Collezione Peggy Guggenheim (Peggy Guggenheim Collection), located in an unfinished 18th-century palace, Palazzo Venier dei Leoni, boasts many modern masterpieces ranging in style from Cubism and Surrealism to Abstract Expressionism.
One of my favorite work there was a sculpture in the garden: The Cloven Viscount (Il visconte dimezzato) by Mimmo Paladino, which was simultaneously formal and fluid, familiar and strange, comforting and unsettling. The figure, installed inside a small square brick confinement, in a small pile of gravels, was unassuming and even humble, but his intentionally stiff posture, resembling age-dried twigs, bore the traces of the ravage of time and wearying journey.
The Cloven Viscount (Il visconte dimezzato), Mimmo Paladino, 1998
My second favorite work was a painting by Giogiro de Chirico, titled The Red Tower, in the typical style of the highly individual artist - subtly yet strikingly contrasting colors, enigmatic landscape and cityscape, opaque symbols and overwhelming sense of desolation and loneliness. The focal point of the work, the Red Tower, was really a foreboding fortress squatting somewhat in the background, and held secrets the artists refused to divulge.
The Red Tower (La Tour rouge), Giorgio de Chirico, 1913
Il Ghetto and Museo Ebraico (The Ghetto and Jewish Museum) in Venice were poignant places to visit and unsurprisingly, one of my favorite artifacts there was a series of reliefs mounted on the wall of the huge courtyard, depicting momentous experiences of the Jewish people:
Another favorite of mine was an ancient map/landscape of a walled city (Jerusalem?) housed inside the museum. I was struck by the harmoniously interwoven pleasing blue and green tones throughout the lovely piece, and the stylized presentation of a city and its surrounding countryside.
A grand building in Venice, Scuola Grande di San Rocco, houses a huge cycle of paintings by Tintoretto, commissioned in 1564. For next twenty-seven years, he and his assistants, including his son Domenico, created this opus magnum. From this cycle, I cite these two below as my favorites.
The first one is "The Annunciation" which depicted this familiar subject in a startlingly dramatic way and the dynamic momentum and the stark tonal contrast were overwhelming.
The Annunciation from the Tintoretto cycle, Image courtesy of Wikicommons by Web Gallery of Art
The second one is "Miracle of the Bronze Serpent", which composition is even more dramatic. It told the story of the resentful Israelites wanted to go back to Egypt and God sent snakes to torment the hungry and thirsty people. Eventually they were compelled to go to Moses and asked him to pray to God for forgiveness. God dictated him to make a fiery serpent, and set it upon a pole: "and it shall come to pass, that every one that is bitten, when he looketh upon it, shall live."
The small yet centrally positioned Moses and the miracle serpent occupied a small swatch of the canvas, filled with light, a small hope, perhaps; while the rest managed to emerge from dark shadows - limbs and bodies intertwined in the formation reminiscent of that of the serpent. Unforgettable.
Miracle of the Bronze Serpent from the Tintoretto cycle, Image courtesy of Wikicommons by Web Gallery of Art
Il Chiesa del Santissimo Redentore (Church of the Most Holy Redeemer) is located on a small island facing Venice across a lagoon, and a short trip by boat brought me to see some of its eclectic artworks.
My favorite painting in the church was Baptism of Christ by Veronese. This painting did not present a panoramic scene of the event; rather, it brought viewers to the close proximity of the main characters in the drama -- Jesus and John the Baptist, presented as virile young men, vigorous and poised, dynamic even in a arrested still moment. Froze in the middle of an action, their seeming pause gave the painting an ethereal atmosphere and a sense of timelessness. The strong modulation of their bodies and the bold outlines gave added to their confidence. They were visited by holy ghost, hovering over Baptist's blessing hand; and observed by two female biblical figures to their left; two donors, dictated tradition occupied the lower right, who in turn, were balanced by cherubim on the upper right corner of the painting.
Baptism of Christ, Paolo Caliari known as il Veronese
My second favorite painting was Transport ofChrist to theSepulchre, by JacopoNegretticalled Palmail Giovane.
This was a beautiful painting, with typical coloration of Italy idyllic paintings, almost too much so for such a sad subject. The curiously tranquil scene was accented by two grieve stricken female figures on the upper left and lower right of the painting. The composition was dynamic yet understated, despite of those two female figures, whose postures were a bit overtly dramatic.
The painting was installed between two columns and underneath a weighty pediment, which echoed the semi-circular top part of the painting. The small "dome" and the understated trimming at the inner edge of the painting let the entire ensemble an more decorative air. However, the pureness and openness of the setting were slightly disturbed by a massive golden crown above a crucifix nearby. Impressive surely but a bit too oppressively rich and earthly to be next to this ethereal painting.
Transport ofChrist to theSepulchre, by JacopoNegretticalled Palmail Giovane
Without that amazing and controversial work, which would be my most favorite, I move on to cite other two sculptures as my favorites. The first one was a 2010 metaphoric one titled Vater Staat (Father State) by Thomas Schütte. It presented a wizened and stiffly upright man in a humble monkish habit and a boxy brimless hat, a figure was simultaneously self-effacing, dignified, and somewhat pompous and ridiculous, ever so slightly. It was a perfect personification of such strange concept.
Vater Staat by Thomas Schütte, 2010, in front of Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute
The second favorite of mine was a group sculpture of Atlas, symbolizing the might of the fabled Republic of Venice. The golden ball was held up by two giants, or two slaves as some claimed, and upon which stood a 17th-century Fortune, which turned in the sea wind - a perfect documentary of the fantastical seafaring power.
Two giants supporting Atlans, upon with stands Fortune
Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute in Venezia, though so-called a minor cathedral, due to its strategic location near the tip of Punta della Dogana, visible when entering the Piazza San Marco from the Grand Canal, was a natural stop for many visitors to the city. Its interior was relatively sparse, understated and unassuming, but that it didn't prevent Salute from accumulating some muted splendors.
Amongst several interesting and moving works, I cite these two as my favorites (below).
The one left me the strongest impression was an altar to Virgin Mary - centering on a brilliantly-painted ikon, a Byzantine Madonna and Child of the 12th or 13th century, known as Panagia Mesopantitissa in Greek ("Madonna the mediator" or "Madonna the negotiator"), framed by flowing baroque sculpture of the Queen of Heaven Expelling the Plague (1670), which was a theatrical Baroque masterpiece created by the Flemish sculptor Josse de Corte. The colored painting and the bleached sculpture, the stiffness of the icon and the soft sensual line of the stone figures contrasted strongly and a sense of unexpected and fascinating surprise.
My second favorite was a painting by Titian, titled The Descent of the Holy Ghost. For modern eyes, his tableau might not be so ground-breaking; but at the time of its creation and aided with more vivid colors, the large altar piece must be breathtakingly impressive - the classical triangle composition, the seamless transition from the built columns to the painted arch, and finally the blindingly dizzying holy spirit crashing down from heaven, must be truly awe inspiring.
Piazza di San Marco in Venice is a marvelous museum itself, featuring valuable historical artifacts and artistic treasures, too numerous to list.
One of my two favorites is the iconic sculpture of "I Tetrarchi (The Tetrarchs)" at the foot of Basilica di San Marco, depicting four ebony colored Tetrarchs huddling together, either in fear, or treacherous congregation. Very intriguing and engaging:
The second favorite sculpture of mine is actually a capital, which has some very peculiar looking heads sticking out of the column, some with the spirits of figureheads on a prow, others look more despondent or stunned. Those exotic looking heads are full of personalities and though hard to notice in the vast Piazza, are hard to forgot once seen.
I am very proud of my 2007 oil painting "Mackerel", in which I managed to capture both beautiful and sinister elements of a daily object, fulfilling a most tantalizing pursuit of mine. With its intense colors and bold strokes, this painting economically presents a sleekly fish, intently staring upwards, as if ready to confront its captor; at the meanwhile, its eye also betrayed the fish's sad resignation to its imminent demise.
The background of the painting was plain drop cloth, hatched lightly, and dominated by sickly greenish-yellow from the left and graduated to an intense blue to the right. The intense vertical blue patch also represents the deep water being turned upright, in a disorientated world.
Mackerel Oil on Canvas 28" x 22" Completed in 2007
I don't consider myself as a colorist; yet, sometimes, I managed to utilize some vibrant colors to create paintings with vibrant colors, bold, striking, yet harmonious, such as my 2003 oil painting, Birds and Men.
Birds and Men / 鳥與人 / Vögel und Menschen Oil on Canvas 30" x 40" 2003
With that painting, and several others made in 2003, I started my Apocalypse Series, intended to document human sufferings inflicted by reckless or repressive political, religious or cultural forces. The direct impetus to create such series was the impending invasion of Iraq, led by George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Tony Blair, Condoleezza Rice, and Colin Powell, et. al.
As stated in my standard bio: "Life is a harsh experience, yet it is beautiful. Art ought to be from life, and above life. To merely document surfaces is not enough: I want to grasp what is behind, which to me is far more compelling and worthwhile.
As with many artists, my early work is grounded in realism, and evolved into a style that retains a representative cast but rejects slavish naturalism. I immerse myself in the patterns and rhythms of forms, particularly the contradiction between the surface beauty and harsh subjects, and from these foci has formed a distinctive style. The subject matter of my work ranges from portraiture and landscape/cityscape, to allegories and abstraction."
The vast compound of Palazzo Ducale, Venezia (Doge Palace, Venice) is a trove of architectural and art treasures scattered around within and without the highly decorated walls of the palace, therefore it took me some concentration to choose my two favorites.
My first choice was a painting by Titian, depicting the giant Saint Christopher carrying baby Jesus on his back, across a river before the child revealed himself as Christ. The composition was powerfully dynamic, with the Saint startlingly sinewy and serious, a personification of reliability and steadfastness. The Child, airy, playful and full of vitality, in the lighter moment of his eventful and tragic life. The coloration was neither flashy nor rich - time might have robbed some of its tonal splendor but the muted palette gave gravitas to the painting and a sense of timelessness.
San Christopher by Titian
My second favorite artwork in the palace was a relief on the outer wall, titled "The Drunkenness of Noah". This relief cleverly utilized the confined space about a portal, positioning Noah, barely covered of his nakedness with a cloth, on one side of the portal, turning corner from the main plane, upon which carved all his three sons, who were divided into two groups, separated by the pointed arch, with his "good sons" Shem and Japheth nearing Noah, holding the garment to cover him, while his bad son "Ham" stood far away from the rest, with a clear sense of the banishment of him, whose descendents were cursed by Noah for Ham's supposed insensitivity to his father's privacy.
A very strange story out of bible, rendered with great economy, clarify and pathos.
The Drunkenness of Noah on the 'Vine Angle' above the 1st Capital on Palazzo Ducale
The unique artist Andy Goldsworthy's installation Stone River (2001) on Stanford University campus was an amazing creation, which was, according to the University's website, "a wall-like serpentine sculpture set in about three acres of land to the northeast of the Iris & B. Gerald Cantor Center for Visual Arts. It is about 3 1/2 feet high and about 4 feet wide at its base. It is made of more than 6,500 stones, including about 700 triangular coping stones weighing between 20 and 50 pounds each that top the sculpture. Each coping stone was individually shaped at a different angle to fit the wall precisely. The total weight of the piece is about 128 tons."
I have several chances to admire this giant before, always in dry seasons, and that serpentine stone wall together with the the withered meadow it sat on, generated an overwhelmingly desolate and barren atmosphere, which was deeply moving and impressive.
Last December, when I visited it again, immediately after many days' of heavy rains, and I was utterly delighted by the experience of another kind - the refreshingly green and lush meadow contrasted dramatically with the now moss-coated, though still yellow-hued stone wall, and the meandering installation left a strong impression of being a living and breathing creature, vital and larger than life. A marvel.
Though thee baroque monastery church, Barmherzigenkirche (Brotherhood of Compassion), in Graz, Austria, was founded by the Archduke Ferdinand and Max Ernst in 1615, the present construction was from later period - built in 1735-40, was by J. G. Stengg and it presented visitors stark contrasts between its austere though flowing architectural elements and the overstuffed, overwrought religious paintings, sculptures and altars.
For the latter, it was their almost naïve sincerity and the heart-felt solemnity rescued them from the disaster of complete kitsch and drew viewers' attention to elaborate splendor.
Amongst those unusual objects, I found a huge altar centering on an ebony Madonna very intriguing and most memorable. Underneath a seashell arch, enshrouded in beautifully decorated cloth of ceremony, which was covered with alternating dark and light patterns, this Madonna, shaped like a typical Christmas tree, embodied the universal elements, manifested by the bold motifs on the ceremonial cloth. A tiny arm of hers held high the small head of the Baby, which, like his celestial mother, wore weighty crowns gilded in rich though subdued red gold.
I really love the primitive feeling of this particular Virgin Mary.
The second memorable piece in Barmherzigenkirche depicted a typical sacrificial scene of a certain saint. It was a fresco on a side wall near an alter of the theme of the Lamentation. What struck me most of this side fresco was the beauty of the subtle coloration, and the elegance of the postures, therefore, the rather terrifying scene was beautifully presented and such dichotomy generated a high drama of its own. Furthermore, one could see that a sculptural lamenting cherub from the altar cast his sight on this painted scene, thus bound those two elements tightly together, forming a continuous narration from altar to the side wall and then back.
The hill in the city of Graz, Austria, Schloßberg, boasted many monuments, on the ground of the fortress destroyed by the conquering Napoleon's army, such as the Lion: Major-Hackher-Denkmal, Bastion of Schloßberg (above).
Amongst many memorable sculptures, my favorite one was a large relief, titled Untersteiermark unvergessene Heimat (Lower Styria UnforgottenHome) (Graz 1945), whose poignantly depiction of displayed people by the raging war. In regardless of political situation, the horrible effect of war on people were just deplorable.
My second favorite sculpture was titled Furchtlos und Treu - INF.RGT.27 - 1682-1918 (Fearless and faithful). This stone sculpture of a noble-looking man holding a heavy sword, looking straight forward in the most steadfast fashion. Its effect was enhanced by the fact that it was mounted on a red-brick wall of a fortress, dramatically draped with ivy leaves. The heroism of the sculpture though had a disturbing taste of the nationalist fervor, much appreciated in totalitarian states, such as Nazi Germany and the Soviet Unions. Austria was the right place to reflect on ambiguity and contradiction.
The Graz parish church, Stadtpfarrkirche zum Hl. Blut (Parish Church of Holy Blood), nestling quietly in the the busiest street of the city, Herrengasse, had a wonderful baroque façade containing my favorite sculpture of the church, a scholar or a clergyman in a distinctive long robe and cornered hat, holding a large folio and a paper roll. Face serene and intelligent, pose determined and a bit defiant, the figure was shrouded in a slight mystery. The outline and the coloration of the figure and the background were so cleanly delineated that the sculpture was worthy of a drawing by the incomparable John Flexman.
My second favorite art in the church was two large panels of stained glasses behind a large crucifixion. These two panels were noteworthy, mostly for depicting the heinous Hitler and Mussolini watching the Taunting of Christ (left panel, right column, fourth pane from bottom).
A rightful posture of apology from Austrian people.
There are many interesting churches in Graz and one of them I visited in 2012, Mariahilferkirche and cloister, impressed me very much with its startling altar pieces.
The most striking one was an altar of Pietà, whose particularity was that there was a sword piercing into Maria's breast. It was a very disturbing and moving image and hard to forget.
I happened to have seen quite a few similar images during that trip; in the very same church, on the side wall, I also saw this standing alone Maria pierced by a sword. In other church, I even saw a Maria pierced by seven swords!
The second favorite altar in Mariahilferkirche featured a dead scene of a saint, perhaps, Maria.
The strong contrast between the splendidly colorful angel and the bleached dying Maria were very striking, and their postures echoed each other, and formed a broad and comforting embrace. Very moving.
As I reported shortly after my trip to Graz in 2012, I was delighted by my visit to Institut für Klassische Archäologie at Karl-Franzens-Universität Graz, for its collections of many classical Roman and Greek marble sculptures and reliefs. According to the university, "the Institute is home to significant archaeological collections of ancient vases of Greece, objects from local sites as well as casts of ancient sculptures."
There were many beautiful sculptures to admire, many of the had incredible ethereal beauty in their wonderfully proportioned forms and polished details, such as these works below:
Yet, pressed, I had to name the Niobe below as my favorite - it was not the most polished piece to behold and the deliberately clumsy posture of the grief-stricken queen was rather ungainly, yet more moving for that. What moved me most were her stunned facial expression and the terrified face of her little daughter clinging to her, trying desperately to avoid the fury of the gods, who had just killed all her eleven siblings, provoked by the boasting, now belatedly repenting Niobe, a moving subject also propelled me to make an abstract installation last year.
My second favorite was a huge head of a noble horse, with its lean bones, fiery eyes and flaring nostrils, looked supremely eloquent and elegant: