Morgantina and Selinunte in Sicily, June 2022

 In June 2022 I was with 16 others in Sicily on a tour I had organized in conjunction with Sicily Tour, an excellent travel company in Siracusa. I had requested that we visit Morgantina, an archeological site not far from the more famous Roman villa of Casale near the town of Piazza Armerina. I didn't expect that we would first visit the small museum in Aidone, near Morgantina, which displays artifacts excavated from the site. After passing an array of huge urns, we came to a gorgeous terracotta head of Hades, which the guide explained had been returned to the museum from the Getty in Los Angeles. The head was illegally excavated in the 1970s, sold by Robyn Symes, a London antiquities dealer (now known to have traded in illegally excavated and exported antiquities) to Maurice Templesmann, who sold it to the Getty in 1985. Proof that it came from Morgantina came when a bit of the blue beard was found in the San Francesco Bisconti section of the Morgantina archeological site. Morgantina was dedicated to the goddess Demeter and Demeter, her daughter Persephone and her daughter's abductor Hades were depicted there in several versions. I believe this label was the first one I have ever seen in a museum that states that the object had been illegally excavated and subsequently acquired by a museum.

Displayed behind the head of Hades is a pair of acroliths, the heads and feet or two goddesses, probably Demeter and Persephone, whose bodies would have been wood that decayed away. These were returned to Morgantina in 2008 from the collection of Maurice Tempelsman, after spending 5 years at the University of Virginia Art Museum. Tempelsman had purchased them for reportedly $1 million in 1980, from Robyn Symes. 

Further on in the museum is a room dedicated to a monumental stone sculpture, the Goddess of Morgantina, which had been called the Getty Aphrodite, but is probably of Demeter, her daughter, or Persephone, or Hera, queen of the gods. Here again the label states, "The statue of a female deity from Morgantina, excavated clandestinely and exported illegally, was repatriated in 2011 by the J. Paul Getty Museum of Malibu..." The label does not address the decades-long attempts by the Italians to retrieve the sculpture from the Getty, a story that is recounted along with substantial information about the practices of museums and the Getty specifically to acquire illegally excavated and exported antiquities, in the book Chasing Aphrodite. The label goes on to describe the sculpture as a "pseudo-acrolith," meaning that it is made of different materials - the body of limestone the head, hands and feet of marble, and the lost hair probably of bronze. 

Wandering farther through the museum, I found a small group of spectacular silver vessels, the Morgantina silver, which the Metropolitan Museum purchased in 1981 or 1982 from Robert Hecht, another dealer who was charged with illegal trafficking in Italy. The Met fought to keep the silver for decades, finally agreeing to return it in 2011. 

It's interesting to note the changes in value as looted items moved through the market. This route of the Morgantina silver is from Lucy Thomas, Morgantina Silver, on the Trafficking Culture website:

“The route was as follows: Vincenzo Bossi and Filippo Baviera, tombaroli in Enna, sold the silver for 110 million lire ($27,000) to Orazio Di Simone, a Sicilian middleman based in Lugano in Switzerland, who sold it for $875,000 to Robert Hecht, who sold the silver to the Metropolitan Museum for $3 million[1].”

A major figure in the fight to retrieve artifacts from Morgantina has been Malcolm Bell, director of the excavations at Morgantina for many years and it was writings by him that inspired me to want to visit Morgantina in the first place. 

These objects are spectacular. They were treasures in the major collections that had acquired them for huge amounts of money. Now they are on view in a small museum with beautifully designed spaces, near the site for which they were created and where they represent the ancient culture of the place. In this home they make more sense to me than they would have in the American museums that held on to them for so long. While thousands more people might pass by them in the Getty or the Met, here they stand out as singular objects and the viewer can feel their connection to their sources. They are worth a pilgrimage.

A few days later, we visited the huge site of Selinunte, with several temple remains and a very large residential and commercial ruin as well. Scattered on the site were triglyphs, fallen from the entablature of the temples. I thought about triglyphs and metopes and wondered about the narrative sculptural reliefs that would have been in the metopes. A couple of days later, in the Archeological Museum in Palermo, I saw some of the metopes, as well as a large selection of other objects from Selinunte, many excavated from nearby burial grounds. 

Triglyphs and metopes from Temple C, Selinunte, ca. 550 BC

Triglyphs and metopes from Temple E, Selinunte, 460-450 BC

Having just been at Selinunte, I could feel where these objects might have been and even have a sense of them as part of the ancient culture of the place. I realized that the Parthenon marble sculptures would have a similar power if they were seen in sunny Athens, near their original home, as opposed to the British Museum, in often cloudy and grey London. In December 2022 I was in London and looked at them there. I believe I would have a better chance of understanding where they were placed and how they functioned if they were closer to their original site.

detail, Temple E metope, depicting Artemis's dogs attacking Actaeon in punishment for having seen Artemis naked. Note that her head, arms and feet are marble and the rest is limestone. 460-450 BC

Doing a bit of research for this essay, I discovered that the metopes from Temple C were excavated in 1823 by two British architects, Samuel Angell and William Harris, who tried to ship them to the British Museum. But with the lesson of the Parthenon, the Italians were able to stop the transport and divert the sculptures to Palermo. 

New Mexico Transcendentalist Painting Group

In late August 2021 we went to Santa Fe for Indian Market. I had heard about an exhibition at the Albuquerque Museum titled Another World: The Transcendental Painting Group, which included work by Agnes Pelton, whose paintings I find wonderful after seeing one at the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Arkansas about ten years ago. The exhibition also includes work by Raymond Jonson, whom I remembered from a work at the University of Texas, and Emil Bisttram, the co-founder of the Transcendental Painting Group. I was not familiar with the other eight painters in the exhibition, nor had I heard of the group, which existed only from 1938 to 1941 or ’42.

These were artists who came to Taos, Santa Fe, and Albuquerque, New Mexico in the early 20th century and were dedicated to expressing spirituality in their abstract paintings, often influenced, like many artists of their time, by Theosophy the esoteric religious movement established in the United States in the late 19th century by the Russian immigrant Helena Blavatsky. The essays in the exhibition catalogue emphasize this spirituality and say that abstraction with spiritual or expressive content was not accepted in the larger art world at that time. (Oddly, I had always thought that early 20th-century abstract art was supposed to be expressive.) 

The two women artists in the exhibition, Agnes Pelton and Florence Miller Pierce, were my favorites. Their paintings show basically geometric shapes that suggest the sky and forms of nature in veils of light-infused color, usually shades of blue and purple. For me they are both inspiring and calming.

Agnes Pelton, Birthday, oil on canvas, 1943.
Collection of Rick Silver and Robert Hayden III

Agnes Pelton, Alchemy, oil on canvas, 1937-39
The Buck Collection at the UCI Institute and Museum of California Art

Florence Miller Pierce, Rising Red, oil on canvas, 1942
Collection of the McNay Art Museum
Purchase with the Ralph A. Anderson, Jr. Memorial Fund
 and the Helen and Everett H. Jones Purchase Fund, 1999.21

Florence Miller Pierce, Blue Forms, oil on canvas, 1942
Collection of Georgia and Michael de Havenon

Some of the paintings by Stuart Walker, who sadly died in 1940 at age 35, are translucent abstractions of intertwined forms that suggest movement. 

Stuart Walker, Composition 3A, oil on canvas, 1939
Courtesy of the Jean Pigozzi Collection

Raymond Jonson uses harder edged abstraction, still suggesting landscapes or cityscapes. 

Raymond Jonson, Oil No. 10, oil on canvas, 1939
Collection of Georgia and Michael de Havenon

I liked this one:

Raymond Jonson, Eclipse (from the Universe series), oil on canvas, 1935
Tia Collection, Santa Fe, NM

Emil Bisttram’s paintings are busier, with stronger geometry. 

Emil Bisttram, Oversoul, oil on Masonite, c. 1941
Private Collection

The distinguished Canadian painter Lauren Harris moved to Santa Fe in 1938, met Raymond Jonson there, helped found the Transcendental Painting Group, and had to return to Canada in 1940 after World War II broke out. His works, derived from landscapes, often have monumental dynamic forms with strong color and dramatic contrasts of light and dark that suggest phenomena of weather.

Lauren Harris, Mountain Experience, oil on canvas, c. 1936
University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Collection of the School of Art

 I was also taken by the bright geometry of the work of Ed Garman.

Ed Garman, Abstract No. 276, oil on Masonite, 1942
Collection of Shane Quails, Cincinnati, Ohio

The exhibition had informative labels in English and Spanish, and there is an excellent catalogue with essays and biographies of all eleven artists in the group. The title of the exhibition seems particularly apropos, since New Mexico is another world in the United States, the artists were aiming toward a transcendent world derived from Theosophy and spiritualism, and many of the paintings themselves present another way of seeing the world. According to the catalog, the exhibition opens at the Crocker on August 28, 2022 and at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art on December 18, 2022.

 Coincidentally, before I started writing this, I began reading Mabel Dodge Luhan’s book Winter in Taos. Mabel Dodge was instrumental in bringing Agnes Pelton to Taos and was very active in the arts community there. She also was inspired by arcane philosophy. Winter in Taos seems to represent how the painters in the exhibition might have thought. Here's a section: "All human utterance is an effort to crash the gate between consciousness and unconsciousness, to open a channel between the single sealed atom and the vast sea in which it exists, and to let a part of the undisclosed flow upwards to the outer racial life of air. All sound comes from another world, a world we cannot know but only dimly suspect; it is breathed forth and dies in the unfamiliar element: dying, it deposits its essence in our memories. Thus, little by little, we absorb and take into ourselves life from somewhere else, from somewhere so inconceivably remote to us that we have only negative names for it, like "the unconscious." What we know is positive but useless to us once it is ours. We care nothing for the crystals of knowledge, but only for the flow of light -- and we hanker for the experience of translation -- for the moment when we are channels, bridges, mediums between the unformulated and the dead limitations of the Known." (Winter in Taos, originally published 1935, reprint Las Palomas de Taos, 1982, pp. 140-141)

Agnolo Bronzino and Dawoud Bey, New York, August 2021

 Working through the past year, in order to get to what's on my mind now.....

I was determined to go to New York to see the exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum, The Medici: Portraits and Politics, 1512-1570. so we took the chance and went to New York when Covid was still a concern, but we had been vaccinated. I understood that the exhibition was dominated by portraits by Agnolo Bronzino (1503-1572) and his circle, with a few additions by other artists (several works by Francesco Salviati (1510-1563), a less-known contemporary of Bronzino, and single portraits by Raphael and Andrea del Sarto, plus sculpted portraits by Benvenuto Cellini, Baccio Bandinelli, and Giambologna). It refers to just a segment of the Medici family, including neither the fifteenth-century profoundly important Cosimo Il Vecchio, Piero, and Lorenzo, nor the later seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Medici dukes who led the declining city. 

Both Tom and I were disappointed by the exhibition, For Tom it did not do what it advertised: "Cosimo shrewdly employed culture as a political tool in order to convert the mercantile city into the capital of a dynastic Medicean state, enlisting the leading intellectuals and artists of his time..." He wanted to understand how Cosimo de' Medici used art to promote his agenda and increase his power and international standing, but for Tom the various portraits, many unidentified and many of people not engaged in power building, did not advance his understanding of that mission adequately.

I wanted to see the Bronzino paintings. Looking at my photographs from the exhibition, I'm struck by how wonderful the are, but I also remember having doubts about whether several, which I did not photograph, were actually by Bronzino, I didn't see much about how he employed assistants to make multiple versions of some portraits, and found some of the works by other artists, especially Bronzino's teacher Jacopo Pontormo (1494-1556), especially wonderful. I was particularly troubled by a portrait of Cosimo from the Art Gallery of New South Wales. The label says there are almost 30 versions of this portrait and this one, autograph, was given to Paolo Giovio, a physician, writer, and art collector. I wanted to know how many of the portraits are autograph and who else received them, and why giving it to Paolo Giovio mattered, since the label didn't mention Paolo Giovio's influence at the Papal Court, particularly with the Medici Pope Clement VII or the reputation of his collection of portraits. The idea of Bronzino having a sort of portrait factory seemed worth discussion.

photographed at an angle to avoid reflections from glazing

I was doubtful about the authenticity of a small number of the portraits, which looked like Bronzino's work but without the subtlety of his handling of paint. Perhaps they were significantly restored or products of studio assistants. 

There were several portraits of unidentified people who suggest the hauteur of rulers, but add little to the narrative of the exhibition. A wonderful example is the Woman with a Lapdog from the Staedel Museum in Frankfurt, which we were fortunate to see again in its home institution in June, 2022.

If you're going to show so many portraits by Bronzino, it would help to give more indication of his other paintings patronized by the Medici, for example the monumental fresco of the Martyrdom of San Lorenzo in the Medici church of the same name in Florence, or the renowned and infinitely reproduced Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time allegory in the National Gallery in London. Bronzino's people seem to be made of something hard, the light that molds their faces and hands is bright and cold, and their expressions are reserved, proud, and distant. 

Finally, the Pontormo portraits were wonderful, softer than Bronzino's very marble-like figures and strange in their own way. This example of a Man with a Book, also indicates the wide-ranging sources of loans for the exhibition; it was not an easy show to organize. This painting is from the Collezione Fondazione Francesco Federico Cerruti per l'Arts, on long-term loan to Castello di Rivoli Museo d'Arte Contemporaneo, Rivoli, Turin (CC.3P.PON.1534.A195). 

Drawn to New York by the Medici show, we stayed for several days and visited other museums, as well as the new little island on the West Side near the Whitney. We saw fabulous Cezanne drawings and Automania at MOMA, the Frick Collection's installation at the old Whitney, Bibiena stage designs at the Morgan Library, the art at the new Penn Station, Craft in Art 1950-2019 at the Whitney, and the Maya Lin installation at Madison Square Park.

A year later, I'm particularly struck by the exhibition we saw at the Whitney, Dawoud Bey: An American Project. Bey is a photographer whose work has captured my attention since the first time I saw it quite a few years ago. The Whitney's labels aptly describe Bey's purposes and interests, and I'm copying a bit of the text referring to Harlem U.S.A., an early series: "Drawn to the neighborhood as both a symbol of and a wellspring for Black American culture, Bey wanted to portray its residents as complex individuals in images free of stereotype...it was critical to Bey that the work be shown in the community where they were made, allowing the people he was representing to have access to the work they inspired." Bey's large photographs give power to his subjects, in a completely different context and medium, that seems to me somehow still a version of what Bronzino was doing in the 16th century. My photographs are inadequate, so I'm hoping links to the NY Times review of the exhibition, the Whitney announcement of the exhibition provide some images, as well as information. I was especially drawn to the large-format Polaroid image of Kerry James Marshall and Cheryl Lynn Bruce, 1993, titled Kerry and Cheryl I. 

One series in the exhibition, shown in its own gallery, was particularly moving. As the label reminds us, on September 15, 1963 the Ku Klux Klan bombed the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama. Four girls and two boys were killed. For the 50th anniversary of the bombing, Bey made paired portraits of Birmingham residents, one the age the victim of the attack died and one the age he or she would have been in 2012. He made the photographs in the Bethel Baptist Church, an early civil rights headquarters, and the Birmingham Art Museum, which in 1963 admitted Black visitors only one day a week. Here's one of the images:

Betty Selvage and Faith Speights, from The Birmingham Project, 2012
Rennie Collection, Vancouver

 Des Moines in July 2021

The Des Moines Opera, our reason for going to Iowa, is located south of Des Moines in Indianola. Looking at the map, we discovered that Winterset, Iowa is west of Indianola. We had just seen the play Leaving Iowa at Theatre Lawrence; it is set in Winterset, and Winterset is the county seat of Madison County, known for its Bridges, so we wandered over there. We skipped the John Wayne museum, but did visit three of the six famous bridges. Here's the Holliwell Covered Bridge, built in 1880 to replace an earlier bridge. It is the longest covered bridge, and the longest timber bridge in Iowa. 

H. P. Jones and G. K. Foster, Holliwell Covered Bridge, 1880

All the bridges are accompanied by very helpful historic bronze labels. 

Downtown we noticed the Iowa Quilt Museum and stopped there, where the exhibition was 40x40@40: Celebrating 40 Years of the Manhattan Quilters Guild, You know you've been in Kansas a long time when you ask if the quilts are from Kansas and are told, "No, they're from New York." Each 40 by 40 inches, they were stunning works of art. Here are three:

Daphne Taylor, Quilt Drawing #21, 2017

Diana Goulston Robinson, Eye Catcher, 2019

Beth Carney, Movement 3, 2019

We continued to the Des Moines Art Center, known for its three iconic architects: Eliel Saarinen (1948 building), I.M.Pei (1968 expansion), and Richard Meier (1985 expansion), and for its sometimes daring and creative contemporary collecting. The exhibition there was Central America, work by Justin Favela, who refers both to his Central American heritage and to Iowa's Central American location. In the paper material used for pinatas he created an huge installation depicting works in the Art Center collection and images from Central America. The central object is a gigantic paper pizza. In the background of the photograph below you can see Favela's copy with a mirror image, of the Grant Wood painting in the Center's collection. The installation, obviously labor-intensive, was also exceptionally joyful, showing harvests, landscapes, palm trees, and scenes from life in the two Central Americas.

Grant Wood, The Birthplace of Herbert Hoover, 1931

The Des Moines collection challenges me to think about a wide range of mostly recent art, some familiar, some not. A few objects that caught my eye, beyond my favorite Anselm Kiefer, Fred Wilson, and Graciela Iturbide were this gorgeous Henry Ossawa Tanner of Christ Learning to Read, ca. 1911,

Nick Cave, Rescue, 2013, celebrating a ceramic dog surrounded by glass, metal and porcelain birds, flowers and beads.

In an overwhelming installation by Jamaican artist Ebony G. Patterson, AMONG THE BLADES BETWEEN THE FLOWERS...WHILE THE HORSE WATCHES...FOR THOSE WHO BEAR/BARE WITNESS, 2018, exuberant materials commemorate Jamaicans lost to slavery and racism.

As always, the opera production of Queen of Spades was well done. Joyce Castle was a triumph, looking appropriately frail and and singing absolutely beautifully. 

 In the summer of 2021 we did some significant travel, beginning with the late April trip to Fargo, but continuing with a long weekend in Washington, DC that included the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore, Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, a performance of Pauline Viardot's chamber opera, Cendrillon at Wolf Trap and a quick visit to the National Gallery; then to Des Moines for the opera Queen of Spades with Joyce Castle in the title role, the Iowa Quilt Museum, a few Bridges of Madison County, and the Des Moines Art Center; New York, where there was no theater, but I was determined to see the Medici portrait exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum; Santa Fe for Indian Market, a trip that included a wonderful exhibition at the Albuquerque Museum of Art of the Transcendental Painting Group; and Skaneateles, New York for a reunion with my good friends from high school that included the Corning Glass Museum, which we have long wanted to visit. All these trips were between June and September. After a brief stay at home for apple season and Tom's birthday, we left again at the end of October for Padua and Venice, for our first visit to the Venice Architecture Biennale. Finally, on December 14 we spent a week in London, undaunted by the rapid rise of Omicron in England and the closure of theaters one after the other. Our vaccinations and boosters served us well and we completed all our journeys unaffected. Now, in summer 2022, with more trips behind me and having thought hard and photographed a lot, I'm determined to share, briefly, some of my reflections on these visits. 

The Walters is an amazing museum with a combination of contemporary exhibitions, rich collections, and an obvious commitment to finding multiple ways to address diversity in a collection that was formed by Eurocentric supporters of the Confederacy. The museum's history on its website is revelatory and eye-opening.

This was the first time I remember seeing the image below, the Anti-Slavery Cameo made by William Hackwood for Josiah Wedgwood. It is modelled on the medallion of the Society for Effecting the Abolition of the Slave Trade; it became a very popular object on both sides of the Atlantic and was the most recognized image of the anti-slavery movement. The label indicates that the modern viewer might find it problematic in that the man is kneeling, praying, pleading, maintaining racial hierarchy even as the text reads "Am I not a man and a brother?"  I've seen it several times since then and find it powerful and affecting nonetheless.

The cameo is displayed among a group of jewels given by the Walters family. It was purchased by the museum in 1989. 

On our visit the museum showed an exhibition of videos, installations and sculpture by six young artists of color from Baltimore, and another exhibition of important paintings and sculpture by African-American artists relatively recently added to the museum's collection. Here's River Scene, 1868 by Robert Seldon Duncanson (1821-71).

The museum also had a small show of ancient American works and prints to celebrate Mexican and Central American Independence (1821-2021). 

The Walters is unusual in that it displays significant parts of its collection in imitation of the cabinets of curiosities that were popular in Europe in the 16th century and later. Displaying natural objects and works of art together, this panoply of objects is fascinating and fun, and perhaps disturbing. Below is a painting depicting one of those rooms in the 16th century, followed by images of the cabinets at the Walters, including bones, shells, insects, coral objects, silver and gold vessels, gems, paintings, a globe, and ancient American sculpture and gold objects. 

The Walters is known for its collection of Southeast Asian art and even with a very short time to visit, it is very impressive. Here's just one example, a Thai seated Buddha:

One last image from our Washington trip is from the National Gallery. I'm a fan of the Fourth Plinth on Trafalgar Square in London, where a single work of contemporary sculpture is displayed for a period of time. Not long ago the sculpture was the huge blue Hahn/Cock, 2013 by Katarina Fritsch, an artist I first noticed at a Venice Biennale where she displayed a circle of huge black rats (Rat King, 1993). Hahn is now owned by the National Gallery and on display on the museum's roof garden. There's another version at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. Me standing next to it gives a sense of the size.

Plains Art Museum, May 2021

We continued from Sioux City to Sioux Falls, then on to Fargo, North Dakota and the Plains Art Museum the next day. Both museums had free entry, all the staff and visitors were masked, and we were nearly the only ones there. In North Dakota, everyone asked if this was our 50th state. It was mine. I was amused that the next exhibition at the Plains Museum, Chakaia Booker, completes her mission to exhibit her work in all 50 states. 

The Plains Art Museum's building is completely different from the Sioux City Art Center, in that it is a repurposed turn-of-the-20th century warehouse for International Harvester farm machinery.  While the museum had existed since1965 in Moorhead, Minnesota, it opened in Fargo in 1997. The building is a beautiful adaptation, both contemporary and historic.

Plains Art Museum main lobby

Plains Art Museum upper lobby

The museum announces its intention to address a national audience with a monumental mural by James Rosenquist, the noted Pop artist who, I was surprised to learn, was from North Dakota. The mural celebrates North Dakota with multiple aspects of the state.

James Rosenquist, The North Dakota Mural, 2010

The permanent collection was not on view, but a highlights and recent acquisitions show opens this weekend. We saw the exhibition High Visibility: On Location in Rural America and Indian Country, which one might imagine would be similar to the state parks exhibition at Sioux City. But it was quite different. The works in the exhibition - by Euro-American, Native American, Latinx, and African American artists, most from the upper Midwest - each address individual experiences of life in rural communities and specific issues associated with those communities.

Each artist and each object in the exhibition addresses a specific community, and issue, and it is impossible to generalize about these issues. The first work we saw was Overburden/Overlook, a quilt work by Shanai Matteson, from Hibbing, Minnesota. The quilt suggests the map of a strip mine and consists of fabrics dyed with overburden, the soil removed to get access to mineral deposits in a strip mine.  Among the repeated words/phrases inscribed on the ravaged and patched fabric are "mine, not mine" "we drift dead dive into the deep" and "rise, sink." Matteson and Cannupa Hanska Luger are two artists in the exhibition involved in protesting oil pipelines in North Dakota and Minnesota.

Shanai Matteson, Overburden/Overlook, 2020, quilt

Another artist whose work involves oil is Chris Sauter, whose Family Oil Deposits; West Anderson Family, 2020, depicts the family tree of Muskogee/Creek artist Joe Harjo in the form of a network of oil deposits overlaying a map of Oklahoma river systems. 

Harjo's work in the show, Indian Holding a Weapon, 2019 consists of footprints documenting a performance of the same title.

Xavier Tavera's photographs depict aspects of Latinx migrants who worked on the land in the Red River Valley of northern Minnesota. Two are on view in the exhibition: Quinceanera, 2017, and Eva Mendez with Portrait of her Father, Crookston, 2017; his website has many more.

Jovan O. Speller's Lottie's Living Room, 2020, an installation, is intended to recall her enslaved ancestors in North Carolina, the issues of the last hundred years of Black land ownership, and her own childhood in California. For me it evoked a combination of poverty and family pride.

Jovan Speller, In Lottie's Living Room, 2020, installation

Athena Latocha, a Hunkpapa Laokta/Keweenaw Bay Ojibwe artist from Anchorage, Alaska, but living in New York, displayed an enormous looming dark mural across one entire wall. While I found it a depressing depiction of industrial degradation and destruction of nature, she seems to think it also evokes transformations in nature. I'm surprised that such a heavy, dark, large object can actually be a work on paper.

Athena Latocha, Buffalo Prairie (Slow Burn), 2019, sumi, walnut and powdered inks, shellac, steel belted tire shreds, local earth and grass on paper, Plains Art Museum purchase.

Some of the works in the exhibition revive traditional media: crop artist Lillian Colton's seed painting of Amelia Earhart, Su Legatt's screenprints with crocheted borders, Bruce Engebretson's woven tapestry All Water Holy Water, and Sabrina Hornung's cut-paper silhouette, Jackalope Valentine. All four connect to the cultural heritage of the Northern Plains and European immigrants there. 

Finally, as I was leaving, I realized that the large stained glass and metal sculpture actually depicted a discarded and crushed Busch Light beer can, an emblem of the rural road. I loved that artist Karl Unnasch remarked, "With every crushed can there is the hand of the maker," crushing your beer can makes a sculpture...

Karl Unnasch, Husk, 2020, stained glass, metal

I've mentioned only 11 of the 28 artists in the exhibition. Each of the others presented unique works that reflect aspects of their individual experience that also connect to larger issues. Sometimes I argued with the label content, but in every instance the art inspired interaction and engagement. In two museums in two days I encountered easy and reassuring beauty that left me calm and a bit aloof, and more challenging, less beautiful objects that caused me to think about issues of rural life.