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Alberto Giacometti painting

Cui Fei - Manuscript of Nature V (2002)

JMW Turner, Sunset on the Coast, c. 1820-30

JMW Turner, Sunset on the Coast, c. 1820-30

(via charlmalan)

Moonlight, JMW Turner

Moonlight, JMW Turner

(via tvsfolder)

blakegopnik:

THE DAILY PIC:  The sculptor Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux painted this wild little image in about 1870, and it’s now one of the most impressive and surprising pieces in the survey of his work at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. The canvas shows his wife giving birth (so I’m not sure why the experts are in doubt about its date). It must be one of the first – and only – Old Master pictures to document that moment. Whatever the drawing’s relationship to an actual scene Carpeaux might have witnessed, it is amazing that he could conceive of birthing in such grandly romantic terms, and that he would want to claim to have made a record of it.
The Daily Pic also appears at blogs.artinfo.com/the-daily-pic. For a full inventory of past Daily Pics visit blakegopnik.com/archive.

blakegopnik:

THE DAILY PIC:  The sculptor Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux painted this wild little image in about 1870, and it’s now one of the most impressive and surprising pieces in the survey of his work at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. The canvas shows his wife giving birth (so I’m not sure why the experts are in doubt about its date). It must be one of the first – and only – Old Master pictures to document that moment. Whatever the drawing’s relationship to an actual scene Carpeaux might have witnessed, it is amazing that he could conceive of birthing in such grandly romantic terms, and that he would want to claim to have made a record of it.

The Daily Pic also appears at blogs.artinfo.com/the-daily-pic. For a full inventory of past Daily Pics visit blakegopnik.com/archive.

Paul Klee - The Bounds of the Intellect (1927)

Paul Klee - The Bounds of the Intellect (1927)

Vilhelm Hammershøi, Sun over the Sea, circa 1902more info

Vilhelm Hammershøi, Sun over the Sea, circa 1902
more info

Constantin Brancusi, Endless Column, circa 1938.Târgu Jiu, Romania.

Constantin Brancusi, Endless Column, circa 1938.
Târgu Jiu, Romania.

(via iamjapanese)

THE DAILY PIC: This is the trace of Marcel Duchamp’s heartbeat, recorded 48 years ago today by a doctor named Brian O’Doherty, better known by far as a critic and conceptual artist (often under the pseudonym Patrick Ireland, assumed in honor of his homeland’s struggles with England). The heartbeat is on display in a lovely little survey of some of O’Doherty’s output, shared between Simone Subal gallery in New York and a nearby gallery called “P!”
Duchamp’s EKG is one element in what went on to become O’Doherty’s 16-part “portrait” of the great Dada artist, which also includes a kinetic light sculpture that seems to reproduce the oscillograph trace of Duchamp’s heart actually beating. (That piece is also at Subal’s). And the composite portrait is evidence of a precariously balanced love-hate relationship that O’Doherty had with its subject – the relationship all ambitious artists have with their most important forerunner.  
Duchamp once said that “after twenty years [artworks] are finished. Their life is over. They survive all right, because they are part of art history, and art history is not art. I don’t believe in preserving, I think as I said that a work of art dies.” In his portrait, O’Doherty self-consciously set out to prove Duchamp wrong, by making a piece that would keep the Frenchman’s presence and legacy – and heartbeat – “alive” wherever and whenever the portrait is shown. “I’ve made Duchamp live 250 years; It’s very cruel, but he deserved it,” O’Doherty told me after a talk that he gave at Subal’s.  But of course O’Doherty’s cruelty is also a gesture of absolute homage, from O’Doherty to a genius – and a friend – upon whom he wished endless life.
It has often been said that a fine portrait confers as much immortality on its maker as on its sitter. But the question here is whether we are contemplating a portrait of Duchamp or by him – drawn in fact with each beat of his heart. We sometimes come across someone whom we bill as an artist through and through, in every fiber of their body, and maybe here we’re seeing Duchamp prove that he’s one. (Image – margins cropped for clarity – is courtesy the artist, P! and Simone Subal Gallery)

via blakegopnik

THE DAILY PIC: This is the trace of Marcel Duchamp’s heartbeat, recorded 48 years ago today by a doctor named Brian O’Doherty, better known by far as a critic and conceptual artist (often under the pseudonym Patrick Ireland, assumed in honor of his homeland’s struggles with England). The heartbeat is on display in a lovely little survey of some of O’Doherty’s output, shared between Simone Subal gallery in New York and a nearby gallery called “P!”

Duchamp’s EKG is one element in what went on to become O’Doherty’s 16-part “portrait” of the great Dada artist, which also includes a kinetic light sculpture that seems to reproduce the oscillograph trace of Duchamp’s heart actually beating. (That piece is also at Subal’s). And the composite portrait is evidence of a precariously balanced love-hate relationship that O’Doherty had with its subject – the relationship all ambitious artists have with their most important forerunner.  

Duchamp once said that “after twenty years [artworks] are finished. Their life is over. They survive all right, because they are part of art history, and art history is not art. I don’t believe in preserving, I think as I said that a work of art dies.” In his portrait, O’Doherty self-consciously set out to prove Duchamp wrong, by making a piece that would keep the Frenchman’s presence and legacy – and heartbeat – “alive” wherever and whenever the portrait is shown. “I’ve made Duchamp live 250 years; It’s very cruel, but he deserved it,” O’Doherty told me after a talk that he gave at Subal’s.  But of course O’Doherty’s cruelty is also a gesture of absolute homage, from O’Doherty to a genius – and a friend – upon whom he wished endless life.

It has often been said that a fine portrait confers as much immortality on its maker as on its sitter. But the question here is whether we are contemplating a portrait of Duchamp or by him – drawn in fact with each beat of his heart. We sometimes come across someone whom we bill as an artist through and through, in every fiber of their body, and maybe here we’re seeing Duchamp prove that he’s one. (Image – margins cropped for clarity – is courtesy the artist, P! and Simone Subal Gallery)

via blakegopnik

Philip Guston, Painters III, oil on canvas, 1960

Philip Guston, Painters III, oil on canvas, 1960

John Ruskin

John Ruskin

(via iamjapanese)

1

why not merely the despaired of
occasion of
wordshed

is it not better abort than be barren

the hours after you are gone are so leaden
they will always start dragging too soon
the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want
bringing up the bones the old loves
sockets filled once with eyes like yours
all always is it better too soon than never
the black want splashing their faces
saying again nine days never floated the loved
nor nine months
nor nine lives

2

saying again
if you do not teach me I shall not learn
saying again there is a last
even of last times
last times of begging
last times of loving
of knowing not knowing pretending
a last even of last times of saying
if you do not love me I shall not be loved
if I do not love you I shall not love

the churn of stale words in the heart again
love love love thud of the old plunger
pestling the unalterable
whey of words

terrified again
of not loving
of loving and not you
of being loved and not by you
of knowing not knowing pretending
pretending

I and all the others that will love you
if they love you

3

unless they love you

Samuel Beckett | 'Cascando' | via (via indigenousdialogues)
The artist should never contemplate making a work of art that is about something; a successful work of art can only ever be about nothing. The artist’s complete negation of intent thus creating a reflective surface into which the critic, curator or collector can gaze and see only himself.
L’image Du Monde, Goussin de Metz, 1245. Bibliothèque Nationale de France

L’image Du MondeGoussin de Metz, 1245. 
Bibliothèque Nationale de France

Proloog, Raoul De Keyser, 2003Oil on canvas, 55 1/8 x 39 3/8 inches (140 x 100 cm)

ProloogRaoul De Keyser, 2003
Oil on canvas, 55 1/8 x 39 3/8 inches (140 x 100 cm)

(via cupandtable)

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