Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

Temple Burling, professor of physics, astronomy, biology and great ideas at Carthage College, has been part of the Object Lab team since 2009. He first connected with Chipstone staff through a shared interest in cabinets of curiosities, an example of which is our Rooms of Wonder exhibition at the Milwaukee Art Museum.

Since we first got to know him, Temple has been bringing his museum studies class up to Milwaukee every year (yes, he is a biophysicist that teaches a course on museums), as well as discussing possible collaborative projects with us. The opportunity came up when Temple was awarded a sabbatical, and he asked if he could spend this year’s fall semester in Milwaukee studying the Chipstone Foundation’s collection.

We jumped at the chance to have a scientist interpret our collection. Since his sabbatical is almost over, I asked Temple to write about his experience these past few months. View an object in the Chipstone collection through the eyes of a brilliant scientist, in part one of two posts, below.

Origins of a little blue and white tea bowl
Temple Burling

What is this thing? Where does it come from? What is its natural habitat? How did it acquire its physical features (in this case its shape, its colors, the material it is composed of)? What is its relationship to other objects in its native environment? How is it classified?

These are the sorts of questions I regularly ask myself and my students about the objects we study in the biology courses I teach at Carthage College.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

The little ceramic cup in this picture would be quite out of place in the collection of objects my students and I encounter in my cell biology and molecular biophysics courses. In these classes, we study the structures, functions and interactions of the vast panoply of biological molecules in the cell–proteins, DNA, RNA, and others.

If I were to bring this cup into one these classes, the first thing a biology student would note is that it isn’t alive, it never was living, and, in fact, it isn’t even made of carbon-based molecules, the stuff of all living matter on earth. On the face of it, it would seem that this little cup is as out of place in a biology class as I have been for the last several months while on sabbatical from Carthage, working with Chipstone Foundation Decorative Arts Curators Claudia Mooney and Jon Prown.

Carthage College is a small liberal arts college in Kenosha, WI, about an hour south of Milwaukee. Carthage, like the Milwaukee Art Museum and the Chipstone Foundation, boasts a shoreline location with magnificent views of Lake Michigan. But other than that, one might ask the question: what do these institutions share in common–and why might a molecular biophysicist like myself want to spend a sabbatical studying and learning about colonial American furniture and 18th century British ceramics? Perhaps more pointedly, why would Claudia and Jon invite a scientist into their world of decorative arts curation and scholarship?

The answer to this in part lies with our mutual fascination with objects, and the multiple stories and understanding objects can reveal about the milieux from which they originate. Museum curators like Claudia and Jon approach objects from a very wide-ranging, trans-disciplinary set of perspectives. This approach strikes me as very similar to the collaborative cross-disciplinary methodologies used today by many scientists.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

Early on in my work this fall, I asked the admittedly naive question, “Why are there so many pots in your collection and in museums in general?” Jon answered my question with a question. Taking the little cup shown above off the shelf, he asked, “You’re a scientist; what do you see?”

I came up with something like this:

“The object is a blue and white cup, made of some sort of clay and used for drinking tea. Its membership in a class of objects called teacups suggests that it existed as part of a set. Based on comparison with other known objects of its type, its markings and shape suggest that it originates from China or Japan.”

Compare this with an analytical decorative arts description of the object that we might find on a museum label:

“Tea Bowl, Maker John Bartlam, American; 1765-69; 1 5/8 x 2 7/8″; Porcelain. Printed in underglaze blue with an oriental scene depicting two men in a boat; another man looks on from a fenced hut. The reverse is printed with huts on an island with ‘Palmetto’ trees issuing from rockwork. The base of the interior has a ‘Palmetto’ tree printed in the center, and a painted diaper pattern border on the interior edge.”

This curatorial description agrees with some parts of my simple ‘scientific’ view, but also reveals some potentially interesting subtleties and contradictions. For example, the tea bowl is of 18th century American origin, not Asian, and it is made of porcelain.

This information led me to the question, “How did a porcelain tea-cup with an Asian inspired shape and decorative scheme come to be made in 18th C America?”

Stay tuned for part two to find out!

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Ernst Ferdinand Oehme (German, 1797–1855), Meissen in Winter, 1854. Detail. Oil on canvas; 27 x 23 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of the René von Schleinitz Foundation M1962.105. Photo credit P. Richard Eells.

Speaking of the holidays, one of my favorite paintings in the Museum Collection is Meissen in Winter by German artist Ernst Ferdinand Oehme. Oehme (pronounced EHR-ma) shows us a snowy street in the German town, with the church tower silhouetted against the dusky sky, and a single star shining brightly.

I’ve seen many evenings like this in Wisconsin!

A few inhabitants have braved the cold, crisp air in this Meissen scene: a couple is talking a walk, a man makes his way up the hill, and a gentleman in the foreground has stopped to gaze up at a brightly lit bay window with a cheerfully decorated Christmas tree shown in the detail at left.

The holiday scene is subtle, quiet and calm—and clearly chilly—but I think that the happy glow of that window and the hopeful promise of the single star in the darkening sky are reassuring in what could be a desolate winter scene.

I see hope in that star, and spirit.

Oehme was a pupil of Caspar David Friedrich, an artist that I highlighted in an earlier blog post. Friedrich was a leading painter during the Romantic period in Germany, and his paintings have the characteristic Romantic haunting beauty with spiritual undertones and atmospheric effects. Some great examples of Friedrich’s work include The Abbey in the Oakwood in the Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin, Germany; Winter Landscape in the National Gallery, London; and The Barrow in Snow in the Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, Dresden.

On one hand, Oehme adopted Friedrich’s themes and subject matter in his paintings of Nordic monastery courtyards covered in snow, castle ruins in the mountains, and figures in mystical landscapes, but this artist never aspired to the same spiritual heights as Friedrich. His artworks are more about the human experience than the spiritual realm.

Ernst Ferdinand Oehme (German, 1797–1855), Meissen in Winter, 1854. Oil on canvas; 27 x 23 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of the René von Schleinitz Foundation M1962.105. Photo credit P. Richard Eells.

In Meissen in Winter, which is on view at the Museum in Gallery #9, Oehme’s deviation from Friedrich’s characteristic starkness is clear in his emphasis on family, warmth, and human fellowship, symbolized by the cozy bay window with its festively emblazoned Christmas tree. That window relieves the otherwise ominous loneliness suggested by the solitary figure and the single Gothic spire.

Oehme’s unique ability to humanize the bleak elements of Friedrich’s Romanticism best identifies him as a master of the late Biedermeier period.

It is a beautiful painting like this that reminds me, when the days are at their shortest and we are just heading into the coldest part of the year, that we are not the only humans to look a reason to be hopeful for the future and to find comfort in the company of others. And that, to me, is one of the greatest reasons to study art.

Best wishes for the holiday season!

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

At the end of my last post, I found myself asking: “How did a porcelain tea-cup with an Asian inspired shape and decorative scheme come to be made in eighteenth-century America?”

This cup is a container for tea, but, as it turns out, the cup also overflows with wonderful stories that partially answer this question. These stories combine science, history, technology, commerce, and cultural exchange, making the cup a slice of a long and fascinating history of porcelain–from its invention in China in the 7th century, to the mania for porcelain collecting by European aristocrats beginning in the Renaissance and exploding during the 18th century.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

Porcelain wares from China first arrived in Europe in small numbers via the Silk Road, and in much larger quantities by ship from the 16th century onward. From their first encounters with the material, Europeans were fascinated and mystified by Chinese porcelain. The properties of Chinese porcelain were unmatched by any European ceramics prior to the 18th century. The Chinese porcelain wares exported to Europe were and are without decoration, nearly pure white. They have a glasslike translucency and, even without glaze, are impermeable to water. They are extremely hard, comparatively durable, and make a clear, resonant sound when struck. Even the best European ceramics of the time lacked such refinement when compared to their imported Chinese counterparts.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

Modern chemical and physical analysis reveals to us that Chinese porcelain from this time consisted primarily of a mixture of two materials, kaolin clay and ground petunse stone. Pure kaolin clay is white in color, owing to the absence of organic and metallic impurities found in colored clays such as those used to make terra cotta or earthenware. Taken together, this porcelain formula consists essentially of physically and chemically weathered granite rocks. Granite is an igneous rock that forms from slowly cooled magma composed primarily of the three most abundant elements in the earth’s crust–oxygen, silicon, and aluminum. Ceramic objects made from the porcelain clay mixture can be fired at very high temperatures (upwards of 1300°C) without deforming. Firing at such high temperature leads to extensive vitrification (glass formation) of the silica component of the porcelain mixture, which in turn leads to porcelain’s translucency. (As a scientist, I can’t help but note the delightful point that during the firing process, porcelain and indeed all ceramics become, in essence, sculpted metamorphic rock.)

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

The secret to Chinese porcelain’s marvelous physical properties lay in the fortuitous combination of high firing temperatures and optimal clay composition. Before the 18th century, Europeans were unable to reproduce this combination in their kilns or clay mixtures. At first glance this may seem puzzling until we remember that prior to, and indeed well into the 18th century, the European understanding of what we now call chemistry was limited in great part to the four Aristotelian elements, earth, air, fire and water; and to the practice of alchemy. The European potters lacked both the analytical means to match the chemical combination of clays found in Europe to those used in China, as well as the ability to accurately measure and compare the firing temperature of their kilns with those of the Chinese potters. Thus constrained, the Europeans were largely in the dark and limited to trial-and-error as their means to unlock the secret of porcelain. Success proved illusive until 1708 in Dresden, more on this in a moment.

Along the way Europeans developed several significant advances in ceramic technology and styles that were able to capture some of the aesthetic qualities of Chinese porcelain. These include so called “Medici Porcelain,” developed in the late 16th century, and Dutch tin-glazed earthenware or Delftware, which originated in the 17th century. Neither of these is considered true Chinese porcelain, because the physical and chemical compositions of these wares are quite different from kaolin clay-based ceramics. For example, the white color in Delftware results from the presence of tin in the glaze. The tin glaze, which is opaque rather than translucent in Delftware, covers the red oxidized iron color of the underlying fired earthenware clay. Nevertheless, both Medici porcelain and Delftware share the iconic blue-and-white ceramic aesthetic that is as familiar to us today as it was in the 18th century.

Our story takes us next to Dresden in 1708, at the court of Augustus the Strong (1670-1733), Elector of Saxony, and later King of Poland. Augustus was a prodigious collector, obsessed with porcelain, and he spent huge sums to amass one of the greatest collections of porcelain in Europe. As you can imagine, he was quite keen to unlock the secret of porcelain, both to satisfy his insatiable hunger for the stuff, and to reduce the vast outflow from state coffers to pay for it.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

The secret to porcelain that had been guarded for so long in China was protected for only a decade or so in Dresden and Meissen. By 1750, porcelain was being produced at multiple sites across Europe. Porcelain wares and figures were eagerly sought by widening circle of consumers. In Europe, the material was associated with Asian exoticism and mystery along with the rational/empirical aspects of the unlocking of its secrets in Dresden–and the fact that an alchemist played the leading role in solving the riddle of porcelain only enhanced its significance. The art historian Mimi Hellman argues that European porcelain is a quintessential material of the European enlightenment era, embodying on the one hand the confidence and certainty of the time, and on the other, some of the apprehensions and anxieties of 18th century European culture.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

Let us now return to the question of how the little blue-and-white tea bowl came into existence in South Carolina in the mid-18th century. Part of this object’s story is touched on above in describing its material’s history, but clearly this is only one out of a multitude of stories that could be told about this object.

I find an interesting parallel in the manifold stories of this little tea bowl with the objects I study with my science students. Like the tea bowl, no single description can fully elucidate the role and function of a protein molecule in a cell, or an organism in its environment. It is by the application of multiple lenses and perspectives that we can more fully appreciate the significance and the beauty of the objects that inspire and fascinate us.

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

In the manner of David Altenstetter Augsburg, Germany, d. 1617. Mirror, ca. 1600. Enamel, silver, and gilt. Milwaukee Art Museum, Purchase, with funds from Avis Martin Heller in honor of the Fine Arts Society. Photo credit John R. Glembin.

Late last year, the Milwaukee Art Museum acquired a truly one-of-a-kind object: a Renaissance mirror that is on display in Gallery #2.

Created around 1600 in the metalworking center of Augsburg, Germany, it demonstrates the technical skill and fantastic design indicative of the region. The mount includes cherubs, mythological figures, and foliate designs that masterfully come together in one fabulous whole.  These decorative elements are most likely based upon contemporary books published by German artists, which in turn are Renaissance in style because they draw inspiration from antiquity.

In particular, the basse-taille technique (when colored glass fills a pattern engraved or carved into the metal), which is used on the inner frame, makes this mirror a rare object.  This high-quality version of the enamel was pioneered by the Augsburg goldsmith David Altenstetter (ca. 1547-1617).  Only a handful of objects in museums world-wide incorporate this type of enamel-work, which puts the Museum in the company of institutions such as the Wallace Collection in London and the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna.

The mirror was the last piece in private hands that was once part of the Richard and Erna Flagg Collection of European decorative arts.  It is an appropriate addition to the “Renaissance Treasury” of the Museum that the Flaggs made possible.  But comparing it to the clocks, tableware, boxes, cabinets, and religious objects on view in the same gallery raises the question: why would a Renaissance noble want an elaborately mounted mirror in his Schatzkammer, which is a collection of precious objects put together to impress just as a Wunderkammer would have?  What would a mirror mean to someone of the time?

Today, we have mirrors all around us.  But there was a time when that wasn’t so!

In the manner of David Altenstetter Augsburg, Germany, d. 1617. Mirror, ca. 1600. Enamel, silver, and gilt. Milwaukee Art Museum, Purchase, with funds from Avis Martin Heller in honor of the Fine Arts Society. Photo credit John R. Glembin

The first mirrors were the surface of water.  This is illustrated by the myth of Narcissus, the beautiful youth that sees himself in the water while drinking and becomes transfixed; he cannot move and eventually becomes the flower, Narcissus, or as we know it, the daffodil.  John William Waterhouse painted the myth in 1903.

There is evidence that various peoples used polished black obsidian for mirrors for centuries (obsidian is essentially a naturally occurring glass).  Shiny metal was also used; some of the most well-known mirrors were made by the Etruscans, one of the Italian cultures that flourished before the ancient Romans.

Although the Romans were able to blow and cast glass, their glass was not free of imperfections and their mirrors were small and crude.  The first large-scale glass mirrors with a reflective metal backing were made in the 14th century.  They were convex because glass was blown.

It wasn’t until the 16th century that the technology to produce large, flat pieces of glass with few imperfections was mastered by the Venetians.  It was during the 1500’s that mirrors started to look like modern mirrors.

But we must remember—glass mirrors were very expensive.  For years the Venetian glass makers jealously guarded their secrets to glass making.  It is not surprising, therefore, that a wealthy aristocrat would purchase an expensive, artistic frame to show off a mirror in his home.  Visitors would have known that the mirror warranted such care and celebration!

Even in the 17^th century, mirrors were a luxury item.  In the late 1600’s, the French King Louis XIV built the “Hall of Mirrors” at the Palace at Versailles.  The Hall was where the king would hear requests and host special events.  The extensive use of mirrors in the hall dazzled visitors by reflecting the light from the many windows and impressed with his wealth and power.

But cost isn’t the only reason for the high status of a mirror.  Mirrors have long been powerful as the focus of superstitions, traditions, and legends.

Because a mirror shows reality—but in reverse—it was believed to be a door to other worlds.  And since early mirrors, made before glass was clear and smooth, gave a dark and distorted reflection, you can imagine how someone would have been disturbed by what he saw.

Breaking a mirror will give you seven years of bad luck—or so we’re told.   This is because if the mirror is destroyed, your soul could be trapped in that reflected world and would not be able to return to you.  During the Victorian period, mirrors were draped with black fabric so that the soul of the departed would not be trapped.  Covering mirrors is also a mourning tradition in the Jewish faith.

The mysterious way of the mirror naturally made it a tool for the practice of witchcraft.  Combine that with the sin of vanity, and you have a tool of the devil.  You don’t have to look any further than the fairy tale of Snow White to see how mirrors combine the search for the beautiful through magical and malevolent means!

Mirrors are such a powerful symbol that they are often used by artists within their compositions.

In an extraordinary print of 1510, Hans Baldung (German, 1484–1545) shows us in great detail a Witches Sabbath—and there, at the bottom, is a convex mirror reflecting and instigating the action.

One of the most famous mirrors in art history is the convex mirror on the far wall in The Arnolfini Portrait by Jan van Eyck (Flemish, active 1442-died 1441), which possibly reflects the figure of the artist himself.  Van Eyck was probably looking to impress the viewer with his skill in showing things outside the actual picture.

Diego Velázquez (Spanish, 1599-1660) uses a mirror in Las Meninas in much the same way.

Josiah McElheny (American, b. 1966), Modernity circa 1952, Mirrored and Reflected Infinitely, 2004. Hand blown mirrored glass objects, chrome metal display, glass and mirror. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Contemporary Art Society. Photo credit Tom Van Eynde, Donald Young Gallery. © Josiah McElheny.

Venus is often shown with a mirror.  It’s very fitting that the goddess of love should always look her best, but sometimes it’s hard to tell if she’s looking at herself, or at the viewer!

Even today, artists are intrigued with the possibilities—and meanings—of the mirror.  Josiah McElheny, who is represented in our Collection, uses glass and mirrors to create pieces that proves that all artwork responds to what comes before it.  Combining elements of history, art history, perception, and time, his objects “encode his work with information, converting beautiful objects into repositories of meaning.”

The same can be said, I think, of our lovely German Rennaissance mirror.  I hope you’ll take a look the next time you are in the galleries!

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Veneered high chest of drawers. Attributed to Christopher Townsend or Job Townsend, 1735-1745. Newport, Rhode Island. Chipstone Foundation. Photo courtesy of Gavin Ashworth.

In 2008, Chipstone curator Ethan Lasser met with Dr. Christian Elser, a composer, in the furniture gallery on the Lower Level of the Milwaukee Art Museum. Ethan noticed that the vocabulary he used when describing furniture was very similar to the terms Dr. Elser used when descrbing music–for example, they both used words such as “baroque” or “gothic.” This spurred Ethan to ask Dr. Elser: “If you could pair each piece in this gallery with one piece of music, what would that be?”

They created a CD or musical tour for which Dr. Elser prepared musical pieces chosen for certain furniture objects in the gallery. Dr. Elser responded based not just on the furniture’s period, but on the way it looked and the feeling it evoked. I recently found this CD, and each music piece helped me concentrate more on the furniture with which it was paired. It opened my eyes to details that I would not have otherwise focused on. The experience is remarkable. I decided to share one pair in this post, and walk through Dr. Elser’s reasons for picking this particular composition.

Veneered high chest of drawers. Attributed to Christopher Townsend or Job Townsend, 1735-1745. Newport, Rhode Island. Chipstone Foundation. Photo courtesy of Gavin Ashworth.

I chose the Newport high chest (pictured above) as this post’s case study. It is one of my favorite pieces in the collection because of its beautiful maple and walnut veneers as well as the interesting geometric inlay on the surface. The high chest was made between 1735 and 1745 in Newport, Rhode Island by either Job or Christopher Townsend. The Townsend brothers are said to have been the patriarchs of Newport’s cabinetmaking trade. They were Quakers who arrived in Rhode Island in 1707. Job probably completed his cabinetmaking apprenticeship in 1720 and Christopher in 1722.

As Luke Beckerdite states in his 2000 American Furniture article, “The Early Furniture of Christopher and Job Townsend,” Rhode Island differed from all the other New England colonies from the outset, since in the 17th century it became a center for Quakers fleeing the religious persecutions in England and Massachusetts. Newport cabinetmakers had a distinctive style that resulted from a desire to mass-produce a marketable commodity. This was the block and shell motif, which consists of a block front with alternating convex and concave shells. Newport furniture from this time period also had glued on legs, as this saved both time and materials. Job and Christopher Townsend were among the makers that in the 1720s developed efficient methods of production, and are associated with the earliest documented Newport furniture.

The inlaid high chest at the Milwaukee Art Museum is the only veneered case piece attributed to the 18th century Townsend shop. As you can see from the images below of other Newport furniture, it looks completely different from the “typical” Newport style, although the piece’s construction is consistent with Job and Christopher Townsend’s work. Why did they create this? Honestly, we’re not entirely sure. It could be that this was one of their first pieces. It could be that it was commissioned to fit into a room with other veneered pieces.

Chest on chest illustrating the block and shell motif. John Goddard, ca. 1765. Rhode Island. Chipstone Foundation. Photo courtesy of Gavin Ashworth.

Dressing table. Job Townsend, ca. 1750. Newport, Rhode Island. Chipstone Foundation. Photo Courtesy of Gavin Ashworth.

Now, onto the music. Instead of an 18th century classical piece, Dr. Elser matched the high chest with Phillip Glass’s Music in Contrary Motion (which you can listen to here). This might seem like an odd choice at first, but the second that you start listening to the music and looking at the piece, they complement each other. It’s almost as if one was inspired by the other. They are both ornate and experimental. Both are out of the ordinary, and both center around the idea of repetition. The music’s repeating motif appears to be the same, but as you concentrates on the music, it is apparent that there are small variations. In the same way, the inlay appears at first to repeat the same design, but upon closer inspection, there are small variations throughout. Although these variations were probably not on purpose, I find that they make the piece more interesting. The music helped me experience the high chest in a different way.

Dr. Elser did not limit himself to the Townsend high chest; he selected musical compositions for several pieces. For example, the Belter sofa that Mel Buchanan wrote about last year, was paired with Liszt’s Impromptu Nocturne because the music’s seductive notes reflect the seductiveness of the plush velvet and over-the-top rococo decoration.

What music would you pair with the furniture pieces in the Milwaukee Art Museum’s furniture gallery? Have you ever listened to music in the galleries?

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Anthony van Dyck and Studio. Margaret, Lady Tufton, ca. 1632. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. William D. Vogel. Photo credit John R. Glembin

Margaret is shown in her elegant silk gown (which is actually an informal dress because of the loose, flowing fabric and lack of lace collar and cuffs; it shows a significant amount of bare skin!).  She has beautifully arranged curls and wears expensive matched pearls.  To accentuate her loveliness, she holds delicate roses in her lap.

When this painting entered the Milwaukee Art Museum’s collection in 1956, it was heralded as a masterpiece of the Flemish painter Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641).  Van Dyck was one of the greatest portrait painters of all time. He influenced generations of later portrait painters, including Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727-1788).  Using brilliant brushwork, elegant compositions, and luscious textiles, he gives his subjects an easy aristocratic air while still making it clear that they are beautiful, virtuous, and powerful.

But now the artist of this work is listed as “Anthony van Dyck and Studio.”  What does this mean?

Anthony van Dyck and Studio. Margaret, Lady Tufton, ca. 1632. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. William D. Vogel. Photo credit John R. Glembin

The Many Copies of Lady Tufton
The first thing that you may be surprised to learn is that there is more than one painting like ours. These others can be found in English private collections (Lord Bagot and Lord Riblesdale) and at English country home collections (Goodwood and Blickling).  Variations of the painting are also at Tredegar House in South Wales and in the Royal Collection.

Why are there so many?  During the 17th century, it was common to make copies of paintings of famous personalities.  For instance, a noble gentleman would request a copy of a portrait of the king in order to show his support of the court.  It was a good political move, especially if other supporters of the king—or the king himself—decided to visit.  Women of the court were also reproduced, with the added benefit that their beauty was a welcome addition to the walls of a country home.

This means that for important painters of the time, there was a constant demand for their paintings.  As court painter to Charles I, Anthony van Dyck did what other famous artists had to do: he formed a studio that employed many young artists to help him keep up with the demand.  Remember, not only did he have new commissions (he painted almost 20 portraits of Charles I alone), he also had to produce copies of many of these works.  For instance, the equestrian portrait of Charles I in the Royal Collection has dozens of variations in copies (including, for you Downton Abbey fans, one large version that is now in the dining room of Highclere Castle, where the show is filmed).

For the original version of a portrait, Van Dyck had the subject sit for him for an hour so that he could make a preliminary sketch and paint the face.  Then, once the sitter left, the rest of the painting, including the body and the background, would be filled in by Van Dyck’s studio assistants, under his direction.  After they finished, Van Dyck would add finishing touches to the whole piece to make sure it was up to his standards.  This process allowed him to finish about one portrait a week.

The young artists who worked as assistants would thus learn the painting trade in these studios.  In fact, Anthony van Dyck started his career in the studio of the great Flemish painter Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640).  Even less well-known artists took on apprentices to help them with the work for painting.

Catalogue Raisonné
As you can imagine, copies of the original painting have varying degrees of handling by the master artist.  It has become the career of some art historians to differentiate the original painting from the copies, and to distinguish how much of the copy was done by the master.

It may surprise you to know that the consensus is that the original painting of our Lady Margaret is missing!  Art historians tend to agree that the work is only known through its copies, of which the Milwaukee version is the best in quality.

We know all of this because some art historians spend many years compiling a book called a catalogue raisonné.  A catalogue raisonné attempts to identity and document all of the known artworks by a particular artist.  Margaret, Lady Tufton is documented on page 641 of the Van Dyck catalogue raisonné.

Attribution and the Artist’s Signature
Of course, artists sign their paintings, so that should make finding all of the works by an artist easy, right?  Unfortunately, artists don’t always sign their works.  And sometimes the signatures aren’t always correct—sometimes they are added later on to “confirm” the known artist of a work or to raise the status of an anonymous work.

Assigning an artist to an artwork that is not signed is called attribution.  Sometimes you’ll see object labels that say “attributed to”, which is a sign that the curator doesn’t know for sure if it is that artist, but has found enough evidence to suggest that it is.

Coming up with attributions requires a lot of research into the subject matter and looking at a lot of paintings.  An art historian develops an “eye” for the artist that he or she is studying.  In other words, by studying enough paintings, you can understand the style of an artist so well that by looking at a painting you can say, this looks like a painting by Van Dyck.  This is what is called connoisseurship.

In some ways, it’s similar to a radiologist looking at an x-ray and saying, here’s where I see a tumor.  Or a botanist looking at a leaf and saying, this came from this type of plant.

Other Evidence
Of course, any expert must take in all the evidence before making a decision.  For art historians, this includes the painting’s style (is it painted like other works known to be by that artist?), written documentation (such as inscriptions and letters), and provenance (who previously owned the artwork). And now, there is a host of technological assessments that can be made, such as x-rays, UV fluorescence, and analysis of paint and canvas.  Of course, technological testing is not always in the realm of possibility for every painting, since it can be costly.  And sometimes these new tests do not come up with a conclusive answer, anyway.

Take, for instance, one of the most famous artists in history, Rembrandt.  In the over 400 years since Rembrandt died, many paintings were attributed to him.  Not only did he have many talented students who adopted a similar style, but other Netherlandish painters copied his style because the public liked it.

It didn’t hurt, of course, that a painting by Rembrandt is worth more money than a painting by a student or other painter.  This could, by the 19th century, encourage what we might call “optimistic attributions.”

This problem is something that a catalogue raisonné hopes to clear up.  Rembrandt is such an important artist that a special group of scholars began something called the Rembrandt Research Project, which set out to thoroughly study the evidence for every painting considered to be Rembrandt–to come up with a catalogue raisonné.

As you can imagine, this process isn’t always neat and tidy, especially when there is money involved.  And Rembrandt isn’t the only victim of this problem. Caravaggio (Italian, 1571-1610), Leonardo da Vinci (Italian, 1452-1519), and Titan (Italian, ca. 1488-1576), among others, have had their share of controversy, too.

Nicolaes Maes, Portrait of Jan van Royen, ca. 1665. Oil on wood panel. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Dr. and Mrs. Alfred Bader. Photo credit John R. Glembin

Back to Milwaukee
Now that you have an idea of what attribution means, let’s return to the Milwaukee painting and see what close looking will tell us.  By considering the painting visually, you will see why we have added “and studio” to the painting. Get your connoisseurship skills ready!

First, look at a few Van Dyck paintings for comparison:

• Portrait of Anna Wake, 1628, at the Mauritshuis in The Netherlands
• Catherine Howard, Lady d’Aubigny, ca. 1638, at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC
• Katherine, Countess of Chesterfield and Lucy, Countess of Huntingdon, 1636/40, at the Yale Center for British Art  (Incidentally, Katherine is our Margaret’s older sister.)

In general, in any good quality portrait, the face should be the best part of the painting.  Lady Margaret has a nicely modeled face with porcelain skin framed with fashionable dark curls.  The contrast of skin and hair is quite effectively painted, and the shimmer and weight of the pearls picked out of her hair and resting on her neck are also finely done.  Overall, Lady Margaret’s head holds up well to inspection.  It’s perhaps not the luminescent application of paint that Van Dyck is famous for, but still very attractive.

As you look away from Lady Margaret’s head, you can see whythe “and Studio” portion of the attribution is necessary.  In general, the paint is not as well-handled, and the composition is awkward.

Van Dyck took great delight in painting different textiles.  Silks, velvets and laces come alive in his paintings, which is clear in any of the three comparative portraits that I suggested above.  His silks, in particular, are bright and shiny.

In contrast, in Lady Margaret’s dress of blue-black silk, the shimmer of the fabric is shown with watery-looking brushstrokes of a lighter color on the darker ground.  You can see this particularly in the highlighted parts over her knees.  It just doesn’t have the refinement of Van Dyck’s handling, which is evident even in darker colors. (This is very hard to see on a computer monitor, but the first painting listed above is a good example.)

The voluminous folds of Lady Margaret’s dress effectively show her wealth, and the peaks of white fabric in her pinned slitted sleeves are depicted with detail, but overall the silk feels heavy-handed and stiff.

And although our sitter fits onto the canvas, she feels a bit wedged into the frame.  The composition is tight, particularly on the left side where her hand almost doesn’t make it in!  And the minor drapery behind her is almost an afterthought.  Van Dyck himself would have certainly made more of it, to make it a powerful symbol of Lady Margaret’s elegance and status.

So, we have a good painting, but it is clear that this is not a painting by Van Dyck’s hand. Because it is the best quality copy in existence and most likely made during Van Dyck’s lifetime, however, we have not removed him completely from the attribution.

Although sometimes reattribution can be disappointing, it can also spawn fascinating projects.  In 2009, the Metropolitan Museum of Art reattributed a painting to Velázquez (Spanish, 1599–1660) and did a special exhibition to explain the discovery process.  The recent traveling exhibition Rembrandt in America explored the issue of attributions. Some museums are even delving into the issue of authenticity directly, with exhibitions such as Close Examination at the National Gallery of London.

And here at the Milwaukee Art Museum, our portrait of Margaret, Lady Tufton serves as a great case study about how we continue to fulfill our mission through continued research on the collection and encouraging visitors to look carefully—and thoughtfully—at our artwork.

Make sure you stop by to see Lady Margaret next time you are in the galleries so that you can think about the attribution of the painting on your own!

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Jug, Staffordshire, England, ca. 1850, Chipstone Foundation Collection. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

Adorned with rich copper lustre ornamentation and hand-painted flowers, this monumentally scaled object also features an unusual inscription that gives some insights into the jug’s origins. The gilt lettering reads, “Presented by Alfred Meakin, Tunstall England to Sohn, Ricker and Weisenhom Quincy Ills U.S.A.” Who exactly are these people? And how did this huge jug make its way to the U.S. from England? Read on to find out.

Alfred Meakin was born into a family of potters in England. His father, James Meakin, was part of the Newtown Works in Longton, while his brothers James and George Meakin founded the pottery J & G Meakin in Hanley. Alfred soon followed in their footsteps, starting the Alfred Meakin pottery in 1874 at Tunstall. His pottery was an amalgamation of three different factories: the Royal Albert Pottery, Victoria Pottery, and Highgate Potteries. These factories manufactured ironstone china and white granite wears, which were widely exported and distributed to shops in the United States, and also sold through the mail-order catalogues of prominent American retailers. Meakin is perhaps best known, however, for being one of the most prolific manufacturers of “Tea Leaf”-decorated china wares, which were immensely popular in 1850′s America.

Jug, Staffordshire, England, ca. 1850, Chipstone Foundation Collection. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

Meanwhile, in Quincy, Illinois, three men–Edward Sohm, William Weisenhorn, and Bernard Ricker–were partners in a china shop from 1884 through 1913. At the time, Quincy was a bustling city thanks to its proximity to the Mississippi River, which was the primary conduit for the dissemination of trade goods from Minnesota down to Louisiana. Quincy grew rapidly as a market center for counties in Missouri and Illinois. By 1870, Quincy surpassed Peoria as the second largest city in Illinois, and the processing and trade of valuable agricultural and mineral resources grew steadily thereafter. Increased wealth and greater access to imported goods whetted the appetite of local residents for stylish domestic wares, including fine pottery and exotic china.

Sohm, Ricker & Weisenhorn circa 1908 (Photo: Quincy Public Library)

It was in this rich environment that Sohm, Ricker & Weisenhorn operated their china, glass and queensware store. The firm did well in its time: “The amount of business transacted by this firm during the second year of its existence was 33 1/3 per cent in excess of that done the first year,” reads a report. “A similar increase was attained in 1886 and 1887, while during the following year the firm did the largest queensware business ever done in the city of Quincy by a single firm in the same length of time.” The scale of their operation is reflected in the successful operation of a four-story store that was 120 feet deep by 20 feet long; they even owned two huge inventory storage warehouses.

To bring our stories together, one of the lines of pottery that Sohm, Ricker & Weisenhorn carried and sold was–you guessed it–Alfred Meakin’s. It is speculated that Meakin awarded Sohm, Ricker & Weisenhorn this very large presentation jug as a reward for selling large quantities of his wares.

Sohm, Ricker & Weisenhorn 1884-1913 (Photo: Quincy Public Library)

The Sohm, Ricker & Weisenhorn presentation jug is not the only oversized presentation piece that Meakin produced. Around the turn of the century Alfred Meakin’s pottery produced what was then proclaimed to be “The World’s Largest Teapot,” according to the Stoke-on-Trent Museums. This legendary teapot held 20 gallons and weighed 250 pounds. It was once owned by George Pritchard of Rome, New York, but now the fate of the object is unknown.

The Krenning Glass Company, a shop specializing in china, glass and queensware in St. Louis, Missouri, is also said to have owned an ironstone Meakin teapot that measured 3 feet in height and could hold 42 gallons of tea. An 1892 description states: “This article is a marvel of skill, both constructive and decorative, and bears and inscription in gold letters, which states it to be a Christmas token to the Krenning Glass Co., from the noted manufacturer, Mr. Alfred Meakin of Tunstall, England, whom this firm represents.”

The Quincy presentation jug falls into the storied, oversize jug tradition. Although the reason for the gift is not stated on the jug, as it is on the Krenning teapot, we can guess that the success of the firm was the reason for this odd and interesting vessel’s creation. Still, some questions remain. Where was this jug displayed? Was it thought of as a modern day trophy, albeit a more distinctive one? Was it a curiosity that drove more customers into the shop? Did it serve as promotional material for Alfred Meakin–an advertisement of sorts? Were there yet more oversize Meakin vessels along the Mississippi?

If you’d like to see this jug for yourself, get in touch with Chipstone. Since exhibitions are always changing at art museums, the presentation jug moved in the past year from its location next to the Chair Park at the Milwaukee Art Museum to the Chipstone Foundation Museum at Fox Point. The Chipstone Foundation museum in Fox Point is open by appointment.

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Roman [Flavian Period], Head of a Noble Woman, 96–100 AD. Pentelic Marble. Milwaukee Art Museum, purchase, with funds from the Woman’s Exchange.
Photo credit Larry Sanders.

So of course, when I found out that hairstyles were so important in portraits of women in ancient Rome, I was thrilled!  Sabina, the wife of Hadrian, wore lovely waves similar to sculptures of Greek goddesses.  Meanwhile, Septimius Servius’s wife, Julia Domna, is known for her helmet-like rolls of hair.  The timeline of the Roman world unfolds before the fashion-conscious.

But what makes this topic even more fascinating is that, in true Roman-style, hairstyles are not just about beauty. Read on for a closer look at the political importance of Roman hairstyles (yes, you read that right), as well as a video how-to so you can give the hairdo a try yourself.

Official sculpture of women of the Imperial family not only used hairstyles to make the women identifiable, but also used them to convey messages to the public.  These high-profile ladies used their portraits—and their hair—to set an example as a proper Roman matron.

For instance, the demure hairstyle of Livia, the wife of the first emperor Augustus, reflected the modesty of the Roman Republic. Modesty was important so that citizens wouldn’t be alarmed that they were now ruled by one man rather than a consul of men. The hairstyle also countered the eastern decadence of Cleopatra of Egypt, the lover of Marc Antony, Augustus’s rival for power.  It was such a powerful message that Octavia, Augustus’s sister, adopted the same hairstyle.  It became an easy way to identify the ruling family of the early Empire.

Roman [Flavian Period], Head of a Noble Woman, 96–100 AD. Pentelic Marble. Milwaukee Art Museum, purchase, with funds from the Woman’s Exchange. Photo credit Chelsea Kelly.

Roman [Flavian Period], Head of a Noble Woman, 96–100 AD. Pentelic Marble. Milwaukee Art Museum, purchase, with funds from the Woman’s Exchange. Photo credit Chelsea Kelly.

A woman’s outward appearance was a direct reflection of her important role.  She needed to run the home efficiently and bear children that would become moral, productive members of society.  She was crucial for the very basis of Roman society, which was necessary for a peaceful and prosperous state.

Accordingly, Emperor Augustus used art as propaganda to emphasize the need for these virtues to the people.  The culmination of this is the Ara Pacis Augustae (literally, the Altar of Augustan Peace).  A monument to Augustus’s success in bringing civilization to Italy through conquest, the structure surrounding the sacrificial altar is full of meaning in every nook and cranny.  The most prominent friezes show members of the emperor’s family in a procession, preparing to conduct a religious sacrifice at the altar.  Through this use of portraiture, Augustus makes his own family the moral model for the Roman populous.  By doing this, he also claimed power for his descendents, including the women, who were immortalized in stone as good wives and mothers.

As you can see, for women of the nobility, hair was a important part of the official message!

All of this leads me to the subject of this blog post, the Museum’s portrait of a Roman woman.  You can find her in Gallery #1.

Roman [Flavian Period], Head of a Noble Woman, 96–100 AD. Pentelic Marble. Milwaukee Art Museum, purchase, with funds from the Woman’s Exchange.
Photo credit Larry Sanders.

Tough not an empress, this woman still must have come from a family that can afford a nicely sculpted portrait.  Her depiction follows that standards for portraits of women, and she is not only beautiful and calm, but also virtuous and moral.

Her smooth skin reflects the idealizing trend of the early Empire, which stems from their interest in earlier classical Greek art.  Although she now stares blankly with her smooth eyeballs, originally the sculpture would have had painted pupils.  (In later years, the pupil will be drilled into the eye to create more depth.)

Roman [Flavian Period], Head of a Noble Woman, 96–100 AD. Pentelic Marble. Milwaukee Art Museum, purchase, with funds from the Woman’s Exchange. Photo credit Chelsea Kelly.

Indicative of the Flavian period (A.D. 69–96), this hairstyle is one of the most famous because of the beautifully carved “Fonseca Bust” at the Capitoline Museum in Rome.  Click here for another view from the side.

This style is probably the easiest to identify, although sculptors had varying levels of success in showing the intricacy of the curls.  Ours is certainly not as dramatic as the “Fonesca Bust”, but is better than others.

One Baltimore hairdresser’s fascination with ancient hair has led her to experiment with these styles on real women.  Her name is Janet Stephen, and she was so captivated by a sculpture of Julia Domna at the Walters Art Gallery that she decided to try to recreate it.  She has since analyzed other hairstyles through artwork and has referenced ancient texts in order to figure out how women really did their hair.

Before now, many classicists thought that the elaborate hairstyles could only be accomplished with wigs.  With her practical experience, however, Stephens has been able to prove that in most cases the hair was the woman’s own, with perhaps switches added if the woman’s hair was not long or thick enough.

You can see her recreating our lovely lady’s style below.

Stephens presented her discoveries about the hairstyle of Vestial Virgins at the Archaeological Institute of America’s annual meeting last year.  What she is doing is a type of experimental archaeology.  A fairly new approach to exploring the past, experimental archaeology is just what it sounds like—testing a theory about the past by actually doing it.  It’s like reality TV for historians—which can be both educational and entertaining!

So, you can see that our modest marble lady gives us a captivating look into the ancient Roman world and the research continues into past civilizations–there is still much to learn!

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

View of Gallery 10. Photo by Chelsea Kelly

The gallery has been reinstalled as part of the celebrations of the 125th anniversary of the founding of the Layton Art Gallery, which laid the foundation for what would become the Milwaukee Art Museum.  We’ve decided to call it Mr. Layton’s Gallery, after Milwaukee philanthropist Frederick Layton, who started it all.

You’ll find some paintings that are familiar (and part of the original gift from Frederick Layton): Old Stagecoach by Eastman Johnson, Hark! The Lark! by Winslow Homer, and Homer and His Guide by William Bouguereau. Other visitor favorites are part of this installation, such as The Last of the Spartans by Gaetano Trentanove and Le Père Jacques (Woodgatherer) by Jules Bastien-Lepage.

But what might be a surprise that you have probably never seen many of the paintings because they are usually stored in our paintings vault.  The result is a luscious gallery with 52 paintings and two sculptures. In this post, we’ll look at the history behind salon hangs, and show how we decided to use it for Gallery 10.

View of Gallery 10. Photo by Chelsea Kelly

The dramatic, floor-to-ceiling installation, mixing European and American paintings, is set against a dramatically colored wall and has no individual labels.  This is often called a salon-style hang and evokes the experience of attending an exhibition at the Layton Art Gallery’s original home near Cathedral Square between 1888 (when the gallery opened) and 1919 (the year that Frederick Layton died).  Clearly, artwork was displayed very differently than it is today.

Henry Hamilton Bennett (American, 1843-1908), Exterior, Layton Art Gallery, Milwaukee, 1880s/90s, printed ca. 1980s. Gelatin silver print; Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of H. H. Bennett Studio Foundation, Inc. Photo credit John R. Glembin.

A Salon-style Hang
Why is this called salon-style?  The term derives from the regular exhibition of the French Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture, which began in 1667 in Paris.  It showed the artwork of students of the Academy, so in order to fit everything in, the paintings were hung as close as possible from floor to ceiling.  In 1725, the exhibition moved to the Salon Carré (Square Salon) of the royal palace known as the Louvre, and from that point on was known as simply the Salon.

If an artist was shown in the Salon, they essentially were given official approval by the French Royal Academy–thus, the Academy had the power to make or break artists.  By the mid-19>th century, the Academy’s role in defining what art should be was challenged by French artists, most famously the Impressionists, who put together their own exhibitions in direct protest.

Despite the Salon‘s negative connotation in the progress of modern art, the regular exhibition was a critical step in the development of public museums.  Previously, it had been difficult for ordinary citizens to see artwork because it was owned by private collectors.  But because the Academy’s exhibitions were free, anyone could see the Salon, regardless of class, wealth, profession, or gender.

View of Gallery 10. Photo by Chelsea Kelly

After the French Revolution (1787-1799), the collections of the French Royal Academy were installed in the Louvre, which became a public museum.  It was considered a symbol of the triumph of culture and liberty.

Meanwhile, in London the Royal Academy of Arts was founded in 1768 in order to raise the status of the artist in England.  Just as the French Academy offered annual exhibitions of their members, so did the Royal Academy.  The hangs for these exhibitions were just as crowded as their French counterparts.  In fact, in 1780 although the exhibition moved to specially built rooms at Somerset House, the same salon display persisted.

For these exhibitions, the smaller works were hung lower on the wall with larger paintings above.  Many artists were displeased with the placement of their paintings, and many protested to being “skied,” or hung high on the wall, where they could not be seen well.   After all, these exhibitions were vital in an artist’s career because they needed publicity to get patrons. The painter Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727–1788) was so angry at the placement of his paintings at one Royal Academy exhibition that he refused to show his paintings there after 1784.

View of Gallery 10. Photo by Chelsea Kelly

Because the salon-style hang was what people were used to seeing, it was used by public art museums in Europe and America during the 19th century and into the 20th century. A great example is the National Gallery of Art in London, which first opened in 1824.  But this wasn’t a museum as we would think of it today.  The paintings on display were given to the nation by the banker John Julius Angerstein, and the Gallery was in his townhouse in Pall Mall—with a salon hang used in home decorating.

The Gallery moved to its permanent, purpose-built home in Trafalgar Square in 1838.  Here’s a painting of the National Gallery of Art in London from 1886 that shows the stacked paintings in one of the galleries.

You may notice, however, that the wall is not fully covered from floor to ceiling with art.  This reflects a new approach to art display proposed by Charles Eastlake (British, 1836-1906).  Eastlake is famous for the interior decoration style named for him (derived from his book Hints on Household Taste, which has become synonymous with “Victorian”), but he was also the first director of the National Gallery, serving from 1855 to 1865.  He felt that paintings should be hung at eye level to allow for contemplation by the viewer.

The Layton Art Gallery
This individual interaction with art went hand-in-hand with the belief of gallery founders that exposure to art was crucial for making responsible citizens—a goal that Frederick Layton saw was essential in Milwaukee, which in the 1880’s was bursting with new immigrants and those who moved to the city to work in industry.

We have photographs of the Layton Art Gallery that show this type of installation.  The European trends in art installation would not have been lost on Frederick Layton; not only was he raised in England, but he returned to Europe 99 times!

Installation at the Layton Art Gallery, ca. 1910, Milwaukee Art Museum, Institutional Archives

The modified salon-hang opened a new question for art installation—now that you can see more of the wall, what color do you paint it?

The earlier preference was for a neutral color, such as grayish-green.  By the mid-19th century, the preference was turning to reddish colors, because they tended to set-off the paintings better.  Red tones were an attractive foil to the elaborate gold frames, which is obvious in Gallery 10.  In fact, the frames almost become the focal point because of their bright color and sculptural presence.

Installation at the Layton Art Gallery, ca. 1910, Milwaukee Art Museum, Institutional Archives

But this kind of art installation is still very different from the way most museums install art today.   After visiting Gallery 10, the rest of the European Galleries almost seem empty!  Why did this happen?

The most dramatic shift in art installations occurred after World War I.  A key part of this change can be traced to the Museum of Modern Art’s first exhibition in 1929, Cezanne, Gauguin, Seurat, van Gogh.  Alfred Barr, the founding director, decided to use a new technique he had seen in exhibitions in Germany: generously spaced paintings (as we are used to seeing now) and display on light neutral walls (which look practically white, the most common color used for contemporary art installations to this day).  By the time of MoMA’s 1935 exhibition on Vincent Van Gogh, Barr decided to hang his paintings with juxtapositions that were meant to educate the viewer in art historical concepts—and included explanatory labels.  Clearly a departure from the installation of art as interior decoration!

This type of installation allows the visitor to appreciate each painting on its own, a manifestation of the concept that each one is a “masterpiece” with something to impart to the viewer.  The painting has breathing room, which encourages the viewer to spend time in front of it and reflect upon its meaning.

Neutral walls were considered a modern way to cleanse the palette for the eye.  At the turn of the 20th century, the interiors of dark woodwork and walls were being replaced with lighter tones, and white was commonly used in bathrooms and kitchens as a way to encourage hygiene and fight dirt.  Even the Layton Art Gallery adopted this installation style, as you can see in this photo from the 1950′s.

Installation at the Layton Art Gallery, ca. 1955, Milwaukee Art Museum, Institutional Archives

This was quite convenient as the 20th century progressed, because art became more diverse in style and size.  In the 19th century, most artists, even those of the avant garde, painted within a familiar art tradition, so paintings set side-by-side would be fairly easy to fit together.  This isn’t quite as simple with contemporary paintings and photographs (although modern museums do experiment with salon-style installations with modern art, such as in this exhibition at the Walker Art Center).

And the Milwaukee Art Museum isn’t the only one using this historical installation method.  Many Museums have experimented with the salon-hang: the Renwick Gallery at the National Museum of American Art; the Corcoran Gallery of Art; the Frye Museum of Art; the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; and the Rhode Island School of Design Museum of Art, to name a few!

An unusual installation of modern art in salon style can be found at the Barnes Foundation—the collector, Albert C. Barnes, was a self-made millionaire who had a particular vision in how best to educate people about art.

So take some time to immerse yourself in Gallery 10.  It is a great opportunity to appreciate Milwaukee’s past, look forward to its future—and just enjoy something beautiful.

View of Gallery 10. Photo by Chelsea Kelly

Next month, I’ll highlight some of the paintings that have come “out of the vault” for this installation.

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Exhibition Title Wall. Photo by Claudia Mooney

As you may know from reading Chelsea Kelly’s last blog post, the Milwaukee Art Museum is celebrating its 125th anniversary–-commemorating the big year with three exhibitions. The Layton Art Collection: 1888-2013 is the Chipstone Foundation’s contribution to this great celebration.

The exhibition, open through the end of the year, is located in the Museum’s lower level. It tells the story of the Layton Art Collection, and is divided into three parts: Frederick Layton and the Layton Art Gallery, Charlotte Partridge and Modernism, and American Paintings and Decorative Arts. Each of the sections represents a distinct period in the Layton Art Collection. I will devote one blog post to each period, since each is rich with objects and interesting stories.

Before I begin, I would like to thank John Eastberg, senior historian at the Pabst Mansion. His research on Frederick Layton, Charlotte Partridge, and the Layton Art Collection as a whole was invaluable to the Chipstone team in curating the exhibition. Eastberg, in conjunction with Layton Trustee Eric Vogel, is publishing a book that will be out this summer, titled Layton’s Legacy: An Historic American Art Collection, 1888-2013.

Eastman Johnson (American, 1824–1906), Portrait of Frederick Layton, 1893. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Marshall and Ilsley Bank. Photo credit Dedra Walls

Now, let’s return to the Layton Art Collection. You might be wondering, what is the Layton Art Collection and what does it have to do with the Milwaukee Art Museum?

The Layton Art Collection is a collection of objects that are housed and exhibited at the Milwaukee Art Museum. You’ve probably seen many of the paintings, sculptures and decorative arts during your previous visits. The Collection was started by illustrious Milwaukee meatpacker Frederick Layton–without whom, I imagine, the Milwaukee Art Museum in its present form would have not existed.

Layton (1827-1919) was an Englishman who immigrated to the United States as a young man. He settled in Milwaukee in 1845 where he made his fortune. Milwaukee at the time was not very big (in 1843–the year the Laytons arrived in Wisconsin–it had less than 4,000 inhabitants), yet there was already a strong interest in the arts. Martha Mitchell (wife of banker Alexander Mitchell), William Metcalf, and Edward P. Allis (Allis Chalmers Company) were some of Milwaukee’s big art collectors in the mid to late 19th century.

On June 18, 1883, a group of businessmen gathered at the new Milwaukee Club for a farewell dinner for Alexander Mitchell and Frederick Layton, both of whom were leaving on trips abroad. What followed has become legend. After a toast in his honor, Layton is said to have remarked that something had to be done in order to create a public art gallery worthy of the city of Milwaukee.

Word spread quickly. The next morning, the Milwaukee Sentinel published a story recounting that Layton had offered to build an art gallery as a gift to the city. True to his word, Frederick Layton built Milwaukee’s first single patron public art gallery in 1888 at the corner of Jefferson Street and Mason Street, where the multilevel parking lot and the Blackthorn Pub currently stand.

He traveled to Europe often both for business and to acquire art–in fact, he crossed the Atlantic 99 times during his lifetime. In 1883, while sailing from New York City to Liverpool aboard the S.S. Gallia, Layton met the architect William Audsley. Five years later, the Audsley-designed Layton Art Gallery opened in Milwaukee to much public excitement.

George Ashdown Audsley (Scottish–American, 1838–1925). Picture Gallery, Layton Gallery, South Elevation, ca. 1885. Pen and ink with watercolor. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Jack Waldheim. Photo credit John R. Glembin

When it was founded, Layton did not have a large art collection to donate to this enterprise. In fact, the Layton Art Gallery and the Layton Art Collection were conceived entirely as a civic project. He explained that the gallery would “be of benefit to our working people, as well as the more wealthy, since all may come and find pleasure and recreation in paying a visit to the gallery.”

Hovsep Pushman (American, b. Armenia, 1877–1966). The Incense Burner, before 1921. Oil on wood panel. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Messers, J.K. Ilsley, Charles F. Dickens, Charles Ray, G. Miller, Fred Vogel, Howard Greene, L.J. Petit as memorial to Frederick Layton. Photo credit John R. Glembin

Layton set out to create a good representative contemporary art collection (contemporary in the late 19th century meant Victorian art), which he hung salon-style in his gallery against red walls. Some examples of the work that Layton collected for the gallery, as well as images and elevations of the gallery, can be seen in the Layton Art Collection exhibition.

In 1919, Frederick Layton passed away at the age of ninety-two. The Layton trustees decided to donate Armenian-American artist Hovsep Pushman’s The Incense Burner to the collection his honor.

The painting, on view down in the decorative arts gallery, illustrates a young North African girl dressed in fuchsia. The fluid and visible brushstrokes, the bright colors, as well as the subject matter, are a stark contrast to the genre scenes and landscapes collected by Layton. The Incense Burner made a strong statement that the Layton Art Gallery would continue to evolve, even after its founder’s death.

Stay tuned to find out how the Layton Art Gallery evolved in the 20th century.

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Milwaukee County War Memorial Building, Eero Saarinen, 1957. Milwaukee Art Museum, Institutional Archives.

If you’ve visited the Museum recently, you know that we take our 125th anniversary seriously. There was cake for “Barbara Brown Lee Day” on May 2, there are three celebratory exhibitions, including a glamorous salon-style rehang of Gallery 10, and an upcoming publication about the roots of the Milwaukee Art Museum in Layton’s Legacy: An Historic American Art Collection.

An anniversary is an excuse to celebrate and an opportunity to engage the community. It is also a chance for us to dig into our history and learn more about our past.

Research is never done!

For my part, when I was in New England this winter, I made a research diversion to Yale University to delve into their Eero Saarinen Archives to find information we could use about the design, inspiration, and creation of the Milwaukee County War Memorial Center.

In working with Museum Archivist/Librarian Heather Winters on the 125 Years of the Milwaukee Art Museum (Baumgartner Galleria) exhibition and online timeline, I learned that we have a wealth of documentation about the design and planning stages of the Museum’s 2001 Santiago Calatrava building. But the Museum Archives have relatively less about the equally-important Modernist Eero Saarinen War Memorial Building (1957).

Saarinen’s office, fortunately for us, kept thorough records of the project, and those materials were donated to Yale University, where they are available on site to any visiting researcher and (in part) online in Yale’s Manuscripts and Archives Digital Images Database.  In 1971, Eero Saarinen’s wife, Aline, donated personal records (letters, journals) to the Yale Archives. In 2002 Saarinen’s successor architecture firm, Roche Dinkeloo and Associates, followed suit to donate their own holdings of the architect’s project files, drawings, photographs, and scrapbooks. Eero Saarinen was a graduate of Yale in 1934 and contributed two significant structures to the University campus: Ezra Stiles and Morse residential colleges and the Ingalls Hockey Rink. Cranbrook Academy and the Smithsonian Archives of American Art also have Saarinen archives.

To share a bit of what I learned about our Milwaukee treasure while spending three glorious days in Yale’s Gothic-style reading room, reviewing box after box, here are four specific items that speak to the importance of exploring the wide variety of materials available in a rich Archive.

Author’s snapshot of Saarinen’s War Memorial model photographed and taped on a Milwaukee aerial photo. Taken in Eero Saarinen collection, Manuscripts & Archives, Yale University.

First, there was a series of black-and-white photographs of a small architectural model of Saarinen’s site plan for the lakefront War Memorial Center and performing arts center. (The physical model itself was not in the Archive.) This small wood and paper model was photographed against a yard of grass in full sun, for accurate shadows, and then the printed image was cut and pasted over an aerial view of Milwaukee.

I appreciated that this composite image, with its yellowing tape, gave me not only a sense of the soaring concrete building design and Milwaukee’s landscape in the mid-1950s, but also a sense of how an architect prepared and presented information in the pre-Photoshop era. This is very different than the tools that were available to Santiago Calatrava for rendering the Quadracci Pavilion in the 1990s.

Author’s snapshot of Saarinen’s design material samples for the Milwaukee Co. War Memorial Building. Taken in Eero Saarinen collection, Manuscripts & Archives, Yale University.

Second, my design loving heart pitter-pattered when I opened the Archival box containing Saarinen’s fabric samples for our building! Yale’s Archive included six boards pasted up with interior finishing materials for the War Memorial Center. This particular board (shown above) had fabric samples for the office furniture intended for the Art Center’s second floor.

As many Museum staff do, I keep one of the building’s original Saarinen Executive Armchairs (the version with tubular steel legs) in my office, but they have since been reupholstered with pink or orange wool fabric.

The other five boards (not pictured) showed details of the building’s vinyl floor treatment, the wood baseboard trim, the creamy linen covering the the gallery walls, and the white paint of the ceiling. This information is vital for us in Milwaukee should we ever wish to return part of Saarinen’s masterpiece building to its original appearance. We would have evidence for every little detail.

Author’s snapshot of Stephen Rosera’s 1959 sketch of Saarinen’s War Memorial Building. Taken in Eero Saarinen collection, Manuscripts & Archives, Yale University.

For the third item, I think we can credit the influence of Eero’s wife Aline Saarinen, an accomplished architecture critic who turned to children’s art education after her marriage.

Included in the Archive are letters between Aline and Mrs. Wyeth Jones, Director of Milwaukee’s CAP (Children’s Arts Program).  In 1959, Jones shared children’s drawings of the building, citing them as direct evidence of the inspiration that Saarinen’s masterpiece had on the children that regularly occupy it. I was charmed looking at these drawings, carefully preserved for decades in the office of a great architect. I imagined how magnificent Saarinen’s dramatic concrete building must have seemed to 13-year-old Stephen Rosera when he made the above drawing.

Author’s snapshot of Saarinen designs for signage, Milwaukee Co. War Memorial Building. Taken in Eero Saarinen collection, Manuscripts & Archives, Yale University.

Fourth, I was amazed to find Saarinen’s plans for the scale, location, font, and layout of all the way-finding signage in the building. This reiterated to me what a comprehensive work of art the Milwaukee County War Memorial Building was, and is. The architecture, of course, was represented in the Archive, through hundreds of plans and drawings and photographs, but here there is also evidence of Saarinen’s attention to detail, such as the font of the Men’s Restroom sign and the upholstery on the office sofas. Each one reminded me that, in this building, we have a spectacular example of work by one of the 20th-century’s greatest design minds.

With sensitivity and the reminder that this historic documentation is preserved at Yale for our use in Milwaukee, we can be prepared to stay true to Saarinen’s design vision in the future.

Mel Buchanan is the Assistant Curator of 20th-century Design. Mel’s curatorial responsibility includes interpreting, displaying, and building the Museum’s collection of craft, design, and decorative objects.

Charlotte Partridge and Miriam Frink. Filed February 17, 1954. Journal Sentinel Archives

The second section, which is my favorite part in the exhibit, starts with Charlotte Partridge.

Charlotte Partridge, born in Minneapolis in 1881, was an incredibly progressive woman. She attended Dana Hall in Massachusetts and then the Northern Illinois Teacher’s College in DeKalb, Illinois. After traveling through Europe, Partridge enrolled at the Church School of Art in Chicago, where she also taught after graduating. In 1914, she began teaching at the Milwaukee-Downer College, but by 1920 she was dissatisfied with the school. By this point Miss Church (of the Church School of Art) had closed her art school and offered all of her furniture and supplies to Partridge. Partridge thus decided to open an art school in the basement of the Layton Art Gallery.

From its inception in 1920, the Layton School of Art, administered by Partridge and her life partner Miriam Frink, was different from other art schools in the area. Its primary aim was to train young men and women to earn their living as artists. In order to achieve this goal, students were required to take a variety of classes including psychology, drama, music, and poetry, all of which Partridge and Frink believed encouraged students to better understand art. In addition, students attended co-educational life study classes held with live models. This practice, although common in today’s art schools, was considered revolutionary in the early 20th century.

Meanwhile, George Raab, a well-known Milwaukee artist, was curator of the Layton Art Gallery. Raab was only the second curator at the gallery and accompanied Frederick Layton on many art buying trips. Although he was personally interested in local art and had advocated for a re-hanging of the collection, Raab continued Layton’s legacy by maintaining the gallery’s Victorian aesthetic. Because of this, attendance at the gallery had stagnated under Raab’s leadership. It was thus no surprise (except to Raab) when in June 17, 1922, while Raab was on vacation, Milwaukee newspapers announced that the Layton trustees had asked for Raab’s resignation. Charlotte Partridge, seen as the key to modernizing the Layton Art Gallery, was promoted to curator.

Partridge immediately did away with the dark maroon wall color, painting them a light tan instead. She hung artworks at eye-level, instead of salon-style. Partridge also dispersed most of the Victorian paintings in the collection, lending them to institutions around town, and filled the gallery space entirely with local contemporary artists. She even installed electric lighting. The Layton Art Gallery became a vibrant place full of activity.

One of Partridge’s most significant contributions was the inclusion of Wisconsin artists in the Layton Art Collection. As you can see when you visit the exhibition, Partridge collected work by several Layton School of Art teachers and alumni, including Emily Groom, Helen Hoppin, Karl Priebe, Gerrit Sinclair, and Dudley Crafts Watson. As Miriam Frank put it, quoted in Layton’s Legacy by John Eastberg and Eric Vogel: “Charlotte was the first person to give real understanding and support to the painters of Wisconsin and give them a gallery where they could exhibit.”

During her tenure, in 1930, Patridge invited Frank Lloyd Wright to exhibit at the gallery. He accepted, even though many in the Milwaukee community were resistant to the idea. Wright arrived in November with models and drawings of his designs from 1890 through 1930. As he was installing, a reporter arrived to interview him and asked his opinion on Milwaukee’s new courthouse. Wright responded, “It will take Milwaukee fully a century to recover from the influence of these buildings.”

This comment certainly did not help public opinion as citizens defended Milwaukee’s honor. Despite that, the exhibition opened and drew twelve hundred visitors in just three days. The drama wasn’t over, though. Wright was arrested the day that he was scheduled to lecture over an issue concerning his deceased wife’s estate. He was released just in time to have dinner with Partridge, Frink, and some supporters before giving his lecture. The next day Wright asked Partridge to pay him immediately; she did, and a few minutes later, the police showed up at Partridge’s door to withhold Wright’s wages. She gleefully responded that she didn’t owe Wright any money.

Richard H. Jansen (American, 1910–1988), East Side Street in Winter, n.d. Gouache on paper. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Layton Art League.

As evidenced in this short story and in the founding of the Layton School of Art, Partridge was a strong-willed, forward thinking modernist. She was also socially progressive. Partridge was the director of the Federal Arts Project in Wisconsin, the visual arts arm of the Works Progress Administration (WPA). Gerritt Sinclair, the first professor hired at the Layton School of Art, and Richard Jansen were both WPA success stories. Jansen’s East Side Street in Winter, above, created as part of the Federal Arts Project, is part of the Layton Art Collection and is currently on view in the Lower Level.

Charlotte Partridge made a major impact in Milwaukee through both the Layton School of Art and the Layton Art Gallery, as well as involvement in building the War Memorial. She remained a Layton Trustee until 1973. Partridge seems like an amazing person, one that I wish I had had the opportunity to meet.

Stay tuned for the Layton Art Collection: 1888-2013, Part 3!

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Dale Chihuly (American, b. 1941), Isola di San Giacomo in Palude Chandelier II, 2000. Blown glass; 183 x 86 x 96 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Suzy B. Ettinger in memory of Sanford J. Ettinger. Photo John R. Glembin.© 2013, Dale Chihuly

One cannot walk through the doors of the Milwaukee Art Museum without taking in a colorful burst of Dale Chihuly’s glass artwork. The Museum’s Isola di San Giacomo in Palude Chandelier II (at left) is one of the most popular works in the Museum, located at the entry of the Quadracci Pavilion. Milwaukee’s Suzy B. Ettinger, who was recently featured in a great Milwaukee Journal Sentinel Style article, donated the artwork in 2001 to brighten the Museum’s new white Santiago Calatava-designed addition.

Museum visitors have been posing for photos with it ever since (it even appears snaking behind my own mother in her Facebook profile picture). Chihuly’s universal popularity encourages many museums to place his glass artwork front and center as a cheerful greeting.

In fact, in the almost 50 years since he lived and studied in Wisconsin, no other artist can claim to have brought as much popular attention to American art glass as Dale Chihuly.

This weekend, Wisconsin is celebrating Chihuly’s achievements.

Dale Chihuly and the studio glass movement have a long history in Wisconsin. The University of Wisconsin-Madison will honor this tradition in 2013 by awarding Chihuly an honorary degree. The Doctorate of Fine Arts will be bestowed on the artist at the spring commencement ceremony on May 17 at the Kohl Center, which includes the colorful “Mendota Wall” of Chihuly glass.

Dale Chihuly, Blanket Cylinder #20, 1976. Blown glass
11 1/4 x 4 3/4 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of the Sheldon M. Barnett Family. Photo credit P. Richard Eells
© 2013, Dale Chihuly.

A native of Washington state, Dale Chihuly came to the University of Wisconsin in 1965 to study in the nation’s innovative first collegiate program in glass, which had been founded in 1963 by artist Harvey Littleton.

Littleton and Dominick Labino (a glass research scientist at the Johns-Manville plant near Toledo, Ohio) are credited with founding the “American Studio Glass Movement.” The men ran two 1962 glassblowing workshops at The Toledo Museum of Art, during which they aimed to bring glass work out of large production factories to become a creative material for contemporary art. Littleton and Labino developed a small furnace, which allowed individual artists to engage with hot glass techniques, such as glass-blowing, mold-blowing, and glass sculpting. Such techniques had previously required factory facilities and teamwork, so they had been out of reach for individuals.

Taking these innovations back to Wisconsin in 1963, Littleton introduced the first university program for glass in the United States. Dale Chihuly arrived to study there in 1965.

A good way to sum up what was so different and special about this moment is that Littleton’s academic approach to glass changed artists’ focus from vessels or decoration to a primary concern with the execution of artistic ideas. Littleton’s students, who included Chihuly, Marvin Lipofsky, and Fritz Dreisbach, subverted the traditional associations between glass and functionality by creatively exploring sculptural forms. This online essay by the Corning Museum of Art explains their intentions in more depth.

Littleton’s glass program was immediately popular. Art students immediately took to the medium, and the school produced many acclaimed glass artists as a result, further spreading its influence as years went on. An astute teacher, Littleton encouraged his graduating students to find academic employment and start more glass programs.

Dale Chihuly was one of the students who took Littleton’s teachings to heart. After graduating, he pushed forward the “glass as art” idea by founding educational programs himself, and by developing a signature style so popular that his work adorns both museums and casinos. After graduating with a master of science degree from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, he had his first public exhibition at the Madison Art Center in 1967. Then, he moved east to study at the Rhode Island School of Design, where he later established the glass program at that august arts institution.

Dale Chihuly, Lavender Pink Macchia Set with Black Lip Wraps, 1986. Blown glass; 14 x 24 x 24 in.
Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of the Sheldon M. Barnett Family, Marilyn and Orren Bradley, Janey and Doug MacNeil, Audrey and Robert Mann, and Jill and Frank Pelisek. Photo by Dedra Wells. (c) 2013, Dale Chihuly.

In 1968, Chihuly was awarded a Fulbright Fellowship to work at the Venini glass factory in Venice, Italy. There he observed the team approach to blowing glass, rather than the individual method he learned in Wisconsin with Littleton.  In 1971, Chihuly co-founded Washington’s Pilchuck Glass School, now an international glass center and leader of the avant-garde in the development of glass as a fine art.

Chihuly’s work is included in more than 200 hundred museum collections worldwide, including, of course, the Milwaukee Art Museum. Chihuly has been the recipient of many awards, including eleven honorary doctorates and two fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts.

If you’d like to learn more about the artist as his work changes and his influence grows, the Chihuly Studio keeps an active online presence through a website,  Facebook page, and Twitter account.

We in Wisconsin are proud of our state’s contribution to the international field of glass as art. As the University of Wisconsin grants Dale Chihuly an honorary degree on May 17, 2013, they honor not only one of the school’s most well-known artists, but they pay tribute to a influential art movement that had its roots in our fine academic institutions and our thriving arts community.

Mel Buchanan is the Assistant Curator of 20th-century Design. Mel’s curatorial responsibility includes interpreting, displaying, and building the Museum’s collection of craft, design, and decorative objects.

Edward William Cooke (English, 1811–1880). The Pilot Boat (Trouville Fishing Boat in a Fresh Breeze), ca. 1839. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Frederick Layton. Photo credit John R. Glembin

There is nothing truly avant-garde here.  No Courbet, no Manet, no Monet, no Gauguin.  Most of this artwork stands firmly in the tradition of art as it was understood for centuries.  In fact, Homer and His Guide may even have been a direct rebuttal to the type of artwork shown at the First Impressionist Exhibition of 1874.  Bougereau’s powerful painting reflects the survival of the classical, in both poetry and art, while facing adversity.

Although most of the beautiful objects from the early history of the Layton Art Collection are not ground-breaking, they are important to the time.  And many of them still show the influence of the artists leading the attack on the art establishment.

So let’s take a look at some of the paintings that have come “out of the vault!”

The Water Mill by Anton Mauve (Dutch, 1838-1888)

Anton Mauve (Dutch, 1838–1888). The Water Mill, ca. 1880. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Rev. David Keene. Photo credit John R. Glembin

One of the small paintings on the east wall, right above The Woodgatherer, probably escapes your notice. This vertical landscape, which shows a water mill in a field, was painted around 1880 by the Dutch artist Anton Mauve.  Never heard of him?  Not surprising.  Although popular in America during the third quarter of the 19th century, he is certainly not a household name today.

Mauve was one of the best Hague School painters, which was a group of 19th century Netherlandish artists who drew their subjects from 17th century Dutch masters, but their style from French Barbizon painters.  This jewel of a painting takes a modest subject and makes it come alive with active brushwork and a warm depth of color.

But what if I told you that it was Mauve taught Vinent van Gogh (Dutch, 1853-1890) to paint?  After various other careers, Van Gogh decided to become an artist and taught himself to draw.  But he wanted to paint, too, and his cousin’s husband was an artist: that artist was Anton Mauve.  For three weeks in the winter of 1881-82, Van Gogh worked in Mauve’s studio.

Although there was a break between the painters later in 1882–possibly because straight-laced Mauve found out Van Gogh was living with a woman to whom he wasn’t married–Van Gogh never forgot his first teacher’s influence.  In 1888, he dedicated a painting to his now-deceased mentor, writing in a letter to his brother Theo:

“I have been working on a size 20 canvas in the open air in an orchard… Probably the best landscape I have done.  I had just brought it home when I received our sister a Dutch notice in memory of Mauve… Something–I don’t know what–took hold of me and brought a lump to my throat, and I wrote on my picture ‘Souvenir de Mauve, Vincent Theo’ and if you agree we two will send it, such as it is, to Mrs. Mauve… it seemed to me that everything in memory of Mauve must be at once tender and very gay, and not a study in any graver key.”

Thomas Faed (Scottish, 1826–1900). The Forester’s Family, 1880. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Frederick Layton. Photo credit John R. Glembin

On the same wall, in the lower right corner, is a lovely painting called The Forester’s Family by Thomas Faed.  Faed was a star in the 19th century art scene–it has been said that he did for Scottish art what Robert Burns did for Scottish song.  Faed shot to fame in 1855 when his painting The Mitherless Bairn was shown at the Royal Academy in London.  A critical and popular success, this painting was praised for its meaningful narrative, artfully composed with touching details of the cottage interior and expressive faces drawn from Faed’s own childhood.

In the Museum’s painting, a girl dressed in country attire leans against a tree in a dense forest.  Presumably, the forester referenced in the title is her father, who would have been in charge of maintaining the trees (from planting to felling) for a landowner, who would sell the wood as a source of income–an important industry in Scotland.  Clearly, this is a nationalistic subject that Faed would have wanted to promote.  An additional sentimental touch is the two devoted dogs that stand to either side of the girl, as well as the puppy she holds in her arms.  The British loved their dogs, and in the 19th century it was common to show them with human-like personalities or record them with portraits of their own, such as our Portrait of a Terrier by Edwin Landseer.  It is obvious that the title The Forester’s Family doesn’t just refer to the human in the painting!

The Pilot Boat (Trouville Fishing Boat in a Fresh Breeze) by Edward William Cooke (English, 1811-1880)

Edward William Cooke (English, 1811–1880). The Pilot Boat (Trouville Fishing Boat in a Fresh Breeze), ca. 1839. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Frederick Layton. Photo credit John R. Glembin

The Layton Collection has three fantastic paintings by Edward William Cooke, which are all on view on the east wall: Venice, Bonchurch, and The Pilot Boat, above.  A maritime painter who looked to the 17th century Dutch artist Willem van de Velde for inspiration and traveled widely to look for subjects, Cooke was very popular in England and in America.

The Pilot Boat is the largest of these three paintings and the most dramatic. The pilot is the person at the seaport who assists the ship in navigating the shallow waters between sea and shore, and a pilot boat is a small boat that was used to transport that pilot from port to ship. You can see here the crew battling the wind and waves to get out to sea.

Edward William Cooke, Trouville fishing boat on larboard tack in rough sea, 1839. Watercolor Private Collection. Photo courtesy of the Martyn Gregory Gallery, London.

“Given to W. Baring Wall when staying at his country house.  Diary notes, October 30, ‘Made drawing of French fishing board (same as large picture)’.  The large picture then in progress has the same title in the ledger but was show at the British Institution in 1840 as Trouville fishing board in a fresh breeze.”

Dr. Munday then lists the entry for this painting, and that the location is unknown.  But… the painting has the exact dimensions of our painting.  So, the missing painting is ours!

Convoy of Wounded (Franco-Prussian War 1870) by Edouard Castres (Swiss, 1838-1902)

Edouard Castres (Swiss, 1838–1902). Convoy of Wounded (Franco-Prussian War 1870), 1870/71. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Frederick Layton. Photo credit John R. Glembin

In previous blog posts, I’ve been able to illustrate how having a museum’s collection on the web is so important to research.  I had always thought of Convoy of the Wounded as a beautiful painting, but about a year ago I found out more information about it that makes it really special.  It’s now on view on the south wall of Gallery 10, at the upper right corner of the doorway.

Last year, we were contacted by an art dealer in Switzerland who was selling an oil sketch of a painting that Castres had shown at the Salon of 1872, and which won a silver medal.  By searching on the internet, he found the painting in our collection database and contacted us.

What is really fascinating about our painting is that it is the first representation of a Red Cross ambulance in history.  The Red Cross was formed in 1863 in Geneva, Switzlerand, and was still developing its role when the Franco-Prussian War began.  Castres, a trained artist, signed up with the Red Cross and continued to sketch during his service. He created many heartbreaking scenes of what he saw.

Castres, who witnessed the war first hand as part of the aid through the Red Cross, was asked in 1880 to construct a panorama to document the devastation.  The panorama was on display in Geneva, Switzerland, until 1889, when it moved to the city of Lucerne and is still on view (although the top and bottom have been cropped).  Here is a complete view of the panorama. You can read more about this time here.

Castres even seems to have included himself in the painting, as the bearded man at the far left.

Heinrich von Angeli (Austrian, 1840–1925). Portrait of Mrs. Christian Wahl, 1873. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Gift of Mrs. Lucius Nieman. Photo credit John R. Glembin

On the east wall, just to the left of Homer and His Guide, is a striking portrait of Mrs. Christian Wahl.  Antonia Wahl and her husband, Milwaukee businessman Christian Wahl, were German immigrants.  His most important civic role was as the first president of the Milwaukee Park Commission, where he was instrumental in not only getting Frederick Law Olmstead to design Lake Park, but also ensured that Milwaukee would have many more parks throughout the city.  Wahl Avenue, which runs along Lake Park, as well as Wahl Park, are named for him.

Not much in known about Antonia.  She was born in 1835, the daughter of Dr. Johann George Guenther, a member of the Reichstag who was exiled after the Revolution in 1848.  The Wahls had three daughters, one of whom married the editor of the Milwaukee Journal. Wisconsin: Its Story and Biography, 1848-1913 quotes from the newspaper at the time of Mrs. Wahl’s death:

“Mrs. Antonie Wahl, widow of Christian Wahl, died at her home in this city December 3, 1909, and her death is mourned by a large circle of friends.  It is given to few persons to have so sweet a character as that of Mrs. Wahl. Gentle, considerate, and patient under all circumstances, she won the affection of all who came within the compass of her gracious influence.  Her charity was widespread, and she was tireless in her efforts to make life pleasant for others.”

The artist who painted Mrs. Wahl as a pleasant and fashionably-dressed lady of Milwaukee was Heinrich von Angeli.  An Austrian who specialized in portraits, Angeli was sought after by the courts of Europe.  His patrons ranged from Queen Victoria to Kaiser Franz Joseph to Grand Duchess Alexandra of Russia.

A Darwinian Prehistoric Social Party (The Un-Evolved Club Man of the Period) by Paul Friedrich Meyerheim (German, 1842-1915)

Paul Friedrich Meyerheim (German, 1842–1915), A Darwinian Prehistoric Social Party (The Un-Evolved Club Man of the Period), 1865. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Purchase. Photo credit P. Richard Eells

This work is probably one of the most unusual paintings on view in the gallery is on the north wall!  In a masterful composition, the German artist Paul Friedrich Meyerheim shows eight monkeys at a banquet.  The monkeys wear fancy trappings—coats, cuffs, and hats with plumes—and sit at a majestic table set with wine on an expensive marble floor, reminiscent of paintings such as Frans Hals’s Officers of the St. George Civic Guard of Haarlem.  It is clear, however, that the party has degenerated into a free-for-all.  It doesn’t take much analysis to realize that Meyerheim has used monkeys to lampoon the actions of humans.

For centuries before this, monkeys and apes were symbols in art.  Christian iconography saw them as evil and ugly, reminding humans to avoid appetite for material pleasures and sin.  By the 17th and 18th centuries, monkeys had taken on a more playful, mischevious role.  Many artists used them as a way to poke fun at people by putting them in human roles: Jan Breughel the Younger satirized the mania for tulips; Antonie Watteau depicted a “Monkey Sculptor”; and Jean-Siméon Chardin portrayed a “Monkey Painter”. Combine this with the elegant and exotic Chinoiserie style popular at the time, and you end up with a masterpiece such as Christophe Huet’s two rooms at the Château de Chantilly.  This type of decorative painting was called singerie, derived from singe, which in French means “monkey.”

The title of Meyerheim’s painting, however, shows that there is more to the interpretation. In 1859, Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of the Species was published.  The painting is dated just six years later.  The flurry of discussion on evolution–and the extrapolation that humans developed from apes, which Darwin wrote about in 1871’s The Decent of Man–led to various visual interpretations of the theory.  Many of them were satirical cartoons, particularly of Darwin himself.

But other artists took the use of monkey in art one step further and make comments on the human actions of the day.  In this painting, Meyerheim pokes fun at the gatherings of the 19th century, when things were not done until they were overdone.  A “Club Man” refers to social clubs, where a man would go to socialize with other men with similar interests.  These well-off men are obviously not the upstanding citizens they pretend to be!

I only had room here to talk about six of the paintings freshly out on view for Mr. Layton’s Gallery, but I think that you can see that there are many interesting stories to be told.

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Installing S. M. S. (Shit Must Stop) Number 4, 1968; note Roy Lichtenstein’s Folded Hat, vinyl hat construction, Purchase, with funds from Kit S. Basquin, George and Angela Jacobi with matching funds from Johnson Controls, and Jacques and Barbara Hussussian. M1995.290. Photo credit Nate Pyper.

William Copley (1919-1996) was an American art entrepreneur who was involved in every facet of the art world at one time or another during his career.

Copley worked as a painter, writer, gallery owner, collector, patron and publisher. He began painting in the early 1920s and identified with the Surrealists.

Surrealism was an art and culture movement that began in the early 1920s and persevered through the 1960s. It had a major influence on abstract expressionism, postmodernism and popular culture. It was founded in Paris by a small group of writers and artists who found that the conscious mind repressed the power of imagination, creating taboos in our culture and guilt in our actions.

S.M.S.¹ was an experimental magazine created by Copley during the turbulent year of 1968.

Installing S. M. S. (Shit Must Stop) Number 4, 1968; note Roy Lichtenstein’s Folded Hat, vinyl hat construction, Purchase, with funds from Kit S. Basquin, George and Angela Jacobi with matching funds from Johnson Controls, and Jacques and Barbara Hussussian. M1995.290. Photo credit Nate Pyper.

Copley published S.M.S. under The Letter Edged in Black Press, which he orchestrated from a rented loft on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. The space became celebrated for its utopian morale and welcoming working conditions, which included “a buffet perpetually replenished by nearby Zabar’s Delicatessen, an open bar, and a pay phone with a cigar box filled with dimes.”²

The Letter Edged in Black Press produced six issues of the periodical and it was made available only by subscription, as a way to bypass the gallery system and provide its collectors with an “instant art collection.” Each issue was designed as a portfolio with an index of works, but lacked any other edifying materials, thus avoiding any predetermined editorial or social commentary for its readers.

The artwork in each issue ranged from Dada to Pop, and took many forms of expression, including photography, audio pieces, drawings, poetry and performance. Beginning in February of 1968, a new issue was published bimonthly and sent out to all subscribers. The periodical only lasted one year.

The goal of this subscription-based art collection was inspired by the Fluxus Movement (1959-1978), which encouraged diverse artists, both famous and unknown, to come together in publication and performance. Fluxus artists did not agree with the authority of museums to determine the value of art, nor did they believe that one must be educated to view and understand a piece of art. Fluxus artists not only wanted art to be available to the masses, they also wanted everyone to produce art all the time.

S.M.S. did just that, bringing disparate artists together without the established boundaries of the art world onto an equal playing field. Regardless of reputation or medium, each contributor received $100 for their inclusion. Among the many artists and composers represented are Christo, Marcel Duchamp, Roy Lichtenstein, Man Ray, Richard Hamilton, Claes Oldenberg, John Cage, H. C. Westermann, and Yoko Ono.

Now, the question of course remains… how would these Dadaists and Fluxus artists feel about these periodicals being housed and displayed in museum collections–especially when their main tenets were to dismiss and mock the world of “high art” and the norms of bourgeois culture often associated with galleries and museums, and of course the authority that these institutions have on determining the value of art? Personally, I would like to think that their other ideology, of wanting art to be available to the masses, would be connected by our mission to collect and preserve art, presenting it to the community as a vital source of inspiration and education–though I may be viewing things through rose-colored glasses!

The following are additional photographs from the installation of issues 1 and 2. Enjoy!

Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art, Catherine Sawinski begins to layout Issue #1 in the case. Photo credit Nate Pyper

Exhibition Designer, David Russick is on hand to give the display that little something extra! Photo credit Nate Pyper

The cover design of S. M. S. Number 2 was designed by Marcel Duchamp; it is a removable record that can actually be played.

The final display.

The Herzfeld Print, Drawing and Photography Study Center is located on the Mezzanine Level of the Milwaukee Art Museum. Functioning as both a research space for classes and individuals, the Study Center houses the majority of the works on paper collection at the museum. The Mezzanine rotates through prints, drawings and photographs in our collection generally on a quarterly basis on our feature wall just outside the Study Center. We also feature cased works, such as artist books and other works, like the S.M.S. periodical. The museum has all six issues in our collection, and currently issues 3 and 4 are on view; to be followed by issues 5 and 6. We invite all visitors to view these works, and despite their un-abbreviated name, they really are suitable for all ages!

The Study Center is open by appointment for researchers 18 and up. Please feel free to contact: studycenter@mam.org or 414.224.3817 to schedule an appointment for your own private viewing and research. Requests should be as specific as possible and be scheduled at least two weeks in advance.

¹ S.M.S. stands for “Shit Must Stop”.
² Carter Ratcliff, “SMS: Art in Real Time,” from SMS: A Collection of Multiples. Exhibition Catalog. Published by Reinhold-Brown Gallery, NY. Oct. 1988.

–Tina Schinabeck, Collections Manager of Works on Paper

Hannah Baldwin (Canterbury, Connecticut, active 18th century), Bed Rug, 1741. Wool. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Purchase.

Edward Dwight followed Partridge as curator of the Layton Art Collection and began turning the collecting focus from European paintings to American paintings. In 1962, Dwight left the Milwaukee Art Center (which at that point consisted of the Layton Art Collection and the Milwaukee Art Institute collection, and is now called the Milwaukee Art Museum) to become director of the Munson-Williams-Proctor Art Institute.

Tracy Atkinson joined the staff, and Frederick Vogel became a Layton Trustee in 1965. Both Atkinson and Vogel continued collecting American art for the Layton Art Collection, focusing particularly on the decorative arts. This third section of the exhibition displays decorative arts masterworks from the Layton Art Collection. Instead of writing wall labels for the different pieces, Chipstone decided that it would be more interesting for visitors to hear the voice of the collector himself. We recorded Fred Vogel’s recollections about certain acquisitions, and afree audio guide with his “collector’s tour” is available inside the gallery.

Vogel provides art historical details for the objects, but also tells stories that give us, the visitors, insight into how those in charge of a collection go about acquiring objects. For example, Vogel and Atkinson originally concentrated on early decorative arts for the Layton Art Collection: “When available,” Vogel says, “the best thing to buy when you have nothing else [are] the rarest pieces you can find, because they don’t wait around and they’re not coming back.”

Hannah Baldwin (Canterbury, Connecticut, active 18th century), Bed Rug, 1741. Wool. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Purchase.

One of those early pieces is a 1741 bed rug, above. A bed rug is an elaborately woven object that was used in colonial America on a bed instead of a floor. The one on display is one of the earliest surviving bed rugs. Vogel remembers first seeing the bed rug at an exhibition in the mid 1970s at the Wadsworth Athenaeum. He was so enthralled by the object that he found out who owned it and kept in contact in hopes it would one day be up for sale. When the bed rug finally appeared at Christie’s auction house, Vogel acquired it for the Layton Art Collection. Vogel was attracted by the date the bed rug was created, the originality of its woven composition, its condition, and its known maker (Hannah Baldwin).

Nathan Lombard (Sutton, Massachusetts, 1777–1847), Desk and Bookcase, 1800–05. Cherry and pine with inlay of mahogany and unidentified woods with original brass hardware. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Purchase, Virginia Booth Vogel Acquisition Fund. Photo credit Gavin Ashworth

Another object on display with an interesting story is an exquisite inlaid desk and bookcase. The maker was not known when it was acquired for the Layton Art Collection, so it was bought as a beautiful example of a Federal desk and bookcase. Its creator, Nathan Lombard, was discovered less than six months after it was acquired, and suddenly a whole body of similarly decorated material was attributed to Lombard’s shop. Soon thereafter, a Nathan Lombard tripod candle stand went up for auction and brought in three times as much money as the Layton Art Collection had paid for their desk and bookcase. Needless to say, this desk was a very good deal!

I hope that you will come visit the Milwaukee Art Museum’s lower level and explore this last gallery in The Layton Art Collection: 1888-2013. Be sure to pick up the audio guide and listen to Vogel’s stories about the diverse objects. You may just begin thinking differently about why objects are important and about the kinds of objects you’ve acquired over time.

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Sèvres Porcelain Manufactory (Sèvres, France, established in 1756), painted by Denis Levé (French, active 1754–1805). Covered Chestnut Bowl and Stand (marronière), 1757–58. Soft paste porcelain, vert ground color, polychrome enamels, and gilding
tureen. Bequest of Mrs. Arthur J. Riebs given in memory of her father C.W. George Everhart, and her mother Lillian Boynton Everhart. Photo credit John R. Glembin

For thousands of years, chestnuts have been a nourishing food around the world.  They can be eaten raw, dried, boiled, baked, and roasted, or even ground into flour.  The ancient Greeks and Romans ate chestnuts. Roasted ones could be found for sale on the streets of Rome in the 1500’s and in America in the early 20th century; you can still find them offered by street vendors in countries such as China, the Philippines, Japan, and Turkey, and in Europe during the winter. (They are less familiar in the United States today because of chestnut blight, a fungus that killed off the chestnut trees in America during the early 20th century.)

But our subject today is the chestnut in France–18th century France, to be specific.

The Milwaukee Art Museum has in its collection a covered chestnut bowl and stand—you’ll find it in Gallery #8.  In French, these vessels are called marronière, which comes from the French word for the high-quality sweet chestnut, marron.

Sèvres Porcelain Manufactory (Sèvres, France, established in 1756), painted by Denis Levé (French, active 1754–1805). Covered Chestnut Bowl and Stand (marronière), 1757–58. Soft paste porcelain, vert ground color, polychrome enamels, and gilding
tureen. Bequest of Mrs. Arthur J. Riebs given in memory of her father C.W. George Everhart, and her mother Lillian Boynton Everhart. Photo credit John R. Glembin

A marronière was used to serve marron glace, or chestnuts candied in sugar syrup and then glazed.  The bowl has piercings that permit air circulation, which would help the chestnuts stay crisp and allow the extra syrup that is served on them to drip out onto the tray.  Not only a tasty dessert, but a dramatic and decadent one!

As you can imagine, this specialized bowl would be used by only the most well-do-to.  Chestnut bowls were optional components for a dish service, and they were very expensive because it was difficult and time-consuming to fire bowls with elaborate piercings.  In 18th century France, the most fabulous of marronière were made by the preeminent porcelain manufactory call Sèvres.

Sèvres was the French competition for the Meissen factory in Germany.  Founded in 1738 at the Château de Vincennes, it moved to the town of Sèvres (just west of Paris) in 1756. It was renowned for its high-quality porcelain, which was in great demand by the French court and the highest tiers of the aristocracy.  In 1760, after it suffered financial difficulties, King Louis XV took control of the company and severely restricted the production of porcelain at other locations.  His mistress, Madame de Pompadour, adored Sèvres and was instrumental in getting the king involved in the factory.

Today, Sèvres from the 18th century is in high demand from collectors who appreciate its Rococo style epitomized by vibrant colors and elegant design, as well as its royal connections.

The Museum’s chestnut bowl is an outstanding example for many reasons.  The beautiful green ground—called vert, from the French word for green—is the perfect foil to the gilding that highlights the elaborate piercings.  In the same way, the pristine white porcelain sets off delicately painted flowers, so indicative of the Rococo style.  The painted and pierced decorations on the bowl and tray compliment the shape to create one harmonious whole.

There are a few unique details that make this chestnut bowl superlative. For instance, the underside of tray is green.  Because the bottom of the tray would rarely be seen, it was usually undecorated.  It is clear that whoever owned this piece spared no expense!

And then there is the chestnut used for the handle on the lid.  Perfectly modeled, it gives a hint of the contents—which would have been a visual game appreciated by dinner guests.  It is extremely rare and most likely would have been made only upon special request of the owner.

By comparing it to other chestnut bowls, you can begin to see how extraordinary this one is.  Here is one from a sale at Christie’s and a similar one from the collection of the MFA Boston.  Art dealer Adrian Sassoon has one that looks more like a basket.  The Getty Museum has a basket-shaped pair with phenomenal color and openings in a intricate pattern (but no chestnut handle!).  A closer example is at the Detroit Institute of Arts, but again, it doesn’t have that charming chestnut handle.

Our chestnut bowl is part of a small but superb collection of 18th century Sèvres given to the Milwaukee Art Museum by Milwaukeean Noryne Riebs.  Mrs. Riebs was also a well-known collector of lady’s fans.  Upon her death in 1958, both of her collections, plus a wonderful portrait of Charlotte-Françoise DeBure (which I highlighted in an earlier post) came to the Museum as a bequest.  Mrs. Riebs was certainly on the look-out for the best: much of the Sèvres collection that is on display in Gallery #8 came originally from the collection of none other than J. Pierpont Morgan.

Mrs. Rieb’s husband was Arthur J. Riebs, president of the Riebs Co., a grain merchandising firm.  She was the daughter of a well-connected Oshkosh couple, C.W. George and Lillian Everhart.  George Everhart had owned the Challoner Company, which made a number of types of machines, and he was also the president of Giant Grip Horseshoe Company.

Thanks to the generosity of Noryne Riebs, our visitors can admire the rare and beautiful chestnut bowl—and wonder how candied chestnuts taste!

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Anthony and Alyssa Neff visiting the Museum, July 12, 2013. Photo by the author.

30 Encounters with 30 Americans is a ten week blog series showcasing the perspectives of thirty visitors to the Milwaukee Art Museum’s 30 Americans exhibition (June 14 – September 8, 2013).

Read about the experiences of these visitors–from couples to families, from students to scholars–and see how their thoughts compare to your own. What are visitors saying about this dynamic exhibition of paintings, sculptures, installations, photographs, video, and more made by African American artists since 1970?

From a husband and wife married nearly fifty years to a couple recently engaged, this week’s three conversations are all about pair experiences at the 30 Americans exhibition.

Conversation I: Anthony and Alyssa Neff

Anthony and Alyssa Neff visiting the Museum, July 12, 2013. Photo by the author.

Anthony and Alyssa Neff are father and daughter visitors from Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin.  Anthony is an accountant while Alyssa is a student at Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) studying Fashion Design in Atlanta, Georgia.  They took advantage of Anthony’s day off as an opportunity to visit the Milwaukee Art Museum.

#1 What did you think of the exhibition?
Anthony: It was much better than I thought. I thought it was going to be one medium, but it was various mediums with a lot more challenging questions…  I enjoyed it quite a bit.

Alyssa: I completely agree… I love the title, that’s it’s 30 Americans because I feel like in America, “African” always comes before “American.”  To see this exhibit as “30 Americans,” it was good to see it in the light of “this is American culture,” it’s a part of American culture…  I feel like in America, especially in history in grade school you learn about the revolutions, the civil wars, etc, etc.  However, you don’t cover the different minorities that play such a huge role in American history.  You don’t talk about the… African-Americans very much, or the Mexican-Americans... It’s like, yes, I am from this continent; however, America for me, that’s my culture.  That comes before the African part… its just so many different cultures that contribute to “America,” but so many of those are just disregarded as different entities.

#2 What would you say to people who are considering coming to see the exhibition/artwork?

Anthony: Come, yes I’d tell them to come. Also, take some time out.  If you… get the extra audio, you get a lot more information than you would not have gotten if you only reading the panels of the artist… That’s very, very helpful.  Especially the Nike Cave sculptures, those are just fabulous.  I wanted to take a couple home with me – I bought a postcard of one…  It was outstanding, come!

Alyssa: I would definitely say, “Come and get the audio if you don’t already have the background on these artists.”  Because I’m in art school, so I already have the background on some of these artists…  And then take your time.  I saw so many people rushing through the exhibit. You have to take the time to read and really understand what the artist was thinking…  You have to get into their mind to get the image that they are trying to portray.

#3 Please choose a particular artist or artwork that stands out in your mind. Comments or thoughts?

Anthony: The work of Kehinde Wiley… I think his take on classical pieces was just outstanding.  Some people may not like the idea that he did it, but I like the way he tried to transpose modern people to these classical pieces of work.  It was a brilliant idea.  There were a few brilliant ideas in there, but his work was probably what I liked the best.

Alyssa: I loved Kara Walker and Carrie Mae Weems. I just loved how they took images that were supposed to be so gruesome and kind of humanized them…  With the photography, especially Carrie Mae Weems, she made it so that these are no longer…  just on selling blocks, but rather actual people that you could see everyday.  With Kara Walker, she made… a gruesome storyline come to life.

Conversation II: David and Sharon Middleton

David and Sharon Middleton visiting the Museum on July 12, 2013. Photo by the author.

David and Sharon Middleton are retirees from Franklin, Wisconsin.  They will be celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary in two weeks with a lengthy excursion to Alaska.  Prior to their retirement, David Middleton worked at the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel on the business-side in transportation and circulation while Sharon Middleton held a position with the Milwaukee Chamber Theatre.

#1 What did you think of the exhibition?
David: I was quite struck by it for a number of reasons.  One of them was that so many of the art pieces used materials that I am not accustomed to seeing – collages.  Things I would never think of using myself or know how to use.  But, the other thing is that I have been unaware that there was so many fine African-American artists that we normally do not see in museums.

Sharon: I just loved [Nick] Cave.

#2 What would you say to people who are considering coming to see the exhibition/artwork?

Sharon: Oh definitely you should come to see it – it would be a shame not to.  That’s why we did because it will be over on the 8th [September 8, 2013] and we had to see it before it leaves…

David: Expect to be surprised and stunned.  I mean some of the coloring and things were so well done. You know, it’s a sad commentary in many cases on the history of our country.  It is not going to go away, so the best thing is to embrace it.

#3 Please choose a particular artist or artwork that stands out in your mind.  Comments or thoughts?

Sharon: I really like [Nick] Cave’s sculptures… All the beading and the one with the hair are just very unusual.  I kept going around, trying to find the front. [laughs]

Well, what did you think about the fact that his works are faceless?

Sharon: Oh, I liked that.

David: One of the artists I remember is Glenn Ligon.  I read all of it – well I did that with all of the artists – but especially with his because it seemed that he was struggling so hard to really put forth some ideas.  I began to appreciate what he was saying and doing even though it is not my experience.

Did you also appreciate the struggle because he is, in effect, struggling to showcase struggling?

David: Yes, that’s a good way to put it.  And that is always a very difficult because his experience, the black experience, is not my experience.  And when you are in the majority you just take all of these things for granted and you don’t even know you are getting all of these benefits.  It is only when you move out of that

So he must have been pretty successful to make you identify with him in that way?

David: Yes.

Sharon: I’m taken with Duck, Duck, Noose [by Gary Simmons]… It’s just that you never knew quite when it was going to happen to you.

Conversation III: Alexandrea Lenz and Matthew P. Hill

Alexandrea Lenz and Matthew P. Hill visiting the Museum on July 12, 2013. Photo by the author.

Alexandrea Lenz and Matthew P. Hill moved last October from Burlington to Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  Following their relocation, they became engaged to be married. The couple are members of the Milwaukee Art Museum.  Alexandrea Lenz is a student at UW-Milwaukee for Biochemistry and works full-time.  Meanwhile, Matthew is a Patient Care Assistant for the developmentally disabled.  During their leisure time, Alexandrea shoots digital photography while Matthew paints in acrylic and watercolor.

#1 What did you think of the exhibition?

Matthew: My first impression was that it was very colorful.  When you first walked in the door you see all the different colors and stuff so it was kind of cool.  I liked the abstract feel at first too.  There are a lot of different pieces, so it kept my attention.

Alexandrea: My first impression was of kind of like, “hmm, interesting” – some of the pieces lost me a little bit, some of them I thought were really cool.  I’m always that way. He [motions to Matthew] likes more of the abstract.  I’m more into conceptual photography and stylized stuff… I liked all of the color and stuff too though, and I liked a lot of the patterns. It made it a lot more interesting visually.

#2 What would you say to people who are considering coming to see the exhibition/artwork?

Alexandrea: I would say, just be very open minded and willing to really look into what they are trying to say.  For us, it might be kind of hard to understand at first what they are saying because of the background of a lot of it.  But, try to be open minded about it… when it might be something that is very different from what you would normally think about.

Matthew: There may be times when you are like, “Oh!”  You take a step back because something takes you by surprise.  Then, you read about and realize why they may have done that.

So, the art is educating you?

Alexandrea: Yes, it’s making me think outside of my normal box… Some of it, when I first walked up, I was like, “I don’t understand this.” Then, I really looked into it was like, “I feel uncomfortable in a way.”  But, then I was like, “Well, it’s good to feel uncomfortable because that is the point…”  You look at it and go, that’s uncomfortable, but you know that the purpose of the art is to make you think about it in that way.

Matthew: The people who have made [this artwork] are obviously very passionate about what they are feeling… and it really shows.

#3 Please choose a particular artist or artwork that stands out in your mind.  Comments or thoughts?

Matthew: Whore in the Church House [by Mark Bradford]. I liked it because it kind of looked like a map and then it looked like there was lots of different pieces put together at the same time.  It’s looks like a collage… It caught my attention because it was so different from anything else.

Alexandrea: I really liked the one of the guy in the normal street clothes on the horse [Equestrian Portrait of the Court-Duke Olivares by Kehinde Wiley].  It was made to look like a classical painting.  How he was galloping into the wallpaper – I thought that was really cool.  I like the meshing of the two styles, bringing the new in with the old.  In a way, it was amusing too because at first I laughed when I saw it.  But then when you look at the detailed work and all the actual talent that the painter has, it’s so cool when an artist is extremely talented and, at the same time, has a great sense of humor.

So, what do you think of transmuting a new, graphic artistic style upon such a traditional format?

Alexandrea: I think it is really cool because when you think of the entire theme.  A lot of this [exhibition’s artwork], in my point of view, has to do with racism.  When you think back in art history, whom do you see in art books and in art?  So, I think it’s really cool that they get to now take that and put who-ever they want in that role, instead of just all white people.

Anyone could be the man on the white horse.

Alexandrea: Right… He was all in urban clothes and… [the artist] didn’t have to make him a certain type of black person… He didn’t have to be wearing a nice suit or something to be up there [in the painting and on the horse].

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Check back next week for 30 Encounters with 30 Americans: Conversations IV – VI. 30 Americans is at the Milwaukee Art Museum from June 14 through September 8, 2013. For more information, please click here.

Sarah Rabinowe is a summer Curatorial Intern at the Museum.  Sarah is a recent graduate of the University of Michigan, and this autumn she will be moving to England to complete her Masters degree in History of Art and Visual Culture at the University of Oxford.

Christopher McIntyre and Robert Burns visit the Museum on July 24, 2013. Photo by the author.

30 Encounters with 30 Americans is a ten week blog series showcasing the perspectives of thirty visitors to the Milwaukee Art Museum’s 30 Americans exhibition (June 14 – September 8, 2013).

Read about the experiences of these visitors–from couples to families, from students to scholars–and see how their thoughts compare to your own. What are visitors saying about this dynamic exhibition of paintings, sculptures, installations, photographs, video, and more made by African American artists since 1970?

Ranging from a Wisconsin 30 artist to a young woman visiting the Milwaukee Art Museum for the first time, this week’s conversations are as marvelously varied as the parcipants.

Conversation IV: Christopher McIntyre and Robert Burns

Christopher McIntyre and Robert Burns visit the Museum on July 24, 2013. Photo by the author.

Friends Christopher McIntyre and Robert Burns are residents of Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Christopher McIntyre (otherwise known as CMP) is an artist and entrepreneur, founding the corporation CMP Perceptions Inc.  Christopher’s artwork is currently on view at the Milwaukee Art Museum as part of the Wisconsin 30.  Christopher describes his experience as a participant of the Wisconsin 30 exhibition as, “an inter-generational dialogue not only within the thirty artists… but also a good parallel to the 30 Americans.  It is good to be able to speak in fellowship with artists such as Hank Willis Thomas… and, then, be able to create community and revolution with the Wisconsin 30 artists such as Della Wells, Sonji Yarbrough Hunt, and Sherman Pitts.  The Milwaukee Art Museum has been great with reaching out to the community with all the free days. Milwaukee is an art city and this Museum is the logo.”

Meanwhile, Robert Burns came to the Milwaukee Art Museum to view the 30 Americans exhibition with Christopher. Robert is a father, business owner, and artist.  He primarily conducts exploratory photography, photographing the tunnels throughout Milwaukee as well as documenting the city’s street art.

#1 What did you think of the exhibition?

Christopher: The city needs it, the fact that this is the first time in the Midwest that 30 Americans in being brought, the fact that they brought it here, at one point the most segregated city in the United States. It speaks a lot about the progression of the city, the fact that the city is ready to accept it. From numbers that I have heard, the first weekend it opened almost 10,000 people came, so I was pretty enthused, the fact that people are receiving it well. The art, it speaks volumes and shows the artist’s depth and how they understand art history, how they are masters of certain mediums, and how these artists did not just meet together and say, “you know, we’re going to make an exhibition.” The Rubell family collected these pieces and they just flowed. It is all organic and it is really beautiful.

Robert: Oh, I was surprised by what I saw.  My main reflection was on the Duck, Duck, Noose [by Gary Simmons] piece, I had seen hoods like that before, but I had always assumed they were pillowcases with holes cut in them and I just found it totally disturbing that people manufactured like church-quality hoods like that…that is just a whole other level of hating people, needing special outfits to do it in? That is just a new idea to me; it is almost militarized- trying to create that uniformly.

And how does that relate back to the art you think?  

Robert: Wow, I think it really helped underline that hate’s the reality. For me, it took the idea of seeing photographs of burning crosses and stuff and just makes it really more relevant, especially the way they’re manufactured by a seamstress, a super-hateful seamstress…that is just a bizarre idea to me.

#2 What would you say to people who are considering coming to see the exhibition/artwork?

Christopher: Just come. Don’t think about it, just come. If you miss this, you are doing yourself a disservice. If you do not, you really do not like art – I’ll say it, you really do not like art if you do not come to this exhibition. That’s a charge… you had better come here.

Robert:  Come to this [exhibition. It]… is fantastic; I need to walk through all of this again. I think it is really interesting that this was collected by a single family… because that is a really interesting way to curate a show. You know, often times people just come up with an idea to curate a show or someone knows an artist… this was done over time and I would be curious to go back and find out how much time this was collected across.

#3 Please choose a particular artist or artwork that stands out in your mind.  Comments or thoughts?

Christopher: Hank Willis Thomas, of course, the Priceless piece because – coming from where myself and my buddy Trey come from – we see that a lot. A lot of funerals, a lot of police sirens, that speaks a lot to me for sure. On an abstract note, I think that Robert Colescott’s work is tight. Duck, Duck, Noose, That’s more real. I like [Mickalene] Thomas’s work… I like to really talk about all of them! They’re all really good but Hank Willis Thomas spoke to me a lot, also [Jean-Michel] Basquiat’s work. No cliché, I do like everything a lot…

Robert: The piece that stuck with me was the huge woodcuts along the back wall [Untitled by Kerry James Marshall], that was really cool… The size, and I love the color palette. I love woodcuts like that, it really just kind of pulled me in. Also how there are several pairs of them that seem like they could be their own piece.

Conversation V: Justin Henry and Marissa Mindiola

Justin Henry and Marissa Mindiola visit the Museum on July 24, 2013. Photo by the author.

Justin Henry and Marissa Mindiola have been dating for several years and currently reside in Waukesha, Wisconsin.  A lifelong inhabitant of Wisconsin, Justin is a full-time college student, who will be transferring to UW-Milwaukee this spring.  During the evenings, he works in a warehouse.  His opposite, Marissa has moved to five states with her most recent relocation to Wisconsin three years ago.  She works with children at a Unitarian Church, which her siblings and mother attend for services.  Beginning this fall, Marissa will join Justin at UW-Milwaukee.

1 What did you think of the exhibition?

Marissa: I really enjoyed it. I always like it when I go into an exhibit and I only recognize two or three of the artists because then I get to learn about a bunch of other artists that I would never have known about if I did not come.  We were talking about something in the gift shop that we thought was interesting…  [Hank Willis Thomas] did the two pieces on the Nike “V” branded on the head [Branded Head] and the chain on his foot [Get off on the Right Foot 1988/2007].  We thought it was odd that the postcard of those pieces were being sold in the gift shop when the pieces are comments on consumerism and the idea that you could own a person, but then you could now literally own a postcard of this piece… A lot of pieces touched on consumerism and how the media portrays some things as being for black people and then everything else is, by default, for white people.

Justin: I noticed that the exhibition was here because I really like the Kehinde Wiley piece you already have here by him [St. Dionysus from the Museum’s permanent collection] and I noticed that you that he was some of his other work was here [temporarily for the 30 Americans exhibition].

#2 What would you say to people who are considering coming to see the exhibition/artwork?

Marissa:  Do it not because it is a spectacle, or because it is exotic… [but] because you do not want to make it into a spectacle. You can want to observe it for what it is because it is just as valuable as any of the other artwork here… Especially if it [the history] is not something that you think about, or if racism and segregation is something that you want to avoid… you will not be able to avoid it here… Don’t come if you are trying to avoid history.

 Justin: I would say, “Do it for the right reasons.”

#3 Please choose a particular artist or artwork that stands out in your mind.  Comments or thoughts?

Justin:   I also really liked Jeff Sonhouse. His art was really good and she [Marissa] pointed out the diamonds thing that I never noticed.

Marissa: The pieces match [by going in a visual sequence] – they go from unlit to one where they are all burnt out and then there is a middle one that goes just between those two…

Justin: Where they [the diamonds] have just been burnt. And then in this painting [Visually Impaired] there are no diamonds in this painting.  I thought that was really nice because the shimmer was still there… They were beautiful and I liked the way they contrasted because… [Exhibit A: Cardinal Francis Arinze] was based on another one.

Conversation VI: Sheri and Emma Robertson

Sheri and Emma Robertson visit the Museum on July 24, 2013. Photo by the author.

Sheri and Emma Robertson are mother and daughter visitors from Columbus, Mississippi.  Sheri Robertson, a high school science teacher, grew up in Wisconsin and fondly remembers visiting the Milwaukee Art Museum  She came to the Museum for the day to share memories with her daughter.  Simultaneously, Sheri hoped to experience the new building, completed by architect Santiago Calatrava in 2001, and view what the museum currently has to offer its visitors. While Sheri is a high school teacher, Emma is a rising senior at the Mississippi School for Math and Science.  Emma is considering following in her mother’s footsteps by likewise becoming a teacher.

#1 What did you think of the exhibition?

Sheri: I thought it was really interesting. I mean, there were parts of it that was kind of sad to me because of the history of African Americans…especially the portion of the exhibit with the Ku Klux Klan masks, Duck, Duck, Noose – that one was especially hard and had an impact on me. Living in the South, I think we can relate to some more of those things than most people, just because we are from an area where there is still so much racism. The Civil War just does not seem like it was that long ago when you’re in the South… people still kind of hold those same lines. I also liked the parody found in some of the paintings, taking an old classical painting and reflecting on the thing that has changed.

Emma: I really liked it, it captured a broad spectrum of emotions for me…some of it was very sad, but then some of the brighter pieces were very joyful and captured the more fun and urban side of African American history. Some of the stuff from the past was really emotional, like the Ku Klux Klan thing. Being from the South I see that history in the South a lot, with people stuck in the past. There was some old stuff and some new stuff and I really liked that.

#2 What would you say to people who are considering coming to see the exhibition/artwork?

Sheri: I think it [the exhibition] is something that everybody should see… it was controversial and provocative, but it went outside of the box of what you would expect to see in an art museum. We did not know what to expect, so it was a nice surprise!

Emma: I think it’s a good opportunity to learn some history and see some emotion in art that actually raises the emotions out of you and is not just there. It actually interacts with you.

#3 Please choose a particular artist or artwork that stands out in your mind.  Comments or thoughts?

Sheri: We spent a lot of time in Birmingham, so the one that I could relate to the most – because we had seen the sight of the fire – was the old church sign, the cross, because we knew exactly where that took place. Also, the Duck, Duck, Noose, that was not necessarily my favorite, but that one… elicited the most emotion; the one that I will not forget.

Emma: There was a quote, one of [Glenn Ligon's] neon signs that said, “Sell the shadow to sustain the substance.” and that one just got me thinking most about interpreting what it could mean. I really like to read and I like literature so I like creative writing and phrase structure…the different ways you can provoke thought through words.  I really like art too, so it was a nice combination.  It was just so simple, the words on the wall…

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Special thanks to fellow Curatorial Intern, Anneliese Verhoeven for her assistance in the production of this week’s article.

Check back next week for 30 Encounters with 30 Americans: Conversations VII – IX. 30 Americans is at the Milwaukee Art Museum from June 14 through September 8, 2013. For more information, please click here.

Sarah Rabinowe is a summer Curatorial Intern at the Museum.  Sarah is a recent graduate of the University of Michigan, and this autumn she will be moving to England to complete her Masters degree in History of Art and Visual Culture at the University of Oxford.

Harold Wright with Amund Dietzel tattoos. Photo by the author.

Because he was a tattoo artist, Amund Dietzel’s most valuable works will eventually disappear by nature of his canvas.  The Museum’s Tattoo: Flash Art of Amund Dietzel exhibits photographs, equipment and designs of Dietzel’s work. In this interview, Harold Wright, a prep cook for the Museum’s own Café Calatrava, adds his own personal remembrances, and several Amund Dietzel tattoos in the flesh.

Wright was personally inked by Deitzel in his tattoo parlor. Here he recounts meeting Dietzel at the age of eighteen following the recommendation of his older brother, after which Wright and Dietzel developed a friendship that spanned many years – not to mention six tattoos.

Read on to find Wright’s story in his own voice.

The following is a transcription of conversation with Harold Wright, as told to Curatorial Intern Sarah Rabinowe on July 23, 2013.

Well, the first [tattoo] I got in 1960 when I was eighteen, and the second one shortly after. Every other year I got a tattoo [until Dietzel retired when tattooing was banned in Milwaukee in 1967] and I had it done by Dietzel.

Harold Wright exhibits his Amund Dietzel tattoos in Cafe Calatrava. Photo by the author.

The first time I met Dietzel was when my brother went down there and got all of his and then he told me about Dietzel and where I could get them where it wouldn’t be so painful and hurt as much… He had them all up and down him arm. He just came home one day and said, “Hey man, look at my tattoo.” My brother was born in 1936… I was born in 1942.  He was in the 32nd Infantry, the National Guard Division. He got a lot of name tattoos, “Mom” and “Dad,” and pictures of eagles and love birds, and then he had a skunk that says, “Nobody Loves Me,” and the skunk was holding a flower…

Wright’s Six Tattoos

Harold Wright’s Amund Dietzel tattoo. Photo by the author.

So I said OK and went down to [Dietzel] and the first one I got was the eagle. The second one was “Cheri,” a girl I used to go with. This he did free-hand, because there were no stencils for the names. Only three were stenciled. This one’s [motioning to his arm] a fly, and that’s “JoEllen,” and that’s “Charlotte”…see, there was coloring in here [indicating the fly tattoo at right] but it fades after so many years and all runs together.

Dietzel’s Patriotic Tattoos

I was in the infantry, classified 1A, so they called me in and I didn’t have a choice. Back then, you couldn’t have a tattoo when you went into the military; after you got out you could have them. But I mean, if you’ve got short sleeves on, you can’t hide them, unless you’ve got them in a place that doesn’t show. They don’t let you carry the big ones, I wanted to get a battleship on my chest but I couldn’t do that because it was too big. If you were in and then you got one, they could yell at you because that wasn’t up to military standard–they went by the book and didn’t mess around.

Dietzel’s Process

What he does is, he shaves the arm, then he puts charcoal on the stencil and makes an imprint. He takes it off and uses the needle to go around the outline of it… then he wipes it all off because by then all the details of it are already in there. He wipes everything off because you do bleed, he is cutting your skin. Then he adds the coloring. We use the same needles that he used back then because [he used] the throw-away needles that go to the gun.  [Ed. Note: In fact, one of the foremost tattoo guns today is called "Dietzel Tattoo Machine"!]

The thing about Dietzel is he was nice; if you were scared or something he would talk to you while he was doing it, so you would be more relaxed. Once you hear that needle go “buzzzzzz,” then you would jump because you could hear that, the humming of the needle. If you were nervous he would ask if you were scared, and if you said “yeah,” he would help you relax and talk to you… trying to make you laugh so you wouldn’t tighten up. We talked about everything; I asked him how he liked Milwaukee and he says, “It’s ok.” He said when he first got here, he didn’t know whether he’d like it or not. I don’t know where he came from… all I know is that he was here by the 1940s… I didn’t know how early he came here, I was a young whippersnapper.  I got my tattoos from him until he closed.

Harold Wright’s Amund Dietzel tattoo. Photo by the author.

A Lifetime Investment

Dietzel screwed up here [pointing to the "Charlotte" tattoo at left], so he didn’t charge me for it… he went a little bit over the line.  The little ones were only $1.75, but the bigger ones were more–$4.00, $5.00, $48.00 for a big one on the back or chest.  Back then when I was working it wasn’t much money, I was making $1.75 per hour, so I would have to save up my money in order to get a tattoo… I would shovel snow, or work at a small grocery store… and do odd jobs.

Two Minutes, Two Dollars

A couple minutes, “zip zip zip,” and he’s done… just write it on and that’s that. The eagle took the longest because of the detail… but the coloring was easy… It didn’t look like this [motioning to his eagle tattoo shown below]. All tattoos fade and the bright colors go because the dark colors close-in on them. Eventually I’ll have one big ink spot here because you can see how they’re all starting to blend in and come together.

Going to Paul’s

Paul’s was the second tattoo shop that opened downtown on 6th and Wisconsin… He was right next door to the restaurant called the Hickory Way.  I went in there because I wanted to see what kind of tattoos he had and how good he was, you know. So I asked other people and they said, “He’s OK, but if you want a good tattoo, go to Dietzel’s.”

Harold Wright’s Amund Dietzel tattoo. Photo by the author.

Prohibition – The Milwaukee Tattoo Ban of 1967

In a way I thought it was correct, because everybody was getting hepatitis and infection. People were getting sick and all of that, because they [the tattoo artists] weren’t sterilizing their needles and then use them on somebody else… people were getting swollen arms and everything from that.  But Dietzel would take alcohol and rub the needle and he would make sure there was no blood and no skin on the needle. If there was, he would take that out and throw it away… He would just toss it away and put a new one in [to his tattoo gun].  He had several guns… he would keep his trunk with his guns right by his chair and he would first mix the ink, then he would grab a gun and say, “Sit down, shut up, and give me your arm.” He’s… the father of tattoos here in Milwaukee.

Have you visited Tattoo: Flash Art of AmundDietzelyet?

Only once… A lot of memories were brought back by seeing the tattoos and the little building he was in… it was a small parlor; it wasn’t a huge big parlor. If you got four people in there you could hardly move. There are a lot of tattoos they [the curators] didn’t put up that he had. He had a ton of tattoos, all kinds under the sun.

Is there a particular aspect of the exhibition that struck you?

When I saw the older pictures of Dietzel it brought back memories. He was nice to talk to and every time I went past I would stop in and say hi and joke with him…

You would pick out the [design] you wanted on the wall and then he would go in the box and get the stencil that had that tattoo on it and sit you down. If you had a picture from a magazine or something that you wanted, but he didn’t have it, he would make a stencil of that and put it on you. Then he would destroy it because that was just yours… the personal ones didn’t cost any more.

What do you think when Dietzel is described as one of the pioneers of the “Americana” tattoo style?

I think it’s correct because I’ve talked to a lot of tattoo artists… and they said if it wasn’t for Dietzel, they wouldn’t be into the business as they are now.

[We] ought to give Dietzel more credit because he is actually a founding father of tattoos.

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Tattoo: Flash Art of Amund Dietzel is at the Milwaukee Art Museum from July 3 through October 13, 2013.  For more information, please click here.

Tattoo draws exclusively from the Solid State Tattoo Collection, courtesy of Jon Reiter.  For additional details on Amund Dietzel, Reiter has published two texts on the subject entitled, “These Old Blue Arms: The Life and Work of Amund Dietzel, Volumes 1 and 2.”

Special thanks to fellow Curatorial Intern, Anneliese Verhoeven for her assistance in the production of this week’s article.

Sarah Rabinowe is a summer Curatorial Intern at the Museum.  Sarah is a recent graduate of the University of Michigan, and this autumn she will be moving to England to complete her Masters degree in History of Art and Visual Culture at the University of Oxford.