BEER (IN 5 EXHIBITS)

I.

1958 Advertisement; Provenance Unknown (Australian, I think.)

II.

Beer brewing bubbles 

III.

Fernand Leger, Still Life With Beer Mug, 1921, The Tate Gallery, London

IV. 

The Hymn to Ninkasi 

(aka Sumerian Ode To Beer, ca. 1900 BC)

Borne of the flowing water (...)

Tenderly cared for by the Ninhursag,

Borne of the flowing water (...)

Tenderly cared for by the Ninhursag,

 

Having founded your town by the sacred lake,

She finished its great walls for you,

Ninkasi, having founded your town by the sacred lake,

She finished its great walls for you

 

Your father is Enki, Lord Nidimmud,

Your mother is Ninti, the queen of the sacred lake,

Ninkasi, Your father is Enki, Lord Nidimmud,

Your mother is Ninti, the queen of the sacred lake.

 

You are the one who handles the dough,

[and] with a big shovel,

Mixing in a pit, the bappir with sweet aromatics,

Ninkasi, You are the one who handles

the dough, [and] with a big shovel,

Mixing in a pit, the bappir with [date]-honey.

 

You are the one who bakes the bappir

in the big oven,

Puts in order the piles of hulled grains,

Ninkasi, you are the one who bakes

the bappir in the big oven,

Puts in order the piles of hulled grains,

 

You are the one who waters the malt

set on the ground,

The noble dogs keep away even the potentates,

Ninkasi, you are the one who waters the malt

set on the ground,

The noble dogs keep away even the potentates.

 

You are the one who soaks the malt in a jar

The waves rise, the waves fall.

Ninkasi, you are the one who soaks

the malt in a jar

The waves rise, the waves fall.

 

You are the one who spreads the cooked

mash on large reed mats,

Coolness overcomes.

Ninkasi, you are the one who spreads

the cooked mash on large reed mats,

Coolness overcomes.

 

You are the one who holds with both hands

the great sweet wort,

Brewing [it] with honey and wine

(You the sweet wort to the vessel)

Ninkasi, (...)

(You the sweet wort to the vessel)

 

The filtering vat, which makes

a pleasant sound,

You place appropriately on [top of]

a large collector vat.

Ninkasi, the filtering vat,

which makes a pleasant sound,

You place appropriately on [top of]

a large collector vat.

 

When you pour out the filtered beer

of the collector vat,

It is [like] the onrush of

Tigris and Euphrates.

Ninkasi, you are the one who pours out the

filtered beer of the collector vat,

It is [like] the onrush of

Tigris and Euphrates.

 

 

Translation: Miguel Civil

 

 

 

V.  

 

Note:  They say that sometimes you discover things when you actually need them, as opposed to when you're expected to discover them. In my life, I can cite multiple instances where that has been the case. 

 

I didn't really discover The Smiths until I was in my 40s, long after the group had broken up.  When I did, they added immeasurably to my enjoyment and, to some degree, understanding of life, at a point where I was feeling "challenges" that listening to the band helped me to address.

 

And I didn't realize how much I liked beer until I was well past high school and college (where the beer flowed like. . . . beer) and deep into adulthood.    

 

I won't belabor this, but as the advertisement above says, it's really the "best allround drink," and one that is infinitely varied in style.

 

Like most people intrigued by the subject, I've tried beers from all over the world when they're made availalble to me, and taken great pleasure in drinking local brews when traveling.  When we were in China on our adoption trip, I tried the San Miguel beer that is brewed there and found that I prefered it to the native Phillipine version (which is also excellent).  I saw a member of our adoption group across the lobby of a Chinese government hotel drinking what appeared to be the tallest bottle of beer in the world and looking a lot more relaxed than I was, prompting the universal (I think), enduring (I hope), survival sentiment "I'll have what he's having."

 

Kalik, a light and refreshing beer you drink in the Bahamas, is really refined and exquisite and has a memorable logo that seems perfectly (and subtly) matched with the product and Bahama gestalt.  Singha from Thailand enlarges one's views and drinking Guinness at the Shelburne Hotel's Horseshoe Bar in Dublin, just a mile or so away from the brewery, passes you into bright, peaceful dimensions. 

 

I'll just leave it at that (feeling guilty about neglecting Edinburgh's Caledonian 80/-), except to offer for use by those traveling to Philadelphia that our local Yards and Victory breweries are exceptional.  So is Troeg Brothers in Harrisburg.  And for a larger, now verging on national brand, Stroudsburg's Yuengling beers are mostly excellent.

 

I've just commenced a one-beer-a-day diet discipline, which I think will actually be good for me mentally and physically and might lead to fewer middle-of-the-night posts. (Please note that this is intended to replace, rather than supplement, my current intake of spirits and wine.)   

 

I'll let you know -- during daytimes, I hope -- how this goes.  

 

Until then, "It is [like] the onrush of/Tigris and Euphrates."

 

 

Musical accompaniment:  

 

 

Johnny Cash -- Beer Drinking Songs

Fernand Leger (фернан леже) -- Mother and Child (1921) -- News, Not Art Criticism

 

Fernand Leger, Mother and Child, 1921 (formerly collection of Davis Museum and Cultural Center, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Massachusetts)

     Yesterday I noticed that someone visiting this blog found their way here using the search term "фернан леже", which is the Russian rendering of the name of the great 20th century French artist, Fernand Leger (1881-1955).

     I was curious about this and and immediately tried to figure out what relevant connection existed between Fernand Leger and Russia that might have prompted the search.

     I reviewed Leger's biography and discovered that the artist's last wife, the artist Nadia Khodossevitch-Leger (1904-82), was Russian, but I couldn't find any recent news about Leger or his wife that might have piqued any interest from anywhere in Russia or the other parts of the former Soviet Union.

One thing I did see, however, shocked me.

     In 2007, the Leger painting heading this post, Mother And Child (1921) was "misplaced" by its owner institution, Wellesley College.  Apparently, Wellesley's Davis Museum and Cultural Center lent the painting, as well as 30 other artworks, to the Oklahoma City Museum of Art for a 2006-2007 exhibition.  After the Oklahoma museum returned all of these pieces to Wellesley in April 2007 and they were placed in storage at the Davis pending completion of a construction project in the Davis galleries, it appears that Wellesley either: a) allowed the Mother And Child to be stolen from the museum; b) allowed the painting to be "thrown out"; or c) simply misplaced it into thin air from which it has never returned.  The disappearance of the Leger was first noticed in November 2007, approximately 8 months after Mother And Child was returned to Wellesley.

     It is important to remember that only he who is without sin should cast the first stone, and I will freely admit to having made mistakes in life and at work, but this is nuts.  Mother And Child is a masterpiece from a crucial time in Leger's career -- the period of The City (1919), Still Life With A Beer Mug (1921), Woman With A Cat (1921) and Man With A Dog (1921), among many, many others. It is a work of extraordinary quality.  It is also worth in financial terms, fairly estimated, tens of millions of dollars.  I don't like it when words fail me, but here they do.  I feel slightly better about this because everyone I have told this story since learning about it has the same jaw-dropping, tongue-tied reaction.

Fernand Leger, The City, 1921, Museum of Modern Art, New York City

Fernand Leger, Man With A Dog, 1921, Nathan Cummings collection, New York City

     Fernand Leger is an artist who combines an almost overpowering physical force with great delicacy of form and color.  His work is impossible to ignore and I've never viewed Leger's paintings with anyone who is not strongly affected by it, even if they find their reactions difficult to put into words immediately.  To me, this intellectual-visceral product has an energy and effect similar to a natural force like magnetism. It  is a bottom-line positive indication of quality in an artwork and Leger's power to reach out and communicate through his paintings is irresistible and undeniable.

Fernand Leger, Woman With Cat, 1921, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City

     Leaving detailed critical discussion aside here, I would like to cite an interesting passage in an article I read yesterday by the pioneering exhibitor and dealer (I believe the new term for this is "gallerist") Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler regarding Leger.  Kahnweiler writes:

"It was in March 1910 that Leger exhibited his Nudes In The Forest at the Salon des Independants which was then held at the greenhouses at the Cours la Reine.  It was distinctly an event, even in that period of artistic effervescence, and the name of Leger, unknown the previous day, appeared in the papers coupled with those abusive or mocking commentaries with which the Press of that time slanged the painters who disconcerted it.  Leger was dubbed a 'Tubist'.  Picasso pointed out to me that the term itself testified to the novelty of Leger's art. The minor cubists had never gone beyond imitating the superficial shapes of the works of the leaders, Picasso and Braque. Gris had not yet put in an appearance. With Leger there emerged an authentic painter...." 

(Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, Fernand Leger, The Burlington Magazine Number 564, Volume XCII, March 1950.)

 

 

Fernand Leger, Still Life With Beer Mug, 1921, The Tate Gallery, London

     I will be on the lookout for Mother And Child and I hope you will also. I would accept the USD $100,000 being offered as a reward for its recovery, but it's not my principal motivation in wanting to find it.  I just love Leger's work and can't believe that anything as stupid and careless as this was allowed to happen.

     Wellesley has promised to clean up its "art security act".  I'd share their president's official statement on the subject with you, but in your lives and careers you've all probably read enough ludicrous, obfuscating memoranda intended to mask and, to some pertinent degree, excuse inexcusable behavior.  I suppose the next stop for whoever is responsible for this scandal is a raise, promotion and offer of a permanent berth in the federal government.

Notes to reader: 

1. Blogger's color palette, being so limited in range and nuance (the lack of nuance limits the range) is frustrating here.

I wish I could type this using Fernand Leger's color palette. Actually, I wish Fernand Leger had typed and layed this out.

2.  An interesting short 1973 article by art conservator Susanne P. Sack, detailing a radiograph study of Mother And Child and analyzing changes made to the painting by Leger, is found here

Fernand Leger ("I wanted to carry volumes to the extreme.")

Juan Gris Opens The Door To The Future

          A few days ago I came across a Graham Green quotation from The Power And The Glory (a novel I liked better when I reread it two summers ago than I did the first time through in high school), which apparently appears frequently in “wise thoughts” lists.

          It reads: "There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in."

 Juan Gris

          I wouldn't presume to speak for other people in this regard, but the statement definitely applies to me.  In my case, the moment occurred in the fall of 1968, when I pulled the book Juan Gris by James Thrall Soby from the library shelf at The Gunnery in Washington, Connecticut.  I have no idea why I decided to look at the book and I definitely hadn't planned on the encounter.  Probably, I was just taking a study break and wandering around in the stacks.

          But from the moment I began to look at the picture plates in the book and then to read Soby's text, things began to come into focus for me in ways they hadn’t previously.

Juan Gris, Portrait of Picasso, 1912

          I began to consider Cubist painting (which I was aware of but hadn't previously thought about a lot) very seriously, from its beginnings through the development of the Analytical and Synthetic phases.  Its multi-valent visual and textural viewpoints and rich and appealing subject matter (to a young teenager, studio and café life seemed unbelievably appealing; descriptions of Cubist subjects as “restricted” seem as false to me now as they did then) made the world seem to me strong, logical, and lively -- a place of infinite possibility.

Juan Gris, The Open Window, 1921

          Quickly and sequentially I made entrée into artistic movements related and unrelated to Cubism: contemporary ones like Cubist poetry (Apollinaire, Reverdy, Jacob) and successor ones like Dada, Surrealism (especially Marcel Duchamp's work), opening out into the rest of 20^th century avant-garde visual art, music and dance. In fairly short order, I thought it was crucial to learn all about world art history from the beginning of recorded time to the present and what might be imagined beyond that.

Juan Gris, Jar, Bottle and Glass, 1911

          Duchamp’s disciple John Cage taught me (in his writings) Ananda K. Coomaraswamy's maxim “the function of Art is to imitate Nature in her manner of operation”, which I adopted as a mental and aesthetic touchstone. That and Cage's “silent” piano composition  4’3", as well as Duchamp’s deceptive “career disappearing act” all provided an aesthetic viewpoint implying that art was both a physically “present” thing and event and a transcendent experience and that it was better for artists to be modest and as invisible as possible in their work.

John Cage, 4'33", 1952

 

          This came to mind again this week when a friend posed the question whether it was possible “to express the absence of affect” in a work of art. 

          Trying to cope and deal with such an abstract thought (I’m a lawyer, not a philosopher), initially I found I needed to decide:

               a)  what, if any, difference there might be between “affectless”, which by all dictionary definitions suggests a psychological disorder, and the “absence of affect”;

               b)  how to recognize or at least give examples of the “invisible” quality I just alluded to; and

               c)  whether or not the simple volitional action of “expressing” something nullified the logical possibility of achieving “an absence of affect”. 

          (Thank heavens I am doing this outside an academic and/or commercial publishing context where I’m sure I’d be eviscerated for sloppy thinking, magical thinking, using incorrect terminology or all of the above, undoubtedly in violation of some political canon or social interdiction I’ve somehow missed or neglected to observe.)

          All of which brought me back to Juan Gris, the pseudonym adopted by Jose Vittoriano Gonzales (1887-1927), the Spanish painter who along with Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque is rightly considered one of the three greatest masters of Cubism.  One of the things that immediately  attracted me to Gris (apart from the fact that he is clearly a painter of genius) is his absence of affect.  I see this quality in each of the works posted here and it is not a quality, incidentally, that I see in the work of his great friend Picasso, whose work, brilliant and rigorous as it can be, is much “hotter” and more gestural and expressionistic. Personally, I tended to gravitate toward the sort of cerebral quality I found in Gris, whose invented name, which translates as “John Grey” (reminding me of Henry Vincent Yorke’s similar adoption of the very plain “Henry Green” as a nom-de-plume) emphasizes that
 “non-affect” effect.

Juan Gris, Tablero de Ajedrez, 1917

          Going backwards and forward in time, I detect and am attracted to this quality, which I tend to associate with honesty and piercing intelligence, in works by the Netherlandish  painter Hans Memling (1430-94),  the Spanish master Francisco Goya (1746-1828), the great French painter Jean-Baptiste-Simeon Chardin (1699-1779), Piet Mondrian (1872-1944), the Dutch Neo-Plasticist, the brilliant surrealist Yves Tanguy (1900-55), and surprisingly (some would probably say), in the more recent art (especially the portraiture) of Andy Warhol (1928-87).

Hans Memling, Portrait of A Man, 1470

Francisco Goya, Self-Portrait In Studio, 1795

Jean-Baptiste-Simeon Chardin, La Brioche, 1763

          Naturally,  as I developed,  learned new things and saw more art, my so-called “focus” waxed and waned and things alternately made more and less sense depending on myriad factors.   As my ability to look closely, and possibly see deeply, increased (I had some professional training; I spent time on this and made a real commitment for a while), I began increasingly to notice definite gestural, expressionist aspects in the “absence of affect” works I liked so much and thought were my favorites, as well as moments of intense focus and cerebral stillness in works that formerly seemed seemed wildly active.

Yves Tanguy, The Ribbon of Excess, 1932

Fernand Leger, The City, 1919

Piet Mondrian, Composition No. 1, 1938-9 

           Consequently, what had previously been black-and-white antonyms adopted shades of gray coloring and I fell in love with all kinds of art my original aesthetic lens didn’t allow me to appreciate sufficiently, including the brilliant art of two of Gris' great friends, the unclassifiable (to me) Fernand Leger (1881-1955) and Henri Matisse (1869-1954), who from his earliest Fauvist days was hardly “gris” in his approach.

 

           I relate all this because the Graham Greene quote that opened the piece really affected me when I re-encountered it and made me recall the moment when my personal door to the future opened.  I wound up doing something professionally very different for a living than I ever thought I would, but I think I am still roughly the same person who was formed out of  Juan Gris by James Thrall Soby.

Thank you for listening

Andy Warhol, Portrait of Tina Chow, 1985

Andy Warhol, Screen Test (Mary Woronov), 1966

Juan Gris, Pierrot, 1921

Juan Gris by James Thrall Soby (New York, Museum of Modern Art, 1958)