Monday

20th C Art, Picasso

 

 

Pablo Picasso was an artist who changed a lot over his lifetime, and he's usually a big part of art history classes. To keep it simple, let’s just hit some key points.

If you compare Picasso’s early work to Paul Cézanne’s paintings, you can see how Picasso’s style started to shift. Cézanne had this way of breaking down objects into basic shapes, which influenced later artists. He didn’t use straight realism—he sort of broke things into parts that looked more abstract. This way of simplifying forms had a big effect on how Picasso thought about art.

Many people think Cézanne’s experiments helped open the door for Cubism, which Picasso later helped develop. Cubism uses flat shapes and different angles to show an object all at once. One example of this is Guernica, a painting Picasso made in 1937. It’s large—over 11 feet tall and more than 25 feet wide—and painted in gray, black, and white. It shows people, animals, and buildings in the middle of chaos, based on the bombing of the town of Guernica during the Spanish Civil War. The painting doesn’t follow traditional perspective. Instead, it uses overlapping and broken shapes, which are typical in Cubist work.

Before this, Picasso had already shown a lot of skill at a young age. When he was a teenager, he made drawings and paintings that showed he had a solid understanding of anatomy, shading, and proportion. His early pieces looked more traditional and realistic. Later, he started trying new things—using bolder lines, changing proportions, and playing with different ways of seeing the same object.

 

Picasso painted Science and Charity in 1897 when he was around 15 or 16 years old. It’s an oil painting on canvas, and it's now in the Museo Picasso in Barcelona. At the time he made it, Picasso had already developed strong technical skills. The painting shows careful attention to anatomy, shading, and composition, which are usually taught much later in an artist's training.

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The scene in the painting shows a woman lying in bed. On one side of her is a doctor taking her pulse and recording something. On the other side, there’s a nun holding a child. The figures represent two different kinds of help. The doctor stands for science or medicine, while the nun and child represent charity or faith-based care. The title, Science and Charity, names both of these.

Picasso’s father, José Ruiz Blasco, was an art teacher who taught him to draw and paint. Picasso started learning formal art techniques from a young age. He spent time at the Escola de Belles Arts in Barcelona, where his father also taught. By the time he was a teenager, he had already learned the traditional academic approach to painting, including how to build a composition and how to use light and shadow.

This painting was made during a period when young artists were expected to copy classical models and master academic painting before experimenting with new styles. Science and Charity was exhibited in local art shows in Spain and received awards. The people in the painting were modeled from real life—Picasso used his father as the doctor figure.

The painting’s style follows the realist tradition. The figures are shown with lifelike detail, and the setting includes recognizable objects like the iron bed frame and the glass bottle, which help place the scene in a hospital or home care environment from the late 1800s. There are no symbolic objects beyond the figures themselves and their positions. The nun and the child were often used in art of this time to suggest care or religious support, but Picasso doesn’t include any supernatural imagery.


 

This painting was made around the time Picasso finished his formal training as an art student. The subject he chose connects to an earlier tradition in painting—specifically, he’s referencing a theme that artists like Édouard Manet explored. One example is Manet’s The Absinthe Drinker, painted in the 1850s. That subject—a lone person drinking absinthe, a strong alcoholic drink that was also believed to have mind-altering effects—appears in several 19th-century works. Absinthe was popular among some writers and artists, who thought it helped spark creativity.

Picasso's version of the absinthe drinker shows he’s working with the same idea, but using a very different style. Instead of repeating Manet’s approach, Picasso uses what would have been considered a non-traditional or modern visual language at the time. While Manet’s work focused more on realism and used careful shading and proportion, Picasso distorts the figure. He uses flat shapes, strong outlines, and highly saturated colors that aren’t naturalistic. These choices are similar to what artists like Paul Gauguin and Vincent van Gogh were doing in the late 1800s—Gauguin, for instance, often used flat color fields and heavy outlines, and Van Gogh used thick, energetic brushwork and intense colors.

In this painting, Picasso uses a female figure instead of a male one, and the composition is more stylized. The figure is drawn in a way that ignores strict anatomical accuracy, with simplified shapes and exaggerated features. This kind of distortion hadn’t really appeared in European art before, at least not in a deliberate and structured way. There’s also influence from ukiyo-e, a kind of Japanese printmaking that became widely collected in Europe in the late 1800s. These prints often used flattened space and bold outlines, and they helped European artists rethink how to compose an image.

By the early 1900s, photography had made it easier to capture realistic images, so painters were no longer expected to just copy the world as it looked. This gave artists like Picasso more room to explore personal or symbolic uses of color and form. His use of distortion wasn’t accidental—it was a conscious decision to break from earlier rules and experiment with how figures could be represented. The choice to make the figure look simplified or childlike doesn’t mean it was unskilled; Picasso had already shown he could paint with realism earlier in his life. Instead, this approach reflects a shift in what painting could be used for.

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20th C Art, Mark Rothko

 

Mark Rothko was part of color field painting, a branch of Abstract Expressionism. This movement focused on large areas of color that seemed to float or spread across the surface of the canvas. In earlier lessons, Jackson Pollock came up as another key artist in that movement during the 1950s in New York.

 

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Pollock gained attention through the support of several art critics who wrote reviews of his work in newspapers, magazines, and books. These critics played a big part in shaping how his art was received. Pollock’s public image also contributed to his reputation. In photographs and film, he was often shown as a dramatic figure, sometimes described as having a shamanistic approach to painting—meaning his process seemed ritual-like or connected to a deeper, mysterious energy.

Not everyone agreed with how his work was described. Some people, like the illustrator Norman Rockwell and other critics, made fun of his art, calling it things like “apocalyptic wallpaper.” They didn’t understand what he was doing or why it mattered.

 

From a more technical point of view, Pollock's paintings are large canvases that almost feel like walls of texture and movement. The scale and layering of paint can fill your entire vision. Some art writers have compared them to landscapes—not because they show land or nature, but because the experience of looking at them can feel immersive. You can see where the artist moved his hand, how the paint was applied, and how different colors overlap or sink into the canvas. There’s a sense of depth, even if there’s no clear subject.

This idea of spiritual or emotional depth also shows up in color field painting, especially in the work of Mark Rothko. His paintings often involve soft-edged rectangles of color that seem to hover or dissolve into each other. Like Pollock’s work, Rothko’s paintings are meant to be experienced up close, where the colors and subtle shifts in texture surround your field of vision. Some viewers and critics have said that Rothko’s work, too, has a spiritual feel, not because it’s tied to any religion, but because of the way it creates a quiet, reflective space through simple color and scale.

Some art critics have linked Mark Rothko’s work to a concept from the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche called the Apollonian-Dionysian conflict. It’s a complicated idea, but the basic idea is that the human mind is always balancing two forces—one that’s calm, structured, and orderly (Apollonian), and one that’s wild, emotional, and chaotic (Dionysian). It’s hard to say whether that really connects directly to Rothko’s paintings, but some critics see that kind of push and pull in his work.

One thing that stands out when you look at Rothko’s paintings is how they can feel like landscapes, even though they’re completely abstract. He often painted soft-edged rectangles that float in layers, and the way the colors are arranged can feel like a horizon or open field. In some of his pieces, the colors seem to move in space. A bright color might seem to come forward while a darker one seems to fall back.

In one painting, the intense blue feels like it’s coming forward off the canvas, as if it’s floating above the other colors. That kind of effect can make the painting feel like something you could walk into, almost like you’re traveling through it. That’s part of what makes looking at it a physical experience, not just a visual one.

This particular painting might be the clearest example of how Rothko’s work can feel like a type of abstract landscape. The colors don’t describe real things, but the way they interact creates a kind of space. That sense of space—how color pulls you in or pushes you out—has been linked by some people to a spiritual feeling, though Rothko himself didn’t always explain his work that way.

Before diving deeper into how he used color, it helps to get familiar with some basic ideas from color theory, since that’s a big part of how these effects happen.

To really get what’s going on in color field painting, it helps to know a few basic terms about color. A lot of this probably came up in elementary school, but it's worth going over again.

Color has three main properties. First is hue, which is just the name of the color—like red, blue, or green. Then there's value, which refers to how light or dark a color is. Value is important when you're thinking about shading and things like chiaroscuro—that’s an old art term for using light and dark to create depth. The third property is intensity (sometimes called saturation), which has nothing to do with how light or dark the color is. Instead, it’s about how pure or strong the color looks. A very intense color is bold and vivid; a less intense one looks dull or grayish.

 

To understand how these parts of color work together, it's helpful to start with the color wheel. At the center of the color wheel are the primary colors: red, yellow, and blue. You can’t mix any other colors to make them. But if you mix two primary colors together, you get a secondary color. Yellow and blue make green. Red and blue make purple. Red and yellow make orange.

There’s also a third category called tertiary colors, which are made by mixing a primary and a secondary color. For example, mixing yellow and orange gives you yellow-orange. These combinations are used to describe more specific shades.

If you mix all three primary colors—red, yellow, and blue—you get a kind of brown. Depending on how much of each color you use, you can end up with different types of brown: reddish brown, yellowish brown, bluish brown. That’s where color temperature comes in. Colors like red, orange, and yellow are called warm colors because they’re linked with heat and fire. Colors like blue, green, and purple are considered cool colors because they’re associated with water or shade.

Another idea that’s useful here is complementary colors. On the color wheel, a complementary color is the one that’s directly across from another. For example, blue and orange are complements. When you mix a color with its complement, the result is a less intense version of that color. It kind of dulls the color or makes it more neutral, depending on how much of each one you use.

 

These relationships—between warm and cool colors, between complements, and how colors are mixed—are really important when you look at how artists like Rothko use color to create space and movement in their paintings.

Here’s a color wheel, and what we’re doing is sampling colors from it to see how they interact. Let’s start with orange, and then take its complementary color, which is blue—right across from it on the wheel.

 

Now, imagine you take that blue and spray a little of it over the orange using an airbrush tool. What happens is the orange starts to darken and lose its intensity. The color becomes duller. It might start to look a little purplish or peachy at first, and then turn kind of brown. That’s what happens when you mix complementary colors like orange and blue—over time, they cancel each other out and make a muddy or brownish color.

But if you don’t mix the colors—just place one on top of the other without blending—you see a different effect. For example, putting a solid blue dot right on an orange background makes the blue really stand out. That’s because complementary colors create strong visual contrast when they’re placed side by side without mixing.

If you put that same blue dot on a color closer to blue—like a green or a blue-green—the effect is much weaker. It doesn’t pop out as much because the colors share some of the same base qualities. You’ll also notice the role that value plays here. Value means how light or dark a color is. If the blue and the green are both dark, they blend more. If the orange and the green have similar lightness or darkness, the effect is softer. But even when the value is similar, a blue dot still stands out more on orange because of the complementary contrast.

 

You can see the same thing happen with warm colors. If you place an orange dot on a blue background—or on colors that contain blue—it seems brighter and more intense. But if you place orange on yellow, yellow-orange, or even green, it doesn’t stand out as much.

This shows how color relationships affect how we see things. Complementary colors create strong contrast and can make each other seem more intense when placed side by side. That contrast is part of how artists create visual energy in a painting without using clear shapes or lines. 

 

Let’s go back to the color discussion and focus on value. Value is about how light or dark a color is. A good example is this strip of 50% gray. Even though the gray is the same all the way across, it can look lighter or darker depending on what surrounds it. Near lighter areas, it seems darker; near darker areas, it looks lighter. This is all about how our eyes react to contrast.

This same effect happens when you combine colors, especially complementary colors. For example, when you place an orange strip on a blue background, the orange can appear more intense—not just in hue, but also in value. It might seem to glow or float above the surface, even though it’s flat.

Mark Rothko used these color relationships intentionally. He often placed warm colors like red against cool colors like blue or green to create a kind of visual movement. In one of his paintings, you might see red pulling forward while blue seems to fade back, and a field of green hanging somewhere in between. That green acts almost like a middle ground, helping to create depth or the feeling of space—just through color, not through drawing or perspective.

 

Rothko didn’t use digital tools or airbrushes like someone might today. Instead, he thinned oil paint with mineral spirits and applied it in thin, layered washes. These transparent layers are sometimes called veils. Because he used so much thinner, the paint didn’t always stick well to the canvas. The binder in oil paint—linseed oil—helps hold the pigment together, but when it’s too diluted, the color can rub off. That’s made preserving some of Rothko’s work difficult. Museum conservators have to be especially careful because even touching the surface can remove pigment.

 

Despite that, Rothko’s approach had a strong visual impact. He focused on the way colors interacted, especially the tension between warm and cool tones. Not every painting worked the same way, and some were more effective than others. Still, his work became very well-known, and he was represented by top galleries in New York. Galleries like Marlborough competed to show and sell his work. At one point, they even visited his studio trying to buy paintings directly from him instead of going through other dealers.

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Sunday

ABOUT SHARING OUTRAGE POSTS

 SHARING OUTRAGE?
I'm not outraged by the stuff that's meant to outrage us.  

I think it's exactly the kind of thing I expected from bigots to say and think.  It's more of a problem that they have such an enormous way of broadcasting their ideas.  I keep wondering that the fact that we think about, share, and express outrage over their idiotic opinions may do the opposite of what we would like to have happen.  

Every time we engage with a bigots ideas in print, and social media, the ideas get rebroadcasted and restated.  Sociologists suggest that it reinforces and normalizes their ideas every time we re-engage and restate outrages, bigoted, and fascist ideology.

I'd rather look at pictures of your family and pets.