It has been a few weeks since I traded for Melanie Bamberg’s Broken City triptych, but I wasn’t having any luck in getting another trade. As I sat around thinking about this fact a few nights ago, two thoughts struck me.
First, it occurred to me that perhaps in the near future someone will make a machine that can create a perfect molecule for molecule replica of Starry Night. There is already a process – it is called Giclee --that produces a painting from a digital picture. It is like a Xerox machine for painting. So I could take a picture of Starry Night and Giclee it. But a Giclee is hardly a molecule for molecule duplicate. What I have in mind would be a process that analyzes a painting at the level of molecules and reproduces it.
Such a machine is a popular one in philosophical thought experiments. One is asked to imagine a machine that could produce an exact replica of a painting and is then asked whether one would prefer the original or the duplicate. Of course, just about everyone would prefer to own the original, which is meant to show that our aesthetic preferences are shaped by factors that are extrinsic to works of art. As a result, philosophers conclude, either factors completely extrinsic to a work of art, factors like its causal origin, alter its aesthetic value or we have irrational aesthetic preferences.
But to my knowledge, no one has speculated that such a machine will in fact exist. And so I have formulated the following thesis, which I shall call the replicator thesis (RT).
RT: Within 100 years there will be a machine that can produce a molecule for molecule replica of Starry Night.
A second thought popped into my head the other night as well. I have yet to declare to the universe that I want someone to trade for my Melanie Bamberg. And that made me think about the extent to which asking for something raises the chances of getting that thing.
It seems to me that asking is almost always a good strategy. If you ask, and the person (or universe) says ‘yes’, then you get what you want. If the person says ‘no’, you are no worse off than if you hadn’t asked. The only problem comes in situations in which asking causes someone who was antecedently planning on giving you what you want not to give. But that type of situation, it seems to me, is fairly rare.
So I formulated a second thesis. I shall call it the Asking Thesis (AT):
AT: Asking for what you want is almost always a better strategy than not asking.
And having formulated that thesis, I was determined to declare to the universe that I want someone to trade for my Melanie Bamberg original triptych. But the very next day, I got lucky. A professional artist who paints in the abstract style saw Melanie’s paintings hanging on my wall and really liked them. She said that she has a painting that she wants to trade for Melanie’s. I am supposed to go see it on Saturday. I can’t wait. So I will save my desire declarations for another time.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Van Gogh the Pauper
I was in NYC this last weekend and while there visited the Museum of Modern Art. And guess what? It has Starry Night. So I spent a considerable amount of time looking at it just to see what makes it so much better than the Dominic original.
I thought that I was close to seeing what it was; but then I happened to wander over to a collection of paintings by Picasso. And when I did, I couldn’t help but think that Dominic’s drawing really might belong in the collection of great artworks.
One thing, however, is certain: Van Gogh’s Starry Night is worth a whole lot more than Dominic’s drawing.
And that got me to thinking about what Van Gogh’s finances were like just after he painted it. And that led me to the following sentences from two of his letters to Theo just after he painted Starry Night. The sentences paint an interesting picture. I shall call it:
The Pauper
These four days I have lived mainly on 23 cups of coffee, with bread which I still have to pay for.
I am almost sure that Bague will like my big studies, the “Starry Sky,” “Furrows,” etc., he will like some in the last batch much less.
I have a lot of expenses, and it worries me a good deal sometimes when I realize more and more that painting is a profession carried on most likely by exceedingly poor men, and it costs so much money.
So Van Gogh, having painted what would become considered one of the greatest paintings of all time, was forced to live on coffee and bread, was worried whether some collector would like his paintings, and was dismayed by the fact that painting cost so much. And what did he have in his possession at that time? A future treasure, as is shown by another sentence from the same letters.
That's 5 canvases I have in progress this week, that brings the number of these size 30 canvases for the decoration to 15, I think.
2 canvases of sunflowers
3 “ the poet's garden
2 “ the other garden
1 “ the night café
1 “ the Trinquetaille bridge
1 “ the railway bridge
1 “ the house
1 “ Tarascon diligence
1 “ the starry night
1 “ the furrows
1 “ the vineyard
Van Gogh was 35 when he wrote these letters and hence had less than two years to live.
The universe is a funny thing. Perhaps Van Gogh didn’t ask enough of it. Or perhaps he asked too much.
I thought that I was close to seeing what it was; but then I happened to wander over to a collection of paintings by Picasso. And when I did, I couldn’t help but think that Dominic’s drawing really might belong in the collection of great artworks.
One thing, however, is certain: Van Gogh’s Starry Night is worth a whole lot more than Dominic’s drawing.
And that got me to thinking about what Van Gogh’s finances were like just after he painted it. And that led me to the following sentences from two of his letters to Theo just after he painted Starry Night. The sentences paint an interesting picture. I shall call it:
The Pauper
These four days I have lived mainly on 23 cups of coffee, with bread which I still have to pay for.
I am almost sure that Bague will like my big studies, the “Starry Sky,” “Furrows,” etc., he will like some in the last batch much less.
I have a lot of expenses, and it worries me a good deal sometimes when I realize more and more that painting is a profession carried on most likely by exceedingly poor men, and it costs so much money.
So Van Gogh, having painted what would become considered one of the greatest paintings of all time, was forced to live on coffee and bread, was worried whether some collector would like his paintings, and was dismayed by the fact that painting cost so much. And what did he have in his possession at that time? A future treasure, as is shown by another sentence from the same letters.
That's 5 canvases I have in progress this week, that brings the number of these size 30 canvases for the decoration to 15, I think.
2 canvases of sunflowers
3 “ the poet's garden
2 “ the other garden
1 “ the night café
1 “ the Trinquetaille bridge
1 “ the railway bridge
1 “ the house
1 “ Tarascon diligence
1 “ the starry night
1 “ the furrows
1 “ the vineyard
Van Gogh was 35 when he wrote these letters and hence had less than two years to live.
The universe is a funny thing. Perhaps Van Gogh didn’t ask enough of it. Or perhaps he asked too much.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Van Gogh at 30
Van Gogh painted himself. His self-portraits are some of his best-known works.
Interestingly enough, Van Gogh also painted himself in written form. His letters to Theo, his brother, paint a fascinating picture of Van Gogh throughout his life.
Those letters can be accessed in unabridged form here:
http://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/
Of course, all pictures misrepresent. And today, we are presented with pictures within pictures within pictures. It is enough to drive one mad.
But at the risk of driving someone to madness, here is a picture of Van Gogh composed from four sentences taken from a letter he wrote to Theo February 8, 1883 at the age of thirty.
I will call the picture:
Van Gogh at Thirty.
Sometimes I cannot believe that I am only thirty years old, I feel so much older.
I feel older only when I think that most people who know me consider me a failure, and how it really might be so, if some things do not change for the better; and when I think it might be so, I feel it so vividly that it quite depresses me and makes me as downhearted as if it were really so.
I sometimes think I will make an experiment, and try to work in quite a different way, that is, to dare more and to risk more,
What a mystery life is, and love is a mystery within a mystery. It certainly never remains the same in a literal sense, but the changes are like the ebb and flow of the tide and leave the sea unchanged.
At 30, Van Gogh considered himself a failure, as did most everyone else; he resolved to take more risks; and he was, it would seem, a romantic.
At 36, Van Gogh was unable to find love, unable to consider himself a success.
At 37, Van Gogh was dead.
Interestingly enough, Van Gogh also painted himself in written form. His letters to Theo, his brother, paint a fascinating picture of Van Gogh throughout his life.
Those letters can be accessed in unabridged form here:
http://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/
Of course, all pictures misrepresent. And today, we are presented with pictures within pictures within pictures. It is enough to drive one mad.
But at the risk of driving someone to madness, here is a picture of Van Gogh composed from four sentences taken from a letter he wrote to Theo February 8, 1883 at the age of thirty.
I will call the picture:
Van Gogh at Thirty.
Sometimes I cannot believe that I am only thirty years old, I feel so much older.
I feel older only when I think that most people who know me consider me a failure, and how it really might be so, if some things do not change for the better; and when I think it might be so, I feel it so vividly that it quite depresses me and makes me as downhearted as if it were really so.
I sometimes think I will make an experiment, and try to work in quite a different way, that is, to dare more and to risk more,
What a mystery life is, and love is a mystery within a mystery. It certainly never remains the same in a literal sense, but the changes are like the ebb and flow of the tide and leave the sea unchanged.
At 30, Van Gogh considered himself a failure, as did most everyone else; he resolved to take more risks; and he was, it would seem, a romantic.
At 36, Van Gogh was unable to find love, unable to consider himself a success.
At 37, Van Gogh was dead.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Melanie's Paintings
First things first – Melanie’s paintings should be displayed vertically, not in a triangle, like I had them before today. When hung vertically, they form an obvious progression from the heat of the day to the cool of a moonlit night.
So what do I like about Melanie’s paintings?
This may sound like criticism, but it is far from it – I like Melanie’s paintings because they are childlike. Not childish. Childlike. If you were to try to paint the dream of a child, these are what you would paint. The buildings are distended, as if alive. The windows, especially in the middle painting, look like eyes. The sun in the top and bottom paintings looks almost as if it has been spit up from the street. And the street itself looks as if it is standing straight up and down.
Melanie, it seems to me, has captured brilliantly a recurrent dream image of a child. And that is no insignificant feat.
It seems to me that capturing is perhaps one of the fundamental artistic metaphors.
Great artists somehow capture something.
Maybe the fact that capturing is so important to art is part of the reason that photography changed art so much. Photographs capture rather well the world just as it is. So with the advent of photography artists had to figure out not just how to capture something but also what to capture. And that doubles the difficulty.
This is pure speculation, but perhaps what makes contemporary art so difficult, both to produce and to appreciate, is the fact that artists must now figure out both what to capture and how to capture it. Picasso’s cubist attempts to capture the three dimensionality of a person on a two dimensional plane is a case in point. It took a genius to think that such a phenomenon could and should be captured and then to figure out how to do it. And it takes a certain aesthetic leap to appreciate Picasso’s cubist paintings. Neither capturing what is not part of the world nor appreciating what is captured are easy feats.
And this in part is what I like so much about Melanie’s paintings. She has captured a child’s dream. Indeed, when I look at Melanie’s paintings I feel a bit like a child who has been winked at by someone who knows about his dreams.
So what do I like about Melanie’s paintings?
This may sound like criticism, but it is far from it – I like Melanie’s paintings because they are childlike. Not childish. Childlike. If you were to try to paint the dream of a child, these are what you would paint. The buildings are distended, as if alive. The windows, especially in the middle painting, look like eyes. The sun in the top and bottom paintings looks almost as if it has been spit up from the street. And the street itself looks as if it is standing straight up and down.
Melanie, it seems to me, has captured brilliantly a recurrent dream image of a child. And that is no insignificant feat.
It seems to me that capturing is perhaps one of the fundamental artistic metaphors.
Great artists somehow capture something.
Maybe the fact that capturing is so important to art is part of the reason that photography changed art so much. Photographs capture rather well the world just as it is. So with the advent of photography artists had to figure out not just how to capture something but also what to capture. And that doubles the difficulty.
This is pure speculation, but perhaps what makes contemporary art so difficult, both to produce and to appreciate, is the fact that artists must now figure out both what to capture and how to capture it. Picasso’s cubist attempts to capture the three dimensionality of a person on a two dimensional plane is a case in point. It took a genius to think that such a phenomenon could and should be captured and then to figure out how to do it. And it takes a certain aesthetic leap to appreciate Picasso’s cubist paintings. Neither capturing what is not part of the world nor appreciating what is captured are easy feats.
And this in part is what I like so much about Melanie’s paintings. She has captured a child’s dream. Indeed, when I look at Melanie’s paintings I feel a bit like a child who has been winked at by someone who knows about his dreams.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Three For One
I made another trade. But I didn’t just get one painting. No, I got three.
Last night I drove to Melanie Bamberg's place to see her collection of art. But as I did, Kelly's first question kept bouncing around in my head: How will I know if I trade up?
In fact, I was almost driven to distraction by that question.
But then Melanie solved the dilemma for me. After she showed me her very interesting collection of art, she offered me three paintings for one. And in strictly numerical terms, getting three for one is a trade up.
Indeed, as I thought about trading with Melanie, I couldn’t help but consider an interesting possibility. If I got three paintings in this trade, maybe in my next trade I can get eight paintings; and in the next, seventeen. Who knows? In ten trades I may have eight thousand paintings; and I bet I could trade eight thousand paintings for a Van Gogh.
Of course, I still want to trade for good paintings, even if I am getting more of them.
But in the case of Melanie’s paintings I couldn’t be more pleased.
When I looked at Melanie’s facebook gallery of paintings a few days before visiting her, I immediately noticed the three that I eventually traded for. But when I saw them online, I thought: surely, Melanie won’t give even one of those paintings away. They are all so cool. I really dug those paintings. Still do.
But then Melanie offered to give me all three. I was flabbergasted. Still am.
In my next post, I will tell you what I think is so cool about Melanie’s paintings.
But before doing so, let me first thank Melanie for giving me three such awesome paintings.
And before leaving for the day, let me add: if anyone wants to trade for my three totally cool Melanie Bamberg paintings, let me know.
Last night I drove to Melanie Bamberg's place to see her collection of art. But as I did, Kelly's first question kept bouncing around in my head: How will I know if I trade up?
In fact, I was almost driven to distraction by that question.
But then Melanie solved the dilemma for me. After she showed me her very interesting collection of art, she offered me three paintings for one. And in strictly numerical terms, getting three for one is a trade up.
Indeed, as I thought about trading with Melanie, I couldn’t help but consider an interesting possibility. If I got three paintings in this trade, maybe in my next trade I can get eight paintings; and in the next, seventeen. Who knows? In ten trades I may have eight thousand paintings; and I bet I could trade eight thousand paintings for a Van Gogh.
Of course, I still want to trade for good paintings, even if I am getting more of them.
But in the case of Melanie’s paintings I couldn’t be more pleased.
When I looked at Melanie’s facebook gallery of paintings a few days before visiting her, I immediately noticed the three that I eventually traded for. But when I saw them online, I thought: surely, Melanie won’t give even one of those paintings away. They are all so cool. I really dug those paintings. Still do.
But then Melanie offered to give me all three. I was flabbergasted. Still am.
In my next post, I will tell you what I think is so cool about Melanie’s paintings.
But before doing so, let me first thank Melanie for giving me three such awesome paintings.
And before leaving for the day, let me add: if anyone wants to trade for my three totally cool Melanie Bamberg paintings, let me know.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Picasso!
3500 ceramic pieces in a little over ten years. -- that’s how many Picasso made near the end of his life.
I learned that fact over the weekend at a museum in Charleston. I am still stunned by it. That’s about one piece a day. Except for performing basic biological functions, I haven’t done anything every day for even a week much less ten years.
So I’m feeling pretty ordinary compared to good old Picasso.
As I drove away from Charleston I thought that perhaps I would feel a bit less ordinary were I to trade up to Charleston. That way I would own the museum that holds the Picasso vase that made me feel so ordinary.
Could I trade up to Charleston?
Probably not.
Besides, even though Picasso is great, I still prefer Van Gogh. I think it has something to do with his ear. And I don’t think there are any Van Gogh's in Charleston.
So I will stick to my original plan. Trading up to a Van Gogh.
And as I mentioned last week, I am supposed to go see another artist’s paintings on Wednesday.
I have seen pictures of the artist’s work online, and I think they are great. So I can’t wait.
I will let you know what happens in my next post.
Just to help things along, though, I can’t help but tell the universe:
I want to trade my Kelly Koeppel this week for a cool painting.
I want to trade my Kelly Koeppel this week for a cool painting.
I want to trade my Kelly Koeppel this week for a cool painting.
I learned that fact over the weekend at a museum in Charleston. I am still stunned by it. That’s about one piece a day. Except for performing basic biological functions, I haven’t done anything every day for even a week much less ten years.
So I’m feeling pretty ordinary compared to good old Picasso.
As I drove away from Charleston I thought that perhaps I would feel a bit less ordinary were I to trade up to Charleston. That way I would own the museum that holds the Picasso vase that made me feel so ordinary.
Could I trade up to Charleston?
Probably not.
Besides, even though Picasso is great, I still prefer Van Gogh. I think it has something to do with his ear. And I don’t think there are any Van Gogh's in Charleston.
So I will stick to my original plan. Trading up to a Van Gogh.
And as I mentioned last week, I am supposed to go see another artist’s paintings on Wednesday.
I have seen pictures of the artist’s work online, and I think they are great. So I can’t wait.
I will let you know what happens in my next post.
Just to help things along, though, I can’t help but tell the universe:
I want to trade my Kelly Koeppel this week for a cool painting.
I want to trade my Kelly Koeppel this week for a cool painting.
I want to trade my Kelly Koeppel this week for a cool painting.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Pagan Rituals
Two nights ago was the summer solstice. What a beautiful night.
I think Van Gogh liked the summer solstice. That is pure speculation on my part. But it is hard not to like the summer solstice. The moon takes on a special glow.
I wonder whether Van Gogh ever engaged in a pagan ritual. He was an artist after all. Aren’t they supposed to do that kind of thing?
Does anyone really know what Van Gogh was like? I would like to know what he was like. Did he know about pagan rituals? Did he engage in any?
I think it would be a shame if there were no truth to pagan rituals. Indeed, I propose a bold thesis:
If there isn’t at least some truth to pagan rituals, the world is less beautiful than it could have been.
Pagan rituals, after all, are beautiful.
I will call that thesis: The Pagan Ritual Thesis (PRT)
And because I feel so strongly about PRT, I am going to declare to the universe:
Let there be at least some truth to pagan rituals.
Let there be at least some truth to pagan rituals.
Let there be at least some truth to pagan rituals.
And now that I have the universe’s attention, I want to thank it for the lovely time I had two nights ago – it was a beautiful summer solstice.
And on an unrelated note, someone else may be interested in trading. A week from today I am supposed to go see her collection of art. I can’t wait.
I think Van Gogh liked the summer solstice. That is pure speculation on my part. But it is hard not to like the summer solstice. The moon takes on a special glow.
I wonder whether Van Gogh ever engaged in a pagan ritual. He was an artist after all. Aren’t they supposed to do that kind of thing?
Does anyone really know what Van Gogh was like? I would like to know what he was like. Did he know about pagan rituals? Did he engage in any?
I think it would be a shame if there were no truth to pagan rituals. Indeed, I propose a bold thesis:
If there isn’t at least some truth to pagan rituals, the world is less beautiful than it could have been.
Pagan rituals, after all, are beautiful.
I will call that thesis: The Pagan Ritual Thesis (PRT)
And because I feel so strongly about PRT, I am going to declare to the universe:
Let there be at least some truth to pagan rituals.
Let there be at least some truth to pagan rituals.
Let there be at least some truth to pagan rituals.
And now that I have the universe’s attention, I want to thank it for the lovely time I had two nights ago – it was a beautiful summer solstice.
And on an unrelated note, someone else may be interested in trading. A week from today I am supposed to go see her collection of art. I can’t wait.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
