There was a moment of silence when my friend asked me why Egyptian art? Why a people 5,000 years ago whose language obsolete?

Nothing is more striking than looking at this picture of head of Ramsess II lying on the rubbles. It is sad, mysterious, and marvelous despite of the damage.

If we obliterate the future and the past, the present moment stands in empty space, outside life and its chronology, outside time and independent of it.

Perhaps it was too ambitious at the beginning, a design in the second half of Gilded Age when everything should be grand and opulent.

The original design of the Brooklyn Museum by McKim, Mead and White would outshine Louvre and Met in its scale, but once the city of Brooklyn merged with Manhattan, the other side of the East River would lose its competitiveness and the final result is partially sweet for its grand facade, but partially sad because it is in my opinion a forever symbol of an unfulfilled dream.

The new entrance, sleek, modern and inviting in its own way, does not add too much exhibition space. I always hope that at least the west side of the building can be built to match the single finger-shape of the building on the east side, thus the museum can have two Beaux-Art courts.

In the era of shining clad, my wish may be too absurd to the public taste. (The only recently built public building with classical design that I have seen is the symphony hall in Nashville, TN. ) For me, it is not about the Roman classics or nobility, it is the historical integrity, a chance to make the dream true.

Museums are always collecting. I have found a tea pot in the Brooklyn Museum which was produced in the 1990’s for Target stores. Based on my observation, today major traditional American institutions mostly concentrate the contemporary arts. Such practice is NOT because they have changed their directions; on the contrary it is the direction that they have always been following: collecting contemporary art. By committing collecting arts through the times, they’ve shaped the aesthetic tastes of the public and quietly assembled works when they were still affordable.

That is not the case for Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, founded by Alice Walton. No major American art museums will feel its 19th century collection complete without paintings by Hudson River school artits, early portrait painters like Copley, Stuart or Peale. The same can be said for works by Andy Warhol or Edward Hopper to lead the 20th century collection. But without years of primary collecting, Crystal Bridges has to start from scratch for everything.

Last Friday’s press release showed that Francis Guy’s “A Winter Scene in Brooklyn” was the museum’s latest acquisition. The painting was exhibited in the Brooklyn Museum in 2006 along with their own version. Possibly painted by Francis Guy’s last year, the two were almost identical except the one in Brooklyn Museum lost about 2 feet on the left side due to a fire. It was said that the one bought by Alice Walton once had a painted balustrade along its lower edge but was trimmed for unknown reasons. If so, the feature that evoked the artist’s window ledge would surprise all those 20th century artists who claimed inventing more naturalistic or accidental cropping compositions. At a time when there is no nationally recognized style or high demand for landscape paintings, Guy, trained as a tailor and silk dyer, painted his window scenes no less than five times.

I am personally not a fan of Francis Guy. His paintings have tremendous historical value for sure. “Tontine Coffee House” in New York Historical Society, painted in 1797 tells a vivid story how Wall Street came into being. The village scenery of Front Street and Fulton Street, long disappeared after the completion of the Brooklyn Bridge, provided scholars of the architectural, economic, social and ethnic views of Brooklyn in 1820. Guy, like other early landscape painters, has a peculiar detail-oriented tendency. The dramas, anecdotes, and humors were found here and there in carefully arranged objects and humans to provide a narrative sub context. If Hudson River School is going to be blamed for their tedious copy of nature, Guy, their predecessor, showed an amateurish understanding of naturalism by giving everything sharp edges.

But the painting does have its charm. Instead of looking from the far back to grasp the magic light in Durand’s landscape, one is enticed to get as close as possible to examine the daily life of the people in Guy’s “A Winter Scene in Brooklyn”. (About 40 names of the houses, stores, shops or people are identified in Guy’s painting! Don’t forget to look at the person on the chimney!)

But I would doubt such findings as the black person’s name is Samuel Foster would have the same "wow" effect in Bentonville, AR. A Winter Scene in Brooklyn is essentially Brooklynite. For those people who jog on the promenade and wonder why there are so many Asian wedding photo sessions under the Brooklyn Bridge, the painting reminds them of Brooklyn, although it has become much bigger and more diverse, it still holds a home feeling. The visitors to Crystal Bridges may successfully identify the painting as a primitive landscape, yet they would not have the chance to hop on the subway from the museum and get off at Clark Street and overcome all the obstacles now blocking the ferry to see what it's like now and thus deeply appreciate the genius of Francis Guy.

The deaccession at the National Academy (NA)seems to be related to Crystal Bridges too. News broke out that Nation Academy sold two important paintings (one by Church, one by Gifford) from their permanent collection to pay their bills. Where the two paintings went has yet to be revealed, but the disclosure of selling works reminds New Yorkers of the outcry of the public when New York Public Library sold Kindred Spirits by Durand to Crystal Bridges Museum.

I have been to National Academy for both visiting exhibition and doing research. They do have an extensive permanent collection since every new academician is supposed to submit a diploma painting. But they don’t have a permanent place to exhibit them. Their permanent collection thus is most likely to be in the storage. This coming February, NA will have an exhibition to highlight some of their permanent collection. I agree with Eric that it is better to show artworks in public regardless of the location than store them in the dark room.

National Academy also mentioned that these two paintings were not diploma works but were donated by another member. This statement, in my mind, neither legitimizes nor invalidates their deaccession activity. Just because it is donated does not make a painting less important or less valuable. Ethnically, selling donated objects (more common in Natural History Museums nowadays because some donors insisted to donate their whole collection in the past) is in general against the donor’s intention. The donor of the two paintings must have regarded NA the most proper organization to place the asset. On the other hand, legally it is up to the museum who determines how to dispose the artworks when they do not want to show them permanently. I hope that the original donor would be happy to know that sometime soon the two paintings would be hung publicly.

My two cents: Don’t blanketly donate artwork to museums, at least not in unrestricted terms. They have thousands of objects collecting dust in the darkness for years. Why bother another one?

It's not a secret among antique dealers that folks in the American South have a better appreciation for American Decorative Arts. I suppose to some extent this may extend to American paintings. I haven't noticed a tour of American Art before 1880 being offered at the nearby Brooklyn Museum. Although there have been tours of the Dutch houses in the museum, I haven't noticed a tour being offered of the 19th Century Period Rooms.

Now there's some speculation that Alice Walton, already the possessor of Durand's Kindred Spirits, has bought two paintings from the collection of the National Academy. On an emotional level, it's sad to see them leave New York. From a practical point of view, I'd say a painting on display in Arkansas is better than one stored in New York.

I hope that a new administration will help bring some renewed pride in America and interest in objects and paintings from the first century of our existence. We need the likes of Alice Walton, like Ford, Rockefeller, Hogg and DuPont before her, to breath new life and interest to American Art and Decorative Arts. I hate seeing our great collections of American Art overlooked. Nature hates a vacuum and the vacuum that New York creates, Arkansas fills.

For details of the event which including panel discussion, artists talk and hot dancing party on Beaux-Arts Court, visit Target First Saturdays page.

"Where can I see it? "
"Why can't you put them into DVD and make them available?"

These are the two questions from the panel discussion of Jesper Just's Romantic Delusion exhibition last Saturday at Brooklyn Museum of Art.

Just tried to answer them in a positive way, while the curator Patrick Amsellem kept silent about the touchy questions. It is another moment of romantic delusion when public's naive questions are averted through careful phrasing. (In this case, Just's just-so-so English helped a little bit.) I looked at Eric when hearing such questions. We both smiled, but said nothing. But we know: Artworks exhibited in major museums are not meant to be affordable, or should I rephrase this way--artworks that can be bought in mass production with abundant availability won't be exhibited in museums?

It is true that no gig-lee prints can substitute an original painting even though the coloration is identical. Photos and sculpture are more tangible. Photos can be reproduced from the negative films or now a digital file infinitely and sculpture can be cast hundreds years after the molds were made. On the other hand, the audience have their legitimate reasoning. Videos are a different type of art media. The copy process from one disk/tape to another does not diminish the quality of the artwork. So why not if one of the goals of his art is to outreach the public?

Nothing is more controversial when the originality of the video comes to the panel discussion. If all arts are supposed to be consumed, the consumption of video art is the closest to the commercial activity: Between the clear defined start and end, the minds watch the specific clips as time goes by. Some people may get confused or bored, but that may happen in commercial movies too.

The difference between the consumption of commercial movies and of art videos lies in the density. The density of information, emotions and subcontexts in Just's Bliss and Heaven is so great that the second time I watched it brought me some new thoughts and understandings. of equal amount as the first time. Seldom do people go to watch the same movie twice, because blockbuster movies are meant to be easily grasped and lightly consumed with coke and popcorn. The length, on the other hand, goes the opposite. I doubt one can concentrate more than one hour for a movie made by Just. He himself admitted that he would probably never make a commercial one. The ambiguity lies in the concise format and the richness of the emotions will be diluted if a story is told in clarity and well-defined Hollywood style.

"The market for this type of movies is small. " Jesper confessed in the end. "And the cost to make such movies is large." But the question is who betrays who facing the embarrassing result that art movies cannot find audience while audience cannot find art movies? Just said he would have another show in a gallery next March, before that all New Yorkers will have to come to Brooklyn Museum for the four short movies. (He has made more than 20 movies. so far)

From a collector's point of view, I have no desire to own a movie, even if I can have it autographed, even if I can watch it a dozen times and still find something new. I may, if possible, go to the gallery to watch them and thus consuming them. A necessary channel should be built to connect the two parties who complains "the man who is not there".

Jesper Just has a website. If you are interested, visit Jesper Just.

For convenience, read part 1 and part 2.

There is little known about the bird lady from the archeological point of view, nor would one infer much conclusions from a tried observation. When Henri de Morgan in the winter of 1906-1907 found the Terra-cotta statue from a tomb at El Ma'mariya, he did not record much about the excavation procedure, nor the tomb specifics. So There is even no consensus on what we should call her. Bird lady is possibly a pure invention our of one's imagination, but the name fits her well, or should we say in another way that the name does not matter here?

So far, I have heard three different versons of the possible meaning/purpose of the figurine. 

Ann Russmann, the curator, linked her with a pottery vessel from Naqada II period, which also bears a female figure whose arms sweep up like a bird. Because of her prominent proportion compared to the male figure next to her, Ann concluded she must be a goddess although the function is unclear. But the larger-than usual head of the female painted on the vessel is a clear statement that she has blossoming hairs. The bead head of the statue, on the contrary, with some rezin painted in black in a suggestive manner, looks more like from a bird.

Yekaterina Barbash, another curator of Egyptian Art compared her gesture with the funeral mourning convention. It is natural to think a mourner figurine would find her niche in a tomb. But from the available paintings, mourning women ususally pull their hands close in front of the faces or above the heads. In neither position will one see the arms wide open like a bird ready to fly.

The third version is from the book "The Egyptians" by Cyril Aldred published by Thames & Hudson (ISBN 0-500-28036-3). Cyril takes the note that she is wearing a long white skirt as the evidence of dancing. He even suggested the dance may be inspired by the bird-mating since the arms have an unusual upward mometum. With this assumption, he suggested that the fingurine may have magic fertility functions.

I have found none of the inferences totally convincing, nevertheless the figurine is and deserves to be the highlight among all wonderful Egyptian collections in the Brooklyn Museum. 

Unlike the later dynastic Egyptian period when statues are as strict as canonical paintings, the early artworks is from minds of great freedom. In my mind, her slim waist, wide buttock, bead head and peg-like legs connect directly to the spirit of Henry Moore where the rhythms of curves are as expressive and informative as the objects themselves. The arms that intrigues and ponders so many scholars and visitors break the abstract austerity with an unusual curve: bold, dynamic yet still elegant. Could she be just carrying some burden for the deceased? Or maybe the upward arms is a symbol of resurrection? I wondered.

Such artworks may seem too primitive for some visitors who praise the French academy or Roman statues. But the great art always bears some sort of unsolvable mystery as charming as Mona Lisa's smile. It brings unexpected rewards to those who frequent observe them with fresh eyes. And those who have done that enjoy the same degree of happiness as the kids treasure in a magic land. For example, although breasts are made crude and possibly modeled after the body part was completed, the highest point of the figurine -- the fingers -- are beautifully indicated with carefully aligned straight lines. Then as one looks at them and may even try to imitate the movement, here comes the surprise: The thumbs, which are supposed to be in the back in reality when arms reach high in the air, are curiously modeled in the front. Could it a result of ignorance or bluntness of the artist? Or maybe he meant to show us the thumbs in the front view? I don't know.

More than 5000 years have passed, standing quiet in a glass case, its unconventionality still challenges what we see and push us back to re-examine the seemingly gap between avant guard and antiquity.

Nov 1 is the first Saturday of the month and one day before the election. Naturally there is a documentary featuring topics related to election.

My favorite pick is Artist Jesper Just discusses the exhibition at 8PM. I can foresee the competition for 30 tickets will be fierce. But if you can make it, go to Brooklyn Museum at 7 and watch a few of his short movies before joining the discussion with him at 8PM. That sounds a perfect plan.

For more information, visit here.

I went inside the visible storage rooms last week for the Small Wonders exhibition in Brooklyn Museum. It took the place of the Japanese woodblock prints and the American artworks they influenced. It is an interesting idea that inside the Luce Center part of the visible storage will be devoted to temporary exhibitions.

Among these small wonders, there are objects in textiles, porcelains, flatware and ceramic tiles. Nudged by Eric, I noticed two objects came from the Ohio Valley where Eric and I had visited extensively in the past. One tile is from Zanesville, Ohio. Another tile was made in Beaver Falls, Penna. I immediately recalled vividly our visits to these two small places.

The trip to Zanesville was to fulfill the mission of finding a bird bath in the yard. Zanesville's historical fame and association with glass and ceramics could be seen through the antique malls lined along route 22. Another interesting observation that I have made was the abundant books by Thomas Mann published in 20's and 30's by Alfred Knopf. Not accidentally this was a period that many famous German exiled immigrates such as Mann or Schoenberg found their followers in the US. Their high culture root was praised and fostered all over the country. In particular Mann was regarded as a heritage culture authority and a champion of liberal and democratic values.

It was a smoldering day and we ended up buying a chunk concrete bird bath featuring a group of chubby angles which we sold later at half of the price before the move to Brooklyn. But the surprise of that trip came from the stop at Cambridge, Ohio where we found a nice art gallery in which we bought a painting by a local senior painter and a used-book store where I found the first edition of In Cold Blood for 15 dollars.

Beaver Falls is smaller. It is one of those dying river towns-- the scenery painted by George Hetzel more than 100 years ago, given away to mills and factories which subsequently died out with the declination of manufacturing sectors. When my ex-classmate moved from State College to Beaver Falls, they were told that they made the history to become the first Chinese residents of the town. "That grocery store owners took particular pride to see the influx of 'ALIEN' faces, but I am not sure he was friendly." My friend's father-in-law told me.

I have seen quite some good porcelains made in Beaver Falls. If I am correct, some of those president plates displayed in Hoyt Institute in New Castle, Penna were made in Beaver Falls. In fact, a lot of restaurants in western Pennsylvania had been using their porcelains for decades.

Besides the fact that Kittanning clay was used in the manufacturing process, I knew nothing about this particular porcelain made in Beaver Falls. Zanesville was more remote since I didn't have the chance to visit its downtown area. But they have laid such a deep impression that the images of the towns are just as clear as the figures on those tiles. In both cases, the objects remind me the flourish of the small river towns during the industrialization period. They once prospered, wealth collected, mansions or bigger houses built, even though what I have seen in the past does not necessarily prove that, or even worse shows the opposite.

There has always something special about those visits to these river towns, especially to someone like me, born and raised outside of US. It was a vivid revelation of American history that would never be put in any Chinese history textbook, yet those white old antique dealers sitting still in either once-to-be warehouses or Victorian family houses are quintessentially American. When I look back, those antique trips seem so remote in the lifestyle of New York where every minute of living must be justified by doing something profitable. The trips of antique shopping had a much slower pace than that that I took stepping out of the subway. Nine out of ten times the stores contained more junk (or in a better phrasing collectibles) than real antiques and 9.5 out of 10 times we ended up not buying, but driving around. But soaking in the stagnant air and surrounded by piles of stuff in an antique mall, one's life became meaningful by seeking and preserving the meaning of the past: The joy came from seeking while the happiness of preserving came like an unexpected trophy.

Listen to it.

Not only will the museum be free on Saturday Oct 4, but also there are some rare opportunity to enjoy arts.

Here are two of my favorites:

Meet Gilbert and George for discussion with their artworks. "Just look", that was what Gilbert said. But the two are of  such amicable characters that talking to them will be enjoyable!

Curator guide

When curators talk about the collection, it is like some serious collectors talking about their best treasure except the passion is mixed with knowledge, insights or anecdotes. When Kevin or Barry talked about the decorative arts in one of the classes, they brought life to them. So don't miss such an opportunity to be led by the best curators through your own favorite galleries. 

More detail: 

Target First Saturdays

If one walks through the Egyptian collection at Met, he or she can easily get lost. There are too many terms from timeline (three major periods with three intermediate periods) to gods (names, relations, shapes, symbolism) to texts. There seems to be endless items to go through in one afternoon. On the other hand, he or she can also get confused. The block statues, to laymen’s eyes, look almost the same for 4000 years spans. The paintings, in a similar way, vary little in techniques or subjects. Who are these Egyptians behind all these civilization remains? Are they technically superior but religiously stupid? All these questions remain unanswered from those museum visit unless there is a comprehensive guide about the Egyptians themselves.

Barbara Mertz’s book “Red Land, Black Land – Daily Life in Ancient Egypt”, if not authoritative with certain existing collection (luckily it is not), brings readers vivid and complete pictures of the people that create all these wonders. It is riveting and humorous sometimes. But most importantly, it is not a book written in a rigid scholarly way that most readers fail to pass page 10 or would not bother until a certain interesting object is related to some sections. In fact, I have found it so charming that it is hard to put it down without completing reading it.

That reflects what most of the Egyptian collections books fail to please a general public. Narration of objects without elaborating the creators behind is seldom intriguing. In modern and contemporary fields, artists shine in front of their artworks. Even back to Renaissance period, those big names are well studied and understood. But in ancient Egypt, artists, architects or scribes were commoners who left no personal trace. Thus it is easy to forget to recognize them as a whole. But Barbara brings us a clear picture of a society in hierarchical steps: pharaohs, priests, officials, soldiers, artists, peasants and even prisoners. The objects created by or for these individuals thus can be explained within a richer social context.

Some passages are well written and may deal with the fundamental human feelings, needs and pleasure. Female readers may find the beginning part about the songs for the dead children or childbirth is touching. Male readers may envy the fact that beer was abundant in ancient Egypt even for the kids and they may even try to google “King Tut’s” beer that is supposedly produced by ancient technique and ingredients. (Did I say fundamental needs there?)

While the book starts from descriptions of daily life of an ordinary family, it ends in climax chapters about gods, mummies and death topics that are more related to the kings and nobles. These chapters are great introduction for further study of any particular period or object because Barbara not only tells us how the styles changed, but also clear pictures of how certain objects are made (what material, what procedure, how long, etc). The making of mummies will definitely interest a reader, but then the same reader may be disappointed by what a real “book of the dead” is. (The twisted definitions in Hollywood movies may cause Barbara to write another book!) Overall, the reading will demystify Egyptian arts and make readers clearly understand what they see in the museums are solely created by needs, desires or responsibilities.

No Egyptologist would not be stubborn about what they believe, but Barbara, who has seen controversies over most of the subjects, at least brings the readers aware of what she believes and what other interpretative possibilities. But the strength of the book can also be a little overdone when several contradictory options are presented in great length. At certain areas such as the fights between Re and Orisis, readers are left with no clear pictures of what the scenarios should be.

Do I want to experience the ancient Egyptian life? I asked myself in the end. Probably not, even if I were an Egyptologist. It is much more enjoyable to experience their life from Barbara’s book than reality.

On the third night that Michael Tilson Thomas and his San Francisco Symphony Orchestra took the stage of Carnegie Hall, the program fell back into conventional: a compact symphony by Knussen preludes Beethoven 9.

Knussen’s symphony has extremely crafted texture and colors: strings either contributed ghostly tremolos or chopped abruptly with percussion-wise sound. It is dichotomic madness, hysteria contrasting with ominous despair.

With the same sensibility, MTT brought a full house of a meticulous or even a little bit fastidious performance of Beethoven Sym. No 9. San Francisco was such a refined orchestra, nevertheless they didn’t let the leash loose. The impulse that propels the first movement contained more calculation than necessary that the main themes built up its affirmative voice convincingly yet not spontaneously. The second movement was played with delicate balance and clarity. At the end of the balcony, I could hear the interplay between different sections. Still it feels laborious rather than a natural burst of unstopping music flow.

MTT with his orchestra was at his best in the meditative orchestra. The lyrical slow movements of late Beethoven are always miracles. There is no violent harmony yet the melody has lasting yearnings that stirs deep in the heart and disquiet the serenity on the surface. Giving up the traditional structure that emphasized the theatrical divergence, Beethoven mapped a series of variation that channeled the profound of moods from one to another with nuance and surprise that words fail to describe. MTT elaborated the variations with seamless transitions and progressed into the point that the inner anxiety confronts with a longing for heroism. The first violin brought me the same extreme experience as I had before when hearing late Beethoven: an almost forlorn cry under the tremendous open space of tranquility.

The last movement is almost fail-proof with massive orchestra tutti and grand chorale. But New York Chorus Artists gave a strong performance of the finale. I only wish that I had never heard it before and could enjoy such stunning music with fresh ears and mind.

A recent Wall Street Journal article suggests it has, and I've personally seen evidence of it. One recent example is a 19th-Century slant-front desk at a New York auction house. It had minimal damage, I'm guessing a Connecticut piece that I'd expect to see at a show for more than $5,000. At an auction I would have expected $3,000 or so. Yet it went for around $700. I sent the article to a friend who says he too thinks there has been some pullback from the "no-price to great" period, though he hadn't seen the kind of deals mentioned in the article. He also suggested it was a good time to buy if you can. I couldn't agree more. Even if 18th and 19th Century furniture did stay at its current lows, it does still have resale value, something new items doesn't.
Read the article

Some of the Period Rooms, which had been temporarily closed, are open again at the Brooklyn Museum. The rooms had been off limits pending the installation of "Exhibitions: 21: Selections of Contemporary Art from the Brooklyn Museum." If you go, don't miss "Exhibitions: Jesper Just: Romantic Delusions." I walked in out of simple curiosity, an unexpected and satisfying turn.

Luck had it the two Schenck houses were saved by Brooklyn Museum. The Schencks were not dignitaries or high ranked officials, the fact that they were rescued from demolition is a pure timely coincidence of historical preservation, availability of funding and space, and devoted curatorial efforts.

But Brooklyn was largely a Dutch town for more than two centuries. From Brooklyn Museum's blog, I found this wonderful map containing information of on-site dutch houses in Brooklyn. My weekend task list is now expanded thereafter.

View Larger Map

It is as hard to imagine music without late Beethoven as to understand why they were so cherished when I was younger. My tastes in fine art appreciation, in retrospective, seem to follow a similar route. Late Beethoven has forlorn the grandeur discourse and exceptional prowess, instead he expressed a sense of instability that roots deep in everyone’s heart and a yearning for something so tangible that words fail to describe yet so indisputable that no one will fail to associate it with his own memory. The music itself migrates from dramatic, theatrical and developmental to relational, parallel and digressive, thus there is a greater sense of freedom in both forms and material that liberates minds from rules and convention.

In the second movement of his 12th string quartet, Op 127 in E-flat major, the variations of two different themes - one thoroughly sober and earnest, the other with a touch of folksong lightness – eventually bring the two seemingly irreconcilable melodies together. It has never failed to touch me, but strangely each listening seems to recall some remote memory and emotion totally differently. To me it encompasses such tremendous human feelings that by flowing through one to another the music triggers the most profound responses from listeners.

Beethoven was especially fond of variation in his late period. Through variations, he has found a limitless ways of exploring music elements and personal moods aesthetically and intellectually. The way regular sonatas work, by emphasizing contrasts between fast and slow, heroic and serene, although effective in immediately captivating and familiarizing audiences, fails to provide an infinite degrees of subtleties in human feelings.

These, by far, can also reflect how I view the advancement from Hudson River School to Tonalism in the second half of 19th century in America. The tonalism school painters abandoned the ideas that paintings as a another medium for moral rhetoric or intellectual prowess. The landscape should not be idealized for the sake of grandeur; similarly the technique should not be polished to eliminate traces of human labor. Above all, they focused on expressing the utmost deep emotions for themselves. They accepted the brush strokes as a way of earnest yearning for something unattainable by just imaging or portraying the likeness. If Frederic Church, in his magnificent canvas, showed what god sees America, tonalism painters humbly yet non-hesitatingly told how they felt of the surroundings themselves.

It is said Beethoven composed his middle period string quartets with the ideal listeners in his mind; but his late quartets, with extreme forms, sonority and harmony, were written for his own silent world. Upon the manuscript of his Missa Solemnis in D major, he wrote the following words: From the heart! May it go back to the heart!

Thus, I feel a kind of intimacy in front of small paintings by those Barbizon and Tonalism painters even though they may be dark toned, even toned or indistinct, for I know these are the treasured memories from the hearts. After all, no matter how splendid the landscape may be, it only lasts emotionally in one’s heart.

There are three types of historic homes. The first is a historic home without historic furnishings, or without furnishings original to the house. The second is a historic home filled with the furnishings that were there when the original or notable owner lived there. The third is perhaps the most rare, historic furnishings that relate to the original family, but a recreated house.

The third is what I found today at the Theodore Roosevelt Birthplace near Union Square in Manhattan.

The strange thing about the house is no plans or photographs were available to recreate the house in 1916, but a brothers house built at the same time did remain. What was built was basically a mirror image of the brothers house with simulated moldings, mantles, etc. The why of it all is that they then demolished the brothers house. It's hard to second guess what someone did nearly a century ago, however, but keeping the house that really existed and that Roosevelt would have known would seem the smarter (and less costly) move.

The recreation may be the only example of a "19th Century" brownstone built in the 20th Century, however, and if it does prove anything, it's that you can build them like they used to.

The Theodore Roosevelt Birthplace is operated by the National Park Service. It usually costs $3 to get in, but in celebration of Teddy's 150th birthday, October 26th and 27th will be free and include many activities. For more information call 212-260-1616. Oh, and one of the interesting tidbits you may learn on a tour is that Teddy went out west with a monogramed sterling silver knife from Tiffany's.

With Judy Kim, curator in Exhibition Division of the Brooklyn Museum, I had the opportunity of looking at the installation of the upcoming Gilbert and George exhibition opening on Oct 3, 2008. The exhibition installation is quite fa way from being ready, in fact all I saw is a model of the special exhibition space with miniature photos representing the real ones that had been carefully selected by the artists to suit the architecture design of the museum and would be hung within two weeks.

I have not been an avid fan of modern arts; nevertheless it always strikes and intrigues me to learn about the abundant and colorful personal lives of modern artists. In a recent talk at Met about J. M. W. Turner, audiences gave laughs when they heard the anecdote that the first American collector of Turner called his works “a bit indistinct”. Such incomplete or even inaccurate stories just enrich the public’s view of artists and brought viewers closer to the canvas from a different dimension.

Gustave Courbet, in my mind, is the first painter that extensively and intentionally commercialized his privacy and made his personal life accessible to public critics as much as his works. In a recent book “The Most Arrogant Man in France: Gustave Courbet and the Nineteenth-Century Media Culture” by Chu, it was said that Gustave certainly knew being covered by the media was definitely an advantage compared to stay behind the canvas void of characters, even though the media spotlights may be focusing on controversy or scandals.

By the time of Andy Warhol, artists had raised their own personal life to such important career access that it not only entangled with their works, but also was the framework under which each individual work sprouts out bearing the birth mark of their lives.

Just as any works of art should not be cheaply copied to tarnish its freshness and originality, Gilbert and George have been carefully fending and preening their personal images so that they are enough covered with eccentricity or modernity but not to a degree to pierce through the mystery veil of their living as an art work. After all, great works of art rely on their inexplicability and multifaceted perspectives; a nailed definition means a loss in another possible angles. Gilbert and George call themselves living sculptures, yet although the sculptures have been greatly observed, no biographical material has come mature for such a long period of partnered career: Even more, the elimination of their surnames means their names have been modernized as an integral part of their works and such elimination actually carries additional interpretative potential for those who like to pry.

And like their personal lives which blur the difference between unostentatious reality and staged performance, Gilbert and George’s works as a whole are a striking contrast between ever-changing artistic probing and stylish consistency. Their techniques have changed constantly from black and white blocked projection photo making in the 1970’s to bold colored collages in 1980’s to nowadays digitalization from 2003 onward. And their topics reflect what were current in Britain such as urbanization, race issues or terrorism. On the other hand, they stick to their style for more than four decades. Being able to speak in the same language grammatically with possibly additional vocabulary for a variety of subjects may sound easy in life, but sticking to artistic principles in the flood of new styles/trends and even faster-paced changes in critics tones is admirable.

In some sense, the way they call their life a work of art is legitimate in that their photos contain their own portraiture in abstract or sensual settings. In B&W, they were young and avant-garde experimenters. In the eighties, they opted for vibrancy, somewhat tacky colors and acted godlike to look down at young, beautiful teens. And now they have become gloomier, darker, angrier, or in the most recently series alien to the new century. The upcoming show will not display their works chronically, but the sensual and psychological changes in how they present themselves into the large photos would touch those who can separate the most personal self projection and examination from the over-saturated stained-glassed surroundings.

Looking at the slides, it is hard for me to reconcile their works with detail-oriented photos. Even though they are largely made from techniques of photo making, they are graphic, collage in nature and chromatically distorted in colors, a meditative dichotomy between flattening in 2D and deepening in meanings. The monstrous scale and devoid of minutia of reality settings calls for attention and interpretation of every viewer.

When asked about how progressive and revolutionary they are in the history of modern art, Judy urged us to think what were popular and main-stream and what were not in the 1970's . In the era of art market still being dominated by paintings, their probing into capturing their momentary life art into life size photos stripped off anything unnecessary must be explorative. Then I was stunned one of their images made in 1980's: Twenty Eight Streets is a photo collaged with street signs from London, almost with a machine-like coolness. In the middle, however, there was a wall, captured with naturalism in B&W, but presented abstractly since it can only be seen through two human-shaped holes among all the street signs. It is as if someone has burned the machinery conformity to show the empty wall, though nothing special, radiating a sense of humanity, partly from the human shape holes, partly from the same warmth due to the organic yet accidental arrangement of film grains that was epitomized from Bresson and his contemporary. This is the only work that among all in the slideshow does not have their clear portraits. In the age of digitalization, they were late technique adopters. One thing for sure, they would probably never grasp the master level of photoshopping which is so rampantly taught in most of the design schools. But Gilbert and George, by presenting them in a film-styled hollow grayness, show their homage and root in traditional photograph art or art in general: In front of art, they are serious and thought-provoking, as they have been through their lifelong living performance; thus why would they be washed away by the advent of the new technology?

The other day, I put the new bought Glenn Gould CD into the player and was ready for challenges from his intellectual and aesthetic aptitude.

But to my surprise, it was the least contrapuntal sound from the eccentric pianist. Instead of speaking multiple voices with puncture, emphasis, tension and release, Glenn Gould was conversing amicably. If he revolutionized Bach with irresistible romanticism, he was conventional and at home when it comes to Late Brahms.

Not accidentally, the other performance that I greatly appreciate is from Kempff, who played with equal clarity and simplicity. Kempff inserted more space into the brooding music, and those moments of silence are as magic and effective as music notes. His rare capability of articulation and succinctness matches the sober melancholy of meditative Brahms. At his best, the playing, even at the highest point of crispy clear and crystal pure, sounds just pianissimo.  

Gould provided me a slightly more abstract interpretation. The syncopation from both hands, a little bit odd at the very beginning, came natural and harmonious. It is as if Gould was conversing with Brahms at ease, both soft spoken and both humble and reserved; but soon the voices merge into one. Whether it is Gould is submerged in Brahms thoughts or Brahms finds his soul mate for his final discourse, I didin't know. I only knew, thought it was still warm, the mood had changed into autumnal.