Bronze Cat; 664- 525 B.C.

It was never a question of if I would write about cats in art, but when. Whelp, it looks like the time has come. Animal symbolism is all over the place in art. Felines pop up everywhere from Ancient Egyptian sculpture and hieroglyphics to 19th century French painting. Some animals, like ravens, are bad omens. Dogs usually symbolize openness, friendliness, and loyalty (like in The Arnolfini Wedding or The Venus of Urbino, for example). Cats, however, are used in so many different contexts that they don’t really have one accepted metaphor.

Let’s start at the very beginning (ish). In Ancient Egypt, cats were not always deities, but certainly had spiritual significance. They were beloved domestic animals, cared for and revered by all members of a household. They were also thought to ward off evil spirits! So that’s why my house is so peaceful, er, well it doesn’t have evil spirits anyway. Felines were so respected in Egyptian culture that anyone who killed one was sentenced to death. The goddess Bastet was part feline, and the daughter of the all important Ra. Her prayer asks the goddess to keep evil from the minds of the devout.

Albrecht Durer's Adam and Eve. Note the cat.

Albrecht Durer was the most famous engraver of the Northern Renaissance, and in my humble opinion a right prodigy. I think sometimes art historians read too much into paintings, but Durer rarely put anything in his work that didn’t mean something. In his version of Adam and Eve, there are four animals along for the ride, each representing one of the “four temperaments.” In the earliest days of psychology, bodily fluids or “humours” were thought to be responsible for personality traits and behaviors. The temperaments are sanguine, choleric, melancholic, phlegmatic. The kitty cat in Durer’s engraving represents the choleric – a personality characterized by connoisseurship of extreme emotional states: passionate, assertive, but prone to deep bouts of dolor. I always thought that cats would be a relaxed phlegmatic: rational, chill, and a bit passive-aggressive. But I guess even cats get the blues.

William Holman Hunt, The Awakening Conscience

The 19th century is probably my favorite era for cats in art (yeah, there’s a hierarchy). I wrote long ago when I was 19 and probably a terrible writer about how Manet’s Olympia places a cat in the salon as opposed to the Venus of Urbino‘s dog, to run with the theme of unwelcome, intrusion, and turning the male gaze back on itself. The Awakening Conscienceby Pre-Raphaelite William Holman Hunt is a masterpiece of the “fallen woman” genre. Allegedly the original patron couldn’t stand to look at the woman’s pained expression, and Hunt re-did it, more tempered. In these domestic scenes, you might expect to find a dog, a symbol of warmth and family. However, this painting is supposed to be disturbing!

The woman rises from her chair, while her lover plays on, oblivious to her dilemma. The message is clear in the context of Victorian culture: her morality is compromised. Many objects in the rather garish room speak to this theme. The cat under the table toys with a bird. The bird seems to be alive but in the midst of battle for life and death. If the cat functions in a similar way to Olympia, it could represent threat and snubbing – the treatment this woman would receive by society if she continues her current lifestyle. However, the bird could symbolize her slight chance of redemption.

It turns out cats are pretty fascinating animals, eh? At least fascinating enough to be a motif across millennia and eras of art history. It makes sense. Hopefully you a have cat, possibly staring at you as we speak. Look into its eyes. Do you really ever know what it’s thinking? These mysterious creatures are subject to countless projections of what we think, but they’ll never let us in on the truth.

By the way, I love cats.

This is a real pro-ana image.

This is not.

Anorexia is a health problem. I won’t lie: I have a love, hate relationship with it. However, it really does suck a lot out of life. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

That's more like it!

I’ve started a new semester full of fascinating courses, the contents of which I will promptly shove down your throats…after my classes tomorrow.

For my first post of 2012, I’d like to ask you a question. When I started this blog, it was just a fun thing to do on my own. But now since I have achieved world fame the few, the proud: the readership, I want to know what you’d like to read to about. Are you groaning at the thought of more macabre? Too bad. Seriously though, are you craving more feminist takes? More Albrecht Durer? I can always talk more about video games. I can post pictures of my cats.

My own journey in my discipline has taken more of a philosophical and political direction in the past year. I don’t just talk about the art in front of us, but why someone would need to make it, and what it speaks to culturally. But if you really want, cats all the way.

If no one comments on this I’m going to write exclusively about Impressionism. Just kidding. I wouldn’t do that to myself.

Shieldmaiden Hervor by Peter Nicolai Arbo

I must talk about video games again, and I’ll have you know that while researching this post, I passed up an article called ”Art and Death in the Middle Ages.” The sacrifices I make!

Last week an article titled “Fantasy Armor and Lady Bits” caught my attention. Ryan (no last name?), the author, discusses the utter ridiculousness of female costumes in fantasy and gaming. If you are a female or an even ever so slightly progressive male and like games, you know this is a major point of contention.  My favorite characters are some amazing women, but their clothes often reduce conversation to their physical beauty. For example, take Celes Chere from Final Fantasy VI in her Amano concept art:

Celes Chere by Yoshitaka Amano

And what her in-game sprite wears:

Celes's sprite

While many female characters in the series are physically weak white mages, Celes is a former general. So while she can use magic, she’s also a powerful attacker. The imperial soldiers in the game wear full armor, but Celes gets a sexy (?) leotard. Now, I know the Amano costume isn’t the most practical either, but Celes is much more covered without losing any of her beauty. The same phenomenon occurs in Final Fantasy IX. The male soldiers wear a full suit of armor, where the female force and general wear revealing clothes. Beatrix of Alexandria is an awesome character, and I think she would be just as powerful (and beautiful) in practical armor. There are far fewer examples of highly objectify-able male warriors in fantasy. The Dothraki horsemen are pretty nifty and favor agility over protection, and I think Michael Fassbender was shirtless for most of 300, but female fighters usually get the short end of the armor stick.

The aforementioned article was inspired by an addictive Tumblr, Women Fighters in Reasonable Armor. Both sources point out the historical basis for both practical and flexible armor. Medieval Norse culture had a tradition of “shieldmaidens,” usually noble women who participated in armed conflict. The eighth century Veborg fought for the Scandinavian king Harald. This legendary warrior was valuable in battle, even cutting off her army’s opponent’s jaw before her death. The painting at the top of the page shows a romanticized version of a shieldmaiden. While her clothes are still feminine, she is fully covered and wears chain mail.

There are other examples of real life women fighters. Joan of Arc, the obvious example, wears armor almost identical to men’s armor in drawings. Jeanne de Penthièvre of Brittany was said to wear armor into battle and while defending her home after her husband died. To me, these women are no less feminine or beautiful for wearing traditionally masculine costume. Creating more female characters with practical armor would not only help us girl gamers feel less pigeonholed, but hopefully teach all gamers that  allure can come from a personality just as much as a sexy costume.

Yoshitaka Amano's Cecil Harvey

My life fell apart this year. There’s not really a better way to say it. I lost the most precious things imaginable to me, including a lot of my self identity. Sorry to be such a downer. If you’ve been reading this blog since it’s genesis, you know I’ve tried a variety of treatments. A few weeks ago, I found one in an unexpected place: Final Fantasy. While any entry in the beloved series was not the first video game I loved – like many kids of my generation that was Ocarina of Time - it was the series that left the biggest impression on me. In fourth grade I was hard core about Final Fantasy IX. It’s funny now, because the game has a lot of themes that are quite complex for even a mature nine year old. The story is full of existential crises, love, death, friendship, and the meaning of life.  I replayed this game, and am working through others. Surprisingly, it’s helping me.

I also realized that Final Fantasy may have actually been a big influence on my love of art. Creative pursuits and high culture have always been a part of my life, but I never sought out art or art history materials until at least middle school. So my first true “art book” was probably The Art of Final Fantasy IX. It’s truly astounding to see the detail the creators put into every background, non player character, and monster. I was drawing all the time after I got that book! Amano remains one of my favorite artists to this day.

Still looking for a good white mage cape

With all the bad rap that video games get, most of the Final Fantasy stories are full of good role models. From dark knight Cecil Harvey who becomes a force of light to save the world to Princess Garnet, who goes through trauma after trauma, only to put aside her sorrow to think about her subjects and friends. The games are damn smart, too! VI has an opera for Bahamut’s sake! Two characters from IX fall in love in what amounts to a comedy of errors in true Shakespearan fashion.

Don’t get me started on the music! I’m convinced part of my appreciation for beautiful and layered composition comes from my gaming past. “Theme of Love” and “Aria di Mezzo Carattere” bring me to tears. Nobuo Uematsu’s gorgeous scores brought the places and characters fans love to life.

I realize I’m having a total sapfest right now. But great games really can touch lives. And even Final Fantasy characters get depressed, which is a bit of realism anyone with psychiatric pain can appreciate. I believe the great RPGs will always have a special mark on my (our?) generation. Do you remember the first time the ending screen appeared after completing a game you loved? It’s a type of bittersweet that’s hard to come by, and that I wouldn’t trade.

For the Tiny Art Historian

ARCHIQUEST KINGS AND CASTLES: MEDIEVAL EUROPE

1. Archiquest Kings and Castles: Medieval Europe

This gorgeous set of blocks is painted with classic scenes of knights and royalty. I still want one. I almost got one last year for an adult friend. Blocks are  some of the best toys for young children, in my opinion. There’s a lot of wiggle room for the imagination. Plus, the wee’uns can learn about flying buttresses. There are also Chinese, Byzantine, and Roman sets if that’s more your jam.

2. Can You Find It?: Search and Discover More Than 150 Details in 19 Works of Art by Judith Cressy

I loved I-Spy books as a kid (some of those attic rooms were so creepy). It’s a great way to shut children up. But with this art historical spin on the concept, they can be quiet and learn at the same time. It’s a bit more sophisticated than I-Spy as well, so it’s recommended for grades 2-5. The book includes art from Ancient Egypt to the 20th Century. It’s like if my introductory courses in college were  games.

3. Derwent Inktense Pencils

Drawing is a hobby that can keep the brain buzzing for a lifetime. I remember when my brother, a talented artist, visited the Lake District of England and brought back some Derwent charcoals. I was pretty transfixed and sleek black pencils made me want to draw all the damn time. These pencils are a mix between watercolor and pen-and-ink styles, with vibrant hues.

For the Purists

Phaidon THE ART MUSEUM

1. Phaidon’s The Art Museum

Egyptian death masks…treat yo self! The Great Wave…treat yo self! Jan van Eyck…treat yo self! Better yet, get someone else to buy you this book! And to buy me this book! This walloping collection has over 2,700 works of art in amazing detail. The idea really is to have a tiny museum on your table (or as a table), so there’s also all the fun of wall placards without the walls. For the art history lover in your life, I can’t think of a better gift. Especially if they live far away from most of the country’s major museums. Cough.

2. The Great Museums Series

This award winning documentary series explores the world’s museums in hour long or half hour long specials. There’s something for everyone, from a run down of the Met’s entire collection or a discussion of the influential Phillipe de Montebello, to a show on the National Museum of the American Indian. The only drawback is that it’s very North American centric, so nothing on the Uffizi or the Louvre, kids. The hour long shows go by pretty fast and are engaging at all levels of knowledge. It warms my heart that things like this are out there.

3. A one year membership to your loved one’s favorite museum

This is truly a wonderful thing to give an art lover. Nothing compares to the first-hand experience. Some art hungry folks might be hard up for the membership fee. You’d also be surprised by how many people live right by a great museum and never go…here’s their impetus!

For the Irrevent, Weird, and Probably Friends of Mine

Pieta Charm Necklace

1. A Tiny Michelangelo’s Pieta

Your very own andachtsbild that fits in the palm of your hand! Spacepearls on Etsy has wide collection of normal things made small to wear, and that’s always an adorable concept. There’s also the Birth of Venus and David, if you like your jewelry more explicit. But I like this sad little devotional image. Crosses are just a little impersonal. Rosaries are probably blasphemous. So this is somewhere in between. If I have to explain why wearing a miniature famous work of art is cool, this section of the gift guide wasn’t designed for you.

2. The Cat in Art by Stefano Zuffi

An art historian wrote a book featuring 170 works of art featuring cats. Why isn’t he director of the Met or the head of Oxford’s department of the History of Art? Why isn’t he my best friend? If you don’t like this book, you have no soul.

3. Pretzel of the Month Club

Heh. This is what I would give to all my amazing readers if I were richer. It’s actually a great gift for anyone and everyone. I <3 pretzels.

If You Happened to Wander Over From War is Boring

In the Cockpit

In the Cockpit by Dana Bell

Get an insider’s view of some of America’s most important jets, planes, and helicopters. Unlike a blog post, you can put this on your table and touch it.

6th century Ostrogothic helmet

The Dark Ages get the shaft of history and art history pretty often. Of course, it’s not a rare specialty, but over the centuries it has been derided. One of the first major art historians, Giorgio Vasari, had almost nothing good to say about them. But you know who has it even worse? The mercenaries and barbarians in the interlude after the fall of Rome and before the darkness settled. Written off as by man as uncultured and war hungry, the barbarian tribes that gained considerable power in the fifth century were both cunning military strategists and artists worth studying.

Italy’s crowning achievements in art history may be Roman art and the Renaissance, but the nation actually owes a lot of its traditions to the barbarians. Some of the Late Roman Empire’s most powerful allies were the foederati. Foederati is derived from the Latin term for treaty. Though barbarian tribes, including the Franks and Visigoths, were not granted Roman citizenship, they were expected to provide military force to aid Rome. Without this band of mercenaries, Rome could not have defeated the Huns in 451.

The history of this period is pretty incestuous. Two famous barbarian kings were foederati: Alaric I of the Visigoths and Odoacer, a military leader of mixed or ambiguous ethnicity. These two men helped establish an amazing hotbed of art historical treasures: Ravenna. Alaric did not attack Ravenna in the early 400s, so the imperial capital was moved to this undamaged city. After Odoacer deposed Romulus Augustus, the last emperor of Rome, he set up shop in Ravenna. Odoacer was killed (during dinner!) and surplanted by Theodoric, turning Ravenna into the hub of the Ostrogothic empire.

5th century shoebuckle with garnets

Why does all this matter to art history? Clearly the barbarian tribes were damned clever at forming alliances and using their military prowess as leverage, but they also knew how to use art. Ostrogothic helmets from the 6th century have been found in very spread out locations, leading historians to believe they were made as gifts to win over visiting dignitaries. On the flip side, the beautiful buckle pictured may be a treasure given to tribes to persuade them to assist Rome. In other words, art mattered! The tribes grappling for power after Rome’s fall were not only concerned with political strategy, but cultivating and preserving their own aesthetic culture.

Art was also used as a way to manipulate and mark one’s territory. When Justinian, the great leader of the Roman Empire in Byzantium, took over Ravenna, he probably covered mosaics of Theodoric with his name, a bit like the destruction of Hatshepsut’s image in ancient Egypt. Besides portraiture and coins, the Franks, Lombards, and Ostrogoths also had a rich tradition of making exquisite pieces for burials, a custom that has most likely influenced Western European monarchy’s elaborate tombs and treasures laid to rest with its rulers. The Lombardic crown was even used for Italian monarchs up until the twentieth century.

TL;DR: We owe even the more obscure cultures quite a bit, whether  it’s a military or artistic tradition.

Confession: I love vampires. I read Dracula when I was 13 and it’s still one of my favorite books. I’ve even read all of the Twilight books and, as of a few hours ago, seen all the movies, which are all terrible. Breaking Dawn: Part 1 is the only entry in the uh, saga that is bad in the right way. It completely gives into its own B-ness as well as being obvious about its own agenda. There’s even an argument over whether to call the fetus a fetus or a baby!

Kristen Stewart’s Bella, whose hair is more voluptuous in this movie, finally works. She has understandable feelings and desires for the first half of the film. A nightmare early on of a wedding-cum-bloodbath is what I mean when I say “camp.” But there’s oddly more levity in this film as well, especially when a bunch of sexual tension plays out over prolonged games of chess.

BUT BUT BUT. Then things get crazy and legitimately terrifying. The infamous vampire pregnancy is not glossed over AT ALL. The mutant fetus destroys Bella from the inside out. Then it started looking like a metaphor for anorexia (in which your body eats itself…yep). It’s disturbing to say the least. Bella is a character who up until now hasn’t really done anything. She couldn’t help but fall in love with Edward the Volvo driving stalkery vampire and since has been dragged along by his and Jacob the stalkery werewolf’s whims. Yet she chooses to keep Rosemary’s Baby. She chooses her choice! And Edward is really mad.

The whole audience is probably, like me, feeling pretty team abortion at this point (make me that shirt). But then Ed, telepathic vamp he is, hears the fetus/baby/thing’s normal fetus/baby/thing thoughts and he sees the error of his ways. I guess we’re supposed to come round as well? The delivery scene is scarier than any horror film I’ve watched, chocked full of gore and squishy sounds as it is. Obviously everything is OK. Eternal love, marriage, and motherhood prevails. Vampirism cures anorexia. Breaking Dawn: Part 2 seems superfluous at this point.

TL;DR: Holy big gulp of blood, Batman, what did I just watch?

Georges Bataille of "Accursed Share" fame

At a talk at my university last month, a fellow student opined that the media, and in fact we as a society, don’t focus on peace enough. This sentiment begs the question of whether there’s such thing as peace without war. Certainly neither is as black and white as it used to be. Wars are smaller and more dispersed. And probably longer. The only thing for sure about them these days is their ambiguity. If “war is the continuation of politics by other means,” then war and peace seem to exist not as opposites, but in a cycle. What’s more, our current conflicts are completely obscuring any boundaries in that cycle. Sociologist Martin Shaw wrote of 21st century warfare:

The key understanding, therefore, is that war fighting must be carried on simultaneously with ‘normal’ economics, politics and social life in the West. It is imperative it does not impact negatively on these.

Some insights into this “new” warfare can be found in mid 20th century philosophy. Two French guys, Georges Bataille and his contemporary Jacques Derrida, had a few scarily astute theories on the origins and nature of war. We’re dealing with what are admittedly dense philosophical concepts; by nature almost impossible to define. However, philosophy, like art history, is a discipline that often comes back around to human nature itself. If you can wade with me through the academic mire for a bit, there’s some nuggets of truth.

Bataille’s  La Part Maudite, or The Accursed Share, was an economic treatise written sometime between 1946 and 1949. Understandably people were quite preoccupied with war. Bataille was the first philosopher to explain economic systems not in terms of cost and scarcity, but in terms of surplus and excess. According to him, an overgrowth of positive in a nation’s economy is actually dangerous. When there is an abundance of human energy or natural resources, the system has two options: “luxury” or destruction. The modern academic Richard Koenigsberg explains:

Bataille extracted from the anthropological record the notion of the “accursed share” as that portion of a society’s surplus that “begs” to be dissipated violently—in war, sacrifice or mere conspicuous, luxurious dissipation.

Bataille, though, was not an economist. He was a damned introspective philosopher. So “the accursed share” is really just about how people work. Bataille wrote that in more primitive times, the simplest way to deal with excess was through sacrifice. Sacrifice was a way (hang in there) of taking something familiar to us, something subjective, and then objectifying it and destroying it as an object. For example, the ancient Aztecs sacrificed fellow men, making them objects for the gods in their final moments. In a 2006 Theory and Event essay, “War and its Other: Between Bataille and Derrida,” Nick Mansfield explains the origins of our current conflicts in Afghanistan an Iraq in Bataillan terms. The September 11 attacks objectified Americans. The US then completed the excess-sacrifice cycle by in turn making enemies in Afghanistan and then Iraq the objects to be destroyed. Crazy? So crazy it makes sense? In this theory, war is less of a horrifying blip on history’s radar than an inevitability.

Events are pretty free-flowing in the philosophy of Derrida as well. Derrida’s claim to fame is “deconstruction.” I can’t give you a good definition. I’ve come to understand it as referring to attempts to unravel the way we understand the world and its truths, while recognizing that every tool we have to do so is another layer. There isn’t a beginning or end to things. Argh! What this means to Derrida in terms of warfare is that it is essentially wrong to think of peace as the original state and war as the interloper. The very terms war and peace open up a world of problems. Mansfield explains:

Bataille referred to the act of sacrifice (or war) as transgressive. Even if the act of objectification and destruction made sense, it was still seen as some unnatural. The key to how people or nations could do this, though, is in Derrida’s amorphous world view. The warmonger maintains his “goodness” by using war as the shell that gives shape to the peaceful state that must be protected. This endless mess of sacrifice and objectification and peace begetting war begetting peace is, in short, maddening. The scariest thing is that the ambiguity of this philosophy kind of gives an excuse for the ambiguity of today’s wars.

"Well might the Dead who struggled in the slime/Rise and deride this sepulchre of crime."

From a historian’s perspective, the creative output of the twentieth century’s major conflicts exhibit some interesting trends. The art made during and in response to war seems to mimic our self-view, and how that perception can interact with war itself: something that’s supposed to be aberrant. WWI, WWII, the Vietnam War, and the contemporary conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq tend to clot in a “pet” medium of their respective eras.

World War I, more than any other conflict since, can claim poetry as its own. In Flanders Fields, written by Canadian Colonel John McCrae, has become eponymous with that war, so much so that the red poppies in the poem are an international symbol of Remembrance Day. I’ve always thought poetry was a fitting art form for the time period. “The world’s worst wound” was warfare on a scale that nobody had seen and certainly wasn’t prepared for. When you read the verse of the day, the civilized European reliance on high-minded language to move and persuade is palpable. In Imperial Europe, diplomacy, not blood, was the preferred tool. The poets (whether soldiers cum writers or just home front philosophers) seem to be holding onto the belief in language as tightly as their ache for the pre-war way of life. Wilfred Owen, author of Dulce et Decorum Est, wrote of his poetry:

My subject is War, and the pity of War,
The Poetry is in the pity.
Yet these elegies are to the generation in no sense consolatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful.

1973's War is Hell

The decades amid and after WWII saw the “golden age” of comics. War and comics had a much less direct relationship in, say, the 1940s than they do today. For the most part, nobody was producing realistic sequential art about world events. But it was the prime time for superhero comics. Superman, Captain America, and Wonder Woman were all among the beloved characters to debut in this period. The world was quite different from the first decades of the twentieth century. People weren’t immune or as shocked by the horrors of war. America was a superpower. But we were at war again. Superhero comics provided at outlet for optimism and stories of good triumphing over evil. Superman could punch a Nazi in the face, and that was probably a lot easier to think about than the facts. The war stories did gradually become more ambiguous. Comics like War is Hell started to reflect our collective cynicism and preference for gray areas and anti-heroes over cut and dry good vs. bad. It tells the story of a Polish deserter who embodies soldiers of different WWII factions in their eleventh hours. Dark stuff, eh?

I’d argue that film more than any other medium was the favorite of the Vietnam War. Films produced in the ten years immediately following the conflict are reflective of the extremely pessimistic opinion of the war. The Deerhunter, Apocalypse Now, and Full Metal Jacket are generally depressing, violent, and sarcastic. It’s telling that The Green Berets, a 1968 John Wayne film, was derided for glorifying war. A classic good vs. evil story likely would have gone over well twenty years earlier.

A page from Matt Bors's and David Axe's War is Boring (2010)

Comics are still very much the art of today’s warfare, but they couldn’t be further from the superheroes of WWII. Think of how far we’ve come since 1919. Our empires fell, and our barrier between war and ourselves chipped away. War isn’t something other people do. It is by now a mirror of sorts…not that we’re too comfortable with that realization. For this grim outlook, artists need the language of WWI and the uncompromising violence of the Vietnam War. War is Boring, if I can pick on David for a minute, is a prime example of this culmination. We have to reconcile the cartoon gore and reality, and it’s unsettling. Instead of a symbol like Captain America, we have writers like David, Joe Sacco, and Ted Rall – just guys very much like us. It’s murky where their/our character and nature ends and the shocking violence of war begins. In this way we’ve come full circle in a way. WWI was full of writers muddling through what the world meant with their pens. We’re doing the same thing today, but we’re wiser, and more ready to turn inwardly for the source of the horror.