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My Monalisa, Thanaporn Anyamaneecharoen, 2018

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My Monalisa, Thanaporn Anyamaneecharoen, 2018

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The 35th Exhibition of Contemporary Art by Young Artists, 2018
Silpa Bhirasri Silver Medal Award

By considering perfectly imperfect imaginary beauty in a subconscious mind, the artist realize that each beauty has its own different uniqueness. The artwork aims to represent people who ambitiously achieves their goal without appreciating things happening on the way.

Exhibition of Contemporary Art by Young Artists is major art competition for young Thai artists aged between 16 to 25 years old. It aims to encourage Thai artists to produce artworks which present their artistic skills. Award-winning works will become the property of Silpakorn University, who reserves the right to promote works in all channels.

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My Monalisa - Thanaporn Anyamaneecharoen - Google Arts & Culture

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The 35th Exhibition of Contemporary Art by Young Artists, 2018 Silpa Bhirasri Silver Medal Award By considering perfectly imperfect imaginary beauty in a s...

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Enamel on aluminum, 203.2 x 152.4 cm. Private collection © Christopher Wool

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Is it a poem, a haiku, graffiti or Pop Art?!

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Marriage a la mode - Hogarth

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The irony of having to show you're against capitalism by being part of the problem #banksydoesitagain

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When you write a song about unfortunate events and make a lot of money.

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Bosch incorporated lots of humorously ironic elements in his depictions of Heaven and Hell... you'll need to see an expanded version of the image to pick out the details. This is only a selection from the full picture of Hell!

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In this image, John Heartfield shows Hitler with a watering can, used to water the roots of a tree, to promote life and growth but in this case, the fruits of the tree are death-bearing.

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In this image, John Heartfield shows Hitler with a watering can, used to water the roots of a tree, to promote life and growth but in this case, the fruits of the tree are death-bearing.

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This picture by Bansky is in Bristol. Sadly someone has thrown paint at the wall. I like the idea of street art with a joke.

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old one but when this master bad lived to day?

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Martha Rosler. Cleaning the Drapes, from the series House Beautiful: Bringing the War Home. 1967–72

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Martha Rosler. Cleaning the Drapes, from the series House Beautiful: Bringing the War Home. 1967–72

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Cassius Marcellus Coolidge, Dogs playing poker 

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Cassius Marcellus Coolidge, Dogs playing poker 

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Artists can be verbose when describing their art i.e. full of hot air. Koons models this through his animal balloon sculptures mocking the pretensions of his fellow artists.

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Ironic because the bananas aren’t really loaded!

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I don't know if this qualifie as art but it is definitely ironic..

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1994 Rachel Whiteread

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Grayson Perry, The Vanity of Small Differences

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Grayson Perry, The Vanity of Small Differences

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United States of America 1890 - France 1976

Pain peint [Blue bread: favourite food for bluebirds]

1958

Alternate title

Blue Bred: Favourite Food for Blue Birds. (cf. Schwartz p. 199) Pain Peint

Description

Pain peint [Painted bread]

Materials & Technique

sculptures, painted plaster `bread' and metal scales

Primary insc

signed and dated right side of scale, synthetic polymer paint, "Man Ray 58", each loaf of bread signed on the underside of the loaf, and dated with fibre-tipped pen, "Man Ray 64"

Dimensions

22.5 h x 75.1 w x 18.5 d cm

Catalogue raisonné

Penrose ill.XX (p.184), Schwartz ill. 322

Acknowledgement

Purchased 1977

Accession no

NGA 77.636.A-C

Image rights

© Man Ray. ARS/Copyright Agency

Provenance

the artist; from whom bought by Arturo Schwarz, Milan, 1964; from whom bought by the Australian National Gallery, Canberra, August 1977

Confusingly, a number of works by Man Ray are titled Pain peint ('painted bread'). This is the first, made in 1958, and consists of two blue loaves of bread on a set of scales, the kind once common in grocery shops.[1] The loaves, lying as they do across both baskets, frustrate the scales' balance. A second version of the work, made in 1960 for Cordier and Ekstrom, New York, carries three loaves in its panniers. The same title is also applied to single loaves of blue-coloured bread made by Man Ray in small editions either in polyurethane or plaster as required.[2] When Man Ray first made Pain peint in 1958 he used stale loaves of bread and simply covered them with blue paint but according to the artist, 'mice ate through the paint and the stale baguette', thus the loaves of this work are replacements made in plaster in 1964.[3]

Man Ray, who lived most of his life in Paris, worked and exhibited with many of the European Dadaists, and showed in the first Surrealist's exhibition at Galerie Pierre in 1925. The impact of his collaborations with Marcel Duchamp, dating back to 1915 in New York, are readily apparent in his use of everyday objects, playful humour and element of surprise. Man Ray counted Gift 1921, a flat iron transformed with a row of nails, as his first Parisian Dada object and it remains his best-known work: just as Pain peint makes the weighing of substances impossible, the perverse and provocative Gift threatens destruction instead of pressed clothes.[4] A later work, Pain doré 1960 ('golden bread' or Pandora), likewise plays on words but this time uses an Italian-style bread.[5] Man Ray's work, like that of many of his fellow Surrealists, was immensely influential both in Europe and internationally, especially in the inter-war and post-Second World War period when many artists sought refuge in the United States and elsewhere.

Although Man Ray claimed, around the time of moving to Paris in 1921, that his French was limited, or at least not sufficient to follow the more involved conversations of his peers, his enjoyment of the language is readily apparent in his work: he also identified Pain peint as 'an onomatopoeic representation of the firemen's motor-horns' or a child's imitation of that noise.[6] Because of the play on homophones in the French title, Man Ray did not want it literally translated for English catalogues or books. He therefore gave it the alternative English title and subtitle Blue bread: Favourite food for blue birds. One wonders what might be the effect of eating this 'blue' bread, either for mice or birds.

Lucina Ward[7]

[1] The first loaf is inscribed underneath 'pain peint 59 / lere serie replique 1/4' and the second loaf is inscribed 'pain peint / lere serie replique - 2/4'.

[2] A series of single blue loaves was made in 1960 in painted polyurethane in an edition of nine. Another group was produced in 1964, in painted plaster in an edition of four, and yet another in 1966, again in polyurethane and an edition of nine. See http://www.sothebys.com/en/auctions/ecatalogue/2016/modernites-de-rodin-a-soulages-pf1716/lot.41.html, accessed 5 April 2018.

[3] Sanche de Gramont, 'Remember Dada-Man Ray at 80', New York Times Magazine, 6 September 1970, pp 6-7, 25-34.

[4] The original Gift disappeared in 1921. Man Ray remade it in 1952, 1958 and 1963, before he authorised the edition of nine in 1970, published by Luciano Anselmino for Galeria Il Fauno, Turin. The NGA's Gift (1992.1587) is the prototype for this edition, and is marked 'essai' or proof on the handle.

[5] FIX NOTE: rf also sothebys.com, accessed 5 April 2018.

[6] Arturo Schwarz, Man Ray: The rigour of imagination, Thames and Hudson, London, 1977, p 199; rf also 'You see when I painted a local bread blue, the idea of a title came to me almost immediately and almost automatically: in French "pain peint" painted bread, because it sounds also like the kids running down the street after a fire engine and imitating the sound of the sirens: "pain-pain-pain-pain-pain-pain", you know.' (Man Ray, BBC televised interview, 1972).

[7] Adapted and updated from Michael Lloyd and Michael Desmond, European and American paintings and sculptures 1870-1970 in the Australian National Gallery, Australian National Gallery, Canberra, 1992, pp 142-3.

Text © National Gallery of Australia 2018
From: American Masters: 1940-1980, National Gallery of Australia, 2018

Man Ray, Los Angeles: Los Angeles County Museum of Art 1966, cat.171, p.64, illus. p.60 (as " Blue bread 1960", lent by Cordier & Ekstrom Inc, New York);

Guido Ballo, Occhio critico 2, Milan: Longanesi 1968, pp.290-291, illus. col.;

Henry Martin, 'Man Ray: Spirals and Indications', Art International vol.15 no.5, May 1971, pp.60-65, illus;

Arturo Schwarz ed., Man Ray, 60 anni di libertà = Man Ray, 60 ans de libertés = Man Ray, 60 years of liberties, Milano: Galleria Schwarz 1971, no.34, illus. b&w p.47 (example dated 1963);

Man Ray, Rotterdam: Museum Boymans-van Beuningen 1971, cat.187, illus. b&w, (example not specified);

Roland Penrose, Man Ray, London: Thames & Hudson 1975, pp.190, 203, illus. pl. XX, p.184 (lent by Marcel Zerbib, Paris);

Jasia Reichardt, 'Man Ray', Architectural Design vol.45 no.6, June 1975, pp.383-384;

Arturo Schwartz, Man Ray: The Rigour of Imagination, London: Thames & Hudson 1977, pp.198-199, 368, illus. pl.322, p.184 (as "Pain peint (Blue bred) [sic]", lent by Vera and Arturo Schwarz, Milan);

Georg Bussmann, Man Ray: Inventionen und Interpretationen, Frankfurt am Main: Frankfurter Kunstverein 1979, illus. p.198 (dated 1958/60, from Collection JMR);

Man Ray, Jean-Hubert Martin, Philippe Sers, Man Ray: Objets de mon affection [Man Ray: Sculptures et objets. Catalogue raisonné], Paris: Philippe Sers 1983, cat.127, p.154, (as "Pain peint / Blue bred: favourit food for the blue birds [sic]"), illus b&w p.107 (bread only);

Michael Lloyd and Michael Desmond, European and American Paintings and Sculptures 1870-1970 in the Australian National Gallery, Canberra: Australian National Gallery 1992, pp.142-143, illus. col.

Text © National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Confusingly, a number of works by Man Ray are titled Pain peint ('painted bread'). The first, made in1 958 and consisting of a set of scales of the kind once common in grocery shops and carrying two blue loaves of bread, is in the Australian National Gallery. The loaves lie across both baskets, frustrating the scales' balance. A second version of the work was made in 1960 for Cordier and Ekstrom, New York, and carries three loaves in its panniers. The same title is also applied to single loaves of blue-coloured bread, which were made by Man Ray in small editions either in polyurethane or plaster as required. ¹

When Man Ray first made Pain peint in 1958 he used stale loaves of bread and simply covered them with blue paint. But according to Man Ray, 'mice ate through the paint and the stale baguette'. ² The loaves in the Australian National Gallery's work are replacements made in plaster in 1964 when the work was purchased by Arturo Schwarz. The first loaf is inscribed underneath 'PAIN PEINT 59 / lere serie replique 1/4' and the second loaf is inscribed 'pain peint / lere serie replique - 2/4'.

Because of the play on homophones in the French title, Man Ray did not want it literally translated for English catalogues or books. He therefore gave it the alternative English title Blue bred and a subtitle, 'Favourite food for blue birds'. According to Arturo Schwarz, Man Ray mentioned that Pain peint is also 'an onomatopoeic representation of the firemen's motor-horns'. ³

Michael Lloyd & Michael Desmond European and American Paintings and Sculptures 1870-1970 in the Australian National Gallery 1992 p.142.

1. A series of single blue loaves was made in 1960; the material was painted polyurethane and the edition was nine. Another group was produced in 1964, in painted plaster in an edition of four, and yet another in 1966, again in polyurethane and again in an edition of nine.

2. Sanche de Gramont, 'Remember Dada - Man Ray at 80', New York Times Magazine, 6 September 1970; pp.6-7, 25-34.

3. Arturo Schwarz, Man Ray: The Rigour of Imagination, London: Thames and Hudson, 1977, p.199.

Text © National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

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Man Ray, Pain peint [Blue bread: favourite food for bluebirds]

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United States of America 1890 - France 1976 1958 Alternate title Blue Bred: Favourite Food for Blue Birds. (cf. Schwartz p.

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"This is the first time the essentially bourgeois world of art has belonged to the people. We need to make it count."

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She added: "It will be really valued by everyone in the hospital, as people get a moment in their busy lives to pause, reflect and appreciate this piece of art. It will no doubt also be a massive boost to morale for everyone who works and is cared for at our hospital."

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New Banksy artwork appears at Southampton hospital

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She added: "It will be really valued by everyone in the hospital, as people get a moment in their busy lives to pause, reflect and appreciate this piece of art. It will no doubt also be a massive boost to morale for everyone who works and is cared for at our hospital."

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arly in the second volume of - the graphic novel about the Holocaust that made Art Spiegelman's reputation - he includes a passage showing the reaction to the publication of volume one. The artist is sitting at his drawing board, perched atop a mountain of dead bodies, as a succession of importunate reporters crowd in bombarding him with questions: "Okay... let's talk about Israel..." "Could you tell your audience if drawing Maus was cathartic? Do you feel better now?"

As the questions come in, he struggles to answer - "A message? I dunno..." "Who am I to say?" - and over the course of the following panels shrinks to the size of a toddler, marooned in his writing chair. "I want... ABSOLUTION. No... No... I want... I want... my MOMMY! WAH!" The reporters vanish, and mini-Spiegelman confesses: "Sometimes I just don't feel like a functioning adult."

Yet being adult is, in a way, what Spiegelman is famous for. In the age-old discussion about when comics finally "grew up" Maus is often exhibit A. The New Yorkercalled it "the first masterpiece in comic-book history". It's the comic that people who don't read comics have read, and the only graphic novel ever to have won a Pulitzer prize. Forty years on - the first chapter appeared in serial form in Spiegelman's underground zine Raw in December 1980 - it remains a monument in the genre.

I talk to Spiegelman over Zoom from his New York apartment. Wearing a pale fedora and tinted glasses indoors and choffing on a vape, he's fidgety and garrulous and emphatic. But when I mention the anniversary he's vague. "There seems to be another anniversary available from anything to anything if one just finds the right two events."

Its creator may be vague, but Maus is precise. It's a complex and subtle piece of work: partly a family memoir, partly an act of historical documentation and (as the passage I describe above makes clear), partly a self-reflective account of its own creation. The frame story, set in late 1970s New York, shows the grown-up Spiegelman's relationship with his grouchy and eccentric elderly father Vladek, and his attempts to interview him about his early life. Threaded through this is the account that emerges of Vladek's relationship with Spiegelman's mother (who took her own life in 1968, when Art was just emerging from his teens), the Nazis' rise to power, and the road to Auschwitz.

It's a paradoxical mixture of apparent caricature and extreme fidelity to the truth. In the historical sections Germans are drawn as human-bodied cats, and Jews as mice, and in some of the present-day story the protagonists wear mouse masks. Yet their diction - the cadences of his Polish-born father's English, his kvetching and kibitzing - is impeccably rendered, and Spiegelman worked like crazy to verify the historical detail, down to the look of the machinery in the tin-shop in which his father worked.

At one point in the book, Spiegelman is in despair: "I feel so inadequate," he tells his wife, "trying to reconstruct a reality that was worse than my darkest dreams. And trying to do it as a comic strip! I guess I bit off more than I can chew." He didn't, obviously: but it's surprising that a lifelong champion of the comic strip as an expressive medium seemed to be saying there that some subjects might be out of its reach.

"I didn't mean comics," he says now. "I meant art or literature. I didn't feel it was possible to give structure to this that would be meaningful. I didn't know how to proceed in making it in comics form, because there wasn't much of a model for making something like it. But I think if I had somehow gone down one of those string theory universes next door where I became a writer, I would have the same misgivings."

Spiegelman's success had the disconcerting effect of placing an artist who had been happy in the comix-with-an-x underground - a lysergic disciple of R Crumb - very firmly in the literary establishment. He became a staple of Tina Brown's New Yorker, a darling of academics, and came to be regarded by many, not without resentment, as a sort of capo of the US comics scene.

"I remember when I first got this Pulitzer prize I thought it was a prank call," he says, "But immediately after I got back to New York, I got an urgent call from a wonderful cartoonist and friend, Jules Feiffer: 'We have to meet immediately. Can you come out and have a coffee?' And we met. He said: 'You have to understand what you've just got. It's either a licence to kill, or something that will kill you.'"

That comics are now considered "respectable" - thanks in part to Maus - is something Spiegelman never quite looked for. But he acknowledges it has its advantages. "I'm astounded by how things have changed. And I would say I might have been dishonest or disingenuous when I said I wasn't interested in it being respectable. I love the medium. And I love what was done in it from the 19th century to now. But I know that on some level, I want it to be able to not have to make everything have a joke, or an escapist adventure story."

His rocket launch into canonicity was both "liberating and also incredibly confining - trying to find places to go where I wouldn't have to be the Elie Wiesel of comic books". Even at the time, Spiegelman seems to have been conscious that Maus would be in danger of defining him. The next project he took on was illustrating Moncure March's jazz-age poem The Wild Party for a small press: "This was going to be a kind of polar opposite [to Maus]: decorative, erotic, frivolous in many ways and involved with the pleasures of making; although it didn't turn out to be so pleasurable in its third year. Every project I start turns into a coffin."

And yet, what coffins. Spiegelman's attention to his craft, to the grammar of comics and their narrative possibilities, is formidable. It seems quite in keeping that an apparently simple illustration project turned into a three-year job. Maus took more than a decade to complete - "I always assumed it would take about two years" - and in conversation he will zero in on the tiniest details in individual panels from memory. There's a single transition panel, for instance, where a train ticket goes in as the caption, that he identifies as having been drawn under the influence of Will Eisner's The Spirit.

In an afterword to Breakdowns, an anthology of his earlier work, Spiegelman writes of his younger self: "In an underground comix scene that prided itself on breaking taboos, he was breaking the one taboo left standing: he dared to call himself an artist and call his medium an art-form." But that aspiration doesn't mark a straightforward high culture/low culture divide.

"Lower middle class to middle class in terms of my upbringing," Spiegelman says, "I was very suspicious of high culture and kind of described myself as a slob snob. If it wasn't printed on newsprint, the hell with it. If I was learning about modernism, it was more likely to be from Winsor McCay and George Herriman than from Picasso. I was resistant. I read Kafka [and thought] he would have been a good script writer for The Twilight Zone. I was seeing it as a zone of culture that wasn't exactly high or low, that just had to do with culture I could use."

A thunderbolt moment was his discovery of Harvey Kurtzman and Mad magazine: "That was what changed my life," he says. "I guess Mad came out as the lowest of low culture, but it actually has become our culture. The irony, the self-reflexivity, the questioning, the parodic enveloping of everything seen through that lens." The recent demise of the print magazine was, he says, "mission accomplished. You know, there wasn't much more it could do."

And he is startlingly protean as a creator. A panel of Chris Ware or Daniel Clowes, Herriman, Bill Sienkiewicz or Jack Kirby is instantly identifiable as such. But you'd struggle to look at the urbane images for The Wild Party, or his psychedelic early work at Raw, or the cross-cutting of styles in In the Shadow of No Towers, and instantly clock them as the work of the author of Maus.And he still has people approaching him in astonishment to discover he was also the creator of The Garbage Pail Kids, the trading cards of 1980s playground fame. "It's kind of dissonant for people," he says. He is, as was said of the late Clive James, "a brilliant bunch of guys".

"That's nice phrasing," he says. "I took to heart a quote from Picasso: 'Style is the difference between a circle and the way you draw it.' I would like to think of myself as just using whatever style seems appropriate to the work, and the style is as much finding out what the work is as the work itself. Everything I've done comes after a lot of stylistic research. And the main thing that makes it my style is I just draw badly." That's not wholly self-deprecation. When he's tried writing for others to draw, he says, "I would find that other people couldn't draw it wrong the right way."

Incorporated into Maus is a full reprint of his short strip "Prisoner on the Hell Planet", which describes his nervous breakdown in the aftermath of his mother's suicide in a vividly expressionist idiom (and which portrayed Spiegelman wearing the striped pyjamas and striped cap of an Auschwitz inmate). One reason he did that, he says, is that the fact of his own breakdown "needed to be entered into the deposition", but the other was something necessary "formally - which was to show that the drawing style in Maus was a decision".

His one major foray into cartooning the political moment also had a drastic stylistic effect. In the Shadow of No Towers charted his response to 9/11, and found him out of kilter not only with his countrymen (David Remnick's New Yorker declined to publish a comic whose author was "equally terrorised by al-Qaida and my government") but with himself. "I think Towers came close to the any-port-in-a-storm kind of driving through a hurricane," he says. "The styles shifted from sequence to sequence and panel to panel. And that felt very correct for trying to deal with the fragmentation that 9/11 caused for me. And I think that's kind of where I'm at now."

Indeed, he delayed this interview for several weeks as he attempted to process the summer's chaos. "I am really trying to understand what the fuck?" he says. "The world was never a bed of roses, but at this point, every time I look up, it's like ... oh, man, you know? I feel like if I had a tattoo - which I'll never get voluntarily - it would be on my chest. It would say: 'You can't make this shit up', and it would glow bright red about five times a day." But he says he has no impulse to respond to America's current turmoil in art.

"Early on I realised I didn't want to become a Trump caricaturist - that it was just playing into his narcissism, ultimately. I just backed off and I'm now trying to see what the hell's been happening to us. It makes me recant something I rather cockily said back in 2001, which was when I found myself unable to move from September 11 to September 12. About three months later, my brains poured back in my head and I said: 'I guess disaster is my muse.'" He recants: "Now disaster is just a fucking disaster."

And in a sense, that was the theme of Maus - among whose many scrupulousnesses was a faithful rendition of the extremely difficult and annoying personality of Vladek. "I thought it was important to show that there's nothing ennobling about being victimised," Spiegelman says. "That's a very Christian concept. But people don't come out of it as better humans: they just come out of it seared, scarred. She came out with so much wisdom, or he came out as stupid as he went in, he came out even more traumatised and befuddled than when he went in. It's a spectrum. But what it is, is: it wasn't the best who survived, and it wasn't the worst. It was random."

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Graphic artist Art Spiegelman on Maus, politics and 'drawing badly'

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arly in the second volume of - the graphic novel about the Holocaust that made Art Spiegelman's reputation - he includes a passage showing the reaction to the publication of volume one. The artist is sitting at his drawing board, perched atop a mountain of dead bodies, as a succession of importunate reporters crowd in bombarding him with questions: "Okay...

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Our permanent Heath Robinson exhibition combines original artwork with books, photographs, film & digital media to tell the full story of Heath Robinson's artistic career.

Pictures from an exceptional private collection

Heath Robinson's illustrations for the Fairy Tale works of Hans Andersen and Charles Perrault, with works on the same subjects by children's book illustrator Michael Foreman

An art club for young people who are serious about improving their art.

Whether you want to learn how to paint still lifes, landscapes or even portraits, this is the class for you.

Designed for beginners this course will introduce basic techniques, colour mixing, best use of materials etc to build confidence and ability.

A fun and relaxed session led by expert glass engraver Stephen Myers where you'll be able to try this fascinating technique under his guidance!

Invented in 1901 by Frank Hornby, Meccano combines artistry and engineering in a unique way

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Our permanent Heath Robinson exhibition combines original artwork with books, photographs, film & digital media to tell the full story of Heath Robinson's artistic career. Pictures from an exceptional private collection Heath Robinson's illustrations for the Fairy Tale works of Hans Andersen and Charles Perrault, with works on the same subjects by children's book illustrator Michael Foreman An art club for young people who are serious about improving their art.

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Salvador Dali, The Ghost of Vermeer of Delft Which Can Be Used As a Table, 1934

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Salvador Dali, The Ghost of Vermeer of Delft Which Can Be Used As a Table, 1934

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Jacob Jordaens, The King Drinks, 1593-1678

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Jacob Jordaens, The King Drinks, 1593-1678

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Edouard manet, The Balcony, 1968-69

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René Magritte, Perpective II,  Manet's Balcony, 1950

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René Magritte, Perpective II,  Manet's Balcony, 1950