#ozenfant

[philoursmars]

Nouveau retour à mon projet de présenter la plupart de mes 55500 photos (et des brouettes).  Plus trop loin du présent….  

2016. Marseille en octobre, Au Musée Cantini, une expo : “Le Rêve”:

- Félix Labisse : “Libidoscaphes en état de veille”

- Max Ernst  : “La Dernière Forêt”

- Amédée Ozenfant : “Lumières sur l'Eau”

- Salvador Dalì : “Portrait de Luli Kollsman”

- William Degouve de Nuncques : “La Forêt Lépreuse”

- Louise Bourgeois : “Spider II”...et Christine !

[noconcessions]

[fashionlandscapeblog]

Amédée Ozenfant

La grotte aux baigneurs, 1931

Plaster and oil on canvas.

[lovefrenchisbetter]

Maison Ozenfant, France

[arinewman7]

Verrerie

Amedée Ozenfant

oil on canvas, 1925

[oldsardens]

Amedee Ozenfant - Amour

[hommedessept]

[guy60660]

Amédée Ozenfant | MUSA

[mirellabruno]

Amédée Ozenfant, Virages de yachts, circa 1963.

[felsefebilim]

Pürizm Sanat Akımı Nedir ve Nasıl Ortaya Çıkmıştır?

Fransız kübist ressam Amedee Ozenfant, Kübizm sanat akımına bağlı eserler verdikten sonra, mimar ve yazar Le Corbusier ile tanışmasının da etkisiyle farklı bir yol seçti. Bunda kübizmin esaslarının ve sahiplendiği rolü tam benimseyememesinin de etkisi vardı.

Pürizm, o dönem Kübizm'e tepki olarak doğdu da denilebilir. Bu yeni akıma Ozenfant ve Le Corbusier öncülük etti, akımın detaylarını ise 1918 yılında birlikte yazdıkları manifesto değerinde görülen “Après le cubisme” (Kübizm Sonrası) adlı eserde belirttiler.

Pürizm, sanat ve tasarımın, endüstriyel üretim ve mimarlık ile daha da uyum içinde olması gerektiğini vurguladı. Bu yeni akıma göre; Kübizm'in aksine sanatta ve mimarlıkta süsleme kesinlikle olmamalı, basitlik ve netlik temel prensip alınmalıydı. Geometrik formlara Kübizm gibi önem veren Pürizm, endüstriyelleşmenin de etkisine kapılıp makineleşmeden ilham alınması ve onların dünyadaki etkisini göz ardı etmemek gerektiğini belirtti.

[rien-de-personnel]

Amédée Ozenfant (France, 1886 – 1966) - Nature morte puriste, 1921

[lisamarie-vee]

[disciplinethepainter]

[a-modernmajorgeneral]

Cave art had a profound effect on its 20th-century viewers, including the young discoverers of Lascaux, at least one of whom camped at the hole leading to the cave over the winter of 1940-41 to protect it from vandals, and perhaps Germans. More illustrious visitors had similar reactions. In 1928, the artist and critic Amédée Ozenfant wrote of the art in the Les Eyzies caves, “Ah, those hands! Those silhouettes of hands, spread out and stencilled on an ochre ground! Go and see them. I promise you the most intense emotion you have ever experienced.” He credited the Paleolithic artists with inspiring modern art, and to a certain degree, they did. Jackson Pollock honoured them by leaving handprints along the top edge of at least two of his paintings. Pablo Picasso reportedly visited the famous Altamira cave before fleeing Spain in 1934, and emerged saying: “Beyond Altamira, all is decadence.”

Of course, cave art also inspired the question raised by all truly arresting art: “What does it mean?” Who was its intended audience, and what were they supposed to derive from it? The boy discoverers of Lascaux took their questions to one of their schoolmasters, who roped in Henri Breuil, a priest familiar enough with all things prehistoric to be known as “the pope of prehistory”. Unsurprisingly, he offered a “magico-religious” interpretation, with the prefix “magico” serving as a slur to distinguish Paleolithic beliefs, whatever they may have been, from the reigning monotheism of the modern world. More practically, he proposed that the painted animals were meant to magically attract the actual animals they represented, the better for humans to hunt and eat them.

Unfortunately for this theory, it turns out that the animals on cave walls were not the kinds that the artists usually dined on. The creators of the Lascaux art, for example, ate reindeer, not the much more formidable herbivores pictured in the cave, which would have been difficult for humans armed with flint-tipped spears to bring down without being trampled. Today, many scholars answer the question of meaning with what amounts to a shrug: “We may never know.”

If sheer curiosity, of the kind that drove the Lascaux discoverers, isn’t enough to motivate a search for better answers, there is a moral parable reaching out to us from the cave at Lascaux. Shortly after its discovery, the one Jewish boy in the group was apprehended and sent, along with his parents, to a detention centre that served as a stop on the way to Buchenwald. Miraculously, he was rescued by the French Red Cross, emerging from captivity as perhaps the only person on earth who had witnessed both the hellscape of 20-century fascism and the artistic remnants of the Paleolithic age. As we know from the archeological record, the latter was a time of relative peace among humans. No doubt there were homicides and tensions between and within human bands, but it would be at least another 10,000 years before the invention of war as an organised collective activity. The cave art suggests that humans once had better ways to spend their time.

If they were humans; and the worldwide gallery of known cave art offers so few stick figures or bipeds of any kind that we cannot be entirely sure. If the Paleolithic cave painters could create such perfectly naturalistic animals, why not give us a glimpse of the painters themselves? Almost as strange as the absence of human images in caves is the low level of scientific interest in their absence. In his book What Is Paleolithic Art?, the world-class paleoarcheologist Jean Clottes devotes only a couple of pages to the issue, concluding that: “The essential role played by animals evidently explains the small number of representations of human beings. In the Paleolithic world, humans were not at the centre of the stage.” A paper published, oddly enough, by the US Centres for Disease Control and Prevention, expresses puzzlement over the omission of naturalistic depictions of humans, attributing it to Paleolithic people’s “inexplicable fascination with wildlife” (not that there were any non-wild animals around at the time).

The marginality of human figures in cave paintings suggests that, at least from a human point of view, the central drama of the Paleolithic went on between the various megafauna – carnivores and large herbivores. So depleted of megafauna is our own world that it is hard to imagine how thick on the ground large mammals once were. Even the herbivores could be dangerous for humans, if mythology offers any clues: think of the buffalo demon killed by the Hindu goddess Durga, or of the Cretan half-man, half-bull Minotaur, who could only be subdued by confining him to a labyrinth, which was, incidentally, a kind of cave. Just as potentially edible herbivores such as aurochs (giant, now-extinct cattle) could be dangerous, death-dealing carnivores could be inadvertently helpful to humans and their human-like kin, for example, by leaving their half-devoured prey behind for humans to finish off. The Paleolithic landscape offered a lot of large animals to watch, and plenty of reasons to keep a close eye on them. Some could be eaten – after, for example, being corralled into a trap by a band of humans; many others would readily eat humans.

Yet despite the tricky and life-threatening relationship between Paleolithic humans and the megafauna that comprised so much of their environment, 20th-century scholars tended to claim cave art as evidence of an unalloyed triumph for our species. It was a “great spiritual symbol”, one famed art historian, himself an escapee from Nazism, proclaimed, of a time when “man had just emerged from a purely zoological existence, when instead of being dominated by animals, he began to dominate them”. But the stick figures found in caves such as Lascaux and Chauvet do not radiate triumph. By the standards of our own time, they are excessively self-effacing and, compared to the animals portrayed around them, pathetically weak. If these faceless creatures were actually grinning in triumph, we would, of course, have no way of knowing it.

[lovefrenchisbetter]

Maison Ozenfant

As you make your way out the « Porte d’Orleans » subway stop, you are welcomed by a very eary piece of Paris, the 14th arrondissement. You walk along the sidewalk, witnessing street vendors, small cafes, and a few restaurants juxtapositioned against modern architecture which we could only suspect to be a long-time influence of architects such as Le Corbusier who produced the Maison Ozenfant in…

[halfabird]

Amédée Ozenfant, Nature morte puriste, 1921