My mother took this photograph of me and my Dad in 2016. We were visiting the William Merritt Chase exhibition at the Boston MFA.

We got a wheelchair for my mom, so she wouldn't have to walk. She was extremely nervous about the outing. In her last years (my mother passed in 2018), she had diminished lung capacity owing to a severely dysfunctional diaphragm. We had a big argument in the car before we got to the museum.

*At* the museum, we had a wonderful, wonderful time. WMC may not have been the most original painter of the 19th century, but he is a painter's painter, with luscious brushstrokes and a sensualist's love of color. And he's one of those 19th century artists who got to spend a lot of time on beautiful beaches, and in lovely country homes, shaded by old trees. I'm glad I have this picture, to remember.

William Merritt Chase could have been another John Singer Sargent, but--he isn't. Sargent. Had something bigger or more complex going on. This said--I'd be happy to have a good WMC at home on one of my walls!

I wish Carlson all the best as she works her way through this painful episode. Hope she makes it to the other side & back to joy.

I got intrigued. The limits of the internet fascinate me.  And the more I looked for Kochergin images, the more I realized how familiar I was with his imagery.  To some extent, he has the corner on classic Russian fairytale imagery.  He owes a debt to Ivan Bilibin (1876-1942)--one of those innocent, tremendous "Golden Age of Illustration" artists who got caught up in weird Central European Nationalism (much to the detriment of their illustrations, I'd put Alphonse Mucha in this category also). But from what I can tell, Kochergin is a creature of a different generation.

I say "from what I can tell," because the internet isn't telling me anything about these next pieces, except that they are all images created by artists named, variously, "N. Kochergin," "Nikolai Kochergin," and "Nikolai Mikhailovich Kochergin," all of whom appear to have lived 1897-1974. I am pretty sure that these are all the same person. But--this is just from the internet, so maybe not.  In any case, Kochergin's images:

And then come these (POSTCARDS: 1960s. N. KOCHERGIN). Okay, I can see the Social Realism influence here, but there's a step (in history) that I'm feeling gets glossed over:

What was the progression from the young man who created the top image to the old(er) man who created these last images? I don't know if it would make a book. But it's something I'd like to know something more about.

Snihurónka is the Ukrainian Snow Maiden, companion to Did Moróz, Grandfather Frost.

Moróz has been identified with Morozko, the pre-Christian pan-Slavic personification of the snow (an animistic spirit, god, or demon, depending on your perspective), but it is widely accepted that his companion, Snihurónka, dates back only to the 19th century, and Alexander Afanasyev's 1869 ""The Poetic Outlook of Slavs about Nature."

I have yet to resolve to my own satisfaction why this should be. Afanasyev is, effectively, the Russian equivalent of the Grimm brothers, and his folktale collection techniques, where "he never tried to give any definitive version of a folktale: so, if he gathered 7 versions of one folk type, he edited them all,"* is considered to have been intellectually sophisticated and ahead of its time. Why Snihurónka should be relegated as Afanasyev's personal invention, rather than one among many folk figures that he collected--I have not seen the scholarship that tells me this is anything other than bias against the story--the Moróz figure, in other cultures, does not have a female companion.

Very little is known definitively about Slavic mythology, but one thing that is known is that the Slavic pantheon was full of unusual gender assignments, gods who are variously represented as female or male in different times and locations, and god-pairs with male and female partners. So--why not Did Moróz and Snihurónka?

Now, there are several artists I know whose life and work gives a viewer or reader moments of pause, in which it seems one is viewing/reading/experiencing something close to "perfectionism" snared. 

Terri Windling, who has maintained studios in Arizona, US, and Devon, UK, is one of those individuals.

Seriously--could there be anything more perfect than these images of her working space?  The books?  The drawings?  The tapestry?

(photos from Terri's blog entry, click the link below for the original page and context)

This said--the subject of Terri's post, and the wisdom with which she observes the topic...

"The ability to view one's own work critically is, of course, a necessary skill; but when healthy discernment turns into destructive self-judgment, there is usually a persistent "perfectionism" in the mix....and although some folks boast of this, believe me, perfectionism is Not Your Friend...."

Go and have a read.  She's collected a number of people's thoughts on the topic, and a lot of them are good ones--great ones--& inspiring.

Okay. This is for anyone who love comics.

First:
read the week's worth of cartoon strips that starts here:
http://www.gocomics.com/pearlsbeforeswine/2014/06/02

Second:
take a look at Pearls Before Swine creator Stephan Pastis's Facebook post of June 6, 2014--and follow the link through to read to his blog post about the same topic.
https://www.facebook.com/PearlsComic

I used to play the game "what piece of art would I take home with me?" when I visited a major museum.  This year, I found myself adjusting that to "which piece of artwork would I help rescue from an impending fire?"--were a fire impending.  The idea being, of course, that many would be on board to cart away the most famous master paintings, but perhaps some less well-known object would need... one's personal assistance.  The adjustment also allow one to choose an object or painting that would not... perhaps even fit through the door frame of one's home!

So--Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec's Equestrienne (At the Cirque Fernando), 1887–88.  More familiarly "the great big painting of the massive circus horse's ass." 

In June of 1983 I was at a cousin's graduation from the Bronx High School of Science.  E.L. Doctorow was the speaker.  Doctorow had recently visited the Italian city of Arezzo and visited Piero della Francesca's masterwork fresco cycle: the Legend of the True Cross.  That's another painting with a famous horse's bottom, sacred, really, to Toulouse-Lautrec's prophane:

The lecture Doctorow gave that day... It was one of those time/place magical continuums.  Just a year previously, this fresco cycle had caught my attention (I had a good art teacher who was personally obsessed with this 14th century Italian master--he did his best to pass at least a part of that love along).  I was at the right age and right mental place to hang on every word Doctorow had for me.

A big part of Doctorow's lecture... it was about innocent horseflesh.  Another part... it was about human suffering.  Christ, after all--in another near part of the painting, he's getting it, not far from that great calm white muscular bottom.

In any case, these are paintings to love, and to contemplate, and just getting to a museum like the Art Institute of Chicago--for me, it's one of life's treats.

The old proverb:  "the shoe-maker's children run barefoot" doesn't always hold true.  Indeed, one of the delights of growing up in an artistic household is the fact that some of the furnishings and surroundings are unique, hand- made items that perform good service and enrich a home's comfort.

I had the good fortune to grow up in such a household.  Whether it was carved rhinoceri, miniature toy dogs, a dollhouse with a beautiful cupola, or numerous household items, my Dad kept his family well-supplied when his children were young, and continues this work to this day.

He originally constructed and carved this chair in 1963 for my oldest brother; it has since been used by all his children and grandchildren. 

The tray had needed refurbishing for a number of years; Dad recently completed this work over the summer and photographed the results.

Click here to see how beautifully the piece cleaned up.