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OUT OF LEFT FIELD |
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Eakins and Hoffman, Yes; Michael Kimmelman, No
of TheColumnists.com
Let’s be arty this week.
Let’s consider the rescue by the City of Philadelphia of one of America’s greatest paintings from the clutches of a Wal-Mart-based attempt to spirit it off to a hamlet in Arkansas.
Let’s acknowledge the work of a recently-deceased painter who is not a household name but whose work has brought admiration and pleasure to the subjects he painted and to those who are admiring his paintings.
And let’s give the back of the hand
to a snooty New York Times art critic whose nose is up in the
air when it comes to considering ordinary museum patrons.
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The great painting is “The Gross Clinic” of Thomas Eakins. The trustees of Thomas Jefferson (medical) University in Philadelphia recently made a deal to sell it to a partnership of a Wal-Mart Crystal Bridges Museum of Arkansas and the National Gallery of Art in Washington. The price tag was $68 million.
Alice Walton, the moneybags daughter (net worth of $18 billion) of Wal-Mart founder Sam Walton was using the Walton Family foundation as a vehicle to buy the painting. The good and great burghers of Philadelphia are in an uproar about the impending sale. There was, though, an out for the city. Because Wal-Mart caused a ruckus last year when it sort of sneaked off with an important painting, “Kindred Spirits,” from the New York Public Library, a special clause was put in “The Gross Clinic” sale which gave Philadelphia 45 days to match the sale price. In addition, Philly Mayor John Street tried to have the painting declared a national treasure so that it couldn't be moved without approval.
Eakins (1844-1916) is, of course, the Philadelphia painter, one of America’s greatest. He painted “Gross” when he was 31. It was purchased from the artist for $200 by Jefferson alumni and been at the hospital since 1878.
The eight-foot high canvas depicts Dr. Samuel Gross, a reknowned surgeon and educator at Jefferson, demonstrating the removal of a diseased bone from a patient’s thigh. The dark amphitheater is packed with Jefferson students; also Eakins himself; the anguished figure of the patient’s mother; and the monumental figure of Gross, his bloodied fingers clasping a scalpel poised in mid-gesture.
Eakins is my favorite painter. I went downtown to view “Gross” recently at Jefferson’s admission-free Eakins Gallery, a handsome, mahogany-walled and rug-covered room that includes a free recording about the painting. It is a striking work. Powerful. Andrew Wyeth, another Philadelphia area icon, says, “It is my favorite American painting.”
The painting has been called almost a metaphor for Philadelphia cultural history. “Gross,” like the painter who was dismissed from the Philadelphia Academy faculty for employing nude models in classes with female students, was rejected at first by a squeamish art establishment shocked by the subject and the bloody gore.
The Jefferson trustees said at first that the $68 million would go toward erecting new buildings. When that was greeted with scorn (“Buildings are replaced in 30 years, the painting goes on forever”), it back-tracked and declared the money would go toward medical research and teaching.
When the chips were down, the Philadelphia
movers and shakers, i.e. the moneybags people, came through with
the dough. Amidst much hoopla and contributions from people in
30 states, it was a group of philanthropic family foundations
who ponied up most of the $68 million.
"The Gross Clinic" will reside at the Philadelphia
Art Museum and the Philadelphia Academy. It will not split its
time as originally feared between the National Gallery in Washington
and the Crystal Springs Museum in the Wal-Mart headquarters,
the hamlet of Bentonville, Ark.
The cultureniks of Bentonville will have to look elsewhere for an icon that will nourish their artistic souls.
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Howard Hoffman was a professor of psychology at Penn State and Bryn Mawr College. And he was a painter. He died Aug. 31 at 81 in Haverford, Pa. and left a body of work around Philadelphia.
He was a whimsical man who painted in two distinctly opposite styles. His portraits conjured up the painter, Alice Neal, for its spare lines and strong color, with little or no background. He, like Neal, described his work as “letting the drawing show through.”
He also drew humorous watercolors that were in part influenced by the work of Paul Klee. They feature vibrant, pure colors as well as satiric and humorous elements. They consist of gingerbread man-like figures cavorting in lined squares amidst arrows and circles. His wife, Alice, calls them “boppy” paintings.
He underscored them with whimsical captions. Among them are:
“Some people wouldn’t recognize subtlety if it hit them over the head.”
“He set standards for himself and then failed to meet them.”
“Way down deep this work is superficial.”
“There are three kinds of people; those who can count and those who can’t.”
There is one kind of people: those who
have been the subjects of one of Hoffman’s portraits and
consider themselves the privileged ones.
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Michael Kimmelman,
the Times critic, wrote about a blockbuster Velazquez exhibit
at the National Gallery in London: “The retrospective is
without bells or whistles. Pictures are accompanied only by title
and date. A palm-sized pamphlet, handed to visitors, contains
descriptions of each painting, letting people read what and where
they choose. No scrums of craning necks grappling before distracting
wall texts. The idea should be universally copied.”
Attaboy Mikey: let’s not concern ourselves with the hoi polloi not fortunate enough to get one of those palm-sized pamphlets.
©2006 by Stan Isaacs. The copy of
"The Gross Clinic" is courtesy of the Eakins Gallery.
The reproduction of "On Life" is courtesy of the Hoffman
collection. This column first posted Dec. 18, 2006.
You
can comment on this column online. Please address your message
to either "The Editors" or Stan Isaacs. To send an
email, click here and don't forget to mention Stan's name: talkback@thecolumnists.com
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