Something Brilliant from 1936

Today I saw this painting, and for some reason, deep down in my soul, I loved it.

Our school hosted a workshop for professional development, and an art teacher came to school and talked with us about using art. Better yet, using art and writing about it.

Here's the music that should go with this painting.  At least this is what I would do to mix music and art.

I really soaked this in. It reminded me that if I ever went to grad school, it would be less than inspiring to sit through conversations about ed policy, and much more thriling to absorb the knowledge of art historians. It was a fairly surprising thought today because I generally never know what to say when people ask me about grad school. I try to find the realistic answer. Which is lame. The realistic answer is education, but of course there is always more. Like art history. Or counseling. Or writing. That's when my world gets bigger.

I am not usually drawn to pictures like this. But I think I liked it first because it was blue. We were encouraged to look at it and say something about it that would connect to our classrooms. Isn't this what I do for fun inside my own mind every day anyway? Why yes, yes it is.

Later in the day, I went so far as to put this in the frame on my desk that usually holds a picture of my favorite place in Montana. This is a hallowed space....the one place for a picture on my desk. I look at it so many times subconsciously in the day, especially when I look up from the fatigue of grading or a million e-mails. It has to be a good picture to look at. The reason I changed it was because it made me think about my own life and style in the classroom, but also what I gathered from my colleagues as well. Gathering things from colleagues is so important in teaching....it's an ideal thing that is, some weeks, lived out naturally, while other weeks it's so hard to even find them in the building. The other times take intention and effort. This picture, 'Untitled #10', reminds me of the bigger look of our school and the world.

There is more, much more, that could be said about this painting. First, its background.

I took this from the Weisman Art Museum's website.

This small painting was created as part of the U.S. Government's Works Progress Administration programs for visual artists. WPA programs sought to help unemployed people during the Great Depression of the 1930s and included providing federal money to fund the work of artists across the country. The art of the WPA was usually realistic in style. Corazzo was one of the WPA artists who continued to paint in a completely abstract style during the 1930s.

Alexander Corazzo was born in France and came to Minnesota in the early 1930s. Trained both in music and civil engineering, he studied painting with Cameron Booth. Corazzo later moved to Chicago and studied architecture at what was called the New Bauhaus led by Mies Van Der Rohe. By the outbreak of World War II in the 1940s, Corazzo had ended his work in abstract painting to turn fully to a career as an architect.

I sort of like that he went back to his previous life as an architect after the period in our country's history that was so devastating and fortifying for so many people. This emphasis on art too makes the New Deal seem really brilliant to me.  The government made sure to supply the people with more than meals.

The element of bias is always ringing in my mind somewhere when I consider history, but overall I believe this was a pretty stellar thing to add to the mix in the 1930s. You think about the Middle Ages in Europe and see that there really was a period of time when art and music were limited to a select few who kept the histories of people alive. Everyone else was living like peasants and trying to survive. I literally teach this concept in Ch. 2 of my book. I see the illuminated manuscripts and hear about the secret artists and the scribes, and feel a sigh of relief knowing that throughout time, even in ruin, there are people who keep on with the arts. In the Middle Ages you found it most in the church, and in the 1930s in America, you saw it in murals on buildings. There is something very hopeful about not forgetting about beautiful things.

I am very curious about the 1930s because it often seems to me that the pendulum has swung so far in the other direction for my own generation. I like that this piece of art came out of that time and that Alexander Corazzo painted the way he wanted to, even though everyone else was generally not an abstract artist for the WPA in the 1930s.

So.

To me, this painting shows what I see in history. In a world of linear and cyclical lines, this is more my style. I make sure to keep a distinct level of organization and structure since I'm trying to express this to the masses when I teach. But this shows me what is real about history. People setting out in their own lives, changing their minds, back tracking, spinning, and rerouting. It's what makes it interesting. It's what makes things come together. It's a compelling reminder that the things that are written in the history books aren't always true of the times. There is more, and it is mysterious.

I say themes can be linear, but they can just as easily be jumbled and mixed all together. Maybe the red dot is the year 0. Maybe every different color is a century. Maybe the lines really are lifetimes or empires. Or maybe this is more like a game of tag or the tangled awkwardness of middle school like my colleagues suggested it might be. Guess who suggested that it was tag? The gym teacher. Things like that remind me that I love to see what makes people tick, and sometimes I want to be a career counselor.

All I know is that when I look at it, there is a whole, and that's a very comforting thing, even with the mess. And today there was a moment when I resonated with Tom Haverford from 'Parks and Rec' in this moment.

He sees abstract art and says,

"It’s abstract, Leslie! Over here, you got some shapes, and then you come over to this side… you know, it’s actually, kind of interesting. Each shape is its own thing, but then when it comes together… it really gives you a sense of — completion.

A piece of art caused me to have an emotional reaction. Is that normal?"

I say yes.