Won an art auction for this Michael Frimkess piece from 1973.
A cast iron coffin-ship, holy relics, elaborate tapestries, motorbike helmets, a Hello Kitty hand-towel and an engraving of a famous 18th century transvestite: it could only be an exhibition (which has since ended, but can be viewed in book form) curated by Grayson Perry, The Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman.
For the past two years Perry has been behind the scenes at the British Museum looking for objects, artifacts and artworks to include in his exhibition. He describes the installation as ‘a memorial to all the anonymous craftsmen that over the centuries have fashioned the manmade wonders of the world… The craftsman’s anonymity I find especially resonant in an age of the celebrity artist.’
The Turner Prize winner has included new works of his own alongside objects from the archives. The exhibition is very much about Perry’s choices and his admiration of the craftsmen who have gone before him. In his unique style, his motorbike helmet is juxtaposed with the kitsch headdress of a Mongolian tribesman.
The show is an erratic collage of world history, as seen through the eyes of the artist as he invites us “to view these artefacts by reading them through my lens.” A range of themes are explored such as shrines, ‘magick,’ pilgrimages, sexuality and gender but craftsmanship remains the overriding concern of the show. The highlight is Perry’s cast iron death ship built out of reliefs of artefacts from the museum and bearing a tomb at its centre, wherein lies a flint, the tool of the first craftsman on earth.
Michael Frimkess is that dude. Frimkess creates Old World pottery with contemporary imagery in his work. He can create very thin walled pottery—almost paper thin—by throwing pots without adding water, and Magdalena often paints and glazes the work before firing. He also developed a technique for firing stoneware in as little as 55 minutes, instead of many hours. His work is represented in many collections and can be found in the Smithsonian American Art Museum.
Golden Burger by Thomas Hannich and Arndt von Hoff
“Last Stand of the Kusunoki Heroes at Shijo-Nawate” by Utagawa Kuniyoshi
What shocks us at first is its vivid feeling of nowness and contemporaneity. It feels hectic, noisy, pullulating with heady violence. Its essential visual rhythms enthral us: that back-and-forth pushing of the three warriors as they fight back against what seem to be near-impossible odds. See how the arrows of the unseen enemies teem leftward in great, swooping, clattering droves as the three pale-faced-almost-unto-death warriors – stare into the ghastly blue pallor of their mask-like faces – push rightward in an ever-more desperate effort to gain ground… Their burdens seem near impossible. The warrior in the vanguard of the three, Wada Shinbei Masatomo, is carrying a couple of decapitated heads – the one we can see so clearly is grinning even in death – swinging them out in front of him in a gesture of defiance. Their leader, Kusunoki Masatsura, the last of the three, pausing momentarily to lean against the corpse of a horse, is labouring under the weight of a dead body sprawled across his back, which may be that of his fallen younger brother. That corpse helps to shield him from the mighty, unstoppable spray of arrows. The central figure is driving forward beneath the inadequate protection of a woefully collapsing battle standard. Only the leader for the day forges ahead, eyes in a kind of trance-like engagement with those of the enemy, as he shakes those heads like a brandished fist. This vivid evocation of a medieval battle – which can be dated very precisely to the year 1348 – almost smacks you in the face. Its cluttered liveliness, its pell-mell fury, its violently raucous disorder, is exhilarating to scrutinise in all its gorgeous decorative intricacy.
Can it really be the year 1851 when this print was made? There is a shocking immediacy about it. We feel that it belongs as much to our culture as to theirs, to these times as to those. We have been plunged into a world of superheroes of the present tricked out in the gorgeous apparel of times past – the warring samurai of ancient Japan. Can that be said of any image painted in England in that year? Here is just one taster of that year. Think back to what was made by William Holman Hunt in 1851: The Light of the World, in which a maudlin Victorian Jesus knocks on the door, lantern in hand, pious gaze looking beseechingly back at us, waiting to be admitted. Hunt’s painting draws us back into a world of near-ossified religiosity which seems so culturally remote from us.
Not so Kuniyoshi, for all that he lived more than half a world away. Why does this image seem so vividly alive in the present though? In part, this is not too difficult to explain. The works of the enormously popular printmaker Kuniyoshi – and they had run into thousands of images by the year of his death – fed into manga comics and much else. You could say that so much of what he made formed a part of the great legacy of what developed, closer to our times, into popular cartooning. Such images as these have dispersed – like these shooting arrows – throughout popular culture. They are in the air everywhere. They have also dispersed into such worlds as video-gaming. Even now such a battle scene as this one may be unfolding in your basement. Having said that, popular cartoonists seldom bless us with such fineness of detail. For all that, there is the same spirit of brash and colourful adventure, and the same ferociously simple message: kill or be killed.
Why was Kuniyoshi making such images at this time? This is one of many images he created of valiant battles against terrible odds, fought against human beings of other clans, giant carp or grisly spectres. Japan itself – as a country, as a nation, as a preciously bejewelled fragment of cultural identity – was under threat as never before. Its centuries of proud isolation had been breached. Enemies – from Europe and elsewhere – were circling, battering at the gates. This image, you might say, was one of many popular attempts to reassert a proud identity which was currently under threat.
This is the majestic few – the three musketeers, you might say – against the unseen hordes from without. What better way of stiffening the backbone of resolve than to remind his fellow Japanese of their great warrior heritage, to re-establish historic continuities?
On this date 23 years ago, two individuals entered the Gardner Museum in Boston, Massachusetts disguised as police officers. After tying up the museum’s real security guards, they spent 83 minutes raiding the facility and emerged with 13 pieces of art including original paintings by Rembrandt, Degas, and Vermeer. In all, the stolen goods were valued at $300 million by the FBI, though other experts say that figure should be closer to $500 million. The Gardner heist remains the single largest property crime in US history, and now more than ever the bureau and museum officials are eager for answers. Today the FBI renewed a campaign to find the missing art relics, offering a $5 million reward for information leading to a successful recovery.
The criminals themselves are essentially cleared of wrongdoing at this point; the statute of limitations on the original theft has already lapsed. Rather than criminal prosecution, the goal now is returning the lifted pieces to the halls of Gardner Museum where they belong. To better the odds of that happening, the FBI wants your help. It’s uploaded high-resolution photos of every painting known to be missing in hopes someone on the internet will come to a stunning revelation. “If you didn’t see these paintings, you’d walk right by them and maybe not take note of them,” says agent Geoff Kelley. “But by trying to get the images out there of these paints and these pieces, hopefully this might resonate with someone.” Aside from the website launched today, federal officials will also appeal to the public via billboards in Connecticut and Philadelphia, two states it believes the pieces were trafficked through. (via)
