In all honesty I must begin my comments on Rembrandt in America with the admission that I am really not a Rembrandt person. Clearly Rembrandt stood head and shoulders above his contemporaries during the Dutch “Golden Age,” and it goes without saying I would thrilled to have an autograph Rembrandt painting come to the Museum (unfortunately, the three we thought we had have all been de-Rembrandted!). My interests have centered elsewhere in the field, however—specifically Frans Hals and painters in his circle, among them Jan Miense Molenaer. Readers might recall the Molenaer exhibition I did at the NCMA in 2002. So, naturally, one might wonder why a “non-Rembrandt” person would agree to devote most of the last three years of his life to a large and complex Rembrandt exhibition.

The answer lies in the fact you can’t really function as a 17th-century Dutch painting curator without dealing with Rembrandt. The long shadow he casts over Dutch art touches nearly everyone, and one can argue that his popularity has never been stronger than it is today. Certainly much of this interest centers on the lingering controversies over whether a particular painting was painted by Rembrandt or by one of his assistants. So, as one deals with the myth, reality, and especially the marketability of Rembrandt, I asked myself, what is the glue that could hold these concepts together? More important, how do these concerns relate to the North Carolina Museum of Art? The answer was simple—William Valentiner, the NCMA’s first director.

As one of the world’s foremost authorities on Rembrandt during the first half of the 20th century, Valentiner was largely responsible for expanding the accepted number of Rembrandt paintings. His flawed accounting would eventually embrace more than 700 works. This expansion happily coincided with a huge appetite for Rembrandt paintings by American collectors, an interest that began just after the Civil War. These “Gilded Age” collectors—many were often described as “robber barons” (or “the 1 percent,” to use today’s terminology)—snagged some of Rembrandt’s greatest masterpieces. Others, however, bought studio works, imitations, and even outright forgeries. To their credit, though, many eventually gifted their “Rembrandts” to American museums.

Thus, it was my idea to link Valentiner with Rembrandt and the collecting of his paintings in America. Since collecting history has long been of interest to me (note my Sinners and Saints exhibition), I was returning to a comfort zone as I considered the viability of Rembrandt in America. With the help of my co-curators, we created a project that was intellectually sound, visually exciting, and certainly worth pursuing. Long story short, we successfully made our case to the museums and individuals who agreed to lend works to the show. So while I am exhausted, I couldn’t be prouder of the exhibition, its installation, and the accompanying catalogue. And yes, I guess I have become a Rembrandt person!

Dennis P. Weller is the NCMA’s curator of Northern European art and co-curator of Rembrandt in America.

John Knox is the Director of Operations for the NCMA.

Image above: Rembrandt van Rijn, Lucretia, 1666, oil on canvas, 43 3/8 x 36 3/8 in., Minneapolis Institute of Arts, The William Hood Dunwoody Fund, 34.19

We spent the first hour in the Portrait Gallery, where we learned points in analyzing how a portrait is developed: where the features are placed, how the lighting and shadows bring the face to life and add to the model’s expression. Information I know is going to enhance my enjoyment of the Rembrandt exhibition.

Then it was off to the studio to try our own hand at creating great art. Well, not exactly, but we did have a good time trying. After some preliminary instruction, we each chose a photograph cut from a magazine to copy. There was a lot of friendly interaction and kind words when we all held up our “finished” pictures.

I had looked forward to the class with anticipation and wasn’t disappointed, and I’m already looking forward to the next classes. Who knows where this will lead: the next Grandma Moses?

The NCMA’s next Senior Sampler is Tuesday, January 10. Find out details and reserve your spot here.

Irene Lejman is one of the NCMA’s most dedicated volunteers and a happy participant of the Senior Sampler program.

The music of the eminent Dutch poet and composer Constantijn Huygens, whose son Christiaan was a renowned mathematician and astronomer and discovered the rings of Saturn, will be featured. Other composers whose works will be performed include master Jan Sweelinck, known as the Orpheus of Amsterdam; Johannes Schenk, who created the first Dutch opera; and Jacob van Eyck, a virtuoso of the recorder and the carillon, famous throughout the Netherlands in the late 17^th century.

These works provide the soundtrack to Rembrandt’s Amsterdam and the stunning collection presented in Rembrandt in America. The music will be brought to life by vocalist Glenn Siebert from UNC School of the Arts, cellist Brent Wissick from UNC-Chapel Hill, and Jennifer Streeter on recorder—wonderful musicians all.

The concert is part of Sights & Sounds on Sundays—the chamber music series that is produced in collaboration with the Raleigh Chamber Music Guild. It’s the perfect showcase for North Carolina’s extraordinary classical music talent that flourishes from one end of the state to the other.

Image: Rembrandt van Rijn, Joris de Caulerij, 1632, oil on canvas transferred to panel, Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, Legion of Honor, Roscoe and Margaret Oakes Collection (66.31)

Now, 22 years later, 15 of my photographs are in the permanent collection of the North Carolina Museum of Art. One of them—Reidsville, North Carolina, June 2003—is included in the exhibition Landscape Sublime: Contemporary Photography, which closes November 13.

I have met some very good souls along the way. One of them is Huston Paschal, a long-time associate curator (now retired) at the Museum. When I began exhibiting my photographs in 1990, Huston, unbeknownst to me, started following my progress. I was exhibiting everywhere I could (photographs I’d made on Ellis Island), including the just-opened Cup A Joe on Hillsborough Street in Raleigh and the Weems Gallery at Meredith College. When I began to photograph around the Tar Heel State, Huston quietly watched as my new work—and I—progressed.

On the eve of my 50th birthday in 2003, I received a fateful phone call: Linda Dougherty (the NCMA’s current curator of contemporary art) was on the line. Would I like to schedule a time to bring a selection of my work? She and Huston wanted to see it, with a purchase in mind. Well, happy birthday to me!

I am grateful to Linda and to the NCMA and, now, to Jen Dasal, assistant curator, for including my work in the current exhibition. But mostly I am grateful to Huston, who saw in my work, and in the work of other North Carolina artists she watched grow and mature over her years as curator, something worth paying attention to.

David Simonton is a photographer living in Raleigh, N.C. See his work in the exhibition Landscape Sublime: Contemporary Photography through November 13.

Image: David Simonton, Reidsville, North Carolina, June 2003, 2003, printed 2004, gelatin-silver print, 9 11/16 x 9 13/16 in., Purchased with funds from the William R. Roberson Jr. and Frances M. Roberson Endowed Fund for North Carolina Art, © 2004 David Simonton

Recent visitors to the Museum will have noticed a new addition to the paintings in the American galleries. Dock Builders by George Bellows is the latest promised gift of Ann and Jim Goodnight. Bellows (1882–1925) was one of the most influential and beloved American artists of the early 20^th century. He dropped out of college to play semiprofessional baseball before pursuing a career as a painter in New York. There Bellows studied under Robert Henri and through him fell in with a group of young urban artists. The “ashcan school” advocated painting contemporary American society in all its gritty reality. Though more famous today for his boxing pictures, Bellows painted a wide variety of subjects, capturing the bustle of life around him.

Painted in 1916 during a summer in Camden, Maine, Dock Builders is one of a series of pictures depicting the hard laboring lives of Down East people. It gives a noble dimension to men and horses struggling to move logs into position. Bold, slashing brushstrokes give a sense of movement to this otherwise carefully ordered composition. Bellows’s painterly gusto spills out along the rocks at the bottom as his thick, churning splashes of color encrust the sunlit shoreline. There is a playfulness in Bellows’s handling of the brush. Perhaps the relaxed atmosphere of coastal Maine and the joy of working outside encouraged him to paint more freely. In a letter to Henri, he wrote, “I have done a number of pictures this summer which have not arrived in my mind from direct impressions but are creations of fancy arising out of my knowledge and experience of the facts employed.” Whether it was the sea air or a desire to try new things, it is exciting to see an artist enjoying himself in this “creation of fancy.”

For all the freedom of Dock Builders, Bellows was also experimenting with a systematic approach to composition. The smoothly contoured figures are carefully arranged in an underlying structure of intersecting diagonals. Also, along with several other members of the ashcan school, Bellows was intrigued by the color theories of Hardesty Maratta. Maratta devised a system that assigned each color to a corresponding musical note. He then directed artists to combine colors at prescribed intervals, using “chords” to achieve a harmonious effect. We do not know if Bellows used a color keyboard [see image below] when he was painting in Camden, though it seems likely that he had the balanced triads of the Maratta system in mind.

Combining freedom and restraint, Dock Builders adds something new to the Museum’s galleries. Celebrating men at work, the vibrant colors and innovative technique showcased in this landscape represent a pivotal moment in the history of American art.

Laura Fravel, Curatorial Intern

Hardesty G. Maratta’s color keyboard. From The Maratta Scales of Artists’ Oil Pigments, 1916. John Weichsel Papers, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.

Image: George Wesley Bellows, Dock Builders, 1916, oil on canvas, Promised gift of Dr. and Mrs. James H. Goodnight

Thanks to funding from the North Carolina General Assembly to support character education in K–12 public schools, the ELA section of the Department of Public Instruction and the North Carolina Museum of Art had the privilege of hosting these young people and their teachers for a Character Education Teen Residency Project. Under the leadership of artist Peg Gignoux and writer Susie Wilde, students transformed their ideas into images and words that tell the story of what it means to be a good person. (See photos of the event on Flickr.)

Carolyn Crutcher, an English 10 teacher at New Technology High School at Garinger in Charlotte, N.C., reflects on her experience.

Participating in the residency was such a rewarding experience for my students and me. First, in the words of Moe Win: “I had so many new experiences in a few days. The environment at the NCMA made me feel so creative. As I was an author/writer, I learned so much about showing not telling, revising, and editing for the story. I am not the type of person who likes to work with a team, but I learned that it is more fantastic to work with others. We were discussing and helping each other while writing our story. Another good opportunity was visiting the art galleries. I loved the tours Ms. Rusak guided. The art work invited me to think more about the purpose of the artists.”

Here are Ivan Gaddy’s reflections: “I wanted to go to Raleigh, but I was nervous because this was the first time that I had gone somewhere and spent more than one day without my family. The main thing I was worried about was the way we had to make the art. Before the residency, I had only used pencil and paper for drawing. Also I was afraid that the groups weren’t going to agree on anything. I am so glad that my assumptions were wrong. It was nice hearing the other groups’ stories and seeing how they drew the main character, “Bird.” I liked making the collages out of fabric, and I hope to use that form of art in the near future. The trip was great and I hope to go again.”

For me, as the teacher, it was sheer pleasure to have this time with such talented young people on such a creative project. I spent most of my time with the writing groups, but to my delight, I also got to help cut out fabric for the illustrations and even helped a little with sewing. When we toured the galleries, I was deeply moved by Michael Richards’s bronze sculpture, Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian, especially when Sandy Rusak told us that Michael died on September 11, 2001, in his art studio in one of the Twin Towers.

I used a picture of the sculpture and Michael’s story to introduce the essential question for a recent literature project: How do beliefs and attitudes affect the lives of individuals? First I showed the students a picture of the sculpture and instructed them to look at it and think about it. Then I had them read about Richards. With a partner they discussed these questions and wrote their answers:

1. What is ironic about the bronze statue?
2. Explain the allusions in the title Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian.
3. Who were the Tuskegee Airmen?
4. How did Michael Richards’s beliefs and attitudes shape his art?
5. How did the beliefs, attitudes, and actions of the young men who flew the planes 9/11 affect Michael Richards’s life?

When the students completed their research, we had a stimulating class discussion. Although only two of my students were able to participate in the art residency, I was able to share one of the pieces of art with all my students.

The prospect of wading through record snowfalls in Philadelphia did not deter the Museum Store in its pursuit of unique offerings for our Museum visitors.

The Philadelphia Buyers Market of American Craft is a show for artists and craftspeople actively involved in designing and producing crafts and artistic pieces. Gallery owners and art institutions flock to this yearly show in search of the best handmade and one-of-a-kind pieces available in a broad range of artistic styles and mediums. There was an Asheville, N.C., artist who crafts boxes out of a marriage of glass, wood, copper, and steel, and a woodcarver whose hand-painted bird sculptures call to mind images of the Audubon folios.

Over 800 juried artists were in attendance at the show, including Jim Whalen of Horseshoe, N.C., a 2011 NICHE Award winner for wheel-thrown ceramics. The NICHE Awards celebrate excellence and innovation in North American fine craft, and the Museum Store is proud to have several pieces for sale from a number of Niche Award winners, including Jim.

Despite the long hours walking the halls of a convention center (and a five-hour snow delay on the flight home!), I happily realize that the best part of my job is the privilege of meeting many of these incredibly talented artists, learning the stories behind the creation of such beautiful artistic pieces, and bringing their work to the visitors who shop in the Museum Store.

Susan Piercecchi is the director of retail operations for the Museum. She and her staff attend major gift shows as well as local shows on a quest to discover the varied selection of merchandise featured in the Museum Store.

Trotman calls his figures embodiments of a “dystopian America,” a foil to Rockwell’s utopian images of the American Dream. Toppled housewives and sinking businessmen make up his vision of 1950s cookie-cutter convention. He turns static material—wood—into figures that vibrate with tense energy, so confined by their roles that they threaten spontaneous combustion. The only interruptions in his pristine craftsmanship are strategically placed splits in the wood that call attention to the unease that is hidden beneath the starched shirts, sensible pumps, and strained smiles of his characters.

When we all stood looking up at Vertigo, Trotman’s first self-portrait and a new addition to the NCMA’s collection, Linda noted its reference to Yves Klein’s iconic 1960 photograph Leap into the Void. The visual and conceptual resemblance is clear—an ordinary-looking man in a suit triumphantly breaks free from life’s constraints as he plunges off a building. But a darker parallel exists underneath the obvious similarities. Klein’s photograph was fabricated, a lie. This “staged lie” is the truth behind Trotman’s Inverted Utopias—the uncomfortable reality that one cannot really leap off the building, sink into the ground, or hide beneath the sheets. There is no escape for his characters.

No escape. I went back to the exhibition with that in mind. Is it really that dark? Trotman has a beautiful way of exposing the sad realities of everyday life, our hidden agendas and concealed burdens, with just enough humor to help us pretend we only imagined that glimpse of ourselves in Arden or Martin. Am I Janet? I think I am wearing her shoes. Perfectly camouflaged in my badge and business attire, I can’t help but feel exposed by her presence, as if I, too, am beginning to spin off my axis into the Void. I turn away only to find myself scrutinizing the exhibition as if I were a member of Trotman’s Committee, ready to offer up my art-savvy intern input like the Cake Lady’s chocolate confection.

I think we, as museumgoers, often get caught up in the appeal of collecting experiences. Seeing works of art and high-profile exhibitions becomes a part of that pressing “better-yourself” checklist. We start darting around, snapping photos and referencing our list of the museum highlights without really seeing anything. Check, check, check. Bob Trotman’s characters do not allow this type of detached viewing. Instead, they mirror back to us that delusion of checkboxes against which we all measure ourselves and confront us head-on with solid, tangible personifications of our own flawed realities.

So, art nerd, housewife, professional, adolescent, and museum wanderer, unite—Trotman has something for all of us. Take a moment with Inverted Utopias to put down the checklist and help Olive Suit find his shoe, picture the faces under Cover Up, and wonder what Stu might look like, if he just opened his eyes.

Laura Ritchie, Curatorial Intern

by Mark Richard Leach, Executive Director, SECCA

In 1962 at the age of 8 in Stockbridge, Massachusetts, I was introduced to Norman Rockwell’s universe. My mother’s friend was the artist’s accountant. Rockwell had just been commissioned by the Department of the Army to create an image for a nationwide billboard campaign to promote the Army Reserve. He was looking for a child from the surrounding area with red hair and freckles. My mom’s friend, in whose care I was placed one afternoon, was walking with her two children and me in Stockbridge. It was there that the artist saw me. That afternoon, my parents received a telephone call from the artist, who asked if they would grant him permission to paint me. So the creative journey began.

Strength in Reserve, the caption and narrative underpinning for the billboard, boldly sets the tone for the homespun patriotic picture and leaves no doubt what the outcome of the disagreement between the subjects will be. Outwardly the composition features a standoff between two young males, one of them holding a baseball that seems to belong to the other. But another compositional element is integral to the story. An anonymous adult’s forearm, clad in a black suit with a crisply starched shirt cuff, descends into the composition. The gentleman’s hand clasps the child’s hand in a symbolic show of strength.

The sitters gathered in the artist’s studio. I arrived dressed in khakis, a white button-down oxford shirt, and a mint green V-neck sweater. I also remember wearing my favorite belt with Indian beads and patterns attributed to the Mohawk people. Another child my age was there, too. I don’t remember his name, but I knew that this young man, dressed much differently from the way I was, had a purpose. As Rockwell painted him, he jutted forward in the composition, straight into my personal space, behaving like a defiant bully, determined not to surrender the baseball. The hand is my father’s. Often Rockwell could be the master of understatement. It wasn’t the adult’s literal presence in the composition, but rather only his subtle implication, that sets the viewer’s imagination to work and adds richly to the story.

The artist was warm and attentive, carefully arranging his subjects and, if only so slightly, teasing the precise facial expressions from us. I had never been asked to “hold a pose” before. The session seemed to last an eternity. Because I could not move, my senses became heightened. I remember an immense light-filled room, heavy with the scents of linseed oil and turpentine. The smells were intoxicating and were familiar to me because my father, a tradesman and electrician, regularly used those substances to paint a house, clean brushes, and the like. I also noticed large north-facing windows that made the space seem otherworldly in size, by contrast to the more modest panes and lighting conditions in my childhood home.

I vividly remember a camera and multiple shutter releases. The artist moved with the camera to vantage points I can only surmise would reveal especially important anatomical information. The ambient natural light revealed spatial or other dimensions critical to the artist’s quest for a preternaturally compelling visual conceit. His camera could capture these ephemeral moments, enabling him to make of the resulting snippets the stunning representational portrayal he sought.

Several months after the initial session, the artist invited us to pose again. My guess is that he took this step to confirm from life what he had captured using photography and sketching in the initial pose. I have no recollection of the conversation except that, as before, the artist took care in staging, lighting, and such other compositional necessities. Before my parents and I left Rockwell’s studio for the last time, the artist presented me with a check for $20 as a token of his appreciation.

One afternoon while I was playing in the yard, my mother beckoned to me from the kitchen window. She told me she had an errand to run and asked if I wanted to go for a ride with her in the car. We headed to uptown Pittsfield, to the corner of Fenn and First streets. Conveniently, there was a red light at the intersection! She pointed upward and said, “Mark, there you are on the billboard just ahead—and so big!” I’ll never forget the rush of excitement and pride.

Over the years, I’ve thought often about Norman Rockwell’s painting, the billboard’s story line and its subtext, and the three magical characters with whom the artist conspired to evoke in all of us a deep sense of patriotism, a feeling of self-determination, and an abiding acknowledgement that together we can tackle even the greatest of challenges. These things and so many more are the remarkable characteristics of a great American artist and the art that flows from a talent such as his.

American Chronicles: The Art of Norman Rockwell is on view at the NCMA until January 30, 2011. For more on Rockwell’s use of photography, see Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera, on view at the Brooklyn Museum until April 10, 2011.