Alma Thomas: On the Shoulders of Giants

Editor’s Note: Over the past several weeks our contributors have been on hiatus, in order to participate in SF Open Studios event. With this piece Venetian Red resumes its regular posting schedule.

By LIZ HAGER

Alma Thomas, Red Azaleas Singing and Dancing Rock and Roll Music, 1976,
acrylic on canvas, 72 1/4 x 135 1/2″.
(The Smithsonian American Art Museum)

In 1924, Alma Thomas (1891-1978) became the first woman to graduate from Howard University’s newly-created fine arts department. Quite possibly, she was the first African-American to hold this kind of degree. She went on to become the first women to receive a Masters’ degree (teaching) from Columbia University. For 35 years, Thomas dedicated herself to teaching art to high school students. She retired in 1960, in order to focus on her own work. In her 70s, plagued by arthritis and degenerating eyesight, she threw herself into her work. In 1972, at age 80, she became the first African-American woman to have a solo show mounted by the Whitney Museum of American Art.

Two weeks ago, Alma Thomas made news yet again.

Alma Thomas, Blue Abstraction, c.1961
oil on canvas, 34 x 40″.
(Howard University Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.)

Although the list of artworks the Obamas have requisitioned for the White House collection was released months ago, it wasn’t until a recent  New York Times’ article—“White House Art”—that members of the conservative blogosphere found another excuse to blast the Obama administration. Indignant, they locked their rifle scopes on one painting in particular, Alma Thomas’ Watusi (Hard Edge).  Free Republic and Michelle Malkin posted particularly exemplary pieces, decrying the work as an “almost exact replication” of Henri Matisse’s (1869-1954) The Snail. All Thomas had done, they argued, was to rotate Matisse’s canvas clockwise 90° and change some colors. “An embarrassment for the ‘sophisticates’ who failed to spot a copy hiding in plain sight,” one blogger hissed.

Henri Matisse, The Snail, 1953
gouache on paper, cut and pasted on paper mounted on canvas, approximately 113″ square.
(Tate Gallery)

Alma Thomas, Watusi (Hard Edge), 1963
acrylic on canvas, 47 5/8 x 44 1/4″.
(Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden)

The outcry was predictably bereft of thoughtful analysis. In the aggregate, the derisive comments—”my two year old could have done that” and “the crap that passes for art”— not to mention downright ugly sneers—”The original itself is a hoax. Most modern art is.”—might otherwise be a sobering reminder that a vocal segment of the population appears truly threatened by modern art. Predictably, though, the commentators revealed themselves to be neither knowledgeable nor interested in the subject of modern art. No, it was pretty clear from the particulars (including some nasty, racially-oriented snips) that Thomas and, by extension modern art, was merely the scapegoat here; Watusi was the vehicle through which the conservative fringe could ridicule, yet again, the President’s alleged lack of judgment. One self-appoint -ed cognoscente snickered: “He can’t even pick real art.”

Jean Arp, Untitled (Collage with Squares Arranged According to the Laws of Chance), 1916-1917
torn-and-pasted paper and colored paper on colored paper, 19 1/8 x 13 5/8″.
(Museum of Modern Art; © 2009 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn)

Did Alma Thomas copy Matisse? When it comes to intellectual property, despite  legal guidelines, copying is often harder to prove than it would seem.

Alma Thomas, Early Cherry Blossoms, 1973,
acrylic on canvas, 69 x 50″.
(Michael Rosenfeld Gallery)

On the one hand, as any trained artist knows, examining the world through the eyes of others is a necessary step on the road to developing a “mature” personal style. Indeed, all of human progress has been built on the shoulders of previous giants. Matisse’s cutouts could not have existed without the work of the collagists who preceded him—Jean Arp,  Kurt Schwitters, Hannah Höch—who in turn owed debts to earlier Cubists, Picasso and Braque. And on it goes.

Henri Matisse, Snow Flowers,1951,
watercolor and gouache on cut and pasted papers, 75 11/16  x  35 7/8″.
(Metropolitan Museum of Art)

On the other hand, illegitimate copying is real. Both Richard Prince (See VR’s “Prince of Pilfer”) and Jeff Koons have  been sued by photographers for incorporating copyrighted work into their own. Koons lost the Rogers v. Koons case, but won a more recent suit under the “fair use” doctrine.  Readers will remember that earlier this year Damien Hirst threatened to sue a 16-year-old over his use of an image of Hirst’s diamond-incrusted skull, in the process demanding royalties.

Alma Thomas at work in her studio, 1970s?

In the imaginary case of Matisse v. Thomas, interpretations of the “substantially similar” clause suggest many ambiguities that would present a challenge to definitively proving copyright infringement. (Imagined cries of “I know copying when I see it!” from Thomas bashers aside.) Thomas always credited Matisse for the inspiration that produced Watusi. It is obvious that the work launched her on a journey of artistic discovery that produced her unique and forward-looking (if not radical) mosaic style.

To assert that Thomas was “simply copying” Matisse would be to deny the rich and varied underpinnings of her work.  Thomas was deeply impressed by the colors and patterns of the natural world around her.  “Light reveals to us the spirit and living soul of the world through colors,” she once said.

Lois Mailou Jones, Les Fetiches, 1938
oil on linen, approximately 21 x 25″.
(The Smithsonian American Art Museum)

At her best, Thomas adeptly fused her own interpretation of the modernist approaches to color with the craft traditions (textile-based in Thomas’ case) of black America to arrive at a style that, while abstract, never quite looses its connection with natural form.  In addition to Matisse, Thomas identified with the work of Cézanne, as well as her teachers Jacob Kainen, Robert Gates, Joe Summerford, and Lois Mailou Jones.

Alma Thomas, Oriental Garden Concerto, 1976
acrylic on canvas, 68 1/4 X 54 1/4″.
(Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden)

If there was any real “crime” committed by the Obamas in the selection of their White House collection, it was that only 6 (!) of the 45 pieces were by women. (Louise Nevelson and Susan Rothenberg also included.)  Worse perhaps, no Latinos/as were represented at all.  Not exactly  “Change We Can Believe In.”

Alma Thomas, White Roses Sing and Sing, 1976
acrylic on canvas, 72 1/2 x 52 3/8″.
(Smithsonian American Art Museum)

The Hullaballoo

Michelle Malkin—Do the Watusi: Art, Imitation, and the Obamas

greg.org—“On Wingnuts on Alma Thomas”

Steven Kaplan—“Watusi vs. L’Escargot: Another Desperate Republican Attempt to Smear Obama”

The Mississippifarian—“It’s Called ‘Having a Clue.’ “

Wider Connections

Holland Cotter—“Colors From a World of Black and White”

Self-taught sculptor William Edmondson was the first African-American to have a solo show in a major US museum. See “Doin’ the Lord’s Work.”

John Elderfield—The Cutouts of Henri Matisse

Merry Foresta—Alma Thomas: A Life in Art

News Grist: Audio Symposium—A Search for Comity in the Intellectual Property Wars

US Copyright Office

Inauguration Fever: Proud to Be an American (Again)

“. . . On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord. . . “

 

 

photo ©2009 Liz Hager

As shots appear on the Jumbotrons, the enormity of the visual impact made by 1.8 million of us on the Mall was clear. The symbol of hope seen ’round the world.  On the ground, the crowd sizzles with pent-up energy.  Eight am rolls into 9 am and 10 am; the Mall filled. The rainbow coalition is reporting for duty.  The weather oscillates between biting cold (wind chill in action) and almost tolerable. People shuffled and marched to stay warm, aided by Sunday’s concert re-play on the Jumbotrons. 

With the arrival of dignitaries on the podium stage, we forget all about our frigid bodies. Anyway, the sun has come out, a portend of things to come. Random and large cheers rupture, ripple, reverberate. John Lewis, Ted Kennedy, Al Gore, Jimmy Carter, and Puff Daddy come and sit.  Cheney rolls in on his wheelchair—what righteous symbolism!  With the announcement of the man soon to be “Formally Known As,”  the crowd sends forth loud boos, chants of “Good Riddance,” “Go Back to Texas”and choruses of “Na, Na, Na, Na, Hey, Hey, Goodbye.”  The party is underway!

And then The Moment arrives. Our Man waits for the Chief Justice to get the words straight; alas he is unable, so our Man, poised as ever, repeats the wrong sequence.   “Congratulations, Mr. President.” The crowd goes wild.  Ding, dong the witch is dead!

 

 

. . . The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness. . .”

 

©2009 Liz Hager

 

“Our founding fathers faced with perils that we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience’s sake.”

 

©2009 Liz Hager

 

“All this we can do. All this we will do.”

 

 

 

Inauguration Fever: Martin Luther King/National Day of Service

Moving in a Straight Line ©2009 Liz Hager

We brave Massachusetts Avenue and the traffic jams at Union Station (hoards of people arriving today), then head SE down Pennsylvania Avenue and cross the Anacostia River. It’s a part of town none of us have ever been in. From the elevated overpass, we can see a small part of Anacostia Park below us. Anacostia is a very large park, which hugs the river for miles upriver. The park looks bleary in the hazy low-slung sunshine of the afternoon. The Pennsylvania Avenue overpass bisects the park, creating a no man’s land underneath it.  A collection of shabby buildings huddles together at one end of the park  and a sorry playground sits forlornly on the downriver side. With some trees standing along the river, this part of the park seems to be holding on to a last shred of dignity.  The river, industrial structures lining its shores here and there, chunks of ice bobbing along, definitely gives this area an aura of bleakness. It’s the dead of winter on the Eastern Seaboard.

We turn into the park and head towards the parking lot. 

Anacostia borders one of the poorest districts in Washington, DC.  The Anacostia River was once referred to as “DC’s forgotten river,” because of its state of severe pollution, caused by the dumping of raw sewage and industrial waste. Since 2004 a coalition of the willing—including No Child Left Inside, the National Park Service, the Chesapeake Bay Foundation, and a number of Senators and Congresspeople—have banded together to spearhead clean up efforts. It seems that the Park too has its share of the audacity of hope.

A lot of us have come for speeches and a tree planting on this National Day of Service.  Senators Steny Hoyer and Ben Cardin are here. (Hoyer gives a truly impressive speech linking Martin Luther King’s legacy to all of us.) The formidable Eleanor Holmes Norton (DC’s representative without a vote) is here. Even former Mayor Marion Barry is here, his drug-related problems apparently behind him.  There has been a rumor that Obama might show up. That would be truly exciting, but we’re content to support No Child Left Inside and the Park Service, even if he doesn’t come. And, as big fans of Friends of the Urban Forest back in San Francisco, the idea of participating in a tree planting feels like a way to be a good national neighbor on this National Day of Service. 

A local gospel choir kicks off the event; their undulating sea of rhythm is infectious. Speeches follow—most are

Inauguration Fever: The Pre-Game Show

 

With this post Venetian Red begins coverage of the Inauguration. 

 

Shot Rings Out  (photo ©Liz Hager)

It’s Sunday mid-afternoon in our nation’s capital. The temperature is warming. 

As our afternoon activity, we’ve opted for the National Gallery, not the Reflecting Pool. (Need to store all of our crowd-coping reserves for Tuesday’s event.) After a wholly-satisfying perusal of the East and West buildings (more on this in later posts), curiosity about the outside world has gotten the better of us. We head along the short block from the Gallery to the Mall. 

The Capitol building is festooned with garlands of flags, its stage visible visible from the first two Mall “yards.” Phalanxes of port-o-potties stand at attention along the edges of the Mall, their virginity preserved by plastic clasps. The feed towers, news stages, and Jumbotrons are all up.  A few thousand people have gathered together in loose clumps in front of the immense screens. As we round the corner of a supporting vehicle, we look up to see Bono’s be-spectacled face beaming down at us.  It seems we won’t miss a concert experience after all. 

The crowd is a joyous one, shuffling around to the beat, many singing along. More of us sing along with Pete Seeger and Bruce Springsteen. When Byoncé appears on the screen, she transfixes us (that girl has a set of pipes!). By the end of her performance our crowd has erupted in cheers.

And then the Man himself appears on screen to give us a sobering and uplifting pep talk. More than a few eyes are brimming with tears. 

We feel a disembodying sensation to be outdoors with thousands of people (truly a rainbow coalition) WATCHING TELEVISION. Though the concert is a short, straight shot away at the Lincoln Memorial, our gathering has its own unique make up, emotions, rhythms. But one thing is for sure, we’re all in this together, and that’s an expansive feeling.

This afternoon we’ve had a small preview of what will come.

A New Day Dawns

“Phoebe Boatwright, “Minions,” mixed media, each approximately 2″ high (photo ©2008 Liz Hager)

Last night, like most Americans, I joined family & friends to watch the election returns. In 21st-century fashion we tracked the breaking results on two computers and a television set. The stage was set with anticipation and fear, but there was still a lot of hope going around. 

I sat on the couch next to 14-year-old Phoebe. Phoebe is the daughter of our friends, but she is also one of my art buddies. Sometimes she comes over for working sessions on Photoshop or my sewing machine, or to finish off a project using my paints, pens, or Fimo clay.  I jokingly refer to these hours together as “Art Camp,” but I have come to think of them as more than creative sessions.  Phoebe is on the verge of adolescence, making the transition to adulthood with the typical teen mixture of absorption, bravado, flippancy, and pig-headedness. She has thousands of ideas, many of which, like her minions—little henchmen and women fashioned from wine corks, string and tape—are sophisticated and witty. It’s hard to have spent the quality of time I have with Phoebe and not feel a vested interest in her future.

A little after 8pm (PST) as the polls closed in California, CNN Projected Obama as the nation’s 44th President. The room filled with whooping and clapping, dazed silence and quiet tears. In the seconds after the announcement I joyously pulled Phoebe close and said “Do you realize how lucky you are to experience such an historic moment?”  

For the past 8 years, I have felt alternately angry and detached, wondering how my country could have been hijacked by the Purveyors of Fear and how it would be wrestled from their hands.  In the flash of that announcement, however, those useless emotions disappeared. I felt buoyant, deliriously happy. A new day had dawned. This moment was proof that anything was possible! Our country had been returned.  I knew, because once again I could see our American Dream shimmering radiantly. 

And in that moment Phoebe saw the future too. In response to my question, she assured me, “I’ll always remember where I was when this happened.”

Election Day 2008—What’s in a Name?

photo ©2008 Liz Hager

For weeks I’ve been wearing my Obama bling-bling as a talisman, hoping that it would do its charming best to alter the course of the cosmos. (Yes, I was expecting a lot from these 9 letters.)  I woke this morning full of excitement—”the audacity of hope” I guess—and dread. For being a Democrat over the past 8 years has meant living apprehensively—fearful that the polls are woefully inaccurate; scared that the Republicans will find yet other ways to disenfranchise voters; above all,  apprehensive that Democrats would blow it (yet again) on the 2 yard line.  Still, an audacious thought—What If ?— crept into my head.  What if Obama were to win today, what would I do with my kismetic bling-bling tomorrow? After all,  its message appropriate today, would be obsolete tomorrow. Or would it? 

photo ©2008 Liz Hager

An avid childhood Scrabble player, I began to think about the inherent possibilities of rearrangement. Was there a secret message in V-O-T-E-O-B-A-M-A ?  If so, at first not obvious. In desperation, after re-sorting all sorts of combinations in English and trying Spanish (after all Latinos will turn out in record numbers today as well), I hit upon Above a Mot. Lame, I know, to have to resort to French, but still a good first try. There had to be something better.  I resorted to the Scrabble dictionary. 

And then a strategy hit me squarely in the “boot.” The Obama War Chest! I could buy a vowel.   But which one? Today we may make US history. An Obama win wouldn’t exactly be a referendum on racism, but it would go a long way toward demonstrating (to us) that we (a majority of us anyway) are capable of color-blindness. Like a ouiji board, the letters began to reassemble themselves rapidly into the appropriate message: 

photo ©2008 Liz Hager

I’ll take an audacious “O” please.  

photo ©2008 Liz Hager

 

“There is Light”—Look Down!:IWP, SF #14

Photo ©2008 Liz Hager

Date: 09/18/08

Time: 2:09 pm

Location: Page between Scott and Divisidero

“Indispensable Wisdom on the Pavement”: The whole Palin thing put me into a frenzy of emailing, reading, listening, and thinking. By the beginning of this week, I was nearly desperate; it was beginning to look like the country really might be stupid enough to elect this nincompoop.  But the storm clouds broke yesterday, and attention shifted away from the Palin factor and onto more important economic issues. This message on the pavement was just the reminder I needed.

Obama Bling-Bling

My very own set of Obama bling-bling

Our friend Alison was sporting a set of these twinkly bands one night. I oo’ed and ah’ed; after all, what magpie can resist a shiny, sparkly thing? She proudly referred to her Obama bling, but I thought, since there were two, that “Obama bling-bling” was more appropriate terminology. While the bling-bling flashed away through the evening, I marveled at its many layers of meaning.  First there is the message itself, a simple proclamation of support. Of course this kind of message is bound to be a surprise to anyone who inspects this glittery pair more closely—one doesn’t expect necessarily a message of this sort in “diamonds.”  Perhaps they are a contemporary twist on the popular 60s-era ID bracelets?  (I admit I sported ONE of those for a brief period.) The bracelets are also a daily reminder of an important event on our nation’s calendar. Further,  by wearing them on your right wrist and engaging in a friendly handshake, you might be passing along karmic goodwill (or possibly consternation, if shaking with supporters of other candidates). Would all of us wearing Obama bling-bling automatically greet each other with fist bumps?

What about the “rocks” themselves? To my mind, a more elegant statement than the somewhat pedestrian campaign button.  In one sense, they play off the media’s obsession with Obama as an “elite” candidate. Does the fact that they are fake, meant to simulate real, indicate the wearer’s public acknowledgment of a similar belief about the candidate? On the other hand, rhinestones are affordable by the masses, so in this economy appropriate material for candidate jewelry I think.  They certainly are versatile—elegant enough to pass muster at a fancy (fundraising?) event and yet, these “downmarket” rhinestones are not too ostentatious to sport as everyday wear. 

Dinner finished and Alison left with the Obamawear.  My life was a bit empty until yesterday, when much to my surprise my very own set of Obama bling-bling arrived in the mail, courtesy of my husband. I have a feeling I’ll be wearing these for a good long time.  Come to think of it,  they might be the perfect accessory for a certain celebration in January…

For your own set of Obama bling-bling, contact Carol Vena-Mondt at venamondt@gmail.com (sorry no linkage, so you’ll have to cut & paste). Bracelets are $36. for the pair, which also includes tax and s&h. Carol is donating all net proceeds to the Obama Campaign.