Reflections: Carolyn Peter on Hippolyte Bayard

Getty Art + Ideas
Getty Art + Ideas
Reflections: Carolyn Peter on Hippolyte Bayard
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We’ve asked members of the Getty community to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. These recordings feature stories related to our daily lives.

This week, Carolyn Peter considers how gardening is like early photography—and how both involve a little bit of wonder. To learn more about this artwork, visit: www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/64876/.

Over the next few weeks, look for new recordings every other Tuesday.


Transcript

JAMES CUNO: Hi, I’m Jim Cuno, president of the J. Paul Getty Trust. In a new podcast feature, we’re asking members of the Getty community to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. We’ll be releasing new recordings every other Tuesday. I hope you’ll find these stories about our daily lives—from laundry on the line to a dog at a scholar’s feet—thought provoking, illuminating, and entertaining.

CAROLYN PETER: I’m Carolyn Peter, curatorial assistant in the Department of Photographs at the Getty Museum.

While sheltering at home, I have been thinking about Hippolyte Bayard’s self-portraits in the garden. Bayard was a 19th-century inventor of photography; he had no set instructions to follow for making a photograph. He had to be in tune with his environment. To make an image, he collaborated with the sun, photo-sensitive chemicals, thin sheets of writing paper, his lens, and his subjects.

Like Bayard, I have been paying attention to the shifting patterns of light through the day and the seasons. I am lucky enough to have an outdoor space just beyond my back door. My husband and I planted a vegetable garden early on, just before the stay at home orders came. Over the past few months, we have been watching things grow.

To create a garden, we collaborated with the sun, as well as the soil, water, nutrients, seeds, insects, and other creatures. Both ventures require patience and an openness to risk. We had a vision, but we humbly had to leave much up to nature.

Bayard placed himself in the garden for his self-portraits because natural light was a necessity for photography in the 1840s, but also because it was one of his favorite places. He too loved gardening. It was in his blood. His father was renowned for his peaches. A legend tells of how he imprinted his initial “B” on peaches by placing cut paper over peaches as they were ripening on the tree. It is said this is how Bayard first learned about the sun’s power to imprint and eventually led to his photographic experiments.

In one of Bayard’s self-portraits, he leans on a wooden cask, perhaps a nineteenth-century version of a rain barrel. He is surrounded by familiar gardening tools: a watering can, flower pots, a ladder, and a trellis. I can’t see his feet under the foliage. It as if he has sprouted out from the earth. I identify with this feeling of connectedness to a place. Returning to my garden day after day, I notice the minute changes: the plants’ growth, the holes left in leaves by hungry insects, the thirsty soil.  

Bayard’s self-portraits were some the first photographs of human beings ever made. Seeing an image of himself emerge on the paper must have been magical. Such a revolution took place in the quiet chamber of Bayard’s camera in the middle of his garden. In the midst of this COVID-19 pandemic, so much is happening in the stillness of my garden. Seeing a passion fruit start from a bud, transform into a space-age flower, then into a green orb that turns a deep reddish purple fills me with wonder. I find great comfort in cradling a warm tomato in my hand, monitoring a peach on my windowsill as it ripens with a paper letter “C” pinned to it, and watching the sun continuing on its steady course through the sky.

CUNO: To view Hippolyte Bayard’s Self-Portrait in the Garden, made in Paris, France, around 1847, click the link in this episode’s description or look for it on getty.edu/art/collection.

Michelangelo’s Drawings: Mind of the Master

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Getty Art + Ideas
Michelangelo's Drawings: Mind of the Master
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“You have all these incredibly powerful people across Italy, all writing to Michelangelo and saying, ‘Please, please, pretty please, can I have one of your drawings?’ And, you know, Michelangelo never obliged them.”

Michelangelo is among the most influential and impressive artists of the Italian High Renaissance. His lifelike sculptures and powerful paintings are some of the most recognizable works in Western art history. He also drew prolifically, making sketch after sketch of figures in slightly varying poses, focusing on form and gesture. However, remarkably few of these drawings remain today, many of them burned by the artist himself, others lost or damaged over the centuries. 

A recent exhibition at the J. Paul Getty Museum, Michelangelo: Mind of the Master, brought together more than two dozen of Michelangelo’s surviving drawings—including designs for the Sistine Chapel ceiling and The Last Judgment—to shed light on the artist’s creativity and working method. In this episode, co-curators of this exhibition, Julian Brooks and Edina Adam, discuss the master and what we can learn from his works on paper. 

For images, transcripts, and more, visit getty.edu/podcasts.

Reflections: Aleia McDaniel on an Illuminated Letter P

Getty Art + Ideas
Getty Art + Ideas
Reflections: Aleia McDaniel on an Illuminated Letter P
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We’ve asked members of the Getty community to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. These recordings feature stories related to our daily lives.

This week, Aleia McDaniel discusses her long-held love for cursive and how it relates to an illuminated manuscript from 1180. To learn more about this artwork, visit: https://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/103710/.

Over the next few weeks, look for new recordings every other Tuesday.


Transcript

JAMES CUNO: Hi, I’m Jim Cuno, president of the J. Paul Getty Trust. In a new podcast feature, we’re asking members of the Getty community to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. We’ll be releasing new recordings every other Tuesday. I hope you’ll find these stories about our daily lives—from laundry on the line to a dog at a scholar’s feet—thought provoking, illuminating, and entertaining.

ALEIA MCDANIEL: My name is Aleia McDaniel and I am a curatorial assistant in the department of manuscripts at the Getty Museum.

Growing up I was drawn to cursive. Both of my parents wrote in cursive regularly, my mother exclusively, and my father on important documents, though he preferred printing in all caps most of the time. My grandfather, a retired professor, also used cursive for his everyday writing. I like to think I take after him; he was also a practitioner of the arts.

When most students dropped cursive in junior high, I held on to it. During the stay-at-home order, I was able to clean out a few old and cluttered files, and I found coursework dating back to my early high school career. I was shocked to see the huge change in my handwriting from my high school days. I began to use computers for taking all of my notes during undergrad, and it’s sad to say that my handwriting has almost, degraded in a way. That’s not to say that it’s illegible, but rather it has developed kind of a personality; it’s no longer purely cursive, but it’s also not quite print.
Working from home now has granted me the time not only to focus on developing my own handwriting again, but also the ability to browse the many different calligraphic styles in the Getty’s manuscript collection. When I came across this page from a manuscript written in Germany in 1180, I saw my own hybrid cursive style reflected back at me.

The Initial P is ornate, the red, golds, and blue of the decorated letter reminded me of how I felt when I first learned cursive, overwhelmed. There were so many loops, turns, and decorations that my mind couldn’t comprehend how someone would be able to understand where the word began, or which was the final letter. But as a child, the more I looked at and learned the script, the more I could understand how the detail attached to the calligraphy was not daunting, but rather smooth, inviting.

The flourishes on the other letters on this page give a fluid-like character to the text. The script is a strong and seamless black, but the flow is interrupted by the brightness of the blue and red letters. These bright colors remind me to explore my surroundings.

I’ve been finding inspiration in nature too recently, and the blues on this page remind me of the freedom of the blue sky when I go for a hike. My imagination can go into overdrive while hiking, imaging the creatures that are hidden from our sight, quite like the dragon at the base of the decorated letter P.

I am taking this re-imagined freedom and using it to develop my script even further. Even though the emotional response I have to cursive is not universal, it’s comforting to know that there is a sense of normalcy in the old, and that we can take its style and apply it to our everyday lives. I will continue to use various illuminated manuscripts to help further my understanding of calligraphy, and who knows, maybe my own handwriting might one day gain its own dragon guardian.

CUNO: To view this illuminated initial P, made in Germany around 1180, click the link in this episode’s description, or look for it on getty.edu/art/collection.

Finding Dora Maar: A Surreal(ist) Story Told through an Address Book

Getty Art + Ideas
Getty Art + Ideas
Finding Dora Maar: A Surreal(ist) Story Told through an Address Book
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When Brigitte Benkemoun bought a leather diary case from eBay, she did not expect to find a small address book tucked into the back. And she certainly didn’t expect that book to contain the names of some of the most renowned figures of 20th century Paris—names like André Breton, Brassaï, Jean Cocteau, and Jacques Lacan. She began researching these contacts until she uncovered the identity of the address book’s former owner: the surrealist artist Dora Maar. 

In this episode, Benkemoun discusses the provocative life of Dora Maar and the book that resulted from her research, a unique blend of detective story, biography, memoir, and cultural history. Finding Dora Maar: An Artist, an Address Book, a Life has recently been translated into English by Jody Gladding and published by Getty Publications.

For images, transcripts, and more, visit getty.edu/podcasts.