope. Bitter cold snow numbs my hands and ears while icy wind burns my eyes. Yes I have officially arrived 2,500 m high to the active 500,000 year old volcano Mt. Etna. I can just picture Erica laying out in her bikini back at Guardini Naxos while here my dumb ass is climbing volcanoes. Formed under the sea of Catania, two tectonic plates collided, one from Africa to the west of Sicily, and the other from the east in Asia and out pops Ms. Etna. Lucky me, with four main craters that occasionally have gas and lava bombs exploding out, on the morning that I arrive, I am told that there was a lava bomb explosion in the middle of the night and somewhere on the massive peak lava was flowing out. Unfortunately I did not get the opportunity to see the lava flow out but then again, its about a smoldering 1200 cindegrees hot and full of gas so I probably would not want to get too close unless I wanted to be cremated and then dissolved into hot liquid.
On our way over to Mt. Etna we drove through the beautiful countryside of Catania. Some of the flora and fauna sprouting out of the bottom of Mt. Etna were so far out of this world that they looked like something from outer space. The wild fennel for example is an eerie kind of yellow and sprouts out of these green cabbage looking sticks. On other parts of the mountain there are miles and miles of pistachio and chestnut trees, vineyards with farmers pilling the soil, and extensive wildlife of foxes rabbits exotic birds and butterflies. Mixed within all the rural hillsides rests these abandoned palaces that Sicilian royalty used to live in. Now only remains and parts of the palace still remain. In the poor villages along Mt. Etna many of the old homes are actually constructed out of the lava rock. In 1983 Mt. Etna had a huge explosion and lave flowed from 2,800 m. to 1,000 m. On the side of the mountain that the lava crept down, streets, homes, and wildlife were completely destroyed. There are homes that I saw that were completely covered in the lava that now only the roof peaks out from the top. People are aware of the danger of virtually living on a volcano yet, many still live there either out of poverty or just pure Sicilian stubbornness. Fortunately the lava flows so incredibly slow like goops of thick mud that the people do not have to worry about being wiped out. As I circled around one of the inactive craters I was dumbfounded to catch sight of some weird green little bushes sprouting out of the red orange and smoky black lava. At the bottom of the crater I look towards the sky and notice some people are attempting to climb this mountain side. So curious was I to see what was on the other side, that but of course, I decided to go see for myself. After all I am not one to miss a party so of course I had to see what all the commotion was about on the other side. In diesel flats and nice brown pants I begin my trek up the volcano. Naturally I am not climbing on the top part which is so hot and black that all the snow has melted off and humans can’t possible stand the heat. While I begin my ascent upwards I notice that I am virtually sinking into the thick ash and thoroughly began enjoying the sensation that the back of my calves were about to explode from shooting hot fire spiraling up them. This feeling continued the entire trek up the mountainside along with feeling like I was going to faint and fall of the mountain due to the high altitude and thin air. Nevertheless an eternity later after watching one person after another give up half way and head back down, I have arrived to the top. Although the wind is fierce and cold, since I am dripping in sweat it feels like a cool dip in the ocean on a sunny San Diego summers day. Standing on bright red and orange colored volcanic ash, hair whipping around my face, witnessing the most spectacular view of the entire crater below me and the vast landscape of Mt. Etna all the way down to the bottom, a moment of complete peace springs upon me. I say a little prayer to thank god for always guiding my heart in the right direction and making me stronger throughout any obstacle in which I felt physically paralyzed and could not cope. Or with helping me at times when I was mentally lost with no answer as to which way to go in my life. Sure I could have led a life of feeling sorry for myself when adversary would come my way or constantly settle in a sea of lame excuses but there was always something looming above watching me in the clouds ready to kick me in the ass if I were to stop swimming. Before beginning my little rock collection of various lava pieces and then clumsily sliding down the mountain adding to my ripped pants, I blow warm wishes across the Atlantic to my adorable elf size Nanny. Wishing she could feel more moments of happiness and peace that I just felt, infiltrate light through her blind eyes to see the landscapes of natural Sicilian beauty, send her warm Sicilian sun rays, and a thousand hearty Sicilian smiles.
Guardini Naxos the first Greek colony in Sicily, lays out endless rocky beaches with crystal clear rich blue water softly rocking back and forth but never creating huge waves. So clear and tranquil, peering into the deepest part of the water, I can see down at the depth of the waterbed the color of the polished stones. Lying vulnerably on its own, only surrounded by water, Sicily was like an open wound for warriors to invade into from both the East and West. Therefore way before even the Roman Empire the Greeks, Moors, far east, and nomads had already left their marks. So close to its northern Italian family, but yet so incredibly different due to mass colonization for many centuries. From the powerful untouchable Roman gladiators, up to the wealthy merchant Venetians following the economic ways of Austria and Germany, over to the north west richly fashion diva known as Milan. All encompassing their own distinct cultures that upon arrival in Sicily, you can actually here the difference in their unique dialect, smell it in their Mediterranean delicious meals, feel it in their warm big loving hearts and kind smiles, and see it in the impressive Greek ruins and abundant flora and fauna along the agricultural countryside’s. Such a shame that many fear to head south due to Sicily’s reputation of years of depression, poverty, and organized crime from the Sicilian mafia. After all, the movie Godfather was shot only 10 km. from our hotel and you just have to come across my intimidating five foot tall best friend Phoebe who is half Sicilian and you would go running the other way in utter fright. Nevertheless, Sicily is filled with so many hidden treasures waiting to be discovered.
Sitting on the ancient stone layers of the Greek theatre on the top of the hill Taromina, I imagine the ancient Greek civilization that originally hosted numerous theatrical performances; lifetimes later the Italians will have taken over and host their own performances; and now in our present world of 2007, the theatre remains intact to continue the ancient tradition of musical concerts playing into the wee hours of the starry night. Across the hillside I see the gigantic Mt. Etna encrusted in snow blowing out puffs of smoke from its opening. In shorts and flip flops bathing in the rays of the sun I think to myself, tomorrow I will start my journey to volcano Etna.
Oh shit balls maybe the whole daydreaming of climbing a volcano while laying out on the cliffs of a sunny beach sippin on ice cold beer wasn’t such a good idea. Volcanic ash in my hair, ears, face, and feet. Pants shredded on the bottom from the sharp lava rocks and hands cut from eating shit twice on the slippery slope. Bitter cold snow numbs my hands and ears while icy wind burns my eyes. Yes I have officially arrived 2,500 m high to the active 500,000 year old volcano Mt. Etna. I can just picture Erica laying out in her bikini back at Guardini Naxos while here my dumb ass is climbing volcanoes. Formed under the sea of Catania, two tectonic plates collided, one from Africa to the west of Sicily, and the other from the east in Asia and out pops Ms. Etna. Lucky me, with four main craters that occasionally have gas and lava bombs exploding out, on the morning that I arrive, I am told that there was a lava bomb explosion in the middle of the night and somewhere on the massive peak lava was flowing out. Unfortunately I did not get the opportunity to see the lava flow out but then again, its about a smoldering 1200 cindegrees hot and full of gas so I probably would not want to get too close unless I wanted to be cremated and then dissolved into hot liquid.
On our way over to Mt. Etna we drove through the beautiful countryside of Catania. Some of the flora and fauna sprouting out of the bottom of Mt. Etna were so far out of this world that they looked like something from outer space. The wild fennel for example is an eerie kind of yellow and sprouts out of these green cabbage looking sticks. On other parts of the mountain there are miles and miles of pistachio and chestnut trees, vineyards with farmers pilling the soil, and extensive wildlife of foxes rabbits exotic birds and butterflies. Mixed within all the rural hillsides rests these abandoned palaces that Sicilian royalty used to live in. Now only remains and parts of the palace still remain. In the poor villages along Mt. Etna many of the old homes are actually constructed out of the lava rock. In 1983 Mt. Etna had a huge explosion and lave flowed from 2,800 m. to 1,000 m. On the side of the mountain that the lava crept down, streets, homes, and wildlife were completely destroyed. There are homes that I saw that were completely covered in the lava that now only the roof peaks out from the top. People are aware of the danger of virtually living on a volcano yet, many still live there either out of poverty or just pure Sicilian stubbornness. Fortunately the lava flows so incredibly slow like goops of thick mud that the people do not have to worry about being wiped out. As I circled around one of the inactive craters I was dumbfounded to catch sight of some weird green little bushes sprouting out of the red orange and smoky black lava. At the bottom of the crater I look towards the sky and notice some people are attempting to climb this mountain side. So curious was I to see what was on the other side, that but of course, I decided to go see for myself. After all I am not one to miss a party so of course I had to see what all the commotion was about on the other side. In diesel flats and nice brown pants I begin my trek up the volcano. Naturally I am not climbing on the top part which is so hot and black that all the snow has melted off and humans can’t possible stand the heat. While I begin my ascent upwards I notice that I am virtually sinking into the thick ash and thoroughly began enjoying the sensation that the back of my calves were about to explode from shooting hot fire spiraling up them. This feeling continued the entire trek up the mountainside along with feeling like I was going to faint and fall of the mountain due to the high altitude and thin air. Nevertheless an eternity later after watching one person after another give up half way and head back down, I have arrived to the top. Although the wind is fierce and cold, since I am dripping in sweat it feels like a cool dip in the ocean on a sunny San Diego summers day. Standing on bright red and orange colored volcanic ash, hair whipping around my face, witnessing the most spectacular view of the entire crater below me and the vast landscape of Mt. Etna all the way down to the bottom, a moment of complete peace springs upon me. I say a little prayer to thank god for always guiding my heart in the right direction and making me stronger throughout any obstacle in which I felt physically paralyzed and could not cope. Or with helping me at times when I was mentally lost with no answer as to which way to go in my life. Sure I could have led a life of feeling sorry for myself when adversary would come my way or constantly settle in a sea of lame excuses but there was always something looming above watching me in the clouds ready to kick me in the ass if I were to stop swimming. Before beginning my little rock collection of various lava pieces and then clumsily sliding down the mountain adding to my ripped pants, I blow warm wishes across the Atlantic to my adorable elf size Nanny. Wishing she could feel more moments of happiness and peace that I just felt, infiltrate light through her blind eyes to see the landscapes of natural Sicilian beauty, send her warm Sicilian sun rays, and a thousand hearty Sicilian smiles.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Impressionism
Montmarte, a foreign bohemian land back in time in which you can visualize various impressionists gathering together at a pub at the top of Sacre Couer with crepes melting in their mouth along with empty beer mugs spread across the tables analyzing their work and arguing passionately about how they refuse to conform to the conservatives classical demands and what they consider acceptable art. Lined up along the narrow cobble stone roads of La Butte at the bottom of Sacre Coeur are one crepierie, pub, fabric store, and flower market after another. The tall narrow homes are so ancient that they appear to be slightly crooked and on the verge of toppling over if a sharp wind were to fly by its roof tops. The home of the Moulin Rouge with the wind mill on top spinning its wing spans still show traces of what life was like in Montmarte back in 1900. I can visualize Toulouse-Lautrec’s Moulin rouge girls kicking their legs in the air to the can can in the red light district of Paris known as Pigalle while aggressively flirting with pointy mustache circus costume suit wearing men that are gulping down green absinth. High in the air jumping from one trapeze to another flies Edourd Degas’s Ms. La La while down below on the theatre stage floor his graceful ballet dancers twirl around in their pink tutus like winding puppets. Outside in the streets along the markets I see Peter Poudres poor orphan boys jumping out of the art canvas coming to life running around the streets stealing apples from the markets mixed with the struggling musicians and artists that have been shunned from the South of Paris as outcasts, working hard to make a measly few dollars. Impressionism, more than an era of compelling art, so influential that it has left its distinct marks along every inch of landscapes throughout Europe, streets museums and pubs in Montmarte, and deep into the heart of Parisian culture.
Picasso, Monet, Manet, Morisot, Cezanne, Renoir, and Degas refused to the best of their financial ability to follow the strict guidelines and mediums that their fellow classical ancestors had used for many centuries. Even after one museum such as the Louve in Paris or the National Gallery in London refusing their masterpieces time and time again, they still refused to conform because deep within their souls, they saw a new light others could not see and had no choice but to incorporate these mediums into their work. “Of all these things- hunger misery being misunderstood by the public…Only a few people understand anything about art, and a feeling for painting has not been given to everyone…you can be successful in spite of everything and everyone, without compromising oneself.” -Picasso Born with a gift that was very evident from a very young age, Picasso mastered the conservative techniques and outdid many famous artists first in his hometown Malaga and then the big metropolitan Barcelona. Nevertheless, he chose to go against the norm by incorporating a variety of cubist techniques in some of his later works, huge curvaceous women, and African tribal masks mixed with risky nude displays because to him, this was art. His own father was so astonished by his skill that he himself handed over his easel and paints to his son when he was only eleven because no one could compare, so why not leave it up to the master. How he captured each distinct line of the rib cage of a muscular men while still blending the lines in so softly, one would assume he had years of studying anatomy or at the very least worked hand in hand with Leonardo or Michelangelo’s masterpieces. During Picasso’s blue period which was most likely attributed to the loss of his dear friend Carlos Casegemas who committed suicide, he displayed his feelings of depression and despair. Moody blue backgrounds layered in very thick harsh strokes of paint to separate the people symbolized their inner most feelings of distinct lines of separation and isolation. There is no unity, hope, or evident hints of light. By positioning these people separate from one another with crouching dreary body mannerisms with lost facial expressions of sadness, Picasso succeeded in accurately portraying the feeling inside your heart when you loose someone you love. To the conservatives, not blending your work to display more accurate depictions of real life and having no unity of people within a piece was outlandish and unacceptable. From his Rose Period it became very clear what a wide variety of work Picasso could create. He altered his technique to depict colorful lighthearted partially nude acrobats engaging in various circus acts with vast scenic landscapes in the fore and background. The transformation from the blue period to the rose period of acrobats facial expressions of serenity mixed with excitement created a sense of enlightenment in Picasso’s new life. Moving deeper into the impressionists era, Picasso continued to experiment with the unknown and began his period of cubism in which he would create pieces that were very triangular symmetric and linear anywhere from pieces of fruit in a bowl to naked prostitutes spread across a bed with animalistic faces and tribal African masks. The majority of his work was not created to appeal to the conservatives that demanded more Christianity based pieces or real life depictions of every day life but instead, he portrayed many anti war messages with the use of violent toros attacking women or his most famous piece, Guernica, which have stark messages against the Spanish Civil War and the Franco Regime. Guernica depicts his anger against the war, fascism and the tyrant Franco by his portrayal of cold black and white images of dying people with limbs partially destroyed, screaming horses babies and women, crying birds plummeting to the ground in the shape of bombs, and many more horrific images. Guernica literally jumps out of the canvas and grabs you by the throat to demonstrate the horrific atrocities of life that war massacres. Later in his life Picasso retraced his love for classicism and used his son and lover as models. This new era for Picasso resulted in shocking many of his fans because they were appalled that he would abandon cubism but Picasso experimented and painted what he felt and was always searching for new ways of creating art just like when he took on sculpting or creating 3d canvases. He would never allow one to categorize his art into a group, therefore he continually experimented with different mediums such as abstract expressionism, surrealism, and pre-fauvism later on in his life. To many surrealists, Picasso was their mentor. “I have never had time for the idea of searching. Whenever I have wanted to express something, I have done so without thinking of the past or the future. But where is it written that success should always belong to those who flatter the public? I wanted to prove that you can be successful in spite of everything and everyone, without compromising oneself.“ -Picasso While tracing Picasso’s footsteps along the paths of the southern tips of Spain, up to Barcelona and over to Montmarte, I imagined what life must have been like for a man like Picasso. How can one posses the ability to reach the hearts of so many people on a political and psychological emotional level through ever transforming and evolving art?
Monet on the other hand, did not focus his attention on showing the world the harsh realities of the common man, anti war messages, nor depicted feelings of despair or enlightenment such as in Picasso’s blue and rose periods. Instead, he simply but masterfully captured the beauty of nature such as his famous water lilies that he planted at his home in Giverny. His landscapes and reflections on water were so amazingly powerful to look at by themselves that they alone stood out radiating auras of peace and tranquility. His 17 meter canvases of willow trees cascading over the water with lilies floating on top along with 3d light reflecting off the water at the museum La Orangerie and Museo Momarrton are so captivating that you literally need to step back five feet to take it all in or it will engulf you whole. Similar to the other impressionists, initially Monet’s pieces were not acceptable to Paris because he too used very thick layers of unblended paint and did not focus on depicting accurate proportions and photographic accuracy. Instead he captured impressions of the various colors of for example, the green blue and yellow of the ocean in the south of France resulting in giving you the visual effect of the ripples on top of the glassy surface of the water, the physical action of the fluidity in a wave, and the feel of warmth from the sun radiating off the sparkling cool water. Like many misunderstood artists, Monet and his family felt the harsh effects of living the life of a struggling artist desperately just trying to make a dollar. A humble man that had a gift to capture reflections of scenery in its natural state but was just too foreign for the world to understand at the time.
Renoir unlike the others did indeed become very famous during his time but also went through many obstacles going against the norms. Although in some of his pieces he did slightly conform by blending more of his pieces and using thinner layers of paint in order to get his pieces into prestigious museums, he still left his distinct trademarks of his style by only altering a portion of the piece like for example only one part of a persons clothing like a scarf or rim of a hat. In a way it was like he was playing with the conservatives because he knew they simply could not deny his masterpieces if he adjusted them just a little. Out of any of the impressionists Renoir mastered the skill of capturing the true subtle flesh tones of people and the voluptuous soft curves of women such as his maid. Its amazing because even though he was an impressionist, thus leaving impressions of people and scenery, he so accurately captured his models from the way a females long curly hair gently rests over her breasts to how her toes curve in ecstasy resulting in the piece almost looking more accurate than an actual photograph.
The streets of Montmarte only slightly lift the lid of Pandora’s box to Impressionism. But not until you allow yourself to dive into the canvas and let it engulf you, can you open your eyes to what these amazing artists have left for you to see. They take you back in time anywhere from Cezanne’s couples sunbathing by the Seine River, Degas’s ballet dancers fixing their slippers and stretching backstage, Picasso’s voluptuous Amazon women working in the fields, all the way to feeling the heart wrenching pain of a screaming woman holding her lifeless limbless baby after her Guernica had been mercilessly annihilated due to the cruelty of genocide. Trace the lines of their brush strokes within you, wander the city that lives eats and breathes art, and you will enter back into the marvelous era of Impressionism.
Picasso, Monet, Manet, Morisot, Cezanne, Renoir, and Degas refused to the best of their financial ability to follow the strict guidelines and mediums that their fellow classical ancestors had used for many centuries. Even after one museum such as the Louve in Paris or the National Gallery in London refusing their masterpieces time and time again, they still refused to conform because deep within their souls, they saw a new light others could not see and had no choice but to incorporate these mediums into their work. “Of all these things- hunger misery being misunderstood by the public…Only a few people understand anything about art, and a feeling for painting has not been given to everyone…you can be successful in spite of everything and everyone, without compromising oneself.” -Picasso Born with a gift that was very evident from a very young age, Picasso mastered the conservative techniques and outdid many famous artists first in his hometown Malaga and then the big metropolitan Barcelona. Nevertheless, he chose to go against the norm by incorporating a variety of cubist techniques in some of his later works, huge curvaceous women, and African tribal masks mixed with risky nude displays because to him, this was art. His own father was so astonished by his skill that he himself handed over his easel and paints to his son when he was only eleven because no one could compare, so why not leave it up to the master. How he captured each distinct line of the rib cage of a muscular men while still blending the lines in so softly, one would assume he had years of studying anatomy or at the very least worked hand in hand with Leonardo or Michelangelo’s masterpieces. During Picasso’s blue period which was most likely attributed to the loss of his dear friend Carlos Casegemas who committed suicide, he displayed his feelings of depression and despair. Moody blue backgrounds layered in very thick harsh strokes of paint to separate the people symbolized their inner most feelings of distinct lines of separation and isolation. There is no unity, hope, or evident hints of light. By positioning these people separate from one another with crouching dreary body mannerisms with lost facial expressions of sadness, Picasso succeeded in accurately portraying the feeling inside your heart when you loose someone you love. To the conservatives, not blending your work to display more accurate depictions of real life and having no unity of people within a piece was outlandish and unacceptable. From his Rose Period it became very clear what a wide variety of work Picasso could create. He altered his technique to depict colorful lighthearted partially nude acrobats engaging in various circus acts with vast scenic landscapes in the fore and background. The transformation from the blue period to the rose period of acrobats facial expressions of serenity mixed with excitement created a sense of enlightenment in Picasso’s new life. Moving deeper into the impressionists era, Picasso continued to experiment with the unknown and began his period of cubism in which he would create pieces that were very triangular symmetric and linear anywhere from pieces of fruit in a bowl to naked prostitutes spread across a bed with animalistic faces and tribal African masks. The majority of his work was not created to appeal to the conservatives that demanded more Christianity based pieces or real life depictions of every day life but instead, he portrayed many anti war messages with the use of violent toros attacking women or his most famous piece, Guernica, which have stark messages against the Spanish Civil War and the Franco Regime. Guernica depicts his anger against the war, fascism and the tyrant Franco by his portrayal of cold black and white images of dying people with limbs partially destroyed, screaming horses babies and women, crying birds plummeting to the ground in the shape of bombs, and many more horrific images. Guernica literally jumps out of the canvas and grabs you by the throat to demonstrate the horrific atrocities of life that war massacres. Later in his life Picasso retraced his love for classicism and used his son and lover as models. This new era for Picasso resulted in shocking many of his fans because they were appalled that he would abandon cubism but Picasso experimented and painted what he felt and was always searching for new ways of creating art just like when he took on sculpting or creating 3d canvases. He would never allow one to categorize his art into a group, therefore he continually experimented with different mediums such as abstract expressionism, surrealism, and pre-fauvism later on in his life. To many surrealists, Picasso was their mentor. “I have never had time for the idea of searching. Whenever I have wanted to express something, I have done so without thinking of the past or the future. But where is it written that success should always belong to those who flatter the public? I wanted to prove that you can be successful in spite of everything and everyone, without compromising oneself.“ -Picasso While tracing Picasso’s footsteps along the paths of the southern tips of Spain, up to Barcelona and over to Montmarte, I imagined what life must have been like for a man like Picasso. How can one posses the ability to reach the hearts of so many people on a political and psychological emotional level through ever transforming and evolving art?
Monet on the other hand, did not focus his attention on showing the world the harsh realities of the common man, anti war messages, nor depicted feelings of despair or enlightenment such as in Picasso’s blue and rose periods. Instead, he simply but masterfully captured the beauty of nature such as his famous water lilies that he planted at his home in Giverny. His landscapes and reflections on water were so amazingly powerful to look at by themselves that they alone stood out radiating auras of peace and tranquility. His 17 meter canvases of willow trees cascading over the water with lilies floating on top along with 3d light reflecting off the water at the museum La Orangerie and Museo Momarrton are so captivating that you literally need to step back five feet to take it all in or it will engulf you whole. Similar to the other impressionists, initially Monet’s pieces were not acceptable to Paris because he too used very thick layers of unblended paint and did not focus on depicting accurate proportions and photographic accuracy. Instead he captured impressions of the various colors of for example, the green blue and yellow of the ocean in the south of France resulting in giving you the visual effect of the ripples on top of the glassy surface of the water, the physical action of the fluidity in a wave, and the feel of warmth from the sun radiating off the sparkling cool water. Like many misunderstood artists, Monet and his family felt the harsh effects of living the life of a struggling artist desperately just trying to make a dollar. A humble man that had a gift to capture reflections of scenery in its natural state but was just too foreign for the world to understand at the time.
Renoir unlike the others did indeed become very famous during his time but also went through many obstacles going against the norms. Although in some of his pieces he did slightly conform by blending more of his pieces and using thinner layers of paint in order to get his pieces into prestigious museums, he still left his distinct trademarks of his style by only altering a portion of the piece like for example only one part of a persons clothing like a scarf or rim of a hat. In a way it was like he was playing with the conservatives because he knew they simply could not deny his masterpieces if he adjusted them just a little. Out of any of the impressionists Renoir mastered the skill of capturing the true subtle flesh tones of people and the voluptuous soft curves of women such as his maid. Its amazing because even though he was an impressionist, thus leaving impressions of people and scenery, he so accurately captured his models from the way a females long curly hair gently rests over her breasts to how her toes curve in ecstasy resulting in the piece almost looking more accurate than an actual photograph.
The streets of Montmarte only slightly lift the lid of Pandora’s box to Impressionism. But not until you allow yourself to dive into the canvas and let it engulf you, can you open your eyes to what these amazing artists have left for you to see. They take you back in time anywhere from Cezanne’s couples sunbathing by the Seine River, Degas’s ballet dancers fixing their slippers and stretching backstage, Picasso’s voluptuous Amazon women working in the fields, all the way to feeling the heart wrenching pain of a screaming woman holding her lifeless limbless baby after her Guernica had been mercilessly annihilated due to the cruelty of genocide. Trace the lines of their brush strokes within you, wander the city that lives eats and breathes art, and you will enter back into the marvelous era of Impressionism.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
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