The good news is that, taking a gander over to the press page of the Art Institute of Chicago web site, we found, above, Claude Monet’s 1877 oil painting “Arrival of the Normandy Train, Gare Saint-Lazare,” on view as part of the exhibition Monet and Chicago which opens September 5. The bad news is that the AIC press service (mis)contends that the maitre de Giverny (1840–1926) is “often referred to as the ‘Father of Impressionism.’” I hate to indulge in another flack attack — You know me, Al — but there are at least two things wrong with this statement: 1) It suggests that the press service takes its audience for idiots who can’t tell Monet from Manet unless they employ a qualifying adjective even if it’s erroneous, and 2) Monet was not the father of Impressionism, but rather one of its most successful initial proponents, his painting “Impression of the Sunset” giving its *name* to the style. If the school had any fathers, they were Eugene Delacroix and Camille Corot, the latter of whom set the example in his ‘pleine air’ capturing of the rustling of leaves in the wind and refracted and reflected light on water, and gave both Camille Pissarro (the movement’s father figure, to borrow a term from the late George Michael) and Berthe Morisot (who could make a good case for being its mother) their first Paris lessons in color values. (At his studio on what is now called the rue de Paradis, across the street from where we lived 140 years later.) With Emile Zola — with whose “The Human Animal” Monet’s tableau above should be looked at in tandem — as a sort of godfather, and his grandest artistic cause Edouard Manet (Morisot’s brother-in-law) as an uncle. Painting from the collection of the Art Institute of Chicago, Mr. and Mrs. Martin A. Ryerson Collection. — PB-I
Lloyd Knight of the Martha Graham Dance Company in the “Moon Duet” from Martha Graham’s 1952 “Canticle for Innocent Comedians.” Photo courtesy Lake Tahoe Dance Festival.
Copyright 2020 Paul Ben-Itzak
(This Dance Insider Interview is sponsored by Freespace Dance and Slippery Rock Dance. Like what you’re reading? Please show your appreciation today. You can donate to the Dance Insider & Arts Voyager through PayPal by designating your payment to email@example.com , or write us at that address to learn how to pay by check. The interviewer dedicates this piece to Jamie, without whom it would not have been possible.)
Here in rural France — where the natural wonders certainly don’t leave us wanting for diversions — when it comes to onstage summer spectacles, the best we can hope for is tired family circuses starring lions that should have been retired long ago, subsisting largely thanks to regional funding. Back in my home state of California, meanwhile, straddling the frontier with Nevada, for eight years the denizens of Lake Tahoe have come to expect much more: a local festival with an international reach and historic scope, with Lake Tahoe Dance Collective Lake Tahoe Dance Festival founders Christin Hanna and Constantine Baecher, director of the Copenhagen International Choreography Competition, doing the archival work that many dance enterprises with much more resources have all but abandoned, and resurrecting forgotten treasures by the pioneers who made the American dance scene, coupled with new work. As proof of the loyalty they’ve engendered — and that rural residents and vacationers aren’t country bumpkins when it comes to art and will support profound work — they’ve done this with only 30 to 40 percent of the means coming from foundation and modest public grants, the remainder donated by individuals and local businesses. “That was of course different this year,” says artistic director Hanna, who performed with Oakland Ballet, Ballet New York, and Cincinnati Ballet and was a founding member of New Chamber Ballet, on whose behalf she returned to her native Tahoe City in 2006 to initiate a performance and summer workshop. “But we’ve seen our donors step up to make sure we stick around and can offer a wonderful program next year.”
For this year, given that the festival normally performs outside to a modest 400-person capacity audience, it might have been easy for Baecher and Hanna to justify continuing the live event, simply requiring masks and limiting admission to allow social distancing, perhaps making up for the budget shortfall by augmenting the modest $30 ticket charge. Instead, they took the only responsible route a festival operating in one of the areas hardest hit be the Corona virus can: While a Young Dancers Workshop will still be offered live — in a portable outdoor studio and ensuring strict social distancing (see below) — the festival is migrating online, broadcasting three nights of mixed programs from past years and newly recorded for this year by artists meant to feature in the 2020 edition, each interlaced with thematic artist interviews and introductions of the work. Broadcast live at www.laketahoedancecollective.org on July 22, 23, and 24 at 6 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time, the programs will remain accessible for 24 hours, with a requested donation of $25. ($75 donors receive a tee-shirt and a wine glass.)
Online or in-person, this event is a vital tonic for these times and for my home state and its neighbor. Perusing the photographs of past performances and of the jubilant hosts on the outdoor stage whose backdrop is the most magnificent, blue-est lake in the world, one can’t help but think of an episode of the t.v. Western “Bonanza” in which Hoss succeeds in calming a raging giant of a man by showing him his favorite spot… a rocky shore on this Lake.
Keeping with the electronic spirit of the event, I interviewed Christin Hanna via e-mail. Her answers, as you’ll see, reflect not only a dance pedigree that also includes training with Margaret Banks’s Nevada Festival Ballet, Joffrey Ballet School, and American Ballet Theatre’s summer school, but a combination of local investment and dance-historical awareness that, while not unheard of at the ‘regional’ level (such as Marcello Angelini’s Tulsa Ballet) or in ‘little’ New York companies (Diana Byer’s New York Theatre Ballet) is rare to find at this — or any — level of the dance eco-sphere.
Paul Ben-Itzak: Ballet companies (American and European) typically have a historical blind-spot when it comes to preserving and presenting indigenous choreographers of the first part of the 20th century, outside Balanchine and Graham. And for the few contemporary dance-makers they retain, it tends to be the same ol’ same ‘ol. (For example, for Agnes De Mille, “Rodeo.”) The Lake Tahoe Dance Festival, by contrast, features choreographers from this epoch rarely produced outside their own companies, where those companies still exist (Hawkins) or ethnically-linked troupes (Ailey for Horton). You seem to have chosen to focus on this slice of our history, rather than, say (given the preponderance of ballet dancers on your guest roster) an assortment of duets and divertissements from classical and romantic ballets, or even Balanchine or Robbins work (where you could profit from the several experienced dancers of their pieces among your performers, including Wendy Whelan, Stephen Hanna, Abi Stafford and Ashley Bouder). Why? (Feel free to disagree with my premise.)
Christin Hanna: Well, we were actually able to add Balanchine, but you’re right. When we founded the festival in 2013, we wanted to create a program that would educate an audience about dance, and you can’t get a real sense of what dance is without knowing where it came from, and also attract dance aficionados for the unique programming. Additionally, I returned to my home of Lake Tahoe to create culture here in the performing arts, inspired by my time performing at Jacob’s Pillow. Growing up here, I had only a 4-hour drive to San Francisco to see world-class dance, and locally we are a community of Olympic athletes — ski racers, mountain climbers, and ultra-marathon runners.
A great example you recognize is the work of Erick Hawkins, which is relatively unknown compared to Graham and Taylor. Hawkins was actually a member of Balanchine’s Ballet Caravan, before marrying Martha Graham and becoming one of her first male dancers, then breaking off on his own. To see this lineage in his work is absolutely incredible, and to be able to present the three to show the audience this context is vital.
We also have a Lester Horton work, and many don’t know that Lester Horton was a prolific choreographer in addition to developing a modern dance technique, known the world over. He actually ran the first multi-ethnic dance company in the United States, in Los Angeles, and when he passed it was the dance critic and writer Frank Eng who sent Horton’s dancers, Alvin Ailey and Carmen De Lavallade among them, east to Jacob’s Pillow in a car to perform!
Paul Ben-Itzak: As a supplementary question to the above, the conventional wisdom would be that in a resort community like Tahoe (if not year-round, at least during the summer period) not necessarily ‘educated’ to ballet and just expecting extravaganza or “pretty,” one would present more known, popular, or ‘spectacular’ works. Your programming seems to owe more to the type of ballet-archeologic ‘curio’ curating one might find at, say, New York Theatre Ballet, which (while fascinating to notators and ballet eggheads like me) might be more interesting to the Ballet and Modern ‘insider’ than the general public. Why this choice? And how do your audiences respond?
Christin Hanna: One of the things we didn’t necessarily plan, but that I’m extremely pleased with, is that the feeling of the festival is one that is quite intimate, an up close and personal experience where the audience can hear the dancers breathe. As most locals and visitors usually find themselves in Tahoe because of the outdoor recreation, everyone is an athlete, and can identify with that visceral, physical sensation, even if they are new to viewing dance. Part of the reason we show a range of styles is for those new audiences to start to understand what their own personal taste is as they come to watch more dance. For most of our audience, that may just only be the performances we put on year after year.
Paul Ben-Itzak: And an ancillary question to the last: Who is your audience? Is it as typically ‘gray-headed’ (as a former Kennedy Center president, Lawrence T. Wilker, once put it to me) as that of many ballet companies? (Feel free to question my premise here too; it’s been a while since I’ve attended a live ballet performance.)
Lake Tahoe Dance Festival founders Christin Hanna and Constantine Baecher, at home in their kingdom.
Christin Hanna: The very first performance we held was a spring showcase at the high school auditorium (we have no other indoor performance space) with seven young dancers and four guest professionals. The next week a man wearing full work gear stopped me in the aisle of the grocery store. He said, “You’re that ballet lady!” and I wasn’t sure what was coming next, but he continued, “My son has a crush on one of your dancers, so he dragged us all to the performance last week. I’ve never seen anything like that and I was really blown away!” This is the perfect example of why I’m doing what I’m doing, and that moment was such a wonderful affirmation following our first show. This person was not someone who was going to spend his vacation going to New York and attending a performance at Lincoln Center. Our organization gave him the opportunity to be welcomed into a new experience that he might not have had otherwise.
Our audience is quite diverse, and of all ages. Naturally, in the summer in Tahoe we have a variety of visitors, so this group is really looking for a special evening on vacation. Our locals have been tremendously supportive of the festival and our organization in general; they see the quality of what we’re bringing in and are thankful beyond imagination. In general, the fact that we bring such big names is what may attract those who have not come before, because it’s someone from NEW YORK CITY!
I must also say that we have steadfastly kept ticket prices to performances below $30. It’s my personal feeling that performing arts organizations, commercial or non-profit, have to really keep an eye on who it is who can actually [afford to] come to the theater; I’m talking pre-Covid of course. And there are certainly a number of outreach programs, etcetera, but I’d rather sell 400 tickets at $30 than 75 tickets at $150. The point of this art form is to share it and to touch people’s lives. Someone who makes minimum wage should be able to come to the ballet.
Paul Ben-Itzak: How have the directors you’ve worked with influenced you in this ‘preservation’ optic?
Christin Hanna: Those who have influenced the preservation side of things are actually my collaborators, starting with Constantine Baecher, my best friend and co-founder of the festival. We both see the landscape of dance as deeply inclusive of the past, in addition to simply [being aware] that DANCE can mean a lot of different things to different people, which brings us around the world stylistically and more.
Our teacher from when we met as students at American Ballet Theatre, Daniel Baudendistel, is a treasure of historical information, and he joins us for a portion of the online presentation as well. Also, we’re just old enough to have come up as students before YouTube, and I still have all my VHS tapes from when I recorded PBS broadcasts of performances. We were so hungry as young people to see and know more. Kristina Berger, who brings the Horton and the Hawkins, also comes every year and her connection to those entities is a profound part of her artistry and teaching. I guess you can really just say that we’ve all gravitated to one another with the shared interest of keeping the past alive.
Paul Ben-Itzak: Tell me about Agnes De Mille’s “The Other,” one of the works which will be featured.
Christin Hanna: As you mentioned earlier, I feel like De Mille is one of those from whom we don’t get to see the treasure trove past “Rodeo,” or her work on Broadway. My friend Stephen Hanna actually had the idea, and at first we were looking at “A Rose for Miss Emily,” however that one is quite dark and we didn’t think it would work excerpted out of doors. Anderson Farrell of the De Mille working group sent us “The Other,” and we fell in love with it.
The composition of this photograph — and thus the achievement of photog Jen Schmidt in capturing this moment of Abi Stafford and Stephen Hanna performing the duet from Agnes De Mille’s “The Other” at the Lake Tahoe Dance Festival in 2019 — is not so banal as it might at first appear. Au contraire, it makes a profound statement about the most fundamental gift of the true Danseur Noble. First, Hanna had to transcend the potential distractions in this outdoor performance: The most luminous lake and most legendary trees in the world in the backdrop; the dude in the baseball cap in the front row. Next there’s the standard challenge to the male partner: to make it look easy and effortless. Then there’s the challenge visible, or palpable, only to the ballerina: in two hands he needs to communicate not just “I won’t drop you” but “You’re free to fly”; the only physical concern of that woman should be the precision in her limbs and fingers. Most (good) ballerinos only get to this point. What Hanna achieves here — besides freeing his partner to achieve grace — is his own form of grace. Don’t yet see it? Hint: Feets, don’t fail me now!
Paul Ben-Itzak: What if any Antony Tudors will you be presenting?
Christin Hanna: We’re thrilled to be presenting the opening section of “Jardin aux Lilas,” which pairs beautifully with the De Mille as it was she who suggested Tudor to founder Lucia Chase in the early days of Ballet Theatre, in addition to the fact that both works explore that timeless theme of unrequited love!
Paul Ben-Itzak: For the De Mille and the Tudor, who will be staging, and to what degree will they or you be referring to Labanotated scores of the works?
Christin Hanna: Diana Gonzalez-Duclert staged the “The Other” on Stephen and Abi [Stafford] last spring before the 2019 Dance Festival; we’ll be showing archival footage of that. Diana was De Mille’s rehearsal assistant and originated the role Abi danced. As for the Tudor, we have graciously been lent footage by Diana Byer at New York Theatre Ballet from a performance in 2013. NYTB has presented many of Tudor’s works, as well as De Mille’s.
Paul Ben-Itzak: Any other works or choreographers on the programs to be presented you’d like to highlight?
Christin Hanna: We’re always particularly excited to show works being made today by budding choreographers, so we’ve selected our favorites from past festivals to showcase. One of these is “Red-Spotted Purple,” which is danced by Ashley Bouder, who commissioned the work for her Ashley Bouder Project performance at the Joyce in 2018 and then brought it here that summer. Ashley’s company is dedicated to furthering the inclusion of women and marginalized people in leadership roles in the performing arts world, and this work was an all-female collaboration with composer Stephanie Ann Boyd and Lauren Lovette, a principal dancer with New York City Ballet and a budding young choreographer. In our third night, we highlight contemporary works that have previously been shown here in Tahoe. One of note is by Bryan Arias, whom I knew when he was a student, and who has become a phenomenal dancer (Nederlands Dance Theater, Kidd Pivot) and choreographer too. In 2014, he brought his dance partner Rachel Fallon to perform a section of his work “Notice,” which had won the Copenhagen International Choreography Competition that spring, which my co-director Constantine Baecher founded. His career has blossomed; he’s currently making a work at the Bolshoi!
Paul Ben-Itzak: Any chance the festival will eventually produce any of the ten ballets by Martha Graham which belong to the public domain (thus, no royalty costs, no Graham trust to go through): “Appalachian Spring,” “Night Journey,” “Chronicle/Steps in the Street,” “Lamentation,” “American Document,” “Heretic,” “Flute of Krishna,” “Frontier,” “Panorama,” or “Celebration”? “Appalachian Spring,” with its grand score and evocation of mountains, would seem particularly appropriate.
Christin Hanna: We would be thrilled to present any of those…. We are happy to be working with Lloyd Knight of the Graham company, performing opposite Wendy Whelan in the “Moon” duet from Ms. Graham’s 1952 “Canticle for Innocent Comedians,” still as relevant today as when it was created. This duet can be held up against anything choreographed today by anybody! The piece has an emotionality that is hard to state in mere words. The Graham trust generously gave us the rights for this performance free of a charge. As a young and small company, we have a limited budget in the number of professional dancers we’re able to bring in, and in the summer the additional challenge is housing, as it’s the height of tourist season…. So the pieces in the festival tend to be [for] smaller groups. “Appalachian Spring” would certainly be wonderful!
Paul Ben-Itzak: And any chance of presenting the work of Katherine Dunham?
Christin Hanna: Certainly. We’re also interested in some of the Ted Shawn solos he did later in his life. Our bucket list is long!
Paul Ben-Itzak: I note that in addition to the guest artists, you have a larger number of local dancers. How and where do you find — and nurture — them in the Tahoe/Truckee area? (Are you also a native of the region?)
Christin Hanna: Yes, I train dancers and work with them throughout the year, and bring in guest teachers and choreographers to work with them. I was born and raised here in Tahoe, and there was no professional training available, so my parents drove me to Reno for classes and rehearsals seven days a week (an hour each way!), and where I trained with Margaret Banks at Nevada Festival Ballet. The idea of creating a mecca for dance in Tahoe was inspired by my time at Jacob’s Pillow, and my desire to be able to offer our community the highest level of dance possible. It’s always bothered me that more rural areas don’t have as much culture as big cities, and that’s why the Pillow in particular was so inspiring. The dancers who come to work with me do so at a time when they are making the decisions in their lives about what they’d like to focus on, and they’ve chosen to take dance more seriously and can therefore dedicate themselves to being in the studio every day after school.
Paul Ben-Itzak: Who are the artists who will actually be in place — present there
this year — and thus (if I understand correctly) teaching, live, the Young Dancers Workshop?
Christin Hanna: Kristina Berger, Damien Johnson, and Erik Wagner, in addition to myself, are here teaching at our Young Dancer’s Workshop. We own our portable stage, so we set that up as a studio in late May and have been able to have completely safe classes with a limited number of students in masks and maintaining social distancing.
Paul Ben-Itzak: In the press release, you opine, “When faced with the inability to have a festival, we knew we had a unique opportunity.” Recognizing that we all wish the tragic crisis which has prompted these opportunities (others in the arts and other sectors have also made this observation) happened, how can art, specifically, and dance, specifically, if you like, make an opportunity (or find an opportunity) out of crisis and tragedy? How is art and how are artists particularly equipped to spot and ‘exploit’ these opportunities?
Christin Hanna: We’re mostly excited that anyone around the world [will be able to see the performances], which is why we wanted to keep it free, with a suggested donation. It also offered us the opportunity to use this format of the three nights — to weave together the connections between Balanchine and Graham and Hawkins and share these insights with our audience. Every piece is introduced by either the dancers or choreographer giving unique insight, which we feel keeps that feeling that the audience usually has at the [live] festival. Last year, an audience member wrote to me and thanked us for creating the kind of event where one could walk up to a dancer after the final bows and thank him or her personally. That is the connection to this art form that I believe we need to nurture — the personal connection.
Paul Ben-Itzak: Dance — or live dance performance — can seem flat (and two-dimensional) captured on film or video. Realizing that you’re not the only performance company facing this dilemma in these times, and of course the health necessity to go this route (instead of performing in front of a live audience in a closed or constrained space), how, specifically, will the video-taping or filming be handled / produced to mitigate against this potential flatness?
Christin Hanna: Most of the video being shown is [archival footage of] our past performances or performances elsewhere. In my opinion, there’s really no way to have as vital an experience on a screen as you would at a live performance. However, two of the works filmed specifically for this are the final male solo from Balanchine’s “Apollo,” which Adrian Danchig-Waring and his husband Joseph Gordon filmed outdoors in Shelter Island, New York, and Hawkins’s “Greek Dreams,” filmed right here on our outdoor stage/studio this past week. We are incredibly lucky to be going through this time with the technological advances we have today that make advanced camera work and file sharing possible.
Paul Ben-Itzak: If I understand correctly — but please correct me if I’m wrong — all the pieces presented here are from previous years’ festivals. Thus perhaps this issue has not yet come up for you. But how do dancers confront the real health threat of continuing to rehearse and perform at such close contact (often breathing hard from exertion) in such times (assuming working with a mask would be physically trying as it constrains breathing when one is exerting oneself)?
Christin Hanna: We are at 6,200 feet of elevation and wearing masks daily in our outdoor classes. It’s not ideal, but like anything else, you get used to it, and it’s so much better than being in your kitchen on Zoom! The staff I have here has all been tested and quarantining together, so we are able to work safely. I imagine that until there’s a vaccine, we’ll be seeing more companies following this kind of model, which is really like an artistic residency, but now it’s just a matter of also quarantining.
(Observation added by PBI, upon re-reading this response while transcribing our e-mail interview: What Hanna expresses here is a quintessential part of the working ethos of the dancer; is any artist more adaptable? Here we’re talking about the artistic metier which, in Covid conditions, is most exposed to risk — the one metier in which the practitioner puts her instrument and her body on the line every time she steps out on stage or into a class or rehearsal — Covid or no Covid — and which, for most forms of the art, already has a ‘perishable by’ date stamped on it; and yet the dancer, as always, just adjusts.)
Paul Ben-Itzak: How does your magnificent setting — I assume that when there are live performances, they are outdoors, with the lake as a background? — contribute to the experience, for performers, presentation, and audience?
Christin Hanna: People who attend our festival for the first time are completely mesmerized, because yes, Lake Tahoe is our backdrop, and we perform with the sunset as our lighting. Programmatically, not everything works when having to compete with this environment, but other than that it’s a dream. When dancers have performed here they always tell everyone how magical the setting is!
Paul Ben-Itzak: Does the Lake Tahoe Dance Collective organize year-round activities, and if so, for example….?
Christin Hanna: Our Spring Performance is usually a mixed evening, but with more focus on our local dancers and with just a few guests.
Paul Ben-Itzak: You might not necessarily have a comment here, as this is more about my observations on the subject based on one of the photos we’re going to use (from De Mille’s “The Other”) with this story — pertaining to certain evident skills of male partnering indicated by the photo — but do you have any thoughts or observations on the subject of the male partner, and/or Stephen Hanna (husband? brother? I ask because your familiarity enhances your qualifications as an observer)’s partnering skills and values particularly?
Christin Hanna: As far as we know, we are not related, but I do think we may have a distant connection somewhere — I guess we’d have to do one of those genealogy kits! Stephen is an exceptionally kind human being and a wonderful partner — we were actually going to dance together this summer for the first time in a new work. But yes, “The Other” is heavy on partnering. What reads to me when I watch Stephen’s partnering skills, from the front of the room in the director’s side of things, is that it’s so solid that you almost forget or don’t realize what an amazing feat he’s pulling off. Because of that skill, the ballerinas he works with always look effortless.
Jacob Lawrence (American, 1917–2000), “Struggle Series — No. 10, Washington Crossing the Delaware,” 1954.
by Paul Ben-Itzak
Text by and copyright Paul Ben-Itzak
The post-Corona world — using the qualification ‘post’ guardedly, that horizon seeming distant, particularly in the United States — seems to be shaping up into two camps: Those who want to return to business as usual, and those who recognize that circumstances have changed forever, and that our comportment has got to change with it. If there’s nothing unusual about the protective measures the Metropolitan Museum has promised to take when it re-opens its doors August 29 after a five-month closure — it’s not the only institution to require masks, limit admissions, disinfect regularly and provide sanitizing stations — what is exceptional is that the 150-year-old New York City institution has not rested at ‘assurance’ but upped the ante to justification, recognizing that the stakes have changed.
That recognition comes in the form of the new exhibition Jacob Lawrence: the American Struggle, highlighting the American modern painter’s multi-paneled series Struggle … From the History of the American People (1954–56).
For in the United States, as if it was not already enough that their community, along with those of Latinos, Native Americans and Alaskans (where the tiny Bush village of Northway last week experienced its first cases), prisoners (1000 cases in San Quentin alone), and detained migrants (3,000 cases at last count), has been particularly hard-hit, the virus-cide of Corona has been joined by a stepped-up, government-institution (police; not all, obviously) generated genocide of African-Americans. If not in scale, the term genocide is justified in nature, as the underpinning dehumanization is the same here as that that enabled the European genocide of Jews and the Rwanda genocide.
Given that they often lionize white conquerors and conquistadors, enslavers and murderers, the toppling of statues (in highly symbolic places) by these oppressed groups and their sympathizers has been understandable.
The problem with this approach, however, is that one can’t just erase history by demolishing its monuments.
I prefer the approach suggested by no less than Angela Davis, the Black Power pioneer and philosopher who, in a recent interview with Amy Goodman of Democracy Now, suggested these monuments should not necessarily be destroyed, but moved (from public places, e.g. State-houses, where they suggest their racist values still prime) to museums… where they can be viewed in a “pedagogic” context.
What I love about the Met’s Lawrence exhibition is that it refutes a spurious suggestion made recently by a European president who indirectly implied that those who would “unbolt” statues (he confounded “unbolt” with “destroy,” making the same mistake as those who destroyed Courbet, who, as the artistic commissar during the Paris Commune of 1871, simply wanted to move, not destroy, the statue at the Place Vendome, as demonstrated by Michel Ragon in “Courbet, Painter of Freedom”), or demand that their country live up to its principles, are “separatists.”
Whether in Europe or on the other side of the Atlantic, these demonstrators don’t want to ‘destroy’ and they are not separatists but, as former French justice minister Christine Taubira pointed out, inclusionists. They want to claim the rights that their countries’ constitutions accord them, and to belong to those countries’ histories..
From the Arts Voyager archive and the 2012 exhibtion “To see as artists see: American Art from the Phillips Collection,” at the Amon Carter Museum of American Art in Fort Worth, Texas: Jacob Lawrence (1917 – 2000), “The Migration Series, Panel no. 3: From every southern town migrants left by the hundreds to travel north,” 1940 – 41. Casein tempera on hardboard. ©2011 the Jacob and Gwendolyn Lawrence Foundation, Seattle / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Acquired 1942, The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C. .
Lawrence has certainly distinguished himself as a chronicler of African-Americans’ particular history, notably in the “Migration” series. (Ironically, in the current context, depicting Blacks fleeing the South to seek work in the north, notably Chicago, where contemporary Blacks seem to have targets on their backs that make the Plantation persecution seem like a picnic.)
Here, by taking ownership of no less a nation-making chapter than (slave-holder) Washington’s crossing of the Delaware, Lawrence moves beyond celebrating his own ‘tribe”s history to staking a claim in the larger, national story.
The Met also moves beyond the revisionist, overly race-conscious cultural history that’s been in vogue at U.S. museal and academic institutions for several years now (typified by Huey Copeland and the Art History department at Northwestern University, and its affiliated museum) to a curatorial statement that recognizes that an ‘equal regard’ doesn’t just mean trotting out racialist exhibitions, but really doing the work — race-blind — to scout out artistically equal visions from across the spectrum.
From the exhibition Looking In: Photography from the Outside, theoretically on view through July 5 at the Amon Carter Museum of American Art in Fort Worth, Texas: Morris Engel (1918–2005), “Buda, Texas. Dairy Farmer—Rylander Family,” 1949. Gelatin silver print. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas. © 1980 Morris Engel. Note all the squares and rectangles and which, when they interrupt them, focus the eye on the young woman’s strong calf, elegant foot, and taut toes. Note also the resemblance to the stance of another young worker, the model (his sister) in Gustave Courbet’s 1855 oil painting “The Wheat Sifters,” in the collection of the Fine Arts Museum of Nantes, France.
As 150 paintings, drawings, engravings, and other oeuvres by Marcel Gromaire (1892 – 1971) ride off into the sunset after successive exhibitions in Séte, Honfleur, and most recently la Piscine (Swimming Pool) in Roubaix, France — many of Gromaire’s explosions of color no doubt returning to languish in the sombre basement of the Modern Art Museum of the city of Paris, which apparently prefers exhibiting contemporary artists no one’s ever heard of to Modern artists more people should know about — we thought we’d give you two last, in our view appropriate for the particular juncture we’re living in the world and in France right now, perspectives from the versatile artist who was as at home writing comics for a satirical magazine as sketching his comrades in the trenches of “the Great War,” conceiving massive public murals and tapestries, penning the first book (in 1925) on painting and the infant art of cinema, illustrating a book of Charles Baudelaire’s “Spleen” poems (you can find it at the Art Institute of Chicago), or infusing buxom bare-breasted babes with splendiferous color, often in hues of bright green, gold, and red. And no matter the subject, Gromaire almost always made sure to include a splotch of sky in the background. ‘Scuse us while we kiss him (in good Franglais) ‘a bean toe’. Top: Marcel Gromaire, “Les bords de la Marne,” 1925. Oil on canvas. Musée d’art moderne de la Ville de Paris. Photo: Eric Emo et Stéphane Piera © ADAGP, Paris, 2019. Bottom: Marcel Gromaire, “|La Guerre,” 1925. Oil on canvas, 130 × 97 cm. Paris, Musée d’Art moderne de la Ville. Photo: Julien Vidal/Parisienne de Photographie. © ADAGP, Paris 2020.
The press packet for the exhibition Marcel Gromaire, l’Elegance de la Force, theoretically on view through Sunday at the Piscine in the Northern French city of Roubaix after earlier runs in Sete and Honfleur, describes the massive fresque “L’Abolition de l’esclavage” (above), commissioned by the State in 1949 to commemorate the 1848 abolition of slavery in France and celebrate its primary government instigator, undersecretary of state Victor Schoelcher (at right) and Marianne, the icon of French democracy (at left), as a ‘humanist’ composition. And yet an even cursory study of the picture, whose original measures 40 square meters, suggests a more nuanced interpretation: the Black (naked) savages liberated by the benevolent white bwanas. I’m of course not calling into question either Marianne or Schoelcher themselves, both laudable, voir heroic and justifiably lionized figures, but specifically questioning the hierarchy in Gromaire’s composition, his depiction of the Black personages (more the men than the women, whose curves and bare breasts are typical to Gromaire women of any color, and about which you won’t find this misogynist complaining, in fact it’s part of the allure for me of the painter who up until now has been my favorite) and their supplicating postures, and thus the painting’s qualifications as ‘humanist.’ This over-simplification — and apportioning of the roles of victim and liberator — is not unique to French artists. Abraham Lincoln was also mythologized (including by Black artists) as the savior of Black people, as if the Civil War were fought only for their freedom. More troubling is that in reality, by 1949, 100 years after their liberation on paper, Blacks were far from free from racialist denigration by French writers and artists (as was also the case in the United States, where the consequences were more lethal) . (I prefer the term ‘racialist’ to ‘racist,’ which implies a malevolent intention which isn’t necessarily always there; I myself was — and am — racialist when it comes to my idea of Black men. I don’t know if I’ll ever rectify this in my heart; all I can do is try to correct it in my deeds and writings.) Already, in 1935, a French film director, Edmond T. Greville, could make a movie (also released in the U.S.) starring Josephine Baker, “Princess Tam-Tam,” which, notwithstanding its American star’s enjoying more civil rights in France than she would have in her native country (let alone not risking being shot in her own home, as was a young Black woman in my former home city Fort Worth, Texas, not too long ago), terminates with Baker, portraying a ‘native’ that the ‘cultivated’ white novelist has ultimately been unable to civilize (for much of the movie he appears to have done so, until he wakes up to realize this was just a dream, and not of the Martin Luther King Jr. variety), smiling approvingly as the monkey she’s let into the Tunisian villa the white man’s left her knocks over a shelf of books and a jackass gobbles up a tome called “Civilization.” (Returning home from a pique-nique on the Ile St. Louis in 2019, in the corridor of the City Hall Metro station I spotted a billboard for a line of lingerie — in which only one of the half-dozen scantily clad models was moderately dark-skinned — announcing “Nous sommes tous Princesse Tam-Tam,” “We are all Princess Tam-Tam.” When I later asked an employee of the brand’s boutique — ironically flanking the entrance to the Montmartre space of the Theatre de la Ville, lately known for presenting a number of dance companies from Africa — the origin of the name, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know.”) In 1957 — eight years after Gromaire’s monumental work was unveiled in the l’Assemblée de l’Union française in the château of Versailles — Léo Malet, the father of the Modern French detective novel, could have his hero PI / narrator Nestor Burma observe, in “Micmac Moche au Boul’Mich’,” part of Malet’s “New Mysteries of Paris” series (later made into a popular television show): “They say that Negros diffuse a particular smell….” In 2006, the Paris Opera Ballet could present, in the august Garnier Palace, a ballet by its former director, Serge Lifar, in which white male dancers covered with black make-up portrayed ‘savages’ leaping about like gorillas. These racial stereotypes — and if anything they were and still are as if not more widespread in the United States, and with much more vehemence in certain states, than in France — are not benign. Far from being ‘humanistic,’ they vehicle a dehumanization of the Black man and woman which ultimately leads to events (because they are depicted as less than fully human) like the recent stalking and murder of a Black man in Georgia and Monday’s murder in Minneapolis of a Black man named George Floyd, whose stifled cries of “I can’t breathe” did not convince a white police officer to take his knee off Floyd’s throat, as three other officers allegedly stood by. (I’m NOT saying the 1949 painting lead to the 2020 slaying, but rather that its one-dimensional depiction of Black people is part of a long, ongoing history by Occidental, white artists and writers of reducing people because of their race which makes it easier to not see them as fully human.) Among the tributes at an impromptu memorial to Floyd deposited on a Minneapolis sidewalk was this handwritten sign: “I’m not black but I see you.” The problem with Marcel Gromaire’s “L’Abolition de l’esclavage” — and which makes it more dehumanizing than ‘humanist’ — is that while he sees the white re-enfranchisers, he doesn’t really see the liberated Black men and women as anything but helpless victims completely reliant on their previous enslavors for their liberation, his one-dimensional depictions ultimately denying them their franchise as fully realized human beings. (To those who would defend Malet by saying that his, or at least his hero-narrator’s, views on Blacks are just a reflection of the times — I say ‘are’ because the novel with that description of Blacks was proudly re-published by Robert Laffont in 1985, with no exculpatory note by editor Francis Lacassin — I would answer with Eugene Sue. In Sue’s “Mysteries of Paris,” written a hundred years earlier and whose title inspired Malet, by far the noblest character is an African-American physician from Louisiana, Dr. Paul, who has a crisis of conscience when the hero, his employer, barbarically orders him to pierce the eyes of the saga’s villain as an alternative to sending him to prison. There are none so blind as those who will not see.) The press pack for the Rubaix exhibition also quotes Gromaire, while he was working in his ‘hangar’ on his ‘great machine,’ as confessing, “I’ll be happy… […] [to] find out if I succeed in revitalizing painting by official commission; let Delacroix protect me!” The invocation is unfortunate; despite the reputation he has for inspiring the original sin of Orientalism, the sketches Delacroix made when he accompanied an official French diplomatic delegation to North Africa in the 1830s were much more respectful than Gromaire’s results here, unafflicted by any Romanticism — negative or positive. What ultimately bothers me in the hierarchy of Gromaire’s composition — and prompts me to dispute the painting’s claim to a great ‘humanism’ — is his perspective: “L’Abolition de l’esclavage” doesn’t so much fete that milestone as canonize the cagers for simply deciding to open up the cage and free those who should never have been enchained in the first place, in the process freeing themselves. Painting credits: Marcel Gromaire, “L’Abolition de l’esclavage (detail),” 1950. Oil on canvas pasted on wood. Commissioned by the State; deposited at the Centre national des arts plastiques in 1991. Photo: A. Loubry – © ADAGP, Paris 2020. George Floyd tribute seen on the website of The Progressive. — Paul Ben-Itzak
PS: Speaking of Delacroix: To make sure it’s absolutely clear that the target of my criticism in the Gromaire painting is not Marianne, but rather the relative importance of the roles the painter assigns to her and to the Black personages in their liberation, I’ve decided to also share a reproduction of Eugene Delacroix’s 1831 painting “Liberty Guiding the People.” Note that here the Marianne-like figure isn’t *liberating* the people, but rather *leading* them; they are active players in their own liberation from oppression.
Eugene Delacroix, “Liberty Guiding the People,” 1831. Oil on canvas. Collection of the Louvre, Paris.
From the collections of the Museum of Modern Art: Salvador Dali, “The Persistence of Memory,” 1931. Oil on canvas, 9 1/2 x 13″ (24.1 x 33 cm). Given anonymously. © 2004 Salvador Dali, Gala-Salvador Dali Foundation / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photographed by Jonathan Muzikar.
Eau-forte extracted from “Rues et maisons du Vieux Blois,” by Armand Queyroy. Printed by Delâtre, Paris, 1864. Introduction by Victor Hugo, extracted from la Gazette des Beaux Arts. Ouvrage dedicated by Queyroy to “Madame le Masson souvenir affectueux.” Technique: eau forte. Place: Blois (Arrondissement de), Blois (Canton de), Blois (Commune de). Author: Armand Queyroy. From the Departmental Archives of the Loire-et-Cher.
Translation dedicated to Lucie and Lionel, Travailleurs intellectuelles Parisiens, maintenant exiles … pas loin de… Blois….
Just before the virus hit, I found the ideal place in Paris — an apartment-atelier on the rue Daguerre, no less, where it’s no doubt perched atop a portion of the Catacombs — from which to launch Les Editions Hèléne, a publishing house specializing in English translations of French literature and on French art. In addition to being on the Meridian of Paris, where miracles always seem to happen to me, the rental comes with other happy accidents related to future work and translation projects. In pondering whether I should (and could) wait until there’s a vaccine to return to Paris — thus prolonging my own exile from Lutèce for at least another year — I considered the case of Victor Hugo, who did not let a little thing like 18 years of exile from Paris and France stop him from producing some of the best literature ever. Besides “Les Miserables,” there were poems, essays, political tracts, appeals (famously, for clemency for John Brown), and correspondence. Not just exchanges with peers including George Sand, but appreciations like the following 1864 letter to Armand Queyroy on the occasion of the publication of “Rues et maisons du Vieux Blois,” a collection of eaux-fortes or etchings printed by Delâtre, in Paris. And of course, coming from the pen of Victor Hugo, these souvenirs do not just reflect one of the Great Man’s Proustien — madeleine — moments; Hugo manages to squeeze in a political discourse which reveals his sometimes nuanced disposition towards French monarchic heritage. But above all, where this discourse touches me is in its illustration of the nexus between literature and the fine arts. Like what you’re reading? If you are not already a subscriber, advertiser, or family member, please help pay for our hard work in increasingly expensive and risky times by making a donation today. Just designate your payment in dollars or Euros via PayPal to firstname.lastname@example.org , or write us at there to learn how to pay by check.– PB-I
(Extracted from “Pendant l’Exil,” 1852 – 1870, Victor Hugo. Paris, Nelson, Editeurs. Images from the Archives of the Loire-et-Cher department of France. The letter also served as a preface to Queyroy’s publication.)
Hauteville House, [Guernsey,] April 17, 1864
Monsieur, I want to thank you. You’ve just enabled me to re-live the past. On the 17th of April, 1825 — 39 years ago to this very day (allow me to note this minor coincidence, which is interesting to me at least) — I arrived in Blois. It was early morning. I’d come from Paris. I’d passed the night in the mail-wagon, and what is there to do in the mail-wagon? I’d done “The Ballad of the two Archers”; then, the final verses finished, as the day had not yet dawned, all the while watching through the dim light of the track lights on either side of the train the troops of Orleans cows descending towards Paris, I’d dozed off. The conductor’s voice awoke me. “Voila Blois!” he’d cried.
I opened my eyes and saw a thousand windows at the same time, an irregular and pell-mell pile of houses, of steeples, a chateau, and on the hill a crown of tall trees and a row of gabled, pointed stone facades on the edge of the water, an entire city resembling an amphitheater, capriciously spread out on the ledges of an inclining plain and, except that the Ocean is wider than the Loire and doesn’t have any bridges leading to the other side, practically identical to this city of Guernsey where I live today.
The Sun was rising over Blois.
Fifteen minutes later and I was on the rue du Foix, number 73. I knocked on a small door giving onto a garden; a man who was working in the garden came to open it for me. He was my father.
That night, my father lead me to the mound which overlooked the house, and which harbored “Gaston’s tree”; I now saw again from the heights of the city what I’d seen that morning from its depths; the aspect, for that matter, was, if somewhat severe, even more charming. The city, in the morning, had seemed to me to have the gracious disorder and practically the surprise of waking up; the night had softened its angles. Even though it was still light, the Sun had only just set, there was a debut of melancholy; the blurring of twilight had taken the edge off the points of the rooftops; the rare scintillating of candles had replaced the dazzling diffusion of the aurora on the window-panes; the profiles of things were subsisting the mysterious transformation of night; the rigidness was losing the battle, the curves winning; there were more elbows, less angles. I looked on, almost mellowed by this effect. The skies had a vague breath of summer. The city appeared to me, no longer like it had that morning, gay and ravishing, haphazard, but harmonious; it had been cut into compartments of a beautiful whole amounting to an equilibrium; the planes had receded, the stories superimposed themselves with impeccable timing and tranquility. The cathedral, the bishopry, the black church of Saint-Nicolas, the chateau, as much a citadel as a palace, the ravines mixed up with the city, the slopes and descents where the houses at times climbed, at times tumbled, the bridge with its obelisk, the beautiful serpentine curves of the Loire, the rectangular bands of willows, at the extreme horizon Chambord, indistinct with its forest of turrets, the forest into which was sunk the antique route known as ‘Roman bridges’ marking the ancient bed of the Loire, all this seemed vast and gentle. And after all, my father loved this city.
Which today you have rendered back to me.
“Blois, la rue Chemonton et ses escaliers.” Reproduction of an engraving à l’eau-forte by Arrmand Queyroy, 1890. 247 X 135 mm; (object) 266 X 205 mm. Papier Gestetner. Technique: eau forte. Place: Blois (Arrondissement de), Blois (Canton de), Blois (Commune de). Author: Armand Queyroy. From the Departmental Archives of the Loire-et-Cher.
Thanks to you, I’m in Blois again. Your 20 etchings reveal the intimate city, not the city of palaces and churches, but the city of houses. With you, one is there in the streets; with you, one enters into the ramshackle hut; and so many of these decrepit edifices, like the dwelling in sculpted wood on the rue Saint-Lubin, like the hotel Denis-Dupont with its stairway lantern and oblique bay windows following the movement of the spiral staircase of Saint Gilles, like the house on the rue Haute, like the very low arcade of the rue Pierre-de-Blois, exposing all the Gothic fantasy or all the Renaissance graces, augmented by the poetry of dilapidation. Being a hut and being a jewel are not mutually exclusive. An elderly lady who has heart and spirit, nothing is more charming. Many of the exquisite houses drawn by you are that elderly woman. One is happy to make their acquaintance. One retrieves them again with joy when one is, like me, their old friend. What things they have to tell you, and what a delicious return to the past! For example, take a look at this fine and delicate house on the rue des Orfevres, it seems to be engaged in a tete-a-tete. One is fortunate to be amidst all this elegance. You make us recognize everything, so much are your sketches portraits. It’s photographic fidelity with the liberty of great art. Your rue Chemonton is a chef-d’oeuvre. I’ve scaled, at the same time as these good paysans of Sologne painted by you, the steep steps of the chateau. The house of statuettes on the rue Pierre de Blois is comparable to the house of Musicians in Weymouth. I’ve retrieved everything.
“Blois, vue de l’Hôtel d’Alluye.” Eau-forte extracted from “Rues et maisons du Vieux Blois,” by Armand Queyroy, Printed by Delâtre, Paris, 1864. 188 X 267 mm; (object) 308 X 482 mm. Papier vergé.Technique: eau forte. Place: Blois (Arrondissement de), Blois (Canton de), Blois (Commune de). Author: Armand Queyroy. From the Departmental Archives of the Loire-et-Cher.
Here’s the tower of Argent, here’s the high somber gable at the corner of the rue des Violettes and the rue Saint-Lubin, here’s the hotel de Guise, here’s the hotel de Cheverny, here’s the hotel Sardini with its arches in three-centered curves, here’s the hotel d’Alluye with its gallant arcades from the time of Charles VIII, here are the Saint-Louis steps which lead to the cathedral, here’s the rue du Sermon, and at the end the practically Roman silhouette of Saint-Nicolas; here’s the pretty cantwise turret referred to as Queen Anne’s Oratory. The garden where Louis XII, gouty, liked to promenade his mule in a garden behind this turret.
“Blois, view of the rue des Violettes and the rue St-Lubin.” Eau-forte extracted from “Rues et maisons du Vieux Blois,” by Armand Queyroy, Paris, Imp. Delâtre, 1864. 255 X 157 mm; (object) 299 X 423 mm . Papier vergé. Technique: eau forte. Place: Blois (Arrondissement de), Blois (Canton de), Blois (Commune de). Author: Armand Queyroy. From the Departmental Archives of the Loire-et-Cher.
That Louis XII, like Henry IV, had his amiable sides. He made many blunders, but was a good-natured king. He tossed the procedures launched against the Vaudois into the Rhone. He was worthy for having the valiant Huguenot astrologist Renée de Bretagne, so intrepid before Saint-Barthélemy and so proud in Montargis, as a daughter. As a youngster, he’d spent three years in the Tower of Bourges, and he’d tasted the iron cage. This experience, which might have rendered another man mean, made him debonair. He’d entered Genoa, victorious, with a golden bee-hive on his coat of arms and this motto: Non utitor aculeo. He was good, and he was brave. In Signaled, to a courtesan who warned him, “You’re exposing yourself to danger, sire,” he responded, “Get behind me.” It’s also he who said: “A good king is an authentic king. I prefer being ridiculous with courtesans to being overbearing with the people.” He said: “The ugliest beast to see walk past you is a procurer carrying his dossiers.” He hated judges eager to condemn who tried to exaggerate the fault to envelope the accused. “They are,” he said, “like cobblers who stretch out the leather by pulling on it with their teeth.” He died from loving his wife too much, just like François II later on, gently killed the one like the other by a Marie. The honeymoon was short. On January 1, 1515, after 83 days or rather 83 nights of marriage, Louis XII expired, and as it was New Year’s Day, he told his wife: “My darling, for a New Year’s gift I give you my death.” She accepted, sharing the present with the Duke of Brandon.
“Blois, front, old houses at the foot of the St.-Louis cathedral.” Reproduction of an engraving à l’eau-forte by Armand Queyroy, 1865. 250 X 160 mm; (objet) 266 X 205 mm. Papier Gestetner. Technique: eau forte. Place: Blois (Arrondissement de), Blois (Canton de), Blois (Commune de). Author: Armand Queyroy. From the Departmental Archives of the Loire-et-Cher.
The other phantom who dominates Blois is as loathsome as Louis XII was sympathetic. It’s this Gaston, half Bourbon, half Medici, a Florentine from the 16th century, cowardly, perfidious, spiritual, who said of the arrests of Longueville, Conti, and Condé: “Lots of net! Capture at the same time a fox, an ape, and a lion!” Curious, artist, collector, fascinated with medals, filigrees, and sweetmeats, he might spend his mornings admiring the cover of an ivory box while his men lopped off the head of one of the friends he’d betrayed.
“Blois, vue de l’Hôtel d’Amboise et d’une rouennerie en gros (marchand d’étoffes et de tissus).” Reproduction of an eau-forte engraving, extracted from “Rues et maisons du Vieux Blois,” by Armand Queyroy, Paris, Printed by Delâtre, 1864. 202 X 157 mm; (object), 266 X 205 mm; papier Gestetner. Technique: eau forte. Place: Blois (Arrondissement de), Blois (Canton de), Blois (Commune de). Author: Armand Queyroy. From the Departmental Archives of the Loire-et-Cher.
All these figures, as well as Henry III, the Duke of Guise, and others, including this Pierre de Blois whose main claim to fame was being the first person to pronounce the word ‘transubstantiation,’ I’ve found them again in leafing through your precious collection. I contemplated your fountain of Louis XII for a long time. You’ve recreated it as I saw it, so old, so young, charming. It’s one of your best plates. I’m almost certain that the ‘Rouennerie en gros,’ recorded by you vis-a-vis the hotel d’Amboise, was already there in my time. You have a real and fine talent, the coupe d’oeil which grasps the style, the sure, agile, and strong touch, plenty of spirit in the engraving and a good dose of naiveté, and that rare gift of being able to evoke light in shadows. What strikes and charms me in your etchings is the broad day, the gaiety, the prepossessing aspect, this joy in the commencement which contains all the grace of morning. The plates which seem to be bathed in an aurora. Indeed it’s there, Blois, the Blois that is precious to me, my luminous city. Because that first impression on arriving has stuck with me. Blois for me is radiant. I only see Blois in the rising Sun. These are the effects of youth and of the homeland.
I’ve let myself go on at length talking with you, monsieur, because you’ve given me great pleasure. You’ve found my weakness, you’ve touched the sacred corner of memory. I’ve sometimes felt a bitter sadness; you’ve given me a gentle sadness. To be gently sad, this is a pleasure. I’m in your debt. I’m happy that it is so well preserved, so little changed, and so parallel to what I saw 40 years ago, this city to which this invisible tangle of ties of the soul, impossible to break, still attaches me, this Blois which saw me as a teenager, this Blois whose streets know me, where a house has loved me, and where I’ve just strolled in your company, looking for the white hair of my father and finding my own.
Monsieur, I shake your hand.
“Blois: the steps of the chateau and the vestiges of the ancient Jacobins gate.” Reproduction of an eau-forte engraving by Armand Queyroy, 1865. 240 X 128 mm; (objet) 266 X 205 mm. Papier Gestetner. Technique: Eau-forte. Lieu(x) :Blois (Arrondissement de), Blois (Canton de), Blois (Commune de). Author: Armand Queyroy. From the Departmental Archives of the Loire-et-Cher.