Scientific Method

For the June 2009 Art Poll By Bob, I indulged my inner comic geek and asked a summer blockbuster of a question: “Which of these great comic artist’s work would you want to see on the big screen?” You picked Steve Ditko’s Doctor Strange (1960s) with 7 votes, just edging out Jack Cole’s Plastic Man (1941) with 6. Dave Cockrum’s X-Men (1975) came in third with 5 votes, ahead of fourth place Jack Kirby’s Captain America (1976) with 4. Neal Adams’ Batman versus Ra’s al Ghul (1971), Frank Frazetta’s Conan the Barbarian (1970s), and Todd McFarlane’s Spider-Man (1990) all tied with 3 votes each. Joe Kubert’s Hawkman squeeked out a single vote, but John Romita, Sr.’s Spider-Man (1967) and Joe Shuster’s Superman (1938) found no love. Thanks to everyone who shared in my comic book fantasies.

Inspired by Iris Schaefer, Katja Lewerentz, and Caroline von Saint-George’s Painting Light: The Hidden Techniques of the Impressionists (my review here), I decided to tap into my inner Beaker (above) and use the scientific method to find the best science-related art. For the July 2009 Art Poll By Bob, I ask, “Which of these science-related works of art make you wish you had paid more attention in high school lab?”:

William Blake. Newton (1795).

Leonardo da Vinci. Vitruvian Man (1487).

Jacques-Louis David. Portrait of Antoine-Laurent Lavoisier and His Wife (1788).

Albrecht Durer. Melencolia I (1514).

Thomas Eakins. The Gross Clinic (1875).

Thomas Eakins. Portrait of Professor Henry A. Rowland (1897).

Erich Mendelsohn. Einstein Tower (1920-1924).

Charles Willson Peale. The Artist in His Museum (1822).

Charles Willson Peale. Exhuming the First American Mastodon (1806).

Joseph Wright of Derby. An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump (1768).

Eakins and Peale get two mentions each because they did so many science-related paintings. Durer’s Melancolia I makes the cut because I can’t think of a single image in art history that contains more references to mathematics. Please feel free to include any favorites that I may have missed in the comments. But now put on your lab coat, strap on those safety goggles, fire up the Bunsen burners, and vote!

Student of Nature

Working for his father Charles Willson Peale in the Peale Museum, Titian Ramsay Peale seemed destined to be both an artist and a naturalist. Born November 17, 1799, Titian, like his brothers Raphaelle, Rembrandt, and Rubens and his sister Angelica Kauffman, found himself named after a great artist of the past by their father. Merging his love of art with his love for nature, Titian concentrated on painting the specimens in his father’s museum, some of which came from the Lewis and Clark Expedition. When Lewis and Clark boldly went where few white men had ever gone before, they did the best they could with what little knowledge they had. Confronted with a creature they had never seen before, Lewis and Clark took a guess and the name “prarie dog” was born. Of course, the prarie dog is actually a kind of rodent, but that didn’t matter to Titian when he painted a watercolor of the taxidermied prarie dog (above, from 1819-1821). Titian’s scientific bent and highly trained aesthetic eye result in a wonderful approximation of what the furry critter may have looked like in situ.

Because of his unique training, Titian found himself highly sought after for scientific expeditions. In 1818, Titian joined an expedition to the South Platte River to record specimens of birds, mammals, reptiles, fish, and insects. Spending time in what is now Colorado and Nebraska, Peale also observed the local Native American tribes, which included the Apache, Cheyenne, Comanche, and Shoshone. In 1873, Titian revisited the subject of Indians in Buffalo Hunt on the Platte (above). Even as late as 1873, when the Indian Wars still raged in the American West, Titian still paints the Native Americans with scientific objectivity, neither lionizing nor demonizing them. Although Titian remains a realist, there’s a great painterly sense of rhythm in Buffalo Hunt on the Platte. The intervals of the mountains strung across the backdrop beat a counterpoint to the composition of the slanted planes on which the Indians hunt their prey. Titian himself was a skilled hunter, so he fully appreciated the difficulty of hunting buffalo and acknowledges the talents and, thus, the humanity of these tribesmen.

Titian joined the United States Exploring Expedition, 1838-1842 led by Lt. Charles Wilkes. Sailing the South Pacific as the expedition’s chief naturalist, Titian saw and painted a whole new world of natural wonders, including the active Hawaiian volcano Kilauea (above, from 1842). The fiery depths of Kilauea and the billowing dark clouds above the crater make it seem like a vision from hell in Titian’s hands. Titian Peale went on to become a pioneering photographer in America and belonged to the first photography club in the country. Later, Titan assisted his nephew Coleman Sellers in developing the Kinematoscope, an early version of the motion picture projector. Although Titian Peale was the youngest of Charles Willson Peale’s children, he may have been the closest to his father intellectually in terms of ranging far and wide in his need to see the world and capture it in images, whether using a brush or the latest technology, such as photography. As with his father, only death itself could stop Titian Peale’s exploration of the world.

Blind Ambition

When Benjamin West burst onto the English art scene in 1763, the brash American with a head full of Raphael and Titian thanks to his recent travels in Italy made few friends when King George III commissioned West to paint the royal family. Sir Joshua Reynolds and others turned their backs on the young artist they saw as too ambitious in infringing upon “their” territory. By 1768, however, West’s personal charm and artistic talent won the English artists over and he joined them in founding the Royal Academy of Arts, eventually succeeding his friend Reynolds as the academy’s second president in 1792. Born October 10, 1738, West stands as one of the first great American artists, yet the majority of his great works have nothing to do with America. West’s breakout work The Death of General Wolfe (above, from 1770) turned heads with its dramatic rendition of the final moments of the life of British General James Wolfe during the Battle of Quebec. By posing Wolfe as a fallen Christ figure, literally ripping off the composition and figures of the Renaissance, West fit in with the art ethos of the time in history painting. However, by allowing the figures to wear contemporary dress and not shrouding them in the togas of classicism, West changed the rules of the game, ambitiously aiming at a type of realism not seen before in history painting that opened the doors for Jacques-Louis David and his Neoclassicism on the verge of Romanticism.

Growing up in Philadelphia, it was hard not to see the works of West. The PAFA features two works by West that bookend their main staircase. To see these huge works you almost have to stand on the opposite side of the stairs, since there’s not enough room to back away from them without tumbling over the railing. A smaller work at the PAFA, West’s The Treaty of Penn with the Indians (above, from 1771-1772), presents an idealized version of the transaction in which William Penn secured land from the Native Americans to extend Pennsylvania. West reportedly first learned how to mix colors from the Native Americans living in Springfield, Pennsylvania, his birthplace (not far from where I live today). Like Penn, West was a Quaker and applied that sect’s principles of brotherhood and pacifism to Native Americans even when most whites considered them less than human.

It’s easy to discount the works of West today. Although he was hailed as “the American Raphael” in his day, many of his figures in his epic-sized works seem cartoonishly stilted today. The great draftsmanship of smaller works such as his altarpiece titled The Conversion of St. Paul (above, from 1786) is largely forgotten today, although he exhibited it to great acclaim during his lifetime. If critics can’t be converted to West’s talent, they should at least be open to accepting his role as a pivotal figure in early American painting. While living in London, West opened his doors to any American artist looking for guidance or a place to stay on their way to study in Europe. Such artists as Gilbert Stuart, Charles Willson Peale, John Singleton Copley, Washington Allston, John Trumbull, Thomas Sully, and Samuel F. B. Morse all spent time in West’s studio and home, learning with the master. Matthew Pratt actually painted a tribute to West’s open house titled The American School. Like later critics, many of these artists rejected West’s teachings after accepting his kindness, but West had greater ambitions for American art than the simple continuation of his personal style.