Reflections from Locker #14: The South Ledges, Appledore

Appledore
Hassam, The South Ledges, Appledore, 1913 
Reflections from Locker #14
By MEGAN GANNON

We’ve come to the end. Our final blog, well at least for me. I’ve spent a lot time thinking about what I would say in this last post, and how I could accurately depict how I feel about saying goodbye. Throughout this series we’ve rediscovered how time does not alter emotion. I feel in one respect I’ve said all I can for now and that my time to go has come, to leave this chapter of my life behind. 

Now this not to say, I won’t return, but for the moment I’ll leave you with my last piece of advice or more accurately the knowledge I have acquired. We try to categorize art into schools and periods, because of the uncertainty of the world around us. If we can call Caravaggio a Baroque artist or De Hooch a Dutch master we somehow bring order to the universe. Although sometimes we have to face the chaos, understand that life happens.

Recently, I received some pretty devastating news, but I know that things will be okay. Our challenges do not define our experiences, our reactions to those difficulties do. For my final painting, I chose Childe Hassam’s The South Ledges, Appledore. Now if you can’t tell by looking at it, Hassam did not paint it during the Renaissance, 17th, 18th, or 19th centuries. He painted this in 1913. Although if I’ve learned one thing you cannot limit the boundaries of your experience with artificial dates. If something speaks to you, you should not have to rationalize within time. Furthermore I realize the name provides little insight into the power of the work, but hear me out. 

When someone gives you bad news, they attempt to brace you, give you a crutch to lean on, to supplement the blow of what you are about to go through by providing you with cases of success and stories of hope. In my experience though, sometimes words drift into the wind and get lost, lose their meaning in an overload of compassion from those around you. Now the people who give you advice don’t mean any harm, but talking helps them process their feelings and often leaves you out. 

Hassam’s painting, speaks louder than words to me. The woman looking at the ocean, appears relaxed, yet slightly tilts her hat downwards away from the crashing waves. This act, her inability to face the ocean head on, mimics how I feel right now. I know I’m ready, I’ve soaked up all I can, but staring out into the blue, well that scares me. Cancer scares me, you hear it and you think of those close to you and what you would do in that situation, but you never know until a doctor stands in front holding test results that do not bring good tidings. 

I see this woman and I see myself, at the cusp of so much, she sits a top the cliffs with the brown and blues mixing together, blurring all lines. The blue should excite me, the promise of the future, of university, of enhanced learning, yet my gaze keeps getting trapped in the rocks, the hospital beds, the unpredictability of what’s to come, the not knowing what’s wrong but only that something is not right. 

The only thing that strikes me as bizarre about this paintings, is the woman’s solitude. Her attire, her posture makes it appears as if she’s staring at the skyline all alone. The viewer does not see the people behind her, the individuals who do not take center stage, but support her nonetheless. 

As I say goodbye, I want to say thank you. Thank you to Mr. Luce for the unwavering support, our faithful readers, my class, my family, and of course art. Without the efforts of those around us, who attempt to capture the human experience, we would suffer greatly. Whether through paintings, etching, sculptures, or wood carvings, art connects us. 

As I depart into the world, I want to share art, because it’s not something only for the wealthy or “well” educated, it’s for humanity. Renaissance or modern, art makes the world seem a little less scary. For all those who will come after me, don’t be afraid to get lost in the pigments, or let yourself feel the paintings. Yes, learn, and learn all you can, about technique and composition, and how history applies to it all, but do not lose sight of the works that tug at your heartstrings, the paintings that brighten your day and remind you how wonderful life is. 

Life will take and take and take, but if you adjust your view a little bit, you will see that life has just as much to give. 
  • 7:00 AM

Reflections from Locker #14: Mother at the Cradle

Dehooch
DeHooch, Mother at the Cradle, 1662
Reflections from Locker #14
By MEGAN GANNON

I want to talk about love, not the type where you fall for the cute boy in biology class, but the kind that defines life outside of a romantic relationships, something more than a boyfriend or girlfriend, the love that transports you outside the fake wooden floors of the hallways. 

Love...we spend our lives in pursuit of it, running away from it, imagining it, I guess you could call it the quest for the ultimate emotion. We start and stop relationships in search of it only to experience it in the seemingly most mundane things. Love lives in stolen glances, little notes, and extended hands. 

Learning to love means giving a part of yourself to something, a terrifying thought, knowing that the loving people means are you in fact human. That in the midst of all those corny flowers there will be moments when there is no laughter, as someone you love becomes only a memory. 

Throughout the Renaissance, the Dutch embraced death with series like the Dance of Death and the emergence of momento mori. Many often criticize the Dutch masters for their lack of excitement. Although I have to disagree. I admire the Dutch masters for their dedication to the milk jugs and backyard gardens. 

Pieter De Hooch's Mother with Cradle, to me represents the love that we fear but cannot live without. At first glance, De Hooch's painting only appears as snapshot of a woman’s life, yet as you look closer the image alters. Take the little girl in the back, who stands at the cusp of the illuminated door. Here De Hooch references the innocence of the little girl and how sometimes when mother’s turn their back, children walk out the door into the bright unknowing world, unaware of the change to come. The dog turns his head back to the motherly figure as some last attempt to stop the girl from stepping into the light. 

In this painting, love is in the mother’s glance towards the baby, her extended finger, and the room as a whole. The loose pan...a sign of home with food and furthermore prosperity with the addition of well built furniture and elaborate draping. This family lives a stable life, safe in the cocoon of yellow and red hues. 

Recently, I watched the yellow light stream into my life, eclipsing the safety of this comfortable room. I stood in silence as De Hooch's motherly figure turned her back and I faced the doorway. 

The mother is not abandoning her child, she’s letting go. She understands that the little girl needs to find her way. She will stumble, but she has a home to come back to, a mother who will extend her hand in times of need. 

This seemingly ordinary moment that DeHooch captures, represents so much than Dutch life. We think of love as this grand thing, expressed in candlelight and airplane writing, but the most profound love often goes unseen and unspoken. The connection between the little girl and her mother, they may appear separated, the diagonal line that stems from the mother’s shoulder to her daughter’s back shows at their foundation lies a love stronger than a tangible object.

I’m lucky enough that when I see this painting, I see my mom, who although is currently terrified of sending me off into the world, knows that the love she raised me on will guide amidst all the bright light. 
  • 7:00 AM

Reflections from Locker #14: Basket of Fruit

Basket of Fruit

Caravaggio Basket of Fruit.jpg
Caravaggio, Basket of Fruit, 1599
Reflections from Locker #14
By MEGAN GANNON

From love to fear. What could you possibly fear in high school? I mean grades, college, friendships, life in general, the fact puberty is a thing? At times it feels like rotten apples are pushing you, the grapes are holding you tight, while leaves seem to drift away. 

Your evolution will occur when you least expect it, friendships will fade with differing class periods, and late night decisions will alter the course of your experience. You’ll make the wicker basket your temporary home, but as the days weigh on, you and others will start to press on the flexible fibers, as ripe and overgrown fruits now too heavy for the once large basket. 

With fear comes anxiety. As much as I hate to admit it or give metaphorical power to the belief that anxiety is a part of high school, and growing up, it seems to be true. Although I ask you this, should it be? 

Should kids feel like they need to distinguish themselves as the most pristine grape or apple in order to achieve great things? 

Trust me, I’ve had the panic attacks, laid on the floor as I wondered what I am doing? And what am I doing in this basket, where I’m pushed and pulled, and told that this it’s normal. 

The normalcy of taking anti-anxiety medication in order to walk the hallways of this claustrophobic fruit basket. 

Caravaggio did not attend high school, yet with his Basket of Fruit, he seems to capture the sentiments of a secondary school environment. 

The apples, although slightly cumbersome and outnumbered, appear to cultivate precious space while they slowly rot from the core. They press on those around them, submitting them to a status beneath them, they appear solitary yet hold so much power. To the left, Caravaggio tackles the pear, with unique roots that sprout from all angles, and slightly off beat, practically falling out of the basket. He fills the rest of the space with differing grapes that seem to sweat before your eyes, and strategic branches and leaves in different stages of dying to demonstrate the complexity of the ecosystem. 

The basket placed up against the yellowed background, makes it appear isolated, creating a vibe that this basket could be placed anywhere and contents of the fruit inside would not differ. 

As the year comes to a close, the basket will grow lighter as the fruits begin to tumble off into a multitude of directions, some will bruise, others will blossom, but none will call the criss-crossing wicker strands home anymore. 

Although for all those still stuck within the confines of Caravaggio’s table, what advice to you give? Do you tell them to wait out the harvest, or reduce themselves to occupying less space? I hope not. Caravaggio by placing the fruits on top of each other, references how suffocating high school can be. His coloring and attention to detail demonstrates the subtle intricacies that no one would notice as first glance, yet are necessary in order to fully comprehend the painting. 

The trick is to see the intricacies and value them, but them put them away, or else they will consume you. Instead of you tumbling out of the basket, you’ll recede into the wicker. The moments of doubt will pass, and in the end you’ll be glad that you had a such a nice basket to call home for a little while.
  • 7:00 AM

Reflections from Locker #14: Apollo and Daphne

Apollo and Daphne
Bernini, Apollo and Daphne, 1625
Reflections from Locker #14
By MEGAN GANNON

This next post is about the pain, the growing pains of high school, you grow a few inches in height, in years, and in experience. Between the ages of 14 and 18, you stumble a few times, acquire some new scars, and rediscover old ones. You’re at that age where you’re still too young to understand the gravity of some situations but old enough to realize when something goes wrong. 

Before I begin, I’d like to dedicate this post to all the people who have been told “you’re lucky because it didn’t go further, because you screamed, because you cried, because he apologized.”Stop feeling lucky and start feeling those invisible scars before they consume you. You are stronger than the Apollos and through Bernini’s work I hope you begin to see your strength. 

Apollo, you wrap your arms around me, weaving your way into my soul, slowly taking the breath from my lungs. You move quietly amongst the trees, almost indistinguishable. My feet will only carry me so far, I run and run only to feel you around the next corner. Your fingerprints linger far after my skins return to its normal complexion. You’ve left your mark on me and despite my efforts I cannot wash it off. 

You took away my safety, made me shudder when people stepped too close, but I am not giving up. You haven’t won Apollo. I am not your Daphne. 

Despite the fact that Bernini crafted his sculpture in the 15th century, the twisting and turning of Apollo and Daphne transcends time. For if you take away their names, Apollo and Daphne, represent any woman and man who has ever felt violated. The look on Daphne’s face does not project her majesty, but her humanity. With her emotional facial features, Bernini captures the pure terror that washes you over as you feel someone close in with no hope of escape, the act of screaming without a sound. Her eyes cast downward in disbelief, “Could this really be happening?”According to the mythological tale, the Gods save Daphne by turning her into a tree. Although little girls don’t turn into trees. Bark doesn’t protect them from the prying hands of Apollo and his sweeping cape. 

In high school, you’ll meet your first Apollo. It doesn’t matter what you say, or your body language, he will not see it. He will make you feel as if you are nothing, but a sum of parts. Apollos come in all shapes and sizes, yet share the same goal. 

You’ll feel paralyzed, the world will orbit around but you will stay stagnant, cemented in the roots at your feet. You might want to become a tree, to escape it all, but you can’t. 

Bernini could have sculpted Apollo holding a tree, cherishing his prize, but he doesn’t. Instead he opts to show the moment of intensity, the culmination of terror, power, and matter colliding into one another, creating a still chaos. With stone, Bernini manages to mimic the fluidity of a wind blown forest, consuming a girl. Her hands morphing into the branches that safeguard her. 

Today we have trees, trees that bear scars but that stand tall, who wave their branches, and rock their roots. Little girls deserve good watering, and care, to grow strong and green, to bloom when they’re ready. 

Apollo will not vanish, he will try again, but this time your branches will be ready. For your roots have formed with those around you, creating a system that cannot be uprooted with an ax for you are stronger than a single piece of artillery.
  • 7:00 AM

Reflections from Locker #14: Girl with the Pearl Earring

Girl with a Pearl Earring
Vermeer, Girl with a Pearl Earring, 1665
Reflections from Locker #14
By MEGAN GANNON 

We hear labels like the Renaissance, the Cubist movement, Impressionism and automatically we think of Michelangelo, Picasso, and Van Gogh. We fabricate time periods to fit artists, to fit ideas, to make a timeline. Although in placing arbitrary boundaries around art we lose our connection to the pieces themselves. Yes, by breaking art into specific schools, to study and analyze, we succeed in viewing the works through Michael Baxandall’s period eye. Yet what happens when you understand why a virgin Mary’s hand are placed outwards, but have no emotional reaction to the work? You only see the painting as piece of history, like a coin or cup salvaged from a some far away kingdom, not an image in front of you that was forged to inspire and to admire. 

With this collection, I plan to talk about the humanity of art, why paintings from the Renaissance mean more than a representation of certain time period. To talk about the power of artwork, the miraculous combination of paint and pigments that transcend time. The works that despite our distance from their creation continue to shock, awe, and mesmerize those who study them. 

In order to place the paintings in perspective, I plan to examine them through my personal experiences. The stories paired with each work will indeed be personal, and slightly embarrassing, but real. I believe that art serves two basic functions, one to educate and another to feel. I’ve spent the majority of high school absorbing the education and now with the little time I left before I voyage off, I figured that maybe I should feel the works one last time. 

I invite you to join me on this deconstructed academic crusade of looking at a work, and attempting to rationalize the art within in your own context. 

Welcome to the Megan period, detailed in nothing in particular but the insights of one high school senior from the Barstow School. 

So where shall we begin... the Girl with a Pearl Earring? 

If you’ve read this blog for a while or are familiar with some of my former posts, you might remember I wrote about Leibl’s Girl with White Headscarf as the supreme example of simple beauty. I now must rephrase, Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring, knocks Leibl’s Girl with White Headscarf out of the park for me. 

You might be confused on why I would start our journey with a discussion on beauty, but if we’re going off the timeline of high school, beauty unfortunately is at the start. For to a high school freshmen, the Girl with a Pearl Earring represents that one senior girl who effortlessly exemplifies natural beauty. 

At 15, I wore rainbow colored shorts and collared shirts, attempting some “preppy” yet relaxed vibe. I’ve evolved to denim skirts, cotton t-shirts, stripes, sneakers, navy and green. Now in twenty years, I’ll probably look back on my senior year self and wonder what the hell was I thinking? But for now I live in amidst weathered Birkenstocks, brown leather belts, and red baseball hats. 

The fact that the identity of the Girl with the Pearl Earring, is unknown to us only makes her more mesmerizing, her anonymity gives her the passing face in the hallway vibe. She’s the kind of person who you know by name and appearance but nothing of her life beneath the surface. Vermeer paints her to be on display, her head’s position delicate and slightly agar, forcing the viewer to tilt their own head slightly to mimic her. Her eyes possess a certain storm like quality with the whites and grays drawing you in, her gaze speaks out to you as strangely personal yet equally distant. Her slightly parted lips, colored with a mild rouge, appear mid-sentence, mid-thought, creating a casualness in the viewer-painting relationship. 

Vermeer’s dark background, makes her skin appear illuminated. He further supplements her glowy skin with the light bouncing off her pearl earring. The pearl itself alludes to her elegance, and her natural and effortless beauty. A kind of last minute accessory that separates her from every other girl with a blue headscarf. 

Her headscarf beautifully painted with strokes of blue that further bring out her eyes and slightly parted lips. The traces of blue towards the nape of her neck demonstrate the continuance of this light, this light only brought you to by this transfusion of color. 

As a freshmen you see her as all you want to be, confident, beautiful, mysterious, noticed. You think of the ways to achieve this allusive beauty, attempting to change your features to fit the girl. Although as you grow, you come to realize that instead of altering yourself to fit the girl in the painting, you begin to see yourself as the girl in the painting. 

One cannot measure beauty in comparison to others, because it stems from you. The Girl with a Pearl Earring appears so stunning because she lacks fear, she embraces her beauty. As you grow, you see the impractical nature of trying to be her, your realize your eyes are not clouds of gray but a kaleidoscope of color. You discover you cannot recreate her, but why would you want to? 

At 18, I’ve come to embrace my own beauty, the freckles on my heels and shoulders, and my hair that changes with the seasons. It’s precious waste of time to compare yourself to others, for you will never live up to your own expectations unless you first accept yourself. 

Now when I look at the Girl with a Pearl Earring, I do not see some upperclassmen I aspire to be, I see myself. 

  • 7:00 AM

San Carlo

Borromini
Francesco Borromini, San Carlino, 1646
By MEGAN GANNON

Bernini or Borromini? Borromini or Bernini? Jake Morrissey spends the majority of his book, The Genius in the Design, detailing the rivalry between these two great men. With their architectural achievements serving as his evidence Morrissey makes the argument that people are either Team Borromini or Team Bernini. And I have to admit that although I love Bernini’s sculptures, Borromini has won my architectural heart.

Four words. The San Carlino Dome. Although the entire church is absolutely stunning, there is something awe inspiring about Borromini’s dome. I opted to show you the dome as if you were standing in the middle of San Carlino’s floor, gazing upwards. In the image, you can see the columns that surround the dome in addition to the curved walls that ripple likes the waves of the ocean.

Borromini started working on San Carlino in 1634, after he left projects for the Palazzo Barberini and St. Peter’s due to “artistic differences” with Bernini. In true Borromini fashion, he agreed to design the plans for San Carlo free of charge.

If you were to describe San Carlino in three words, I would use moment, white, and metaphoric. Borromini despised corners, so in all his works when he could, he beautifully blended the walls to make their seams appear nonexistent. By alternating columns, walls, and bulbs throughout the church, he gives the building breath. San Carlino breathes with the dome serving as heart of our building turned lifeform.

Not a decorating fanatic, Borromini opted for white stucco everything. The stark white walls and details of the church bring out Borromini's architectural brilliance.

As for evidence of Borromini’s talents with metaphors let’s return to his dome. The honeycomb design of the dome itself parallels the Barberini (Pope Urban) family crest which contains three bees. Borromini references bees in order to pay homage to both Pope Urban and the Barberini family their monetary contributions to San Carlino. In the center of the dome, with the circle encompassing the triangle and the dove inside the triangle, Borromini’s references the circle to show the eternal life of God, the triangle for the holy Trinity, and the dove to show the holy spirit. Borromini’s attention to detail and symbology demonstrates his deep devotion and faith.

I teared up a little bit, looking at the dome of San Carlino, marveling at Borromini’s ability to make his architecture appear so effortless. His lines are not forced or aggressive, but supple and easy-going. Borromini does not force his architecture on you, he lets the viewer walk right into it. He doesn’t rely on elaborate coloring, materials, or theatrics to win you over. His craftsmen does all the talking, and I admire that.

I wish we still took as much pleasure, and care in the construction of buildings today. Can you imagine if instead of looking to construct a building in the cheapest way possible, we gave architects creative liberty to define a place? Today we complain about feelings of placelessness, and this explains why we got lost in the Borromini’s work because he makes us nostalgic for a sense of place. He gives us more than a building. Borromini gives us a part of our humanity back.

  • 7:00 AM

Christ After the Flagellation

Christ After the Flagellation

Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, Christ After the Flagellation, 1665

By MEGAN GANNON

A rare moment, a solitary moment. Christ alone. He is not risen above his followers, or even in a powerful position. Christ appears as any other man bending down to pick up his garments.

Bartolomé Esteban Murillo worked during the Spanish Counter Reformation as a painter primarily commissioned to paint religious works, yet throughout his life he holds on to a love of still-lifes. On one hand you have the religious Murillo, set with the task of demonstrating to the Spanish people how their individual pain does not compare to the sacrifices made by celebrated religious martyrs. Although on the other, you have the Murillo who cherished the common folk, with an exposed butt cheek or a few crushed egg shells.

Although Murillo’s Christ After the Flagellation lacks a subtle apple or dwindling candle, one still feels the still-life vibes. We know Titian for his beautiful colors and flawless skies, Caravaggio for bringing blood and lust into a painting without a single fleck of red, and now for Murillo we can not think of his paintings without pausing on his innate ability to effortlessly combine the light and dark.

With his Christ, Murillo casts a light that extends down from Christ’s torso to his illuminated thigh. Murillo parallels the light on Christ’s forward thigh in Christ’s front arm. By playing a game of peek a boo with the light, Murillo makes the viewer search for the points of reflection. For Murillo the casting of light is not a task simple added to illuminate shading, but to bring another dimension into the work.

Murillo’s approach to the distribution of the light is much like his approach to Christ. Contrary to artists who favored the spiritual aspects of Christ, Murillo settles in on the human. Christ’s posture demonstrates his vulnerability, his slightly sloped shoulders accompanied by his rigid back indicate that although he appears defeated... his back, his mind, his body are not broken.

Although Christ’s head is tilted downward, his eyelids float upwards towards the top of the canvas, in a bright light of ecstasy, a more subtle type of devotion. For if he extended his head he would lose sight of the clothes that lie before him. His garments ground him to the earth, to his suffering.

Murillo casts the white cloth that surrounds Christ as the center of the painting, yet due to Christ’s extended arms and hands the viewer’s eye drifts to the slightly, dirtier, rougher version of the white cloth. Indicating that although Christ may seem content with the brightly lit cloth he would rather wear the dirtier one. With the cloths bright and dull hues, Murillo references how Christ lives life in the bright light, and how all those consuming hues have led to him on his knees in this very moment.

Within the ripples of light, one sees the bruises starting to form around Christ’s forearm, upper back, and abdomen. Murillo does not hide the pain or make it the focus. He hints at the multiple lashings it would take to accumulate the bruising, building up the pain with each and every brushstroke.

Murillo’s Christ captures the intimacy of a Caravaggio, and the darkness of a Tintoretto. Besides the lighting and intimate shading I cannot get the posture out of my head. Christ bends slightly off center, off kilter. Off in his own space. Anchored only by his hands clutching the cloth before him.

By any comparison this painting is beautiful, but more than that it’s an artist’s work. You see Murillo. Yes, you see the church that commissioned it due to the subject matter, but Murillo makes it his own. Murillo proves that power does not reside in standing over others, but in the private moments that make us we are. He makes the statement that although you might not see the bruises at first glance, it does mean that they do not exist. He charges you to take the soiled cloth and your bruises and stand up with that rigid back of yours.
  • 7:00 AM

Martha and Mary Magdalene

Caravaggio
Caravaggio, Martha and Mary Magdalene, 1598

By MEGAN GANNON

Mary Magdalene is often seen as the woman lamenting over the feet of Christ. Although in Caravaggio’s depiction of the young women she resembles a well put together socialite, not a grieving widow. A woman before her life was changed by God. Caravaggio, not one to fuss around with titles, simply called the painting Martha and Mary Magdalene. Despite the ordinary name, through Martha and Mary Magdalene Caravaggio intimately captures a moment between two sisters as they debate the meaning of life. 

He draws the viewer in the with blockly table, exposing the slightly run down corner on the left to demonstrate the wear and tear of the space Martha and Mary Magdalene occupy. Additionally he brings the viewer’s gaze upwards with the lacks of objects on the table. Caravaggio closes off the left-side of the paintings with Martha’s attire. His use heavy draping mimics the background and table, demonstrating how Martha exists as part of the scene, part of the world with the worn down corners. 

Mary Magdalene represents the opposite with her ornate dress, with the heavy beading on her bodice in comparison to her sister’s simpleton dress. Despite different styles, Caravaggio's parallels the sister’s bond in the the red hues that fall of their left shoulders. Although here by painting Martha’s red slighter duller and without elaborate folding, Caravaggio references Martha’s maturity and responsibility. While Mary’s vibrant red cloth hints at life just being, a red not yet tarnished or dulled by time, but awaiting it’s arrival into the world. Caravaggio continues this theme with the green hues as well, juxtaposing the Mary vibrancy with Martha's dullness. 

Despite the lack of blood and violence in Martha and Mary Magdalene, Caravaggio still creates immense tension regarding the bond between the two. According to the New Testament story, this scene depicts Martha attempting to convert Mary Magdalene to follow Jesus Christ. Through Martha’s open palms, one feels her desperation and with Mary Magdalene’s gnarled fingers one feels her anxiety and fear of the unknown. 

Martha’s openness indicates her lack of fear, while Mary Magdalene’s desperate clutch on the flower in her hand and attachment to the mirror to her right represents a fear of letting go. Mary Magdalene’s right hand hovers above the light source of the painting which stems from the a slightly off centered point in the mirror. Mary points to this unknown source of light, asking to her sister, "Is this glimpse of light God?" Martha's upward glance of the head toward Mary and the light confirms Mary's beliefs. Yet do they agree? 

Caravaggio uses different lines of sight for the two women to represent a disconnect between the two, to demonstrate that despite the obvious similarities between the two women a spiritual connection is nonexistent. 

I love the intimacy of the painting, the feelings that I am invading a private moment between two sisters and questioning whether I should slowly tip toe out the backdoor. Caravaggio does not need blood to make the viewer uncomfortable. By making you feel as if you have intruded on something, Caravaggio makes you feel a part of something more important than yourself. 

Caravaggio takes religious figures outside of heaven to relate them to his people of Rome. For God acts the same on the filthy streets of Rome as he does in the most prestigious rooms of Vatican. In the case of Caravaggio perhaps his desire to see everyone on his level, relates back to his lack of title and sufficient funds. Caravaggio proves how little pedigree matters by ripping God out of the heavens and placing him in a darkly lit room, home to the ordinary. 

I charge you to look at Martha and Mary Magdalene without thinking of the biblical story or title, think about two women just talking about life, weighing out wealth and fulfillment, just trying to figure out their place in this great big world. For in the eyes of Caravaggio, we peasants are the models of God. Caravaggio forces you to recognize your humanity head on. It’s time get your head out of those gold trimmed clouds and let the dark Earth engulf you.
  • 3:55 PM

Venus of Urbino

Megan Gannon
Titian, Venus of Urbino, 1538
By MEGAN GANNON
Titian and Giorgione. Giorgione and Titian. Despite what some may say you cannot know one without the other. For the influence each had on the other defined both careers. Call it bromance or just a stellar friendship, but Titian and Giorgione built each other up. 

As much as we often think of the art world as one of isolation where artists lock themselves in undisclosed chambers until they create the perfect masterpiece. That’s not the case with Titian and many other Renaissance artists. Titian relied on Giorgione to call him out on his perspective and color. Unfortunately Giorgione's young death in 1510 left Titian without his right hand man. A bittersweet moment in Giorgione’s death, Titian no longer faced any prominent rivals in Venice. 

Interestingly enough Titian could've forgotten Giorgione yet as documented in Titian’s Venus of Urbino, Giorgione left a lasting impact on Titian. 

Titian’s Venus of Urbino references Giorgione’s Sleeping Venus. Both painted in the signature style of a woman relaxed but incredibly powerful. Goya and Manet will later imitate this pose in Maja Desnuda and Olympia. 

Although structured off Sleeping Venus, Titian brings his own flare into his rendition. Immediately one will recognize the color, probably Titian’s most famous legacy, but once you can see past the wispy fleshy tones juxtaposed beautifully with the stark dark background, a story unfolds. 

A story of a woman with a life ahead of year. The Duke of Urbino Guidobaldo II Della Rovere commissioned this piece as wedding present to his wife. Masked beneath Titian’s beautiful pigments one sees our Venus’s life of obligation, motherhood, and complete devotion to her husband. In the undertones of our Venus’s new life it makes sense why critics of the period regarded our Venus as “less a goddess than a woman.” 

Unlike the goddess Venus, Titian hints at Venus of Urbino’s humanity with the dog, a depiction of her fertility, the servant duo in the background which immolates a mother-daughter pair, and her promiscuous posture. 

Titian paints her not as Venus, but a woman subject to all that society demands from her. Her duty to fulfill her obligations. Despite the romanticism of Titian’s talent, our Venus of Urbino is just another pawn in the 16th century game. 

Although take one look into her inviting eyes and you will realize she is more than her obligations. She is in her own right a Renaissance woman. 

Titian could do that, capture the essence of a person.
  • 7:00 AM

Justice

Justice
Pieter Brueghel, Justice, 1556-1560
By MEGAN GANNON

Previously I only knew of Brueghel through his paintings of peasant life, winter wonderlands, and golden fields. Although now I realize Brueghel was much more than a peasant painter. He captured not only his moments in history, but also the human condition. Yes, the human condition is not anything new or revolutionary, but the way in which Brueghel tackles it, particularly through his adaptations of proverbs is something quite remarkable. 

For example take his etching of Justice which acts as a part of his Vices and Virtues series painted between 1556-1560. First you might notice a lack of the evenly balanced scale that promotes fairness and equality, a typical tell all for a justice scene. Instead you see elaborate torture devices, the image in the bottom left corner looks like water-boarding right out of Guantanamo Bay. In the background Brueghel replaces images of hope with hangings scenes, floggings and brutal battles. 

Overall print gives off a vibe of distrust, a lack of faith in the systems that supposedly protect us, a fear that has outlasted the wooden spoons kept in 16th century hats. In addition one can separate the image vertically with the woman holding the saber as the splitting point. To her right, one will see buildings that presumably house those responsible for instilling justice. Although by the emphasis of figures with turned backs it may appear that those involved in justice in fact are disinterested in upholding it. As to the left, Brueghel references the madness of justice. The mobs, that pry upon those deemed unfit. He sketches the acts of war and the torture methods used to obtain information. With his shift strokes he captures how the desire of “justice” can in fact cause the opposite in blind destruction. 

Instead of attributing the idea of justice with the high regard it often receives, Brueghel associates it with violence. A thought that certainly rings true today and has throughout history. As we know police brutality and injustice are not new themes. 

Today it is easy to reduce Brueghel to a great painter of everyday life, but we must not forget that with his etchings, paintings, and other works he provided a necessary commentary on his time period. Even in the 16th century, justice served as a sensitive subject, leaving many vulnerable to prejudice and unnecessary violence. 

Justice may not be one of Brueghel's quintessential peasant weddings or winter wonderlands, but it resonates today nonetheless. It makes you think. Here you cannot find comfort in the earthy tones or eccentric characters. You must take note of the circumstances. Begging the question what does justice mean and what does a woman holding a saber have to do with it?
  • 7:00 AM

An Young And Old Woman From Bergen

Albrecht Durer
Dürer, An Young and Old Woman From Bergen, 1520
By MEGAN GANNON By now we kind of have a grasp on the Renaissance. We’ve examined Giotto, read our Baxandall, and admired Raphael so what comes next? Well, we have the Northern Renaissance a slightly less admired and beautiful movement but worthy of our time nonetheless. 

And don’t worry the North has own their share of the self-absorbed artists. In particular they have Albrecht Dürer, who when he painted his self-portrait compared his likeness to that of Christ...more than once.

The Northern Renaissance in many ways parallels that of Italy’s with the study of human proportion, geometry, perspective, and Greek and Roman influences. Although unlike in Italy between 1520 and the mid - 17th century the North fell victim to iconoclasm. This hatred of imagery led to the destruction of countless works of art and essential documents to the study of the works.

Often times on this blog we speak of color and composition and not the deeds that guarantee Botticelli did in fact paint Venus and Mars. Although it seems silly to belittle the importance of these documents. For instance according to Susy Nash in her article "Dispersal and Destruction," despite archives confirming 300 artists in Cologne between 1300-1500 none of the works discovered correlate to any of the artists (21).

Despite inadequate documentation, Northern Renaissance art still flourishes. Especially with pieces like An Young And Old Woman From Bergen, not the most glamorous name but Dürer imagery captures something often forgotten in Italy - aging.

Dürer’s juxtaposition of a young and old women references Ars Moriendi or the Art of Dying. The younger woman with her downcast eyes seems to be avoiding death while the older with her defiant gaze confronts death. The non-existent wrinkles on the young woman’s face hint at her inexperience, the life she has yet to live. While her counterpart with heavy lines around her eyes and mouth captures years of tears, smiles, frowns, and laughs that make up a long life.

I am completely captivated by this sketch. Perhaps because as a young woman it presents the future. I may lack the headscarf, but one day my nose will have lengthened and the lines in my face will run deep. Dürer celebrates this process by demonstrating that the older woman is just as beautiful as the younger one.

Often times we view age as the end of the road. We frantically search for the fountain of youth in anti-aging creams and powders. We ponder the benefits of starting a life anew. As Dürer puts it that it solely fantasy. For we have one life, one face, and with that face the lines, the scars, do not act as detractory factor, but as symbol of life.

To live a life in the preservation in beauty is not to live at all. Just ask Mrs. Dalloway.

  • 7:00 AM

The Kiss

Francesco Hayez
Francesco Hayez, The Kiss, 1859

"Since the Majority of Me"  
By PHILIP LARKIN   

Since the majority of me 
Rejects the majority of you, 
Debating ends forthwith, and we
Divide. And sure of what to do 

We disinfect new blocks of days 
For our majorities to rent 
With unshared friends and unwalked ways. 
But silence too is eloquent: 

A silence of minorities 
That, unopposed at least, return 
Each night with cancelled promises 
They want renewed. They never learn.

Editor's Note: Students were asked to pair a painting with a poem with no explanation of the connection between the two. 
  • 7:00 AM

Paisagem com Dunas

Jose Pancetti
Jose Pancetti, Paisagem com Dunas, 1947
By MEGAN GANNON
Jose Pancetti’s Paisagem com Dunas painted in 1947, reminds me of us. My family.

We grew up in the dunes, the four of us building drip sandcastles, splashing around in our baby pool (because of Matt’s fear of stingrays), and running up and down the pathway seeking out a tortoise to come out and play.

On the ride home, the fabled stop at our favorite ice cream shop. Back then I did not like peanut butter (the favorite flavor of my brothers) too much so I stuck with cookie dough.

With Mom and Dad doing adult things we were left to our own devices, building Harry Potter castles from legos, serving up dinner at the poolside water shack (disclaimer - no real food was involved), and on one occasion standing dead still in the garage as a large black snake slithered by.

When the lights dimmed on our bunkbed room, Matt always got the top bunk, opposite the room I occupied the middle bunk, while Trevor slept on the trundle bed on the floor. As for Tommy he jumped from top, middle to bottom with the ease of the Curious George monkey he dragged everywhere. We all crowded around the microscopic television as we listened in on the adventures of Phil of the Future and Even Stevens.

Growing up, the five minute drive to the dunes of Naples, Florida meant at least for a little while, no more doctor’s appointments, therapy sessions, or unpredictable weather of Kansas. Just the sun shining down on a family of six as they walked along the coastline.

Today, almost eleven years later, the dunes show a little wear and tearn- a little erosion here and there, but I guess we do too.

So Rick, Kirsten, Matt, Trevor and Tommy - I give this to you.

To remind us of the beauty of yesterday but the promise of today. Although older we still walk the dunes of Bonita Beach, a family of five now. For without the dunes and without you I would not be able to navigate the uneven sand that falls beneath my feet.

The moment I first saw Paisagem com Dunas , I felt our little oasis rushing back to me like the ocean currents that come in off the gulf. Pancetti, unknown to me until this painting, captures something so ordinary that many might overlook it. 

By no means is my family extraordinary, much like the works Pancetti, yet to us the dunes mean so much than a combination of tectonic plate movement and wind. For in the dunes we could be just be a family. Not an architect or ski instructor or a disabled little boy or whatever else. Just Rick, Kirsten, Matt, Trevor, Megan, and Tommy. The Gannon Family.



Missing: Mom-behind the camera, Tommy- asleep in his stroller 
Editor's Note: Students were asked to give a painting to someone they cared for. These are their moving responses. 

  • 7:00 AM

Annuciation

Annunciation
Filippo Lippi, Annuciation, 1435
By MEGAN GANNON
I feel like painting involves a lot of trust. That every time you look at a piece of art you take a leap of faith, most times this jump is strictly metaphorically, but on that rare occasion a painting will touch on a such a level that your physical body will react. Whether through a single tear shed or a look of jaw-dropping awe.

Unfortunately, Filippo Lippi’s Annunciation painted in 1435 is not that painting. Though I argue that Renaissance art takes a bit more faith than modern. I believe this stems not only from the context, but the viewer herself. To truly comprehend a Renaissance painting one needs more than rudimentary knowledge of color and composition. We need something more to understand.

I feel that’s why Renaissance art often seems so tedious. You can’t look at a piece of art from the 15th century and automatically assume that Mary’s hand placement indicates that she feels conturbatio or disquiet. Let alone how do you know the woman in blue is the mother of Christ, the virgin?

I am not a person of the 15th century, so how do I see a painting like one? And what does it mean when I shift my own perspective to fit someone else's? As I step in my Quattrocento shoes I understand that due to strict contracts set up by patrons of the Church and prominent families like the Medicis in Florence that automatically the artist must play be someone else’s rules.

Despite contracts assigning what percentage of Ultramarine blue must be used on Mary’s gown or the general composition of the painting itself, artists still held some control. Lippi when painting his Annunciation knew that in some way or another he had to tell the story of the angel Gabriel coming to tell Mary that the son of God lived within her. Now from here according to Michael Baxandall in his book, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth Century Italy, Lippi had five choices in choosing how to display Mary: "Conturbatio-disquiet, cogitatio-reflection, interrogatio-inquiry, humiliatio-submission, or meritatio-merit" (Baxandall 51).

For his painting, Lippi ultimately chooses conturbatio or disquiet, the viewer can determine this by either eliminating all others or evaluating Mary’s posture in addition to her facial expressions. She bows her hand, clutching her abdomen in awe, twisting her hands around her garments knowing that she is now responsible for bringing the son of God into the world. Her face, with her half-opened eyelids peering down hints at the curiosity, excitement and fear that her pregnancy brings.

Although Lippi attributes Mary with human emotion, he must include a reference to flowers, white lilies, and paint the angel Gabriel with wings and kneeling towards Mary in order for his painting to qualify as an Annunciation. The indicators of the Gabriel’s kneeling, his wings, Mary in blue, the white lilies all allow the general public of the 15th century to identify with the painting.

With his requirements out of the way, Lippi may now paint freely. He separates Mary and the angel Gabriel with a column, giving the impression that Gabriel exists only as an apparition in Mary’s mind. She receives his words from the songbird that spouts the latin from it’s beak. Mary exists on slightly higher ground than Gabriel, demonstrating that although it appears they occupy the same space in reality they do not. Gabriel's side of the room, allows the light to flow freely with airy blues tones covering the walls and window drapery. As for Mary’s side, the only light exists in a circle around her body indicating the divine connection that exists within her moment with Gabriel. The rest of her room falls dark with earthy tones occupying the space around her. Within her room, red acts as the only other color, a representation of charity, it seems fighting that it stems from garments around her heart.

Lippi creates a sense of depth through his open spaces in the background of the painting. The book and rose on the bookshelf behind Mary hint at her beauty-the rose and her devotion- the bible. Although not particularly ornate, I adore Lippi’s Annunciation for the comfort I feel when I look at the connection between Gabriel and Mary. At the scariest moment of her life, Lippi reminds me that she is in the light and she will be okay.

Baxandall through his book helps one to understand that "something more" that Renaissance art requires. I used to grow frustrated by attempting to remember the significance of triangles and circles around paintings, the meaning of colors and hand gestures; but now I understand that although I might not initially get it. I don’t need to. That sometimes the most profound paintings are not only the beautiful ones, but the ones that force you to open up a book and understand that Mary is never as simple as you believed she was.

So I urge you to jump off that ledge and land in the world of 15th-century Italy, because I promise you will not be disappointed.
  • 6:33 PM

Art History Hotties: A Personification of Geometry

A Personification of Geometry
Dosso Dossi, A Personification of Geometry, Unknown

By MEGAN GANNON

For hotties round two, I present you with Dosso Dossi’s A Personification of Geometry, which will in fact throw you for a doozy. After studying the Personification for a while I can no longer think of concentric circles and scalene angles without imagining our brooding half-clothed friend. Upon looking at him for the first time, one can’t help but wonder about a future point of intersection. With his beefy arms and chiseled jawline, he can help you find the vertex of any of your mathematical equations. His torso ripples as he explains the difference between hexagons and pentagons. The protractor in hand trembles as he stumbles to equate the degrees around your own supple body. 

His veins go rigid as the conversation shifts to Platonic solids. He has to look away at the mention of linear perspective because he cannot contain his excitement. In his presence one falls into a world of axioms and manifolds, emerging enlightened to the study of curves. With his steady body and mind, he helps one to discover points of unparalleled symmetry. 

Our man of math with his posture invites us in to hear more about how the circumference of a circle relates to the radius and diameter. His cast away glance juxtaposed with his stern hand on his easel demonstrates the veracity for which he feels for the work of Euclid. 

Dosso Dossi captures the Renaissance man of our dreams. He may look a bit more brutish than we might of imagined, but we can’t all love Bernini types. Despite the criticism for Dossi's lack of talent and poor color choices, he manages to convey a mathematical rhythm with his figure that may a require a proof or two to ensure everything is working satisfactory. 

In a world often centered around athletes and actors, it’s refreshing to see a mathematician arousing some well-deserved attention. 

For all you singles out there forget hot-tempered artists, sculptors, adoring poets, and charming playwrights. Chose instead the man of math, he will never let you fall out of his geometric plane. 

  • 7:00 AM

Gates of Paradise

Gates of Paradise
Lorenzo Ghiberti, Gates of Paradise, 1452 
by MEGAN GANNON

Today the Gates of Paradise act as the East Doors at the Baptistry of San Giovanni in Florence, a position they have held since 1452. Although today the gates are not the same, technically, the replicas produced in the early 21st century are a carbon copy, except for the fact that Ghiberti’s hands never touched the doors.

It seems as though the Gates of Paradise are a tale in deception. Upon completing them, Ghiberti's simply referred to the doors as doors. Then Michelangelo bestowed the name Gates of Paradise upon them. Within the panels, Ghiberti’s tells the stories of the Creation all the way to reign of Solomon. His usage of fluid building heights and distinguished foregrounds demonstrates his mastery of linear perspective. The detail in which he applies to each panel shows his meticulous devotion to accuracy. Each panel on it’s own is incredible, yet together they represent more power than one could attain individually. 

The original panels now live in the Museo del' Opera del Duomo in Florence. With 28.6 km separating them from their first home. Although at 15 feet tall these doors would attract attention anywhere. 

So let’s stand at them. Look up into their gilded beauty and what do we see? Rabelais wrote about the idea of “Do What You Will.”I want to open the Gates of Paradise and embrace myself with all knowledge beyond them. Now this is strictly metaphoric, due to a not insignificant three-foot barrier surrounding the doors that prevents me from touching the handle. Though the thought of pursuing something instead of merely standing by it, that’s what counts. Standing up against the megaphone, in your own pursuit of knowledge. 

Our inability to open the Gates of Paradise demonstrates our nature to as Rabelais said, “always strive after things forbidden and covet what is denied us." The Renaissance marks a shift in our educational path with a devotion to inquiry and a genuine desire to learn. 

We cannot open the Gates of Paradise, but we can open the wooden door to enter our classroom. As long as we strive to open that door, instead of standing by, we exercise our inner Renaissance man, embarking on our own quests of knowledge. 
  • 7:00 AM

Descent Into Limbo

Descent Into Limbo
Giotto, Descent Into Limbo, 1320-1325
By MEGAN GANNON

Welcome back ladies and gents, I feel it's only fitting that my first blog post of the year hints at the dismal themes that I so adore. Today we’ll chat about Giotto’s Descent into Limbo, but to fully understand the unfortunate circumstances of our descending friends let’s return back to my first blog post last year. Rothko’s Black, Black on Wine where I conversed about the ill fate of humankind as a little line stuck between fantasy and reality. 

How does this relate to Giotto? Well, limbo of course. The space between heaven and hell... fantasy and reality. Though separated by thousands of years Giotto and Rothko capture the human condition simultaneously. In his painting, Giotto references the Black Plague which ravaged the world during the 14th century, leaving some more devoted to God and others to more likely to participate in folly. Both ended in the death. 

Returning to the painting, look for a moment at the people in the opening of the tomb. Examine their faces, feel their fear and the looming uncertainty of what happens when Christ shuts the stone vault. Today, we often take emotion for guaranteed, shedding tears over a celebrity breakup or an opened-but not responded to Snapchat.While in the early 1300s when Giotto mostly likely painted Descent Into Limbo, emotion carried a slightly different weight. 

Giotto introduced many to emotional depth and human vulnerability through his creation of a stage around his figures. He grounds and surrounds his people with shading and mountainous structures. Unlike others of his time who primarily focused on the divine, Giotto plays with other masses, indicating that humans (or the divine) are not the only thing of importance. In fact the almost blurring effect of the those entering the cave hints at our own insignificance. 

Despite it’s age, Descent into Limbo withstands the test of time through Giotto’s usage of complex emotions and nods to naturalism. There’s a beautiful uncomfortableness that I feel when I look at the people of the painting. I wonder about their “sins” and perhaps if they payed their simony, that would one day fund the great cathedrals that their terrified faces would become immortalized in. 
  • 7:00 AM

The Color Yellow: Sailboats on the River Scheldt

Megan Gannon
Theo Van Rysselberghe, Sailboats on the River Scheldt, 1892 
The Color Yellow
By MEGAN GANNON

Okay. We made it but before I talk about the River Scheldt, I’d like to take a moment to say thank you to a few people. First, my parents for being the bravest people I know. You two are incredible. To my brothers, Matt and Tommy I wouldn’t trade our late nights talks for anything in the world. To all the people that stayed after Trevor died, you could of left but instead you stood by my family, and I don’t know how I ever will repay you. And to those who entered my life after Trevor I want so desperately to share him with you because in knowing him, you will understand me. 

As I stare out at the Sailboats of the River Scheldt I marvel at how beautifully Rysselberghe captures the reflection of the water with his neo-impressionism brushstrokes. I chose to end with Rysselberghe because I feel rooted when I look at this painting. I see four shadows dancing across the water with the setting sun. Matt, Trevor, Megan, Tommy. Forever bonded together in Kirsten and Rick, the house on Wenonga Lane and swimming pool games. 

Rysselberghe smothers his painting in yellow, which is sometimes how I live my life. I see Trevor in the specs of things, a sunflower, a dolphin, myself. I am no longer solely the girl with the dead brother or PTSD. I am Megan. I get up and live my life the best I can, some days hurt a little more than others and on those days I find myself in yellow. I embrace the joy Trevor brought into my life, attempting to forget all the pain and feel okay. I’m seventeen, and I’m watched the world repeatedly take those I love and managed still have hope. 

Studying art history this year has renewed that hope, for a while I thought Trevor was slipping away but then I found him in Rothko, Turner, Malevich and many more. He was reassuring me he had never left. 

Today as the sun sets on Rysselberghe’s dock our journey also comes to an end. I leave you with something I’ve learned. Grief ripples through your life, knocking you off your feet sometimes, but the person you lost, they will never leave you. They turn up in other things, so keep your eyes open. Now go find yourself in your own yellow, and I promise you’ll be okay. 

  • 7:00 AM

The Color Yellow: Rothko No.6 Yellow

Mark Rothko
Mark Rothko, No.6 Yellow, 1954 
The Color Yellow
By MEGAN GANNON

For years I grieved privately, only experiencing bursts of pain accompanied by the death of loved ones. Then I entered high school and sitting in my freshmen year ethics class I lost my breath as my principal described a day for her disabled son I closed my eyes and saw only Trevor. 


Throughout elementary school I grew accustomed to being the girl with the dead brother and as I entered Barstow I saw an opportunity to leave that identity behind. All my attempts to suppress him surfaced on that day freshmen year. 


I felt the weight of Trevor’s death at 16, sitting in my Algebra II class grief engulfed me. PTSD they told me. I laughed. I had not been to war. I didn’t know true trauma...people dying was normal for me...expected from me. 

Rothko’s Yellow No. 6 captures the standstill I felt. The anxiety controlled me as I pulsed against the white and blue. I struggled to find where I belong and felt immense pressure to be that happy, carefree, teenager I thought I was supposed to be. I wished desperately for simplicity, to feel nothing instead of too much. 

Rothko feared being engulfed by the black, and I feared destroying the yellow. In high school you can’t intermingle dead brothers within conversations about so and so’s new hairstyle. You run the risk of being labeled the depressed girl, the over-emotional girl, the cold girl and whatever else people come up with. You can never win, someone will always have an impression of you that you do not see in yourself. Rothko built walls between his blues and yellows and I have done the same. 

He separates his colors to remind us to stay impersonal at times, to distance ourselves from our past and our future and simply exist. I carry Trevor with my everyday, but I refrain from feeling him, because in the mixing of colors comes couscous. An uncontrollable spiral that can surface at any moment. Rothko recognizes that compartmentalizing is the key to sanity. I keep Trevor alive by keeping him between the yellow hues, he’s safe there. I’m safe there. 

With the yellow engulfing me as I close my eyes, we are back on the carpet, watching Tarzan, just me and him. Young and blissfully unaware of our future.
  • 7:00 AM

The Color Yellow: The Yellow Stripe

Kazimir Malevich
Kazimir Malevich, The Yellow Stripe, 1917-1918
The Color Yellow
By MEGAN GANNON
We live. We die. The act of death isn’t difficult understanding it is. You will hear “he is in a better place,” “everything happens for a reason,” and “I’m sorry for your loss” more times than you can count. Eventually those phrases will bring on a numbing sensation. The point of those phrases is supposed to comfort you, but that comfort soon fades when you realize death doesn’t care. It takes and leaves you to cope. 

When an older person dies we talk about their achievements, their children or grandchildren if it applies, their job, their hobbies. However, when a child dies, we struggle with what to say because at ten your life hasn’t even started yet.

In Malevich’s Yellow Stripe I see Trevor’s life as a fleeting brushstroke across the canvas. He did not get enough time, but in his abbreviated stay he left a lasting impression. As my older brother he led me through life. He acted as my twin in a family of four children. The only one with eye color, the T to my M. In his 10 years he lived more fully than most adults I know.

Malevich’s quick strokes hint that our time is short, we must live in the moment. Cherish those whom we hold dear, and care deeply for them. Unfortunately in loving people you will get hurt, they will disappoint you, and you will feel responsible for keeping the balance of universe. You can’t but you’ll try.

You’ll learn that the little things carry little importance and the holidays lose their gleam without them. Staring at Malevich’s Yellow Stripe, watching as it fades into the white, you are faced with the inevitably of what is it come. What will you leave behind? Your legacy? That’s up to you.

Good Luck.


  • 7:00 AM