dougtrystolearn

narrative

2009-02-26T10:06:00.000-08:00

Narrative art.

Term used to describe art that provides a visual representation of some kind of story, sometimes based on literary work. It is found throughout the world, and it appears not only as an art form in its own right in both two and three dimensions but also as decoration on a variety of objects. Narration, the relating of an event as it unfolds over time, is in principle a difficult task for the visual arts, since a work of art usually lacks an obvious beginning, middle and end, essential features of any story. Nevertheless, since ancient times many works of art have had as their subjects figures or tales from mythology, legend or history. The artists overcame the inherent limitations of visual narrative by representing stories that the viewer might be expected to know and would therefore retell in his or her mind while taking in the representation.

Bibliography

A. Thomas: The Illustrated Dictionary of Narrative Painting (London, 1994) [based on the col. of the N.G., London]

I. Ancient world.

1. Near East.

In the Ancient Near East narrative art illustrated three main themes: royal hunts (see fig.), banquets and war. The scenes were depicted in bands and registers that generally read from bottom to top and from left to right, although in some cases the direction varies from register to register to create the impression of a winding procession or succession of events. Often, however, consecutive events are shown taking place simultaneously. The reliefs of the Assyrian kings at Nimrud, Khorsabad and Nineveh (9th to 7th century BC), often accompanied by explanatory captions in the cuneiform script, were the vehicles for extremely sophisticated narrative art, fully integrated in the architecture. Probably the earliest example of narrative art in the Ancient Near East is a painted scene on the interior of a bowl (Baghdad, Iraq Mus.; see fig.) of the Halaf period (c. 5000 BC), excavated at Tell Arpachiyah in northern Iraq. As the bowl is turned the scene unwinds of two alluring, naked women, who stand on either side of a fenced enclosure, towards which a bull is approaching; beyond, an archer is shooting an arrow at an attacking lion or leopard. The protection of livestock from predators was probably the prerogative of the leader of the community, and the theme reappears on a stone stele from Uruk in southern Iraq (c. 3100 BC; Baghdad, Iraq Mus.), where the priest-king is shown shooting an arrow at one lion and spearing another. Millennia later the Assyrian king Assurbanipal (reg 668–627 BC) is depicted on the famous lion-hunt reliefs from Nineveh (London, BM; see fig.) killing lions from a chariot, using a bow, sword and spear. The chariot is shown several times, first travelling in one direction, then in another, to convey the feeling of action and speed; on one occasion a lion grasping a wheel of the chariot in its jaws and paws is lifted off the ground as the chariot advances. The preparations leading up to the hunt are depicted in detail (selection of arrows, stringing of bows, harnessing of horses, arrival of the onlookers with their picnics); its religious aftermath, accompanied by a framed explanatory caption in the cuneiform script, is also depicted on another set of reliefs, where the king is shown pouring libations over the dead lions while priests play harps. On cylinder seals of all periods, but particularly in the 3rd millennium BC, heroes are depicted protecting animals from attack by lions and leopards (see Ancient near east, §II, 1(ii)).

Neo-Assyrian relief depicting Assurnasirpall II hunting bulls, slab 20 from Room B the North-west Palace, Nimrud, alabaster, 0.9×2.25 m, 883–859 BC (London, British Museum); photo © The British Museum

Religious banquets connected with agrarian festivals are depicted in abbreviated form from c. 3100 BC on a cylinder seal from Chogha Mami and on the bands of relief decoration on a stone vessel known as the Warka Vase (Baghdad, Iraq Mus.). The latter show water, plants and ears of wheat on the fourth and lowest register; sheep moving to the right on the third; nude priests moving to the left, bearing vessels full of offerings, on the second; and, on the uppermost register, a nude priest with offerings, the ‘priest-king’ and an attendant, all moving towards the right, approaching the goddess Inanna, who stands before the reed bundles identifying her temple, in which stand her ritual vessels and altars. The motif of a procession, culminating in a banquet accompanied by musicians, and often including a ship or chariot, is found on votive plaques between c. 2800 and c. 2500 BC (e.g. Baghdad, Iraq Mus.). Two cult vessels from Bitik and Inandık in central Anatolia (c. 1600 BC; Ankara, Mus. Anatol. Civiliz.) show similar religious processions in several registers, but the ceremonies are connected with marriage or ritual sex. Around 1000 BC the funerary meal entered the iconography of the Near East, probably from Egypt, sometimes, as on the Ahiram sarcophagus (Beirut, Mus. N.), as the focus of a funerary procession.

Battles were also generally accompanied by victory banquets. Although often condensed into one scene, as on an ivory box from Megiddo in Israel (12th century BC; Jerusalem, Rockefeller Mus.), the expanded version provides ample scope for the development of narrative. The ‘Royal Standard of Ur’ (c. 2600 BC; London, BM; see fig.) consists of two rectangular panels back-to-back, divided into three registers, made up of red (limestone), white (shell) and blue (lapis lazuli) inlays set in bitumen. On the ‘war’ side four chariots drive towards the right over the fallen enemy (bottom), and infantry escort prisoners towards the right (middle); on the top register the prisoners are led from the right towards the victorious ruler, who has alighted from his chariot. On the ‘peace’ side figures with booty and food for the banquet are approaching from the left on the two lower registers; on the top register musicians play, and high officials raise cups towards the ruler who sits facing right. On both sides the ruler is shown larger than his entourage, and he even overlaps the frame in the ‘war’ frieze.

Again, it is in the reliefs of King Assurbanipal that this type of narrative finds its fullest expression. The sequence depicting the Battle of the River Ulai (London, BM) is accompanied by captions like a strip-cartoon: it shows the capture of Til Tuba by the Assyrians, leading to their victory over the Elamites. The wounded Elamite king, Teumman, flees with his son; their chariot overturns in a forest, the son is clubbed to death; Teumman is beheaded, the head is identified, carried in a chariot to Assurbanipal and hung round the neck of a captive. Meanwhile the River Ulai is clogged with the bodies of the dead, the city of Madaktu surrenders, a pro-Assyrian governor is installed, the Elamites’ allies are tortured and killed, and—the whole aim of these reliefs—the cautionary message is passed on to ambassadors from Urartu. The final scene, known as the ‘Garden Party’ relief (see fig.), shows Assurbanipal reclining at a feast (the earliest depiction of the reclining banquet), while his wife sits beside him, musicians play, birds and crickets sing in the trees—and in one of the trees hangs the head of Teumman.

Bibliography

I. J. Winter: ‘Royal Rhetoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyrian Reliefs’, Stud. Visual Communic., vii/2 (1981), pp. 2–38

I. J. Winter: ‘After the Battle is Over: The Stele of the Vultures and the Beginning of Historical Narrative in the Art of the Ancient Near East’, Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. H. L. Kessler and M. S. Simpson, Stud. Hist. A. , xvi (Washington, DC, 1985), pp. 11–32

M. I. Marcus: ‘Geography as an Organizing Principle in the Imperial Art of Shalmaneser III’, Iraq, xlix (1988), pp. 77–90

C. Breniquet: ‘A propos du vase halafien de la Tombe G2 de Tell Arpachiyah’, Iraq, liv (1992), pp. 69–78

D. Collon: ‘Banquets in the Art of the Ancient Near East’, Banquets d’Orient, ed. R. Gyselen, Res Orientales, iv (Leuven, 1992), pp. 23–30

Dominique Collon

2. Egypt.

The Egyptians’ conception of pictorial art was closely linked with their understanding of the world in general, which, in turn, was conditioned by historical, social and psychological factors. The Egyptians regarded the universe as a static entity in which current events were mere repetitions of things that had happened in the ‘First Time’ (the moment of the world’s creation). Life was therefore considered to be permanent and unchangeable rather than transitory. The Egyptian artist created scenes that were usually typical illustrations of archetypal actions rather than being strictly narrative.

The reliefs on the walls of Egyptian temples are mostly depictions of characteristic rituals performed daily or annually by gods or kings. In private tombs most of the subjects are concerned with aspects of daily life, such as agriculture, craftsmanship, fowling, fishing, offerings and banquets (although there was usually an underlying religious significance). These funerary scenes form an elaborate sequence of pictures usually expressing matter-of-fact statements rather than specific events. Even scenes that recall particular events, such as the death of the tomb owner, became standardized and repetitive, so that they lost the specific qualities of narrative.

However, the extensive repertory of Egyptian art included other subject-matter beyond the depiction of religious ritual and daily life. In the Predynastic period (c. 6000–c. 2925 BC), for instance, Egyptian artists carved scenes with narrative content on such small monuments as slate palettes, knife handles and mace heads (see Egypt, ancient, §IX, 3(i); see also Narmer). The establishment of divine kingship at the beginning of the Dynastic period (c. 2925 BC), with its emphasis on the non-ephemeral nature of the king, led to the introduction of rigid pictorial conventions (see Egypt, ancient, §IV, 2). Scenes that were intended to record definite historical events, such as the first unification of Egypt, were rendered without indications of time or place.

With the king’s assumption of absolute power in the Old Kingdom (c. 2575–c. 2150 BC), the grip of the artistic conventions grew stronger, and narrative scenes became extremely rare. Even scenes referring to specific events, such as mining or quarrying expeditions, foreign trade missions and military campaigns, were made to fit into the general scheme of typical decorations. Towards the end of the Old Kingdom, scenes including elements of narrative began to reappear, perhaps coinciding with the gradual rise in the importance of the individual, and the attitude to narrative remained substantially the same during the Middle Kingdom (c. 2008–c. 1630 BC).

The pharaohs of the New Kingdom (c. 1540–c. 1075 BC) pursued an expansionist policy, and, with Egypt’s transformation into a world power, fresh ideas began to enrich and stimulate Egyptian culture. Narrative scenes, though not abundant, gradually increased on both royal and private monuments. In the Amarna period (c. 1353–c. 1332 BC) there was an almost complete break with the traditional conventions, in the search for ‘truth’ (Egyp. maat) in both religion and art. For King Akhenaten (reg c. 1353–c. 1332 BC), the propagator of the new doctrines, ‘truth’ in art meant the visual rather than conceptual rendition of nature. Although this attitude might seem to have been a potentially fruitful source of narrative art, the alternative repertory of Amarna art was so limited that narrative scenes tended to assume a repetitive character.

The Ramesside era (c. 1292–c. 1075 BC) was in many ways the golden age of Egyptian narrative art, since the 19th and 20th Dynasty pharaohs devoted whole walls of temples to scenes of warfare intended to emphasize their military prowess as champions of Egypt. The traditional scene of the king crushing his enemies with one blow was effectively expanded to show him charging in his chariot, capturing foreign forts and returning home triumphantly to offer prisoners and spoils of war to the principal deities of Egypt (see Abu simbel; Abydos; and Thebes (i), §§VI and VII). Most Egyptian narrative scenes depict ‘multiple scenes’ of events as they unfolded. Others, however, portray the ‘culminating scene’ (i.e. the results of an action), particularly when it is not intended to depict the protagonists directly involved. Whenever space permitted, the artists preferred ‘multiple scenes’, consisting of a number of episodes of a given event, depicted in a comprehensive and sequential manner on the walls of a temple or tomb. The treatment of the scenes was always simple and straightforward, with summary treatment of both the setting (see Egypt, ancient, §VI, 17) and the participants. In war scenes, for instance, only the pharaoh was shown engaged in battle , although later in the Ramesside period the royal children were also shown in action.

Hieroglyphic inscriptions played an important role in Egyptian narrative art by explaining certain events and specifying particular persons, places and dates, but in many cases the various episodes were clear enough so that their meaning could be easily comprehended.

Bibliography

H. A. Groenewegen-Frankfort: Arrest and Movement: An Essay on Space and Time in the Representational Art of the Ancient Near East (London, 1951/R New York, 1972); review by J. Baines in J. Egyp. Archaeol., lx (1971), pp. 272–6

H. Kantor: ‘Narration in Egyptian Art’, Amer. J. Archaeol., lxi (1957), pp. 44–54

G. A. Gaballa: Narrative in Egyptian Art (Mainz, 1976)

G. A. Gaballa

3. Greece and Rome.

Narration, the relating of an event as it unfolds over time, is in principle a difficult task for the visual arts, since a work of art usually lacks an obvious beginning, middle and end, essential features of any story. Nevertheless, many works of ancient Greek and Roman art have as their subjects figures or tales from mythology, legend and history. The artists overcame the inherent limitations of visual narrative by representing stories which the viewer might be expected to know, and which the viewer would retell in his or her mind while taking in the representation. Much of the scholarship on narration in ancient Greek and Roman art consists of attempts to classify the various techniques employed by artists to convey stories visually. The multiplicity and complexity of these techniques is due mainly to two factors: the changing means by which stories were transmitted in antiquity; and the great variety of media and formats in which ancient art occurs. Concurrent with the development of narrative art, Greek culture gradually transformed itself from a culture reliant upon an oral tradition into a literate society; public performance of poetry and song gave way to erudition and to private enjoyment of literature in books (although this was restricted to a small literate minority). These changes in the ways that myths and stories were experienced inevitably led to changes in the techniques of visual narration. As for the diversity of media and of forms, narrative art was represented in sculptural friezes, metopes and pediments, for example the Gigantomachy from the north frieze of the Siphnian Treasury at Delphi (see [not available online]); and on sarcophagi and funerary urns; there were also narrative statuary groups. Narrative scenes were represented in monumental wall paintings (now lost) for public buildings and in wall paintings and mosaics for private houses, for example the pebble mosaic from Olynthos depicting Thetis Bringing Armour to Achilles (see [not available online]). The largest number of representations of narrative art from Ancient Greece consist of the decorative schemes on thousands of painted vases from Athens and other centres, such as that of Ajax and Achilles Playing a Board Game by Exekias on an amphora (Rome, Vatican, Mus. Gregoriano Etrus.; for illustration see Vase painters, §II: exekias). (For further discussion see Greece, ancient, esp. §V, 5 and 6.) Different formats encouraged the use of different narrative techniques: tondi and statuary groups permitted the representation of only a few figures and a single episode in a story, whereas sculptural friezes and wall paintings encouraged the proliferation of figures and scenes.

The earliest figural scenes in Greek art, those on Geometric pottery of the 8th century BC (see [not available online]), are problematic with respect to narrative. It is unclear whether they are purely descriptive scenes of everyday life, or representations of specific narratives. If they are narrative scenes, it is uncertain whether the events depicted are contemporary or legendary. The difficulty lies in the lack of individualization of the figures and actions. The contemporary viewer would have had to have information external to the images themselves, such as the specific contexts in which they were viewed, to determine whether they were narrative scenes.

By contrast, in the Archaic period (c. 700–480 BC) the narrative content of many works of painting and sculpture manifests itself through the use of attributes and inscriptions to identify specific figures, usually gods or heroes, and through the depiction of actions and situations unique to specific stories. A characteristic feature of Archaic narrative art is the depiction of objects, events or figures from several different moments in the tale, rather than the representation of a single moment in a story. This is often described as the simultaneous or synoptic method, and its aim was to render a narrative scene more immediately or more fully intelligible through the inclusion of as much detail as possible from a story. This method has been compared to epic poetry, which is similarly characterized by a great interest in detail.

During the Classical period (c. 480–323 BC) the content or action of a narrative scene was often expressed through subtle details of appearance and gesture; the climactic moment in the story was often passed over in favour of a quiet moment before or after the main action, as in the east pediment from the Temple of Zeus at Olympia showing Preparations for the Chariot Race between Pelops and Oinomaos (c. 470–457 BC; Olympia, Archaeol. Mus.; see ). This approach is sometimes called narration by allusion, and its purpose is to draw attention to the nature or state of mind of the characters in a story and thereby not only to relate what happened but also to indicate why it happened. Narrative art of this period also tended to represent one moment in a story, rather than several, and to include in a scene only those figures and objects relevant to that one moment; this method of visual narration, often called the monoscenic method, is closer to written narrative than the simultaneous method is, in so far as it visually maintains the temporal distinctions between successive events in a narrative text. This development, as well as the interest in character and internal states of mind, has been thought to be related to the rise of Athenian drama in the 5th century BC. As means of representing stories, drama and art are similar in that both rely on visual spectacle. Drama, however, also relies for its full effect on the orderly unfolding of events over time (including, for example, dramatic peripeteia or reversal of fortune), and this heightened concern for the temporal aspect of the narrative may have influenced Classical artists. The staging, choreography and costumes of Athenian drama were only occasionally represented in art, but the many reworkings of traditional stories by Athenian dramatic poets served as the point of departure for much narrative art from the 4th century BC on.

Two further developments in narrative art during the Classical period should be noted. First, narrative scenes in painting began to include not only figures but also simple indications of landscape or architectural setting; in a few instances elements of setting seem to have conveyed not merely the location of the action but also a sense of the space in which it occurred. Second, in addition to representations from legend and mythology, there were representations of actual historical events, the mid-5th-century BC painting (untraced) of the Battle of Marathon by Panainos, originally in the Painted Stoa (Stoa Poikile) at Athens, being perhaps the earliest known example. This new type of subject-matter remained exceptional until the second half of the 4th century BC, when it seems to have greatly increased in importance due to Macedonian patronage, as, for example, in the Alexander Mosaic (c. 100 BC; Naples, Mus. Archeol. N.; see [not available online]) from the House of the Faun at Pompeii, which probably represents the Battle of Issus between Alexander the Great and Darius III and was copied from an earlier painting of the ?4th/3rd century BC.

In the Hellenistic period (323–7 BC) a far-reaching development in narrative art was the practice of illuminating texts. Illuminated texts appear to have served as sources for many works of narrative art in this and in the Roman period, and to have increased the number of situations in Greek myth and legend that were given visual form. This type of visual narrative, sometimes called the cyclic method, presumes that the viewer has a detailed knowledge of the specific textual source of a narrative scene, since the representation was originally embedded in the text itself. As a result, works of art based on these manuscript illuminations, such as Roman sarcophagi decorated with mythological scenes, are very often obscure, learned in character and less immediately comprehensible than earlier works of narrative art.

The technique of continuous narrative, in which a figure appears more than once in the same setting, was also developed during the Hellenistic period. It can be seen in the Telephos frieze showing the Building of the Boat for Auge (c. 180–c. 160 BC; Berlin, Pergamonmus.) from the Great Altar at Pergamon. Use of continuous narrative was, however, a characteristic feature of Roman art, and it has been the subject of frequent discussion since Franz Wickhoff (1895) advanced the argument that it was a uniquely Roman, rather than Greek, development. Studies in the 20th century by Kurt Weitzmann (1947) and Peter Heinrich von Blanckenhagen (1957) have shown that continuous narrative was a Hellenistic, not Roman, innovation. The principal development of continuous narrative in the Roman period is that of the relation of figure to background. Many Roman paintings of the 1st century BC and the 1st century AD are characterized by expansive landscapes peopled with diminutive figures from Greek mythology, whose actions are subordinate to the setting and the general ambience; the best-known example is the painting showing scenes from the Odyssey (c. 40–c. 20 BC; Rome, Vatican, Sala della Nozze Aldobrandine; see [not available online]; see also Rome, ancient, §V, 1(i)). While the concern for setting and mood is not completely unattested in Greek art, it was of particular interest and importance to Roman patrons. The representation of historical events became the most important function of public narrative art in the Roman Imperial period, the scenes on Trajan’s Column (AD 112–13) being well-known examples (see Rome, ancient, §IV, 2(v); see also Rome, §V, 7 and fig.).

Bibliography

C. Robert: Bild und Leid: Archäologische Beiträge zur Geschichte der griechischen Heldensage, Philologische Untersuchungen, v (Berlin, 1881/R New York, 1975)

F. Wickhoff: Die Wiener Genesis (Vienna, 1895); Eng. trans. by E. Strong as Roman Art: Some of its Principles and their Application to Early Christian Painting (London, 1900)

K. Weitzmann: Illustrations in Roll and Codex: A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration, Stud. MS. Illum., ii (Princeton, 1947, rev. 1970)

P. H. von Blanckenhagen: ‘Narration in Hellenistic and Roman Art’, Amer. J. Archaeol., lxi (1957), pp. 78–83

G. M. A. Hanfmann: ‘Narration in Greek Art’, Amer. J. Archaeol., lxi (1957), pp. 71–8

N. Himmelmann-Wildschütz: ‘Erzählung und Figur in der archäischen Kunst’, Abh. Geistes- & Sozwiss. Kl. (1967), pp. 73–100

A. M. Snodgrass: Narration and Allusion in Archaic Greek Art (London, 1982)

R. Brilliant: Visual Narratives: Storytelling in Etruscan and Roman Art (Ithaca, NY, and London, 1984)

G. Hedreen: Capturing Troy: The Narrative Functions of Setting in Archaic and Early Classical Greek Art (Ann Arbor, 2000)

Guy Hedreen

II. Islamic lands.

Narrative imagery in Islamic lands continued an artistic tradition of the pictorialization of stories and historical events that had long prevailed throughout western Asia and the Mediterranean region. The earliest examples of recognizable narrative may be found among the frescoes in the bath complex at Qusayr ‛amra, an 8th-century site in the Jordanian desert. The diverse programme of monumental decoration includes three hunting scenes, the first depicting a Bedouin round-up of onagers, and the other two depicting the killing (or perhaps branding) and butchering of the captured animals. Although the wall paintings are on different walls, they seem to represent a sequence or progression of related events that may well have taken place in the vicinity of the estate.

Virtually no examples of buildings decorated with narrative scenes survive from later periods, although some fragmentary remains and literary descriptions, such as those in the Shāhnāma (‘Book of kings’) compiled by the poet Firdawsi between c. 980 and c. 994 and revised c. 1010, may attest to the continuation of this imagery. In order to trace the history of narrative images through the medieval and later Islamic periods, it is necessary to turn to three-dimensional objects, particularly ceramics, metalwork and illustrated manuscripts. The vast corpus of Islamic objects includes various pieces decorated with identifiable narrative scenes, or at least with images that may be presumed to refer to some kind of story or actual event. A number of pieces of lustreware made in Egypt in the 11th and 12th centuries, for example, are said to represent genre scenes (see Islamic art, §V, 3(i)), including cock fights and men wrestling, but these might just as easily represent fables or local legends. Scenes from the Life of Christ appear on a group of inlaid brasses from 13th-century Syria and Egypt, while the exploits of specific heroes figure on Iranian metalwork and enamelled and lustre-painted ceramics dating from the 12th century until the 14th (see Islamic art, §V, 4(i)(a)). In these works the decoration comprises extracted, and occasionally conflated or epitomized, narratives rendered as discrete images. The emphasis on the single narrative moment, as opposed to serial narration, suggests that the iconography was sufficiently familiar, so that anyone looking at such works would be able to identify the complete narrative. The representation of a solitary figure riding a humped, horned cow, for instance, on the interior of a lustre-painted bowl (e.g. bowl from Iran, 12th–13th century; Leipzig, Kstgewmus.) would have been enough to conjure up the entire story of how the legendary Iranian hero Faridun captured the evil usurper Zahhak with the help of the blacksmith Kawa. The depiction of narrative sequence sometimes occurs, as in the famous enamelled beaker from Iran (early 13th century; h. 120 mm, diam. 112 mm; Washington, DC, Freer) decorated with the tale of Bizhan and Manizha ‘told’ in comic-strip style of three superimposed registers with small linked panels. Even here, however, only a few, select moments in the story, known from the Shāhnāma, are represented, and it is left to the viewer to fill in the narrative lacunae and reconstruct the entire heroic tale.

Pictorial narrative in Islamic illustrated manuscripts was also based on selection and extraction. Although Arab codices of the 13th century, such as a copy (Paris, Bib. N., MS. arabe 5847) of al-Hariri’s Magāmāt (‘Seances’), contain narrative scenes, these generally were not required by the text and seem to derive from an interest in recording aspects of everyday life. Narrative painting as an artistic genre within the Islamic art of the book really developed and flourished in volumes of Persian and Turkish literature, including histories, epics, romances and mystical allegories, written in both prose and poetry. Illustrations in such texts not only depict the action of a story but also invoke mood, express emotion and interpret abstract themes.

The earliest known manuscript with narrative paintings is the well-known copy (Istanbul, Topkapı Pal. Lib., H841; see ) of Varga and Gulshah, datable to the early 13th century. The Persian story of two star-crossed lovers contains 72 narrow illustrations set between lines of text. The majority of these compositions are in close proximity to the verses they illustrate and follow the content and sequence of the text—a principle that obtained throughout the history of the pictorial narrative in Iran and neighbouring regions. Another noteworthy feature of this manuscript is its high rate of illustration, with narrative scenes coming in rapid succession. This approach towards narrative illustration prevailed until the middle of the 14th century. Thereafter, illustrated manuscripts tended to have a much smaller selection of scenes, with greater emphasis placed on the landscape setting and other features of individual narrative compositions.

Manuscript painters evidently had considerable freedom in the choice of narrative episodes to be illustrated, and virtually no two volumes of the same text, be it the epic Shāhnāma by Firdawsi, Nizami’s romances collected in the Khamsa (‘Five poems’) or Jami’s mystical Haft awrang (‘Seven thrones’), have the same set of illustrations. Invariably, certain favourite stories were illustrated again and again, leading to the formulation of standardized, and instantly recognizable, images. Such narrative topoi, however repetitive or iconographically formulaic, could evoke the entire progression of a story, including the overall plot, dramatic action and cast of characters. Narrative imagery in Islamic manuscripts goes beyond ‘mere’ illustration. It also involves the use of visual metaphors, intended to enhance complex literary themes and mystical ideas. This is, perhaps, the most distinctive feature of Islamic narrative painting, through which it can rightly be acclaimed as one of the most imaginative narrative traditions in the history of art.

Bibliography

A. S. Melikian-Chirvani: ‘Le Roman de Varqe et Golsah’, A. Asiatiques, xxii (1970), pp. 1–262

A. S. Melikian-Chirvani: ‘Conceptual Art in Iranian Painting and Metalwork’, Akten des VII internationalen Kongresses für iranische Kunst und Archäologie: Berlin, 1979, pp. 392–400

M. S. Simpson: ‘The Narrative Structure of a Medieval Iranian Beaker’, A. Orient., xii (1981), pp. 15–24

M. S. Simpson: ‘Narrative Allusion and Metaphor in the Decoration of Medieval Islamic Objects’, Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. H. L. Kessler and M. S. Simpson, Stud. Hist. A. , xvi (Washington, DC, 1985), pp. 131–49

A. S. Melikian-Chirvani: ‘Khwaje Mirak Naqqash’, J. Asiat., cclxxvi (1988), pp. 97–146

E. Baer: Ayyubid Metalwork with Christian Images (Leiden, 1989)

Marianna S. Simpson

III. Indian subcontinent.

Although India has a strong story-telling tradition, religious subjects (stories of deities and accounts of miracles, saints, holy men or devotees) have predominated in narrative art. Chronological accounts of events in secular time had little importance at moments of political flux, and the Hindu, Buddhist and Jaina religions ascribe no ultimate value to life in the world. In local and regional folk traditions, however, the histories of heroes, kings and communities flourished, and secular histories emerged as important subjects for depiction under the influence of West and Central Asian and European traditions. The belief in recurring cycles of time, common to Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism, also influenced modes of narrative expression.

The sacrificial religion described in the Vedas, India’s earliest literature, depended initially on oral transmission and did not develop a narrative art (see Indian subcontinent, §I, 2(i)). Jainism and Buddhism, both of which emerged in the 6th century BC, introduced life stories of personages whose teachings were central to their philosophies. Sculptural representations of incidents in the Buddha’s life—his birth, departure from the palace, first sermon, miracles and death—preceded the appearance of the Buddha image itself. These and jātaka scenes (stories of the Buddha’s previous births) appear, for example, on the railings and great toraṇas (Skt: gateways) of the stupas at Bharhut in north-central India (c. 2nd century BC), at Sanchi in central India (2nd century BC–1st century AD; see ) and at Amaravati in the Deccan (3rd century BC–4th century AD). In each instance a number of successive episodes are shown within the confines of a single panel or in panels one above the other, but rarely in chronological order. By contrast, Buddhist narrative art of the 1st–4th centuries AD in Gandhara (present-day north-west India, Pakistan and Afghanistan) is linear, a sequence of arrested moments, separated by such artistic devices as Corinthian pilasters, thus reflecting Hellenistic influence from Bactria and Parthia and contact with Rome. The most famous examples of Buddhist narrative painting are in the cave complex at Ajanta in the western Deccan. The earliest jātaka scenes there date to the 2nd century BC, but most of the paintings are late 5th century AD (see Ajanta, §2(i)). Buddhist narrative paintings at Bagh in Malwa date from between the 6th century AD and the first half of the 7th.

By this period the important texts of popular Hinduism, the Rāmāyaṇa (the story of Rama, one of the incarnations of the Hindu god Vishnu), the historical narrative known as Mahābhārata (with its appendix, the Harivaṁśa), the Bhāgavata purāṇa and other key Puranas (mythological and legendary histories), had been composed, bringing together a wide range of legends and religious teachings. A temple culture and a complex sacred iconography had been established. Many gods were depicted in scenes from myths and legends: deities in terrifying postures slaying their enemies (e.g. the goddess Durga killing the buffalo–demon Mahishasura); the moment of rescue or miraculous manifestation (e.g. the god Shiva emerging from the fiery liṅga, his phallic emblem); stories of creation, usually associated with the god Vishnu; forest and battle scenes and legends of the deity Krishna (see ), especially episodes from his childhood and youthful dalliance with the cow-herd Radha. Hindu narrative sculpture, not normally worshipped, was confined to horizontal friezes on beams, the bases of walls and the gateways of temples. Superb 15th-century examples can be seen at the Ramachandra Temple at Vijayanagara in the Deccan (see Hampi). Sculpted wall panels illustrating the Rāmāyaṇa run around the maṇḍapa (pillared porch) and antechamber in three tiers. Mythological scenes also appear in painted form on south Indian temple walls from the medieval period to the present, and on painted, printed and dyed cloths used in ritual performances, which sometimes combine narrative depictions with iconic representations of deities. Episodes are rarely arranged in a simple linear sequence (see Indian subcontinent, §VII, 3).

Narrative depiction in the form of book illustration appears in both courtly and religious contexts. The earliest surviving illustrated palm-leaf manuscripts and book covers date from the 11th century. They consist of eastern Indian Vajrayana Buddhist texts of the Pala period (see Pala and sena); the wooden covers occasionally depict a jātaka story (see Indian subcontinent, §VI, 3(ii)(c)). Western Indian Jaina paintings from the late 14th century—the earliest narrative illustrations on paper—depict the life of the tīrthaṅkara (divine master) Mahavira and other jinas (liberated souls who had conquered vice) and accounts of monks such as Kalaka. The earliest extant illustrated Hindu texts date to the 15th century. The latter two traditions continued under mercantile and court patronage, respectively, until the 19th century.

Muslim rulers of West and Central Asian origin introduced a secular and nationalist narrative tradition into India (see Indian subcontinent, §VI, 3(ii)(d)). The Sultanate rulers (13th–16th century) of north India commissioned illustrations of the Persian ‘national epic’, Firdawsi’s Shāhnāma (‘Book of kings’), and books of fables and stories. The Mughal ruler Akbar (reg 1556–1605), once his Indian empire had been secured, commissioned illustrations to his grandfather Babur’s biography , to the Ḥamzanāma (a Persian romance) and to the account of his own rule, the Akbarnāma, as well as to Hindu epics and other texts. Subsequent Mughal emperors and provincial Muslim rulers continued the practice of illustrating events in their reigns. Examples include the Tūzuk-i Jahāngīrī (c. 1620), the memoirs of Jahangir (reg 1605–27) and the Pādshāhnāma (c. 1646/50), an account of the reign (1628–58) of Shah Jahan (see [not available online]).

As the European trading powers fought for control of India in the 18th century, European artists working at the courts of local rulers strengthened interest in the depiction of particular events. Haydar ‛Ali, the Sultan of Mysore (reg ?1761–82), and Tipu Sultan (reg 1782–99) commissioned wall paintings to celebrate their defeat of the British at Polillur in 1780. As real power diminished, Hindu rulers of the north-west commissioned paintings of ceremonies and festivals, subject-matter that was taken over by photographers in the second half of the 19th century.

At the local level in modern India, women depict mythological scenes on house walls at festive times. Travelling picture-showmen in many parts of India (Gujarat, Rajasthan, Bengal, Orissa, Maharashtra, Andhra Pradesh) still narrate local and community histories and Puranic legends illustrated by paintings, in sequences of single episodes on paper scrolls or single sheets, or in multiple-scene compositions on cloth; in the 1990s the film and television industries threatened their demise. Artists of the 19th century and early 20th at pilgrimage centres, such as Kalighat in Calcutta, produced satirical images of topical events and mythological scenes in watercolour and block-print (see Calcutta, §3). In the late 20th century mythological scenes were printed in the form of calendars for the popular market.

The genre of narrative painting in the Western sense did not exist in India, although Rāgamāla (‘Garland of melodies’; personifications of musical modes) and related religious paintings did utilize techniques for the depiction of emotion (see [not available online]). Upper- and middle-class art-school-trained artists drawing on both European and Indian traditions since the late 19th century have at times used this narrative mode, and historical narratives in various media celebrate nationalist themes.

Bibliography

H. C. Ackermann: Narrative Reliefs from Gandhara in the Victoria and Albert Museum London (Rome, 1975)

J. P. Losty: The Art of the Book in India (London, 1982)

L. Nehru: Origins of the Gandharan Style (Delhi, 1989)

V. Dehejia: ‘Narrative Modes in Ajanta Cave 17: A Preliminary Study’, S. Asian Stud., vii (1991), pp. 45–57

A. L. Dallapiccola and others: The Ramachandra Temple of Vijayanagar (Delhi, 1992)

D. A. Swallow

IV. Pre-Columbian Americas.

Narration permeates many aspects of Pre-Columbian art, but in some cultures the vast majority of art appears to be not so much concerned with telling a story as with representing symbol and meaning in a cosmic sense. Nevertheless, narrative scenes, both religious and secular, are presented on wall paintings in palaces, residences, tombs and, in a few cases, on cave walls; in carved stone, plaster and mud-plaster on monumental walls, on stelae and on benches within rooms; and in ceramics, and sometimes in metals, either as painted scenes on vessels or as groups of figures.

Narration was presented in a variety of compositional formats. It could be shown as a single moment in time, but, characteristically, as part of an entire sequence of actions (e.g. the installation of the king depicted on the Leiden Plaque from Palenque (Leiden, Rijksmus. Vlkenknd.), or the capture of a city shown on many Mesoamerican stelae); as a continuous sequence of moments that move from one scene to another (e.g. the battle, ritual and celebratory scenes at Maya Bonampak, or the series of six carved panels along the sides of the principal ballcourt at Tajín, showing sacrifice); as contrasting episodes from different parts of a sequence of actions; or as what might be called simultaneous narration. In the last type, a single scene is shown, but the elements in it are a composite of several different stages of a sequence. For example, in Mesoamerican art a war captive, shown at the time of capture with his captor dominating the scene over him, is often depicted in the state of a captive ready for sacrifice, although his state of dress and other regalia would not, of course, be so until some time after his capture, when sacrificial rituals were begun.

In continuous sequences of narrative art, attention is sometimes focused on three points in time: an inceptive moment just before or as the sequence of the ritual, mythological or historical action begins, a progressive moment or moments in which part of an ongoing action is shown, and perhaps a completive moment when the ritual or event is done. In other cases the ‘sequence’ is implied by a continuous stream, as in scenes of running humans and animals, pumas attacking, boats, and birds in flight in Mochica paintings of northern Peru.

The narration in most Mesoamerican art is, at least on one level, an obvious depiction of a story, be it ‘actual’ or mythological/legendary (e.g the investiture of a ruler, the Maya myth of the hero twins, the capture of a city, a battle, or a sacrifice or other ritual). In contrast, the art of Teotihuacán appears not so much to tell a story as to depict ideals. It assumed a local audience already familiar with the symbols shown. It did not suggest dramatic or explanatory strategies for a wider audience. For example, one of the most common themes in Teotihuacán art is the human heart, shown on a sacrificial knife, in front of the jaws of an animal or simply on its own. Whereas other Mesoamerican cultures depicted war captives with their captors, at Teotihuacán it is the concept of capture and sacrifice that is primary. Conquest and sacrifice were central to the well-being of the state, but they are removed from historical representation and shown in their cosmological interpretation. In the same way, most of Teotihuacán’s art emphasizes in symbol the themes of natural bounty, social order and harmony. Narration in Aztec art is found mainly in the codices. In these, historical and ritual sequences are depicted linearly on the sheets and from one sheet to another. Movement and the progression of events are shown through such symbols as lines of footprints to indicate movements and journeys, lines of dates and speech scrolls, and through the repetition of figures in successive scenes (see fig.).

Pre-Columbian American narrative scene depicting the Migration of the Mexica: Island Homeland of the Mexica (Aztlán); reconstructed detail from the Codex Boturini, roll manuscript, 198×5490 mm (Mexico City, Museo Nacional de Antropología)

Narration, at least as interpreted by archaeologists, can also often be said to be implied in a single piece or group of pieces. For example, the unique set of sixteen stone figures with a backdrop of six jade celts found in an offering at the Olmec site of La venta (Mexico City, Mus. N. Antropol.)has been interpreted as showing a ritual scene with a principal figure, possibly regarded in a hostile way by a file of participants, and a jostle of onlookers. The Chibcha (Colombia) cast-gold raft holding a dignitary and his officials (Bogotá, Mus. Oro) can be interpreted as representative of the entire ritual of rulership investiture and gold offerings known to have been performed in Lake Guatavita. The many groups of pottery figures in the western cultures of Mesoamerica also depict scenes of ritual and daily activities (e.g. an entire Mesoamerican ball-game, itself a ritual, from Nayarit; New Haven, CT, Yale U. A.G.).

Bibliography

G. Kubler: The Art and Architecture of Ancient America, Pelican Hist. A. (Harmondsworth, 1962, rev. 3/1984)

M. P. Weaver: The Aztecs, Maya and their Predecessors: Archaeology of Mesoamerica (New York, 1972, rev. 3/1993)

D. Bonavia: Ricchata quellccani: Pinturas murales prehispánicas (Lima, 1974); Eng. trans. by P. J. Lyon as Mural Painting in Ancient Peru (Bloomington, IN, 1985)

W. Bray: The Gold of El Dorado (London, 1978)

E. Pasztory: Aztec Art (New York, 1983)

L. Schele and M. E. Miller: The Blood of Kings: Dynasty and Ritual in Maya Art (Fort Worth, 1986, rev. London, 1992)

M. E. Moseley: The Incas and their Ancestors: The Archaeology of Peru (London, 1992)

E. Pasztory: ‘Teotihuacán Unmasked: A View through Art’, Teotihuacán: Art from the City of the Gods, ed. K. Berrin and E. Pasztory (London, 1993), pp. 45–63

David M. Jones

V. Western world.

1. Early Christian and Byzantine, c AD 250–1453.

Most of the art that has survived from the Early Christian and Byzantine period is religious. Artists drew primarily from the Bible or from popular religious texts for their subject-matter. The juxtaposition of Old and New Testament episodes, simple, two-figure compositions and multiple layers of meaning were threads that ran throughout the narrative art of the Early Christian period. One of the earliest surviving examples comes from a mid-3rd-century Christian meeting house (domus ecclesia), from Dura Europos, Syria (restored at New Haven, CT, Yale U. A.G.; see Dura europos, §4). Only fragments of Old and New Testament scenes survive on the walls of a room that served as a baptistery, and the overriding theme was one of Christian salvation. Often narrative and non-narrative images appeared together, as in the painted ceiling of the catacomb of SS Pietro and Marcellino in Rome (4th century), where four episodes from the story of Jonah formed part of a composition that also contained orant figures and an allegorical image of Christ as the Good Shepherd (see also Rome, §V, 13).

Richly illustrated manuscripts of individual biblical books, such as the Cotton genesis (5th/6th century; London, BL, Cotton MS. Oth. B. VI), now fragmentary, were filled with animated scenes. Either separate pictures framed by plain borders were set within the text columns, beneath the text, or several scenes were joined to fill a single page, as in a fragmentary manuscript of the Book of Kings, the so-called Quedlinburg Itala (early 5th century; Berlin, Staatsbib., MS. theol. lat. fol. 485; see Early christian and byzantine art, §V, 1). The walls of Early Christian churches were decorated with lavish biblical narrative illustrations, perhaps derived from manuscripts. In S Maria Maggiore in Rome, as in other Roman churches, Old Testament cycles in mosaic lined the two walls of the nave and culminated in a cycle on the triumphal-arch wall devoted to the Infancy of Christ, a popular narrative subject. Passion and Miracle cycles also frequently adorned sarcophagi (see Sarcophagus, §III, 1), churches and small ivory plaques.

In the 6th century a more hieratic and ceremonial approach to narrative art prevailed, as on the lead oil flask (ampulla) from Palestine (6th century), now in the Cathedral Treasury in Monza, where the Adoration of the Magi and the Annunciation to the Shepherds were composed as a single, centralized image.

Narrative episodes were often chosen for their liturgical value. In the presbytery mosaics in S Vitale (c. 547) in Ravenna, Italy, the Sacrifice of Melchizedek, the Sacrifice of Isaac and the Hospitality of Abraham prefigured the Eucharist. Later in Byzantine art, entire feast cycles were developed, based on the church calendar and drawn from historical cycles, with scenes such as the Annunciation, Baptism and Ascension, as in the katholikon or main monastery church (c. 1000) of Hosios loukas, near Delphi, Greece. Narrative episodes were also used for political purposes. Eight silver plates discovered in Cyprus (now New York, Met.) embossed with scenes from the Life of David were produced in Constantinople (now Istanbul) under Heraklios, the Byzantine emperor, between 613 and 629/30, as an ensemble to glorify the kingly, and therefore imperial, triumphs. The line between religious and secular art in this case (as in others) was vague.

In manuscripts of this period there was a progressive separation of text and illustration. Half-page or full-page miniatures illustrated Old Testament or Gospel texts. Among the most beautiful of the early manuscripts are the Vienna genesis (Vienna, Österreich. Nbib., Cod. theol. gr. 31), the Rossano gospels (Rossano, Mus. Dioc.) and the Rabbula gospels (Florence, Bib. Medicea-Laurenziana, MS. Plut. 1, 56), all from the 6th century. In manuscripts of later date, such as the Homilies of St Gregory Nazianzus (880–86; Paris, Bib. N., MS. gr. 510; see Paris gregory), the Psalter of Basil II (c. 1017; Venice, Bib. N. Marciana, MS. gr. 17), and the Paris psalter (mid-10th century; Paris, Bib. N., MS. gr. 139), full-page narrative illustrations are found, sometimes imitating monumental art, together with scenes distributed over several registers, in imitation of Early Christian models.

Undoubtedly the most elaborate Byzantine narrative art dates from the 9th century, after the iconoclastic controversy (see Iconoclasm). The vaults and walls of 9th- and 10th-century rock-cut chapels in Cappadocia, in modern-day Turkey, were painted with complex series of scenes arranged side by side, and sometimes in rows, drawing on Early Christian models (see Cappadocia, §2(ii)). Slightly later, in the Komnenian period (1057–1185), church walls were covered with Old and New Testament cycles at St Sophia, Ohrid, in the churches of st george, Kurbinovo, st panteleimon, Nerezi, and S Marco, Venice, and, in Sicily, in the Cappella Palatina at Palermo and the cathedral of Monreale. During the Palaiologan period (1259–1453) the church of Christ the Saviour in Chora, Constantinople (see Istanbul, §III, 3(ii) and Wall painting, colour pl. II, fig.), and churches in Mistra, Greece, were adorned with mosaics and frescoes illustrating magnificent and elaborate cycles of the lives of Christ and the Virgin, two of the most important narrative themes in Byzantine art. Although few secular works survive from the Byzantine period, those that do continue the Roman tradition of illustrating contemporary themes: marriage ceremonies, circus and hunt scenes, and Classical literary themes.

Paula D. Leveto

2. Medieval Europe, c AD 700–c 1300.

Medieval art of the West perpetuated Early Christian and Byzantine iconographic traditions, but to the narrative repertory were added cycles of the lives and martyrdom of saints. These began to appear as early as the 8th and 9th centuries in Rome in, for example, the churches of S Prassede and the chapel of S Maria Antiqua, the latter a Greek monastery where Greek and Latin artists worked side by side (see Rome, §V, 19). Lives of saints and stories of martyrdom appeared frequently in later medieval churches in Italy, for example in S Vincenzo (c. 1007), Galliano, and in northern Europe, as in the priory chapel, Berzé-la-ville (early 12th century), in France. They were also illustrated in manuscripts (see Saints’ lives). Besides flanking naves, in the Romanesque period Old Testament cycles began also to cover nave vaults in correspondence with architectural developments in vaulted ceilings, as in Saint-savin-sur-gartempe (c. 1100). Narrative art was found also in apses and narthexes.

In manuscripts, full-page illustrations with several rows of scenes to be read from left to right and from top to bottom, like a text, were one of the formats used for narrative illustration in this period, with examples ranging from the late 6th-century St Augustine Gospels (Cambridge, Corpus Christi Coll., MS. 286; see [not available online]) to the 9th-century Tours Bibles, in which scene after scene appeared against a unified and continuous background in a sequence typical of cyclical and historical depictions. In some cases single episodes occupied entire pages, such as the Annunciation to the Shepherds in the Ottonian Pericopes of Henry II (1002–14; Munich, Bayer. Staatsbib., Clm. 4452, fol. 8v).

Narrative biblical cycles decorated the 9th-century ‘Golden Altar’ of S Ambrogio, Milan (see ), numerous Carolingian ivories (see fig. [not available online]; see also [not available online]) and the bronze doors of the Ottonian church of St Michael at Hildesheim (c. 1001–31; see [not available online]). Biblical stories and stories about the lives of religious personages and heroes appeared on all types of objects from crystals to glass and from jewels to gravestones.

In Romanesque sculpture New Testament scenes were depicted around sculpted capitals in naves and cloisters (see Romanesque, §III). These novel designs illustrated whole cycles with scenes running in succession down the nave, where smooth wall surfaces had been replaced by articulated or skeletal structures. Portal sculpture also provided a suitable medium for narrative images that ran across lintels or were enlarged as scenes (e.g. the Last Judgement) spanning the semicircular spaces of tympana.

The few secular narratives that are known include the 69 m long Bayeux tapestry on which the Norman Conquest of 1066 was woven in precise detail. Battle scenes had long been favourite subjects for secular narratives.

Bibliography

A. Grabar: Christian Iconography: A Study of its Origins, The A. W. Mellon Lectures in the Fine Arts, 1961, Bollingen Series, xxxv/10 (Princeton, 1968) [good overview]

K. Weitzmann, W. Loerke, E. Kitzinger and H. Buchthal: The Place of Book Illumination in Byzantine Art (Princeton, 1975)

Age of Spirituality: Late Antique and Early Christian Art, Third to Seventh Century (exh. cat., ed. K. Weitzmann; New York, Met., 1979) [excellent pls]

F. Andersen and others, eds: Medieval Iconography and Narrative: A Symposium (Odense, 1980)

H. L. Kessler and M. S. Simpson, eds: Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, Stud. Hist. A., xvi (Washington, DC, 1985)

H. Kessler: ‘On the State of Medieval Art’, A. Bull., lxx (1988), pp. 166–87 [recent bibliog.]

M. Lavin: The Place of Narrative: Mural Decoration in Italian Churches, 431–1600 (Chicago and London, 1990)

Paula D. Leveto

3. Late medieval and later, c 1300 and after.

In the period before 1500, narrative art was characterized by complex forms of relating historical events. Influenced by the medieval visual tradition, Renaissance narrative art developed a very sophisticated iconographic vocabulary based on biblical stories. Even illiterate Christians understood the stories the artists’ visual symbols represented. Giotto in his fresco of the Raising of Lazarus (c. 1305) in the Arena Chapel in Padua (see Padua, §4(ii)) depicted the culmination of the miracle, when Lazarus emerged from the tomb, as described in the Gospel of St John, 11 (see Giotto, §I, 3(i)), and this treatment of the narrative can be described as the culmination method, since it shows the end or resolution of an event that happened at one time and in one place. An episodic method of narrative depicts several scenes from the same event separated much like a comic-strip. By reading the series of episodes, this method suggests time passing. For instance, the St Francis cycle of frescoes (c. 1320) by an anonymous master in S Francesco, Assisi, shows the chronology of events from the madman’s recognition of St Francis’s sanctity to the latter’s death (see Assisi, §II, 2).

In the continuous form of narrative, events are depicted as separated by time but involving the same character within the same visual setting. Each new event is identified by the visual repetition of this character: for example, in the Tribute Money (c. 1425–7) in the Brancacci Chapel in S Maria del Carmine, Florence, Masaccio depicted events from Matthew 27: 24–7, in which Christ instructs St Peter to find tax money in a fish’s mouth; Peter, identified by his tightly curled white hair and beard, orange robe and green undergarment, appears in the centre of the composition receiving his instructions. On the left, on the same ground plane and apparently at the same time, St Peter reappears, taking the money from the fish’s mouth; on the right he appears again, giving it to the Roman tax collector.

The simultaneous narrative is characterized by depicting in the same work two or more distinct events known to have taken place at different times and/or places. However, it uses events involving different people, avoiding the use of repeated figures. The Annunciation by Fra Angelico for S Domenico in Cortona narrates Luke 1:35, in which the Angel Gabriel tells the Virgin that she will be the mother of Christ. In this painting the New Testament theme of the Annunciation dominates the composition’s foreground, while in the distance (the upper left corner) is depicted the Expulsion from the Garden of Eden, an Old Testament subject. In symbolic narrative, the second major category of narrative art during the Renaissance, specific contemporary events are depicted. There are several examples of this form in the Renaissance, notably Uccello’s three panels on the subject of the Rout (or Battle) of San Romano (c. mid-1430s; London, N.G.), illustrating the events of 1432. The landscape in the background is recognizable as the Arno Valley near San Romano, and the man on horseback in the centre of the version in the National Gallery in London is clearly a portrait of Niccolò da Tolentino, commander of the Florentine forces. In a type of ‘pseudo-narrative’ form of art, there are two types: allegorical and genre. The allegorical form, in which abstract themes or concepts (e.g. virtues and vices) are symbolically represented, is illustrated by the Birth of Venus (c. 1484; Florence, Uffizi) by Botticelli, in which Beauty is personified by Venus on a cockleshell, and the wind is personified as a floating human figure issuing a puff of breath from his cheeks. The genre form represents common yet significant events, such as hunting, dancing and feasting.

In his famous frescoes on the Sistine Chapel ceiling (1508–12; Rome, Vatican), Michelangelo used the episodic form of narrative in his overall plan of the ceiling, depicting the nine stories from Genesis. He used the culmination form in many of the separate scenes; for example, the Creation of Adam and the Creation of the Sun and Moon show the end of the respective stories. Michelangelo also used the simultaneous narrative form in the Fall and Expulsion, in which he depicted the Serpent tempting Adam and Eve on one side of the Tree, while on the other side, within the same landscape, the angel expels them from the Garden of Eden. After c. 1520 and the period of the High Renaissance, painters ceased to use the simultaneous form, but they continued to use the episodic form in ceiling paintings. Use of the culmination form persisted, however. It maintained its popularity in the narrative art of the Baroque period, particularly in its religious paintings. Notable examples include the Conversion of St Paul (1601) painted by Caravaggio for the chapel of Pope Clement VIII’s General Treasurer, Monsignor Tiberio Cerasi, in the Augustinian church of S Maria del Popolo, Rome, in which Saul is shown being knocked off his horse by a blinding, divine light at the moment of his conversion to Christianity. Rubens’s the Rape of the Daughters of Leucippus (c. 1617; Munich, Alte Pin.) illustrates the violent act of the women being abducted by the Roman soldiers. Rembrandt’s the Blinding of Samson (1636; Frankfurt am Main, Städel. Kstinst. & Städt. Gal.) shows the moment of peak action in the story when Samson’s eyes are gouged out.

In northern Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries, narrative art flourished in the work of several artists in particular. The period was dominated by Albrecht Dürer and Pieter Bruegel I, whose narrative works are categorized as iconographic and genre, respectively. Dürer’s iconographic narrative relied on a language of symbols and the audience’s knowledge and understanding of those symbols. His work therefore inevitably appealed to a limited audience. In the engraving of the Fall of Man (1504) he illustrated the Temptation. As well as the usual characters and motifs of Adam, Eve, the Serpent, the Apple and the Tree, animals not usually associated with the story from Genesis are present: a cat, a mouse, an elk, a parrot, an ox and, perched on a pinnacle in the distance, a mountain goat. While a commoner would recognize the story, he probably would not understand the significance of these seemingly extraneous characters; a wealthier, educated person would recognize the animals as associated with the four temperaments, the sins and the diseases associated with them, or metaphorical references from the Bible (Cuttler, p. 340). In the 17th century Bruegel’s genre narrative form, using commonplace events for subject-matter, gained considerable popularity. Scenes from the everyday life of common people—hunting scenes, weddings, harvests—are typical subjects of Bruegel’s paintings (see fig.). Unlike Dürer’s work, Bruegel’s paintings appealed to a wide audience, whose experiences were similar to those shown. Hunters in the Snow (1565; Vienna, Ksthist. Mus.) is Bruegel’s genre form at its best: hunters trudge through the snow followed by their dogs, tails tucked between their legs, while peasant women tend the cooking fire. In the distant valley below, skaters may be seen on an icy lake. Not only does Bruegel show a typical day in the lives of these people but he also evokes the feeling of a cold, sunless winter day (Cuttler, p. 480).

Historical narrative paintings became very popular from c. 1775 in the Neo-classical period. This narrative form illustrates a factual event. One of the earliest examples is Jacques-Louis David’s Oath of the Horatii (1784–5; Paris, Louvre), in which he depicted the three brothers receiving the oath and their swords from their father, an event documented by Roman historians (Hartt, p. 789). Many of David’s paintings are historical in nature: the Death of Marat (1793; Brussels, Mus. A. Anc.) and the Coronation of Napoleon in Notre Dame (1805–7; Paris, Louvre) are also very good examples of this form. A particularly expressive example of historical narrative is Francisco de Goya’s Third of May, 1808 (1814; Madrid, Prado), representing the execution by Napoleon’s soldiers of Madrid rebels on Principe Pio Mountain. A single lantern illuminates a grisly scene of a man about to be executed, standing amid the bodies of those shot before him by a faceless firing squad. Others hide their faces from the terror. Although Goya took liberties for effective, expressive purposes, the gruesome details are based on his own observations, thus adding credence to the narrative.

By the late 19th century artists focused less on the narrative and more on expression of either emotion or of colour and light captured in paint. The traditional narrative forms of the Renaissance were transformed into a form emphasizing mood and expression. The primary purpose of modern narrative art became the expression of an artist’s feelings towards an event, often using a personal iconography that omitted certain signs connecting the elements of the narrative and encouraging the viewer to construct his own narrative by relating the images to his own experience. In Guernica (1937; Madrid, Prado) Picasso painted his response to the Nazi bombing in April 1937 of an innocent Spanish village. While the title of Guernica enhanced the semi-abstract narrative content of the painting, in some works text also becomes part of the image, as in the Pencil Story (1972–3; New York, Bulgari priv. col.), in which John Baldessari elevated the mundane act of sharpening a pencil by including a written narrative underneath two photographs of the same pencil; on the left it is dull, on the right it has been sharpened. The text describes the action between the two points in time represented by each image. Personal narratives were depicted by Paula Rego in such works as Snare (1987), in which she drew on childhood memories of scenes that are often imbued with a sense of the macabre. Other artists, such as Öyvind Fahlström and Jess (b 1923), took up traditional but modern means of depicting narrative by using the form of Comic-strip art, yet simultaneously altering or recycling the episodes the strips illustrated. Comini identified two literary devices that modern narrative artists borrowed: metonymy and synecdoche. With metonymy, an image represents a concept, much as a metaphor does in language. For example, in Old House Lane=9 (1986; New York, Paula Cooper Gal.) Jennifer Bartlett realistically portrays three views of the same picket fence and behind it a quaint, white house. Depending upon the viewer’s past experience, the sun-dappled, white picket fence could represent tranquillity, security or safety for whomever is in the house; another interpretation might see the fence as an aggressive barrier to whomever is standing outside. In synecdoche a part is used to represent the whole. For instance, a crown represents the king. In The Accident (1957; New York, Joseph E. Seagram and Sons, Inc., priv. col.) by Larry Rivers, the viewer may construct a narrative disaster from its disjointed images, each of which represents the whole concept of ‘accident’.

Bibliography

C. D. Cuttler: Northern Painting (New York, 1968)

F. Hartt: History of Italian Renaissance Art (New York, 1969, rev. Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 3/1987)

E. Panofsky: Early Netherlandish Painting (New York, 1971)

A. Comini: ‘From Apparatus to Apparition in 19th and 20th Century Art’, Arts [New York], liv (1980), pp. 145–51

C. Owens: ‘Telling Stories: A Recent Collocation of John Baldessari’s Narrative Art’, A. America, lxix (1981), pp. 129–35

J. Marter: ‘Narrative Painting, Language, and Ora Lerman’s Trilogies’, Arts [New York], lvi (1982), pp. 90–94

K. Linker: ‘Eric Fischl—Involuted Narratives’, Flash A., cxv (1984), pp. 56–8

A. Cook: Changing the Signs: The Fifteenth Century Breakthrough (Lincoln, NE, 1985)

A. C. Danto: ‘Giotto and the Stench of Lazarus’, Antæus, liv (1985), pp. 7–20

M. Kozloff: ‘Through the Narrative Portal’, Artforum, xxiv (1986), pp. 86–97

P. Fortini Brown: Venetian Narrative in the Age of Carpaccio (New Haven, CT, 1988)

Randy R. Becker

artist statement development

2009-02-20T06:31:00.000-08:00

Debra Fritts Artist Statement

Looking at my work, I realize that I am a storyteller, but not in the usual sense. I build my stories in terra cotta clay , layering the surfaces with found object marks and fired colarants. These stories have no ending- nor do they contain answers to the questions they pose. They are inquistive, honest, and dwell on the mysteries and joys of daily living.

Each one of a kind sculpture is hand built, mainly using thick coils, then multiple fired. The pieces may be fired three to seven times depending on the color and surface that I'm trying to achieve. I approach the color on the clay as a painter. My palette is a combination of stains, glazes, oxides, slips, dry clays, underglazes and underglaze pencils. I mix- I paint, never exactly sure of the end results - another mystery. I enjoy the surprises!

King was featured as an Emerging Artist at the 1999 NCECA conference in Columbus, OH and a demonstrator at the 2002 NCECA conference in Kansas City, MO. She had a solo show at SPACE Lab in Cleveland, OH in 1999 and she had her first museum exhibition at the Erie Art Museum in Erie, PA in Fall 2002. Her recent exhibitions include "Taking Measure: American Ceramic Art at the New Millennium" at the World Ceramics Exposition 2001, Seoul, Korea, "National Ceramic Invitational" Blue Spiral Gallery, Asheville, NC, "Emerging Artists" at the Works Gallery in Philadelphia, PA, "Porcelain 2000" at Esmay Gallery in Rochester, NY, "Artists on Their Own" at Greenwich House Pottery in New York, NY, "Emerging Artists of the U.S." at the Vermont Clay Studio" and "Narrative Ceramics" at Odyssey Gallery in Asheville, NC.

Her work has been published in the books The Art of Contemporary American Pottery by Kevin A. Hulch, Teapots Transformed by Leslie Ferrin, Handbuilt Tableware by Kathy Triplett and The Glaze Handbook by Mark Burelson. Her work has also been featured in Studio Potter, Ceramics Art and Perception, NCECA Journal and Ceramics Monthly magazines.

View Kathy's full artist CV, in Microsoft® Word format.

Kathy King Artist Statement

In ancient times, Greek potters surfaced their ceramic vases with images of heroic mythology, religious ritual and drunken feasts attended by both gods and mortals. Each epic story played out upon the surface of the pot acting as a self-contained morality play thus preserving, in part, their culture for the ages. At the dawn of this millennium, I find myself inspired by these same artists, as I, a contemporary woman, attempt to depict the epic struggles of my own world. Included among these struggles are truth, beauty, love, hate, and vices (as well as unwanted facial hair).

From childhood onward, human beings are taught to surround themselves with substances to consume and adorn themselves with. The need arose to create containers that not only provided a function but also amplified the experience of the user. From the Attic Vase to the 20th century novelty coffee mug, much about the societies that provided these vessels can be read from the images on the pots. Our ability to reference the ceramic object through the functional use, decorative beauty, or historical placement, confers strength upon ceramics as a powerful vehicle for commenting on contemporary, cultural issues.

In my work I use ceramic vessels, tiled furniture and printmaking, either separately or combined in installations, which present narratives from a woman's point of view. My ideas are influenced by personal experience, and I often use myself as a character in the work. This presentation of personal narrative on ceramics through satirical humor, irony and sarcasm allows me to both celebrate and poke fun at my gender as well as myself. The combination of narrative presented on the surface, united with the contents or each vessel, allow a dialogue between function and narrative. Though each pot's narrative may contain the equivalent of a one-line joke, when the pieces are considered together they convey a singular theme in a serial format.

I am interested in mapping the ways that popular culture - including comic books, magazines, television shows, films, and a host of other forms help to shape and change how our culture views women. Popular culture does not simply reflect women's lives; it helps to create them and so demands critical scrutiny. My ultimate objective is to translate my own personal experience in relation to my culture, through narrative imagery on the utilitarian ceramic form. When I present these works in an installation, the stage is then set for my own epic tale of the struggles of mortals within our society. Though the urgency of these issues may range anywhere between morality to finding the right brand of cellulite cream, collectively, the human experience is recorded, as told through the voice of one woman.

http://web.onetel.net.uk/~victorbryant/histx106.html

The Ceramic Narrative

Matthias Ostermann

224 pages | 7 x 10 | 240 color illus.
Cloth 2006 | ISBN 978-0-8122-3970-6 | $49.95t | £32.50 | Add to shopping cart
Not for sale in the British Commonwealth, except Canada, or in Europe

The Ceramic Narrative is an exploration of past and present ceramic iconography concerned with the depiction of narratives, or with images meant to be thought-provoking, beyond the merely decorative. The book is beautifully illustrated with an extensive variety of work from history and the present day, showing how many contemporary artists continue this tradition with modern interpretations.

Examining ancient Greece, the ceramic imagery of the Maya culture, the ceramics of China, Persia, and Japan, European tin-glaze traditions, and the narrative imagery appearing on later European porcelains, Matthias Ostermann attempts wherever possible not only to present ceramic narratives in their cultural and historical contexts but also to refer to some of the older myths and sources that may have served as inspiration.

Applied arts writer David Whiting contributes an essay on the development of ceramic narratives in the twentieth century, while illustrations present the work of more than 75 contemporary international ceramic artists who explore narrative in distinctive and different ways. These include the exploration of mythologies and existing stories; personal visions, private stories and memory; the human figure, relationships and identity; political and social commentary; and finally, the ceramic object itself, seen as message and metaphor.

This book will serve as a beginning for further study of this fascinating and little-explored subject and as a celebration of the work of all ceramic artists whose passion is the ceramic narrative.

"This beautifully illustrated book is an exploration of past and present ceramic iconography concerned with the depiction of narratives and images meant to be thought provoking, beyond the merely decorative."—Ceramics Monthly

A practicing ceramicist since 1974, Matthias Ostermann lives and works in Montreal. He is the author of The New Maiolica: Contemporary Approaches to Colour and Technique and The Ceramic Surface, both available from the University of Pennsylvania Press.

David Whiting, of the United Kingdom, is a critic and a writer on studio ceramics and the applied arts. He has curated exhibitions and contributes regularly to such magazines as Crafts and Ceramics: Art and Perception.

wax molds continued

2008-11-18T09:00:00.001-08:00

wax molds

2008-11-18T08:57:00.001-08:00

sculpture week one

2008-09-09T09:30:00.001-07:00

chicago things

2008-09-09T09:28:00.001-07:00

chicago people

2008-09-09T09:16:00.001-07:00

words for rhyming.

2008-09-08T19:38:00.000-07:00

Blue Canoe.

Socio Pro Bono Flow. (Rap for free, for the people)

Boy Toy.

street guided self project

2008-05-09T10:00:00.000-07:00

monet's impressionism: sunrise (in a paper+wire 3-d mobile)

2008-05-09T09:55:00.000-07:00

2008-04-09T16:45:00.001-07:00

flash mob

2008-04-01T07:26:00.000-07:00

Some things written below are mistakes I knew I was making...

I would have been there flashing and mobbing. Our small Midwest college town was at least 2 hours from anything urban. My friends and I labored to stay current with the changing “aesthetics”. We tried hard to look disheveled, subscribed to appropriate magazines, and read the right books. We went to geeky movie premiers and talked about our likes and dislikes in near empty coffee houses. Under the influence of things that were happening elsewhere, we often felt like outcastes in our own neighborhoods.
Occasionally we understood what was happening when we arrived at “shows”. We carpooled to Chicago or St louis to visit places like the Metro, or Mississippi Nights (god rest her soul), or the Fireside to find hundreds, sometimes thousands of people who looked like us, talked like us, and apparently listened to some of the same music as us. It felt like a flash mob. We congregated for a specific purpose, stood for hours facing the same direction, bought the same t-shirts and cd’s then went on with our lives.
A few years, marriages, and jobs later none of us are doing any of the above things. Some might still download music, or keep a magazine subscription alive for nostalgia’s sake. I have not read a book in common with someone for at least a year and my buddy Jake shops at the mall now.
Acceptable dress during those few years would have been second hand khaki’s, Dickies of any color, or an older pair of jeans (not excessively baggy or too many holes), a band t-shirt, a beat to hell T-shirt saying something out of the ordinary would get approving nods, and the hooded sweatshirt. We were probably of the Weezer genre of the larger hipster set.
Magazines? HM Magazine, Spin, Paste, and Alternative Press, affectionately known as “AP”.
As for books, we read or re-read the Lord of the Rings trilogy because the movies were coming out in succession. We were huge fans and did not want to pose as only movies of the film. Some of us moved on to the Chronicles of Narnia, while others read more Tolkien (the Silmarrilion, or the Hobbit). I moved to Europe around this time and started reading Dave Eggers. I have read everything he has written and tried to recommend it to all of my buddies. However, while my life was still fluxing and jetting, they had wives refining their tastes and were reading mainstream Christian publications that made me wince. We separated ways and I found some new friends who would read what I was reading and would share with me books and ideas that they had found from books…Kerouac, Anne Lamott, Pirsig. Then I started reading shit that church fathers had written because Andy wanted to be a monk and I didn’t know if I should support him or not.
In addition to the Lord of the Rings movies, we were caught up in the new Star Wars trilogy, anything done by Kevin Smith (Jay and Silent Bob, Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy) or the up and coming Wes Anderson (at that time we just liked Rushmore). I don’t remember anyone ever referring to movies as “films”, but we would’ve if we knew better.
We had rules for taking road trips to the cities, Micah drove his van, and no girls were allowed. Then one day Kirk drove. Then Kirk wanted to bring Cristina. Then they made-out in the back of the van while I drove the rest of the way home. We dubbed their relationship “Kirkstina” to be funny. Little did we know that we were nearing the end of an era. Cristina turned out to be a bad idea, so Kirk found “Amanda”. By this time Matt had found “Bethany”, Jake had found “Lana”, I had found epic world travel and gave everything I learned and found (in spirit) to my friend Andy, and Micah bought a trailer.
All this to say; we wanted to be caught up or flash mobbed. We were willing to blog (Make-outClub.com) and network electronically if it meant having our lives mean something in common with so many others. Nevertheless, Wasik’s efforts failed to reach my friends and I when we were together and now that we are apart, we would settle for an afternoon together with Andy, Kirk, Matt, Jake, Doug, and Micah.

2008-03-26T20:18:00.001-07:00

2008-03-26T20:13:00.001-07:00

2008-03-26T17:23:00.000-07:00

2008-03-26T17:11:00.000-07:00

some prints

2008-03-26T16:55:00.000-07:00

2008-03-24T20:29:00.001-07:00

2008-03-24T16:50:00.001-07:00

2008-03-23T18:13:00.000-07:00

2008-03-23T18:03:00.000-07:00

Proposal for Final Creative Processes Piece

2008-02-18T05:39:00.000-08:00

Prompted by the overhearing of many a conversation about “community”, I set out to say my own piece about this subject. I wanted to say something small, simple and exciting, because I believe these are valuable aspects of a livable, welcoming social group. Perhaps, though, the purpose of community is not to find the ideal social setting. Monks, monasteries, and life-long spiritual and/or philosophical commitments to living in common and believing in common dominated my brainstorming stage. I found images of monks, both eastern and western, collected rules and rites that organized their lives, and then I visited the library. I lingered in the sections at the library dedicated to religion, social environments and communities in society (urban, rural, etc.) The most provocative books that I found were about alternative lifestyles and communes from the 60’s and 70’s, a handful of books by Henri Nouwen, and the book “Ghetto”, by Adam Broomberg and Oliver Chanarin.

The books describing the desert, ascetic communities from the 60’s and 70’s listed PhD’s, college dropouts, lawyers, singles, families, pot smokers, America protestors, experimenters with religion, and others who found one another, found a piece of land or an old grocery store, or any place at all that they could call “home”. These people had arrived at a place of religious or philosophical conviction and they could no longer live privately or capitally. They would, from their enlightenment forward, live in common with others. Many things brought these people together, many factors affected their common success or failure. Most importantly, they held their own mental faculties as they decided to experiment with their old lives and take on new ones. These were brilliant, bold decisions that, in making, had to have caused great hurt to some, but lavished love on others. (http://americanhistory.si.edu/lisalaw/6.htm)

Henri Nouwen dominated the second stack of books that I found. He was a former priest and professor of religion at Harvard University Divinity School, Yale University Divinity School, and the University of Notre Dame. For several months during the 1970s, Henri Nouwen lived and worked with Trappist monks in the Abbey of the Genesee, and in the early 1980s he lived with the poor in Peru. In 1985 he was called to join L’Arche in Trosly, France, the first of over 100 communities founded by Jean Vanier where people with developmental disabilities live with assistants. A year later Nouwen came to make his home at L’Arche Daybreak near Toronto, Canada. He died suddenly on September 21st, 1996.
Henri’s life and work gave new direction to my research. His was the first quirky hint of joining a great, complex mind dedicated to the formation of the individual within a community, while sharing in common his life and space with those who know no other way than to “do life together.”

In my limited experience with developmentally disabled people in the USA; are they not separated from the big group and given a small group to interact with from a very early age? In my grade school they were placed in a “special” classroom, with a special teacher, some with their personal aide. This small group and one-on-one interaction was something foreign to me, but special attention is always available for special children. If these kids stayed in our school district, then they were likely to be in class with the same 5-10 kids for 12 straight years. Special, deep, confiding relationships developed for them over time that the rest of us knew nothing about. We changed teachers, grades, classrooms, hallways, boyfriends / girlfriends, etc.

Henri Nouwen, gave up his high-profile Ivy League life to invest in and also to receive the special relationship for which he knew he was designed, but never experienced in common life with people who required change, new stimuli, and the organic push and pull of relationships. Most importantly, the community at L’Arche Daybreak, and the other L’Arch communities in the world do not have the mental faculties to live alone. They are given a community in which to share their lives. It is safe and better for them there. Henri Nouwen needed this community as much as this community needed him. They gave themselves to one another, the brilliant and the simple sharing life in common.

The last book I found, and the one that catalyzed my research is the book “Ghetto”. The photographers responsible for this book wanted to describe worlds that felt under explained by current journalism. For two years they traveled, investigated, and photographed the people living in these places or situations. The people and circumstances they found at Rene Vallejo Psychiatric Hospital in Cuba are the focus of my final project. The photographers originally wanted access to a psychiatric hospital made infamous by a battle between Amnesty International and Fidel Castro’s policy on how to get rid of the people you don’t like. They were denied access and redirected to Rene Vallejo, an under-the radar, less antagonistic hospital, but a hospital of psychiatric care nonetheless. Still, the doctors at this hospital closed doors in the photographers faces, and claimed certain wings of the hospital were off-limits. Despite these few roadblocks, photographers Adam Bloomberg and Oliver Chanarin had access to an ample number of patients at the hospital. They interviewed, befriended, and photographed the patients, who, I should add, are being slowly reintegrated into public life after 20-30 years of living at Rene Vallejo. Bloomberg and Chanarin found those men and women to be full of life, testing romance, and giving rough, beautiful explanations of “why” they are hospitalized.

Initially, the photographs and portraits of the patients held my attention. I started to sketch them one at a time while reading more about their stories. As my catalogue of sketches grew, so did my research on Cuba, Castro, political prisoners in communist governments, human rights, and the plight of Rene Vallejo’s patients and doctors.

As mentioned above, the photographers’ work at Rene Vallejo Psychiatric Hospital was restricted. I was so excited by the picture portraits, and the way that hospitalizing these individuals worked into my scheme of putting helpless people in communities while letting the rest of the world roam alone and free. But, I was unable to stop here and complete my thoughts. It was impossible to ignore the fact that Broomberg and Chanarin were led around the hospital by a chaperone who feared that the photographers would use the shortcomings of his hospital as political ammunition against the Cuban government. Patients without shoes were not to be photographed — unless another patient with a pair donated them. (There was plenty of shoe swapping.) Every image was examined and approved by the hospital director. Much was out of bounds — like the electro-shock therapy room, which patients reported was in regular use and patients’ dormitories, where privacy was non-existent. Also unacceptable was any mention of the Cuban law of peligrosidad (dangerousness). This law is often used to intern homosexuals and other citizens judged to be “in manifest contradiction with the norms of socialist morality.” There were details Broomberg and Chanarin couldn’t photograph — things they heard but could not capture on film.

At this point, I had unresolved thoughts and problems with my subject. I had the 15 portraits I reproduced in sketch form. I had googled “peligrosidad” a jillion times. I had researched Amnesty International, the Indianapolis Public Library, and the rest of the Internet for something current about Cuba or her psychiatric hospitals. Nothing existed that wasn’t 3-5 years old. Most of my findings were 10-20 years old, or invitations to vacation in Cuba. And I still thought something could be said about the mental state of those found living “in community.”

This is what I am ready to say. In these “communities,” one type of person exists: he/she who has reached a state of mind or faith that requires him/her to leave a solitary life and commit to a common one. In this commitment, whether by thought or deed, or regular medication, the individual is left behind. The individual will be forgotten, refined or recreated in the hands of community.

I am opposed to hospitalizing people because they are gay or have political views contrary to my own. That is a horrible thing to do. However, for these men and women in Cuba who only know life at Rene Vallejo, I have chosen to represent them, using the sketches I made, with the ink prints I collaged over them, and worked back into them with other dry materials. I do not think it is relevant to imagine how they were before Rene Vallejo, or how they might be better off/worse off in other situations. As I have found them, in Broomberg’s and Chanarin’s portraits, they will be kept together in a series and hung in a large frame similar to the picture
I found of the box that daily medication is distributed from at Rene Vallejo. One individual, when asked why he is a resident at Rene Vallejo, answered, “I am here for 1 blue pill and 2 white ones.” I will build this box and paint a washed-out hint of Cuba’s flag on the frame. Each of the portraits will be housed in its own, numbered compartment, separate but adjacent to the others. This is how they lived at Rene Vallejo when I discovered them

an artist statement

2008-02-15T20:43:00.000-08:00

He is loyal, and careful, and I want to be joined to him with a depth of spirit that no one in the world can understand

But we are busy living separate lives

The seasons when I have regularly shared with others (shared movies, dorm rooms, apartments, ideas, projects, dreams, holidays, vacations, bliss, or ignorance, etc.) were the best seasons. Theirs are the best stories to tell.

Yet, the most difficult thing for us to do is to include each other,

because I am capable. I am a Swiss army boy. Crafted to adapt and survive on my own: to see and/or be.

I say, “I can’t find a place where I feel good and want to stay,” because I am alone here as much as I was alone there.

I don’t want to call anything “mine”, because what I am doing, saying, drawing or recording is for the benefit of others. If I burrow away in a private studio, or library, or empty church, this is only to recall the things that I have found in people around me, their actions and reactions.

I believe in self-denial, only if, in doing so, another might live.

Books read about life, faith, and co-existing. Worlds I have not seen and the prospect of seeing them and sharing those experiences. My inner life, thoughts, reflections, and what is daily added to me by others and self. Seeing others solve the problem or answer the question or ask the question for themselves.

enjoying their moment

words, ideas, and people exhaust me, but hands free and renew.

I want to slow down enough to be included. But my tendency is motion at all times. I detest red lights, indecisive lottery ticket players, and brand-hopping cigarette purchasers.

Maybe there is more money in the public discussion, but more satisfaction in the private venture. We are very busy people trying to save the planet, save ourselves, love our neighbor and keep up with celebrity romances. Is anything treated appropriately?

I picked one thing to be wholly into, I will try to be a good friend, a good brother, and a good man. These good measures do not come in solitude or separation, and they do not come in a hurry.

If I can give myself to practicing any of these rules and commitments, I will feel honest, and work to include others in this odd kind of freedom.

2008-02-13T17:29:00.001-08:00

2008-02-11T19:21:00.001-08:00

first post

2008-02-04T19:08:00.000-08:00

nothing interesting. just getting the first one out of the way.