Browsing Tag

Jan Mankes

Move over, Mondrian.

A sentiment that questions Piet Mondrian‘s (1872 –1944) status as the master of modernism is, of course, offered in jest. I was just thinking of him when looking at today’s topic, Dutch painter Jan Mankes, (1889 –1920) who lived and worked during Mondrian’s life time, though only for a short 30 years before tuberculosis felled him in 1920.

Some of Manke’s landscapes are of the same subjects, trees, polders, wintry estates, and share some of the same aesthetic. But where Mondrian is intense and penetrating, Manke’s work is some of the most tranquil you’ll find among the modern Dutch masters. It has a porcelain quality, soft brush strokes, and invites lots of introspection. It also allows people into the landscapes.

The quietude, seemingly part of his personality from what I learned from a short biography in a documentary video, (alas not translated into English from the original Dutch, but worth watching for the painting collection on view,) stood in sharp contrast to the personality of his wife: a firebrand.

Anne Zernike (1887 – 1972) who came from a wealthy Amsterdam family of academics and intellectuals (her brother received the Nobel Prize in Physics,) was the first female ordained Protestant minister in the Netherlands. She joined the Mennonites because they were the only ones accepting women in that role. Later, after receiving her doctorate in the same time frame where she had a baby, where her husband died and she needed to move back to the city from their country idyll in Friesland, she attached herself to a more progressive church, the Dutch Protestant Association (NPB.)

Portrait of the painter’s wife, Anne Zernike (1918)

Zernike was a pacifist, a radical liberal and staunchly convinced that theology and the arts had to be taught in tandem. After marrying Mankes in 1915, they moved to The Hague where their lives focused on participation in the artistic environment, including literature, painting and poetry; theology, including explorations of Christian Socialism, Taoism and theosophy and vegetarianism. Two years later, in 1917, they relocated to Eerbeek, a small village away from the sea climate which was believed to worsen Manke’s illness. Zernike, while pregnant, wrote her thesis On historical materialism and social democratic ethics there. Beint, their son was born on 1 March 1918 and that same autumn she received her doctorate in divinity from the University of Amsterdam. Jan died about a year and a half later. Here is a similar Dutch video about her life, a sort of docudrama that gives you lovely glimpses of the landscape.)

Mankes was quite successful as an artist during his lifetime, with several collectors supporting his work and sales of both paintings and drawings flourishing. One of his patrons sent him an owl that he frequently painted and kept in the house. Animals fascinated him and he studied them for long periods before painting them from memory. I wonder what would have happened to the odd and intense couple after the five short years granted them in marriage before his death. I wonder if his name would have become known beyond the Dutch borders – he is revered in Holland, but few know of him here.

Self Portrait with Barn Owl (1911)

I think my mother, whose Jahrzeit is this week und who loved owls, would have been a happy camper in that household, sister-in-arms with revolutionary Anne and impressed by the devotion to the winged and other critters present in the studio. Owl photographs in her memory, taken in my very own garden this year.

I am wishing you all a meaningful Thanksgiving, with loneliness converted into feelings of agency: we are all doing our part to get this world back on track until a vaccine is available. I am grateful for the fact that I am in the thoughts of family and friends, as you are in mine, closely held to my heart and in my esteem as warriors in crisis times. I’ll see you back next Monday!

Music is by Elgar, about an owl No. 4 (An Epitath) from the 4 Part Songs, Op. 53 (1907,) dedicated to none other than his pet rabbit! Pietro D’Alba….

Jan Mankes, white Rabbit, Standing (1910)

Dreaming, while snared, of murmurations.

I have been working on a project that, once again, tries to express the feelings associated with our current predicament: longing for freedom of movement and togetherness with others while being forced into spatial isolation. (I wrote about my last one along those lines here.)

The most recent exploration was initiated by watching a clip about those eerie kinetic artists, starlings, swooping through air in energetic and coordinated murmurations. The freedom of movement combined with a sense of communal action seemed like the perfect symbol for all that we deprived of right now during (in)voluntary quarantine due to Covid-19.

Artists have, of course, taken an interest in starlings for centuries. A contemporary one is photographer Søren Solkær who has observed the flights for many years now and published the images in a series called Black Sun. It’s worth clicking on the link below (Colossal) to see a spread of what he captured, some etherial beauty of stark landscapes in addition to the murmurations.

This project has taken me back to the landscape of my childhood and youth in the marshlands of Southern Denmark. A place where as many as one million starlings gather in the spring and fall, prior to onwards migration, and set the stage for one of nature’s most spectacular phenomena. As the countless birds congregate in large murmurations before collectively settling in the reeds at dusk they put on an incredible show of collaboration and performance skills. And now and then, by the added drama of attacking birds of prey, the flock will unfold a breathtaking and veritable ballet of life or death. The starlings move as one unified organism that vigorously opposes any outside threat. A strong visual expression is created – like that of an ink drawing or a calligraphic brush stroke – asserting itself against the sky. Shapes and black lines of condensation form within the swarm, resembling waves of interference or mathematical abstractions written across the horizon. At times the flock seems to possess the cohesive power of super fluids, changing shape in an endless flux: From geometric to organic, from solid to fluid, from matter to ethereal, from reality to dream – an exchange in which real time ceases to exist and mythical time pervades. This is the moment I have attempted to capture – a fragment of eternity.

One of my favorite paintings of a young starling is by Dutch painter Jan Mankes (1889 – 1920) who, come to think of it, deserves his own YDP one of these days.

Starlings are often snared – they are perceived as a nuisance when they descend in great numbers onto cities, Rome being a case in point, where 5 million of them spend the entire winter before flying to Scandinavia to nest in spring. The city, no longer allowing nets, now has taken to releasing falcons to hunt them and places loudspeaker with starling distress calls and calls by other predatory birds near their roosting sites. Why such efforts, you wonder? In one word: Poopocalypse….. More than a nuisance are starlings at airports, endangering safety when they get caught in the jets of planes – Seattle’s airport SEA TAC catches over a thousand each year.

In any case, I had to combine, for my own Covid response purposes in my montages, a sense of being snared with a sense of symbolic murmuration. You tell me if the sentiment is adequately captured.

Music today is in honor of Mozart’s starling – a bird he held as a pet. Details on that in an interesting interview here. Apparently Mozart’s piece Musical Joke was part of their collaboration….

Mozart’s Musical Joke was completed very shortly after his starling died in 1787. And I’m not the first to make the connection between this starling and this piece of music. That was Meredith West in a 1990 piece for American Scientist magazine [co-written with Andrew King]. She noticed that musicians hated this piece because it made them sound really bad — a lot of disharmony, fractured phrases, very odd key changes. Finally, she noticed that if you overlaid some of the most disconcerting parts over the song of a starling, there are a lot of similarities. You find the same kind of fractured phrases and general playfulness.”