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Recent trends...
Ready to explore one of the hottest trends for 2013? This month, trend forecaster Victoria Redshaw describes Fraction, a direct and angular look comprising interlocking shapes that attempts to instill a new order in our lives. Having witnessed a period of deconstruction socially, financially and politically, we begin to put the parts back together again, often in unexpected formations... The fractions join to make a new whole, a new order a New Normal! And this applies re-inserting parts, resulting in an altered understanding of an objects use. Creatives are also attempting to view the world from many different perspectives, and this leads to a renewed interest in Cubist artworks.... effectively breaking up, analysing, and re-assembling objects into abstracted forms as though observed from a multitude of viewpoints. This technique will emerge strongly in furniture design, with an investigation into complex abstracted surface patterns and structures. Interlocking shapes and patterns are absolutely key to this trend, which has strong geometric and mathematical building blocks, enabling an investigation into modularity, mirroring and repetition. Many products are puzzle-like in their structure or surface pattern, and a huge focus on the construction of pieces makes this a fascinating new aesthetic.
Jasna Mujkic's Umbra coffee table is a wonderful example. Made by joining tiny Penrose prototiles to create an abstract tree shape, the irregular construction nevertheless appears rational and ordered. This trend also has strong Scandinavian overtones... For patterns, take inspiration from the Cubist paintings of Juan Gris and George Braque. Embrace Mondrian-esque grid compositions. Explore overlapping and interlinking geometrics rectangles, circles, triangles and diamonds.
In Fraction, repetitions of small-scale geo motifs are key. Investigate the interlocking and repeating motif paintings of Peter Hugo McClure. Material blocking is key, and graphic typographical patterns play an important role too. Its shapes comprise pure forms that are simple, smooth and solid. Though often angular, with pronounced references to geometry and mathematics, curvaceous shapes are also present... think Finn Juhl furniture.
Modular and self-assembly qualities allow consumers to interact with products, be creative and take ownership of the final stages of the design process...Subdued interior schemes provide a moment of stillness in our hectic modern lives. Precise styling and extreme unadorned, pared-down purity delivers clarity and calmness. A serene certainty can be found by following the aesthetic rules of the New Normal.
PS: Victoria Redshaw is a leading analyst at trend forecasting agency Scarlet Opus. For information on all of the trends from Scarlet Opus, join the members area on the company's blog.
Defining the Circle: 'Pi is Transcendental' by Eve Andersson
The endless number cannot be expressed by any algebraic equation. No pattern has been found
in its digits, Yet it cannot be proven in a finite amount of time that no pattern exists in an infinite number of digits. Pi goes beyond our reality.The non-existence of humans would not preclude the existence of pi. For the circle will always exist in the shape and orbit of a planet, In the path of a wave. And where there is a circle...There is pi Intrinsically embedded in it. Pi is mysterious; It
evades all attempts of capture. It is a line of digits like an endless snake that you keep pulling at without ever reaching its tail. Pi is perfect; Each seemingly random digit is exactly where it belongs. Whether a circle is as big as the universe, Or as small as a quark, Its diameter fits around its boundary exactly pi times. Because pi is found in waves, color, every sound is an expression of pi. Because pi is found in circles, the moon the sun, Every planet, and Every star is an expression of pi. Because pi is found in each atom, pi is present in all physical sensation.
Pi is Absolute Beauty.
Are any two snow-flakes alike?
Now there's a question I hear a lot. It's a funny question, almost like a Zen koan...if two identical snowflakes fell, my inquisitive friend, who would know? And can you ever be sure that no two are alike, since you cannot check them all to find out?
Although there is indeed a certain level of unknowability to the question of snowflake alikeness, as a physicist I find that I can address this issue with some confidence. As I will demonstrate, the answer depends to a large degree on what you mean by the question. (Yes, physics does occasionally have its Zen-like qualities.)
The short answer to the question is yes: It is indeed extremely unlikely that two complex snowflakes will look exactly alike. It's so extremely unlikely, in fact, that even if you looked at every one ever made you would not find any exact duplicates.The long answer is a bit more involved... it depends on just what you mean by 'alike,' and on just what you mean by 'snowflake.' Let's look at the possibilities....
Nano-snowflakes can be exactly alike. Some things in Nature are exactly alike. For example, our understanding of elementary particles indicates that all electrons are exactly, precisely the same. This is one of the cornerstones of quantum physics, and if you think for a bit you will see that this is a profound statement. Electrons are true elementary particles, in that they have no component parts; thus they are all exactly alike.
A water molecule is considerably more complex than an electron, and not all water molecules are exactly alike. If we restrict ourselves to water molecules which contain two ordinary hydrogen atoms and one ordinary 16O atom, then again physics tells us that all such water molecules are exactly alike. However about one molecule out of every 5000 naturally occurring water molecules will contain an atom of deuterium in place of one of the hydrogens, These rogues are not exactly the same as their more common cousins. A typical small snow crystal will contain some of these Rogue Molecules which will be different from the rest. These unusual molecules will be randomly scattered throughout the snow crystal, giving it a unique design. The probability that two snow crystals would have exactly the same layout of these molecules is very, very, very small.
THE PURPOSE OF ART...Pac Pobric wrote:
Until fairly recently it was widely accepted that art practices could exist only in an attenuated relation with politics at large. It is only because of the door (inadvertently) opened by Minimalism that we can speak of relational aesthetics, or immediately political work. The high point of constructivism has regressed into dialogical art, to use Grant Kester's term. This is the art historical trajectory of our time: art becomes embedded within that which it aims to critique and therefore devolves into liberalism, politically castrating itself and relinquishing all possibility for radical positioning.
The core of this issue is that of the difference between an art that provides answers (liberal art) and an art that provokes questioning (radical art). Whereas El Lissitzky's work, for example, perpetually poses problematics (What does it mean to create a purely abstract picture in a revolutionary moment? How can abstraction motor political emancipation? What are the plastic means by which theory can become practice?) Liberal art, as it is manifest in dialogical practice, provides only simple solutions to complex questions. Problems that are therefore effects (not causes) of a particular political circumstance are consequently treated as more significant than they actually are. Specific symptoms are treated, and band-aids are applied to small wounds which constitute a larger trauma. Local questions get local answers. Radical art does not preoccupy itself with such simplicities. A politically (and aesthetically) radical art, rather, is interested in the broader context in which these problems manifest. This broader context is invariably capital.
El Lissitzky's: 'Proun 99'...
It is only through confrontation that art can engage capital. Dialogical art will have none of that; it is set on providing a space outside of capital in which a temporary freedom from alienation can be achieved. This simplistic answer to the historical problems of our time is pure farce. In fact, relational practice brings to bear ever more fully the unavoidability of capital. Escapism is by no means radical.
If dialogical art is content to provide one-off solutions, supposedly solving a problem in such a way that it does not have to be revisited, radical art will be returned to again and again. It is an art that poses engaging questions that cannot be solved through action. It asks, fundamentally, what are the plastic (not political) means by which art can engage its context of creation? There is never a one-to-one correspondence between these two poles; art is not an illustration of a particular reality. It does not comment on it directly. This is the failure of dialogical art: it attempts to directly intervene, to create a space in the midst of capital that is exterior to its alienating affects. But, the reality of capital is its omnipotence. That dialogical art believes in the possibility of this fictive space is its most serious failure and symptom itself.
Rather, challenging art (an art that opens up questions) will direct its focus on itself first and foremost. Its problems will be the problems of art and art alone. These problems are and always will be situated within a particular political context. But the relations between the context and the object can only be mediated through the questions raised by the formal makeup of the work itself.
This is in fact one of the key differences between the radical art of a modern period theoretically and historically undigested and the moment we currently inhabit. While the latter's cultural production strives for direct action, collapsing into the politics of what it aims to critique, the former recognized and maintained its relative autonomy, thereby recognizing art as the absolute commodity, as having only pure exchange value. Here, art is the plastic illusion that critiques a central fantasy of capital: the fetishization of the commodity.
That art can be critical only through a relative distance is now a lost point, consumed by a fog of post-everything theoreticism. A relevant aesthetic theory can only be recovered (or reformulated) through a critical reappraisal of history. Much of the rejection of modernist autonomy (which was always only a relative autonomy) lacks a true historical and formal critique of what it takes aim at. An inability to work through the lessons and history of modernism catalyzes our schizophrenic contemporary cultural moment. That relational aesthetics as progressive political practice has been adopted uncritically into many art school syllabi points to this reality. This amounts to a wholesale rejection of abstraction in favor of the conservative political and aesthetic naturalism that is ultimately what relational aesthetics engenders. It is an attempt to dismantle the grand narrative in favor of a more narrow program of historical naturalism. It is not mere coincidence that Stalinist politics rejected the abstraction of Constructivism in favor of a more local socialist realism. The failures of art mirror the failures of the emancipatory potential of the political left.
The only way to engage this process is to take seriously the idea that modernism's history is one of specifically situated and constructed objects. As a result, art history requires expertise of a particular kind. Understanding modernist art's emphasis on the mediated relation between art and culture requires that one understand how art objects of the period question society in specific ways. It requires close reading and patience.
This is why it's important to always discuss works of art within their particular art historical contexts. For the present purpose, any number of modern painters or sculptors situated within their political and historical period David and the French Revolution, Courbet and the Paris Commune, Tatlin and Bolshevism could serve as fine vehicles to prove the criticality of art practices now entombed beneath social practice. But Piet Mondrian would be a more curious case. Unlike the aforementioned artists, he himself was never interested in immediate politics. He held membership in no political party. He voiced no distinct political opinion. And this is precisely the point he was a painter, not a political philosopher. He understood that his role was to take up the tasks and problems of art and art alone. As an avant-gardist, he was intuitively aware that art's critique of the world in which it existed could only be upheld while it remained relatively separate from that world, questioning it only through the formal means of the picture plane. The relations between his painting and culture and politics in the larger field are thus particularly complex and revealing of the kind of shrewdness that was once possible yet is no more.
But Mondrian soon realized that painting could not develop if it did not look outside of itself. Indeed, painting was becoming too self contained. A picture like Lozenge Composition 1921 with Yellow, Black, Blue, Red, and Grey points to this. The dialectically engaged vertical and horizontal lines of the canvas are placed in such a manner so that they do not reach the edge of the canvas. This picture is decidedly not a section of a pre-existing map whose grid extended beyond the pre-defined size of the canvas into the rest of the world. It is entirely self-determined.
Mondrian locates this problem in music before he locates it in his own canvases. Avant-garde music's limitation specifically in reference to Russolo, who Mondrian considered the most advanced composer of the later 1910s was that the compositions were, in Mondrian's terms, too pre-occupied with art. They were unable to engage the rest of culture in a meaningful way. They were too autonomous. They therefore failed to allow for a type of spontaneity of dialogue that Mondrian realized would propel art to new discoveries. The ultimate failure of Russolo's noise machines was that they merely show[ed] the old¡­in a new guise.
For Mondrian, the old was always tied to a type of conservative naturalism. Radicality was to free itself from a direct association with the outside world. Issues exterior to the specifics of painting would have to be brought into the fold only indirectly, only through a posing of particular problematics. If the question prior to 1921 how is painting to lead music? became exhausted, then neo-plasticism's impasse stemmed from the inability to formulate its next relevant inquiry. The solution, that is, the means to pose the next relevant question, was to be found in a reversal of terms. If painting had become too insulated, then perhaps it was time for it to learn something of its own. If self-reflectivity didn't help, then perhaps a glance at the world outside of painting would help. The seeds, happily enough for Mondrian, were sown in a 1921 essay on Russolo's noise machines: the answer was a turn to jazz.
It didn't hurt that Mondrian lived in the cultural center of 1920s Paris, Montparnasse, where people celebrated, rather than lamented cosmopolitanism and exoticism in all its forms, especially in jazz bands. It exposed him to Paul Whiteman (who only briefly held the painter's interest) but more importantly to Louis Armstrong, in whose work Mondrian found the proper dialectical relation between structure and improvisation that he had been seeking in painting. As Mondrian proudly observed, jazz allowed spontaneity to reveal itself. The next question became wholly clear to Mondrian: How could a dialectical tension be pushed to its absolute plastic limit? How could it be led to the brink of collapse? What did jazz have to show painting in this regard? What did this mean for neo-plasticism's relation to the rest of culture?
What do jazz and painting have to do with politics? More specifically, what did Mondrian's assimilation of jazz into his neo-plasticism mean about the contemporaneous political reality? Nothing direct. Art must make its own way and by its own means. The point is that Mondrian never painted jazz as politics, which would have indeed been a much simpler task. Rather, he was able to adopt jazz forms as a model, as Harry Cooper puts it, for his abstraction. He was able to perceive in the forms of jazz an advance in aesthetic development and to develop an approach to integrating and transforming those in such a way as to make them useful for the questions of painting. There is no use of jazz or painting to direct political ends, for, as Mondrian the radical utopian was keenly aware, this would mean obscuring the questions of these specific practices.
But all is never lost. Even in the most dismal of times, there has been a beacon of light: the hope for a conscious reappraisal of history. Only through an active and engaged recognition of the triumphs and failures of past actors can we complete the difficult task of mourning and move on to new plateaus. If art was once energetically and purposefully critical, once innovative, and once progressive, we must learn its lessons in order to overcome its loss. But a gap now separates that time and our current one...
Art and Politics After Postmodernism Mondrian...A dialogue:
Peter Hugo Mcclure says: (November 4, 2010 at 8:52 am)
That revolutionary Mondrian...what drove him to such extremes?
Early in his career the only commissions he could get was painting flowers for the neauvau riche and the middle class which caused him to develop an aversion to the colour green and to living flowers...­There is a very subtle B&W photograph by Kertezge (the Hungarian photographer) of the entrance to Mondrian's was a simple composition consisting of a hat stand with a straw hat & a small table with a tulip in water in a clear glass vase and there was something strange about the tulip...­it was all white (both the leaves and the flower) ­it was plastic and Mondrian painted it all white and put it in water ­he was making a very positive statement and though i had a postcard of the black & white photo stuck on my wall and looked at it many times i did not realize what made this photo so odd until a read a book about Mondrian where it was pointed out to me...­he was indeed a strange man...­he was of very frugal habits and towards the end of his life lived in a studio in N.Y.and painted everything white: the ceiling, the walls, the floor and the little bit of furniture (which consisted of mainly recycled boxes).
Mondrian ended being one of the biggest influences of Modern Art in America... and just imagine with a few tulips bulbs during the Tulip Mania that gripped Holland in the 1700s you could of bought a house...­all very strange but True.
­Here's looking at Eu-clid P.M. (pete mcclure not piet mondrian)

Reply:Pac Pobric says: (November 23, 2010 at 8:06 pm)
Thank you for the response, Peter. Excuse my delaying in responding for whatever reason, I just noticed it now.
There's no question that Mondrian was a strange fellow. Even late in life, he had to resort to painting pictures of flowers which he would sell for a meager wage. What's most interesting about these pictures is perhaps that he always signed them with the Dutch spelling of his name Mondriaan which he had previously Frenchified to Mondrian in order to fall more in line with the French modernists.
His studio in New York was in fact an experiment in the moving of neo-plasticism away from the canvas and into real space, which was, after all, the ultimate goal that he felt art should move towards: a synthesis of aesthetics and life. But it's important that he never showed his apartment as a work in itself: painting had yet to resolve its own problems before it could move into the environment, which is precisely what he would find so ghastly about dialogical art.
But aside from all this, he was a very stern man who didn't have time for fun until it came to jazz. Then, he was in fact widely known to have been an excellent dancer who would interject into the rhythms of the music his own dance steps. The interplay between his movement and the music was meant to be oppositional but cohesive. How's that for dialectical?

Marcel Duchamp...Who was he?

Here's an extract from the book 'Marcel Duchamp' by Alexandrian...
...For some people , Marcel Duchamp was the supreme master who rid painting of the need to express feeling or to obey any rigid aesthetic formula, a man who assumed a completely new attitude toward art & life; for others, impressed by the profound meaning of his work (and his idleness), he was a of unconscious magician whose influence was enigmatic. Yet all
opinions are in agreement in recognising him as having an intellect which was exceptionally acute, powerfully logical even in its absurdities', which gave lasting brilliance to even the least of his creations. At each phase of his evolution, there were men ready to say of him, as Pierre de Massot in 1935: 'Duchamp never stops thinking, and thinking, never stops creating. One can only remain overwhelmed by such intelligence'...He was the only artist in the world who could reasonably be compared to a Zen or Taoist Monk; one can admire him not only for what he created, but also for what he was, his life style; he demonstrated a kind of detached attitude towards all possible contingencies more effective than the passive resistance of a Buddhist...
he was 'A Someone'...
PS: At least Duchamp eventually gave up art and took-up Chess
becoming a Grand Master! (Pete McClure)
Vasily Kandinsky & Notes on a Spiritual Revolution by: Leo J. O'Donovan (Apr. 2011)...

The Russian-born artist Vasily Kandinsky believed his time was one of spiritual crisis.
“The nightmare of materialism…[has] turned life into an evil, senseless game,” he wrote, and Western culture “awakening after years of materialism [is] infected with the despair born of unbelief, of lack of purpose and aim.” With religion, science and morality unmoored, an increasing number of people distrusted the adequacy of science to answer deeper questions, Kandinsky be-lieved, and so they had begun to seek “inner knowledge.”
Sound familiar? The diagnosis comes from Kandinsky’s book On the Spiritual in Art, written in 1911 in tones at once prophetic and poetic. “Literature, music and art are the most sensitive spheres in which this spiritual revolution makes itself felt,” he wrote, envisioning spiritual regeneration through the arts.
For the first 30 years of Kandinsky’s life, these views would have seemed improbable to his family and friends. Born in Moscow into a prosperous family, Kandinsky enrolled at 19 in the University of Moscow to study law, economics and statistics. In 1892 he married his cousin Anja, graduated from the university and began doctoral work in economics, but abandoned it two years later. Two major experiences in 1896 affected him deeply: seeing one of the paintings in Monet’s “Haystacks” series and hearing a performance of Wagner’s “Lohengrin.” For the rest of his life Kandinsky pursued the goal of a pictorial art that would resemble music, which he considered the greatest and most abstract of the arts: “the best teacher,” he called it. “Every work of art is a child of its time,” Kandinsky wrote. And of its place as well, he might have added. The splendid “Kandinsky” exhibition now at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York (through Jan. 13).
Kandinsky moved with Anja to Munich in 1896 to study painting. Within five years he helped to establish the Phalanx artists’ association. While teaching there, he became close to one of his young students, Gabriele Münter, for whom he left his wife in 1904. The earliest pictures shown here are quick plein-air sketches documenting his travels with Münter through Europe and Tunisia. They settled for a year in Paris, where his work culminated in “Colourful Life” (1907), a nostalgic recreation of medieval Russia. The painting’s stippled brush strokes and brilliant colours recall the Neo-Impressionist and Fauve artists Kandinsky had seen in Paris.
Returning to Munich in 1908, Kandinsky and Münter took an apartment in Schwabing and discovered the village of Murnau in the foothills of the Bavarian Alps. Kandinsky’s Murnau scenes,
generally realistic but increasingly abstract, show a childlike, lyrical freedom with colour and composition. Billowing white clouds over rolling hills in “Landscape Near Murnau With a
Locomotive” (1909) would be cartoonish if they did not sing so. And the Guggenheim’s famous “Blue Mountain” (1908-9) melodically combines the chivalry of its three riders on horseback...Kandinsky’s recurrent symbol for artistic courage and innovation with a canticle to nature that burns with gemlike colour.
Gradually Kandinsky’s style became less representational and fell into three categories that he distinguished by their association with music: “impressions,” based on real-life
subjects; “improvisations,” drawn on spontaneous and unconscious images from his inner life; and “compositions,” based on multiple previous studies. As his work became more visionary, dark hints of cataclysmic and even apocalyptic events emerged.
When you come upon “Picture With a Circle” (1911) from the Georgian National Museum in Tbilisiand exhibited for the first time in the United States, the round forms delineated only by co-
lour, with black lines whiplashing through neighbouring mists of rainbow tones, simply a vision of creation. (“The creation of the work of art is the creation of the world,” the artist wrote in his Reminiscences of 1913.) Still more power-ful is the “Painting With a Black Arch” (1912) in which an initiate may see the arc as recalling part of a horse’s harness, though anyone can revel in the harmony of form and colour.
The climax of this fertile period in the artist’s life, and for me the high point of the entire exhibition, is the set of four panels commissioned by Edwin R. Campbell for the foyer of his
Park Avenue apartment in New York. Sometimes interpreted as a four-seasons suite, the canvases are better read as pure abstraction, miraculously combining balance and movement, a riotous range of colour with each tone retaining its value, forms defying definition and lines springing as if from nowhere and ending as suddenly. A sense of upward movement prevails: Might not this weightless world float at any minute into the sky? There is no illusionist or perspectival space, but there is a sense of depth, as cool colours recede and warm ones move toward you. Symphonic is not too great a word for this marvellous wall.
With the outbreak of World War I, Kandinsky left Germany and made his way through Switzerland back to Moscow. Uprooted, and his relationship with Münter unravelling, he found it difficult to paint and so worked mostly on paper. In 1917, he married Nina Andre- Evskaya. After the October Revolution, the state expropriated the apartment building Kandinsky had inherited, and the family often went hungry and cold. Their only son died at the age of 2. The work of two artists then dominant in Russia made the spiritual, intuitive Kandinsky increasingly uncomfortable: the strict GEOMETRISM of Kazimir Malevich’s Suprematism and the mechanical utilitarianism of Vladimir Tatlin’s Constructivism. But Kandinsky still managed to create memorable canvases like “Moscow I” of (1916), a small, celebratory and surprisingly representational depiction of the city he had always called home [see cover], and “Overcast” (1917), a turbulent collision of intensely coloured forms, large and small, with a typical contrast of threatening darkness and promising light.
Shortly after Kandinsky and Nina moved to Berlin in 1921, the architect Walter Gropius invited him to Weimar to teach at the Bauhaus. The next 11 years were happier and more productive for
him, even though the school’s geometric and rationalist functionalism also tended to constrain his expressive nature. Teaching, organizing exhibitions and writing, the artist enjoyed the collegial atmosphere and especially his reunion with his old friend Paul Klee. (In the superb collection of 60 works on paper that accompanies the exhibition, the first wall has a series of
Kandinsky water colours that might well have been by Klee.)
When Solomon R. Guggenheim and his wife, Irene, accompanied by his art advisor Hilla Rebay, visited Kandinsky in 1930 at the Bauhaus’s new location in Dessau, he bought four works from the
artist, including “Composition 8” (1923) (Ultimately, Guggenheim would buy over 1,500 of the painter’s works.) Standing before the painting today, you can almost sense the triumph Kandinsky must have felt on completing this cosmic vision. Here geometry has become musical, playing across the canvas from lower left to upper right, from bottom to top. A black, eclipse like circle in the upper left corner echoes the apocalyptic hints of Munich and the severity of Moscow. For Kandinsky the circle suggested the fourth dimension, and its many floating appearances in “Composition 8” prolong the painting’s resonance.
The critical view has been widely held that Kandinsky’s work declined after 1914, and certainly after 1921. This is especially true of his final years in Paris, for which he and Nina, appalled
by the advance of National Socialism, abandoned Germany in 1933. Still there are wonderful paintings here, playful surprises as well as a vision of hope in a desperate time. “Reciprocal Accord” (1942), his last large-format painting, combines playfulness and gravity. It was fittingly displayed on an easel next to his coffin when he died in 1944 at 78. I hope visitors to the Guggenheim will make up their own minds.
Was Kandinsky deceived that art could regenerate the times? Of course. And it is difficult even to say what he meant by “spiritual.” His psychology was rudimentary, affirming the unity of body and soul but suggesting only barely what “external” and “internal” mean. The “inner necessity” on which he insisted the artist’s ineluctable call to express the spirit of the age, in service to “the cause of art” enduring beyond time and space... calls for, but fails to provide, the concrete distinctions that would justify the terms “temporal” and “eternal.” The highly informative catalogue gives only glancing clues as to how Kandinsky might have been influenced by Russian Orthodoxy. His commitment to “the spiritual,” though, is likely to resonate widely. In this way he poses a question for the many churches that are reaching many members to only pallid effect. On
reaching the top ramp of the Guggenheim, museum goers can ask themselves if their own procession before this great artist’s work was not a little like a prayer in which we lose ourselves in wonder. To whom else shall we go?
ARTICLE: 'From Fauvism to Cubism, to Constructivism and finally to GEOMETRISM (Geometric Art & Design)'...December 21. 2009:
Inspired by the painting 'Les Demoiselles d'Avignon' by Picassso Georges Braque broke away from the Fauvists in October 1907... The painting of unimaginable barbarity, utterly foreign to Western Art (ancient or modern)...these women with their shrunken expressions & outlandish breasts which seem to have been hewn-out with an axe. Unbearable! Cutting short of an explanation that might of been advanced by the Creator...Braque exclaimed: 'Listen Pablo!
It is as though we were supposed to exchange our usual diet for one of Wicks & Kerosene!' This comment was probably an allusion to the fire-eaters who performed in the Paris streets & squares and was destined to be inscribed in the annals of Art History.
But Braque was no less shaken in is own artistic activity. In 1908 he exhibited 'Houses at L'Estaque' & other works (refused by the Salon d'Autmne) at the Kanweiller Gallery which inspired the critic Louis Vauxcelles (the nominal father of Fauvism) to make the following remark: 'Mr. Braque is a very daring young man...Picasso's and Derain's example have toughened him up. He reduces Everything...places, figures and houses into Geometric fact into Cubes'
A page had been turned in the artist's life. Cubism became the adventure of two men until the outbreak of the First World War.
When Braque died on August 31 1963 having left a vast quantity of work to posterity he was given the honours of a National Funeral. Andre Malraux (the Minister of Culture at the time) emphatically proclaimed: 'He is as much at home in the Louvre as the Angel is on the Cathedral of Rheims', a belated (if official) gesture to express an acceptance of 20th-Century Art.
As Revolutionary as it was Cubism was dwarfed by the most Revolutionary movement in the history of art: The Constructivists emanating from Russia with Malevich, Listsky, Tatlin and many others that were not just artists but designers,engineers & architects
We are now in the 21st Century and the future is very challenging in which Geometric Art & Design surely must play a pivotal role...GEOMETRISM has come of age!

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