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?)

Chick lit? Romance novels? Not for the art historian or museum professional, surely!  If you’re looking for a juicy read that you can apply to your day job, look no further than (the regrettably out of print) Making the Mummies Dance by Thomas Hoving.  I’ve been looking for a copy of this book for years, and finally found it for only five bucks among the vast shelves of my new favorite bookstore.  This book not only kept me sane through a week alone in my new apartment without TV or internet, it helped me get back into museum mode after a month of doing little more than catching up on Bravo marathons post-graduation.  

This wonderfully gossipy tell-all from the director who revolutionized the Metropolitan Museum of Art between 1967-77 is readable, informative, and has all the famous and infamous names of the 60′s and 70′s. Hoving doesn’t shy from telling every detail, good or bad, about his former curators, trustees, donors, and enemies — and he’s also not shy about his own accomplishments. I found Hoving’s self-confidence more amusing than annoying, and in my opinion it was often justified: he did, after all, expand the Met’s encyclopedic collections as well as its campus, truly pushing the Met into the household name it is today  Either way, it’s not hard to get past the boasting (to his credit, he does identify what he thinks were his mistakes) and simply enjoy this conversational confessional, with its glimpse into the inner workings of the glittery world of Museum trustees and executives, who jetsetted back and forth between countries every other week, courted donors with grand parties, and built palatial palaces for art in an age before recessions and budget cuts.  Definitely a must-read for any museum professional or museum lover.

Making the Mummies Dance, Thomas Hoving, 1994. Buy from Amazon

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

About a year ago, I took a Vermeer seminar in which we discussed all of the works in Vermeer’s ouevre — even those most unlikely candidates… one of which was the piece at left.  This small painting surfaced most recently in 2004 in an auction at Sotheby’s, was sold to a private bidder, who sold it again, and has been under the radar ever since.

Until now, that is: this controversial little painting is on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art until around June.  Walter Liedtke, the curator of Dutch paintings at the Met, as well as the former paintings conservationist of the Rijksmuseum, endorse this painting as a late, authentic Vermeer.

I haven’t seen it myself yet, but I can definitely tell you I’ll be at the Met sooner rather than later to catch a glimpse of it.  Until then, share your thoughts — is it real, or as some art historians contend in this post-van Meergeren era of Vermeer studies, probably a fake?

A Young Woman Seated at the Virginals, at the Met until June | Via CultureGrrl
(If you’re interested in the provenance of this work, see this article from the Sotheby’s sales catalogue.)

Sometimes, it’s nice to be reminded of the magic that comes from standing in front of a work of art in person. The Met’s latest podcast, a discussion worth listening to between two greats–Philippe de Montebello and curator Keith Christiansen–on the famous Duccio acquisition did just that for me tonight.

The posts begin with ‘The Hidden Collection‘, followed by last week’s ‘Animals’ and this week’s ‘Tabletops‘.  Image above from the New York Times website.

A few weeks ago, I had the great fortune of being able to attend not one, but two members-only events at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City… and now I’ll bring them to you! These events, an opening and a Saturday morning lecture, were in conjunction with the Met’s newest exhibition, titled simply J. M. W. Turner.

The opening of the Turner exhibit was populated largely by an older crowd than me, but it was a great opportunity to see the exhibit with a relatively small number of people.  The show itself is exhaustive, a seemingly complete monograph on the artist and his many different works — from watercolors to oil sketches to full-blown oil paintings, and represent works from all the various periods of his life.  Simply by walking through the early galleries, you can see exactly where Turner’s art is heading; from the bright red reflection of a shirt on the sea, to the churning waves of a darkly-lit night, the vortexes and aureoles of Turner’s mature work looms. It is a great opportunity to get a glimpse into Turner’s entire career; not just the swirling, near-Impressionistic works he is famous for, but his realistic, haunting early watercolors and pale, ambiguous unfinished last works.

The members-only lecture was packed into the Grace Rainey Rogers Auditorium at the Met and I was told it was the first in a while that was standing-room only.  The lecturer was an assistant curator in the 19th Century art department, and she was bubbly and excited about the show and Turner.  She had a great account of the usually-reclusive Turner’s tendency to paint the majority of his works during “varnishing days” (three days before the English Salons, or art showings, when the works were hung but not open to the public).   She threw in a few more fun facts, too, and had a killer ending.

Organized in conjunction with the Tate Britain (whose Turner Bequest makes up a majority of the works shown), the exhibition is likely the last-ever Turner retrospective in this country, so try tomake it to New York this summer to take in this very accessible, beautiful exhibition.  (While you’re there, visit the Pietre Dure show; review forthcoming!)

J. M. W. Turner at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (Fifth Avenue at 82nd St., New York City) | Now through September 21, 2008.