The internationally recognized painter Gerhard Richter has consistently defied expectations of what one should paint and how. In the early 1960s, Richter gained notoriety with his blurry paintings based on smeared photographs. Never one to be pigeonholed by a single theme or style, he created images of color charts, monochromatic works, glass constructions, and abstract pictures executed with a squeegee. Richter even experimented with painting over his “failed” gray paintings with colorful streaks of paint.
In 1986, he began a series of overpainted photographs. By combining the implied realism of the photographic image, historically considered the most factual of all media, with abstract gestures, Richter raises questions about the nature of representation. As he said, “Abstract pictures…make visible a reality that we can neither see nor describe, but whose existence we can postulate.” In this small, unique work, the juxtaposition of the thick impasto paint with a color photo of a forest taken by the artist leads us to draw our own inferences and to read the multicolor brushstrokes as floral, fungi, or ferns. Although the painting blocks almost two-thirds of the photograph, to Richter each element is equally important.
Lucienne M. Glaubinger Curator of Works on Paper
By Nan Brewer, Lucienne M. Glaubinger Curator of Works on Paper
Although born and raised in the Chicago area (where he currently resides) and educated at Harvard University, the artist John Himmelfarb (b. 1946) has a deep fondness for Indiana University.
In the late 1980s, Himmelfarb was invited to produce a print at Echo Press, a fine arts press associated with IU and founded by IU fine arts professor Rudy Pozzatti and master printer David Keister (who he’d worked with earlier on one of his first lithographs at Landfall Press in Chicago). Himmelfarb created a large-scale combination print with the assistance of Pozzatti and printer Dave Calkins.
The artist lost touch with IU until 2009, when his friend Stephen Mueller donated a major painting from Himmelfarb’s ongoing Truck series to the Eskenazi Museum of Art (then the Indiana University Art Museum) in memory of Mueller’s parents. Mueller recalled seeing the painting shortly after its completion in the artist’s studio: “It was a stunning first encounter and I continue to be surprised with every viewing. I would like my parents to be associated with a work that can provide others with a similar experience.… My father, who was an artist himself, would have called it a painter’s painting with all of the excitement in full view for the general public.” (Editor’s Note: This painting has indeed inspired many visitors to our museum, read a great story about the impact this painting had on a young student HERE.)
This gift encouraged Himmelfarb to make a return visit to Bloomington in 2010 where he met IU ceramics professor Malcolm Smith. After hearing about Himmelfarb’s interest in making large-scale clay truck sculptures, Smith invited him to come back the following year for an artist-in-residency and the museum asked him to present a Noon Talk, “Mad Dogs and Rust Buckets” on his work in the collection. Not only did students get a chance to work with an accomplished professional artist, but Himmelfarb was also able to undertake a monumental project that required more technical expertise and numerous assistants. The resulting piece, Toward the River (28½ x 38 x 83½ in.), unfortunately did not survive glazing and re-firing back in Chicago. Himmelfarb recently remarked, “I should really try to remake it, as it was something I liked a lot.” So you never know—he may be back to try again.
Realizing that the Eskenazi Museum of Art lacked examples of his other favorite subjects—based in calligraphic marks and hieroglyphic symbols—Himmelfarb encouraged collectors Stan Ries and Aline Hill-Ries to give two of his prints produced at UNO Print Workshop, and Nell and Paul Schneider to donate a beautiful mixed media drawing. More recently, Himmelfarb’s sister gave a complex pen and ink drawing that provides a deeper understanding of his earlier stylistic progression.
When documentarian Elizabeth Brackett began to make a short film on Himmelfarb’s career, the artist suggested the film crew go to Bloomington and shoot a segment in the Eskenazi Museum of Art’s works-on-paper storage room with Nan Brewer, the museum’s Lucienne M. Glaubinger Curator of Works on Paper.
Watch the video below:
Here are six works by John Himmelfarb in the Eskenazi Museum of Art’s collection.
When a Harvard professor encouraged Himmelfarb to consider art as a career, he jumped in with a vengeance. As if he could not draw fast enough, Himmelfarb crammed his compositions with a myriad of details until his landscapes moved beyond representation into the realm of surrealism and non-objectivity. In this image animal-like creatures (fish, birds, and reptiles) peak out between vegetative forms, but the work is really about line and pattern. An earlier precedent for this type of fantasy mixed with linear abstraction can be found in Paul Klee’s etching Garden of Pleasure. Himmelfarb recalls that he grew up with books on Klee.
Acknowledging a kind of automatism in his drawing technique, Himmelfarb said, “I get a little nervous when narrative element becomes too important and the investment in medium and process becomes less so. There is always a tug-of-war between content and abstraction, narrative and form.”
A multi-talented painter, sculptor, ceramist, and printmaker, Himmelfarb often works on an idea in a range of media over a period of years. Such is the case with this print (named after the artist’s then two-year-old daughter and Serena Lane in Bloomington, where master printer David Keister lived), which began in 1982 as a series of giant brush drawings. All of the works in the Meeting series feature a pair of grotesque heads (often accompanied by a snarling dog).
Despite the aggressive demeanor of the print’s protagonists—accentuated by the short, choppy black lines and fiery red-orange color—it was meant to represent confrontation and resolution. As such, the twining plant separating the faces might be construed as a divider or as a peace offering—an olive branch of sorts. The artist also saw the image as a psychological self-portrait with the frontal visage representing the integrated individual, while the face in profile and dog suggest competing inner voices. A lover of word play, Himmelfarb also enjoyed the title’s ironic pun on serenity.
Himmelfarb has long been fascinated with the visual power of words and symbols. This drawing consists of a series of calligraphic shapes loosely based on Chinese or Korean seal script characters. The letters work together to form an “ideographic sequence” in seven horizontal lines with an empty space at the bottom that suggests room for a response. Even the title, Quibble, suggests a play on words or a pun. Within each letter is tiny written text in a vertical orientation with all capital letters and no punctuation. Although it is in English and readable, it remains a kind of insider’s joke on the condition of the art world and, thus, serves primarily as a textural contrast. The pinkish paper tone takes on an almost flesh-like appearance, transmuting the letters into cartoonish people or creatures, further referencing ideograms, pictograms, and hieroglyphs.
Like fragments of a ceramic vessel, the shapes against this red claylike background long to be reconfigured into some sort of narrative. Figures follow visually from one shard into another. There are letters and recognizable pop culture references such as a Dick Tracy comic (by way of a Roy Lichtenstein work), as well as cartoonish, grotesque figures reminiscent of Chicago Imagist artists like Jim Nutt and Karl Wirsum. Although Himmelfarb moved back to Chicago in 1968, his work has never been associated with midwestern groups like the Hairy Who or Monster Roster, although his playful—and sometimes irreverent—imagery has natural affinities. Like them, he embraced the figurative with a raw energy, rather than a Pop artist’s cool. There are other little homages to his favorite artists, including Klee, as suggested by the print’s title, which sounds like giclée (zhee-KLAY), a computer printing process developed in the 1980s.
Through the use of brown and white inks on tan paper and the implied irregular edge of a tattered manuscript fragment against a black background, Himmelfarb suggests an ancient text. Since his freshman days at Harvard, when he invented his own pictorial alphabet, Himmelfarb has been fascinated by how people use markmaking to convey information. But what is this image trying to tell us? Is it a newspaper extra from some sort of distant or alien world? It reads like a puzzle with tile-like game pieces, letters, and numbers, but like all of Himmelfarb’s icons it remains mysterious and unfathomable. Himmelfarb began looking at the exterior contours of such images and making flat sculptures based purely on their form.
“Since 2003, Himmelfarb has created a body of work focused on the image of the truck. Explaining his fascination with trucks, he has said, “There’s just something about them that’s so easy to anthropomorphize.…They’ve got personality, a soul.”
Himmelfarb’s parents were artists, and they introduced him at a young age to postwar European painting. The spontaneity and directness in the work of these postwar painters—including Art Brut pioneer Jean Dubuffet and CoBrA members Pierre Alechinsky and Karel Appel—made a strong impression on Himmelfarb.
The tension between representation and abstraction in Dubuffet’s work, as well as his gestural spontaneity, finds echoes in much of Himmelfarb’s oeuvre. The latter’s work, too, is characterized by its balance of painterliness and draftsmanship. Forbearance’s impastoed surface and vigorous brushwork are tempered by its calligraphic, linear pattering. Subtle hints of red, green, and blue soften the boldly black and white composition.”
(This entry excerpted from Curator of European and American Art Jenny McComas’s cover story in Indiana University Art Museum newsletter, November & December 2009).
By Nan Brewer, the Lucienne M. Glaubinger Curator of Works on Paper, Eskenazi Museum of Art, Indiana University
Whenever I showed works from the Vincent Price collection to classes, I began by asking the students if they were familiar with his name. Some recalled that he was an actor; others knew that he appeared in horror flicks. When I mentioned that he played the inventor who dies at the beginning of the movie Edward Scissorhands (1990) or that he provided the monologue in Michael Jackson’s video for Thriller (1982) they lit up. Few, however, had any idea of Price’s background in the visual arts or interest in collecting.
Born in 1911 in St. Louis, Missouri, to a wealthy and distinguished family, Price studied art history at Yale University and the University of London. In England, he switched his attention from art to acting. Nonetheless, he never lost his love of art and regularly purchased original artworks as his time and resources allowed. Price often lectured and wrote about art, including the book I Like What I Know: A Visual Autobiography (1959), and served as an art consultant, most notably for the Sears, Roebuck, & Company. The first exhibition and sale of the “Vincent Price Collection of Fine Art” took place in 1962 at a Sears store in Denver, Colorado, before being expanded nationwide. Most of the items—available for $10 to $3,000 and payable in $5 installments—attracted entry-level collectors. Although Price never actually owned the art, he selected the pieces to be sold and even commissioned contemporary artists, like Salvador Dali, to create works specifically for the collection. The program claims to have sold more than 50,000 pieces of original fine art by the time it ended in 1971. Price’s daughter, Victoria, said in her 1999 biography of her father that he saw the Sears collaboration as an “opportunity to put his populist beliefs into practice, to bring art to the American public.”
When Price came to lecture at Indiana University in 1984 (his fourth time in Bloomington), the museum’s Director Emeritus (then curator), Heidi Gealt, knew of his art education and passion for collecting. She asked if he would be willing to lend a portion of his personal collection for students in an art history graduate seminar to use as the source material for technical examination and in-depth research. Their work would result in an exhibition with an accompanying scholarly catalogue. This was the fourth such partnership that the museum had undertaken with the art history department in the School of Fine Arts (now School of Art, Architecture + Design). Mr. Price kindly agreed to do so and sent 53 drawings ranging in date from the sixteenth to the nineteenth century.
I’ve always thought of this act as not only benevolent—in that it greatly benefited young scholars in their hands-on education—but also brave. Price opened up his treasures to intense scrutiny by the students, their professors, and the outside experts they consulted. In the field of Old Master drawings, authorship is often based on connoisseurship. When Price purchased a work, he generally assumed that the attribution to a particular artist was correct. Would those assignments withstand close inquiry? As it turns out, some of the works were by lesser-known artists or their respective schools, while others proved to be more important than was originally thought. What really interested Mr. Price was not increasing their monetary value, but learning more about the artworks that had attracted his eye and imagination.
The sampling of his collection that arrived at IU reflected Price’s eclectic taste. There were works in all media, ranging from delicate pen-and-ink drawings to graphite preparatory sketches. Although a few of the pieces, including a Study of Skulls by Giovanni Battista Franco, suggested a macabre (or vanitas) theme, there were also works of touching beauty, serenity, and piety. Among the artists best known by today’s audiences were Giovanni Domenico Tiepolo, Odilon Redon, Camille Pissarro, Jean François Millet, and Paul Gauguin.
The resulting exhibition, Master Drawings from the Vincent Price Collection, was held at the Indiana University Art Museum (now Eskenazi Museum of Art) from January 21 to May 3, 1987. Eleven students authored the catalogue entries and thematic essays on the media, history, and collecting of drawings. A museum graduate assistant at the time, I wrote on the tradition of copying and on two of the drawings, one by Pieter van Lisebetten and the other by Bartolomeo Passarotti, the latter of which ended up on the exhibition poster and book cover. It proved a truly formative experience that showed me the rigors and excitement of original primary research and inspired me to become a curator of works on paper. As Gealt and the late Bruce Cole wrote in their preface, “We are convinced that close and continuous study of works of art is the foundation upon which all art historical scholarship should be based.” I can attest that it was a thrill to uncover the source material used for a particular drawing, learn how it related to the artist’s oeuvre, and about its potential use—a lot like being a forensic drawing detective!
Although Price was scheduled to attend the exhibition’s opening, he had to cancel due to his mother’s death. Gealt continued to maintain contact with the actor until his own death in 1993. I still recall how excited the museum’s receptionist became whenever that distinctive voice called. In appreciation of the excellent work done by the students and the museum, Price donated two drawings in 1987. He later gave a third work to Gealt, which she gifted to the museum in his memory.
Here are those three works.
The most complex work in the Price collection to arrive for the student seminar was a rare multi-sheet, bound sketchbook by the Genoese artist Giovanni Agostino Ratti. In 1736—per a date on the cover sheet—Ratti drew preparatory designs for paintings in nine small pilgrimage chapels for the Church of Nostra Signora della Misericordia in the northern Italian port city of Savona. Since the paintings were commissioned for the bicentennial of the miraculous appearance of the Virgin Mary in the town, her image figures prominently. In this sheet, the Madonna appears in the upper right, where she saves a ship by imploring a swordfish to fill a hole in the hull. Although the sketchbook seems to be incomplete, it gives interesting insight into the artist’s process and provides a valuable reference source for works now lost. Only three of the frescoes survive, but even these were overpainted by a restorer in 1835.
When this piece arrived at the museum, it was attributed to the English painter William Dyce, but images and information sent to numerous experts around the world garnered mixed responses as to whether or not it was by his hand. Some suggested that it had similarities in style and theme to some British Pre-Raphaelite or German Nazarene painter, but no definitive matches were made. One even postured a French artist such as Leon Lhermitte. The subject matter, originally thought to be of a woman spinning, is probably a woman by a well, perhaps a segment of the biblical story from the Woman of Samaria. Even the drawing’s presentation raises questions. It appears to be a large preparatory drawing in a variety of media with gridded transfer lines; however, no corresponding mural or fresco has been found. Periodically, I re-examine this issue with the continued hope of unraveling this mystery.
This unusual drawing by a relatively unknown Italian artist reflects Price’s willingness to buy interesting material that was out of the mainstream. Duranti was born in Montefortino, a small town in the Italian Marches. Although he eventually went to study in Rome, he never achieved widespread success. Part of the reason for this failure may have been his mixture of Arcadian subjects based in a neoclassical tradition with an expressive romantic style. This image with its smudge-like shading is distinctive and personal in a surprisingly modern way. Relatively few American museums have any examples of Duranti’s unique work.
In March, Vincent Price’s daughter, Victoria, will visit the IU campus as part of a special program at IU Cinema. Victoria will give a special lecture about her father’s life and sign copies of her book Vincent Price: A Daughter’s Biography. IU Cinema will also be screening two of Vincent Price’s most celebrated films, The Masque of the Red Death and The Abominable Dr. Phibes. Learn more and purchase tickets at the IU Cinema website.
November 17, 2017, marks the 100th anniversary of the death of Auguste Rodin (French, 1840–1917), one of modern art’s most famous sculptors. This portrait of the aging artist appeared in Alfred Stieglitz’s journal Camera Work. Stieglitz was an early proponent of modern art in America and he promoted Rodin’s work. He reproduced nine of Rodin’s drawings in Camera Work, vol. 34/35 (Eskenazi Museum of Art, 200.XIII.35.5–.13).
One of Stielgitz’s favorite photographers was Edward Steichen, who shared his interests in pushing the artistic possibilities of photography. In his early portraiture, Steichen embraced a Pictorialist aesthetic that featured the soft-focused veils of tone and idealized subjects promoted by Stieglitz. Steichen also sought to further the status of the medium through references to other fine arts. In this portrait, Steichen posed a pensive Rodin in silhouette against the gleaming white of the sculptor’s recently completed monument to the French novelist Victor Hugo. More than capturing a likeness, this image serves as a metaphor for the creative process—with the artist’s masterwork looking down angelically on its maker. The photogravure appears to be a cropped version in reverse of Steichen’s 1902 gum bichromate print, the latter of which was created by combining two negatives. The larger image, which was reproduced in Camera Work, no. 11, 1905 (Eskenazi Museum of Art 200.XIII.11.7) and a Special Steichen Supplement, 1906 (Eskenazi Museum of Art 200.XIII.15.10), also included and image of Rodin’s sculpture The Thinker (Le Penseur) facing the artist. The journal reproduced two more traditional portraits of the famous artist: by Steichen in Camera Work, vol. 34/35, 1911 (Eskenazi Museum of Art 200.XIII.35.1), and by the British photographer Alvin Langdon Coburn in Camera Work, vol. 21, 1908 (Eskenazi Museum of Art 200.XIII.22.40), further suggesting Rodin’s importance to burgeoning modern artists on both sides of the Atlantic.
The first work by Rodin to enter the Eskenazi Museum of Art’s collection was a portrait head of the great French poet and art critic Charles Baudelaire (French, 1821–1867). Rodin never met Baudelaire, but his art was shaped by the former’s theories of modernity and subjectivity. In 1892, a group of writers commissioned Rodin to design a monument commemorating the twenty-fifth anniversary of Baudelaire’s death. He gladly made a portrait sculpture for the Montparnasse cemetery in Paris. Six years later, he reworked this image as an independent piece.
To make this portrait, Rodin studied the death mask of the poet and made life studies of a man said to bear a striking resemblance to Baudelaire. At the same time, he tried to conjure up the spirit of a Roman bust, allying the subject with the dignity and longevity of ancient writers. Finally, Rodin drew upon his own personal response to Baudelaire’s poetry to give expression to the artist’s viewpoint and to inject the eternal, spiritual quality that he—and Baudelaire—sought in art.
Rodin, whose sculptural talents are often considered equal to those of Michelangelo, was able to imbue simple compositions with psychological depth and intensely expressive feeling. Rodin was greatly influenced by Baudelaire’s 1857 poem The Flowers of Evil, which encouraged him to explore erotic themes, as seen in his sculpture of the goddess Iris.
The first and only drawing by Rodin to enter the Eskenazi Museum of Art’s collection was acquired in 1966. Albert Elsen—an expert on Rodin and professor of art history at IU (1958–68)—noted in a letter (April 8, 1966) to the donor, James S. Adams, “It is a superb drawing and there is no question as to its authenticity. Every week I am called upon to give an expertise on a Rodin drawing or sculpture, many of which are fakes. But this drawing is of the highest quality and unmistakably by Rodin.” He went on to say, “This new acquisition will give me many hours of enjoyment and a superb work of art to use in my courses.” Although not as well-known as his sculptures, Rodin’s drawings and watercolors—of which he produced more than 10,000—are regarded by some scholars as more experimental and spontaneous than his large, three-dimensional works. Although they rarely served a preparatory studies for his sculpture, Rodin said in 1910, “It’s very simple. My drawings are the key to my work.”
Although the Eskenazi Museum of Art had not acquired a new work by Rodin in forty-five years, the gift of a bronze in 2011 rectified that situation. Seeming to defy the laws of gravity as she balances on one foot, Iris has a muscular body suggesting that of a dancer in Rodin’s frankly erotic sculpture. Her weightlessness also refers to the ancient Greek goddess’s role as a messenger traveling between the worlds of gods and humans.
Nan Brewer, Lucienne M. Glaubinger Curator of Works on Paper, and Jenny McComas, Curator of European and American Art,
Eskenazi Museum of Art at Indiana University.
On May 30, artist and former professor at Indiana University, Ronald Markman, passed away. Below Nan Brewer, Lucienne M. Glaubinger Curator of Works on Paper at the IU Eskenazi Museum of Art reflects on Markman’s career.
In 1962 on a Fulbright scholarship to Italy, Markman saw old maps of Rome by printmakers like Piranesi and was inspired to create his own mythical metropolis. Dubbed Mukfa, which he thought sounded both slightly obscene and sort of lyrical, it became the subject of an on-going series. As Markman later recalled, “Creating a country of my very own, complete with its own heroes, villains, mermaids, newspapers, airlines, and university offered me the freedom I had always sought from art.”
The works’ bright colors and cartoonish style recall the scenic designs of Broadway musicals, comic art, and the Marx Brothers’ movies—all experiences associated with Markman’s childhood in the Bronx. Although he started out with the dream of becoming a cartoonist, Markman continued his studies at the Brooklyn Museum Art School and the Art Students’ League on the advice of Saul Steinberg who told him to learn to draw. A stint in the army and subsequent GI bill enabled Markman to attend the Yale School of Fine Arts, where he studied under master colorist Josef Albers and earned a BFA and an MFA. His understanding of color theory garnered Markman a job as a color consultant for Hallmark Cards Co. where he worked for a year after college and would become a central feature of his own creative work.
Turning to painting as his primary medium, Markman also began to teach. After short stints at the University of Florida and the Art Institute of Chicago, he joined the painting faculty at Indiana University in 1964, where he taught until his retirement in 1995. After his retirement and the death of his wife, Barbara, Markman moved to Maryland, in order to be near his only daughter, Ericka. He continued to make art and exhibit his work.
In addition to his many paintings, prints, and drawings, Markman created a series of five wall murals for Riley Hospital in Indianapolis (1986) and a short animated film, Ever Since the Bad Thing Happened (1994). His work is found in the collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Museum of Modern Art, Art Institute of Chicago, Brooklyn Museum, Cincinnati Art Museum, Johnson Museum of Art, and many other institutions.
The Eskenazi Museum of Art’s collection includes twenty-two works by this artist. Here is a small sampling.
Despite an innate playfulness and naïve, childlike style, there is often a subtle political commentary in Markman’s images. In Cityscape, a print collage created at Bloomington’s Echo Press, a plane crashing into a city, while pursued by the cops, along with the congested skyscrapers, clocks, “eyeball” lamp, and ant-like vehicles, exhort a police state and the inhumanity of totalitarianism. However, speaking about his depictions of evil in the world, Markman said, “I don’t see myself as a mean artist, but I do like to poke fun.”
The Eskenazi Museum of Art acquired its first work by the young faculty member a year after he came to IU. Markman’s iconic three-breasted women in this painting suggest the “limits of the nonsensical, the absurd and the subversive” found in his art.
This print shows the extent to which Markman took his imperial fantasy. The currency represents both sides of an 8 DRAS bill from the Republic of Mukfa.
In his later work, Markman began to push the limits of the traditional four-sided canvas by creating painted sculptural reliefs as still life tableaus or hung “rugs.”
Today we bring you a look into the work of American photographer Lou Block by Nan Brewer, the Eskenazi Museum of Art’s Lucienne M. Glaubinger Curator of Works on Paper. Block’s work, along with that of other influential photography professors, including Minor White, Allen Downs, Aaron Siskind, and Indiana University’s first photography professor, Henry Holmes Smith, will be on view in a new installation, Modern Pioneers: Professors of Photography, from November 8, 2016, through May 7, 2017, in the museum’s first floor gallery of the Art of the Western World.
Lou Block is primarily known as a muralist, illustrator, and arts administrator, and served as a supervisor for the WPA Federal Art Project in New York City. During his tenure with the FAP he raised issues of racism and segregation within the government-sponsored organization, particularly the rejection of designs by black artists for the Harlem Hospital. Block was also involved politically with the Artists Congress and Artists’ Union, which organized an artists’ strike in 1934. Having worked with the Mexican muralist Diego Rivera on his controversial Rockefeller Center murals, Block understood the power of art to move people and recognized the importance of truthfulness.
Inspired by his friend Ben Shahn, Block took up the camera as well as the brush and pen. He approached photography with the same honesty and creative passion as he did his other work. During his years in New York City he photographed numerous mural projects (many now lost), the Artists’ Union strike, and studies for a mural proposed at Riker’s Island. In 1951 Block moved to Kentucky, where he taught painting and creative photography at the University of Louisville. His later photographs include shots taken in Louisville, Mexico, New York City, and New Jersey.
Block’s photographs continued in the documentary tradition of the Farm Security Administration, while embracing the grittier, urban style of the New York Photo League. This image with its closely cropped focus on two foreground figures offers an intimate look into their private world. Never overly sentimentalizing or condescending to his subjects, Block used a 35mm camera to record as unobtrusively as possible a fleeting moment in time. While the interaction between the women is the central focus of the picture, the blurred tapestry of street life seen in the background provides the social context. Like the street photography of Robert Frank—whose book The Americans was published in the US in 1959—Block’s image relies on gesture and unexpected juxtapositions to reveal the whole story.
Nanette Esseck Brewer
The Lucienne M. Glaubinger Curator of Works on Paper
This summer the Eskenazi Museum of Art at Indiana University is exhibiting Spotlights: Five Views into the Museum’s Collection. Nan Brewer, the museum’s Lucienne M. Glaubinger Curator of Works on Paper chose a rare book of photos by nineteenth-century photographer Julia Margaret Cameron for her section of the exhibition.
The wife of a retired jurist and mother of six, Julia Margaret Cameron (British, 1815–1879) took up photography at the age of forty-eight. One of the medium’s early pioneers, Cameron is widely recognized for her pictorial artistry. Born in Calcutta, India, Cameron traveled widely during her lifetime, studying in France, and living in England, before her death in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) at age sixty-four. The great aunt of author Virginia Woolf, Cameron brushed shoulders with many famous and historical figures of the time.
In 1874, she created an album of 101 miniature versions of her earlier works as “a board of ship companion for my beloved son Hardinge Hay Cameron.” Miniature Edition of Mrs. Cameron’s Photographs from the Life is a rare treasure, available for view in Spotlights on individual pages as it was disbound for repair.
The album was created by making small copy photos from images that spanned ten years (all are albumen prints mounted on cardstock). As a personal memento, the album reads like a visual scrapbook of Cameron’s family, friends, neighbors, and members of the Victorian intelligentsia. Among her subjects are naturalist Charles Darwin, the great poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and other colorful characters such as W. G. Palgrave, the Jesuit missionary who would often disguise himself during his travels to then, forbidden lands, and Dejatch Alamayou, the only person outside of the royal family to be buried at Windsor Castle. Interspersed with these portraits are lyrical allegorical vignettes and illustrations of themes from classical mythology, the Bible, and English literature, which Cameron recreated stylistically based on prototypes from Renaissance and Pre-Raphaelite painting traditions.
We hope you take this opportunity to visit the museum and see Cameron’s photography and the rest of our Spotlights exhibition for yourself. It is on view through September 4, 2016. If you have any questions please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org.