Wagner's Precious—The Ring Cycle

Carl Emil Doepler (1824–1905), Costume design for Brünnhilde, Der Ring des Nibelungen: Figurinen, Berlin: Berliner Kunstdruck- und Verlags-Anstalt, 1889, Chromolithograph. Gift of Hester Diamond, 2012. The Morgan Library & Museum.

It's practically unfathomable today to understand the popular impact of Richard Wagner's Ring Cycle when it premiered in 1876. It is more rightly compared to the latest Star Wars or, more analagously, Lord of the Rings premiere than any modern opera. Or it's possibly comparable to the current publicity tsunami of Lin Manuel Miranda's Hamilton on Broadway. But none of those merited a series of newspaper front-pages dedicated to reprinting segments of the score or script, as the Ring Cycle did in the New York Herald. We're talking about major real estate, not simply one of 10 articles or photos.

Richard Wagner (1813–1883), Letter to Carolyne Sayn-Wittgenstein including the closing measures of Das Rheingold, signed and dated Zurich, January 16, 1854. Mary Flagler Cary Music Collection, 1968. The Morgan Library & Museum.

Of course the 26-year build-up to the premiere, in Bayreuth, Germany, is the stuff of legend itself. This story is told at the Morgan Library's Wagner's Ring: Forging an Epic exhibition, on view through April 17. The trove of artifacts ranges from many letters and scores hand-penned by Wagner; a royal decree; costume designs; books; the aforementioned newspapers; an ivory, bejeweled conductor's baton; and a series of etchings showing Joseph Hoffman's scenic designs. Of particular note are a copy of Wagner's own score with his notes and remarks, and compositional drafts that would form the basis of the final opus.

Lilli Lehmann as Woglinde in Das Rheingold.
Bayreuth production. Photograph by J. Albert, Munich,
1876. Metropolitan Opera Archives.

As it goes for artists, Wagner needed money to fund his vision. King Ludwig II of Bavaria, a young monarch with a passion for Wagner's music, stepped in when the wealthy composer Franz Liszt declined. Lest we think it was an easy ride, Wagner—who, fleeing creditors, had to be tracked down by the king's agent—signed a contract promising a finished score within three years; it would then belong to the king, and in return Wagner's debts were erased and he was given a salary and housing. 

Sounds pretty sweet, right? But Wagner decided he wanted it to premiere in Bayreuth rather than in Munich, as agreed upon by contract. This entailed designing a theater (Festspielhaus) to his specifications and raising the money for construction. In addition to the royal stipend, this meant leaning on private societies founded to support Wagner's work, a kind of precursor to Kickstarter. 

The exhibition shows what an institution like the Morgan does best. It draws on its own collection, but many objects are on loan from the Richard Wagner Museum in Bayreuth. It's interesting to see what all the fuss was, and continues to be, about.  

Morgan Library—Romantic Landscapes and Other Treasures

Caspar David Friedrich, Landscape on Rügen with Shepherds and Flocks, 1809/10.Pen and black ink, brown wash, graphite,
and opaque white watercolor.The Morgan Library & Museum; Thaw Collection

A Dialogue with Nature: Romantic Landscapes from Britain and Germany, at the Morgan Library through Sept 7, is a long title for a compact, stunning show of works on paper from the pinnacle of this somewhat forsaken genre. It feels as though landscape art has been stowed up in the attic for awhile, perhaps because its prevalence in the 18th through early 20th centuries exhausted its exploration. And this grouping of works, chosen from the collections of the Morgan and London's Courtauld Gallery and curated by Matthew Hargraves and Rachel Sloan, shows the sublime, daunting heights achieved. What peaks were left to conquer, in a way?

Joseph Mallord William Turner, Mont Blanc, from Above Courmayeur, ca. 1810. Watercolor and graphite, some drawing into the wet paint with a sharp point and extensive scraping out. The Courtauld Gallery, Samuel Courtauld Trust: Gift in memory of Sir Stephen Courtauld, 1974

Not only do representative works in the show display unsurpassed technique in accurately rendering elements of nature, their color, composition, and additional details reflect the visionary imaginations of this select group of artists. Many of the German artists, in the tradition of Dürer, wield a fine, descriptive line. Caspar David Friedrich exemplifies the romantic German perspective in Landscape on Rügen with Shepherds and Rocks (1809/10). The fauna—sheep, shepherd—are subsumed into the vales, and the edifice absorbed by the stand of trees. It is a peaceful, bucolic view of nature and man co-existing.

The British artists seemed to have a way with the vagaries of moody weather and natural phenomena. Constable apparently recorded weather conditions and noted cloud formations. Some of the show's works were done in the British Isles, but Turner, for one, travelled to Switzerland to create some of the sublime pieces at the Morgan—Mont Blanc, from Above Courmayeur (1810), Pass at St. Gothard, Near Faido (1843), and On Lake Lucerne, Looking Towards Fluelen (1841?), which borders on abstraction, it is so consumed by the interweaving of light, fog, and sea that looms ahead. These pieces presage the advent of impressionism and expressionism, and provide a firm link with high romanticism. They also depict a wary relationship with nature, warning of its power and ferocity.

Joseph Mallord William Turner, Lucerne from the Lake, 1845.Watercolor, over graphite, with opaque watercolor, and scratching out

The Morgan Library & Museum; Thaw Collection

Another Turner, Lucerne from the Lake, 1845, very nearly shades into kitsch, with buildings reflected on the glassy surface, colorful boaters aforeground, mountains fading into the distant haze—again, a compatible view of nature and man. His technique is so facile, it's almost a distraction. And the label reveals how complex a process Turner actually followed: "Watercolor and graphite, some drawing into the wet paint with a sharp point and extensive scraping out." These are works on paper, don't forget. Who knows how much work went into his paintings.

In any case, the Morgan show is well worth visiting, a refreshing whirlwind tour of exotic landscapes in one gallery. Also on view: Miracles in Miniature: The Art of the Master of Claude de France, examples of the great French illuminator whose tiny paintings are sublime gems of mastery and meaning (through September 14). If you're not in New York, the Morgan has online archives of the Prayer Book, and many other fascinating online collections—true treasure troves.

The Little Prince—New York Roots

Drawing for The Little Prince. The Morgan Library & Museum, New York

© Estate of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Photo: Graham S. Haber

The Little Prince: A New York Story, at the Morgan Library through April 27, emphasizes the book's New York's roots. Antoine de St. Exupéry (1900—1944), who had left occupied France, lived in an apartment in New York where he drafted much of the book. He made mention of the city and of Long Island, which he summered as well, but those references were cut before the final version.

I recall the book as one of my favorites growing up. And despite a somewhat indistinct memory of the precise plot, the thought of the tri-state area's inclusion would certainly have diluted the exotic Frenchness, and other-worldliness, of it. There is a delicacy and preciousness that has nothing to do with the grit and humility of being in New York.

 Drawing for The Little Prince

 The Morgan Library & Museum, New York

© Estate of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Photo: Graham S. Haber, 2013

The book's theme of utter isolation is the one that resonates strongly in my childhood's eye. The prince standing all alone on his tiny planet, and his run-ins with others on their desolate orbs, more or less encapsulate the solitude of growing up. Childhood can be pretty lonely; in effect, you're on your own little planet until you learn how to play with all the other little (or big) aliens on their planets.

The concept drawings show the yellow-scarfed prince as angrier—eyebrows aslant, face more concerned—than the book, where he appears more placid and happy. This element of tension somehow permeated the settings, even if it was erased from the boy's personage. 

Sadly, St. Exupéry was deployed as The Little Prince was being printed. In 1944, he died on a recon mission in North Africa, shortly before the liberation of Paris. He would not see it printed in his native tongue. 

I like to think he observed the success of his book from the peace of his own little planet.

Beatrix Potter at the Morgan

Letter to Eric Moore, August 12, 1892

Beatrix Potter's books are so ubiquitous that they were simply part of growing up, alongside Dr. Seuss, at least for me. But there was something precious about my Potter books—their small size, textured dark blue covers, etching-like text imprinted on the covers. (That said, this is what I remember, not necessarily how they actually were. But it's the impression I'm talking about here!) They felt like little heirlooms, versus the cheap, glossy Seuss books with their bright colors, cheap paper, and bizarre characters.

Oh hai. The Tale of Benjamin Bunny

The Morgan's show, Beatrix Potter: The Picture Letters, on view through January 27, details how Potter developed her now-canonical tales in letters to the children of her former governess—she didn't know what to say to the kids, so she told stories. The show supports my recollections about the illustrations being finely detailed, accurate renditions of animal rather than cartoonish or anthropomorphic interpretations. Okay, so they wore little jackets and bonnets and stuff... but even those didn't look entirely comfortable, instead recalling toddlers dressed up for church in their stiff Sunday best. (There is one slightly disturbing divergence: the bunnies' leather shoe-shod feet are tiny.) But Potter was a bit of a pioneer, working primarily in the late 19th century and early 20th. She produced "merch," like greeting cards, early in her career, and pursued her uncompromising vision with focus that could not have been simple for a woman then.

She could paint plants, too. And kitties. Fawe Park

The Morgan show highlights her illustrated letters, beautiful artifacts that showed how integrated art and text were to Potter. The delicacy, and verismo, of her renditions of animals laced throughout missives to, in particular, children she knew. How lucky they were to be acquainted with Potter, and to receive such gem-like gifts that for her were merely her means of expression, like talking is for most. The Morgan revives such revered childhood companions as Peter Rabbit, Tom Kitten, and Jeremy Fisher. You might be surprised at how evocative these drawings and artifacts are, as was I.

Revolutionary: Louvre Drawings at the Morgan, 9/22/11

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Revolutionary: Louvre Drawings at the Morgan

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Théodore Géricault (Rouen 1791 - 1824 Paris). Scene of Combat: The Battle of Prince Eugène, 1817–18. Black chalk and gray wash with white heightening on brown paper.

A predominance of our mental imagery of the French Revolution comes from the thrilling, turbulent Delacroix and Géricault paintings from that time. The Morgan Library is exhibiting a collection of drawings from the Louvre that depict the period around the French Revolution, entitled David, Delacroix, and Revolutionary France: Drawings from the Louvre,September 23 — December 31. The era produced an abundance of superbly skilled artists who were able to imaginatively capture an important political shift, even if they might rather have been painting pastoral landscapes. Their contributions show how artists are coaxed into journalistic service, essentially reporting their times’ events.

Jacques-Louis David is known for a clinical precision of technique, and his satisfying balanced compositions, often depicting allegorical versions of historical figures. So it is exhilarating to see his drawing of Napoleon donning the crown which he had  just snatched from the Pope’s head—as close to a paparazzi shot as we’re likely to get. In the end, David scrapped this idea in favor of a safer depiction of the crowning of Empress Josephine.

The Morgan—Laugh to Keep from Crying, 1/28/09

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Cartoons about money at The Morgan Library.

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If you haven’t been to the Morgan Library & Museum lately, then you might be under the impression that it’s a musty, gilded mansion stuck in the olden days, albeit laden with treasured works on paper. But one of the current shows, On the Money, shows that the Morgan has a sense of humor and a contemporary kick to go along with its airy Renzo Piano greenhouse addition. This comes hot on the heels of the wonderful and very popular Babar drawing show(also blogged about for SundayArts), which no doubt introduced the Morgan to a whole new generation of collectors.

The exhibition of original drawings of money-themed cartoons from The New Yorker magazine turns a mirror on this institution, begun as the private library of magnate Pierpont Morgan. Many of the cartoons poke “poor little rich guy” fun at tycoons, or the Wizard of Oz-like façade of executive work. Others hit all too close to home in this house-of-horrors economic climate.

Aside from a couple from the 30s and 50s, a good deal of the cartoons in this show ran in gloomy economic times of recent decades: in the 70s, Black Tuesday in the late 80s, and again in the 90s. Come to think of it, it’s perversely reassuring that in each of the past several decades there have been dips in the country’s financial strength, and we managed to recover each time. We will again (right?), but the question is, after how much pain? It’s not nearly as bad as after 9/11 when it felt like the entire city might never laugh again, but I suppose it depends on your point of view.

Babar at the Morgan, 9/30/08

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Much as I have loved Babar from childhood, I had forgotten about many of the stories’ details that make the character more than just your average elephant. Besides the suit, bowler, and crown, Drawing Babar: Early Drafts and Watercolors, the exhibition at the Morgan Libraryreminded me of the complexities and richness that have forged this character into a memorably poignant one. The character was created by Cécile de Brunhoff for her two sons. Her husband, Jean de Brunhoff, had been a painter but had never undertaken childrens’ books until Babar.

Many of the great children’s stories seem to involve some kind of traumatic event that can scar kids for life. Here, a major plot point is that baby Babar’s mother gets shot by a hunter while he’s riding on her back. Ulp. So after he cries over her dead body, he takes off for France, gets a tailored suit (green, of all colors), shacks up with a rich older woman, and learns how to drive a roadster. Natch.

Two of the series’ books comprise the heart of the Morgan exhibition. Jean de Brunhoff’sHistoire de Babar, le petit éléphant (The Story of Babar the Little Elephant) is included, the inaugural book from 1931. Preliminary drawings, final watercolors, and printer’s proofs are shown. It’s fascinating to see the early sketches, where some of the elephants resemble blob-like doodles. You can see the evolution from concept to final composition, and note how the essence of each character was there from the start.