I enjoyed Arthur Gunn — born in Kathmandu — singing "Girl From North Country" on "American Idol."

The set is the Milwaukee Art Museum. I don't know if they ever mentioned where they were, but it's an unmistakably distinctive building.

"Arthur Gunn" is a stage name, adopted somewhere along the line, after his family moved to Wichita, Kansas. He has a little trouble keeping his eyes from rolling back in his head, but responds well to the advice to keep his eyes open, and is even better with his second song, "Who'll Stop the Rain?" CORRECTION: That is, “have You Ever Seen the Rain?” AND: Despite the title of the video, there right spelling of the last name is Gunn, so I’ve fixed that.

"Kevin... placed his Burberry glasses on the floor beneath a placard describing the theme of the gallery."

"He said neither he nor TJ did anything to influence museum visitors, such as standing around and looking at the glasses. Within about three minutes, people appeared to be viewing their handiwork as bona fide art, though Kevin said that without his glasses, he could not see what was happening too well."

Art prank.

I say an art prank is art anyway, so what difference does it make?*

It's nice that some teenagers thought of doing this and pulled it off so quickly and elegantly, but we've seen things like this many times before, perhaps more commonly in the form of someone in a gallery staring at something that's not an artwork and causing others to regard the thing as art. I seem to remember reading about Salvador Dali doing something like that. And of course there are all the stories about some artwork being seen as trash and thrown out.

__________________

*The difference is, you're putting your art in someone else's gallery, without invitation. It's like hanging one of your own paintings on a museum wall. Or... that would damage the wall. It's like making a drawing on a Post-It note and sticking it up next to drawings in a museum.

ADDED: Back in 2011, Meade put his whole-body art in the Milwaukee Art Museum right next to the Duane Hanson sculpture, "Janitor":

"I get that Sendik's Fine Foods wants to keep its customers happy and sell lots of groceries, but did it really need to block a tame Milwaukee Magazine cover showing two brides getting married?"

Asks Jim Stingl at the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

The "tame cover" is one that says: "For love & money: Same-sex marriage is big business and Wisconsin is losing out on millions."

One customer complained and the store put a black covering the offending text and photo (which of course set off other complaints).

What was offensive about the cover? I can think of more than one way! If you support gay marriage out of a sense of justice and fairness, you might be offended to see it pushed because it's good for business. And if you think good for business is a great argument, don't you lose the high ground for arguing against the store, if it's just doing what it thinks is good for business? Or maybe it's all about throwing economic weight around, and the supporters of same-sex marriage struck back, expressing their offense at the black coverings, causing the store to read the business advantage the other way around?

Ah, so much of it is only about money anyway! The strongest argument for same-sex marriage is that it's not fair to exclude gay people from the tax advantages and other financial advantages available to a heterosexual who can enter into the legal relationship of marriage with the person he or she feels sexually attracted to.

The most boring argument against same-sex marriage — which I'm sure my commenters will not be able to resist restating ad nauseam —  is that marriage is a word with a definition that restricts it to one man and one woman. To put that more simply: Please address the new issues raised by this post.

Also: The pretty wedding location in the cover photograph is the Milwaukee Art Museum.

"It's excellent art. Realistic. Ought to satisfy those who are tired of trite abstractions."

Said David, in the comments to this morning's post about the "Sleepwalker" statue — of the man in his panties — at Wellesley College.

Been there, done that:



That's Meade, getting statuesque with Duane Hanson's "Janitor" at the Milwaukee Art Museum. That thing dates back to 1973. Here's an article about the restoration of the "beloved" art work:

While on view, Terri lightly vacuums Janitor frequently, but there still is a certain amount of dirt and grime settled in. The very first thing we had to do was address how or if to clean the janitor’s clothing. We thought that it might be possible to take his clothes off and throw them in the conservator’s version of a washing machine, but that’s not the case. We discovered that Duane Hanson constructed the Janitor so that his clothes cannot be removed....

[Senior conservator Jim DeYoung] shared that over the years, parts of Janitor’s outfit have sadly gone missing to the wandering hands of Museum visitors. Jim discussed the ethics of honoring the originality of the artwork as it currently exists, or honoring the intentions of the artist.... For instance, concerning the missing articles in the janitor’s pockets, Jim and Terri felt secure in following their own skills and instinct to find comparable materials to replace the thefted items....

There was so much discussion back in the 70s about the value of Hanson's work, but at this point, no one bothers with this debate anymore. People just love it. Maybe they shouldn't. Maybe they've lost a sense of outrage at being amused — as comfortable museum-goers — at the weariness and dreariness of a workingman.

AND: Look at the magnificent grandeur of the woman — idealized and all head — lording it over the pitiful man. Some curator decided upon that juxtaposition.

Inside the glass cylinder.

Views from Calatrava's elevator. If you want to know what it looked like from the outside: As we stepped in, Meade said "I feel like a deposit slip."

The sculptural museum-goer.

(Yesterday, in Milwaukee.)

At the Under-the-Table Café...

... come on! I dare you to say anything you think!

***

Photographs by Meade at the Milwaukee Art Museum today. The sculpture — called "Under the Table" — is by Robert Therrien.

"Wisconsin isn't actually the center of the universe. A convergence of events has just made it seem that way."

Writes the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

This week alone, President Barack Obama visited the state, U.S. Rep. Paul Ryan (R-Wis.) gave the Republican response to the State of the Union address, and the Green Bay Packers were on the fast track to becoming America's sweethearts.

Wednesday night's "American Idol," spotlighting auditions it conducted in Milwaukee in the summer and fall of 2010, was just icing on the cake....

Performers stood in front of a blue scrim with the "Idol" logo, judges sat at the prow-like front of the [Windhover Hall of the Milwaukee Art Museum] and interviews were conducted in the museum's whalebone white hallways.

A stormy Lake Michigan was a feature throughout and could be seen dramatically changing colors and textures behind the judges....

Jennifer Lopez referred to it as "the ocean."

Hey, we were already planning to go to the Milwaukee Art Museum this weekend. So don't think, when you see my photographs, that we only went there because of "American Idol." We're going there because we're excited about seeing Masterworks of North Carolina Earthenware:

The exhibition explores, among others, work... by Moravian immigrant potters who...  found a home in the North Carolina Moravian missionary settlement. Superior in quality to the pottery the early American colonists were creating, the slip-decorated earthenware, though utilitarian, represented the religious beliefs for which their makers had once been persecuted, and allowed the settlers to maintain a sense of cultural identity in the new world.

I'm a descendant of Moravian refugees from persecution, and maybe the mysterious Meade will tell you why he's interested in the show too.

"Finally feeling better! Coffee! My next big worry - tomorrow is Danny Gokey Day in Milwaukee area and I don't know how to celebrate."

Michael_Haz tweets....

For Gokey Day - Put up a tree? Wreath on the front door? Carve a large vegetable? Personal Day off? What? Maybe buy a new shirt?...

What's a proper dinner for Danny Gokey Day? The other holidays have all the major meat groups covered, so maybe...ice cream? Help!...

Wisconsin has our own one of the "American Idol" final 3 guys. (They are all guys now. Sorry, Allison.) Danny is not my favorite. Not at all. (I've been all for Adam Lambert since his first audition.) But he's Wisconsin, and that means something.

So let's all go to Milwaukee and do some Gokey events: Miller Park — with first pitch and national anthem, sung, presumably, without screaming — the Harley-Davidson Museum, the Harley-Davidson Roadhouse, the Milwaukee Art Museum, the bronze Fonz....

Thursday in Milwaukee.

If you're wondering about the minimal blogging today... I was in Milwaukee, watching my nephew Cliff Kresge at the U.S. Bank Championship. You may not care about golf, and if you do, you may be focused on the British Open this week, but there is another PGA tournament, and it's here in Wisconsin. My nephew is currently tied for 11th place, so pay attention.

Anyway, that's what I was up to. They don't let you bring in cameras, so I can't show you any pictures of that, but after Cliff finished, my sister and I drove downtown and took in the museum.

Here I am with a torso:



After my sister took this picture, some guy said to us "Shame on you." What the hell? There's some idea, apparently -- here in the midwest? -- that a naked male torso is supposed to be endured with sullen solemnity or something.

And here's my cool older sister, Dell...



... on the front side of said torso.

And here's the art museum devoid of Althouse sisters:

A Milwaukee seahorse.

I'm in Milwaukee, the night before the 7th Circuit Judicial Conference. I'm doing a panel tomorrow morning, but this evening there was a reception at the Discovery Center, the lower level of which is an aquarium. Wandering around, I took this little film clip of a seahorse. The voices in the background are just some people at the conference.



Upstairs, I got some nice views of the Calatrava art museum:





ADDED: The museum is actually called the Milwaukee Art Museum. Santiago Calatrava is the name of the architect. For a view from the angle as you approach the entrance and photographs of the inside of the place, go to this old post.

What's your favorite...

... building? America's choice is the Empire State Building. And we don't care so much for those showy new things. The Milwaukee Art Museum did okay, though. Number 59. I've been there:



ADDED: Sad Google search that I did, meaning to spiff up this post.

Comics.

The "Masters of American Comics" exhibition is in NY now (split into two shows, in two museums). Michael Kimmelman reviews it:

[T]he show shouldn’t be missed. It spotlights artists like Chris Ware and Gary Panter, amazing state-of-the-art talents and endearing in the tradition of all those shy, gifted kids who drew endlessly in their rooms when other kids wouldn’t play with them, dreaming about someday telling the world, “I told you so."

It was at the Milwaukee Art Museum (in one piece) last spring. Here's my old post about it.

"Just because he was inspired by the sea does not mean that no one else can use the sea to make glass art."

Says Bryan Rubino, a glass-blowing artist who is being sued by the glass-blowing artist, Dale Chihuly. (Rubino worked for Chihuly for 14 years.) "If anything, Mother Nature should be suing Dale Chihuly."

The suit, rare in art circles, offers a sometimes unflattering glimpse at how high-powered commercial artists like Mr. Chihuly work. The two glass blowers say that he has very little to do with much of the art, and that he sometimes buys objects and puts the Chihuly name on them, a contention that Mr. Chihuly strongly denies.

He acknowledges that he has not blown glass for 27 years, dating from a surfing accident that cost him the full range of shoulder motion, an injury that struck three years after he had lost sight in his left eye in a traffic accident.

Still, Mr. Chihuly said, he works with sketches, faxes and through exhortation. Nothing with his name on it ever came from anyone but himself, he said....

...Mr. Chihuly called Mr. Rubino a "gaffer," a term for a glassblower who labors around a furnace at the instruction of an artist. Asked to assess Mr. Rubino, Mr. Chihuly said, "He was an excellent craftsman" with little vision of his own.

"You think I would ever let Rubino decide what something looks like?" Mr. Chihuly asked.

Why is this a copyright case and not a contracts case? If Chihuly hired Rubino and kept him on for 14 years, why did he he never make Rubino sign a contract that would have limited Rubino from making similar shapes to sell on his own?

Bonus photo: a closeup of the big Chihuly sculpture at the Milwaukee Art Museum, taken last Saturday:



There is a signature look to the work. It's impossible for me to tell from the linked article how close to Chihuly's Rubino's designs are. This article gives some more context:

Chihuly sued Rubino and Redmond art entrepreneur Robert Kaindl in October, accusing them of copying his designs and selling "knockoffs" at several local galleries. Last week, Chihuly alleged in court documents that the two had pored over books of Chihuly's works and picked out designs that Rubino would make for Kaindl to sell....

...Rubino says he created or co-authored some of the works that Chihuly is suing to protect, and that some of the work he did for the artist was done "without any creative input whatsoever from (Chihuly Inc.) or Dale Chihuly."

As evidence, Rubino submitted a fax he says he received from Chihuly. The fax includes sticklike drawings and the following instructions: "Here's a little sketch but make whatever you want. We'll get everything up to Tacoma when you're done and I'll try to come down while you're blowing. Till then, Chihuly."...

Rubino is asking the court to declare him a co-author of some of Chihuly's more famous pieces, and award him profits associated with those works.

Chihuly acknowledged in his suit that "Rubino worked on virtually every series created by Chihuly." But he claimed that Rubino signed away any rights to the work when he was Chihuly's employee, and that as a contractor, all of the work Rubino made for Chihuly was done under Chihuly's direction and control.

So what do you think, copyright experts? I'm guessing that it's rather obvious that the "work for hire" Rubino did for Chihuly makes him not a co-author and that this claim is a bargaining chip in the litigation process. Rubino just wants to be able to sell his own work now, even though it's similar to the work he did with Chihuly. Should he win on that claim? Artists are always copying each other's styles. It's disturbing to think that they should have to worry about being sued by the more successful artists who came before them. The old could prey on the young mercilessly, and the development of artistic styles would be crippled by litigious artists.

Chihuly's designs are way too distinctive to make me buy Rubino's argument that they are nothing more than nature's design. Chihuly may like to say that he's inspired by the sea, but these swirls and curlicues don't look much like any sea I've ever gazed upon. But perhaps his designs come quite directly from the inherent limitations of glassblowing, the traditional techniques of the craft, and the decision to work very large. If so, Chihuly is trying to monopolize the field of art glass.

Audible Althouse #51.

A fresh, new podcast. Stream it here. Subscribe:

I talk about comics, especially Popeye:



There's some stuff about the "Masters of American Comics" show at the Milwaukee Art Museum and Art Spiegelman writing about cartoons in Harper's Magazine. Then there's that list of conservative rock songs and Pete Townsend's reaction to "Won't Get Fooled Again" being on it. I talk a bit about Bob Dylan. (The Paul Simon song I can't quite remember is "Night Game.")

There's some exciting violence involving a spider that occurs early on in this podcast. And the whole thing ends with a discussion of cool. And Kookie.

"We're emenies on account of we both loves Olive Oyl."

Said Popeye, wondering why Curly wanted him to come over, in an old E.C. Segar comic I was reading today at the Milwaukee Art Museum, which has a big, cool exhibition called "Masters of American Comics."

I'd been looking at comics art for about half an hour, working my way through the Winsor McKay and Lyonel Feininger comics, and got to the Segar stuff, and that line of Popeye's made me laugh out loud. And then I was doubly amused to realize that was the first laughter I'd heard at this huge exhibition of comics. I stayed for another hour, and I think I laughed one or two other times, but I never heard anyone else laugh. It was like a church in there. Is this the effect of museums or did the curators choose the very comics that were least likely to make you laugh? Fantasy and surrealism loomed large. So did serious comics like "Maus." And a lot of the humor was the sort of thing that you appreciate intellectually and don't giggle over. Like:

And with insipid porcine vapidness he lapses into somniverous oblivion.

That's a caption in a "Krazy Kat" comic, as a pig goes to sleep.

"S'turbil" = It's terrible, in Krazy Kat dialect. She also says "Jee-Wizzil." I find all of that amusing, but you'd only laugh out loud at that sort of thing in a social situation, where you were interested in elevating the mood of the people you're with. In the museum setting, everyone's floating along in his own little reverie.



Hmmm.... I see there were no women artists in this exhibition, and there were 15 male artists. I'm surprised, not because I think there is a woman who deserved to be in this group. (Winsor McCay, George Herriman, Lyonel Feininger, E.C. Segar, Frank King, Chester Gould, Milton Caniff, Charles M. Schulz, Will Eisner, Jack Kirby, Harvey Kurtzman, R. Crumb, Art Spiegelman, Gary Panter, and Chris Ware.) I'm surprised because I would have thought curators would feel uneasy about a show with that many artists that lacked even one woman. Thanks for not patronizing me.



Anyway, it's an excellent show, well worth the trip to Milwaukee if you're roughly in the area. It will be there until August 13th.

And, in case you don't know, the museum itself is quite the architectural marvel:

Drinking chocolate at the Flushing Station.

As noted in yesterday's late night post, we had to drive to Milwaukee yesterday. I had to drop John off somewhere at 4, and I went to hang out in the art museum until the time came to drive home. Driving in the fog, I misjudged where to turn and ended up driving way too far up Lincoln Memorial Drive (along the lake shore) and was just looking for a place to turn around and drive back south. I took the first left turn and pulled into a little driveway by an old building. Why are all these cars parked here? It's a coffeehouse! It's still only 3:30 so we go inside. I order a hot chocolate and ask the barista guy, "What was this old building?" He says, "It's a pump house." I say, "What the hell is a pump house?" He says he has no idea, but it's explained in the next room. What an incurious barista! Or maybe he's just tired of explaining it.

But what a cool café, and how fun to find it so fortuitously! "Pump house" seems to be a euphemism for "flushing station":

The Flushing Station was built in 1888 to pump fresh water into the Milwaukee River from Lake Michigan, to flush out pollution. The 1,700-sq. ft. cafe takes up two-thirds of the building, with the still-functioning flushing pump filling the remaining third.

Is there a better place than Alterra to drink chocolate and ogle nineteenth century machinery?

At the Milwaukee Art Museum.

Today it got quite warm here in Wisconsin. In the morning, the front step was icy from a misty rain, and then later the temperature went up into the 50s. This weather shift stirred up a big fog, and we had to drive to Milwaukee. The fog gave a mysterious look to the Milwaukee Art Museum -- that architectural marvel designed by Santiago Calatrava.



From the inside, instead of the usual view of Lake Michigan, there was a blue glow:



The big exhibit was Masterpieces of American Art. Here's a detail from a dramatic painting by John Singleton Copley (from 1777-1778) [ADDED: Did George Washington and Thomas Jefferson gawk at this fearsome shark?]



Here is a less frightening detail from a waterscape with an animal, from a painting by George Caleb Bingham:



I checked out the other exhibitions:





And walked through the stylish hallways:



There's that elaborate glass sculpture:



Okay, take a picture of me in front of it:



We had a nice little meal in the museum restaurant, then drove back to Madison in the foggy darkness, the second to the last night of the year.