Posts Tagged ‘art’

3050324-poster-p-1-this-pointless-machine-allows-anyone-to-work-for-minimum-wage

Here’s a description of the minimum-wage machine [ht: sm]:

This machine allows anyone to work for minimum wage for as long as they like. Turning the crank on the side releases one penny every 4.97 seconds, for a total of $7.25 per hour. This corresponds to minimum wage for a person in New York. This piece is brilliant on multiple levels, particularly as social commentary. Without a doubt, most people who started operating the machine for fun would quickly grow disheartened and stop when realizing just how little they’re earning by turning this mindless crank. A person would then conceivably realize that this is what nearly two million people in the United States do every day…at much harder jobs than turning a crank. This turns the piece into a simple, yet effective argument for raising the minimum wage.

The machine can also be reprogrammed to pay the minimum wage of wherever it happens to be currently exhibited.

1200

Arthur Rothstein, “Resettlement Officials” (Maryland, 1935)

Bill McDowell is an American photographer and curator. For his series Ground, he chose images from the 175,000 commissioned by the U.S. Farm Security Administration in the 1930s and 40s—and was especially drawn to those Roy Stryker damaged with a hole punch to prevent their being used again.

McDowell compares the punched hole to “a portal [that] connects us to post-Depression America” in the wake of the 2007-08 global financial crash.

12531127_1729296227302080_750663966_n

Special mention

bo160223_0 download

Richter_vesuviusD_sm

Gerhard Richter, “Vesuvius” (1976)—detail

 

We’re supposed to be grateful that finally, in “Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection,” we have the opportunity to see the paintings in Microsoft co-founder Paul G. Allen’s burgeoning art collection.

“We are very excited for this exhibition of paintings from Paul Allen’s collection—all extraordinary landscapes—to be seen by the public as it travels the country on its five-museum tour. The exhibition explores landscape painting through works by a wide variety of artists and artistic movements over almost four centuries—it’s this breadth that makes the show so fascinating,” says Mary Ann Prior, director of art collections at Vulcan, the organization that produced the exhibition.

The show is comprised of works spanning five centuries by such artists as Paul Cézanne, David Hockney, Edward Hopper, Gustav Klimt, Claude Monet, Thomas Moran, Georgia O’Keeffe, Gerhard Richter, and J.M.W. Turner. “Seeing Nature” is co-organized by the Portland Art Museum and the Seattle Art Museum, in collaboration with the Paul G. Allen Family Collection. “These are really exceptional pieces of art, and there’s something about landscapes that is universally attractive, which is why I find them so interesting,” Allen says. “By sharing these paintings with the public, it is my hope that people will have the same eye-opening experiences I had when I first saw them.”

But not Philip Kennicott. He focuses attention, first, on the Richter painting in the show.

It is one of several volcano pictures in the Allen collection, but it is perhaps the most ominous and unsettling. Rather than depict the drama of volcanic eruption, Richter shows the mountain asleep, barely visible in the distance, viewed from a small rock outcropping across a vast, hazy sea. The painting captures the double nature of the sublime, the terrifying power of nature (in this case dormant) along with the inherently arrogant belief that man can overpower, assimilate and tame nature (implied ironically by the vantage point, high and distant).

The Richter is the most keenly critical work in the show, dramatizing and undermining the idea that man can stand above and survey the world as if he owned it. Many wealthy people believe that this is true, but in the end they are always disabused of the notion. “Ars longa, vita brevis” comes for everyone at some point.

It’s not clear whether Allen understands this, sees the irony, or just likes the painting, which can pass surreptitiously for a postcard view of a pretty place. And that’s the problem. Like so many other shows devoted to work amassed by individual collectors, the collector himself is a cipher. His comments in the catalogue interview are disturbingly inarticulate and jejune. The promise that an exhibition such as this one will illuminate something interesting about the collector, or the idea of collecting, is almost never fulfilled.

And, then, Kennicott raises more general issues about the show itself and Allen’s collection:

In the end, we’re supposed to feel grateful. But I don’t feel grateful. I resent the fact that when this show is over (it will travel to Minneapolis, New Orleans and Seattle through 2017), all of the art will remain in the private collection of Paul G. Allen. And I can hear the retort: That’s life, that’s capitalism, and get over it because at least it’s not in Qatar.

But the problem with collecting masterworks of great artists is that the act of ownership is in itself a kind of theft, stealing from the public commons of genius. Put another way, once a work of art is important enough to be of interest to a man like Allen, it belongs to all of us. He may not know that, but we do. And so when the show is over and the art is subsumed back into the private palaces of plutocracy, one feels its loss more keenly than any fleeting gratitude to the person who made it temporarily accessible.

1401x788-BGS-02959R__

The spectacular crash of 2007-08, once a public spectacle of economists, politicians, and bankers, is increasingly becoming a popular spectacle in art.

Alessandra Stanley reviews some of the recent films, TV series, and novels—from The Big Short through Billions to Opening Belle—that attempt to represent the causes and consequences of the worst crash since the Great Depression of the 1930s.

Americans are once again paying for the 2008 financial collapse.

This time, though, it’s willingly.

Entertainment industry executives and publishers say there is a growing audience for movies, plays, television shows and novels that address the misdeeds and systemic failures that brought the economy to the edge of collapse eight years ago.

I wonder what impact these projects will have on the current political campaign in the United States, where both parties are being forced to deal with widespread discontent over the real-world spectacle of growing inequality, Too Bigger to Fail banks, and more instability ahead.

171300_600

Special mention

 171274_600

Johannes_Vermeer_-_Het_melkmeisje_-_Google_Art_Project Johannes_Vermeer_-_A_Lady_Writing_-_Google_Art_Project

Every time I see an exhibit of paintings from the so-called Golden Age of Dutch art (or teach about them, especially Vermeer’s, in my Commodities course), I am struck by the extent to which they provide a window on the changing class nature of Dutch society at the time.

That’s why I am intrigued by the new show, at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, “Class Distinctions: Dutch Painting in the Age of Rembrandt and Vermeer” (see also this review [ht: ja]). The content of the individual paintings, at least the ones I am familiar with, as well as the economic status of the painters themselves and the new art markets that developed (and ultimately crashed) during the seventeenth century can tell a rich story about the emergence of capitalism in a heretofore noncapitalist economy and society.

And, of course, here we are in 2015, when the United States is characterized by obscene and still-growing levels of inequality. Perhaps, then, we are ready to see and think about class distinctions, at least in seventeenth-century Dutch society.

So, I am intrigued by this show—but also worried. That’s because, according to what I have read, the paintings are arranged in separate rooms according to class. Low, middle, and upper-class, “a bit like airplane seating.”

The exhibit follows a logical sequence by grouping paintings of the wealthiest ranks in one room and then moving down the social strata in the following sections. The final room ties the exhibit together by depicting paintings of ferries and public squares where members of each class intersect.

The question is, what is the notion of class that informs the Boston show?

As I see it, you can’t have one class without the others. It’s a class system—the different classes are related to one another, through performances and flows of necessary and surplus labor—not just different displays of clothing, interior furnishings, and activities. And the emergence of capitalism within the Netherlands created a new pattern of performances and flows compared to what had existed before and what existed even at that time throughout much of the rest of Western Europe.

If the paintings of the period are going to be utilized to illustrate those new class relations, then perhaps it would have been better to group them differently—for example, to show within the same room how the surplus labor that was captured by some households, and then utilized to relinquish members of those same households from the need to work and, in addition, to hire milkmaids and other servants and to purchase items of conspicuous consumption from abroad, was also deployed to make sure additional surplus labor continued to be performed by the other members of Dutch society.

That’s the exhibit of Dutch paintings that, in my view, could have been organized in Boston.