I'm Kenney Mencher. I'm an artist who left a tenured professorship in 2016 to pursue making art full time. This blog is about art, art history, with a emphasis on human rights. I make homoerotic art featuring bears, otters & other gay wildlife.
Woodcuts from Lorenz Stoer's "Geometria et Perspectiva," 1567.
These drawings feel so contemporary but they are from the Renaissance. I used to give my drawing students almost exactly this assignment when learning perspective.
From Stoer's unique, image-based treatise on linear perspective - in each woodcut a complex polyhedron or combination of solids are embedded in a kind of dreamlike ruinscape. More here:
Cordoba's mosque and cathedral are layers of arch technology in a kind layered timeline.
Something I wasn’t taught in my survey classes. When I visited, it was crazy interesting to see how every couple of generations would cover over, hide, renovate, and change the earlier iterations.
It's like a history of arch and dome technology. Want to learn more?
This metope, stolen from the Parthenon, exhibited at the British Museum, in person, has a wonderful little detail. When I walked to its right hand side, there was a hand wrapped around the back of the centaur's head. Just a neat extra, that if I hadn't seen it in person, I wouldn't have known existed.
I was annoyed by a guard when I asked her where the Elgin Marbles were. She responded, "We don't refer to them as the "Elgin Marbles," because that is an inaccurate description for two reasons. They are not longer in Scottland, in Lord Elgin's collection, and it's a little embarrassing to call them that. We call them by the name the 'Parthenon Marbles.'"
As I walked away from her, I whispered to Valerie, "If they are so embarrassed, why don't they give them back?"
Athena "lost her marbles" when the Scottish/British ambassador got permission from Turkey, which had conquered Greece, to remove the sculptures, bring them to his Scottish mansion and placed them as decorations on his home. Want to know more? https://www.kenneymencher.com/courses
At the British National Gallery, underneath the Master of Albertini's "Madonna with Child" are several panels from the predella of the Maesta altar by Duccio. It's almost a bit like the curators are pretending that these smaller predella panels, by Duccio, belong with Albertini's painting. It made feel kind of weird. Part of me feels like it's not fair that these panels are in England rather than returned to Italy and reunited with the Maesta Altar. However, if I was a curators at the British National Gallery, or even a private citizen who had these panels in my collection, I would probably be okay with holding on to them. Nevertheless, it was such an exciting experience to see these panels in person. I've seen so many "canon" great works in person these last three weeks that I'm afraid of losing the memories of my impressions. If you would like to learn more about art history, I teach two survey classes on Udemy. https://www.kenneymencher.com/courses
Duccio at the National Gallery in Britain, I've gotten to see and kind of physically experience a cool painting. The surface, cracks and textures. It's behind. Kind of like meeting a person you're friends with on Facebook. It's jarring and wonderful at the same time.
Duccio really understood the Byzantine or Greek style and somehow transitioned to the early Renaissance. Sort of like the Fugee's cover of "Killing me Softly."
Mary Cassatt was an American artist who worked in Paris during the
late 1800s. Before getting into her life, it's worth mentioning an art
historian named Linda Nochlin. In 1971, Nochlin wrote an article called Why
Have There Been No Great Women Artists? She argued that the main reason
women weren’t widely recognized in art history wasn’t because they lacked
talent, but because they were often blocked from accessing the training and
institutions that helped artists build careers. This included art schools,
exhibitions, and professional networks mostly controlled by men.
Mary Cassatt is one example of a woman who did manage to
build a recognized career in art. She was born in Pennsylvania to a wealthy
family—her father was a banker from Pittsburgh. When she was a child, her
family spent about five years living in Europe. After returning to the U.S.,
she studied art privately and later enrolled at the Pennsylvania Academy of the
Fine Arts. At age 22, in 1866, she returned to Europe to continue her studies
with painters there.
While living in Paris, she became part of the avant-garde
art scene and developed a close friendship with Edgar Degas. He was a key
influence on her, and their artistic styles share some similarities, especially
in how they used pastel. Like Degas, Cassatt applied short, layered strokes of
bright colors, letting the viewer’s eye blend them—a method known as optical
mixing. She also used non-local color, which means adding unexpected
hues like purples or blues to skin tones or shadows, rather than just painting
them in realistic tones.
Cassatt is best known for her scenes of women and children,
which were common subjects in her work. Even though she never married or had
children, a lot of her art focuses on motherhood. In that way, her work
connects to earlier artists like Angelica Kauffman, who painted scenes about
women’s roles in society. But Cassatt’s scenes tend to feel more like real
moments—less staged and more like quick glimpses into everyday life.
One of the interesting things about Cassatt’s work is how
she mixes technique with subject. For example, she might show a mother holding
a child, but instead of making everything look polished or idealized, she
focuses on texture, color, and light. These choices link her closely with the Impressionists,
a group of artists who painted scenes of modern life with loose brushwork and
attention to changing light.
Some people argue that Cassatt was a better draftsperson
than many of the other Impressionists. Whether or not that’s true, it’s clear
she had a strong grasp of anatomy and form. Her figures feel solid and natural,
and her ability to capture the human body in motion or in stillness shows real
skill.
Mary Cassatt’s paintings from late 19th-century Paris share
some features with the work of Edgar Degas, especially in how both artists
captured scenes related to entertainment and public life. They often focused on
people at the opera or ballet, which had become major parts of Parisian culture
after Baron Haussmann’s redesign of the city. Cassatt and Degas were interested
in the act of looking, both from the audience and among the crowd itself.
In Cassatt’s painting on the right, a woman is shown holding
a pair of opera glasses. This detail connects to Degas’s At the Ballet,
where a woman in the foreground also holds opera
glasses with a tense grip. Behind the main figure in Cassatt’s
painting, there’s a man leaning over a balcony using opera glasses to look at
her. That kind of interaction—where someone is watching someone else who might
also be watching—shows a layered way of looking that was common in Paris at the
time, especially in public venues like the opera. These moments tie into the
idea of spectacle, where being seen and watching others were both part
of the experience.
This also connects to a larger idea called the male gaze.
The term refers to how women are often shown in art and media from a male point
of view—usually as objects to be looked at. Even though Cassatt painted from a
woman’s perspective, she was still working in a world shaped by male
expectations and audiences. Her work had to fit into the social norms of the
time, even as she brought a different perspective to it.
Another painting that brings up the idea of the male gaze
is Édouard Manet’s A Bar at the Folies-Bergère. In that work, a man is
shown watching a performance through opera glasses, and a woman stands at the
bar with a neutral or distant look on her face. Her reflection in the mirror
behind her shows her interacting with the man, but it’s unclear what she’s
thinking. The setup places the viewer in the position of the man, reinforcing
the act of looking and being looked at.
That kind of interaction shows up in many Impressionist works, where
women appear as performers, dancers, or people in the crowd who are still on
display in some way.
During this time, for a woman to succeed as a public figure
in the arts—whether as a singer, dancer, or actress—she often had to meet
certain expectations about appearance. Beauty was part of the public image that
helped women become well known. Cassatt was aware of this, and even if her
paintings were more focused on women’s private lives, like motherhood or quiet
moments, they still interacted with the broader culture of looking and
performance in 19th-century Paris.
Mary Cassatt’s The Bath (1882) and Edgar Degas’s Morning
Bath (c.1883) both focus on bathing scenes, but they handle the subject
differently. Both artists were influenced by formal elements like non-local
color—where colors don’t match reality—and flattened space, which
reduces depth and makes everything feel closer to the surface of the picture.
These elements can also be seen in ukiyo-e, a style of Japanese
woodblock printing that both artists were aware of. In Cassatt’s work, the
stripes on the clothing and rug patterns help flatten the space and pull
attention to texture and surface, rather than depth.
Printed fabrics and patterned wallpaper were widely available in the
19th century due to new industrial techniques. Artists like Manet, and later
Matisse, often included these decorative elements. In Cassatt’s painting,
there’s also this interest in surface detail, especially in how she handles the
striped gown, the rug, and the basin.
Degas’s Morning Bath, on the left, shows a nude
figure stepping into a tub. The focus is on the curve of the back and the dim,
indoor lighting. The scene feels private, and the setting looks like a bedroom.
Cassatt’s painting, on the other hand, shows a clothed woman helping a child
bathe in a white basin. The woman’s arm supports the child, who rests one hand
on the edge of the bowl. The scene shows physical care and isn’t posed for
display. It focuses on daily activity and interaction, rather than showing the
body in a way that might suggest voyeurism.
A story that’s been passed around—though it doesn’t have a
confirmed source—is that Degas once joked with Cassatt at a party, asking her
when she would stop painting “Virgin Marys and their Christ-like children.” If
true, this story reflects how scenes of women and children were sometimes
dismissed as overly sentimental by male artists at the time. But in this
painting, Cassatt doesn’t show the moment as romantic or overly emotional. The
figures are focused on what they’re doing, and the painting doesn’t try to
dramatize the action.
Some historians have tried to link Cassatt and Degas
romantically, but there’s no real evidence they were in a relationship. They
worked together, had similar interests in technique and subject matter, and
were both unmarried. There’s also speculation that both might have been asexual,
though that can’t be confirmed either. What’s clearer is that they respected
each other’s work and exchanged ideas about form, composition, and subject.
There’s a story people sometimes tell about Mary Cassatt in her later
years, though it should be fact-checked if you plan to use it in a research
paper because it is most likely apocryphal. The story goes that by the time she
was in her seventies, after years of painting en plein air (which means
painting outdoors), she developed serious cataracts and was nearly blind.
Claude Monet had a similar problem late in life. One day, a friend visited
Cassatt and brought her young child along. The child sat next to Cassatt, and
she gently touched the child’s face and said something like, “I wish I could
see your face one more time so I could
paint you.” Whether or not the story is true, it shows how deeply
connected she was to the subjects she spent so much of her life painting.
Cassatt often focused on the everyday lives of women,
especially moments that involved caregiving, domestic routines, and
communication. One example of this is her print of a woman writing a letter.
Scenes like this have a long history in art. Johannes Vermeer, for example,
painted several women reading or writing letters in quiet interiors. In
literature too, writing letters was an important way women were represented as
connecting with others—Dangerous Liaisons, written in the 18th century,
is a well-known novel told entirely through letters. Love letters and personal
correspondence have been important themes in both literature and visual art.
In the print being discussed, Cassatt uses strong, precise
drawing. It also shows influence from ukiyo-e prints from Japan,
especially in the way the image flattens space and emphasizes patterns. These
Japanese prints had a big influence on many 19th-century European artists. In
this print, for example, the striped fabric and surface patterns play a big role
in the composition. There’s also a desk with a slanted top that might look
distorted at first glance, but it’s actually shaped like a real trapezoidal
writing desk used during that period.
Another print by Cassatt carries the same focus on mothers
and children, especially the way a mother might hold or touch a child in
everyday moments. This kind of physical closeness shows up in many of her
works, often through small gestures like an arm wrapped around a child or a
hand gently supporting them.
At the British National Gallery, some of Leonardo's stuff. I took a bunch if photos to show size and scale as well as the revisions. Too much to write about here, but scroll through the pics and let me know what you think?
It was a great experience. The curators have it installed in a tiny darkened room that felt chapel like. It was directly behind the wall in which the British version of the "Madonna of the Rocks" was hung. (There are two versions, one also in the Louvre.)
The Louvre also has version of the "Madonna with St. Anne."
For me, it gave a glimpse into how Leonardo reuses his poses and compositions. Also, gave me a bit of insight into how cartoons were used to map out and plan his paintings.
The reuse of even the poses of the hands. It was cool to see his corrections and revisions of smaller elements of hands and feet.
I took a bunch if photos to show size and scale as well as the revisions. Too much to write about here, but scroll through the pics and let me know what you think?
