My Kid Could Paint That

I always think of Anders Zorn, a mostly unknown Swedish painter, as the weird uncle version of John Singer Sargent. His brushstrokes are looser, his lighting less pronounced, and his subjects more nude than not. Where Sargent paints beautiful, elegant women, Zorn chooses to paint an inebriated prostitute. Zorn's subject leans against a tree, as if she is incapable of standing on her own. Her face is flushed and set in an unattractive expression. Although some could see this as Zorn mocking the dignified women Sargent paints, I view this piece as comical. Her dress, bright red as an indication towards her profession, is not revealing. In fact, she's rather well covered for a prostitute (disclaimer: I'm no expert on prostitute fashion, they could wear parkas and long johns for all I know). The exposed lacey hem of her underskirt is, perhaps, the most provocative aspect of her outfit.

Zorn creates tension in the painting via the background lighting. The cafe's lights are bright and intense, illuminating our "lady of the night," but they suddenly break off and become inky black. It took me a while to actually notice that there's a man in that darkness. All that can be seen is a vague profile of his face and clothing. To me, the painting seems rushed, especially the background. It's as if Zorn added in the background as an afterthought. The dark and the light push against each other, separated only by the scarlet woman. Zorn's brush strokes are hurried and blurred, as if the viewers own vision is hazy. That always leads me to imagine that when I look at this painting I immediately step into the role of her drinking buddy, stumbling home after last call. Where Sargent takes the viewer into the lives of the bourgeoisie, Zorn takes you to the streets and out for a drink with some rather rough customers.

The lewd tension in this piece is inescapable, but what does the cat in his arms suggest? Looking to other pieces, cats are symbolic of piety and cleanliness, often times the presence of nature and mystery. The pale, stylistic affectation of the boy comes from Renoir sharing a studio with Frederic Bazille, and his obsession with Edouard Manet. The diverse masculinity found in Renoir’s other works is absent here, giving a glimpse into Renoir’s private life with Bazille, that privacy embodied by the cat. Shortly after this piece emerged, Renoir was forced to become a more serious artist after the birth of his first child, leaving this piece - and its meaning - in his past.

Undeniably unsettling, this painting seems eerily reminiscent of a Tim Burton movie (aside from the lack of Johnny Depp.) The crooked buildings, violent sky, and macabre figures tell a story of degeneration; you will not find a heart-warming skeleton love story here.

The painting style spurs from Dadaism, a movement that came out of World War I and protested cultural and intellectual conformity while embracing chaos and absurdity. George Grosz, a prominent Dada artist, adopted the style after returning from his service in the war. He had come to hate the war and detested the world and its inhabitants, especially Germans. He lived in Berlin for many years, despite seeing his fellow German city-dwellers as ugly, obese, and retrograde. Grosz especially hated cities, which to him exemplified the debauchery and corruption of the modern world. His art reflected his pessimism and antipathy with often appalling subject matter and depraved implications.

This painting depicts the nefarious happenings of a city block in the middle of the night. Ghastly figures, floating heads, and Peeping Toms exist under the bloody sky. There are just two women in the scene, one baring all and one concealed behind a larger man. Grosz often painted salaciously, however here he only hints at the indecorous conduct occurring. The people in the windows only add to the scandalous nature of the painting. Although the scene is in public, their featureless faces seem to intrude and scrutinize. There is no privacy in the city, only bad characters and worse intentions.

Besides the people, I can’t help but feel there are bigger monsters at hand. The skyline in the background looks peculiarly like teeth. Black, jagged teeth, in a gaping mouth, enclosing the whole city in the jaws of some bigger evil. If Grosz is trying to tell us that humanity is vile and vulgar, well, he’s done a pretty good job. I feel exposed looking at this painting, yet it captivates me. Like a Rothko, the deeper I look, the more I find. I don’t think I’ll ever figure out what is quite going on here, and I think I’m okay with that.

Before World War I, Lewis found a balance through geometric designs of cityscapes. He and his fellow Vorticism painters denounced cubism because they could not feel movement. With their take, it does create movement. The Crowd gives a sense of falling, like in Alice in Wonderland, falling through different levels and seeing different shapes. 

In class we read through Brettell's bool on modern art. In that this piece was in black in white with gave it more of a balance between structure and chaos. With this color palate all the different shades of brown and orange remind me of a stereotypical 1970s home. I can see the bright orange carpet, the dark brown furniture and the weird yellow-ish curtains. While the white pieces - through all the muddy shades of brown - fight for attention.