Tuesday, September 13, 2011

So this is Paradise - Buddhist Art at the Asia Society

The lights are dim, carpeting keeps footsteps quiet, but the exhibit of Buddhist Sculpture at Asia Society is, in fact, a loud statement of courage and perseverance, as well as the power of art, in the face of a difficult political situation. The title of the exhibit, The Buddhist Heritage of Pakistan: Art of Gandhara, explains the problem - this show almost didn't happen. Melissa Chiu, director of the Asia Society Museum, said in a NY Times article “I persisted because this is a unique opportunity for us to show the cultural heritage of Pakistan at a time when U.S.-Pakistan relations are probably at their lowest ever.” And of course, the beauty of it is that, once inside and alone with the art, the world with all its hatreds and anger drops away, and the powerful poetry of this ancient work speaks for itself. Much of it comes from the Lahore Museum, and many of the examples date from the first centuries CE - others are even earlier. The name Gandhara, an ancient kingdom at the junction of what are now Pakistan and Afghanistan,  signifies an important watershed for Buddhist art. Here was the nucleus of an intermixing of Asian and Western traditions, prompted by trade along the Silk Road and the Hellenizing influence of Alexander the Great and his Roman successors. There was no human Buddha image before the art of Gandhara, only symbols such as the Buddha's footprints or the Dharma Wheel. (yes, those are swastikas in the toes - it is an ancient benign symbol of cosmic order) With Gandhara begins the new - now ancient - tradition of iconic statues and classical narratives that follow Greek forms of storytelling. Buddha became the calm figure of infinite grace that we often see seated on a lotus, his hands arranged in compassionate mudras, his empty ears stretched by the rich jewels he gave up to find enlightenment and set a path known as the Middle Way. There are chunks of ancient buildings in the exhibit, reminiscent of friezes on Greek temples, telling of the Buddha's conception by an elephant, his escape from the royal palace of his wealthy father, his miracles and teachings. With the Buddha are statues of Bodhisattvas, the holy figures that have not yet left the world: the most beautiful is Maitreya, still draped in jewels, who is prophesied to become Buddha on the next turning of the cycle. The opposite of beauty is death, represented by a rare statue showing the Buddha as a virtual skeleton whose veins clearly show on his bony forehead, coming to understand that the path of the ascetic is not the Way - it's a startling, compelling image. If only the sculpture showing the Buddhist Paradise had made the trip it would still have been a complex and interesting show. This piece is crammed with figures, above, below, and flanking the serene seated Buddha, who is being crowned with what looks suspiciously like a wreath of laurels. Paradise seems to promise much spiritual but also material comfort: Buddha still has no jewelry and fancy trappings but he's the exception. It looks like a comfortable place, even a bit like Hawaii, if we can trust the figures who look to be wearing grass hula skirts. This is a good place to see clearly the mix of cultures: the infrastructure is a mix of Roman arches, Greek columns, and Lotus Thrones. The exhibit is at Asia Society Park Ave and 70th Street, NYC, through Oct 30, 2011.
http://sites.asiasociety.org/gandhara/exhibit-sections/buddhas-and-bodhisattvas/





Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Rembrandt's human Jesus


It's hard to imagine coming face to face with a celebrity: what would you do if Angelina Jolie suddenly showed up at your local supermarket? And when it comes to Jesus - famous, divine, historical//mystical - it's impossible. Art doesn't help. The model most people know, especially if they went to Sunday School, is a sort of candy-colored pretty Jesus who looks to be of vaguely Scandinavian heritage. Even 'good' art, and there is an enormous amount of good religious art - art history would be nowhere without Christian imagery - keeps Jesus at arm's length or further. Byzantine versions set the standard for the stern aloof Jesus, very beautiful, but definitely not someone you could sidle up to to ask for a favor. A most famous Byzantine image is Christ the Pantocrator - the Judge - one who appears disinclined to give time off for good behavior. The other extreme is Guido Reni's gentle, painfully beautiful 16th c. Jesus, who suffers great agony without any messy blood or dirt. But then comes Rembrandt. A traveling show, called Rembrandt and the Face of Jesus is now at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, after a stay at the Louvre, and before it goes on to Detroit. It's a small, focused show of quiet pleasures for a Rembrandt lover like me, with a good audioguide to give background on why his versions of Jesus are so revolutionary. First of all, this Jesus is Jewish, just as the real Jesus was. Rembrandt whose house was smack in the midst of the Jewish population of Amsterdam, delighted in the fresh possibilities of this exotic group, newly arrived after persecutions elsewhere. It is said that he became close friends with several Jewish neighbors, and he certainly found models for his oh-so-human Jesus. There is a wall of small studies of heads in the exhibit, the same but different by a slight twist of the neck or a shift in the glance. As I made my way from one to the next, the humanness of Jesus made itself felt, and by the end I could believe him fully capable of sadness, compassion, maybe a little anger, and even a head cold. Rembrandt is the most unusual of religious painters for a number of reasons. Religious painting, long associated with the Roman Catholic Church, was far out of favor in fiercely Protestant, fiercely and newly independent 17th c. Holland. Icons and saints had been banished from the churches; artists painted portraits, landscapes, and earthy genre scenes. Rembrandt painted those too, but he also looked to the Bible, reading it for himself and looking around to see its lessons writ in the faces and gestures of his fellow Amsterdamers. They may wear the requisite Biblical gear, but his saints are a little dumpy, with fleshy Northern faces, and his Jesus is local, and human.

Note: Rembrandt was one of the greatest printmakers in all of history, and there are several etchings in the exhibit. This one, officially titled "Christ Preaching" but known as "The Hundred Guilder Print" because of its high price, is one of his masterpieces.




Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Stormy Art for Stormy Weather

A hurricane is a strange event. In my Philadelphia neighborhood, not so far from the coast, full of majestic trees in parks and old churchyards, we worried about branches falling in the heavy winds. Instead we got tons of rain with very little wind and no damage to speak of. We were lucky - not so much those in other places, especially inland areas of Vermont and New York State, where they must have thought a hurricane was not their concern. So, with those unfortunate places and people in mind, here are a few examples of Stormy Art from other times and places. Nobody ever did rain and wind like Hiroshige and Hokusai, the grand Ukiyo-e masters of late 19th century Japan. One glance at Hiroshige's Oshashi Bridge & Atake in a Sudden Shower (1856) and you feel the water pelting down your neck and soaking your clothes. Hokusai's marvelous Ejiri in Suruga Province (1830-1833) with his signature view of Mt. Fuji makes you grab for your hat. This windy image has had a rash of imitators lately, most notably Jeff Wall with his A Sudden Gust of Wind (after Hokusai) (1993) - detail here - and also Carrie Marill's A Sudden Gust of Wind (After Hokusai) 2009. And then there's Winslow Homer, the taciturn New Englander whose watercolors are the stuff of magic. He turned his attention to stormy weather more than once, with some of the greatest examples coming from his trips to Florida, Cuba, and the Bahamas in 1884-1885. One of the most poignant of his narratives in paint is The Gulf Stream (1899) in which a lonely sailor sits helpless, his mast broken and his boat adrift, as the sharks gather in the waves around him. For him the storms - all storms -  are nearly over, whether the cloud in the distance is coming or going. 
And lastly, a bit of Romantic sentiment to point up the truth and strength of the others. Pierre-Auguste Cot painted The Storm in 1880 with his toolbox full of allegory and pictorial illusion. His reference is not the driving force of the wind or the very real need to take shelter, but the charm of the Greeks and their stories. The past week of earthquakes and hurricanes will also be the stuff of stories, some charming, some not. Good luck to all those who are still struggling with the aftermath of Irene.





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