My Kid Could Paint That

Edward Hopper, Nighthawks, 1942

Andy Warhol, Banana, 1966

The line, “There is always money in the banana stand,” is repeated throughout the entirety of the show Arrested Development. It becomes a staple, a repeatable tagline of the show. The saying is plastered on merchandise for adoring fans - heck, even I have a banana stand shirt. People associate the imagery with the show, just like the familiar Andy Warhol imagery of soup cans and celebrities. Warhol considered these images iconic in 20th century America, and now his images have become iconic themselves. That’s the thing about icons: they sell. Just like my Bluth’s Frozen Banana shirt, people ate up Warhol’s diptychs of Marilyn Monroe and Campbell’s Soup (no pun intended).

In terms of monetary value, Warhol had an incredibly successful career making prints of these iconic American figures. People loved him, and he consistently had buyers and museums pining after his work. However, in his later work, critics called him “superficial” and “commercial.” They found no significance in his art other than his desire to sell the pieces.

Despite the criticism, Warhol didn’t exactly sell out. He started out producing holistically American art, and his life mirrored the fundamental American values that we still see today: money is everything. That’s probably why Warhol replicated the dollar sign over 100 times in a series. And he wasn’t shy about his love of money, having had both the experience of coming from a poor family and being propelled into a fabulously rich lifestyle. This was the America that Warhol lived - poor industrial families and plastic Hollywood superstars, soup cans and magazine covers.

Andy Warhol will always be remembered as the artist of American pop culture. He has become iconic in ways Lindsay Bluth can only dream of.

Salvador Dali, The Dream, 1931

Salvador Dali’s intense, bizarre imagery makes his work instantly recognizable. He captures perfectly the surreal feelings of disassociation, helplessness, and sensory deprivation that accompany dreams. The central figure of The Dream is a pale woman with her hair flowing strangely into almost baroque contortions, with her eyes swollen and sealed shut. Ants crawl over where her mouth should be. Tiny, naked figures in the background pose in strange contortions or embrace. By combining his contemporary Freud’s theories of psychology with his own flair for the surreal and discomforting, Dali has created an intensely vivid and personal piece.

The cartoon Adventure Time’s loose and simplistic style of animation and the bizarre nature of the land of Ooo have the potential for plenty of surreal horror. In “King Worm,” hero Finn the Human finds himself trapped in a Dali-esque dream world, forced to confront his subconscious fears in order to escape. The logic of his dreams is surreal and inconsistent, full of strange images and foreshadowing of later episodes. In particular, a ghostly woman seen momentarily during the fear sequence reminds me of the central figure here in The Dream, with her billowing hair and greenish hue. Finn's dreams include confrontations with his love interest and his close friends; eventually, he learns to control the dreamscape to some extent, but locations still change unpredictably, melt, and change in very Dali-esque ways.

Adventure Time, "King Worm"

Dali experiments with trying to capture the helplessness and muted sensations of dreams, using the dark palette, crawling ants, and sealed facial features. The seated man in the background holding his bloody face may be Oedipus, a strong Freudian symbol, and the bust growing out of his back represents the father. Two men embrace each other, one holding what might be a golden key, and a third attempts to push his way into a red wall, symbolizing a search for meaning or escape. The strange, nonsensical actions reinforce the theme of dreaming. Dali considered this painting a strong enough representative of his work that he insisted it represent him at the First International Surrealist Exhibition in 1936.

Roy Lichtenstein, Brattata, 1962

When I first saw this Lichtenstein, I immediately thought of Archer. The show's just returned for its new season, changing the entire plot and introducing a whole new point of the show: sell an actual ton of drugs and retire for life.

Of course, there wouldn't be an entire season devoted to that if the plan actually worked.

The thing I love about this piece is the written caption on it along with the written, worded sound of missile fire. Instead of being even anxious or afraid of the additional fire aimed at him, the pilot talks about getting more planes to aim at and how he wants to shoot down a certain number for bragging rights. At least for me, I can't imagine that level of comfort in that sort of area, especially with my life on the line. But I think Lichtenstein is trying to evoke that sort of shock with this piece, with the nonchalance of the pilot hitting just as hard as his missiles.

Archer does the same thing. Through the entire show, the shooting and violence and complete mayhem combine into something that is absolutely hysterical, though little of it should be. One of the actual workers in ISIS is shot in every single battle there is on site, actually (spoiler) being killed off in the first episode of this new season. Mixed with witty banter and hot female spies, the show could be a complete mess. Instead, exemplified by Archer himself, it becomes a smart show, opening a whole different world than other spy shows. I'm not saying it's enlightening, but there is something in its dark comedy that says quite a lot about its viewers and what they are interested in seeing: chaos.

Gustav Klimt, Pallas Athene, 1898

Anne Louis Girodet,Ossian Receiving the Ghosts of the French Heroes,1802

Originally crafted for a small palace intended for Napoleon, this piece by Anne-Louis Girodet and its counterpart, Ossian Evoking Ghosts on the Edge of the Lora, by Francois Gerard were the only pieces in the entire palace Napoleon praised. There was something rare and unique surrounding these works. Both of the pieces focus on the work of the Gaelic poet Ossian, who Napoleon adored at the time. Ossian’s epics caused a sensation, not only because its subject matter fueled the new Romantic movement, but because of the ambiguity surrounding its origins - even its existence.

This particular piece shows brave soldiers prepared for battle and surrounding the poet Ossian; a piece perfect for Napoleon, who was in the middle of a revolution of his own. This snapshot from the battle is told by the narrator Fingal at the edge of battle. In the valley of Valhalla, these men are ready for battle and they look beyond the poet, seeing the inner radiance of their slain brethren. The entire piece feels almost sacred, with the left side clustered with floating maidens promising glory in death.

Jackson Pollock, Sea Change, 1947

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*Spoiler Alert – if you have not watched past season 3 episode 13, “Full Measure,” do not read this post or watch the video.

We make decisions every day. Most are rather trivial – what should I eat for breakfast, which parking spot do I take – but some decisions stand out from the rest. These are the decisions that drastically change the path of your future. These are the decisions that you never forget, sometimes no matter how you try. For Jesse in Breaking Bad this decision arrived with a phone call.

“It’s gonna have to be you… They’re going to kill me…Jesse, do it now, do it! Do it fast. Do it, Jesse! Do it!”

Jesse immediately reacts, grabbing his gun, jumping to his feet, racing to Gale’s house, only to discover that when the door opens, it's decision time. Jesse has to decide the course of his future, something that, in my opinion, reveals more about his character than any other moment in the series. Breaking Bad reveals as much about Jesse as Walter - his parents that have kicked him out, his girlfriend for whose death he blames himself, his struggle with drugs  – but this moment shows Jesse’s true inner turmoil, his struggle with not only the decision he currently has to make, but all the decisions that led him to that point.

Jesse’s life, similar to Pollock’s painting, consists of layer upon layer of choices and actions, each one overlapping the last, covering or building upon a previous decision. No stroke of color in this painting can be undone, rather, it has to be covered by another color – another action. Pollock couldn’t splatter one color and then remove it; he just had to add a new layer, adding to the composition and individuality of each piece. Jesse’s decisions overlap each other, each one leading to the next. But Jesse never predicted this moment. Standing in the doorway with a gun pointed at a begging man, tears beginning to accumulate in his eyes as he pleads, “you don’t have to do this.

But, in those last moments, immediately before Jesse pulls the trigger, as his eyes fill with tears, he understands that his decision has already been made for him. He does have to do this. His tears come from his realization that he doesn’t have a choice; he has to kill Gale. All of his past decisions have led to this, and he can’t back down now. He understands that he can’t turn back from this decision, and the ones that have led him to this culminating point; he can’t let Gale, Walter, and himself live. One has to go. And at that last moment, Jesse accepts that all his past decisions will be covered and built upon by this one action, as a single color will cover the canvas, and he will never be able to completely cover it up by another layer. 

Andy Warhol, Campbell's Soup, 1962

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Amedeo Modigliani, Portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne, 1918

If there were a song to describe the relationship of Modigliani and his dearest lover Jeanne Hebuterne, it would be Pale Blue Eyes by the Velvet Underground.

Born in Italy in 1884, Amedeo Modigliani was stricken by illness throughout his life. Since pleurisy and typhoid had made it impossible for him to go to school, by the age of fifteen, Amedeo Modigliani was studying painting in Guglielmo Micheli's studio. Modigliani left for Paris in 1906, and joined a circle of artists like Picasso and Gino Severini. But instead of Cubism or Futurism, Modigliani took his inspiration from works of early Renaissance, such as that of Duccio and Simone Martini, and other oriental cultures. In 1917, he met the love of his life, then 19-year-old Jeanne Hebuterne. For the next two years, he seemed never get tired of painting her. And he would carry on if wasn't struck down by illness. In 1920, tubercular meningitis took his life. Jeanne committed suicide the next day, nine months pregnant with their second child.

Finding a painting to go with a piece of good music is not easy when you are little short on knowledge about either music or painting. But it all becomes very easy when the mild tune of Pale Blue Eyes finds the lazy, curving lines of Modigliani's portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne. A certain gentleness flows along the soft lines of her almond-shaped face, through the sloping shoulder and slender arm, to be picked up by her gently pressing left hand. A similar gentleness can be heard with every touch of the string and every line of the lyrics in the song. And I find myself "lingering on her pale blue eyes."

As the lyrics progresses, the song seems to be at even more resonation with the story of Modigliani's and Jeanne. Born in a Catholic family, Jeanne was renounced by her family for her relationship with the painter. It did not stop her from falling in love with him. After Modigliani's unsuccessful exhibition in Paris, they moved to Nice, where they had their first child. The sad tone of both the song the their story gives the whole thing an undercurrent of inevitable loss and tragic beauty. As Lou Reed sings, "It was good what we did yesterday, and I'd do it once again." I wonder if Jeanne Hebuterne thought the same when she threw herself out of the balcony. And I really hope she did.

Picasso, Death of Marat, 1931

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Picasso's Death of Marat gave me nightmares...once I figured out which limbs belonged to who. He paints Charlotte Corday towering over the tiny headed Marat as she gruesomely stabs him in the chest. This piece reminded me of "Monster" by Eminem because of the way he paints Corday. I see her losing her mind here, like the hatred she has for Marat takes over as she looks like she is about to take his head off. The story I know, that Corday meticulously planned her assassination of Marat. She thought through the whole process and here, Picasso takes the scene and makes it a passionate murder. Not one of trying to save her people, but a rage-fueled strike. Giving me the feeling that she is "friends with the voices inside of [her] head."

All of Eminem's verses talk about his struggle finding fame, his voice, and fighting with the "monsters" in his head. Though Corday appears to be the monster here, Marat gained his fame during the French Revolution sentencing any potential threat to death by simply writing them off. Clearly, the monster took over for him and he made a name for himself that Corday could not stomach. The actions that Marat took throughout the French Revolution may have been what he thought was right for the new republic, but "trying to save" the people didn't work as well as he had hoped. The terror is a good example of the monster taking over what once was a good idea (overthrowing the king that is).

I guess my point is that I see both Corday and Marat as the monster here. I see Corday as a monster because of how viciously Picasso painted her here, and I think it plays well with the song to say that the monster took over when she murdered Marat, even if it was a preconceived action. Not so much from this painting in particular, but I do see Marat as a monster for The Terror and though he may look small and weak in his bathtub here, his "monster inside of [his] head" caused much larger problems than Corday's act of vengeance.

Nikolaos Gyzis, Wishbone, 1878

Rene Magritte, Le Jockey Perdu III, Unknown

"I conceive of the art of painting as the science of juxtaposing colours in such a way that their actual appearance disappears and lets a poetic image emerge. . . . There are no 'subjects,' no 'themes' in my painting. It is a matter of imagining images whose poetry restores to what is known that which is absolutely unknown and unknowable." - Rene Magritte

Rene Magritte, influenced greatly by the works of Giorgio Chirico, sought to incorporate seemingly unrelated items into groups. The combination of items not only pleased the viewer, but challenged their perception and thought. Magritte’s Le Jockey Perdu III embodies the passion of his mentor: providing a subject an unrelated setting. Le Jockey Perdu III depicts a lone racer withdrawn from the track, where he should be, and placed in the desert.

While on the road, the Rolling Stones wanted nothing more at times than to just be where they needed to be, instead of constantly in flux. The lyrics, "wild horses couldn't drag me away" give the listener a sense of futility, as if no matter how hard they try to stay, they have to go. "Wild Horses" was written to cope with the stress of touring across the nation, to pay homage to what was thought to be an easily grasped theme. Instead, the song remained a mystery. The fluidity and movement within the lyric and rhythm give so much freedom to the listener, both in how they listen to the song and how they interpret it.

The element of movement is masked within Magritte’s work, the viewer taking a stagnant position from within a rocky outcrop observing a misplaced racer. As I viewed this piece I could not help but compare it to a Rothko. Mark Rothko exercised a visual tension in his artwork, a constant imbalance and movement. Le Jockey Perdu III for me is very much the same, the viewer forced to grapple with the speed and ferocity of the horse slicing through the environment - leaving dust in his wake. This piece is not merely pleasurable to view, but also to contemplate. The contrast and tension in this piece makes it seem almost simple, something it is proves not to be at all.

George Tooker, Landscape With Figures, 1966

Arcade Fire's music is innovative at best, but there is something downright unsettling about "Sprawl II"(Mountains Beyond Mountains).  The band filled the song's 2010 album The Suburbs with discontented themes, but none of the other tracks are set to such thematically incongruous, catchy dance music.  At the surface, everything is joyously glossed over.  Underneath are real hurt and loneliness.

"Sprawl II" retains a clear moral throughout.  As the intro goes, "They heard me singing and they told me to stop/Quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock," a clear plea for individuality in a conformist world.  The singer goes on to lament about how the "dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains," the further scars that society has left upon the physical world.  The first verse describes a city beckoning to the narrator to find her niche in society, but when she persists in her quest toward her own identity up to the second verse, the community rejects her.  In the third verse, the subject changes to the plural -- even through the oppression, the singer has found a group of her own.

It is difficult to tell whether "Sprawl II "has a happy ending.  A personal struggle has no solution but only spreads to other people, a purgatory where no goals are realized.  The song's music grows to match its despairing lyrics when the ghostly-sounding bridge kicks in, but the dance beat persists and picks up before the third verse with renewed vigor and a key change.  Listeners can interpret the music's meaning differently with each replay.

I stumbled across this equally disturbing image, Landscape With Figures by mid-twentieth century artist George Tooker.  The eerie sprawl of figures in cubicles parodies an office building, but the unearthly red light evokes purgatory or hell.  The figures, with their resolutely unhappy faces, are damned in their oppression.  The image reflects the state of corporate America from the early fifties to mid-sixties.  It shows a country regrouping from the chaos of another world war and marching towards structured conformity, its people frightened into strict social norms after the Red Scare.  The front man's face displays complex emotions, from fear to doubt, and defiance to some grim kind of resolve.

"Sprawl II" perpetuates the timeless theme of the search for identity, and the painting shows the same philosophical struggle, even though it comes from a different time period.  Despite their initial aesthetic appeal, both pieces of art are haunting upon closer inspection, suspended in idealistic longing without any progress.

J.M.W. Turner, Slave Ship, 1840

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The Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" and van Gogh's The Church at Auvers have one thing in common; they were created by some of the greatest artists of all time, yet aren't necessarily the artists' most famous works. Both the song and the painting have characteristics of their more famous siblings, yet commonly disappear amongst the greatness. The song "Eleanor Rigby" embodies this sense of insignificance and brought together the lonely listeners of a generation.

This painting resonated with me because it brought together the feeling of loneliness that the song represents, and can be a visual representation of the line in the song that says, "Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name, Nobody came, Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave, No one was saved.".I see the man walking back towards the church as Father Mckenzie, who only comes to Eleanor Rigby's funeral because it's his job. The brushstrokes of the path leads one's eyes toward the large, powerful church. To contrast it's size, the man is insignificant, and faceless. The facelessness adds to the feeling of loneliness and gives the impression that anyone could be that person.

Paul Cezanne, The House with the Cracked Walls, 1892-1894

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Home is something familiar, comforting, static. For children, home takes on the literal meaning of the house that they return to each night. But then children grow up. They find other homes. They find comfort in other realms of life. Home is essential. Everyone wants to feel like they belong somewhere, like they are not alone in life. That they can always have somewhere to go back to. Home can be a place, or a person, even a feeling. But, as the song suggests, nothing quite feels like home like an old house laden with memories and dust and lingering piano chords.

For Cezanne, the house with the dust and the wooden floors may have been this house in the Bibémus Quarries, where he painted many of his paintings in the latter part of his life. When I travelled to Aix-En-Provence this past summer, I took a trip to the Bibémus Quarries and Mont St-Victoire. The place itself was eerie – eroded rock surfaces and an abandoned cabin and a crumbling stone wall, all against the backdrop of Mont Sainte-Victoire. It looked exactly like Cezanne’s paintings, yet it also looked completely different, almost too realistic even. Cezanne’s work is beautiful, but it did more than capture the beauty of the place. This is not a painting of a simple house or a simple place. It must have felt like home to Cezanne, who painted there for more than ten years, often spending nights in the little stone cabin nestled in the woods on the outskirts of the quarries. Now the cabin’s walls are even more cracked, and layers of dust catch the sunlight when you peek through the window. He painted here, a more than a century ago, just Cezanne and his mountain, and I can’t imagine anything more peaceful.

Goya, Mujeres Riendo, 1819-1823

There's this moment in every senior's life, whether at the very end of high school or just throughout the year, where they realize the finality of everything they do. From the last first day of high school and picking your last new locker to the last class with your favorite teacher and turning in your very last exam, it all seems so... incomplete.

Maybe what I'm trying to get at is that high school - and life afterwards - isn't going to be wrapped up with a ribbon and put away nicely. Things aren't going to be simple. Not every single person in my class is going to know their exact plan for the next four years of their life. I know I won't... and that's scary. We go through our day to day lives, counting the months until graduation while simultaneously wishing we could just go back to kindergarten and not have to take this next step.