MASTER IN THE STREETS

Hailed as the latest big deal from the art world, John Currin's first solo show at a U.S. museum is still at the Whitney in New York. The show's roughly 40 figurative paintings, many of them satirical, wowed the critics for their cartoonish sensibility, their provocative take on female beauty, and their technical brilliance. (Click on the slide show.)

We liked them, too, though we couldn't see any of them hanging on our living-room wall. Even if we did, we couldn't afford them. But if you like figurative art painted in a Baroque Renaissance style, the work of Kurt Wenner may be an alternative. Though it lacks satire and cartoonish provocation, it is no less technically brilliant from the look of it on the Web (the figuration, to say nothing of the trompe l'eoil, is amazing). And, I presume, it's a helluva lot less expensive.

Wenner, who was born in Michigan and raised in California, has a fascinating background. He bills himself as "Master Street Painter." A friend of mine says: "He is to streets what Michelangelo was to ceilings." Have a look at these: Deposition by Barocci (Santa Barbara, Calif.); Muses, original composition (Lucerne, Switzerland); Cocito, original composition (Padadena, Calif.); Holy Family by Bronzino (Messina, Italy); Concert of Angels (Saarbrucken, Germany); Dies Irae, original composition (Mantova, Italy). All of them are "painted" with pastel chalk.

If nothing else, Wenner's religiosity would be a big hit at the White House.

January 28, 2004 11:21 AM |

Categories:

Me Elsewhere

'WILD SIDE' STILL ROCKS 

Nelson Algren was one of the great American authors of the 20th century, it is no exaggeration to say, and among the most neglected. Consider his underrated classic, "A Walk on the Wild Side." The title -- popularized and co-opted as an idiomatic phrase by Hollywood and Madison Avenue (institutions Algren loathed) -- is familiar to most anyone who speaks English or knows Lou Reed's lyrics. But the novel itself? Hardly.

BUSTER KEATON REVISITED 
Buster Keaton: Tempest in a Flat Hat is not a biography. "This book is merely a fan's notes," Edward McPherson writes in the introduction, although his publisher ignores the disclaimer and calls it a biography on the cover. In fact, the book is a bit of both, a difficult combination to bring off unless you're David Thomson, who set the standard with Rosebud, his penetrating rumination on the life and career of Orson Welles, which was nothing if not a distillation of every obsessive thought he ever had about the myth and the man and all his movies.
LAUREN BACALL, STILL SALTY AT 80 
When Lauren Bacall writes that her singing voice ranges "somewhere between B minus sharp and outer space," she's being candid and funny. It's not every stage star with two Tony Awards for best actress in a musical whose vocal talent offers so little promise. (OK, Harvey Fierstein excepted.) Still less would one admit it.
THE STARS ACCORDING TO BOGDANOVICH 
Peter Bogdanovich's superb collection of movie-star profiles and interviews -- a sequel to Who the Devil Made It, his interviews of top film directors -- begins with an affectionate tale about Orson Welles that reminds us just how intimate the author's connection to Hollywood's greatest has been. But contrary to what we've come to expect from dime-a-dozen celebrities and celebrity interviews not worth two cents, the tale avoids bromidic egotism and journalistic platitudes.
SAMMY'S WHITE DREAMS 
Four decades ago Lenny Bruce sentenced Sammy Davis Jr. to "30 years in Biloxi," stripping him of "his Jewish star" and "his religious statue of Elizabeth Taylor." Now we have two new biographies of Davis that spring him from ridicule, if not from doubts about his legacy, and restore a measure of dignity to a black entertainer whose huge fame and success never overcame his devout wish -- indeed his lifelong effort -- to be white.
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