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Since 2003... the 11th highest ranked art blog on the planet! And with over SEVEN million visitors, F. Lennox Campello's art news, information, gallery openings, commentary, criticism, happenings, opportunities, and everything associated with the global visual arts scene with a special focus on the Greater Washington, DC area.
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I was Norm's neighbor in Canal Square for over a decade and can testify not only about the greatness of this human being, but also about what a supportive, really nice guy he was.
- The records of Parish Gallery are now part of the National Archives of American Art and can be accessed online here: https://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/parish-gallery-records-17390?utm_source=dailycampelloartnews . The Archive includes information about the Gallery’s exhibitions between 1991 when the gallery was established by Norm (as he is affectionately called) until 2013 after his untimely transition. From online you can review background and historical information and browse the list of exhibitions - beginning with the Gallery’s Grand Opening exhibition to its last exhibition, “Norman Parish – The Artist.” The Archive includes biographical information about Norm, administrative records, and other details. There is the option to select and view detail records on site, as well as request printed copies of selected files.
- The Art Institute of Chicago just acquired one of Norm’s paintings! The painting now hangs at the Institute and we understand will be in close proximity to the exhibition, “Charles White: A Retrospective,” which opens at the Institute on June 8th. Norm named the work, “Black Pride Whitewashed” (see image attached), which symbolizes the “Wall of Respect,” a 1967 mural on the South Side of Chicago created by artists associated with the Organization of Black American Culture (OBAC) to celebrate Black Heroes and promote civil rights of African Americans in Chicago. Norm was one of the artists who created the mural. The title “Whitewashed” refers to an incident where Norm’s portion of the mural was whitewashed by another artist who wanted to be included. The building was demolished a few years later after a fire. You may have heard Norm speak about “the Wall” during his reflections about black art and its inspiration for positive action and change. It is very fitting that over 50 years after the Wall, Norm’s work would hang in the prominent Art Institute of Chicago, where he graduated with a degree in art, and in the city he called home for over 30 years.
Gwen and Norman Parish III (Norm’s son) have worked tirelessly since the gallery’s closing to enable the Smithsonian and The Art Institute of Chicago to acquire these important documents and art work – Gwen worked with the Smithsonian Archives and Norman Parish III with the Institute. These two phenomenal accomplishments seal Norman Parish’s legacy – he is one of the greatest artist, social activist, and human beings of our time!
When my father died last year, I began his eulogy by noting that another oak had fallen.
This morning, around 1:25AM, Ana Olivia Cruzata Marrero de Campello, his wife of over 60 years, and my beloved mother, passed on on the day of her 97th birthday.
If my father was an oak, then my mother was an equally strong, but also very pliable, and elegant tree. When hurricanes attack the mainlands of the world, the strong tall trees often fall, but the pliable ones, like plantain trees, always give with the wind, and survive the storms, and thrive in the drenching rains.
My mother was like a an aged plantain tree, not only immensely strong and pliable, but also giving and nurturing.
Like many Cuban women of her generation and her social-economic background, she had never worked for a living in Cuba, and yet within a few days of our arrival in New York in the 1960s, she was working long hours in a sewing factory, putting her formidable seamstress skills, honed in the social sewing and embroidery gathering of young Cuban girls, to use in the "piece work" process of the New York sewing factories.
As soon as we saved the money, one of the first things that my mother bought was an electric sewing machine - a novelty to her, as she had always used one of the those ancient Singer machines with a foot pedal.
I remember as a child in Brooklyn, that women used to bring her fabric and a page from a magazine with a woman wearing a dress. Without the benefit of a sewing pattern, my mother would whip up a copy of the dress that was more often than not probably better made than the original. As the word of her skills spread, so did her customers and soon she was making more money working at home than at the factory - but she kept both jobs.
I once noted to her that I admired the courage that it must have taken her to leave her family and immigrate to the United States. "We didn't come here as immigrants," she corrected me. "We came as political refugees, and I initially thought that we'd be back in Cuba within a few years at the most."
When the brutal Castro dictatorship refused to loosen its stranglehold on her birth place, she became an immigrant, and from there on an American citizen from her white-streaked hair down to her heel bone (that's a Cuban saying). Like my father, she loved her adopted country with a ferocity, that I sometimes feel that only people who have been bloodied by Communism can feel for a new, free homeland.
As as I've noted before, Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.
I remember as a teenager, once I started going out to parties and things at night on my own (around age 16 or so), that my mother would wait up for me, sitting by the third floor window of our Brooklyn apartment, where she could survey the whole neighborhood and see as far as the elevated LL subway station a few blocks away, to watch me descend the station stairs and trace my way home.
My mother was always fit and, as once described by my father, "flaca como un fusil" (as slim as a rifle). She was strong and fast. She was also quiet, but never silenced, and when needed, could and would command attention.
My mother was always well dressed and superbly coiffed. When we'd go to parties and events, women would always ask her where she'd gotten that dress! The answer was always the same: she'd made it!
At least once a week, to my father's dismay, and in spite of his demands that my mother stop it, she'd get her hair done at the nearby peluqueria (hair dresser).
My dad knew, and respected his limits with my mother.
I remember one time that my father and I were returning from shopping at the supermarket, dragging one of those wheeled folding carts that could carry four full paper grocery bags. It had been snowing, so the Brooklyn streets were wet and muddy.
When we got to our apartment my father opened the door. He then stood there.
"Go in!" I demanded.
"We'll have to wait," he said gloomily, "Your mother mopped the floor and it's still wet." This giant, tough, street-brawling Galician then looked at me sheepishly, "I'd rather walk through a mine field than step on your mother's wet floor."
I learned a lesson there.
She used to delight in telling stories how, as a child, she would often win the horse races that kids staged around the small country towns where she was raised in Oriente province, where her father was a Mayoral.
"I almost always won," she'd say, and then would add: "Even though I was a skinny girl."
Once, in her seventies, back in the days where you could actually accompany people to the departing gates at airports, we were escorting my oldest daughter Vanessa, who had come to visit, and we were running late. As we got to the airport, we ran to the gate, and to everyone's surprise, Abuela got there first. I still remember how delighted my daughter was that her grandmother could still run like a gazelle.
When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, and thus my parents decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.
They spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.
The mostly Cuban-American families that lived over the years in that apartment loved my mother, and would always tell me stories about my mother, ever the nurturer, bringing them food when she knew that they were going over tough times, or riding the buses with them, just to show them the routes.
This week, when I arrived in Miami, already somewhat knowing that this was approaching the end, I saw her with tubes coming out of her mouth and her eyes closed. When I spoke to her she opened her eyes, and in spite of the visuals that my eyes were seeing she somehow still managed to look strong.
I showed her photos and movies of her grand children, and talked to her for a long time.
I thanked her for having the courage to leave her motherland and afford me the opportunity to grow as an American.
When she was being extubated, a young woman came into the room with a guitar and played and sang the haunting free prose of Guajira Guantanamera (The peasant girl from Guantanamo); a most fitting song, since my mother was from Guantanamo, and she came from strong Cuban peasant stock.
"Guajira pero fina (A peasant, but a very refined woman)", noted a neighbor and loving caretaker.
The song, which can start with just about any prose, started with the Jose Marti poem:
Yo quiero, cuando me muera, sin patria, pero sin amo, tener en mi tumba un ramo de flores y una banderaI want to, when I die, without my motherland, but without a master, to have on my tomb a bunch of flowers and a flag.She died without a master, a strong and pliable woman who not only gave me the gift of life, but also the gift of freedom.
And as my mother died in her sleep in the early hours of the morning, in the capital city of the bitter Cuban Diaspora, all that I could gather to say to her was mostly the same that I said to my father when he passed last year: "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."
I love you Mami... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children, and happy birthday in Heaven!
Why a Superfine! fair in DC?
That's the question many of you have been asking. Why exhibit in Washington DC when I can show in New York, Los Angeles, or Miami? Well, you can. We're launching an LA show next spring, revisiting Miami Art Week in 2019, and launching applications for not only our May New York fair but a second fall show as well. Even London is on our 2019 radar, giving new possibilities to jump the pond and interact with a collector base there. However, we believe strongly in Superfine! DC and want to invite you to join us in the capital this fall for what promises to be a banner inaugural fair.
The Art Market is Here
There are countless ways to be a part of the Superfine! revolution but to overlook DC is to miss a terrific opportunity to be at the forefront of something new and fresh in a city hungry for a contemporary art fair to call its own. Superfine! DC is not merely an afterthought on our calendar but the culmination of a two year search to find the perfect city for not just any art fair, but our own specific take on the fair model: transparent, approachable, and most of all- fair. We look for a market that holds not only an affluent and existing collector base, but also a highly educated young professional market with high disposable income - all attributes that DC has in spades, and the reason we're so confident that our formula will resonate.
Tapping Into the Cultural Core
A smaller but still highly culturally relevant city like Washington DC affords us the opportunity to own not only 100% of the art-related digital impressions in a city (New York's fair boasted 78.5 million of them), but to establish deep and lasting partnerships with major art + culture institutions. From the Smithsonian's Hirshhorn Museum to the National Museum of Women in the Arts, Superfine! DC is a week-long hub for all of the capital's cultural institutions and their supportive audiences. A 50% makeup of DC-area-based galleries and artists cements our position as DC's own art fair.
Take a look at our recently updated floor plan with improved flow and sight lines for each exhibitor, and consider joining us on this next great adventure.
Regardless of the piece’s authenticity, Hahn v Duveen set a precedent for how vital refraining from wrongly attacking the reputation of an artwork can be.Read and learn - click here.
Read the fascinating article here.While Werner Spies is an example of an individual brought to court over this tort, auction houses can also get sued for negligence. Take, for example, the case of Dickson v Christie’s in 2010.David Dickson and Susan Priestley sold “Salome with the Head of St John the Baptist” for £8,000 after an assessment by Christie’s determined the painting was from the school of Titian, and not the artist himself. However, Sotheby’s later sold the painting having assessed it as an original. It was put up for auction with a starting price of $4 million. Dickson and Priestley claimed Christie’s didn’t do the proper research in determining the painting’s correct origin and selling price. However, this case settled before trial.
Ric Garcia – You are not my Kryptonite - 30 x 30 - oil on canvas |
Each work is titled from a song from the late 60s early 70s, with an “ip” in front of it. Januszkiewicz explained the ip means inspired by. This painter has taken her love for watercolors and has been able to reinvent acrylics in a new way. Philosophically, Januszkiewicz values risk taking, experimentation, and creative collaboration which lead to Washington Color Painter Paul Reed encouraging Januszkiewicz to experiment with staining with acrylics.
She has mastered this technique that offers the luminosity of watercolors, but with the nitty-gritty texture that only acrylics could offer. Also in this exhibit are some fine examples of her works on unprimed canvas using the same technique. What is astonishing is to witness her able to stain the unprimed canvas in the same manner as she paints on paper. This is not an easy task.
"Music is my muse," she continues. "I am inspired by the gritty undertones and rhythm patterns of the Blues and Rock. I take the basic structure of a song’s chord progressions and play with the idea of a building a cord in the colors that I paint with. Blending the music and corresponding color notes, I work to create luminous paintings that reflect the emotionalism and improvisational freedom that we find in music genres. I see my work as a frozen moment of the song."The Nitty Gritty @ Arts Club of Washington
Across town at Martha Spak Gallery at the Wharf, Januszkiewicz is showing a group she calls Acoustic Fields. The artists explains that these are mostly large works, both on unprimed canvas and metal with resin. Clearly her fascination for color reminds us of Mark Rothko’s Color Fields with her effortlessly produced zen-like brush strokes across her canvas. Yet she is giving us something new and perhaps even changing our perception of the future of contemporary abstraction. "I find it intriguing that there is a vocabulary of words that apply to both music and visual art, like movement, patterns, compliments, harmonies and layering," she says. These paintings from the intense color compositions to subdued shades of reverberations can visually suggest the sensation of sound.
Dear Museum Patrons,I am thrilled to inform you that the American University Museum has been chosen as the recipient of nearly 9,000 works of art from the Corcoran Art Collection. If you have not seen last week’s announcement in the Washington Post, please see it here.We plan to use this once-in-a-lifetime gift to establish The Corcoran Legacy Collection at American University. To give you a taste of this new collection, it contains some of history’s most masterful artists such as the 16th-century Italian painter Titian, American artists Ansel Adams and Helen Frankenthaler; 18th-century British portraitist Thomas Gainsborough, as well as important American collections such as those of William A. Clark and Olga Hirshhorn.In the spirit of our Alper Initiative for Washington art, we are very excited to expand upon our collection of 19th-century Washington art, with works from the Washington Color School and paintings by figurative artists such as Sarah Baker, Manon Cleary, and Claudia DeMonte.The gift will also supplement our collection of work by female artists and artists of color, in alignment with the legacy of the American University Art History department as a leader in feminist art history and the university’s commitment to diversity and inclusion.For those who are curious, you may view the complete listing of artwork and recipient organizations in the Corcoran’s May 14th press release here.In order to prepare for the legacy collection at AU, the university has invested in a new storage facility that will be a home to works utilized most often by the museum, complete with rolling racks and shelving. We have also upgraded our collections management software and will be working with the registrars at the National Gallery of Art to incorporate the data on the new collection.With every great collection comes great responsibility. We still have much work to do! American University is seeking support through a funding initiative designed to further expand our storage capacity, enhance the museum’s exhibition space to accommodate the growing collection, and safeguard the Corcoran legacy for the greater arts community. We also aspire to create a collection viewing and study room to provide increased accessibility to scholars and visitors and new faculty and staff positions to care for the collection and ensure it is shared with the world through public program offerings.We will continue to update you as this project progresses and look forward to celebrating this transformational milestone with you!Jack Rasmussen
Director & CuratorAmerican University Museum