Showing posts with label cooper-hewitt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cooper-hewitt. Show all posts

Friday, June 6, 2008

Strange Curves

Covered tureen and platter designed
by Juste-Aurèle Meissonnier, 1734–40

The Cooper-Hewitt’s website is one of the best of any museum I’ve seen. In addition to an exhibition "microsite" and easy access to press materials, they have video from two lectures given in conjunction with the show. Now, if only they’d put more images from the exhibit on their microsite and make the catalog available as a free PDF download.

Rococo: The Continuing Curve
Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum
March 7 - July 6, 2008

Weirdly wonderful, garish and lovely, organic yet artificial, rococo overwhelms the senses, its curls and swirls, gilded and bejeweled, swimming with a gilded cornucopia of cherubs, flowers and dragons.

A treasure-trove of delights spread thin, “Rococo: The Continuing Curve” at the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum presents a diverse array of objects charting the style’s birth and heyday in 18th Century France, its spread throughout Europe, subsequent revivals in the 19th Century and continued influence through the modern period and today.

With exquisite furnishings that are both lavish and intricate, rococo required extreme levels of craftsmanship and gobs of money. So it was only natural that the style was born of the French monarchy, flowering in the rein of Louis XV (1715-1774). Reacting against the Baroque grandeur of his great-grandfather, Sun King Louis XIV, the new Louis preferred a more private and bourgeois lifestyle, something that is mirrored in rococo’s asymmetries and nature-inspired funkiness.

His chief mistress, Madame Pompadour, took a leading role in promoting the arts, and popularized a shade of pink somewhere on the spectrum between Barbie and Pepto-Bismol. Scandalously, she was not of aristocratic lineage, and was made to learn courtly deportment, tutored by none other than Voltaire.

Another key figure was Juste-Aurèle Meissonnier, the official designer to the French court. His stunning 1730s silver tureen opens the show. Ostensibly used to hold food, the object is so embellished as to be barely recognizable, a virtuoso swirl of organic forms topped with a sculptural crayfish and dead bird.

Not only is function subsumed to style in rococo, but it’s also hidden in wit and whimsy, a kind of decorative camouflage. A teacup has a trompe l’oeil butterfly handle. What looks at first like a bulging gilt treasure chest bedecked with gilt scrolls, swirls and cartouches is revealed to be a desk.

At its height, rococo was about the total experience -- not just one object, but entire rooms and buildings, creating an immersive atmosphere of attention-grabbing theatrically known as “tout ensemble” with decorative objects like brackets and caprise tables blending architecture with furnishings.

While the exhibit doesn’t attempt to recreate one of these rooms, they do have a video of the interior and exterior of Place Stanislaus in Nancy, France, one of the style’s enduring monuments.

Taking in the show, you get a sense of the domestic sphere of the time as told through an amazing (and amusing) variety of objects, some of which it’s not clear what they were used for: torchère, fire screen, coffee urn, knife box, soap box, salt dish, toilet service, tea caddy, sauceboat, collaret, card case, cane handles, candelabras, writing casket, ladle, andiron, sugar box, bed hanging, and so on.

One minor, but intriguing current in rococo references to the Near and Far East, such as in a daybed designed “à la Turque,” a Chinoiserie chest and porcelain figurines depicting coffee-drinking Turks — early instances of Orientalism that would flourish in the 19th Century.

As the 18th Century wound down and Louis XV’s popularity declined, rococo was reviled as decadent, vulgar and weak (and feminine), then supplanted by Neoclassical style even before the dissolution of the Ancien Régime with the decapitation of Louis XVI (1754-1793).

In fact, the word rococo was a 19th Century term of derision, conflating “rocaille” (shell-laden rockwork found in grottos) with the Italian “barocco,” or Baroque.

Nevertheless, the style saw at least a couple revivals, which the show explores, less successfully, in its dull second half. Furthermore, they make a rather weak case for the link between rococo and Art Nouveau and biomorphic modernism. Louis Comfort Tiffany and Charles and Ray Eames were much more directly influenced by the Far East, especially Japan, than anything from 18th Century France.

The exhibit concludes with a couple of ironic art objects (pomo-rococo, if you will) -- a kitschy gilt mirror by Jeff Koons that reflects 80s luxe narcissism -- and a tea service by Cindy Sherman that pays homage to Madame Pompadour.

Finally, perhaps more true to the spirit of rococo, is a radiator and a climbing wall by Joris Laarman done in vegetal s-curves.

A high-water mark for artistry and craft, rococo is the epitome of decorative design. This museum survey, said to be the first of its kind, offers a unique opportunity to reflect on the relation between history and style, hinting at how design evolves in a nonlinear fashion, swinging between extremes of form and function.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Pattern Recognition (Sample Books at the Cooper-Hewitt)



Multiple Choice: From Sample to Product

Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum
Nov. 9, 2007 - April, 6 2008

We headed back uptown for a small and somewhat sterile show in the Cooper-Hewitt basement about sample books. You know sample books. They're those pattern books you might find in furniture store or party rental place with pages of different fabric designs.

Here's what I learned. Sample books have been around for more than 300 years, beginning in Europe, and contain a wide variety of intricate, colorful and often beautiful print patterns for textiles, ceramics and wallpaper.

The show starts with a case of wallpaper samples, including a couple by designers I've heard of. One is an 1887 book by William Morris, an artist-writer-activist (as the display text put it) responsible for the anti-industrialist Arts & Crafts movement. Also on display are a 1929 book of "radically minimalist" designs by the Bauhaus, and a 1959 book by Le Corbusier, who advocated for washable wallpapers. A name not familiar to me was Blue River, whose screen-printed vinyl and mylar patterns were of the eye-popping 60s psychedelic variety.

One obvious drawback to a show about books is that you aren't able to hold the books and look through them. To address this deficiency, there's a continuous projected video of someone flipping through pages of patterns. But since there are dozens of books exhibited, it's not practical to wait around for one you're interested in. Better would have been something interactive. Type in the book's name and bingo.

The exhibit text attempts to tie things together with some historic highlights meant to show how the sample book mirrors the history of commercialization and industrialization of design. However, the viewer's left with a few too many loose threads, as it were.

We do get a few tidbits. The show mentions the influence of Islamic design in 15th Century European household textiles and the late-19th-Century popularity of the paisley, which was borrowed from Kashmir. Intriguingly, we learned that 18th Century France enacted perhaps the first anti-piracy legislation. (Knockoffs are nothing new.) And that facing competition stemming for a huge demand for Indian printed textiles, Britain built factories for domestic production -- an important moment in the start of the Industrial Revolution.

On whole, the show was a snooze. We brought along our friend who has a design degree and creates print patterns professionally, and it didn't rock her world either.

What would have improved things? Perhaps with one or two illustrative examples using historic documents. Such as a contract showing how one English merchant ordered 2,000 paisley waistcoats in 1873 for the such-and-such department store. And second, including a few more names of famous designers or design houses, as well as images of people wearing, living with or eating off of these patterns. In summary, the show could have used some humanizing.

Even if you don't go in person, there's good, but not comprehensive, Web site. In addition, the Cooper-Hewitt blog has a behind-the-scenes look at the show's installation.