Tag Archives: surrealism

Spotlight on The Red Sun: Part II

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Image of works by Ellsworth Kelly, Joan Miro, and Alexander Calder

(Left) Ellsworth Kelly, Red Relief, 2009. Oil on canvas, two joined panels, 80 x 62 1/2 x 2 5/8 in. Private collection. Photo: Jerry L. Thompson, courtesy the artist © Ellsworth Kelly (middle) Joan Miró, The Red Sun, 1948. Oil and gouache on canvas, 36 1/8 x 28 1/8 in. Acquired 1951. The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C. (right) Alexander Calder, Untitled, 1948. Painted sheet metal and wire, 26 x 26 x 5 1/2 in. Gift from the estate of Katherine S. Dreier, 1953. The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C.

Read Part I of this series 

It is always fun to hear the stories behind a work of art, giving an otherwise unknown perspective on the painting. Duncan Phillips wanted to show “art beyond ‘isms,’” and I found it interesting that while he was not keen on surrealism, he acquired Joan Miró’s The Red Sun (1948) on the grounds that it fit in with the rest of his collection. Our guide for this spotlight talk, Paul Ruther, pointed out this connectivity and discussed the painting’s similarities to other works currently on view nearby–the surrounding Ellsworth Kelly panels (use of similar, bright primary colors) and Alexander Calder mobiles (floating objects in space).

Miró’s whimsy was not only evident in his art, but also his personality. After visiting the United States and New York for the first time, he returned to Spain with an unusual souvenir—sidewalk toys, which he added to his personal toy collection. In fact, some of the toys’ faces are strikingly similar to the background face in this painting!

Hannah Hoffman, Marketing Intern

Spotlight on The Red Sun: Part I

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Image of Joan Miro's painting The Red Sun

Joan Miró, The Red Sun, 1948. Oil and gouache on canvas, 36 1/8 x 28 1/8 in. Acquired 1951. The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C.

When describing the work of Joan Miró, words like bizarre, cartoonish, surrealistic, and dreamlike immediately came to the minds of participants in one of last week’s Spotlight Talks, a weekly series devoted to examining one work in the Phillips’s permanent collection. The talk, led by Paul Ruther, Manager of Teacher Programs, focused on Miró’s The Red Sun (1948), currently on view in the first floor of the Goh Annex, and interestingly is the only work by Miró in The Phillips Collection. Up until this talk, I appreciated Miró’s work from a historical sense, but never actually liked it. This painting, however, gave me a new perspective on his work and artistic vision.

Ruther began by asking the group what words they would use to describe the general aesthetics of Miró’s work. His signature use of bright primary colors, surrealistic imagery, and cartoonish faces we found widely apparent in this painting, from the blood red sphere (which we assumed was the “red sun”) to the headless torso and the floating cat-like face at the top of the painting. Ruther concisely described his work as “art of the subconscious.”

As you can probably tell from my attempt at describing this painting, there was no clear consensus on the specific imagery it portrays but rather speculations on its possibilities. Upon first glance, I immediately saw the painting as the visual representation of our minds during a dreamlike state, which fits into Miró’s idea of “art of the subconscious.” In our examinations, we noticed that the blue background shape looks vaguely like a face and the shape on the far right resembles a torso. Ruther pointed out the various “floating eyes of observation” throughout the painting and explained that most art historians view the descending thick black curves as a representation of Miró’s melancholy, alleviated by his dreams and his art. While the wall label cites this work’s materials as oil on canvas, we learned that the lighter blue passage is actually watercolor.

Read part two tomorrow. . .

Hannah Hoffman, Marketing Intern

An Exquisite Corpse for Seal

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For a recent Phillips after 5 collaboration with Arena Stage, we wanted to create a game for our guests that would bridge visual arts and dramatic literature. We started with an old parlor game embraced by the surrealists known as the exquisite corpse, in which a group takes turns drawing or writing a passage on a piece of paper, then folding the paper to conceal all but a glimpse of their creation, and passing it on to the next participant. At the end, a monstrous collective work is revealed.

During Phillips after 5, we placed a notebook in the gallery where Morris Louis’s Seal is on view. Simple instructions invited passersby to use the painting as inspiration and add a line or two to an unfolding drama. Today we publish the results–complete with angst, loneliness, water, sky, a ride on the Titanic, and a penguin’s perspective–here and on Arena Stage’s Stage Banter blog.

Midnight. Brisk. Quiet. Something is unknown. Enter CHASE, BELLE, and SHADOW.

BELLE: There’s something behind the curtains. What is it?

SHADOW: It moves like a racehorse. Did you see it?

CHASE: I don’t think we should watch it. It doesn’t belong here.

BELLE: I’m not sure what’s behind there, but someone should look.

SHADOW: Darkness is madness and hides the fear. The pain.

CHASE: I’m not afraid to cry. Or to try. Don’t be afraid. It’s only a dream.

BELLE: If it’s a dream then do not wake me. I’m floating, silently, wearing lace and singing a tune. A sad lament . . .

SHADOW: Wake up! A storm is near. Darkness looms. There’s no light in shadow. Deep sleep and dreaming . . .

CHASE: In my dream, curtains part—and then, a soft, smooth piece of sealskin, covering me, keeping me dry from any storm.

BELLE: You were lying so quietly next to me, and then I heard you shout. You were frightened by something or someone in your dream, it seems.

SHADOW: Death comes in many guises. I will enter softly when the time is right. Meanwhile rise up and face the stormy day ahead. Who knows what you will find. Take the boat around the bay and see me there.

BELLE: I have no interest in visiting your home—I barely can tolerate you here in a neutral setting.

CHASE: Belle! Why so harsh? Shadow’s just being polite. Besides, a boat ride across the bay is quite lovely, though at this time of day not as inviting.

SHADOW: Chase, you needn’t defend me. I’ve done nothing to offend Belle so. A trip to my home could help us all understand what we saw earlier this evening.

BELLE: We saw nothing! That was just the light of the stars playing against the leaves in that stand of trees. Everything is as it should be.

CHASE: I don’t get it. What do you mean?

BELLE: I mean isn’t it romantic the way the colors remind me of nature? They’re wet—dripping with meaning.

SHADOW: And yet it’s as if they are speaking in tongues, a different language to each observer.

CHASE: How is it that you see mere shadows, while I recognize only tangible objects?

BELLE: Ugh, I hate it when you talk in the abstract.

SHADOW: My name is Shadow. I don’t think that’s very abstract.

BELLE: (pause) I hate you two. I’m leaving.

SHADOW: Suits me just fine!

BELLE: Don’t be so glib! Our very future is at stake! You never take anything seriously. It’s like you’re swimming through life.

CHASE: Maybe that’s all he’s capable of. A rootless existence, ebbing and flowing. No substance. (To Shadow) You should be ashamed.

SHADOW: I suppose I should be like you instead? Dull as dirt, happily toiling away at the grindstone, never realizing you’re grinding yourself up in the process. There is so much you don’t know.

CHASE: What could you possibly teach me? You think you’re profound when really, you don’t even know who you are. It must hurt, being cut adrift.

BELLE: Don’t you understand the beauty of the midnight quiet. When what is known becomes unknown.

CHASE: You’re not profound. Finding beauty in the quiet doesn’t make you profound.

SHADOW: Don’t ruin the calm of this night.

CHASE: I’ll do as I please. Move as I please. Slow as I please.

BELLE: You are so selfish. And if you don’t hurry, I will be more than upset.

CHASE: Be quiet. You are getting on my nerves.

SHADOW: That‘s all right Chase. Belle doesn’t know what she is doing.

BELLE: Shut up, you two. You are ruining the moment.

SHADOW: And you are interrupting the darkness I have cast in measures around me.

BELLE: Lighten up Shadow! Why do you have to bring everyone down with all your melodramatic nonsense.

CHASE: But Belle, he is merely expressing himself!

BELLE: Yeah, well the last time he expressed himself, we ended up at the bottom of a lake!

CHASE: Ah yes, that fateful April 15th when the Titanic went down. But Belle, you survived!

BELLE: Yes, well, I should say—he ended up at the bottom of the “lake.” Last time he’ll express himself like that!

CHASE: What was it like after the sinking?

BELLE: The worst part didn’t come until I was near the shore. There were ice and penguins everywhere. Oh, those dreadful penguins!

SHADOW: Oh . . . That’s the dark side of you. I like it. The three shadows in that paintings were bare foot.

CHASE: Cold, cold, cold. I’m so cold. Blue cold. Ice cold. Blue ice. What does a penguin want?

BELLE: Penguins are black. Not blue. They are happy. Joyful. Not blue. Black white is gray.

SHADOW: Veils. Darkness. I am asleep. I awake in a dream of blue. Water, sky. Sky dreams . . .

BELLE: Ocean overwhelming nightmare by the sea. Continues turning, body yearning. Tell me more. (facing Chase, who’s watching Shadow) . . . Why the silence?

CHASE: The joy . . . turns to darkness with the tide, in time . . .

SHADOW: (in the distance, back turned, swaying and singing)” Mei nahar zormim—habeht—eylu hem yámei chayechah . . . ”

BELLE: The song is so lovely even if I don’t understand the words.

SHADOW: The ice is melting. The copper is oxidizing. I cry.

CHASE: Who are you? Why does the oxidizing copper make you so emotional?

SHADOW: Chase, I am in your mind. Look more closely at the copper . . . It holds SECRETS.

CHASE: I’m stretching to the sky like an anorexic ballerina caught on a medieval rack. Why do you torture me?

SHADOW: With a beautiful woman looming overhead. What’s the point of the surreal?

BELLE: I’m fed up with your abstract, arbitrary quandaries.

CHASE and SHADOW: We’re fed up with you.

BELLE: From the right sea and left forest, all I feel is alone.

CHASE: You are solitary, Belle. Lonesome as the darkness. You are alone.

BELLE: I feel a fear and my soul seeping from it. My feelings fall off the page.

CHASE: You are gone.

BELLE: Giant fingers and hooves.

SHADOW: (quiet) Trampling, crushing my soul. I rise above and clap my hands and shout. Things have fallen apart, and the trees harbor the refugees.

CHASE: The refugees . . . they kept quiet by the dark and the night of black velvet.