It might be satire, but Colbert asks the big questions that everyone should be asking of museums: What is the point of art?  Is art only good if an art critic says it’s good?  Can “good” art exist without an audience? Who decides how much art is worth? Who decides what goes in a museum?  Colbert even begins by saying: “I don’t like art…and that’s mainly because I don’t get art.” So I ask a further question: How can museums help visitors feel more comfortable around the art — how can we make them feel like they “get it”? (Further, how can we help them feel comfortable with the fact that it’s OK to not “get it” — after all, isn’t that why art is studied: because we never feel like we’ve completely plumbed the interpretations of a work of art?)

These are huge, massive questions. I don’t really think that museum staff have the answer to most of them, and that’s probably why we do what we do — because we want to begin to answer them. I do think they’re questions we should ask ourselves and our visitors, because they can help us learn more about our audience and about our collections and institutions.  So as a museum educator, I’m asking all of you, how would you answer the big questions put to Campbell last night? How can museums help you “get art”? Comment away!

(PS: A final thought… Colbert ends by asking about the art housed in the Met: “Do they [the public] vote? Do you let them vote?” He’s met with a chuckle, but what an interesting web 2.0/feedback venture that would be… to ask visitors as they exit: do you think we should keep this work on view in the Museum; why or why not? Would you want to do something like that in a Museum?)

Like many museums in Europe, most of Rome’s most famous museums don’t allow photography.  (Or, if they do, I’m sorry to say I was unable to take pictures because I was in class while visiting them!)  As a result, most of the images in this installment of Art in Real Life are of famous Italian places, rather than paintings–which, to be honest, I sometimes find more immediately exciting than canvases on a wall in a museum.  These structures are almost all still exactly where they were hundreds of years ago when they were first built, and their size and age is mesmerizing.  Rome is one of the best places in the world to be wonderfully overwhelmed by how old everything is, to wander and lose yourself on the same cobblestones Renaissance greats did. As always, nothing can top actually being there, but hopefully these tourist-y glimpses into Rome will help you feel more like you’re in the city than an art history class’ slides or PowerPoints do.

Click on any of the pictures below to open the gallery; click next (or type “n” on your keyboard) to view the next photo.

TAHB’s Art in Real Life series: Paris | Brussels | Rome

Georgia O’Keeffe premieres September 19 at 9pm EST | Website

Now that I live in the Midwest, the Art Institute of Chicago will be popping up more and more on this blog, and I promise an extensive Art in Real Life dedicated to this huge institution once I have more than an afternoon to devote to it.  Until then, here are some preliminary thoughts after a whirlwind first visit to the museum…

We began with the brand-new Modern Wing, and though my group of friends and I didn’t get through nearly all of the new addition, I wasn’t as impressed as I thought I’d be. We all agreed it was a fairly predictable receptacle for Modern art, though it was light and airy.  We spent a fair bit of time in the contemporary photography gallery, whose curatorial choices I found somewhat baffling: one wall is covered in grey paper that has been folded over and over, upon which photographs and label text are hung or printed.  Though I wanted to like it (I love paper, after all) I could not for the life of me figure out why the choice of grey, folded paper over painting the wall–it didn’t click.  And while I liked the clear, deliberate juxtapositions the curator had made with the works themselves, the space was too small and had too many people zigzagging around the space to fully appreciate those choices.* 

Admittedly, I’m much more in love with art made before the 1900s than most later works, so for me what makes the Art Institute really worth a visit is their European and American art collection.  Among the highlights: famous Georgia O’Keeffes, American Gothic, Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks (see above), Cezannes and Monets galore, Toulouse-Lautrec’s Moulin Rouge, and of course, Seurat’s La Grande Jatte, among many others.  Rest assured: More of those to come on this blog! We ended our visit with the miniature rooms underneath the grand stairway, a collection of tiny, incredibly crafted historic spaces that are a lot of fun.

Finally, if you like anything to do with Japanese culture, calligraphy in general, or the beauty of a brushstroke, you must go visit Beyond Golden Clouds: Japanese Screens before September 27.  I loved the “greatest hits” of the Art Institute, but that show–from the work it showcases to the clear label copy to the huge room lined with screens–is truly stunnning.

*Edit—Today I spoke with an assistant curator at my own museum and she brought up two great points about the Modern Wing.  First, the architecture really does interact with the city of Chicago: the buildings, the railway, the parks are all visible from the many windows inside it, in a way that isn’t so in the older building, and it creates a much more welcoming atmosphere.  In addition, she mentioned that she thought the photography gallery was curated by an artist–which might explain its unusual setup.  That’s what I get for not having the time to read labels!

The Art Institute of Chicago | 111 South Michigan Avenue, Chicago, IL | Website

We read Martin Gladwell’s Blink for my museum studies seminar — a bestseller that focuses on the importance of those inexplicable moments of intinct. In the first chapter, he talks about the Getty Kouros  controversy.  Curators at the Getty, looking over the Greek statue for months, became convinced of its authenticity and purchased it at great price; yet others, such as Thomas Hoving, former director of the Metropolitan, saw it at first glance and simply knew it could not be real.  Whether or not the Kouros is a forgery or not remains unknown, but Gladwell argues that those first glace, gut-instinct moments should not be ignored.

Attributed to Vermeer, A Young Woman Seated at the Virginals, currently at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. (Click image for larger view)

I had a “blink” moment in front of the controversial Vermeer now on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which I wrote about a few months ago.  As I walked through the Italian Renaissance rooms to the Dutch Golden Age galleries, I was completely ready to dismiss the Vermeer as a fake.  After all, in reproductions we’d viewed in my seminar, it looked so preposterous: a huge yellow shawl, blank walls, ringlets in her hair and those hands (click the image to the right to view it closeup, and you’ll understand what I mean).  But when I walked in to the room, turned the corner, and marched straight up to the little painting, the first thought that popped into my mind was: Wow, it really is a Vermeer.

It took me a good twenty minutes or more in the room — happily, surrounded by almost all of the Met’s authenticated Vermeers for comparison — to put my fingers on exactly why my gut instinct was so positive.  The second thought in my mind was when I looked at the ribbons in the figure’s hair.  They are painted with such care but at the same time such simplicity — a single pulling of bright red paint, a few daubs of white — that immediately made me think of a very similar detail in the Louvre’s Lacemaker (see gallery below): the red and white threads pooling over the pincushion are painted with just as much care.  Interestingly, the ringlet hairstyle I’d originally considered so odd appears in that very painting, too. Moreover, the Lacemaker is about the same size as this intimate, small painting.

As for her hands and the strange, almost blurry quality of the painting style — both are actually pretty consistent with the late style of Vermeer.  The Woman at the Virginals (see gallery below) in the National Gallery in London is a prime example of this late style: glassy eyes, a somewhat vacant expression, less outright attention to anatomy (those hands), and a thicker, flatter, and less paint-dappled touch than in earlier works like the Rijksmuseum Maid with a Milk Pitcher, where even loaves of bread seem to sparkle in midday light.  But they do retain some of Vermeer’s well-known style, especially in the soft quality of light.  Just a few canvases over from the Young Woman at the Virginals is the Met’s own Study of a Young Woman (see gallery below).  The soft contour of her cheek against the black background — identical to that of the infamous Girl with a Pearl Earring in the Hague — can barely be called a contour, as it melts into a soft non-edge of light.  I found that same quality (though not quite as stunning) in the curls and neck of the Young Woman in question.

Of course, I guess a forger could have looked at the late Lacemaker and Woman at the Virginals and decided to create some sort of merging of the two: the hands and virginal theme of the London piece, with the size, hairstyle and tiny detailing (down to the very same colors) of the Louvre work.  It’s not totally out of the question.  But even as I stood in front of that painting trying to play devil’s advocate of my first gut reaction, I was sucked in by the ribbons and the soft, melting outlines of her face into the wall behind her — feelings I have to say I’ve only really felt in front of real Vermeers.  And I couldn’t help but remember Gladwell’s Blink and the importance of first impressions that we’d discussed in my seminar.

Of course, I’m an undergrad, albeit one with a great love of Vermeer — so I’m certainly not trying to put myself at the same level of Thomas Hoving or Walter Liedtke, curator of Northern Art at the Met, who just published this work in his recent monograph on the famous Dutch artist, adding that the odd yellow shawl was probably painted over this “minor” late work of Vermeer.  Who knows if this work is a forgery or not? — I certainly don’t, and maybe we never will know for sure; but till then, I’m content to think fondly of those gorgeous ribbons, the softness of her curls against the whitewashed wall, and the memories they stir up about the Vermeers I was lucky enough to see in Paris and the Netherlands.

What do you think? Have you seen this “new” Vermeer? Tell us your thoughts in the comments…

Photos from the Met and Reference Comparisons

Step through sculptures made of strings, see yourself reflected in what seems to be a volcano of glass, walk through a towering rusted spiral, gaze into huge, endless geometric pits, and imagine who wrote each of a set of 4,000 vintage postcards.  Where else can you do all these things but at the amazing Dia:Beacon?

I’ve attended college in the Hudson Valley for four years, and only now, in my final semester, have I at last managed to visit Dia:Beacon, the sprawling contemporary art installation museum in Beacon, NY (located about an hour or so from New York City).  Dia:Beacon has all the greats of contemporary art, including Richard Serra, Gerhard Richter, Donald Judd, and Agnes Martin, as well as a number of artists I’d never heard of before, but whose art fully engrosses you.

Fred Sandback, Untitled from Dia:Beacon website

The museum is a playground of optical illusions.  The stark white galleries immediately present you with the eye-numbing neons of Dan Flavin and then the meticulously layered pencil murals of Sol LeWitt, who seems a Dia favorite.  Throughout your journey through the huge, echoing Dia warehouse, you constantly wonder: What is real? What am I looking at? What is this space?

Fred Sandback’s string sculptures (a view, at left) ask these questions playfully, creating larger-than-life rectangles and triangles that you know are flat and empty, but at the same time have deceiving depth, leaning against gallery walls as if discarded by the artist. On Kawara’s room of dated paintings from his ongoing Today series is a pristinely executed inquiry into time that manages to be both intimate and distant; the air is even ionized, and it feels somehow lighter as you inhale and exhale within the space.

Michael Heizer, North, South, East, West, from Dia:Beacon website

Meanwhile, the gaping holes of Michael Heizer’s North, South, East, West (right) are an exploration into illusions of infinity, simultaneously mesmerizing and terrifying.  And one could spend hours in Zoe Leonard’s You see I am here after all exhibition — reading the text and studying the subtle differences in printing of the 4,000 vintage postcards of Niagara Falls, collected by the artist over the course of the year, getting lost in the stories of this place and forgetting any sense of space around you altogether.

(Not to be missed, by the way, is their bookstore, which, though small in size, houses a treasure trove of books on art, design, and theory from around the world.)

All in all, the collections of the Dia, much like the installation art in general, defy description, and beg instead to be experienced. And after all, isn’t that the point?

Dia:Beacon, Reggio Galleries, 3 Beekman Street, Beacon NY 12508 | Zoe Leonard’s You see I am here after all exhibition is on view until September 9, 2009