Followers of our Twitter account know that we have three able tweeters here at LACMA—Allison, Devi, and Erin. In light of the impending Turkey Day this week, we thought we’d give them a break today and turn Twitter over to an art- and food-obsessed guest.

Luis Meléndez, Self Portrait, 1746, Musée du Louvre, Réunion des Musées Nationaux/Art Resource, NY, photo: Hervé Lewandowski

Through some proprietary technological advances which we are not at liberty to divulge, we hacked into eighteenth-century still life master Luis Mélendez’s Twitter feed and will be sharing some of his tweets throughout the day. Luis was on Twitter a lot back in the day—starting when he worked in his father’s studio, through his days in school, and all the way up to the end of his life when he died a pauper. After culling through his many tweets, we’ve gathered up a greatest hits that tell of all his ups and downs—mostly downs, by the way.

Follow Luis all day today to get the story of his (mostly miserable) life. If you’re coming to this series late, you can head over to Twitter and search #miserablemelendez and all of his tweets should appear in one place.

Once you’ve read the tweets of his life, stop by the museum this weekend to see the exhibition, which closes January 3. (And if you’re a member, here’s a little added incentive.)

Scott Tennent

What I like about working at a museum is running into curators who offhandedly tell you something really interesting about art that you didn’t know and never would have found out otherwise. Not long before Art of the Pacific opened, for example, I happened to meet Nancy Thomas, museum deputy director and curator, as she was about to enter the galleries. So Nancy kindly gave me a spontaneous tour of the installation, pointing out the canoe prow, the skull rack … and the operculum eyes.

The operculum is a convex rounded plate that serves as the trapdoor on the shell of a number of marine snails and some land ones too, protecting the snails from predators and from drying out. The operculum has a smooth side and a rough side. Set into a sculpted face of approximately human dimensions, as some long-ago artist discovered and many others would confirm, an operculum with the smooth side out makes an uncannily convincing eye: soft, three-dimensional, with an irislike ring of color around a glossy dark center.

“If you look at it straight on, the eyes are staring in a very piercing way,” Nancy said of a Memorial Figure, c. 1900, from New Ireland in Papua New Guinea. “And this represents a significant village chief; it was carved to honor an individual at the time of death. The eyes have a certain dimensionality—they’re not just a flat painted disk. They’re almost luminous in a way, because they’re probably composed of an accumulation of layers of pigment.”

Papua New Guinea, New Ireland Province, Memorial Figure, c. 1900 (detail), purchased with funds provided by the Eli and Edythe Broad Foundation with additional funding by Jane and Terry Semel, the David Bohnett Foundation, Camilla Chandler Frost, Gayle and Edward P. Roski and The Ahmanson Foundation

The opercula are individual as well, each one forged by the life and times of a lone maritime snail. As eyes they give the masks or statues a strangely personal presence and almost an air of distraction or being lost in thought, as if the figures represented were trying to sort out some important things on their minds.

Melanesia, New Ireland, Mask, late 19th century, wood, pith, shell, The Phil Berg Collection

Tom Drury

Speaking about the Collectors Committee, a famed LACMA event in which curators make a presentation to donors to solicit funds for dream objects for the permanent collection, Wendy Kaplan, the museum’s head of decorative arts and design, told the New York Times in May, “It’s nerve-racking. You tell yourself it’s only an object, not your health. But you’ve researched it intensively, and you’re crushed if you don’t get it.”

Well, Wendy didn’t get the object in question, a renowned A. H. Mackmurdo chair that is universally believed to signal the start of Art Nouveau. As Wendy mentioned to me last week, she’d identified the chair via a London dealer last fall and was crestfallen when it wasn’t one of the works selected to enter the permanent collection in the spring of 2008. What happened next is a story of extreme curatorial perseverance.

Designed by Arthur Heygate Mackmurdo (England, 1851-1942) for the Century Guild (London, 1882-88); made by Collinson & Lock, London, Chair, c. 1883

Determined to bring this seminal piece of art to LACMA, she connected with colleagues at the Huntington to discuss a joint acquisition, figuring it would be easier to raise half of the money needed than the whole pot. If you have the pleasure of knowing Wendy—she’s beyond smart and charming—then you instinctively know that she of course made it happen. The Huntington was game and so were LACMA donors, including longtime supporters Max Palevsky and Jodie Evans and an early fan of the chair from the outset, MaryLou Boone. (Wendy said had it not been for MaryLou, she might have given up somewhere along the way.) Many months passed and ultimately, Wendy said, she has never poured more time and energy into bringing an object to LACMA than with this remarkable work of art. When I asked Wendy to describe the impact it has had on her she noted simply that it’s “That Chair.” Now, along with our friends at the Huntington, we can also say that it’s our chair. The chair will go on view at the Huntington in December.

Allison Agsten

Those of us who are from Los Angeles are lucky enough that several of the photographs in New Topographics: Photographs of a Man-Altered Landscape are in fact our very own man-altered landscape. While the likes of John Schott, Joe Deal, and Nicholas Nixon were out investigating motels along Route 66, scaling hillsides in Albuquerque, and hauling 8×10 cameras to the umpteenth floor in Boston skyscrapers, respectively, Lewis Baltz, Frank Gohlke, and Henry Wessel were making photographic history with the landscapes of Los Angeles and Orange County.

I happened to be in Irvine last week and got the notion to seek out some of the locations that Lewis Baltz shot for his series The New Industrial Parks Near Irvine, California, which are on view in New Topographics. Baltz titled his photos with addresses, so these locations weren’t so hard to find. Some of the buildings, however, had apparently been digested into the maw of Irvine’s vast expanse of business complexes. Out of nine locations I visited, I only found three of the buildings seen in four of Baltz’s photographs.

Left: Lewis Baltz, North Wall, Semicoa, 333 McCormick, Costa Mesa, 1974. Right: Semicoa today, with fewer trees and conspicuously missing that eclectic logo of yesteryear.

Left: Lewis Baltz, Southeast Corner, Semicoa, 333 McCormick, Costa Mesa, 1974 Right: Another angle of Semicoa today. They fortified their gate and built a ladder to the roof!

Left: Lewis Baltz, East Wall, Business Systems Division, Pertec, 1881 Langley, Santa Ana, 1974. Right: Today it’s Concept Development, Inc.—and that’s grime clouding the windows.

Left: Lewis Baltz, South Wall, Unoccupied Industrial Structure, 16812 Milliken, Irvine, 1974. Right: Industrial Structure today, now occupied, and with a fence nearby.

I’m not the only one being clever like this, however—Britt Salvesen, curator of the present incarnation of New Topographics, also got an email from photographer Brian English reporting that he had visited the location of Frank Gohlke’s photograph Landscape, Los Angeles, 1974, at North Hollywood Way and West Clark Avenue in Burbank. And to put the icing on the cake, he just happened to catch a 1970’s Plymouth Gold Duster tooling by as well!

Left: Frank Gohlke, Landscape, Los Angeles, 1974. Right: Photograph by Brian English.

So—how about a challenge? Take a look at the photographs by Frank Gohlke and Henry Wessel below. Do you know where in Los Angeles these were taken? Leave a comment if you know the street intersection—or take a picture yourself and give us the link. Happy hunting!

Frank Gohlke, Landscape, Los Angeles, 1974

Henry Wessel, Jr., Hollywood, 1972

PS don’t forget about our weekly New Topographics tours; Shannon Ebner will be leading a tour this Sunday.

Sarah Bay Williams, Ralph M. Parsons Fellow, Wallis Annenberg Photography Department

Writing for London’s Spectator in 1936, the novelist Graham Greene used Alfred Hitchcock’s latest thriller, Sabotage, to levy this criticism at the director:

His films consist of a series of small “amusing” melodramatic situations: the murderer’s button dropped on the baccarat board; the strangled organist’s hands prolonging the notes in the empty church; the fugitives hiding in the bell-tower when the bell begins to swing. Very perfunctorily he builds up to these tricky situations (paying no attention on the way to inconsistencies, loose ends, psychological absurdities) and then drops them: they mean nothing: they lead to nothing.

Greene meant it as a slight, but I’m not so sure Hitchcock would have taken it as one. The more Hitchcock films you see (and you’ve got your pick for the rest of the month), the more you want to respond to Greene, “Yeah, and?”

Hitchcock made a career of crafting films concerned more with the chase itself than with the impetus for the chase or the consequences of getting caught, getting away, or saving the day. At the end of North by Northwest, as Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint find themselves safe from pursuit—yet still dangling perilously from Mount Rushmore—Hitchcock simply cuts to the couple safe and sound in a train for a quick and tidy resolution. The director seems to say “there is no danger but the chase.” Come on: we all know no one’s falling to their death unless they’re pushed.

Sabotage is an adaptation of Joseph Conrad’s novel The Secret Agent—not to be confused with another Hitchcock film, Secret Agent, released a year earlier. On the other hand, if you do find it confusing, you can hedge your bets by seeing both on Saturday night in a double feature. Of the two, I prefer Secret Agent—er, the Hitchcock film, not the Conrad novel—almost entirely due to the marvelous supporting performance from Peter Lorre, who steals every scene he’s in. Set during World War I, Lorre aids fellow spies John Gielgud and Madeleine Carroll, who are posing as a husband and wife in Switzerland and are tasked with killing a man whose identity they do not know. When Hitchcock planned the making of the film, he told Francois Truffaut, “I asked myself, ‘What do they have in Switzerland? They have milk chocolate, the Alps, village dances, and lakes… [so] we used lakes for drownings, the Alps to have characters fall into crevasses, and a chocolate factory for the chase.’”

Secret Agent, 1936

Sounds like the recipe for a great thriller. So to Graham Greene I must ask again: “Yeah, and?”

Scott Tennent

Over the last few months I’ve had the pleasure of working with the curators of Heroes and Villains: The Battle for Good in India’s Comics and two of the artists featured in the exhibition, Mukesh Sing and Jeevan J. Kang, in commissioning limited-edition prints inspired by the show.

Jeevan J. Kang, “Ravan abducts Sita,” scene from Ramayan 3392 AD (2006)

Having been steeped in this contemporary component of the exhibition, I was excited to see the Indian paintings that make up the other half of the show, now that the exhibition is open. With the help of co-curator Tushara Bindu Gude, I learned more about these works, each depicting a fascinating world with animal and human fiefdoms vying for power.

My favorite work in the show is a nineteenth-century painting that recounts part of the ancient story of Ramayana, aka Adventures of Rama. Sugriva, king of the monkeys, makes a deal with Rama to help him free Sita (Rama’s wife) from captivity. But Sugriva has one condition—Rama must help him overthrow Sugriva’s older brother from whom Sugriva stole the throne. The painting shows us Sugriva ensconced on his opulent throne within a cave and surrounded by members of his court. His loyal general, Hanuman, is shown rushing out of the cave to galvanize an army of monkeys and join Rama in his quest to free Sita and defeat her captor Ravana. It’s an exquisitely rendered work with saturated colors and incredible details.

India, Himachal Pradesh, "Kangra Sugriva Sends Emissaries, Led by Hanuman, to Find Princess Sita," c. 1830–1840, Southern Asian Art Council

In the next gallery, a modern version of Hanuman is imagined by a Liquid Comics artist, Abishek Singh, in a serene moment perched on a tree branch and playing a flute.

Abishek Singh, "Character exploration for Hanuman," Ramayan 3392 AD, 2006, Liquid Comics, Bangalore, India, © Liquid Comics, all rights reserved

In the gallery featuring the Indian paintings there is also a series of works which might be considered part of the early evolution of the graphic novel. These are bold watercolors illustrating a tale derived from the Indian epic Mahabharata and were used to illustrate the story when it was told aloud. They show everything from fierce battles to miracles in the story of Babhruvahana, a tale of war and complicated family dynamics. Babhruvahana is forced to kill his father in a battle over territory and is then promptly told by his mother to bring him back to life. Babhruvahana recruits a mongoose army and fights a legion of snakes to obtain the elixir that will bring his father back from the dead. (Some of these watercolors were previously discussed on Unframed here.)

India, Maharashtra, Paithan "Fight of the Mongoose and the Serpent Armies (recto), Babhruvahana and the Mongoose Fight the Serpents (verso), Scenes from the Story of Babhruvahana, Folio from a Mahabharata (War of the Great Bharatas)," c. 1850, from the Nasli and Alice Heeramaneck Collection, Museum Associates Purchase

Today, Liquid Comics has brought new life to the amazing myths and stories of ancient India. More info can be found here should you want to bring a little bit of the mythical into your own home.

Erin Wright, Director of Special Projects

Is there anyplace more artless than a gym? All that drudgery and nothing good to look at, unless you count the taut bodies surrounding you. And unless you go to the LA Fitness across the street from LACMA. Now that it gets dark early, Urban Light is on when I leave for the day—the only good thing about daylight savings in my mind—as are the lights in the gym on the other side of Wilshire. So now I’ve suddenly begun to notice the people inside working out. I wonder if these healthy folks are any more inclined to stay on the exercise bike with such a magnificent view? Can you think of another gym where a world-class work of art is front and center?

Allison Agsten

Aside from the most common question asked of the gallery attendant—“where’s the restroom?”—the next could easily be the empathetic concern, “do you stand all day?” Yes, but it’s not too bad. Working in a museum, I like to say, is heaven for the mind and hell for the feet.

For the stoic guard the day is filled with many splendors. Many of us are art lovers who wanted to be guards in the museum. Barring the attendant physical woes, being hemmed in with Picasso, Matisse, Rembrandt, and the many other great works that fill LACMA’s rich and eclectic collection is irresistible. Not to take away from the astute curators, the dedicated docents, and the army of people who make it all possible, but even they can’t imagine the unfettered hours on end at Matisse’s magical Tea party or the hypnotic color swirls of Leger’s Disks, or to turn and be face to face with the delicate, tenderly rendered Woman with Blue Veil by Picasso—an act of looking which could be repeated without end.

Pablo Picasso, Woman with Blue Veil, Mr. and Mrs. George Gard De Sylva Collection

This is our living space. This is the upside of the coin, lessened in value only by our struggle to keep at bay that strange creeping casual indifference that is first cousin to repetition.

Doesn’t it get to look like wallpaper and furniture to you, standing in the galleries day in and day out? Well, maybe for some, but not for everyone. I believe that some of the art will go on speaking to you in spite of fatigue and familiarity. That being said, you are not quite alone within this silent drama, for the patrons are invariably asking questions, sometimes enlisting opinions or edging your enthusiasm. I find such engagement to be the cure-all.

Hylan Booker, Gallery Attendant

Next up in our series of contemporary photographers offering their own insight on New Topographics is Los Angeles-based artist Peter Holzhauer. Raised in Maine before relocating to Los Angeles, Peter explores the metropolis with an eye toward recording its inhabitants’ more ambiguous claims on the local terrain. Photographing the city’s built environment he describes a place of laconic vigor, flux, and occasional absurdity. Peter will be giving a tour of New Topographics this Sunday; here’s a peek at some of the topics he might explore.

Previously:

Mark Ruwedel

Amir Zaki

Edward Robinson, Associate Curator, The Wallis Annenberg Photography Department

One of my favorite things about working in LACMA’s research library is getting to share and showcase our treasures—everything from artists’ books and scarce first editions to surrealist ephemera and out-of-print periodicals. One of these rarities is a complete run of the magnificent magazine Art/Life. Conceived, compiled, and edited for twenty-five years by Joe Cardella, Art/Life truly must be seen to be believed.

Images of the celebratory 200th issue of Art/Life

Art/Life is so much more than your typical art magazine. Envisioned by Cardella to be a sharing mechanism for artists, Art/Life is exactly that. Artists and poets wanting to participate in this cultural exchange created multiples of their contributions, signed and numbered them, and sent them out to sunny California to be ordered and assembled. Each of the 276 monthly volumes—published from 1981 to 2005—is a unique work of art: hand-made, hand-numbered, hand-bound. I didn’t believe it at first, but every single edition of every single volume is an original.

This full run of Art/Life, formerly part of a private collection, was generously donated to the library in 2009. We were thrilled when we saw what a treasure trove this publication is; so thrilled, in fact, that we decided we had to share it. We’ve permanently moved Art/Life from the Special Collections room to display cabinets in the reading room for your viewing pleasure. Just email us to schedule an appointment to come in and see it up close.

Maggie Hanson, Stacks Manager, Balch Research Library