This is a compilation of a previous post with a few more images and a video showing the breadth of the work from artist Childe Hassam.
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We’re quickly moving into our most American of holidays, the 4th of July. It brings to mind images of fireworks, parades and picnics. And flags, plenty of American flags, that familiar red, white and blue.
I am a big fan of the flag paintings of Childe Hassam, the American Impressionist painter who lived from 1859 until 1935. His flag series was the most popular work in his long career.
He started this series of paintings in 1916 as the buildup to our entry in World War I was reaching a crescendo. In many cities around the country there were Preparedness Parades that displayed the general population’s escalating enthusiasm for entering the fray. The most famous of these was in San Francisco where, at one such parade in July of that year, a bomb was exploded by radicals of the time that killed 10 bystanders and injured many more. However, Hassam was in NYC and the displays on the avenues of multitudes of flags among the canyons of the growing city inspired him to produce a number of powerful paintings, not bombs.
I think these paintings say a lot about America, especially at that time. The cityscape shows an expansion of urban growth brought on by the influx of an immigrant population and a prospering, industrialized economy. The flags represent a unifying bond that ties together all these diverse groups, a simple symbol that speaks easily to the wants and desires of the population. Their dream of America. Perhaps it also covered up many of the injustices and inequalities rampant then. And now.
But I tend to think of it in the better light, as a call to our better nature and to a society of choice and opportunity. An image of possibility and hope. And Hassam’s paintings do that for me in a beautiful, graceful manner. The flag in its best light…
So, as we prepare for this year’s Fourth of July, I think of these paintings and the symbolism that they hold for myself and hope that we find a return to being that nation of possibility and hope, a society of choice and opportunity. Have a great Fourth!
I’m always intrigued by the paintings of Reginald Marsh, who painted scenes depicting the urban world of New York City throughout the early part of the 20th century until his death in 1954. His paintings always seemed densely packed with figures and constant movement, all rendered with easily recognizable line work and colors that were strong yet had a soft transparency. Striking.
But it was great fun and over the few visits there I had many memories that burned indelibly into my memory bank. My parents, and my aunt and uncle who sometimes were with us, would, after a while stop at one of the bars that opened to the boardwalk to have a cold one and I would wander alone. It was a wonderland of colorful attractions and games, their facades faded by time and sun. I have sharp images of a burned in memory of standing at one bar’s doorway and watching a singer all dressed in cowboy regalia standing on the bar with his electric guitar singing out country songs in the middle of the afternoon. 
I remember seeing the crowds down on the beach and suddenly seeing everyone there pointing out to the water and yelling. Looking out, I saw two legs bobbing straight out of the water, almost comically so. The lifeguards rushed out and dragged the body in. Dead and, now that I think about it, had probably been so for a while.
“Hold on!” he exclaimed in a thick accent that sounded Greek and a little angry to a terrified nine year old. He started chastising me.
Very, very busy but I thought I’d pause for just a little Bellini this morning. Not the cocktail, though it is tempting on this particular morning. I am talking about my favorite Renaissance artist, the Italian painter Giovanni Bellini (1430-1516) who lived and painted in Venice.
There just doesn’t seem to be enough time in any day, with what seems like a thousand tasks gnawing at me to get done. A little anxious, I am eager to get going but it is Sunday morning and my routine dictates that I dig out a song to play here on the blog.
Mark Twain holds great say in our area. He spent many of his summers overlooking my native city, Elmira, and the Chemung River valley at Quarry Farm, where he wrote many of his best loved books. His family plot at Woodlawn Cemetery is a tourist attraction. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt an affinity for the man and his writing.
Real busy this morning but wanted to share some paintings and a short video/slideshow of the work of the great American Modernist painter John Marin, who was born in 1870 and died in 1953. He was a pioneer in the medium of watercolor as well as the merging of abstraction and realism in his paintings.
Part of the charm of baseball for me are its mythic elements, the stories that captured my imagination as a kid. For instance, Babe Ruth allegedly pointing to the centerfield fence to call his home run. Or Satchel Paige supposedly throwing strikes using a single gum wrapper laid on home plate as the strike zone. Willie Mays’ fabled but very real over the shoulder catch. And Jackie Robinson stealing home in the World Series. Too many more to mention here.
Quiet morning and I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out what I want to play today for this Sunday morning music break. Spent a lot of time listening to a lot of different things. I would say it was too much time spent but it’s been enjoyable just taking the time and focusing on the music rather than having it as a background sound while I work.
Sometimes, after reading and listening to the news in the morning, I find myself feeling frustrated, angry, incredulous, despondent and helpless. It’s been that way for the last 20 years but more so in the past year as I see the tribalism of today’s politics take us so far from the ideals of democracy for the people. There’s more and more sheer greed and self-service without even the pretext of trying to hide it and the basis for legislation seems to be based not on the greater good but on how high a level of spite it can reach.
I decided to walk around my studio and look at some of the things on the wall. Maybe I could find something there that would placate the feelings, give me a different place in which to put myself. I settled in a corner of my main painting space (shown here on the right) where I have a very large painting of mine with four smaller painting above it. It’s a group of work that means a lot to me in several ways. A couple are early pieces, one is a favorite from my Outlaws series, and the last just seems to settle me down when I am upset.
Redtree Times 