A Visit To The Legion of Honor to View The Brothers Le Nain Exhibition

Photo: Chronica Domus

Last month while perusing the web site of The Legion of Honor - which happens to be my favorite fine art museum in San Francisco for reasons I shall return to later in this post -  I noticed an upcoming exhibition that piqued my interest.  The exhibition focused on the paintings of the brothers Le Nain. Who I wondered, were these brothers, and what masterpieces had they painted? A rudimentary web search revealed that the works of Antoine, Louis, and Mathieu were a bit of a mystery.  No one, it seemed, could identify with certainty which piece of their oeuvre had been painted by which brother.

This peculiar discovery led me to procure two opening day tickets to what turned out to be a most enjoyable experience.  How could it not have been?  We were, after all, going to a museum so beautiful that it is a work of art in itself.  And, to top it off, my husband and I we were visiting on a sparkling warm autumn day with not a whisper of lingering fog to be seen anywhere.

This must be the most spectacular setting of any museum I've had the pleasure of visiting, with views of the Pacific Ocean spilling into the San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge off into the distance

Photo: Chronica Domus

This was also a day of optimal flying conditions if one happened to be piloting an F/A-18 Hornet jet.

Well, it was Fleet Week after all, and the Blue Angels were performing their annual areal gymnastics to the delight of onlookers across the city

Photo: Chronica Domus

The majestic scenery is just one of the reasons this happens to be my favorite art museum in the city. The classical decorative architecture is another.  Built in the Beaux-Arts style, the building is a three-quarter scaled rendition of the Palais de la Légion d'Honneur in Paris, and was a gift to the city by the sugar magnate Adolph B. Spreckels and his wife Alma.  Now, tell me, does not this spectacular entrance announce that one is about to arrive somewhere very special indeed?

Now this is an entrance befitting a world-class art museum, would you not agree?

Photo: Chronica Domus

Photo: Chronica Domus

What a contrast to the abysmal copper-clad monstrosity of the de Young Museum, which I wrote about, here.

Part of the opening day celebrations for the exhibition included a live performance of seventeenth century classical music by Seismic Strings.  The music gloriously poured into the entry hall from the nearby gallery where is was being played and set the mood for what was to come.

An impressive autumnal arrangement of foliage and seedpods decorate the entry to the gallery that was set up for a performance of live music

Photo: Chronica Domus

Following the concert, we decided it was probably a good idea to eat a late lunch before we headed downstairs to the exhibition. The Legion of Honor has an outstanding café which serves tempting and delicious hot entrées and snacks to sustain hungry museum goers.  This serene room overlooks the beautiful alfresco dining area that was a popular spot on the day we visited.  What a marvelous place for a relaxing breather and a bite to eat.

Now, onto the main event.  We descended the elegant marble-clad stairwell to the Rosekrans Galleries, wherein the exhibition was staged.  You'll notice when you visit the Legion of Honor that navigating the beautiful galleries is a breeze.  Everything is logically ordered and there is no fear of accidentally walking into a dead corner of an awkwardly designed space, which is often an unfortunate consequence of visiting the newly rebuilt de Young Museum.  But, let's return to the brothers Le Nain.

'Three Men and a Boy' circa 1640-1645 is believed to be an unfinished portrait of the brothers Le Nain likely painted by Mathieu, the central figure - interestingly, a cleaning to remove unoriginal paint in 1968 revealed the figure and color patches to the right of the painting 

Photo: Chronica Domus

The curators of this exhibition did a wonderful job of gathering more than forty of the brothers' works from museums and places of worship across England, France, and the United States.  Included is an altarpiece from Notre-Dame cathedral in Paris being exhibited for the first time in this country. It is one of the brothers' most important ecclesiastical works.

'St. Michael Dedicating His Arms to the Virgin', circa 1638 is being shown in the United States for the first time - if only we knew which of the three talented brothers had painted it

Photo: Chronica Domus  

Much investigative work by the conservators of this exhibition was carried out in an attempt to understand the techniques, brushwork, and modeling approaches used by the individual artists in determining who painted what.  As Antoine, Louis, and Mathieu all shared a studio and signed their works 'Le Nain', it was determined that some techniques were specific to only one brother, while others were used more generally by all three.  How frustrating it must be for all concerned to conclude that the mystery of which brother painted what work of art has yet to be conclusively proved.  

Although there were many other religious works on display, I was more drawn to the allegorical paintings.  'Allegory of Victory', which usually resides in The Louvre Museum, is one that I found particularly arresting.  The dramatic composition and scale immediately affixes the viewer's gaze, or at least it did mine.  I lingered upon it for what seemed like an eternity.  Not only is the subject matter transfixing, but the restrained and deliberately subdued color palette is masterful.  It simply took my breath away.  The winged and helmeted woman stands victorious over what is believed to be an allegorical figure of Deceit, Rebellion, or Intrigue. Oh, how I would love to hang this in my drawing room.

'Allegory of Victory' circa 1635, is believed to have been painted by Mathieu Le Nain and was my favorite painting of the exhibition

Photo: Chronica Domus

Another of the brothers' works I enjoyed viewing was 'Bacchus and Ariadne' which usually resides at the Musée de Beaux-Arts in Orléans, France.  The luminous quality of both Ariadne and Bacchus in contrast to the oarsmen is sublimely beautiful.  I only wish my dismal photograph could do this masterpiece justice but alas, there is nothing quite like seeing this artwork in person.

'Bacchus and Ariadne', circa 1635, is supremely beautiful in both composition and tonality

Photo: Chronica Domus

Aside from the religious and allegorical subjects on display, the brothers heavily focused their attentions on capturing scenes of everyday peasant life and the ills of poverty.

'The Resting Horseman', circa 1640, depicts a tenant farmer and his family, a subject often painted 

 by the brothers judging by the many works included in this exhibition

Photo: Chronica Domus 

If you happen to have a few hours to spare while visiting San Francisco, and would enjoy viewing this intriguing exhibition and learning about the fascinating clues unearthed when attempting to solve the puzzle of which brother painted which work of art, I urge you to come to The Legion of Honor. The Brothers Le Nain exhibition runs through January 29, 2017 so you have a few months ahead of you to plan accordingly.  And, if this happens to be your first visit, you'll be in for a real treat.  There are many other treasures in store to insure your time at this fine arts museum will be memorable.

A Pear Windfall

Photo: Chronica Domus

There are few pleasures so fulfilling as gathering one's homegrown fruit. So it was with much joy
that my family and I spent a recent warm Saturday morning gathering just a fraction of this year's pear harvest.

As each of us filled our bushel basket to overflowing, we often found ourselves remarking how agreeable it was to be in the depths of this most pleasant agrarian pursuit.  It was all rather surreal to be perfectly frank, knowing we were mere steps away from our house and not in the wilds of a far off fruit orchard.  Just look at what we managed to gather in short order.

Photo: Chronica Domus

I think we are all feeling in a particularly celebratory mood by this year's bountiful harvest because last year, our lone pear tree fell victim to the worst drought in California's recent history.  The unseasonably warm winter of 2014 and lack of spring rain resulted in just a smattering of blossom. The usual leaf out was very late to arrive leading to much fretting on my behalf.  I feared our beloved tree was a goner. Two misshapen tiny pears was the sum of last year's dismal harvest, but that was all the evidence I required to convince me that this stately old tree was not giving up without a fight. Life, it seemed, had somehow prevailed despite having endured the taxing growing conditions.

This year, as you can see from the preceding photographs, we are once again the very fortunate beneficiaries of a glorious crop of pears thanks in no small part to the thirst-quenching rain storms of El Niño.

We inherited our mature pear tree when we purchased our house so I cannot take any credit for selecting a cultivar that seems to thrive in our area's moderate summer climate.  I believe the variety is a Green d'Anjou, sometimes referred to as a Beurré d'Anjou or just plain Anjou pear. This mid-nineteenth century European cultivar was introduced to England and America from France or Belgium (nobody, it seems, is quite sure which). At maturity the short-necked fruits are large and green and do not change color as they ripen. Interestingly, the Pomological Congress of 1852 recommended the d'Anjou pear for general cultivation.  I had no idea such a congress existed until researching this post.

Photo: Chronica Domus

Alas, the majority of our gathered fruit could not immediately be enjoyed when we picked it several weeks ago.  This is because in order to avoid the mealy texture of an over-ripened pear, the fruit requires picking when large but still firm. Ripening occurs off the tree.

Ah well, one could still enjoy one's pears as living art, gathered in pretty bowls and compotes placed about the kitchen until the long-anticipated moment of perfect ripeness.  Sharing with our friends and neighbors is always a ritual I so enjoy, and one which they too appreciate.

Our bushel baskets are full but there are still plenty of pears remaining for another day's picking

Photo: Chronica Domus

Cooking with pears is another pleasure I look forward to over the coming weeks.  The possibilities are seemingly endless and all that is required is deciding what to make with them.  Cakes, crisps, or crumbles.... hmmm?  Just yesterday, I baked two scrumptious pear and cranberry crostatas. One was walked over to a dear neighbor friend, the other was swiftly devoured as a post dinner treat by the family.

I am so pleased I managed to snap this image of yesterday's homemade pear and cranberry crostata before it vanished into the mouths of a hungry and appreciative family

Photo: Chronica Domus

While in the garden earlier in the week, I noticed that within the few short weeks since our pear harvest, our stalwart tree has begun preparations to meet the cooler months of the year.  The subtle signs that autumn has descended upon the garden have arrived.  The rains did too this weekend.

Autumn has left her orange and yellow calling cards with the first of the turning leaves

Photo: Chronica Domus

Do you enjoy cooking with pears at this time of year or do you prefer to eat them just at their ripest when they are all sweet and buttery perfection?

Decorating Black Basalt Ceramics: A Revolutionary Little Machine

These early black basalt ceramics are decorated with an array of engine-turned designs

Photo: Chronica Domus

I had intended to write about this subject for quite some time and a comment made on my last post from loyal reader and fellow blogger GSL finally convinced me to get my skates on and actually follow through.  So here today, for your enjoyment and edification, is my laywoman's attempt at explaining how the delightfully incised decorations often seen on early black basalt ceramics have come to be.

As readers of this blog might have noticed, I have a bit of a problem crush obsession with black basalt ceramics.  I regularly find myself reaching for these utilitarian and handsome objects to use at our table, as flower receptacles, or even as a Christmas tree holder.  As GSL so astutely noticed when I posted on my sweet peas recently, the vessel I used to hold my blooms is decorated with a cross-hatch design.  He wondered how it had been made.

The geometric cross-hatching on this black basalt vessel sparked GSL's interest and his question on how such a design was achieved on early ceramics

Photo: Chronica Domus

It was the genius of Josiah Wedgwood in 1763 that introduced the world to the ornamental engine-turning lathe which was enthusiastically installed in his Staffordshire pottery that very year.  Mr. Wedgwood had first set eyes on the lathe at Matthew Boulton's Birmingham metal workshop and was immediately enthralled by the possibility of adapting it to decorate his ceramics. By rotating the leather-like surface of an earthenware article, the potter was able to embellish the surface with a series of exacting ribs and patterns with great precision. The results would bring Josiah Wedgwood fame among his extensive circle of wealthy clientele.

A frame from a video made by British Pathé illustrating how a design was cut into the body of one of Wedgwood's pots using the ornamental engine-turning lathe

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I adore the graphic engine-turned decoration on these neoclassically inspired Wedgwood tea wares with finials depicting Sybil the ancient Greek oracle

Photo: Chronica Domus

A detailed look at two sugar basins skillfully executed on the Wedgwood lathe

Photo: Chronica Domus

Interestingly, Josiah Wedgwood's shrewd business instinct led him to market black basalt tea wares to fashionable ladies who had adopted the curious custom of bleaching their hands with arsenic. As you can imagine, juxtaposing porcelain-like skin against the dark-bodied teapots and milk jugs served to highlight his patron's vanity to great effect.

A trio of early-nineteenth century black basalt milk jugs showcasing 

three distinct engine-turned decorations

Photo: Chronica Domus

A closer look at the intricate engine-turned pattern on a helmet-shaped milk jug circa 1820

Photo: Chronica Domus

Perhaps some of my own pieces of  black basalt were purchased from the Wedgwood & Byerley showrooms in St. James' Square, London
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It did not take long until Wedgwood's contemporaries followed his lead and acquired their own engine-turning lathes.  The firms of William Baddeley and Hackwood & Co. are two that adopted this form of decoration but neither could rival the quality of Wedgwood's designs.

A beloved pair of Hackwood & Co. slop bowls display a graphic zigzag design which is not as finely executed as the Wedgwood examples in my collection

Photo: Chronica Domus

During my research for this post, I came across an intriguing photograph of the nineteenth-century ornamental engine-turning lathe in situ at the basalt room of the Wedgwood pottery in Etruria.  The lathe has now been moved to the Wedgwood Museum in Barlaston, a place I've been fortunate enough to have visited on my travels many years ago.

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What excites me most about the image is the object in the potter's hand.   It appears to be a very similar example of my basalt vase which is shown in the following photograph:

A favored piece in my collection is this small vase which highlights the supreme skill of the potter who adorned it with a band of engine-turned acanthus leaves and geometric fluting

Photo: Chronica Domus

Ornamental engine-turning was by no means Wedgwood's only method of decorating his world-famous ceramics, but it is a particular favorite of mine as the designs still appear fresh and exciting, if not slightly contemporary, two-hundred years on from their manufacture.

I hope you have enjoyed learning about the process of how these varied patterns found their way onto such handsome ceramics.  And, of course, my thanks to GSL for his intriguing inquiry which is what ultimately led me to finally write this post.  I do hope I've managed to unravel the mystery of the cross-hatching for you.

For those of my readers that might be interested in learning more about Josiah Wedgwood and his world-renowned company, and see the very same ornamental engine-turning lathe discussed in this post in action, I would gently encourage you to view this two-part film found here, presented by Associated British Pathé.

What's Blooming Inside: Summer's Last Hurrah

Photo: Chronica Domus

We may have entered the first days of autumn here in the Northern Hemisphere, but try telling that to my garden.  Do you remember the sweet peas about which I wrote in early August, and the surprise I received when only blossoms of a sugared almond pink color appeared from the assorted heirloom seed packet I planted? Well, this is what the sweet pea patch yielded yesterday morning:

A nineteenth century black basalt vessel sets off the exultant colors of
autumnal sweet peas to perfection
Photo: Chronica Domus

At long last, the other colors depicted so prettily on the seed packet's charming illustration - which enticed me into buying it in the first place - have emerged.  Late, I'll admit, but they made it through. Thinking back, I don't believe I have ever had the pleasure of picking sweet peas so very late in the year.

Even the glass bathroom shelf gets in on the act with a mixed rosy-hued posy composed of the last sugared almond pink sweet peas that have been in bloom throughout the summer

Photo: Chronica Domus

I think it is simply marvelous that the emergence of these jewel-toned flowers have such impeccable timing.  What could be more appropriate, as we approach the cooler months of the year, than to be greeted by the sight of vivid regal purples and crimson pinks in one's vases?  As everything around the garden fades to gold, these rich and exuberant colors reign supreme.  It's summer's last hurrah.

Photo: Chronica Domus

For those of my readers that have never planted sweet peas, let me share a secret with you.  The more one harvests these irresistible blooms, the more seem to emerge.  Each plant is a veritable factory of flowers begging to be culled every few days.  If I'm fortunate, I'll be picking sweet peas well into October this year.

Have you noticed the subtle signs of autumn arriving in your neighborhood yet or is summer refusing to surrender?

My Problem with "no problem"

I'll get straight to the point.  There is a certain expression that simply grates on my nerves each and every time I hear it.  Sadly, I've been hearing it a lot lately.  I'm not sure if this is because I live in San Francisco where most things have become "hipster cool" and a little too laid-back-casual for the likes of my fuddy-duddy self.  Perhaps people are simply becoming lazier with their language?

As you might have guessed from the title of this post, I have a problem with "no problem".  What I mean by this is that when I thank someone for their service at a retail establishment or restaurant, the response I'm likely to receive - at least around these parts - is the grating and unfortunate "no problem" instead of the correct "you're welcome".  This sends ire and fire through my veins.

I often find myself on the cusp of correcting the linguistic miscreant who just volleyed their "no problem" my way.  Alas, I've yet to actually do so. Ultimately, I remember my good manners and just move along.  Perhaps this blog post may be my only outlet for tackling the dismal "no problem" problem.

"Thank's for the coffees, ma'am"

"No problem You're welcome boys"

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What I'd really like to say is something like this, "No, my patronage is indeed not a problem so please refrain from implying that it may have been.  I am, in fact, a paying customer who appreciates the assistance you've just provided, which is why I've thanked you in the first place. No absolution required".

Which brings me to yet another unfortunate use of the English language. Is anyone else tired of hearing the word "guest" instead of "customer" when out and about doing their shopping? If I'm your guest, should you not be treating me as such by sending me home with my basket of shopping gratis? I certainly don't expect guests under my own roof to pay for anything.  Please, call me what I am, a paying customer.

In a country where there is seemingly so much emphasis on customer service ("did you find everything you were looking for?", "have a nice day!"), business owners would be wise to train their employees to respond with "you're welcome" whenever a customer expresses their gratitude and appreciation.

Ordering food at restaurants has become a minefield of "no problems".  "May I have a glass of water" or "could I substitute ..." is often met with "no problem" instead of "yes",  "certainly", or just plain "no".

Please, do tell me, whatever happened to "you're welcome" or indeed the scarcely uttered "my pleasure" which I recall hearing from certain individuals in my youth and, astonishingly, more recently from a waiter to my great delight?  Is the "no problem" problem endemic to casual Californians, or do you too hear this infuriating expression in your neck of the woods?

Beachcombing on Playa Las Viudas

Treasured souvenirs from the playa, resting upon an 1837 hand-colored engraving of

seashells drawn by Captain Brown and engraved by G. Cranston, from my personal collection

Photo: Chronica Domus

I've been fortunate enough to visit a fair number of beaches in my life.  My parents enjoyed traveling extensively when my sisters and I were children and our summer holidays would always include stints by the seaside.  The fine sandy beaches of the Aegean and Mediterranean became our summer playgrounds.  We spent many happy hours splashing about in the warm currents, a novelty as compared to the frigid waters of the English Channel.

Being a curious child, I always made a point of scouring the beach for interesting objects. Unearthing the odd dropped coin or fragment of polished colored glass was always an exciting prospect. However, my favorite objects always remained the natural treasures which appealed so greatly to my sense of delight, and fascination with natural history.  You may be amused to learn that this gentle author secretly harbored dreams of becoming the next Mary Anning.

An inspiring figure from my youth, Mary Anning and Tray her faithful canine companion, depicted with Dorset's Golden Cap outcrop as a fitting backdrop

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It turns out that my love of beachcombing remains strong to this day.  While holidaying in Mexico recently, I took the opportunity of indulging in this pleasant pastime on one of the most secluded little beaches I have ever visited.

A view of Playa Las Viudas with its clear waters, pristine sandy beach, and rocky outcrops - we had the place to ourselves the afternoon we visited - it was heavenly!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Playa Las Viudas is a magical hidden cove that is tucked away off the main highway along the corridor between the towns of Cabo San Lucas and San Jose del Cabo.  Volcanic rock outcrops abound and although the sand is quite coarse, I greatly enjoyed getting my feet wet as I waded along the shoreline within inches of the crashing waves.  

Photo: Chronica Domus

We spent an enjoyable hour or so absorbed in the hunt for treasure. With the sun's beating rays upon our backs, combined with the stirring sound of the Sea of Cortez, it really was quite the tonic for unwinding.

Photo: Chronica Domus



Photo: Chronica Domus

What we found was astonishing.  Remnants of sea life aplenty.

Photo: Chronica Domus

I was all agog at the variety of corals and seashells we espied with seemingly little effort.  Their colors - which ranged from brilliant orange, mauve, gray, and taupe - and their intricate shapes were utterly beguiling.

Photo: Chronica Domus

I was enchanted most especially by the little orange-speckled oval seashells.  I had never seen anything quite like it on any other beach and here I was with two in the palm of my hand (well three, actually, but the third example had faded in the strong Mexican sunlight).

 

A dorsal and ventral view of Jenneria pustulata with its distinctive colors and pattern
Photo: Chronica Domus

Of course, this led me on a hunt down the electronic rabbit hole that is The Internet until I unearthed what exactly it was that had wholly captured my imagination.  Jenneria pustulata, it turns out, was first mentioned by the English botanist and conchologist John Lightfoot in 1786. Interestingly, Mr. Lightfoot was the curator of The Duchess of Portland's personal collection which in its day, was the most extensive and coveted natural collection in England.  I also discovered that aside from Western Mexico, Jenneria pustulata is found in such exotic locales as Costa Rica, Panama, and the Galapagos Islands, all places I have yet to enjoy the privilege of visiting.

Aside from a multitude of seashells, nuggets of lily-white coral litter Playa Las Viudas.  This stony coral happens to be the main food source of Jenneria pustulata which would explain why there was such a high concentration of it on one small stretch of beach.

A trio of coral nuggets rest upon another hand-colored engraving by C. Cranston, circa 1837, from my personal collection

Photo: Chronica Domus

These very special seashells, together with the other bits of unearthed natural treasure, make charming souvenirs of a place that has captured my heart.  I shall cherish them always as fond remembrances of a pleasant afternoon spent beachcombing in a spot that must surely be as close to paradise as one can imagine.

A lone boat sails past Playa Las Viudas
Photo: Chronica Domus

Tell me, do you have fond memories of visiting a favorite beach, or have you ever found anything of interest to capture your imagination that was laying about in the sand?

The Gloomsbury Set

The extended Gloomsbury Bloomsbury Set included Lady Utterline Immoral Lady Ottoline Morrell who snapped this image of 

Lytton Scratchy Lytton Strachey and Ginny Fox Virginia Woolf in 1923

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Nota bene: Since publishing this post I've been honored that Sue Limb, the author of  Gloomsbury, has been in touch to say that "You and your acolytes might be pleased to know we are recording a fourth series at the end of September".  Naturally, I'm plump with pride to be able to report this world exclusive here on Chronica Domus.  

What do Vera Sackcloth-Vest, Ginny Fox, Lady Utterline Immoral, Lytton Scratchy, and Venus Traduces all have in common?  Well, you might be interested to learn that they are all characters belonging to that (extended) coterie of writers, artists, and philosophers known as The Bloomsbury Set... I mean, The Gloomsbury Set.

I am currently listening to the re-airing of BBC Radio 4's amusing literary comedy Gloomsbury, which I became aware of a few years ago when it was first broadcast across the airwaves.  I would gently encourage you to listen to it too. Sparklingly written by British comedy writer Sue Limb, Gloomsbury comes to life through the marvelous voices of the talented Miriam Margolyes, John Sessions, and Alison Steadman.  For those of my readers who are located outside of earshot of the Beeb's radio broadcasts, fear not.  You will have an opportunity over the next three weeks to tune in via The Internet.  Series 1 is currently streaming to the world so do get thee to the following web site, pronto:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01mx2sp

The sitcom is serialized over three six-part installments, each part being thirty minutes long, and parodies the eccentric and oftentimes saucy bohemian goings on of the early twentieth century clique headed by Virginia Woolf, or Ginny Fox as she's known here.  Don't you just adore Miss Limb's punny humor in the renaming of her Gloomsbury Set?

Venus Traduces Violet Trefusis and  Vera Sackcloth-Vest Vita Sackville-West

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Gloomsbury is littered with smart little quips that make reference to the real-life characters of the Bloomsbury Set.  Take for example Vera Sackcloth-Vest's instructions to her gardener in the planting of the north border at Sizzlinghurst.  As she rattles off a list of nonsensical Italian-sounding plant names (formaggio mezzaluna anyone?), the dear fellow is prompted to ask "will that be pink or cream".  "Cream of course, man!" comes the snippy response, "I won't have pink anywhere near Sizzlinghurst".

The famous white garden at Sissinghurst Castle, created by Ms. Sackville-West, is one of England's most visited gardens

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Oh, and the production team could not have selected a more fitting piece of music for the theme song. Won't you take a listen for yourself?

"You're Driving Me Crazy" as sung by The Temperance Seven

I think Dorothy Parker described The Bloomsbury Set perfectly with her bon mot "they lived in squares, painted in circles, and loved in triangles".  If all this talk of squares and circles has piqued your interest, do please tune in for some radio high-jinks.  I'm sure you too will soon be delightfully amused, if not downright confused, by all the triangles.