Tuesday, June 4, 2019

Françoise Gilot


This post originated as an e-mail to my friend Laurie Israel.


So, last week a student of mine posted something about Picasso's Guernica, and I went to my beloved exhibition catalogue from the 1980 blockbuster Picasso retrospective at the MoMA:



As you know, my mom really loved living in New York. She got married and moved there in the summer of 1980, when this exhibition was held. I remember her talking about going to it like it was the most memorable experience of her life. She bought the catalogue and the poster for the show (I used to have the poster; don't know what happened to it), and I begged her to get me a copy of the catalogue, which cost fifty bucks and was an extravagance for her and Bill. Her inscription on the inside of this book says she gave it to me on my 20th birthday, in 1984. It's probably one of the first "art" books I owned, and it has ever since been a cherished member of my collection.

After I got what I needed about Guernica and responded to the student's post, I went back to the catalogue and flipped through it for the first time in years. I was struck not only by the many great paintings, many favorites that I had forgotten about, but also by the quality of the reproductions. I remembered that I had seen a paperback copy of the exhibition catalogue at my local used book store, and I thought it would be fun to buy it and cut my favorite pictures out and tack them to my wall.



The back story on this is that I put that Starry Night poster on the wall a couple of months ago, and a couple of weeks ago when my upstairs neighbor's bathroom leaked through the ceiling of my kitchen, the poster stuck to the wall! I told one of the maintenance guys about it, because to pull it off the wall would damage the sheetrock, and he recommended that I just leave it there. "It's wallpaper, now," he said. "You should put some other posters around it." He's actually into art, for a maintenance guy. His name is Clay. His work partner's name is Paul. Paul and Clay. Paul Clay. Paul Klee. His name's actually Clarence, but nobody dares call him that except for his mother. Have I told you that I go by Edward up here?

So anyway I bought that paperback edition of the Picasso retrospective catalogue (for nine bucks) and ripped it to shreds! There were actually two copies when I bought the one, and I'm thinking about going back to get the other one. I thought it might be fun to mat and frame my favorite paintings from the book. My favorite among these many favorites is the one at the bottom right: Woman-Flower (Françoise Gilot), from 1946. 



This is not my framed copy. I stole this image off the Internet. My new computer doesn't recognize my old printer/scanner as a scanner.

It's been a long time since I paid any attention to Picasso, so I was, like, "Okay, who is Françoise Gilot?" I knew she was one of his mistresses but I couldn't remember where she came in the succession. Turns out she was the third of his three mistresses, sandwiched between two wives! Not quite sandwiched, actually, because he comported with all three of his mistresses (Marie-Therese Walter, Dora Maar and Gilot, in that order) while he remained married to his first wife, Olga K-something, a Russian ballerina, whom he married sometime in the teens and stayed married to, though separated from, until her death in 1955. His last wife was Jacqueline Roque. He had a son with Olga (Paulo), a daughter with Marie-Therese (Maya) and two children with Françoise (Claude and Paloma).

Paulo is dead. Marie-Therese and Jacqueline both committed suicide. Claude and Paloma are still alive. And . . . Françoise Gilot is still alive! She's 97 and lives in NYC. It appears that she still owns this painting. She is listed as the owner in the exhibition catalogue, and an internet search doesn't bring up any news of a sale of this painting. If her estate decides to sell it after she dies, it will go for a pretty penny. It's quite large: 57" x 34".

Gilot is the main character (besides Picasso) in the Merchant-Ivory/Anthony Hopkins film Surviving Picasso, which I saw when it came out but which I don't remember much of, except when he fired his long-time chauffeur for no reason and gave him no severance and left him on the side of the road. This film was the beginning of the mainstream revelation that Picasso was an asshole. It was based on a book by Arianna Huffington, which was supposedly plagiarized from the unpublished PhD dissertation of one of my professors at UVa, Lydia Gasman. Gilot wrote her own book, Life with Picasso, which might be fun to read.

I have this semi-morbid obsession with New York Times obituaries, which I also get from my mom. Back in the nineties a friend of mine and I came up with something called the Ghoul Pool, which was a list of a hundred famous people fixing to die. We put all the names (on pieces of paper cut with pinking shears) into a Mason jar and took them around to all the bars in downtown Charleston, selling the names for five dollars each. We weren't trying to make money; whoever had the name of the first person to die got the entire pool. The winner (or loser) was Dizzy Gillespie. I don't remember who had his name.

A couple of months ago I came up with a new list of famous people fixing to die, just for fun. I won't bore you with the entire list, but some of the top names are Olivia de Havilland (102), Kirk Douglas (102), Betty White (97), Jimmy Carter (94), and Elizabeth II (93). I. M. Pei, Doris Day, and Bart Starr are three recent decedents from the list. Françoise Gilot has now been added to the list.

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

Flat Bill vs. Curved Bill

When I ordered my commemorative baseball cap celebrating the University of Virginia’s national championship in basketball—the same cap the players were given after the game—I noted to myself that once it came in the mail I would curve its flat bill. I didn’t really even think about it. It was a reflexive response based on my history of wearing curved-bill caps and the objective fact that I do not belong to the subculture that wears their bills flat.

Back in the day, all baseball caps had flat bills. That’s the way they came, and you curved them to your liking. One theory is that this provided greater shade to the eyes in the peripheral vision. Personally, I think the main reason was simply to mold the cap to the contour of the skull. A random search of images of post-war Major Leaguers—Hank Aaron, Mickey Mantle, Carl Yastrzemski, Willie Mays—shows very little curvature. Some could even be perceived as rocking the flat bill avant la lettre. 

With the rise of hip-hop culture, rappers and the people who follow them started keeping the bills on their newly purchased hats flat. (It also became a thing to leave the tags on.) It wasn’t until the flat bill was adopted by some Major Leaguers that the issue became a topic of national debate. Some views on the subject would be downright hilarious if they weren’t so obviously racist.

Personally, I’ve never had a problem with those sporting the flat brim in the Major Leagues. It’s basically just fashion. If it doesn’t affect the way the game is played, who cares. The other seismic shift in the baseball uniform in recent years has been the move to wear the britches all the way down to the cleats, straight-leg style. I’m sure many purists hate this, too, but, you know, hater’s gon’ hate.

So much of fashion, and so much of culture in general, is just a rebellion against the previous generation, the way people stopped saying “man” and started saying “dude,” or stopped saying “cool” and started saying “sick.” They mean the same thing, it’s just a way of distinguishing your generation from your uncle’s. My students all say “based off” where my generation said “based on,” and I’ll admit that this one bugs me a little bit, but I don’t correct them because it’s just fashion. It doesn’t affect the meaning of their work.

Of course, there is a social aspect to wearing the flat bill, too. As the style is obviously rooted in hip-hop culture, it is a way for younger Major Leaguers to pay homage to their subculture and perhaps attract new fans to the game. 

Not being a member of this subculture, I naturally planned to curve the bill of my new hat. But then it came in the mail. It was shipped in a square cardboard box (as opposed to a plastic mailing bag) which seemed specifically intended to allow the hat to keep its shape. It occurred to me that, whereas in the old days the flat bill was the default format for all baseball caps, in an era where many caps are manufactured pre-curved, this cap was purposely manufactured with a flat bill. That was its design. I felt that to curve the bill would be to adulterate it in some way. After all, the same cap is available with a pre-curved bill. More importantly, I felt that to curve the bill would somehow amount to a racist act in itself, as if to say, “I like this cap, but I ain’t gonna wear it ghetto style.” 

And when I put it on, I had to admit that it looked pretty cool. Or sick. Possibly even fly.




Monday, July 3, 2017

What is art?

In the opening announcement for the online classes I teach, I like to give my students an idea of my slightly unorthodox theory of art. I write each one off the top of my head, so they're always different, and I thought this one was particularly good. 

I'd like to take this opportunity to share with you some of my general thoughts on "art." When we hear the word "art," we usually think of traditional media like painting and sculpture, or we think of what is known as "contemporary art" found in museums and galleries. This conception of "art" is actually a relatively recent development in the history of Western culture, dating only to the eighteenth century with the separation of the so-called "fine arts" (painting, sculpture, architecture, music and poetry) from other human pursuits. This distinction was not made by the artisans themselves but was actually devised by aristocratic writers in England, Germany and France to justify their passive contemplation of these media. The individual pursuits that constituted the fine arts were not set right away. Early lists included not only the five identified above but also landscape architecture and oratory, further attesting to their aristocratic heritage.

It is ironic that the division of the fine arts was established right before the invention in the nineteenth century of photography and the motion picture. Before these epochal inventions, painting (in its numerous formats, but especially oil painting) was the height of technology for representing visual images. And yet, even as photography and film became the dominant media in the twentieth century and have since been elevated to amazing heights with the most recent advances in technology, the traditional categories of the fine arts have prejudiced us against these mediums to the extent that we often don't consider them "art" at all.

As I stated in my Instructor Profile (which you can access through the course menu on the left), I hold the position that all man-made objects are works of art. By this I do not mean to say that all man-made objects are expressions of the artisan's feelings, not exclusively anyway. Another tenet of the modern conception of "art" is that it is primarily concerned with form (as opposed to subject matter) and that through form the observer can read the personal expression of the artisan. The discipline of art history, which only dates to the nineteenth century, placed an emphasis on personal expression almost to the exclusion of subject matter or any other didactic elements of a work of art. This position was perhaps most succinctly summed up by Oscar Wilde when he famously said, "All art is quite useless."

All art, of course, is not useless. Very few people do anything for nothing. And most of the "art" that we encounter has very specific and, yes, didactic purposes. It just depends on how you define "art." The dominant art forms in the visual arts today are television, film, internet content and other new media. And while much of what we watch can be rather frivolous, a lot of it is deadly serious, beginning with cable news channels, which are very popular right now given the current political climate.

It is for these reasons that I'm glad this course uses the term "artifact" rather than "work of art." This reminds us that "art" today encompasses so much more than the traditional "fine arts." As you choose your artifacts for Project One, I strongly encourage you to choose an artifact from contemporary culture that you are intimately familiar with. 

I was fortunate to have studied under the great art historian David Summers at the University of Virginia. The vast majority of my thoughts on "art" come from his writings, especially his monumental book Real Spaces. Here is a picture from last year of me with Dr. Summers. I'm wearing a custom-made T-shirt that says "What is ART?" It's the question I ask whenever anybody uses the word "art," because I'm sure they mean traditional and/or "art gallery" art. It's all art.


Monday, December 5, 2016

Letter from America

The following essay originally appeared on Todd Swift's Eyewear blog out of London on November 16, 2016. It originated as an e-mail to Kris Westerson.



President Obama gave a press conference at the White House on Monday, November 14, before leaving for a series of state visits overseas. His intelligence and grasp of the minute details of governance only highlighted the fact that Donald Trump is going to look like a complete buffoon at his first news conference. Maybe he'll get impeached for mental incompetence. 

Growing up in the years following World War II, one of the persistent questions that was always just below the surface was, "How could good people allow the rise of Nazism and the Holocaust to happen?" Well, now we know. There's not a lot you can do to stop it. Not everyone is enlightened, and sometimes the mob underbelly wins. I hate to sound defeatist, but all I can come up with is that Germany survived it. It took a generation or two, but Germany's still here, and better than ever. Better than us, in terms of education at least. It's gonna suck. People are going to die. People have already died. From the Emanuel 9 to the 49 at the Pulse nightclub, and all the black men killed by the police in between. Hopefully it won't be six million, but make no mistake, this is exactly how it happened before. Hitler was popularly elected. It is only a matter of time before a picture leaks of a Confederate battle flag being displayed at the White House. Steve Bannon may not survive the scrutiny, but there are going to be plenty of people who would like to mark their territory. 

I can't even. With a Republican president and the Republicans in control of both the Senate and House, they are going to have a free-for-all and enact all the batshit extremist policies they have been wanting to enact for decades. Already Trump has appointed a climate-change denier as head of the EPA. It's just going to be a mess. The only hope is that even Republicans will see how crazy it is and we'll elect a Democrat in 2020. I don't even want to talk about who right now. That's what got us in trouble this time, having a presumptive nominee for eight years. Let's see who does the best job in congress pushing back against the madness, and nominate her. 

Ironically, "Make America Great Again" will mark the end of American Exceptionalism. We will cease to be the leader of the world. Our universities will probably begin to suffer as the best students from around the world (who, admit it, are the best students at our research universities) will be afraid to come here. Our leadership vacuum will lead to political instability around the world to the extent that some other nation is going to have to step in and be the voice of reason. The scary thing is, policy and administration discord aside, our military is still wrapped around the globe like no other country's. What do we do with that? 

I woke up again this morning just about ready to smile because I'm awesome and I live in an awesome town and have an awesome job and have awesome friends like you, but that all lasted for about 15 nanoseconds before I reminded myself that I now live under a fascist regime that isn't going anywhere for at least four years. Now I know how intellectuals in Nazi Germany felt. Resigned and grateful that they were not Jewish (those who were not Jewish). I'm a white male. I'll be fine. And Jews will probably be fine this time around as well. But Muslims and blacks are rightfully scared for their lives. There is going to be a new, American Kristallnacht in our future. And it will go down in history. And America will not be the same. America is already not the same. Rachel Maddow said it best on the night of the election: "If you're a Muslim-American right now, I think that tonight has to feel not just like a seismic political event but like a seismic event about what America means."  

JFK famously said, "The United States, as the world knows, will never start a war." That is the United States that I grew up in. I took it for granted that we were the good in the world. George W. Bush and Dick Cheney negated that. The other thing you could always say about the United States--what Rachel is talking about when she refers to "what America means"--is that we were open to immigrants. America wasn't so much a place as an idea: the idea of freedom. We no longer represent that idea. We're just a bunch of pigs, and now we have a pig for our president. 

I'm just going to try to continue to be nice to the people I interact with daily. Beyond that, I don't think there's a whole lot I can do. The forces of history are too strong. 

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

That Time I Met Donald Trump

Before I tell the story of how I met Donald Trump, I'd like to make a couple of predictions. 

Prediction #1: During the week of July 18th, Cleveland, Ohio, is going to burn down. Honestly, it's a minor miracle that Cleveland didn't catch on fire when the Cavaliers won the NBA championship last week. But when the Republican National Convention comes to the Quicken Loans Arena in just under three weeks, the riot-inciting hate speech of Trump and his supporters may well lead to a conflagration that would make Chicago '68 look like a garden variety be-in.

Prediction #2: There is absolutely no way Trump wins the general election in November. First of all, the way the Electoral College has been trending the last few cycles (coupled with President Obama's approval rating), any Democrat probably beats any Republican, even a Democrat as unpopular as Hillary Clinton. On top of this, Donald Trump is a classic tea-party candidate (without the official affiliation) who appeals to the far right but is too radical for the average voter. Trump's campaign rhetoric has been so absurd that I'm inclined to believe that he's doing it on purpose, to drive the Republican Party right off a cliff. It's not beyond the realm of possibility that he and Hillary got together over coffee a couple of years ago and hatched the whole sordid scheme. They're friends, and he's been a Democrat in the past. Hillary surely knows how unpopular she is, and she knows that the more conservative her opponent is the better chance she has of winning. In the process, Trump has exposed the base of the party for what it is. They took the bait, and the party leadership is rightly mortified, which is why some of the rioting might take place on the convention floor in prime time. Talk about reality television.



The only rational thing I heard Ted Cruz say during the primaries was when he told a Trump supporter, "With all due respect, sir, he is playing you for a fool." If it isn't obvious by now that Trump is playing a long con, you haven't been paying attention. His smear of Mexican immigrants as rapists wasn't said off the cuff when he thought the microphones were off; it came in his official announcement for the Republican nomination. And the rest is history. From an art history standpoint, it might be the most successful piece of performance art ever, but that's another story.

Anyway, I met the man back in the late nineties, when I was living in Manhattan and doing freelance work for the League of American Theaters. The League was responsible for recruiting Broadway stars to participate in the Donald J. Trump Fifth Avenue Mile. I was a regular runner then, and I often ran in 10K races in Central Park, coordinated by the New York Road Runners Club. This is the organization that puts on the New York City Marathon each year, and they were also in charge of the Trump Mile. This annual event actually consisted of something like thirty mile-long races, each one associated with a different group or organization. There was one race featuring world-class sprinters, one featuring local high school athletes, one featuring Wall Street lawyers, and so on. 

The Broadway Mile (as our division of the Trump Mile was called) was supposed to feature Broadway stars, but by the eve of the race, there were only three confirmed participants. I got a call from my contact at the League. "Hi, Ned. What are you doing tomorrow?" I knew right away that she needed me to run the race, as filler, so to speak.

Here's a gratuitous picture of me as a runner from around this time, although this picture was taken in Charleston.


My contact told me to report to the V.I.P. tent in front of the Plaza Hotel the next morning. I said, "I like it already!" I was the first of my cohort to arrive. I was told that our race would start in about an hour, and maybe fifteen minutes beforehand we would be driven in a limousine to the starting line in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They used the word "limousine." I told them that since the race was only a mile, I would run to the starting line to warm up. They said, "Suit yourself."

But when my cohort arrived, we bonded quickly and I easily changed my mind. The Broadway "stars" turned out to be Martha Washington from 1776 and two understudies from A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. When our time came to be escorted to the starting line, our "limousine" was a two-and-a-half-ton Dodge pickup truck. We all climbed into the bed of the truck and were whisked the wrong way up Fifth Avenue toward the museum. It was a gorgeous October morning. The street was lined with spectators and I started waving like a fool. I felt like Kramer.

When we got to the museum, the steps were packed with more spectators. There was a PA system set up, and before I knew it I was being announced to the crowd. "And from the League of American Theaters: Ned Hartley!" I smiled and waved to the crowd. My head was swimming. At one point I was vaguely aware that my contact was talking to someone behind me, but I didn't know who it was and I wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. Then I heard this soft, benevolent voice say, "I want to thank you so much for coming out today, Ned." I turned, offered my hand and said, "Thank you," and I did a double take: "Mr. Trump."

I'm going to be honest with you. My first impression was that this was a handsome man. I didn't look at his hair, and we did not speak at length. Somebody from the Roadrunners Club took a picture of my cohort flanked on one side by Trump and on the other by then Mayor Rudy Giuliani. Man, I wish I had a copy of that photo. Also, the race T-shirt was pretty cool. Here's a detail of an old photograph of a friend of mine wearing the shirt. Note that the lettering is in gold, of course.


As for the race, I came in second. When the actors (two women and one man) arrived, they all confessed that they weren't regular runners, and one of them looked at me and said, "Well, we all know who's going to win." I only mention this because it led to one of the best parts of the story. I reminded them that I wasn't allowed to win, and I recommended that the three of them hold hands and cross the finish line together. Which they did! My contact and I held back, which was good for her because shortly after the start of the race she informed me that she wasn't a runner at all and was already starting to experience shin splints. It was easily the slowest mile I ever ran.

The top three male and female finishers in each race division were awarded a round silver-plated trophy platter. I overheard a race official wondering how he was going to distribute the female awards, since the top two women had essentially tied. As for me, I was awarded the platter for Second Place--Male. I don't know where it is now. For many years my dog ate off of it.



Thursday, June 23, 2016

Enlightened Mad Men

This is a discussion board post that I wrote for one of the online classes that I teach. The discussion prompt asked the students to describe two works of art with a similar theme. I went first to give them an idea of what we were looking for.

Mad Men is a serial television drama that ran on the AMC cable channel for seven seasons, airing its final episode in 2015. The primary theme of Mad Men is United States culture in the 1960s, seen through the perspective of the advertising industry. Other main themes are personal relationships, the search for identity, women in the workforce, alcoholism and the Civil Rights movement. The series was created by Matthew Weiner, who had previously worked as a writer for the HBO series The Sopranos.

The series follows the exploits of fictional copywriter and creative director Donald Draper (born Dick Whitman) and his relationships with his two (successive) wives, his children, many mistresses, and his young protégé in his ad agency, Peggy Olson.

A major theme toward the end of the series is the concept of enlightenment. SPOILER ALERT: In Season Seven, Don's first wife, Betty, learns that she has inoperable lung cancer and decides to forgo chemotherapy or radiation treatment. She accepts her fate and chooses not to fight the cancer. I suppose it is debatable as to whether this is an enlightened decision or not, but the last time we see Betty onscreen, she is walking up a flight of stairs toward a source of light, and above her head is a light fixture that symbolically represents a halo.





















(screenshot from Mad Men, via Netflix)

This is a perfect example of how film and television are the natural successors to the art of painting. Weiner here is referencing any number of paintings that represent the ascension of the Virgin Mary into heaven. One of the best-known examples is by Titian.























Titian, Assumption of the Virgin (Venice, ca. 1516-1518; oil on wood, 22' 6" x 11' 10") (Kleiner 643)

These two images both show a woman moving upward, with each woman's head symbolically surrounded by light, suggesting enlightenment.

In the last episode of the series, the same formal device is used in an image of Don Draper, when Don has literally experienced enlightenment at a "hippie" retreat on the California coast.













(screenshot from Mad Men, via Netflix)

Here's another of my favorite images from the series.













(screenshot from Mad Men, via Netflix)

Betty is verbally sparring with a rival female neighbor, and their cigarettes symbolically take the place of swords. There are many examples in the history of western painting of sword fighting, and again Weiner is providing an update on a traditional formal device.

Edward Hartley

 

Works cited:

"Matthew Weiner." Internet Movie Database. Web. IMDb.com Retrieved 15 June 2016

Kleiner, Fred and Christian J. Mamiya. Art Through the Ages. Belmont, CA: Thomson Wadsworth, 2005.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

"The Starry Night" for Wikipedia

Note: On August 16, 2014, I posted a completely revised Wikipedia entry for Vincent van Gogh's The Starry Night. As anyone can edit a Wikipedia entry, I fully expect my contribution to be edited, revised and bowdlerized, so I am posting the original entry here.


The Starry Night is an oil on canvas by the Dutch post-impressionist painter Vincent van Gogh. Painted in June 1889, it depicts the view (with the notable addition of an idealized village; Naifeh and Smith 760) from the east-facing window of his asylum room at Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, just before sunrise (NS 747; Pickvance [1986] 103). It has been in the permanent collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City since 1941, acquired through the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest. It is Van Gogh's best-known painting and one of the most recognized monuments in the history of Western culture.


The asylum

In the aftermath of the December 23, 1888, breakdown that resulted in the self-mutilation of his left ear (NS 701; Pickvance [1984] 195), Van Gogh voluntarily admitted himself to the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole lunatic asylum on May 8, 1889 (NS 741; Pickvance [1986] 25-26). Housed in a former monastery, Saint-Paul-de-Mausole catered to the wealthy and was less than half full when Van Gogh arrived (NS 746), allowing him to occupy not only a second-story bedroom but also a ground-floor room for use as a painting studio (NS 754).

During the year Van Gogh stayed at the asylum, the heavy output of paintings he had begun in Arles continued (NS 592, 778). During this period, he produced some of the best-known works of his career, including the Irises from May, 1889, now in the J. Paul Getty Museum, and the blue self-portrait from September, 1889, in the Musee-d'Orsay. The Starry Night was painted between 16 and 18 June 1889 (Whitney 356; Pickvance [1986] 103; NS 767).


The painting

Although The Starry Night was painted during the day in Van Gogh's ground-floor studio, it would be inaccurate to state that the picture was painted from memory. The view has been identified as the one from his bedroom window, facing east (NS 747; Pickvance [1986] 103; Boime 88; Whitney 358), a view which Van Gogh painted variations of (NS 755) no fewer than twenty-one times, including The Starry Night (The Vincent van Gogh Gallery). "Through the iron-barred window," he wrote to his brother, Theo, around 23 May 1889, "I can see an enclosed square of wheat . . . above which, in the morning, I watch the sun rise in all its glory" (NS 747).

Van Gogh depicted the view at different times of day and under various weather conditions, including sunrise, moonrise, sunshine-filled days, overcast days, windy days, and one day with rain. The hospital staff did not allow Van Gogh to paint in his bedroom, but he was able to make sketches in ink or charcoal on paper (NS 760, 617), and eventually he would base newer variations on previous versions. The pictorial element uniting all of these paintings is the diagonal line coming in from the right depicting the low rolling hills of the Alpilles mountains. In fifteen of the twenty-one versions, cypress trees are visible beyond the far wall enclosing the wheat field. Van Gogh telescoped the view in six of these paintings, most notably in Wheat Fieldwith Cypresses and The Starry Night, bringing the trees closer to the picture plane (NS 759; Jirat-Wasiutyński 667).

One of the first paintings of the view was Mountainous Landscape Behind the Asylum, now in Copenhagen, which Van Gogh identified in a letter to his sister Wil from 16 June 1889 as hanging in his studio to dry (Whitney 356). Two days later, he wrote to his brother that he had painted "a starry sky" (NS 759; Van Gogh Letters Project, letter no. 782). The Starry Night is the only nocturne painting in the series of views from his bedroom window. In early June (letter no. 777), Vincent wrote to Theo, "This morning I saw the countryside from my window a long time before sunrise with nothing but the morning star, which looked very big." Two scholars working independently of each other have determined that Venus was indeed visible in Provence in the spring of 1889. So the brightest "star" in the painting, just to the viewer's right of the cypress tree, is actually Venus (Boime 88; Whitney 356).

The moon is stylized, as astronomical records indicate that the moon was waning gibbous at the time Van Gogh painted the picture (Whitney 356); even if the phase of the moon had been a waning crescent at the time, Van Gogh's moon is not astronomically correct. (For other interpretations of the moon, see below.) The one pictorial element that was definitely not visible from Van Gogh's cell is the village (Boime 89), which is based on a sketch made from a hillside above the village of Saint-Rémy (NS 760).


Interpretations

Even given the large number of letters Van Gogh wrote, he said very little about The Starry Night (Pickvance [1986] 103). After reporting that he had painted a starry sky in June, Van Gogh next mentioned the painting in a letter to Theo on or about 20 September 1889, when he included it in a list of paintings he was sending to his brother in Paris, referring to it as a "night study" (no. 805). Of this list of paintings, he wrote, "All in all the only things I consider a little good in it are the Wheatfield, the Mountain, the Orchard, the Olive trees with the blue hills and the Portrait and the Entrance to the quarry, and the rest says nothing to me"; "the rest" would include The Starry Night. When he decided to hold back three paintings from this batch in order to save money on postage, The Starry Night was one of the paintings he didn't send (no. 806). Finally, in a letter to painter Emile Bernard from late November, 1889, Van Gogh referred to the painting as a "failure" (NS 784).

Van Gogh argued with Bernard and, especially, Paul Gauguin as to whether one should paint from nature, as Van Gogh preferred (NS 755), or paint what Gauguin called "abstractions" (NS 625n): paintings conceived in the imagination, or de tête (NS 674). In the letter to Bernard, Van Gogh recounted his experiences when Gauguin lived with him for nine weeks in the fall and winter of 1888: "When Gauguin was in Arles, I once or twice allowed myself to be led astray into abstraction, as you know. . . .But that was delusion, dear friend, and one soon comes up against a brick wall. . . . And yet, once again I allowed myself to be led astray into reaching for stars that are too big—another failure—and I have had my fill of that" (Letters of Vincent van Gogh 469). Van Gogh here is referring to the expressionistic swirls which dominate the upper center portion of The Starry Night (NS 762).

Theo referred to these pictorial elements in a letter to Vincent dated 22 October 1889: "I clearly sense what preoccupies you in the new canvases like the village in the moonlight [The Starry Night] or the mountains, but I feel that the search for style takes away the real sentiment of things" (NS 784). Vincent responded in early November, "Despite what you say in your previous letter, that the search for style often harms other qualities, the fact is that I feel myself greatly driven to seek style, if you like, but I mean by that a more manly and more deliberate drawing. If that will make me more like Bernard or Gauguin, I can't do anything about it. But am inclined to believe that in the long run you'd get used to it." And later in the same letter, he wrote, "I know very well that the studies drawn with long, sinuous lines from the last consignment weren't what they ought to become, however I dare urge you to believe that in landscapes one will continue to mass things by means of a drawing style that seeks to express the entanglement of the masses" (no. 816).

But although Van Gogh periodically defended the practices of Gauguin and Bernard, each time he inevitably repudiated them (NS 626, 680) and continued with his preferred method of painting from nature (NS 778). Like the impressionists he had met in Paris, especially Claude Monet, Van Gogh also favored working in series. He had painted his series of sunflowers in Arles, and he painted the series of cypresses and wheat fields at Saint-Rémy. The Starry Night belongs to this latter series (Schapiro 110), as well as to a small series of nocturnes he initiated in Arles.

The nocturne series was limited by the difficulties posed by painting such scenes from nature, i.e., at night (NS 650). The first painting in the series was Café Terrace at Night, painted in Arles in early September, 1888, followed by Starry Night Over the Rhone later that same month. Van Gogh's written statements concerning these paintings provide further insight into his intentions for painting night studies in general and The Starry Night in particular.

Soon after his arrival in Arles in February, 1888, Van Gogh wrote to Theo, "I . . . need a starry night with cypresses or—perhaps above a field of ripe wheat; there are some really beautiful nights here." That same week, he wrote to Bernard, "A starry sky is something I should like to try to do, just as in the daytime I am going to try to paint a green meadow spangled with dandelions" (NS 649). He compared the stars to dots on a map and mused that, as one takes a train to travel on earth, "we take death to reach a star" (NS 611). Although at this point in his life Van Gogh was disillusioned by religion (NS 766; Soth 301), he appears not to have lost his belief in an afterlife. He voiced this ambivalence in a letter to Theo after having painted Starry Night Over the Rhone, confessing to a "tremendous need for, shall I say the word—for religion—so I go outside at night to paint the stars" (NS 651).

He wrote about existing in another dimension after death and associated this dimension with the night sky. "It would be so simple and would account so much for the terrible things in life, which now amaze and wound us so, if life had yet another hemisphere, invisible it is true, but where one lands when one dies" (NS 858n). "Hope is in the stars," he wrote, but he was quick to point out that "earth is a planet too, and consequently a star, or celestial orb" (NS 649). And he stated flatly that The Starry Night was "not a return to the romantic or to religious ideas" (NS 767).

Noted art historian Meyer Schapiro highlights the expressionistic aspects of The Starry Night, saying it was created under the "pressure of feeling" and that it is a "visionary [painting] inspired by a religious mood" (Schapiro 100). Schapiro theorizes that the "hidden content" (Schapiro 100) of the work makes reference to the New Testament book of Revelation, revealing an "apocalyptic theme of the woman in pain of birth, girded with the sun and moon and crowned with stars, whose newborn child is threatened by the dragon" (Schapiro 33). In the same volume, Schapiro also professes to see an image of a mother and child in the clouds in Landscape with Olive Trees (Schapiro 108), painted at the same time and often regarded as a pendant to The Starry Night (Pickvance [1986] 101).

Art historian Sven Loevgren expands on Schapiro's approach, again calling The Starry Night a "visionary painting" which "was conceived in a state of great agitation" (Loevgren 172). He writes of the "hallucinatory character of the painting and its violently expressive form," although he takes pains to note that the painting was not executed during one of Van Gogh's incapacitating breakdowns (Loevgren 172-73). Loevgren compares Van Gogh's "religiously inclined longing for the beyond" to the poetry of Walt Whitman (Loevgren 181). He calls The Starry Night "an infinitely expressive picture which symbolizes the final absorption of the artist by the cosmos" and which "gives a never-to-be-forgotten sensation of standing on the threshold of eternity" (Loevgren 182). Loevgren praises Schapiro's "eloquent interpretation" of the painting as an apocalyptic vision (Loevgren 183) and advances his own symbolist theory with reference to the eleven stars in one of Joseph's dreams in the Old Testament book of Genesis (Loevgren 186). Loevgren asserts that the pictorial elements of The Starry Night "are visualized in purely symbolic terms" and notes that "the cypress is the tree of death in the Mediterranean countries" (Loevgren 184).

Art historian Lauren Soth also finds a symbolist subtext in The Starry Night, saying that the painting is a "traditional religious subject in disguise" (Soth 308) and is a "sublimated image of [Van Gogh's] deepest religious feelings" (Soth 312). Citing Van Gogh's avowed admiration for the paintings of Eugene Delacroix, and especially the earlier painter's use of Prussian blue and citron-yellow in paintings of Christ, she theorizes that Van Gogh used these colors to represent Christ in The Starry Night (Soth 307). Soth criticizes Schapiro's and Loevgren's biblical interpretations, dependent as they are on a reading of the crescent moon as incorporating elements of the sun. Soth says it is merely a crescent moon, which, she writes, also had symbolic meaning for Van Gogh, representing "consolation" (Soth 309).  

It is in light of such symbolist interpretations of The Starry Night that art historian Albert Boime presents his study of the painting. As noted above, Boime has proven that the painting depicts not only the topographical elements of Van Gogh's view from his asylum window, but also the celestial elements, identifying not only Venus but also the constellation Aries (Boime 88). He suggests that Van Gogh originally intended to paint a gibbous moon but "reverted to a more traditional image" of the crescent moon, and theorizes that the bright aureole around the resulting crescent is a remnant of the original gibbous version (Boime 89). He recounts Van Gogh's interest in the writings of Victor Hugo and Jules Verne as possible inspiration for his belief in an afterlife on stars or planets (Boime 95). And he provides a detailed discussion of the well-publicized advances in astronomy that took place during Van Gogh's lifetime.

Boime asserts that while Van Gogh never mentioned astronomer Camille Flammarion in his letters (Boime 96), he believes that Van Gogh must have been aware of Flammarion's popular illustrated publications, which included drawings of spiral nebulae (as galaxies were then called) as seen and photographed through telescopes. Boime interprets the swirling figure in the central portion of the sky in The Starry Night to represent either a spiral galaxy or a comet, photographs of which had also been published in popular media (Boime 89). He asserts that the only non-realistic elements of the painting are the village and the swirls in the sky. These swirls represent Van Gogh's understanding of the cosmos as a living, dynamic place (Boime 92).

Harvard astronomer Charles A. Whitney conducted his own astronomical study of The Starry Night contemporaneously with but independent of Boime (who spent almost his entire career at U.C.L.A.). While Whitney does not share Boime's certainty with regard to the constellation Aries (Whitney 352), he concurs with Boime on the visibility of Venus in Provence at the time the painting was executed (Whitney 356). He also sees the depiction of a spiral galaxy in the sky, although he gives credit for the original to Anglo-Irish astronomer William Parsons, Lord Rosse, whose work Flammarion reproduced (Whitney 351).

Whitney also theorizes that the swirls in the sky could represent wind, evoking the mistral that had such a profound effect on Van Gogh during the twenty-seven months he spent in Provence (Whitney 358). (It was the mistral which triggered his first breakdown after entering the asylum, in July, 1889, less than a month after painting The Starry Night; NS 771). Boime theorizes that the lighter shades of blue just above the horizon show the first light of morning (Boime 89).

The village has been variously identified as either a recollection of Van Gogh's Dutch homeland (Schapiro 34; Pickvance 103) or based on a sketch he made of the town of Saint-Rémy (NS 760; Boime 89). In either case, it is an imaginary component of the picture, not visible from the window of the asylum bedroom.

Cypress trees have long been associated with death in European culture, though the question of whether Van Gogh intended for them to have such a symbolic meaning in The Starry Night is the subject of an open debate. In an April, 1888, letter to Bernard, Van Gogh referred to "funereal cypresses" (Pickvance [1984] 181), though this is possibly similar to saying "stately oaks" or "weeping willows." One week after painting The Starry Night, he wrote to his brother Theo, "The cypresses are always occupying my thoughts. I should like to make something of them like the canvases of the sunflowers, because it astonishes me that they have not yet been done as I see them" (NS 758). In the same letter he mentioned "two studies of cypresses of that difficult shade of bottle green" (no. 783) These statements suggests that Van Gogh was interested in the trees more for their formal qualities than for their symbolic connotation.

Schapiro refers to the cypress in the painting as a "vague symbol of a human striving" (Schapiro 100). Boime calls it the "symbolic counterpart of van Gogh's own striving for the Infinite through non-orthodox channels" (Boime 96). Art historian Vojtech Jirat-Wasiutynski says that for Van Gogh the cypresses "function as rustic and natural obelisks" providing a "link between the heavens and the earth" (Jirat-Wasiutynski 657). (Some commentators see one tree, others see two or more.) Loevgren reminds the reader that "the cypress is the tree of death in the Mediterranean countries" (Loevgren 184).

Art historian Ronald Pickvance says that with "its arbitrary collage of separate motifs," The Starry Night "is overtly stamped as an 'abstraction'" (Pickvance [1986] 106). Pickvance claims that cypress trees were not visible facing east from Van Gogh's room, and he includes them with the village and the swirls in the sky as products of Van Gogh's imagination (Pickvance [1986] 103). Boime asserts that the cypresses were visible in the east (Boime 88), as does Jirat-Wasiutynski. (p. 667). Van Gogh biographers Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith concur, saying that Van Gogh "telescoped" the view in certain of the pictures of the view from his window (NS 759), and it stands to reason that Van Gogh would do this in a painting featuring the morning star. Such a compression of depth serves to enhance the brightness of planet.

Soth uses Van Gogh's statement to his brother, that The Starry Night is "an exaggeration from the point of view of arrangement" to further her argument that the painting is "an amalgam of images" (Soth 305). However, it is by no means certain that Van Gogh was using "arrangement" as a synonym for "composition." Van Gogh was in fact speaking of three paintings, one of which was The Starry Night, when he made this comment: "The olive trees with white cloud and background of mountains, as well as the Moonrise and the Night effect," as he called it, "these are exaggerations from the point of view of the arrangement, their lines are contorted like those of the ancient woodcuts." The first two pictures are universally acknowledged to be realistic, non-composite views of their subjects. What the three pictures do have in common is exaggerated color and brushwork of the type that Theo referred to when he criticized Van Gogh for his "search for style [that] takes away the real sentiment of things" in The Starry Night.

On two other occasions around this time, Van Gogh used the word "arrangement" to refer to color, similar to the way James Abbott McNeill Whistler used the term. In a letter to Gauguin in January, 1889, he wrote, "As an arrangement of colours: the reds moving through to pure oranges, intensifying even more in the flesh tones up to the chromes, passing into the pinks and marrying with the olive and Veronese greens. As an impressionist arrangement of colours, I've never devised anything better" (no. 739; the painting he is referring to is La Berceuse, which is a realistic portrait of Augustine Roulin with an imaginative floral background). And to Bernard in late November, 1889: "But this is enough for you to understand that I would long to see things of yours again, like the painting of yours that Gauguin has, those Breton women walking in a meadow, the arrangement of which is so beautiful, the colour so naively distinguished. Ah, you’re exchanging that for something — must one say the word — something artificial — something affected" (no. 822; see also NS 675).

When Van Gogh calls The Starry Night a failure for being an "abstraction," he places the blame on his having painted "stars that are too big."

While stopping short of calling the painting a hallucinatory vision, Naifeh and Smith discuss The Starry Night in the context of Van Gogh's mental illness, which they identify as temporal lobe epilepsy, or latent epilepsy (NS 762-763). "Not the kind," they write, "known since antiquity, that caused the limbs to jerk and the body to collapse ('the falling sickness', as it was sometimes called), but a mental epilepsy—a seizing up of the mind: a collapse of thought, perception, reason, and emotion that manifested itself entirely in the brain and often prompted bizarre, dramatic behavior" (NS 749; emphasis in the original). Symptoms of the seizures "resembled fireworks of electrical impulses in the brain" (NS 762).

Van Gogh experienced his second breakdown in seven months in July, 1889 (NS 771). Naifeh and Smith theorize that the seeds of this breakdown were present when Van Gogh painted The Starry Night, that in giving himself over to his imagination "his defenses had been breached" (NS 763). On that day in mid-June, in a "state of heightened reality," with all the other elements of the painting in place (NS 761), Van Gogh threw himself into the painting of the stars, producing, they write, "a night sky unlike any other the world had ever seen with ordinary eyes" (NS 762).


Provenance

After having initially held it back, Van Gogh sent The Starry Night to Theo in Paris on 28 September 1889, along with nine or ten other paintings (Pickvance [1986] 106; letter  no. 806). Theo died less than six months after Vincent, in January, 1891. Theo's widow, Jo, then became the caretaker of Van Gogh's legacy. She sold the painting to poet Julien Leclercq in Paris in 1900, who turned around and sold it to Émile Schuffenecker, Gauguin's old friend, in 1901. Jo then bought the painting back from Schuffenecker before selling it to the Oldenzeel Gallery in Rotterdam in 1906. From 1906 to 1938 it was owned by one Georgette P. van Stolk, of Rotterdam, who sold it to gallery owner Paul Rosenberg, of Paris and New York. It was through Rosenberg that the Museum of Modern Art acquired the painting in 1941 (MoMA).


Sources

Boime, Albert. "Van Gogh's Starry Night: A History of Matter and a Matter of History." Arts Magazine (December, 1984): 86-103.
Jirat-Wasiutynski, Vojtech. "Vincent van Gogh's Paintings of Olive Trees and Cypresses from St.-Remy." Art Bulletin (December, 1993), Vol. 75, No. 4: 647-670.
de Leeuw, Ronald (ed.). The Letters of Vincent van Gogh. London: Penguin Books,1996.
Loevgren, Sven. The Genesis of Modernism: Seurat, Gauguin, Van Gogh, and French Symbolism in the 1880s. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1971.
Naifeh, Steven and Gregory White Smith. Van Gogh: The Life. New York: Random House, 2011.
Pickvance, Ronald. Van Gogh in Arles. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1984.
_______. Van Gogh in Saint-Rémy and Auvers. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1986.
Schapiro, Meyer. Vincent van Gogh. New York: H. N. Abrams, 1950.
Soth, Lauren. "Van Gogh's Agony." Art Bulletin (June, 1986), Vol. 68,  No. 2: 301-313.
Van Gogh Letters Project, Van Gogh Museum, online.
Whitney, Charles A. "The Skies of Vincent van Gogh." Art History (September, 1986), Vol. 9, No. 3: 351-362.