{"id":128606,"date":"2018-08-17T14:07:31","date_gmt":"2018-08-17T18:07:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=128606"},"modified":"2018-08-20T16:53:43","modified_gmt":"2018-08-20T20:53:43","slug":"staff-picks-portraiture-patriarchy-public-works","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2018\/08\/17\/staff-picks-portraiture-patriarchy-public-works\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Portraiture, Patriarchy, Public Works"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Ilya Repin, Vsevolod Mikhailovich Garshin<\/em>,\u00a01884.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

It is my habit, wandering through the seemingly logicless branching of the Met\u2019s European painting rooms, to collect body parts from portraits, to take certain striking features and make them a synecdoche of the genius of their painter. Goya, for instance, is a masterful painter of hands; the Dutch painter Frans Hals is one of the great artists of the mouth. The course of this habit, though, always leads me to one painting in particular, featuring the most living, searching, despairing set of eyes I have seen in a portrait: the Russian painter\u00a0Ilya Yefimovich Repin\u2019s portrait of the author Vsevolod Garshin<\/a>, in Gallery 827 at the Met. Most of the painting is rendered in the smudgy, conspicuous manner of nineteenth-century Impressionism, but the eyes are almost frighteningly photo-realistic, as if Repin had intentionally blurred the rest of the picture for the shock of the eyes, their bracing directness and incontrovertible sadness. Entirely redundantly, the caption informs us that Garshin would throw himself down a stairwell four years later. Portraiture is usually a contest\u2014the subject wants to modulate, manage what they give away, while the artist wants everything. The eyes, in Repin\u2019s portrait, are where that contest collapses, a tear in the fabric where Garshin\u2019s unadulterated self floods out and buries Repin\u2019s brush. \u2014Matt Levin\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

The \u201cObsession<\/span><\/a>\u201d\u00a0<\/i>exhibition at the Met Breuer deftly straddles the line between art and obscenity, featuring mostly nude female subjects in fifty-two works by Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, and Pablo Picasso. The audacious exhibition takes after its curator, the infamously obsessive aesthete Scofield Thayer, who, in addition to his eye for erotic art, held sway in the literary world\u2014in 1919, he cofounded\u00a0The Dial<\/i>, an avant-garde magazine that introduced the writings of T.\u2009S. Eliot, D.\u2009H. Lawrence, and Ezra Pound. Several pieces in Thayer\u2019s collection\u2014in particular, the portraits by Schiele\u2014are overtly evocative of Freudian themes: the blurring of pain and pleasure, the morbidity of sexuality, the \u201csuffering [of] lust.\u201d Schiele\u2019s works display emaciated and deformed bodies that he somehow makes beautiful. Klimt, Schiele\u2019s predecessor, also explores less conventionally attractive bodies: the obese, the elderly, the \u201creal.\u201d Both of these artists, like Freud, take an almost clinical approach to female sexuality. Several years later, Picasso offers his own take on the nude with sketches of both male and female villagers from his time in Gos\u00f3l, Catalonia. Although the focus of the exhibition is on the aesthetic of the female form, it\u2019s also an excellent opportunity to consider the prominence of the male artist\u2019s gaze and how it has changed\u2014and how it hasn\u2019t.\u00a0\u2014Madeline Day<\/strong><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The latest issue of\u00a0Granta<\/i><\/a>\u00a0is \u201can issue on gender and power,\u201d and the first line of Sigrid Rausing\u2019s editor\u2019s note refuses to mince words: \u201cThis issue of Granta<\/em> is about patriarchy, and some of the ways in which our gendered culture is now creakily changing.\u201d The more concise theme on the spine reads GENERICLOVESTORY<\/small>, which piqued my interest\u2014to tie so intimately the patriarchy with normativeness struck me as yet another bold move. I picked it up only yesterday, but I\u2019ve been absorbed by Ottessa Moshfegh\u2019s contribution, a sharp and frank essay about the relationship between power and sexuality. The first piece after the editor\u2019s note is a personal essay by Fernanda Eberstadt, titled \u201cI Bite My Friends,\u201d about her intense friendship with the downtown drag queen and performance artist Stephen Varble. It sets a tone of engaging with the issue\u2019s themes in the complex ways they deserve without forcing anything into a straightforward resolution. \u2014Lauren Kane<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Shakespeare\u2019s Twelfth Night<\/em>, ca. 1603, in a production directed by Oskar Eustis and Kwame Kwei-Armah, 2018. Performance view, Shakespeare in the Park series at the Delacorte Theater, Central Park, New York. Fabian (Patrick J. O\u2019Hare), Feste (Shaina Taub), and Sir Toby Belch (Shuler Hensley) with the BLUE<\/small> community ensemble rotating cast. Photo: Joan Marcus.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Utopia is regained every night this week at the Delacorte<\/a>. As the audience sits for the community production of Twelfth Night<\/em>, screens flanking the stage announce the need for new expectations: \u201cClosed-captioning happens in Illyria.\u201d Here, like a solicitous hostess, the Delacorte anticipates everyone\u2019s needs. As Shaina Taub, the show\u2019s lyricist and composer, merrily warbles from stage to orchestra under a dripping plastic tent, the summer-camp morals of my childhood join the New York of my dreams. Where else does the audience so closely resemble the cast, so closely resemble the boulevards? The Public Works production involves nonprofessional participants from organizations such as the Brownsville Recreation Center, the Casita Maria Center for Arts and Education, and DreamYard. The story is Shakespeare\u2014loosely. The audience is fully rapt. Twelfth Night<\/em> is the reminder of fraternity in this summer of fracture: play on. \u2014Julia Berick<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  It is my habit, wandering through the seemingly logicless branching of the Met\u2019s European painting rooms, to collect body parts from portraits, to take certain striking features and make them a synecdoche of the genius of their painter. Goya, for instance, is a masterful painter of hands; the Dutch painter Frans Hals is one […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[16651,35094,23213,35097,21786,675,19727,2388,25310,35119,21983,10199,4919,15618,35099,35096,35098,16252,35091,3078,35092],"class_list":["post-128606","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-egon-schiele","tag-erotic-art","tag-eyes","tag-fernanda-eberstadt","tag-frans-hals","tag-gender","tag-goya","tag-granta","tag-gustav-klimt","tag-ilya-yefimovich-repin","tag-nudes","tag-ottessa-moshfegh","tag-pablo-picasso","tag-portraiture","tag-shaina-taub","tag-sigrid-rausing","tag-the-delacorte","tag-the-met","tag-the-met-breuer","tag-twelfth-night","tag-vsevolod-garshin"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Portraiture, 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