Conclave a Powerful Look at What Goes on Behind Closed Doors

 

 

 

 

Conclave  (2024)

Directed by Edward Berger

Focus Features, 120 minutes, PG

★★★★★

 

Perhaps the best reason to see Conclave is that the Catholic Church doesn’t want you to do so. A conclave is held when a pope dies and is responsible for choosing a new one. The College of Cardinals is sequestered in Rome and stay in the Vatican until a new one is chosen. After each day’s deliberations and votes, a plume of black smoke denotes that no pope has been chosen. White smoke means a new pontiff is in place.

 

What could possibly be controversial about any of this? Quite a lot actually. The film directed by Edward Berger is based on a novel, but is less fictional than you might imagine. It’s no secret that the College of Cardinals is a political as the U.S. Congress. We see concerned cardinals gathering around the papal deathbed and when the pope finally expires, gamesmanship rears its head. The job of leading the conclave falls to the Dean, Thomas Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), who might be the only man in the Vatican concerned with conducting a moral process.

 

The leading candidates couldn’t be more different. Aldo Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci) is a liberal reformer like the deceased pope, but Goffredo Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto) insists the new pope must be an Italian who will undo Vatican II and take the church on a rightward reactionary path. Nigerian Joshua Cardinal Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati) insists it’s time for an African pope and downplays his homophobia and conservative leanings. Joseph Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow) is the fox in the garden who hopes to emerge as the compromise candidate, though there’s an allegation that the pope tried to dismiss him. Perhaps Lawrence himself is a candidate, though he insists he’s an administrator not a spiritual leader. Day two of the conclave is interrupted by whether to seat Archbishop Vincent Benitez (Carlos Diehz), a Mexican national currently serving in Kabul. Benitez champions the poor, has ministered in war zones, and was asked by the pope to help choose his successor.

 

As the conclave unfolds, lots of dirty secrets reveal themselves–so many that Lawrence becomes a serious candidate. He is reluctant to toss his miter into the ring and is also  tainted as it is he who cracked the whip that felled several would-be popes. Was he secretly plotting? The conclave becomes a cat-and-mouse thriller the spotlights puffed up pronouncements and deflating counters. When a terrorist attack leads Bellini to insist a strong pope–read himself–is needed because the church is at war with secularism and sin, Benitez humbly asks, “What do any of you know of war?”

 

Another hard question emerges: Who is actually in charge? A film about Cardinals is, by nature, androcentric. Ahh, but what about the sisters (nuns) who do the housekeeping, prepare the meals, and have their own grudges and history with some of the cardinals?  Isabella Rosellini is Sister Agnes. Watch her carefully. In a conclave reduced to puppet play, who’s to say she can’t pull some strings?

 

Conclave is part thriller, part drama, part morality play, and part Crying Game. The cinematography of Stéphane Fontaine is impressive. He takes some liberties at times but does a credible job of filming a faux Sistine Chapel. Berger and Fontaine had to recreate the very look and feel of the Vatican; needless to say, they had no access to the real thing. The acting is uniformly strong, though one might say that making Tucci Italian American instead of a native Italian might have been a misstep. I can certainly see Fiennes garnering Oscar consideration, though I suspect the film won’t go very far for fear of offending Catholics.

 

As a personal note, I think the Tedescos of the world are wrong. The Catholic Church is riddled with problems. Note that several of the cardinals feared the Papal Curia, the Vatican’s administrative wing. It was so corrupt that Pope Francis replaced it 2022.  The treasury has also came under scrutiny, not to mention the church’s pedophilia scandals and abuses of unwed mothers and indigenous peoples. Conclave made me think that when Francis passes on, the next papal selection should be televised. To put a religious spin on it, there’s a reason the Gospel of John proclaims, “... everyone who does wicked things hates the light.”

 

Rob Weir

The Old Oak: Ken Loach's Bittersweet Swan Song

 

 

 

The Old Oak (2023/24)

Directed by Ken Loach

Zeitgeist Films, 114 minutes, Not Rated

★★★★★

 

The Old Oak will probably be the final film from 88-year-old British director Ken Loach. A lot of Loach’s films get limited distribution in the United States because Loach is an unrepentant radical socialist–so much so that he was booted from the British Labour Party for calling out its antisemitic leanings. Unlike U.S. politicians pandering for votes, Loach is an unabashed defender of working people. John Sayles is the only comparable American director who comes to mind.

 

The Old Oak is the name of a tavern in Northeast England ravaged by Margaret Thatcher’s mine closures during the 1980s. It is operated by Tommy Joe (“TJ”) Ballantine (Dave Turner) and is a place where a lot of old timers gather to bemoan the town’s downward slide and refight old battles like the 1984 miners’ strike. TJ causes a stir when he and local do-gooder Laura (Claire Rodgerson) help Syrian refugee families move into some of the town’s numerous empty flats. There’s nothing like newcomers to stir up localist and ethnocentric anger. A couple of toughs break the camera of Yara (Ebla Mari), the member of the Syrian group with a good command of English. Her determination to have those responsible replace her camera places the Syrians on a collision course between those displaced by war versus locals who want no part of them.

 

As so often the case, hate masks the reality that there is no turf to protect. TJ knows that the town–unnamed, but probably in County Durham–needs a miracle to revive it. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep The Old Oak open and tries to stay above the outrage, but refuses to be part of those who want to set up a meeting to discuss what to “do about” invaders from outside. This puts TJ at odds with old comrades, including Charlie (Trevor Fox) who has been a good mate for decades.  Although Yara and her mother are deeply interested in learning how to fit in and help the town, theirs is a difficult against-the-tide swim against racism and fear. So much so that when a tentative coming together experiment begins to prove successful, there remain those who would sabotage it.

 

Loach deftly confronts the gaps between the solidarity of yesteryear and broken dreams left in the wake of Thatcherism. In a nuanced touch, he uses his characters to question whether the defeated are using solidarity as if they were trapped in 1984 amber. Without spelling it out, Loach makes us question whether solidarity is supposed to be the passion of a moment, or the fuel that drives an ongoing social movement. If the latter, who are the insiders and who is an outside obstacle?

 

Subtle moves aside, Loach knows which side he’s on and isn’t afraid to advocate for it. Some of his films have had difficulty finding distribution as they were deemed propaganda. Yet, if you watch them–and you should–you can’t help but think that “propaganda” is frequently just a label that those who hold power use to discredit those who question the morality of their motives. As noted above, Loach is a champion  of working blue-collar families who live paycheck to paycheck (or dole check to dole check) and dream merely of “making do.” To use an old Quaker standard, Loach seeks to speak truth to power. In doing so, we turn our attention to those whose diminished dreams lead them into futile rearguard actions. Is this how anyone should live?

 

Another reason why Loach films often have short stays in theater is his insistence on  background authenticity. His characters assume local dialect and speech patterns. Some Loach films have been subtitled, even though everyone is speaking English. The Old Oak has a decided “Geordie” flavor, an accent common in and around Newcastle.  It has a few unfamiliar idioms, though they are not hard to unravel within context. The Geordie accent, though, is no more difficult to decipher than the upper crust speech of, say, Downton Abbey.

 

The Old Oak was much praised in Europe. Some Loach films are quite grim, but this one leaves us with both an enhanced analysis of social class and hope. It is a small slice of life that packs a wider and more powerful wallop.

 

Rob Weir

How to See a Museum in a Hurry: Sarasota, FL

 

 

 

 

In the last few weeks I’ve shared some art photos and thoughts, plus a few tips on how to take in a large museum. But what if you’re running out of time?

 

That happened to me earlier in the year when a friend and I took a day trip to Sarasota, Florida. We wanted to see the Ringling Brothers circus museum and the home of John Ringling (1866-1936) . He was a great art collector and there is a large rectangular building with an enclosed courtyard that houses his treasures.

 

By the time we took in the circus paraphernalia, got tickets to tour Ringling’s home, and had lunch, we only had about an hour to see the art. We wasted about 15 minutes just trying the find the entrances and another few more navigating a confusing layout. In all, we had 40 minutes to sample what’s there. What to do?

 

First, admit you can’t possibly see it all.  

 

Second, force yourself not to get distracted by looking at things that don’t please you. I’m not a fan of Baroque art and I’ve seen plenty of Virgin and Child paintings from the Renaissance, so I sailed through those galleries. Remember, nobody is going to give you a for-credit quiz on each gallery.

 

Third, stride forcibly through the galleries and stop only when something attracts your eyes. Don’t be seduced by labels. As I said in an earlier post, do a bit of homework in advance to know what a museum collects in abundance. If you have limited time, don’t waste it by staring at a minor work with a familiar name by the frame. Let your eyes wander to things that really grab you. If you learn about a few dozen things that spoke to you, that’s plenty.

 

Here is my culling of a few things that slowed my pace enough to take them in and snap a photo to enjoy later. 

 

If you think pumpkin boats are odd, how about a watermelon regatta--Unknown 16th c Italy.

Canaletto. Interesting to imagine San Marco Square being built in Venice.

Giovanni Graneri, Lottery Drawing and Market in Turin 18th c

Franz Hals, contemporary of Rembrandt. Told you he was good!

If you're heard of the Shroud of Turin, know it was a widespread tale and that numerous other cities had similar legends. 

It was a thing in the Renaissance to do portraits made of fruits and veg.

Joseph Wright of Derby, Moonlight Landscape

Alfred Stevens, Parisian Celebrities 1889. Stevens was English and hung out with Pre-Raphaelites.

Edward Burne Jones, one of the greats of the Pre-Raphaelites. "Three Sirens"

One of my "finds." I never heard of Onzio Marinari, but this 1670 painting stopped me in my tracks.

 

The Outrun: Orkney on View

 

 

 

 

The Outrun (2024)

Directed by Nora Fingscheidt

Sony Pictures Classic, 118 minutes, R (brief sexuality, language)

★★★ ½

 

It takes patience to enjoy The Outrun for several reasons. Working from Amy Liptrot’s memoir director Nora Fingscheidt has assembled a film that features terrific acting and the spectacular choreography of Wayne McGregor, but the story is told via fractured time, flashbacks, and even snippets of animation. The pacing is slow in spots, which I found appropriate, though some audiences have disagreed.

 

It stars Saoirse Ronan who, as always, is terrific. She’s Irish-American, but plays Rona, a 29-year-old Scots quite adeptly. (I guess Celts flock together! ) If you have trouble with accents, you might want to stream it with subtitles. You’ll probably have to, as it’s been in theaters for a bananosecond.* Too bad, as the wild Orkney seas and sparse landscape are jaw-dropping gorgeous on a big screen.

 

Rona’s story is that of an alcoholic. Let’s face it, there are no surprises in such a film. They can only end in one of two ways: either the person self-destructs or gets sober (or sober-ish) and starts anew. The tension comes from the collateral damage that occurs along the way. Ronan’s every thought and move is spot-on, but this is a quieter look at the disease whose main “action” occurs in the flashback scenes. Under Fingscheidt’s non-linear storytelling, The Outrun–note the title’s layered meanings–what happens in between can come off as padding.

 

The Outrun is a smart person/foolish choices film. The Orkney-raised Rona is working on a graduate degree in biology in London, parties hard, and has a sympathetic boyfriend Daynin (Paapa Essiedu), but alcoholics have a way of turning gold to lead. She makes all the mistakes addicts make and exposes herself to dangers no attractive young woman should. She needs help, but it won’t come from her Orcadian family. Her father Andrew (Stephen Dillane) is seriously bipolar and her mother Annie (Saskia Reeves) copes through prayer, which is non-starter for Rona. Instead, Rona retreats into isolation punctuated by on/off/on/off attempts at Alcoholics Anonymous. At one point she has a field job with a bird conservatory group seeking to count endangered corncrakes, but the deeper she goes into her cups, the harder it is to see light. As she puts it, “I can’t be happy sober.”  

 

A corncrake

 

 

Speaking of isolation, Rona is the central character, but Orkney is a close second. It is an archipelago ten sea miles from Caithness, the sparsely populated northern tip of Scotland. Although Orkney is connected via ferries and small aircraft, it’s a place few Scots visit, let alone Londoners. There are 70 islands, 20 of which have people–barely. The total population is 22,546; three quarters live on its largest island, which is incongruously called Mainland. I’ve been fortunate enough to visit. Orkney has important Neolithic sites, but it mostly contains sheep, seals, birds, cliffs, sea stacks, wild currents, and seriously tall people. (Norway is to the northeast and a lot of Orcadians are of Norse descent.) 

 

This is the Isle of Hoy, pop. 419 but you get the idea

 

 

Why the geography lesson? The film’s stress on isolation makes more sense if you understand the level we’re dealing with. The desperate Rona takes isolation down by several magnitudes by renting a small cottage on Papa Westray, which has sympathetic locals–all 60 of them! Boats and small planes can get there–when the seas and winds aren’t too high, which is certainly not every day. Did I mention that cellphone coverage is spotty at best? McGregor’s camerawork might seem like a National Geographic assignment at times, but imagine yourself on a small green rock in the midst of the North Atlantic and at the mercy of pounding storms.

 

Saoirse Ronan couldn’t be further from the quirky Wes Anderson roles that brought her to light. The Outrun is a classic small film that’s more about ideas and inner struggles. Don’t look for tied-with-a-bow solutions; Ronan gives us a study in trying to find silence amidst noise. But what will win, the raves inside the London discotheques she haunts, the techno music playing from her headphones, the raging Orcadian surf, or a quiet mind?

 

Rob Weir

 

*Bananosecond is a word I coined for things that only stick in culture about the length of time it takes to consume a banana.

Disappearing Earth a Remarkable Novel

 

 

 Disappearing Earth (2019)

By Julia Phillips

Knopf, 261 pages

★★★★

 

If the name Julia Phillips sounds familiar, it’s because of Bear, one of this year’s literary sensations. I enjoyed Bear so much that I picked up Disappearing Earth, her debut novel and a 2019 finalist for the National Book Award.

 

Phillips apparently has an affinity for isolated places. Disappearing Earth is set in a place that few Americans have visited: Russia’s sparsely populated Kamchatka peninsula. One might ask how Phillips chose her subject, as she hails from New Jersey and graduated from Barnard. Blame Barnard; she spent an undergraduate semester in Moscow and then got a Fulbright scholarship to go to Kamchatka to research how women are treated on an everyday basis.

 

Disappearing Earth  was a bold effort in that her “novel” is a series of vignettes about how different women were affected by the disappearance of three young girls. It's a month-by-month look at that mystery through linked short stories. It opens in December, a year after two girls disappeared. You might initially find it useful to consult the book’s list of characters, as there are names that might be unfamiliar. This is complicated in that Russian and indigenous names often appear in variants of the official name.  For example, Alexander is often nicknamed Sasha. You will catch on to the important characters, but the list will make that task easier.

 

The Kamchatka peninsula is closer to Anchorage than to Moscow. If you look at a map of Russia, Kamchatka is the northern thumb that points downward towards Japan. The only real city is Petropavlovsk, which holds nearly 56 percent of Kamchatka’s 291,700 people. Disappearing Earth centers on women, but it is also about place, race, and modernization. North of Petropavlovsk lie various small settlements characterized by the clash of old ways and new. Phillips focuses on three places that embody such changes. Petropavlovsk is a vibrant city dominated by Russians, but the village of Esso is a mix of Koryaks and Evens who call Russians “whites,” in an unflattering way. Both Evens and Koryaks are linguistically and racially distinct from white Russians. The village of Palana, located on the Sea of Okhotsk, is a mix of dire Soviet apartment blocks and semi-nomadic Koryaks. If you infer racial tensions analogous to those in the United States, ding!

 

Alyona (5) and Sophia (8) disappeared from a Petropavlovsk beach. Their mother Marina, a journalist, is obviously distraught. There is only one possible witness, a woman who glanced at two girls in a large black vehicle. Searches, posters, TV appeals, and harbor dredging ensue, but investigations yield nothing. By contrast, the fate of Lilia, an 18-year-old Even girl from Esso, gets little attention. Local police assume she has simply run away and Petropavlovsk-based authorities have no time for communities north of the city. Phillips writes, “In the city, Lilia might as well have never existed.”

 

Phillips alerts us that indigenous communities also grapple with modern problems. We meet Ksyusha, a university student; her brother Cegga; Ruslan, Ksyusha’s sometime boyfriend; and Nadia, a single mother and Cegga’s on/off girlfriend. How to make white and indigenous worlds collide? Marina remains an emotional wreck a year after losing her daughters. She insists she can do her work, but her superiors know better; they concoct a mental health break by handing her a “soft” assignment of covering a summer solstice event. There she meets Alla–who has her own sorrow–but becomes Marina’s guide to cultures about which she, a Russian white, knows nothing. Although distracted and cynical, Marina confronts worldviews in which the lines between folklore and everyday life are thin. Can shadows speak?

 

There are other side stories. Oksana and Max, researchers at a volcano institute, and Kolya, a police detective factor into the novel. Still another involves Kamchatka-raised Masha, who left and achieved relative success in Moscow, but carries emotional baggage. Returning to Kamchatka won’t help. Former friends disapprove of her demeanor and lifestyle. Phillips deftly moves between the side stories, racial tensions, and cultural clashes. It’s not always totally clear how everything connects to the disappearance of the three girls, but it is remarkable that Phillips knots as many threads as she does.

 

Some readers have complained that the novel’s denouement is contrived. I mildly disagree, but I understand how an upbeat tonal shift appears out of character. You might disapprove with how Disappearing Earth ends, but you will certainly learn a lot about Kamchatka and the messiness of “Russian” identity.

 

Rob Weir

How to See an Art Museum: Boston Museum of Fine Arts Part Two

 

 

Holgar, Man with an Axe

 

 Edwin Holgar as Printmaker (through December 16, 2024)

Dutch and Flemish Masterworks (ongoing)

Power of the People: Art and Democracy (ongoing)

 

My first rule for enjoying an art museum is always to see the things that you came to see first. That’s why we hit the Dali and O’Keeffe shows when we walked through the doors on our October 27 visit. See your # 1 desire when you’re fresh.

 

This leads to my second rule of museum-going. Many people feel like they have to see “everything” because they paid to get in. Bad move! In a big museum like the MFA you simply can’t, but you can make your brain explode by trying. It’s the equivalent of trying to force yourself to read after you’ve nodded off on the same page three times. Plan ahead so you know what else you might wish to see–if you have time. Take breaks: browse the gift shop(s), grab a cup of coffee, or have a quick meal.* Resume your journey, but allow yourself to shift gears if you stumble upon something that fascinates you.

 

Mary McMaster

Museums like the MFA nearly always have smaller special exhibits worth seeing, plus they like to show off  new acquisitions somewhere prominent before they are shuttled into a gallery. The one at MFA is often in the corridor near the information desk. That’s where I saw When the Storm Ends I Will Finish My Work, a poignant work from Mary McMaster, a Canadian/Cree artist. Call it a silent agitator. McMaster grasps a feather quill and is slumped over a tall stack of papers from which vegetation pokes through. Are they moldering broken treaties and the reason for her world-weary expression?

 

Holgar, Labrador Kitchen

My favorite special small special exhibit comes from another Canadian, print maker Edwin Holgate (1892-1977). He only made 60 prints and half of them are on display at the MFA. Most are from the late 1920s into the 1930s. He had great affinity for the northern climes of Quebec and Labrador, though he spent most of his career as a painter and teacher (at Montreal MFA). The prints you see inspired an invitation to join the Group of 7, a revered group in Canada. He never formally did so but, like Emily Carr, was so simpatico that he sometimes gets lumped with them. (If you’re trying to remember when you heard about the 7, Steve Martin is a great collector of linchpin Lawren Harris.) Thirty small prints, but I loved them.

Horseshoe Lake PQ

The Lumberjack 

 

The Village

 

Here's what to do when you’re starting to fade: Pop into a few permanent galleries and make mental notes to revisit them next time. I did this with two galleries, beginning with the revamped Dutch and Flemish Masterworks galleries. The MFA scored big-time in securing a gift nearly every Western museum longed to have: the Rose-Marie and Ejik van Otterloo Collection. It's mostly from the 17th century Dutch Golden Age. If you’re wondering, there is no Vermeer but I’m sure you can make do with luminaries such as Rembrandt, Franz Hals, Rubens, and Van Dyck. You’ll also find one whose name will ring a bell if you read The Goldfinch, Donna Taart’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel: Carel Fabritus. It’s not that painting, but it’s nice to see another. Fabritus (1622-54) was killed when a gunpowder magazine exploded in Delft and just a dozen of his paintings survived.  [Apologies for some of the oils. They simply have too much bounce light.]

Van Dyck

 

Rubens, Portrait of Sultan Ahmed III

 

 

Bruegel the Elder, Village with Canal
                                            

Rembrandt

Fabritus , Mercury & Aglauros

 

I must go back and spend more time in the newly opened Power of the People: Art and Democracy. Many people are so cavalier about democracy that they take it for granted that it will survive anything. In truth, it’s an old idea in theory but a recent and contested one in practice. The MFA scoured its own collections to highlight its promise (from 5^th c. BCE Rome on), its practice, and its need for preservation. Fittingly one of the last images if of storming the Capitol on January 6, 2020. Right now the exhibit is heavy on world war materials and photos and posters from the 1960s/70s. I suspect it will evolve and broaden.

 

John Trumbull, Death of Gen Warren

 

 

Can We?

Look Familiar?

Democracy was important to him

WWI

Good Idea

1/6/20 Is this how democracy dies?

Rob Weir

 

* The MFA has a quick-stop coffee shop outside its bookstore and a cafeteria in the basement. There’s upscale dining in its internal courtyard. It takes Mastercard, Visa, and organ donations.

 

 

 

 

Dali, O'Keeffe, and Moore: Odd Couples at MFA Boston

 

 Dali: Disruption and Devotion (though December 1, 2024)

Georgia O’Keeffe and Henry Moore (through January 20, 2025)

Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

 

The Boston Museum of Fine Arts (MFA) has had some blockbuster shows lately, including a new one on Georgia O’Keeffe and Henry Moore. You’ve only got the rest of November to catch one on Salvador Dali. These two shots might inspire you to get to the MFA before the Dali show closes. There is great synergy between these three icons of the art world.

 

Technically, the soon-to-close Dali exhibit isn’t the main draw at present; that would be the O’Keeffe and Moore show. But maybe you can already spot where I’m heading. I shall be brief with the Dali exhibit as what you see at the MFA are 30 works borrowed from the Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida, which I visited in March and reviewed on this blog.

 

Dali worked hard at self-promotion and succeeded in making himself famous and notorious. He is probably the most celebrated surrealist painter of all time, though he neither invented the genre nor was necessarily its finest exemplar. But is there anyone who doesn’t know of his melting watches or his fool-the-eyes perspectives? The very word “surrealism” alerts you of the movement’s intent; it’s not “real” in a literal sense and probably not very realistic in a figurative sense either. Dali and others extrapolated from dreams to explore the subconscious. How does one paint that? If you ever had a literal dream like some of Dali’s works, you’d consider seeking psychiatric help! One could argue, though, that his imagination is no more disturbing than the concrete horrors of human history. 

 

 

 

The MFA’s show stresses Dali’s “disruption”– of art, hidden desire, decorum– and his shift to “devotion.” After decades of surrealism he gravitated to religious mysticism. He was always an egoist, but he tempered it with an increasingly rigid adherence to Catholicism.

 

Oddly, that’s my segue to O’Keeffe and Moore. A non-Catholic confession: I was baffled when I first heard the MFA was putting these two into the same show. After all, we often think of O’Keeffe’s New York modernism, her New Mexico desert canvasses, her erotic/vaginal flowers, and her clotheshorse personal style. It seems a weird coupling with the England-born and bred Moore. He was a competent painter, but he was best known for his monumental bronze sculptures–the kind that are often so massive that they adorn museum courtyards instead of commanding gallery space. Other than the fact that they were contemporaries–born in 1887 and 1888 respectively and died in the same year (1986)– how do they match up?

O'Keeffe

Moore

 

Courtesy of MFA curators with a better eye than yours truly, pretty darn well! Modernism proved the same thing that Dali grasped: There’s a lot more to art than duplicating what what’s at the end of our noses. In ways both different and overlapping O’Keeffe and Moore imagined things in their essence, not merely their outward forms. Shapes are art and the best art depicts them in some sort of balance.

 

Moore

Moore

O'Keeffe

O'Keeffe

Moore was famous for the “holes” in some of his sculptures. A hole in context is called “negative space” and functions to draw the viewer into a work, be it two-dimensional (painting, engravings, photos…) or a three-dimensional sculpture. Many of them wouldn’t work without the negative space–even if it’s a thin cleft in a rock or a peek at the horizon. 

 

 

Color is art, but the trick is in how you use it. Skies are seldom actually turquoise or acidic green, but that’s where another kind of balance comes into play. If you’ve ever seen a Van Gogh up close you know another trick: Texture is art.

 

O'Keeffe

Moore

 

 Still another way O’Keeffe and Moore line up is that both had workshops filled with found objects–bones, stones, twigs, sherds, shells, discarded materials–in which they saw something else waiting to come out or be assembled. (Try this at home, kids—tell your parents your room isn’t “junked up;” it’s art waiting to happen.)

 

O'Keeffe use of skull

Moore workshop

 

 

And some art is just “cool” in ways that are hard to define! Kudos to the MFA for this thoughtful show. There’s still more at the MFA right now, but I’ll save it for another posting.

 

Moore cross

O'Keeffe cross

 

 

 

 

Rob Weir