Marsden Hartley, Walt Whitman’s Houses

the dust jacket of walt whitman in mickle street is white with a black and white reproduction of a sketchy painting of a little two story clapboard rowhouse in camden new jersey with oddly contrasting painted shutters, by marsden hartley. i thought this copy of the book was $15, but it turns out the typeface on the bookseller's website is a jazzy art deco situation, and only when I added shipping and got to checkout did I realize it was $45. still, a small price to pay to advance the scholarship on this tiny painting
Walt Whitman in Mickle Street, 1921, 1st ed. with “Walt Whitman’s House [1908] (sic)” on the cover/dj, now on its way to my house.

In her 2006 chapter on Marsden Hartley’s intense manly connection to Walt Whitman, Ruth L. Bohan noted that Hartley’s painting, Walt Whitman’s House, 328 Mickle Street, Camden, New Jersey, was on the frontispiece of Elizabeth Leavitt Keller’s 1921 memoir about caring for the poet in his last years.

Bohan may have only seen a stripped and rebound library copy, or she would have mentioned that the painting also appeared on the dust jacket of Walt Whitman In Mickle Street, over a tagline from Edna St. Vincent Millay: “There’s this little street and this little house.” The house is now a museum.

a tightly cropped photo of marsden hartley's 1905 painting of walt whitman's last house, a two story clapboard  rowhouse in greens and mushroomy browns, with a sliver of open sky at the top, as published by the marsden hartley legacy project and used fairly, i'm sure
Marsden Hartley, Walt Whitman’s House [PT-0091], c. 1905, oil on board, 9 1/2 x 5 1/2 in., private collection, as published by the Marsden Hartley Legacy Project
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Maurice Darantiere, Ulysses Cover Proof

the final proof lithograph of the cover of james joyce's ulysses is a surprisingly brushy horizontal rectangle of blue, with the title and author's name on the right half. the proof is in the collection of the library at suny buffalo
Maurice Darantiere, Cover for Ulysses [final proof], 1922, lithograph, Poetry Collection of the University Libraries, University at Buffalo, the State University of New York, via The Morgan Library

I knew the story about Joyce wanting the cover for Ulysses to be the blue of the Greek flag. But I did not know that he ended up giving the little Greek flag hanging in Shakespeare & Co. to his artist friend, Myron Chester Nutting, to match the color.

I learned this from The Morgan Library’s online exhibition celebrating Ulysses‘ centenary, which includes the extraordinary lithograph above, the final proof for Joyce’s Ulysses cover, prepared by the Dijon printer Maurice Darantiere.

At first the bleed around the edge and the brushmarks made me wonder if there was an ur-monochrome painting, a Nutting original, but I think not. The stone or the plate was painted with a solid field, which Darantiere printed using ink prepared to Nutting’s specification. The title seems to be set in negative, masked so the unprinted paper shows through.

Maybe I must now make the entire cover, as printed, not just the front. I feel like it should match the dimensions of the book, and the page inside, but those bleeding edges do call to me. Either way, I obviously must make it like this now.

a diptych of the blue cover of the first edition of james joyce's ulysses on the left, and the frontispiece, with marsden hartley's inscription on the right. a study for a print by greg.org
Study for Untitled (This copy of Ulysses belongs to me, Marsden Hartley), 2025, prints of some kind, 4to, 242 x 190 mm [still trying out titles, obv]

And I have to get the color right. Is it best to match the modern color of Marsden Hartley’s copy? Is it even possible to match the original, given that they’re all 100 years old, too? Do I try to match the proof? Is it a Ulysses conservation standardbearer? Nutting apparently warned Joyce that the blue would fade, and it did?

a 1934 illustration from a greek encyclopedia of a bunch of variations of the greek flag, which is a paler, cornflower blue than the contemporary version. via wikipedia
Administrative Flags of Greece (1934) via wikipedia

I’ve seen discussion of Joyce’s Greek flag blue not actually matching the Greek flag’s blue, that perhaps the Shakespeare & Co. flag had faded, as well as the books. But Ulysses matches the color of the Greek flags reproduced in this 1934 encyclopedia plate. Honestly, I can see the appeal.

Getting the Right Blue on the Cover [themorgan.org via @mclees-fiona via @joshuajfriedman]
Previously, related: Untitled (Joyce Hartley), 2025
At least Luigi Lucioni got his copy of Ulysses back

At Least Luigi Lucioni Got His Copy Of Ulysses Back

thirst trap head shot of paul cadmus, 24, with sculpted brows, slightly pursed lips, chin down, staring down his guy luigi, while wearing a dark wide-striped suit with a bit of a collar gap, actually, and a poppin green tie. a white cloth not quite covering the studio wall in the background
Luigi Lucioni, Paul Cadmus, 1928, oil on canvas, 16 x 12 in., acquired in 2007 by the Brooklyn Museum

In 1926 Luigi Lucioni, 26, and his Art Students League classmate Paul Cadmus, 21, were roommates for a fellowship at the Louis Tiffany Studio on Long Island. In 1928 Lucioni painted this portrait of Cadmus, which got recognition of some kind at the exhibition where it debuted.

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Untitled (Joyce Hartley), 2025

a diptych of 1) the pale turquoise blue cover of the first edition of james joyce's ulysses has the title and author's name in white, thin, serif typeface. and 2) the limitation page from the edition, which is printed with info about the first 1,000 copies, the paper they're on, and which are signed vs numbered. this one is number 478 of the edition of 750 on handmade paper, and it is inscribed below in black ink: "This copy of Ulysses belongs to me, Marsden Hartley, arrived in Berlin, April 1, 1922/ from Paris" which is kind of wild because it was only published a couple of weeks before that. Anyway, somehow Georgia O'Keeffe ended up with this, and then her groupie/handyman/caretaker/heir to her entire fortune and controller of her and alfred stieglitz's legacy, juan hamilton, got it. hamilton sold it in 2019 at sotheby's along with a bunch of other stuff. and now (as of feb 2025) he has died.
Study for Untitled (Joyce Hartley? James Marsden?) Or I should really just call it, “This copy of Ulysses belongs to me, Marsden Hartley,” 2025, prints of some kind, 4to, 242 x 190 mm

I have no idea why, maybe it’s the limpid blue of the unusually clean dust jacket, or the corny way he inscribed it with,

“This copy of Ulysses belongs to me,
Marsden Hartley,”

But as soon as I saw it, I wanted to make a print diptych of the cover and limitation page of Hartley’s first edition copy of James Joyce’s Ulysses.

OK, this isn’t why why, but I’m pretty sure I would not have thought of it without seeing Robert Gober Potato Prints BTS.

Oh, interesting, that was within just a couple of days of seeing these 1920s Marsden Hartley paintings.

[Also, though Arches is obviously everywhere, Verge d’Arches seems to be a term or paper type only associated with Ulysses and like two other works. Is there a backstory there?]

March 5, 2019, JAMES JOYCE | ULYSSES. PARIS: 1922; FIRST EDITION, MARSDEN HARTLEY’S COPY, formerly owned by Alfred Stieglitz and/or Georgia O’Keeffe and then Juan Hamilton [sothebys]

Marsden Hartley, Fig Tree, 1926-27

a painting of a leafless gray fig tree against a dark sky and red and dark ground, the branches curving all over the place, crossing themselves, like a brice marden painting from the 1990s, except it was painted in 1926 by marsden hartley. image is from the 2003 retrospective of hartley's work at the wadworth atheneum in hartford ct
janky screenshot of Marsden Hartley, Fig Tree, 1926-27, 24 x 20 1/2 in., as reproduced in the exhibition catalogue for the Wadsworth Atheneum’s 2003 Hartley retrospective.

Marsden Hartley moved from Vence to Aix-en-Provence in 1926, at the invitation of the Kuntzes, and set to working in Cezanne’s old studio.

According to the chronology in Elizabeth Mankin Kornhauser’s 2003 retrospective, which originated at the Wadsworth Atheneum, this is when Hartley began working on Fig Tree.

The Google Books preview does not include the text about Fig Tree, but earlier texts seem to date it earlier, to 1924, when Hartley was in New Mexico. I will need to find out more about this buck wild painting, which seems to have nothing to do with channeling Cezanne.

Marsden Hartley’s White Yucca for Arlie Kuntz

a painting of a stalk of white yucca blossoms against a bright blue background, brushy, by marsden hartley
Marsden Hartley, White Yucca (Memorial to Charles Kuntz), 1928-29, 31 3/4 x 25 3/4 in., selling today at Sotheby’s

After meeting him on the street in St Paul de Vence, Adelaide and Arlie Kuntz befriended Marsden Hartley and persuaded him to move to Aix-en-Provence with them in 1926. For the spring and summer of 1927, they painted together in Cezanne’s old studio, which was surrounded by flowering white yucca plants.

In 1928, Kuntz, 30, was killed in a motorcycle accident before ever having a public show of his work. For the remainder of Hartley’s life, Adelaide remained a significant patron of Hartley’s work, and some time around 1933, Hartley asked his dealer to get this painting to her.

In 2014, the Greenville County Museum of Art and Driscoll Babcock Gallery organized a two-artist show of Kuntz and Hartley, with works acquired from Kuntz’s daughter’s estate. She had long since sold off White Yucca. And Driscoll let his domain name expire.

[update: there were two other Hartley flower paintings at Sotheby’s today: some roses, and Abby Aldrich Rockefeller’s Pansies—not sure who that’s a portrait of.]

19 Nov 2024, Lot 550: Marsden Hartley, White Yucca, est. $80-120,000, sold for $114,000 [sothebys]

Fountains For The Next 100 Years

Out with the old Fountain

Well, Marcel (or Baroness Elsa), your Fountain changed the course of art for a century, but it’s time to move on. There’s a new Fountain in town. Correction: Fountains.

The old Fountain, a urinal on its side, since lost, was captured in a single photograph by Alfred Stieglitz. The ex-post-facto Stieglitz of our future’s Fountains is @SqueezyMcCheesy. Who did not, AFAIK, attend Betsy DeVos’s niece’s wedding, but did drop by the 2016 ranch dressing pop-up shop for the Cartoon Network comedian Eric Andre.

in with the new Fountain image: @SqueezyMcCheesy

The ranch dressing fountain appeared at the pop-up shop exactly two years ago tonight, and then, like the urinal a century ago, it disappeared.

That shape. That surface. That material. I mean just look at it. The sound you hear is not the ranch dressing pump; it is Paul McCarthy weeping. He was so close, and yet.

Paul McCarthy’s Chocolate Santa, 2007, via maccarone

Where the ersatz backdrop for Fountain (1917) was a painting by Marsden Hartley, the new Fountain was shot in front of a banner with Andre’s catchphrase, “Ranch me, Brotendo.”

image: theculturefiles.com

If we only had ranch dressing Fountain to guide us in making art for the next 100 years, we would be busy. But pretty damn white. Fortunately, there are other Fountains. Behold Fuente de Queso.

What other food can be melted and dribbled in shiny, pulsating skins over a tower of stainless steel domes? What can’t, right? [I just googled ‘soylent fountain.’] Let’s fount’em all. And like our every food, our art will be liquefied and pumped and recirculated through an endless, nauseatingly spectacular cascade. How will we even notice?

‘It Gets Better’ Doesn’t Mean The Bullying Stops

buried_wojnarowicz.jpg
I recently went with my daughters to see “Hide/Seek” at The National Portrait Gallery. They’re 2 and 6, so most of the content of the show is way over their heads. [Much of the work, like the vintage photographs, was literally over their heads.]
felix_ross_la_pour.jpg
Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ shiny, multi-colored candy pour, Untitled (Portrait of Ross in LA) was an immediate and repeated hit. As my kids were going back for “just one more piece,” I laughed with other visitors at the sign the museum had posted next to it, warning that these small candies might pose a choke hazard.
At first I was going to write that we mostly stuck to the bright, colorful works, but that’s not correct. While a giant camo Warhol was front and center, and the kids both recognized it immediately, I didn’t think either one would be ready for the most colorful work in the show, A.A. Bronson’s massive, epic portrait of his AIDS-ravaged partner Felix’s body. Fortunately, the curators had placed it in its own semi-enclosed niche, to the side. It was a careful presentation of a devastating and important work, thoughtfully non-confrontational without seeming sequestered or hidden.
hartley_crane_memorial.jpg
We saw Jasper Johns’ face on a plate. Larry Rivers’ giant nude portrait of Frank O’Hara, which was hard to miss, of course. We played I Spy with some of Marsden Hartley’s elements–the ship, the waves, the bells, the sun &moon, the shark–in his Memorial for Hart Crane. The older kid read the title, so we talked about the painting for his friend who drowned. I couldn’t not tell her that Crane had jumped from the ship, not fallen. No, I didn’t know why, except that he must have been very, very sad and thought that his life was so bad, it’d be better to be dead. Which we decided did not make sense and was not true.
We saw the lady in the tuxedo and laughed at the very idea that long ago, some people thought only men could do things like work, or vote, or paint. And that there were things people thought only women do that men shouldn’t–like pose nude for a painting [gesture to giant, nude Frank O’Hara].
We talked about David Wojnarowicz’s self-portrait, above. And that when he knew he was dying, he made a picture that looked like he was buried. Or maybe it looked like he was coming out of the ground.
There were two small video monitors and a touchscreen, which attracted the 2yo like a giant iPad, but we didn’t come to a museum to watch TV [this time.] One turns out to have been an excerpt from the David Wojnarowicz film, A Fire In My Belly, which the NPG just censored on the demand of William Donohue of the Catholic League, the self-appointed arbiter of offenses to Christian sensibilities. Republican leaders in the House of Representatives seized on the work and the show and demanded the Smithsonian cancel it immediately.
Pulling Wojnarowicz’s work in the face of such bullying is a breathtakingly cowardly betrayal by the museum, one which either ignores or mocks the artist’s own work and history. That it’s happening on World AIDS Day, that Wojnarowicz’ work is singled out for silencing on what used to be called A Day Without Art, is deeply offensive and damaging to the artist, the show, the curators, the museum, and to the principles of our country.
From Michael Kimmelman’s obituary for Wojnarowicz in 1992:

Like the artist himself, his art never pulled punches. Mr. Wojnarowicz gained the national spotlight in 1989, when the National Endowment for the Arts decided to rescind money for a catalogue to an exhibition about AIDS because of an essay in which he attacked various public figures. The endowment reversed itself. It also supported a 10-year retrospective of his work that was organized at the University Galleries of Illinois State University in Normal, Ill., which included a catalogue that reproduced the essay.
Mr. Wojnarowicz was in the news again after the American Family Association of Tupelo, Miss., an antipornography lobbying group, and its leader, the Rev. Donald E. Wildmon, issued a pamphlet criticizing the endowment. The pamphlet included photographs cropped from works by Mr. Wojnarowicz that included sexual images. The artist sued the organization for misrepresenting him and damaging his reputation. In 1990, a Federal District Court judge in New York ruled in his favor and ordered that the organization publish and distribute a correction. Mr. Wojnarowicz was the only artist to challenge Mr. Wildmon in court.

If the exact same people and groups attack the exact same artists and institutions and outcome is actually more punitive–remember, the NEA reversed itself and Wojnarowicz stood up to his critics and won–how can we call it progress? It doesn’t get better by itself.
update: Incredible. Tyler’s confirmed [2024: link updated] that it was Smithsonian Secretary Wayne Clough who ordered the Wojnarowicz video pulled. From the way it went down, it sounds like he censored the video over the objections of the NPG staff–and without even watching it himself. Not that the content is at all obscene or even offensive. To anyone whose job isn’t professional offensetaker, that is.