ChatGPT Visits the Philadelphia Museum of Art

Museum of Art courtyard viewed from the Armor Room.

I wanted to post some photos here from a recent visit to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I had suggested the “immersive Monet” exhibit in NYC, but my wife preferred we check out “real-life Matisse.” For background and context, I gave ChatGPT a few prompts and out popped the following words. Not bad!

I, for one, welcome our new robot overlords:

The Philadelphia Museum of Art is a must-see destination for any art lover visiting the city. Located in the heart of Philadelphia, the museum boasts an impressive collection of over 240,000 works spanning 2,000 years of world culture.

It isn't uncommon to see visitors engaging in playful activities on the front steps. One such activity is pretending to be the iconic fictional character "Rocky." Visitors raise their hands above their heads and jump in triumph, mimicking the famous scene from the first film in the series.

Upon entering the museum, visitors are greeted by the grand staircase, which leads to the main galleries on the second floor.

One of the highlights of the museum is the American art collection, which includes works by some of the most famous American artists such as Winslow Homer, John Singer Sargent and Edward Hopper. The museum also has a significant collection of European paintings, including works by Monet, Van Gogh, and Renoir.

Diana atop the grand staircase, decorated for the holidays.

Matisse’s “Large Reclining Nude” (1935) and
“Woman in Blue” (1937), including the skirt
worn by the painting’s model. 

During my visit, I had the opportunity to attend the special exhibition "Matisse in the 1930s" which featured over 80 works by the artist, including paintings, sculptures, and drawings, as well as a selection of his personal objects from his studios in Nice and Paris. This exhibition provided an in-depth look at the artist's techniques and the way he used objects in his studio as inspiration for his work. (Note: This exhibit closed yesterday... and I think ChatGPT is actually describing a previous Matisse exhibit here.)

I also had the opportunity to view the painting "Sunflowers" by Vincent Van Gogh. This famous painting, which is one of the most popular on display at the museum, is renowned for its vibrant colors and dynamic brushstrokes. It was a true highlight of my visit to the museum.

Unfortunately, I also set off two proximity alarms while viewing the paintings, but it was a reminder of how close you are allowed to be with the paintings and how precious they are.

So excited… a little too excited… to see this up close.
I also set off an alarm tripping over Zoe Leonard’s floor sculpture.

Overall, a visit to the Philadelphia Museum of Art is a truly enriching experience. The museum's vast and varied collections, special exhibitions, and educational programs make it a must-see destination for any art lover.

This is where ChatGPT stopped writing, but here are a few more images:

Degas in Philadelphia.

Video exhibit by Visual AIDS.
Lots of nooks and crannies in this museum!

This is an unfinished Cezanne, which I liked very much.
The Matisse exhibit also showed some of his works in progress,
and I liked the rougher, early versions better.

Had to wait until all the people jumping like "Rocky"
stopped posing on these steps 🙂

Visiting the Warhol Museum: Ambivalence and Awe in Pittsburgh

Me and a photo of the artist, using a "Warhol Effect" filter.
It's only fair I appropriate his style.

Nancy and I took a road trip to Pittsburgh earlier this week, ostensibly to see the baseball Pirates host the New York Mets.

On our way to an afternoon game, we crossed paths with the Andy Warhol Museum. I was excited to see the works of this New York City legend, not realizing that he was born in Pittsburgh. Also, not realizing that I was about to enter the largest museum in North America dedicated to a single artist.

The experience was a head-spinning, comprehensive portrait of the artist. To me, it was a portrait with flaws.

Let's talk about the elephant in the room. The photo below, in one of the main exhibit areas, is a work by Keith Haring, who painted over a papier-mâché sculpture Warhol had purchased. 

Haring's elephant, unfiltered.

I love it. It's Keith Haring being Keith Haring and nobody else.

Then I looked around at what I thought were Picassos on the walls. They were works by Warhol in Picasso's style. Warhol, it seemed, tried to be like everybody else.

I looked at all the photographs on display, taken by other people and manipulated by Warhol. Then I watched some screen tests (filmed, silent portraits of visitors to Warhol's Factory studio in New York). Some on video, and many of those surrounding Warhol in black-and-white photos, seemed to be broken people. I read about suicides in the fine-print captions of various screen-test participants, actors in his films, and subjects of his art.

On one hand, Warhol produced work that seemed to exploit other people. He mastered the art of appropriation, taking possession someone else's work or image. As Warhol himself once said, "Art is what you can get away with."

On the other hand, his art put a spin on banality to create something with more meaning and permanence.

With ambivalence, I also watched a few videos of Warhol while there. He seemed elitist. In real life, I fear he'd make sure I knew I wasn't one of the cool kids.

Andy appraising Nancy while giving me side-eye in another room.

But then I noticed more layers to his life: His collection of kitschy folk art was heart-warningly "normal" (to my worldview, at least), like a visit to my guileless mother-in-law's house in Nutley, New Jersey.

Front of Warhol's Mass card.

Also, I read the Mass card from Warhol's memorial service at St. Patrick's Cathedral in 1987, where Yoko Ono delivered one of the three eulogies. On the card, the parish priest from the Church of the Heavenly Rest on 5th Avenue and 90th Street noted that Warhol poured coffee, served food and cleaned up after meals provided there to the homeless, hungry and friendless on Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter.

Warhol was only 58 when he died. I'm in awe of his accomplishments in his too-short life.

I'm older than that now, and I've never done as much hands-on for those in need.

Also, all my creative and artistic achievements could fit in a single folder in one of the filing cabinets on the entire floor of the museum devoted to Warhol's archives. All seven stories of the museum in Pittsburgh display only a portion of all Andy Warhol's creative work.

I'm a weekday commuter to New York City, fated never to be world-famous for 15 minutes or eulogized by a pop culture icon. As I write this on a Saturday morning in New Jersey, I'm watching Bugs Bunny cartoons and Nancy is reading the news.

I take small comfort in the fact that I lead the type of ordinary life Andy Warhol might have appropriated to turn into art.

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Following are some scenes from the exhibition.

Ordinary people imitating art...

Warhol's extraordinary art, including "Elvis - 11 Times"... 

The obligatory gift shop in the lobby, and the world's last (and most decorated) pay phone in the basement...

Leaving the museum, we walked across the Allegheny River on the Andy Warhol Bridge. The homeless, hungry and friendless were pan-handling; the tourists pretended not to notice.

Several love locks attached to the grill of the walking path were numbered Master locks. With the right combination, these locks can be easily removed should love prove not as lasting as art... 

2 Poems: Experiments in Creativity for Fun, Not Profit

Ghosts playing chess in New York City

 

Poetry is a monetarily thankless pursuit.

This past weekend in 1845 the New York Evening Mirror published "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe. "It was a huge sensation," writes The Writer's Almanac. "Abraham Lincoln memorized it, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote a fan letter to Poe. He was paid $9 for 'The Raven,' and it was extensively reprinted without his permission."

Yet as monetarily thankless pursuits go, I find poetry more rewarding than, say, sports betting (where seemingly all Internet advertising directed at me insists my interest should lie).

I must be the wrong demographic for poetry. I admire Emily-in-Paris Peyton Manning, and question the Caesars-Sportsbook Peyton Manning who shills for a business based on customers losing money.

Lately, I've stumbled upon poetry in unlikely places. Listening to music this past week, I'm been enchanted by Lin-Manuel Miranda's outstanding lyrics from Disney's "Encanto" and Taylor Swift and, an old favorite, Paul Simon.

"Miracle and Wonder," an audio book of recent Malcolm Gladwell interviews with Simon, examines the intriguing premise that there's a type of creativity that improves with age. Not to diminish the conceptual breakthroughs of young artists, another type of creativity requires experimentation over time based on an accumulation of knowledge. Writing earlier on this topic, Gladwell examines a study of how Picasso produced his greatest works at the beginning of his career, and Cezanne at the end.

I write poems simply to try to contribute something. Steve Jobs once said that people express their appreciation to the rest of humanity by creating something of worth and putting it out there.

Below are two latest efforts I've submitted to poetry contests. Which I never win. I'm like Charlie Brown running to kick off with Lucy holding the football. I always wind up flat on my face, but then I'll try again next year, against my better judgement. Perhaps, with more experimentation, someday I will create something of value.

I revised the following poem based on a prompt from Paterson, NJ's poet laureate Talena Lachelle Queen. During a virtual poetry workshop earlier this month, she read the poem "On the Other Side of the Door" by the late Jeff Moss, best known as a composer and lyricist on "Sesame Street." It's largely a young adults' poem, beloved by educators -- and, hey, Taylor Swift even wrote a song with the same name.

It inspired me to write a few lines that improved a poem I had written last year, based on a photo I took at the height of the pandemic lockdown (the image posted at the top of this page). Here's my submission to the 2022 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards, sponsored by The Poetry Center at Passaic County Community College:

100 Words (Exactly) About Writing 

 

On a blank page, 

I can do I anything. 

 

I am bold. 

The way you always wanted me to be. 

And I can make you love me. 

And you would never leave. 

 

You would never leave, 

And I would never wonder. 

Because I create new worlds, 

And conjure you at will. 

 

Here we are at dusk in New York: 

 

We are ghosts, 

Playing chess in a vest-pocket park. 

Phantom dogs roam at our feet. 

Occasional cars form shooting stars 

Along the FDR. 

 

On a blank page, 

I wait forever for your next move. 

On a blank page, 

I never lose.

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Arno River, 50 years ago

Below is another experiment, based on something I wrote years ago. I submitted it to the "100 Days of Dante" poetry contest, sponsored by the Calvin Center for Faith & Writing with the Society of Classical Poets.

My original sonnet had stanzas loosely suggesting Heaven, Purgatory, and Hell. I was inspired to revise several lines last week when I discovered the first photos I ever took (now fading 35mm slides), from 50 years ago.

Dad had let me borrow his camera, and my little sister and I were with my grandmother and uncle in Italy.

One day we visited Florence, and I (unknowingly) took blurry photos of the Ponte Vecchio, where Dante, who began his own epic journey in middle age, saw young Beatrice in the late 1200s. He fell in love with her at first sight. She died soon afterward of The Plague, but she inspired his writing forever:

Dante in Reverse

 

Adam was a madman; and paradise,

a fraud. In only this do I believe:

the rhythm of your heart. Oh Beatrice,

your eyes alone could prove infinity.

It is our love that has unraveled all.

It haunts my sleep. At first, a stolen glance,

with stars beneath my feet. And then, I fall

from you toward earth -- my dream, a graceless dance.

Before I land, my senses gain control.

Alone in bed, I fear the rustling sound

of insubstantial leaves, like wind-swept souls.

My heart (alive or dead?) seems strangely bound.

This is the slow, uneven beat of Hell:

I have loved you always, but never well.

Enzo the Sloth Is the Artist We Need in 2022

A sloth painted this.

Upside down, on his back, holding a brush between two toes.

One grown daughter had ordered this painting by Enzo the Sloth via Etsy as a Christmas gift for my other grown daughter. She loves sloths (and dogs and black cats and T-Rexes) in the same whimsical way her dad loves penguins.

This proved to be the perfect gift for her.

Enzo, naturally, took his time with the project, and there was a bit of a scare he wouldn’t finish by Christmas.

The artist came through, though, to the delight of our entire family.

I’m no expert on sloth art, but I believe this might be Enzo’s masterpiece: a wonderfully expressive self-portrait of the “Enzo” the artist dreams of becoming.

It looks like he’s skateboarding, bringing to mind a BuzzFeed story about what Emma Watson said made her fall in love with Tom Felton while making the “Harry Potter” movies:

“I walked into a room where we were having tutoring,” Emma explained. “The assignment that had been given was to draw what you thought God looked like, and Tom had drawn a girl with a backward cap on a skateboard.”

In Enzo’s self-portrait you can see his two curved toes with arms spread as he speeds through mid-air toward a magnificent, graceful landing. He’s blithe and unencumbered by physical limitations.

There’s no looking back for this sloth.

Enzo is my inspiration for 2022.

A photo of Enzo, masterpiece in progress.

See the Sculpture Garden Blooming in Mid-Manhattan

In this summer of a zombie virus that doesn't die, the streets of mid-Manhattan can offer a bit of inspiration and beauty and hope.

I commute into New York City a few days a week, and here are some images of the unique sculpture garden I've found in walking to the office and at lunch.

Beginning at the Port Authority Bus Terminal, where "The Commuters" by George Segal depicts three people waiting for the same bus since 1980, and it's perpetually 3 o'clock...

Outside the terminal, an 8-foot-tall bronze statue of Jackie Gleason, clad in his Honeymooners bus driver's uniform, looks out over Eighth Avenue, in a statue by Larry Nowlan, "Presented by the People of TV Land."

Heading east, past The New York Times building, I'm reminded of Dad. He spent many years working in the building behind the statue here. The aptly-for-Dad named "Guardian Superhero" is one of a pair of 13-foot statues by Antonio Pio Saracino at the entrances on either side of the plaza behind 3 Bryant Park.

Wandering north to Seventh and 53rd, there's a sign of hope, literally, courtesy of Robert Indiana. We're not in Philadelphia anymore... 

And then back down to Rockefeller Center, where Tom Friedman encourages everyone to "Look Up."

Head south to Grand Central Terminal (one of my favorite places in the city) to see the new kid in town: the towering One Vanderbilt skyscraper. Its soaring lobby, still locked and opposite the terminal, houses this twisting, reflective, untitled 2020 sculpture by Tony Cragg.

Nearby, along Park Avenue, I'm happy to see dog and rabbit still having coffee together at “The Table of Love,” a private commission at 237 Park by Gillie and Marc Schattner, perhaps the city's most prolific creators of public art. Two empty seats invite others to join them.

Further up along the avenue are two whimsical giants by Kaws, the artist Brian Donnelly. The pink one (my favorite) is called "BFF" (at 280 Park), and just a few blocks north "WHAT PARTY" stalks the entrance to the Seagram Building.

I do eventually arrive at work. Here's "Contrappunto," an older sculpture (1963) by Beverly Pepper, outside my office building at 777 Third Ave.

But then, at lunchtime, I'm back on the streets heading further east, toward the United Nations sculpture garden. It's still locked, but you can stick your cell phone between the bars of the gates to get a clear view of "Good Defeats Evil" by Zurab Tsereteli, with a dragon depicting a nuclear warhead.

Then I wander back, past Dag Hammarskjold Plaza, where three works by Jim Rennert are on temporary display until late August: "Timing," "Inner Dialog" and "Commute."

No sculpture garden is complete without a water feature... like the waterfall tucked between buildings on East 51st Street, between Second and Third, a beautiful place called Green Acre Park.

Here are related posts about sculpture gardens in New Jersey: Grounds for Sculpture and a vest-pocket park in Teaneck.

Van Gogh, the Brand: Pictures at an Exhibition

I love technology; I love New York; I love art museums; I love taking photos; I love date night.

So I eagerly purchased tickets to attend one of the various “immersive Van Gogh” experiences now popping up everywhere following the wildly successful Atelier des Lumières installation in Paris in 2018.

People I admire whose opinion I respect have also wholeheartedly recommended a visit.

Since I find it hard to be wholehearted about anything, I wanted to post these thoughts about my visit last night. Most of the images speak for themselves.

Yes, I’d go again: It’s great for date night. I imagine, earlier in the day, lots of loud, happy children running around, but that’s OK too. I would have loved the opportunity to have taken my daughters to something like this when they were young.

Bottom line: It’s an Instagram and people-watching paradise.

Entrance, left; gift shop, right.

I’d temper expectations, though, with these half-dozen observations:

• It’s essentially a high-tech slideshow (reminding me of the highly choreographed July 4 fireworks displays).
• It’s not totally “immersive” (with all the pedestrian activity and curtains and pipes and scaffolding and neon Exit signs).
• Mind all the wandering people holding up cell phones (including me!).
• Mind all the restless people on never-ending searches for the best seat in the house (it’s all pretty much the same, but I admire their motivation).
• There’s an app for all this (and it’s quite good, too).
• There’s a gift shop about the size of half a football field (peppered with AR app-enabled activations), and prix-fixe $36 parking at the Pier 36 site.

That last is the point that disheartened me: all the commercialism, all the Van Gogh-branded merchandise.

Van Gogh’s work is now in the public domain — unlike all the Instagram photos taken at the exhibit that Mark Zuckerberg probably now owns.

A half dozen promoters of expensive, immersive Van Gogh exhibits are now profiting off the work of an artist who only sold one painting during his lifetime.

I went to the “original” exhibit at Pier 36 near South Street Seaport. I won’t risk copyright infringement by mentioning the exact name. Rest assured, there’s another similar immersive Van Gogh exhibit on the other side of Manhattan on Vesey Street, or coming soon to a town near you.

Juxtapose this commercialization of the artist with this sentimental, often-viewed video clip from a 2010 BBC episode of “Doctor Who”:

I get — and applaud — that immersive art exhibits are tantalizing glimpses of the quality of the entertainment and educational experiences made possible by technology.

I just don’t get the same connection to the source.

Not everything is a show, and Vincent Van Gogh wasn’t a brand. His painting of crows over a cornfield in Arles has long had deep personal meaning.

To me, it had always been a suicide note somehow translated to canvas.

Until last night, when it was just another Instagram post:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Bob Varettoni (@bvarphotos)

PS- Sometimes the view outside the exhibit is just as lovely.

Images of Thota Vaikuntam's New York, via Prisma

New York City can be an optical prism.

Sometimes my Google Photos folder will reflect back images of New York in black and white; other times in vibrant color. Here's a folder of New York City images, auto-stylized by Google in recent years, through 2020.

In 2021, I'm beginning to appreciate New York as a blank canvas.

Recently, I've been experimenting with a favorite photo app called Prisma. Caitlin Dewey of The Washington Post once wrote how Prisma "convincingly redraws your smartphone photos in the style of 33 famous artists."

She explained, "Prisma uses an AI technique called neural network processing to generate an entirely new image based on the one you give it. It detects patterns in your photo, and in the work of the selected artist, and uses the rules pulled from those patterns to make a third, combined image."

This month, I selected the Indian artist Thota Vaikuntam. Posted here are 9 of the resulting images, reimagining my favorite city in the early spring of 2021.

Greetings From Grounds for Sculpture: The Legacy of Seward Johnson

"Daydream," aluminum figures 60 feet tall.

Long-time New Jersey resident and son of a Johnson & Johnson founder, J. Seward Johnson, 89, died at his second home in Florida at the start of the pandemic in March.

He died of cancer, not COVID-19. Yet to me his legacy has special meaning during the long months of social distancing and lockdown in the remainder of 2020.

"The Power of Suggestion," if sand were snow.

Seward was always, always creating. His work continues to delight and fascinate people today, and it will for years to come.

Seward finds wit and beauty and charm in the ordinary. In his more whimsical works, he invites us all to experience and celebrate grandeur.

A prolific sculptor, his hyper-realistic work graces many public places in and around New Jersey: Nowhere more so than at Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton, the sculpture park he founded in 1992.

I visited the 40-acre site last weekend, trekking through the snow like a madman to capture these images of Seward's work.

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On a personal note, I am writing this while with a half dozen strangers who have gathered for an online meetup called “Just Shut Up & Write!”

It’s very therapeutic, and highly recommended.

"God Bless America," American Gothic in NJ, 14 feet high. 

Writers of all genres log in, and a host leads introductions. People often share what they will work on. Then the host sets a timer and tells everyone to “shut up and write!”

So that’s what you do — muted, cameras off — until the group reconvenes for a break. Maybe there’s another round of writing after that, but that’s the gist. Meetup.com has info on how to join one of the 319 Shut Up & Write! groups worldwide.

Works by Seward Johnson in outside storage.

Back in pre-COVID times, these meeting used to be in real life, generally at coffee houses.

How quaint.

How times have changed.

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All our journeys have taken twists and turns since March. Trying to stay creative has lowered lockdown stress for me.

In April, I submitted a short-story about an orange cat to a fiction contest. Our family cat had died, so the tale was horror-tinged. I also integrated more photography into blog posts and experimented with captions on Instagram, posting haiku captions of "Ghost Town" after returning to work in New York City a few days each week in the summer.

In my hometown in New Jersey, the New Milford Library used personal Pinterest and Facebook posts in a repository of local stories about the pandemic and lockdown. Anna, the librarian, worked with Janet, a local writer and teacher, to start a virtual photo-journaling group.

We met weekly via Zoom in the summer and fall, taking part in prompted writing exercises with neighbors and local high school students. Journalist Laura Holson joined one great session to talk about creativity. Other sessions inspired new poetry.

Views of "The Awakening," a giant embed in earth.

Meanwhile, each Saturday morning I've joined a webcast hosted by former New York Times photo editor Steffen Kaplan. His "Spin It Social Hour" is an entertaining and informative conversation with photography pros, featuring and promoting their work.

So thank you to Steffen, Laura, Anna, Janet, Suzanne (who organized this weekend's Black Glass Gallery visit to Grounds for Sculpture), to the sympathetic strangers writing with me online right now, and to all the authors, artists and photographers who have helped me through 2020.

I believe Seward Johnson's advice to all of us would be this:

"Life is too short. Try to leave something of lasting value to others. Just shut up and create."

From afar, these two look very real!

I pulled the mask above the jogger's nose
(don't tell anyone);
also, I love the painter's optimistic view of what he sees!

"Crossing Paths"; I inserted myself for scale.

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Photo by the great Mickey Sica.
Black Glass Gallery photographers at Grouds for Sculpture, 12/20;
I'm second from left, my right hand in imitation
of "Redon's Fantasy of Venus" by Seward Johnson.

Find higher-res versions of these photos from Grounds for Sculpture in this Google Photos folder.