The mystery is still stuck in the painting, waiting to be let out.

You may have seen this painting, “The Night Watch,” by Rembrandt already.  It’s one of Rembrandt’s most famous pieces.  The composition, the lighting, the dynamic nature… and the mystery.  The painting was originally commissioned as a simple portrait for a number of militia men, but Rembrandt put clues in it that a watchful viewer can follow.

There’s a film out with more information on it: “J’Accuse,” which intends to reopen the case.

Rembrandt’s not the only one who did this.  Giorgio Vasari may have put clues in his murals that would lead the seeker to find the lost painting of Leonardo da Vinci, “The Battle of Anghiari.  “Cerca trova” (“He who seeks, finds”) says a banner on one of the murals.

Do you, reader, know of any other good mysteries?

I’ve been reading David Copperfield on my headphones the past few days and thought the following scene was  one of the most empathetic scenes I have ever read.

Here’s a brief summary of what has happened thus far in the story for any who need it:

• David Copperfield, the very young protagonist of the story, has lost everything in his life.
• His father died before he was born.
• His mother, who was very young herself, let her insecurity drive her into a second marriage with a domineering and cruel man.
• The cruel step-father mistreated and beat David until David finally stood up to him and bit his finger.
• In response, the step-father sent David to a boarding school known or its cruelty to children.
• David’s mother dies while he is away.
• Once his mother is gone, his step-father looses interest in raising David and sends him to work in a factory in London.
• David lives hand-to-mouth in the factory.
  
• He plans to runaway to seek help from his only relation, Aunt Betsey (She disowned him when he was born because he was “not a girl”).
• He writes to his one friend, the mistress of his mother, asking for half a guinea (perhaps about $150) to make the trip.  He promises to repay it as he knows it’s more money than she has.
• His friend sends him the money.
• David runs away.
• The first cart-man he asks to help him carry his suitcase steals everything David owns, including his half a guinea.
• David walks to his aunt’s home town over the course of six days, having to sell his waistcoat and jacket to buy bread.
• Once there, he asks a man on the street for the address of his aunt, “Miss. Betsey Trotwood.”
• (The story is told in first person from David’s point of view.)

Begin scene (italics inserted):

***

‘Trotwood,’ said he (the man on the street). ‘Let me see. I know the name, too. Old lady?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘rather.’

‘Pretty stiff in the back?’ said he, making himself upright.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I should think it very likely.’

‘Carries a bag?’ said he—’bag with a good deal of room in it—is gruffish, and comes down upon you, sharp?’

My heart sank within me as I acknowledged the undoubted accuracy of this description.

‘Why then, I tell you what,’ said he. ‘If you go up there,’ pointing with his whip towards the heights, ‘and keep right on till you come to some houses facing the sea, I think you’ll hear of her. My opinion is she won’t stand anything, so here’s a penny for you.’

I accepted the gift thankfully, and bought a loaf with it. Dispatching this refreshment by the way, I went in the direction my friend had indicated, and walked on a good distance without coming to the houses he had mentioned. At length I saw some before me; and approaching them, went into a little shop (it was what we used to call a general shop, at home), and inquired if they could have the goodness to tell me where Miss Trotwood lived. I addressed myself to a man behind the counter, who was weighing some rice for a young woman; but the latter, taking the inquiry to herself, turned round quickly.

‘My mistress?’ she said. ‘What do you want with her, boy?’

‘I want,’ I replied, ‘to speak to her, if you please.’

‘To beg of her, you mean,’ retorted the damsel.

‘No,’ I said, ‘indeed.’ But suddenly remembering that in truth I came for no other purpose, I held my peace in confusion, and felt my face burn.

My aunt’s handmaid, as I supposed she was from what she had said, put her rice in a little basket and walked out of the shop; telling me that I could follow her, if I wanted to know where Miss Trotwood lived. I needed no second permission; though I was by this time in such a state of consternation and agitation, that my legs shook under me. I followed the young woman, and we soon came to a very neat little cottage with cheerful bow-windows: in front of it, a small square gravelled court or garden full of flowers, carefully tended, and smelling deliciously.

‘This is Miss Trotwood’s,’ said the young woman. ‘Now you know; and that’s all I have got to say.’ With which words she hurried into the house, as if to shake off the responsibility of my appearance; and left me standing at the garden-gate, looking disconsolately over the top of it towards the parlour window, where a muslin curtain partly undrawn in the middle, a large round green screen or fan fastened on to the windowsill, a small table, and a great chair, suggested to me that my aunt might be at that moment seated in awful state.

My shoes were by this time in a woeful condition. The soles had shed themselves bit by bit, and the upper leathers had broken and burst until the very shape and form of shoes had departed from them. My hat (which had served me for a night-cap, too) was so crushed and bent, that no old battered handleless saucepan on a dunghill need have been ashamed to vie with it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and the Kentish soil on which I had slept—and torn besides—might have frightened the birds from my aunt’s garden, as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no comb or brush since I left London. My face, neck, and hands, from unaccustomed exposure to the air and sun, were burnt to a berry-brown. From head to foot I was powdered almost as white with chalk and dust, as if I had come out of a lime-kiln. In this plight, and with a strong consciousness of it, I waited to introduce myself to, and make my first impression on, my formidable aunt.

The unbroken stillness of the parlour window leading me to infer, after a while, that she was not there, I lifted up my eyes to the window above it, where I saw a florid, pleasant-looking gentleman, with a grey head, who shut up one eye in a grotesque manner, nodded his head at me several times, shook it at me as often, laughed, and went away.

I had been discomposed enough before; but I was so much the more discomposed by this unexpected behaviour, that I was on the point of slinking off, to think how I had best proceed, when there came out of the house a lady with her handkerchief tied over her cap, and a pair of gardening gloves on her hands, wearing a gardening pocket like a toll-man’s apron, and carrying a great knife. I knew her immediately to be Miss Betsey, for she came stalking out of the house exactly as my poor mother had so often described her stalking up our garden at Blunderstone Rookery.

‘Go away!’ said Miss Betsey, shaking her head, and making a distant chop in the air with her knife. ‘Go along! No boys here!’

I watched her, with my heart at my lips, as she marched to a corner of her garden, and stooped to dig up some little root there. Then, without a scrap of courage, but with a great deal of desperation, I went softly in and stood beside her, touching her with my finger.

‘If you please, ma’am,’ I began.

She started and looked up.

‘If you please, aunt.’

‘EH?’ exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of amazement I have never heard approached.

‘If you please, aunt, I am your nephew.’

‘Oh, Lord!’ said my aunt. And sat flat down in the garden-path.

‘I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk—where you came, on the night when I was born, and saw my dear mama. I have been very unhappy since she died. I have been slighted, and taught nothing, and thrown upon myself, and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away to you. I was robbed at first setting out, and have walked all the way, and have never slept in a bed since I began the journey.’ Here my self-support gave way all at once; and with a movement of my hands, intended to show her my ragged state, and call it to witness that I had suffered something, I broke into a passion of crying, which I suppose had been pent up within me all the week.

My aunt, with every sort of expression but wonder discharged from her countenance, sat on the gravel, staring at me, until I began to cry; when she got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me into the parlour. Her first proceeding there was to unlock a tall press, bring out several bottles, and pour some of the contents of each into my mouth. I think they must have been taken out at random, for I am sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. When she had administered these restoratives, as I was still quite hysterical, and unable to control my sobs, she put me on the sofa, with a shawl under my head, and the handkerchief from her own head under my feet, lest I should sully the cover; and then, sitting herself down behind the green fan or screen I have already mentioned, so that I could not see her face, ejaculated at intervals, ‘Mercy on us!’ letting those exclamations off like minute guns.

End scene

***

I recommend the book highly, especially to those of you who are interested in telling stories for children.

For those of you who have read it, what were your favorite scenes?  What do you think about Dicken’s work in general?

Three hours ago I set out to figure out how to add a “progress bar” to my blog showing where I am on my current project.  After searching for a bit, I was met with frustration and not for the first time since installing wordpress: there wasn’t a progress bar that suited my needs; I couldn’t find a way to add a simple, self-created image into my sidebar the way I would like; I’ve tried hiring someone else to do the coding for me and it didn’t work out the way that I had hoped.

Now what?

If you’re like me, here’s what you are looking for:

• A robust program for editing your website (not blog) with tools as simple as the tools in Photoshop.
• A flexible blog engine with the ability to post remotely and to export your posts at a future date.
• The ability to add in interactive objects like widgets, snippets, etc.

It was time to find a program to help out.  Yes, I know, if you’ve thought about this then you’ve heard all kinds of bad things, like “programs add in too much code,” “they take too long to learn how to use,” or “you can’t export your content like on WordPress.”  And, you heard correctly.  These are all valid drawbacks to using pretty much any website developer’s application.

To cut to the chase, here’s what I’ve settled on:

Rapidweaver + WordPress with a plugin to seam the two called “WP-Blog”

Rapidweaver is a highly reviewed website-design application.  It’s like iWeb, except that it doesn’t try to force you into using MobileMe.  It’s like Dreamweaver, except it doesn’t ask you to get a college degree in website coding.  It’s capable of adding in widgets, snippets, rss feed, and other html drop-ins.  It allows you complete control over your site design as opposed to forcing you to use a pre-made theme.  It uploads to your own ftp site and even allows you to add in comment boxes through echo (which seems like a pretty cool gig, I might add).

But there are certain things WordPress has to offer that I didn’t want to lose.  In Rapidweaver, and every other similar app, if you’re going to use it for blogging you will eventually run into problems.  It’s not very supportive of websites with hundreds or thousands of pages, each with pictures and individual comment boxes.  Also, you can’t export your posts later on should you find a better website design app in the future.  And you can’t post remotely, only from your own personal PC.  All those things are pretty essential for the artist.

Finally, I found the above mentioned “WP-Blog” plugin, which integrates your flexible wordpress blog as an individual page in your Rapidshare-designed website.

Perfecto mundo. I haven’t tried it yet, but will let you know how it goes.

Have any of you tried some of the options above?  Or have you found a better solution?  Let me know in the comments section.

In the spring of 2008, while I was working with Richard Solomon as an assistant, a giant crane broke off from its base and demolished our little office.





This image belongs to the New York Times, I believe.

We had no where to go, so Richard called up a friend at the Beekman Hotel on 49th Street.  His friend was kind enough to allow us to use their Presidential Suite, which was around twenty-five floors up and from there we saw many beautiful views of the Trump Tower (only half a block away) like this one:





Sometimes the fog in the city would get so thick that you could only vaguely see the shapes of dim, massive, dark buildings lurking around you, and the glowing lights of street cars swam around below you as well.  The view was so inspiring that we decided to do a video to showcase of our art going into large spaces like the Trump Tower.  (I’ve already posted it here.)

One of the best parts of putting together the film was getting to walk around New York looking for things to film.  In December I discovered for myself Bow Bridge.  It had been in so many films that I recognized it the moment I saw it.  I wanted to film there, and that was that.

But we were all leaving for the Christmas break in two days, so I had to get the filming done as soon as possible in order to be able to work on it over the break. The only time I was going to be able to film it was on Wednesday night at eleven o’clock, and I went–undeterred.

As I walked towards Bow Bridge through the park, a creepy guy started following me.  I had all of my computer and camera equipment (and I had not learned to make backups in those days) on my person.  I decided to walk in circles.  He followed me.  Then I turned back and he hid in the bushes.

I had a job to do and no nighttime murderer was going to stop me.

So, I called up Richard, my boss, and told him he needed to come film with me so that I would not get Shanghied or something.  Richard, growling and grumbling all the way, came.

The scene was unexpectedly prettier than I could imagine.





‘Now, why can’t I be here with a girlfriend rather than my boss,’ I thought.

The filming was going to go until one-thirty or later in the morning (I was doing a time lapse of twenty-two seconds and needed around four or five hundred frames), so another friend, Joel Richards, came to relieve Richard.  The final scene was excellent and we were all glad to have it in the final product.

Afterward, I became a little hooked on shooting the city just for fun.  Here’s another foggy night, this one of the Empire State Building:

I love this book–it doesn’t matter the cover.  But not all covers made for it are equal.  Here are a few of my favorites and why.

Number #3 on the favorite scale is the original, by Derek Jacobi.  What I love about this is the innocence: the Pevensie children and Eustace exploring the island; Caspian looking ahead; the head of the Dawn Treader poking into the frame, built just the way the book describes it; and most of all Reepicheep tromping off ahead.  The simple shapes are indicative of the kind of art I used to read at my grandmother’s home as a child, so it has a nostalgic effect too.  The colors of the childrens’ clothes are bright and cheerful, while the dawn treader and the surrounding sea and grass are muted green, which gives the book a classy feel.

Number #2 is the cover which I was first acquainted with as a child, but that’s not the only reason why I like it.

I like the graphical nature of the shapes most of all: the strong silhouette of the sea serpent against the equally strong silhouette of the Dawn Treader; the Da Vinci “Mother and Child on the Rocks” styled islands poking up out of the water; one-brush-stroke waves; and the medieval design of the sea serpent.  (More on this in a future post).  The fact that the colors of the Dawn Treader are different in the book doesn’t bother me–the shapes are so strong that I’m free to change them as I read.

And number #1 is…

Ahh, sweet perfection.  There are countless other ways to visually imagine the series, but this one takes the cake from everything I have ever seen on the Narnia series.

First of all, the moment of the book is as good as it gets.  The children are sailing to the end of the world now (and Narnia is a flat world, not round like ours).  As they get closer and the sun becomes brighter and brighter they see before them a whiteness.  When they pull up to it, fearful that it is ice, they find instead that it is lilies.  They set off again, shifting the lilies aside to leave a trail in their wake.  What an incredible scene to illustrate!

And the cover brings a wonderful visual to the story: the beautifully simple shapes; the monochrome color scheme; the open composition; and the lazy, yet respectful mood.

Growing up in my church I frequently saw paintings on the wall of my chapels which were loose, light in color, and never completely rendered.  They didn’t really stand out to me at that age (like most religious art), mostly because I was more enamored with “louder” or more attention-demanding things.  By the time I left to go study with Richard Solomon‘s group of artists in NY, I had so frequently seen and not appreciated Minerva’s work that I could walk by a painting without even noticing it.

Then, while studying in New York, I ended up serving in one of my church callings in a place where I passed by this painting from Minerva every time I walked in and out of the room:

Mary and Martha by Minerva Teichert

The “unfinished” nature of the work was what most grabbed my attention.  It was as if there was nothing more needed than the simple message of someone sitting down (the Savior) and talking with someone else (Mary) about higher things, or of paying attention to introspective opportunities instead of telling yourself that you’re “too busy” with minutiae.  I knew the story from the Bible of Christ’s visit to Martha’s home, but the painting brought new life to the story.

Esther by Minerva Tiechert

After passing by it several times, I then noticed another painting by Minerva for the first time in years.  It was a picture of Esther (see below) sitting on the Sunday school wall of my chapel.  I became so engrossed with it that I found myself staring at it through the class instead of listening to the lesson.  Again, it was an “unfinished” piece, yet there seemed lacking nothing in the message.  She, Esther, was beautiful.  Not because of an exaggerated figure, fine clothing, or a dynamic pose, but because she knew who she was.  Her face was certainly pretty, but the look of peace and confidence said more than the individual shapes of her features.

That was when I finally started noticing Minerva’s paintings.  I remembered passing by dozens of them in a building on my college campus and wished I could go back and look at them. I read a little more about her and discovered that she actually went to the east coast to study with Robert Henri, the famous art school teacher, who encouraged her to move to New York City where he believed she would become “one of the great ones.”  Instead, she moved back home to Utah, raised a large family, and still made fantastic art.  I wonder if she would have been able to paint such a painting as “Esther” above had she not done so.  Either way, I love her art.

Article on wikipedia regarding Minerva Tiechert.

Here are a few more by Minerva that I particularly enjoy:

Indian Captives at Night

by Minerva Tiechert

sketches by Minerva Tiechert

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Painted by Arthur Hacker

Malory’s rendition of the tale of King Arthur and the round table was thoroughly enjoyable. It was beautifully crafted, delicate in its transitions from fairy tale to verisimilar fiction, and masterful in its storytelling.

The scenes surrounding the attainment of the holy grail were particularly memorable. The image of Percival’s lifeless sister floating in an unguided boat towards the castle of the holy grail, with the dishonorable and prideful Lancelot therein (by God’s command), was deserving of a Peter Jackson film all in itself. The scenes surrounding the penultimate climax of Sir Galahad, Sir Percival, and Sir Bor’s attainment of the grail were so short, perhaps only 80 pages (out of a thousand), and somehow their succinct nature enhanced the visuals four times over. It was beautiful.

Painted by Sir Frank Dicksee

I’ll quickly run out of superlatives talking about the book, but there were many parts that also troubled me. I had a strong preconception about Lancelot from having recently read T.H. White’s rendition of the tale. His version of Lancelot was less satisfying to me, and it wasn’t until the end of reading Malory’s rendition that I really understood more of Lancelot and Guinevere’s characters. I understood more thoroughly Guinevere’s mindset: she was truly the most beautiful and intelligent woman in all of England, and because she never lacked or had any weaknesses other than spiritual ones, it took her longer to recognize her own religion and dependence on her creator. When she finally lost her true, covenanted husband, she then realized how foolish it was to cling to Lancelot like a trophy. When she realized this, then Lancelot did too, and they both had time to atone for their sins.

I could definitely read this book again. I would like to understand more of the story, especially the character portraits, and I’d also like to absorb more of Malory’s unparalleled  portrayal of magic.

It’s a great read. I listened to it on audio, read by Frederick Davidson. He doesn’t do the story justice, but its an adequate reading (I imagine that they had a small budget when created the recording in 1997 as they didn’t expect many people to buy an unabridged CD version of the story).

I’ve posted two Arthurian paintings here and you can see more at Aaron Neilson’s Gallery.

The first, on the upper right, is “The Temptation of Sir Percival,” painted by Arthur Hacker.  The quality of the painting speaks for itself: masterful color, composition, value, and draftsmanship.  One of the things that most drew me to this painting was the youthful nobility of Sir Percival’s portrait.  In the story, the woman is actually the devil in disguise, and she (or he) is tempting Sir Percival in order to keep him from attaining the holy grail.  She flatters and confuses him until the very last moment, in which Sir Percival realizes his danger.  Then she flees in a ship and Sir Percival repents for allowing himself to nearly succomb to temptation.

The second, on the lower left, is “Two Crowns,” by Sir Frank Dicksee. Can anyone point out why it’s called “Two Crowns?”  Two of the things I love about this painting are, again, the composition and values.  The composition beautifully frames King Arthur’s head, which is relatively small in the frame.  Note the diagonals of the swords, King Arthur’s armored arms, the flags in the background, and the arms and gestures of the ladies.  All place the weight of the shapes in such a way as to lead the eye to King Arthur’s noble portrait.  Secondly, notice how Sir Dicksee balanced the blaring whiteness of the horse by placing the light, bluish-green dress of the woman along the base of it.  It’s a great way to grab the viewer’s attention in a large museum or gallery without compromising the subject.

View all my reviews on goodread.com >>

Arnold Friberg, accomplished painter and one of my youngest influences, died recently at the age of 96.

I am a member of the same faith as Mr. Friberg and so grew up seeing his paintings in my copy of the holy scriptures.  His compositions, colors, and designs impressed upon the viewer the sacred nature of the prophets and their words.  Even when I was four years old and could not understand the words that they accompanied, I felt the spirit and truth clearly conveyed.  His work opened up doors for future LDS artists to brave the path of speaking to people through art.  We’ll miss him.

Greg Newbold, who had the opportunity of meeting him, wrote a wonderful and informative entry on his blog, which you may read here.