modern art

How To Look At Art: Visual Analysis

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Alex Katz, Homage to Monet, 2009, via Andrea Rossetti, 2016

In the “How To Look At Art” series, Alexandra Kosloski guides readers through the multifaceted journey of art appreciation, fostering a deeper understanding of the emotions and stories woven within the work.

“Fundamentals are the building blocks of fun”

Mikhail Baryshnikov

To begin to understand a work of art, it helps to know any context you can, including the artist’s name, the title of the artwork and the year it was created. This information is often provided, which is useful in considering the historical context, like why the artwork was created, who it was created for, and what movement it was a part of. These details can lay the groundwork for how to look at art. For example, the identity of the artist, or the era they are from may have a large impact on the meaning of their work. Sometimes I look for this information first, and sometimes I look for it last so I can look at the artwork without any preconceived notions. The more artwork you look at, the more you’ll begin to recognize automatically, like the style of a specific movement.

Look at the work and think about what you see. Also, think about what you don’t see. Try to look at art without immediately projecting your feelings or interpretation onto it. It may not be what it first looks like. Meaning can come to you very softly and slowly, you don’t have to rush to that point. First, observe the content–  who or what is on the canvas and how is it presented? Notice all of its parts. Then consider how the artist manipulated the content and what they might be trying to communicate through it.

Keep an open mind. You should always assume that the artist meant to make the work look that way. If the painting looks weird, the artist wanted it to look weird. It’s not every artist’s goal to make a painting look representational or naturalistic.

Rene Magritte, The Treachery of Images, 1929, via MoMA

It’s a matter of style. Style can be dependent on the individual or the culture. Sometimes art is idealized, meaning it looks somehow more perfect than reality. Sometimes, art is expressionist, which usually looks a little chaotic and wild, and is meant to communicate emotion. Sometimes art is entirely abstract and is only expressive marks or random pieces. Don’t assume the artist didn’t have the skill to make art lifelike, beautiful, or the way you think it should look. That’s irrelevant. If you’re focused on what you think it should be, you’ll miss out on what is actually there.

Jamie Nares, Back Then, 2021

Then, try to use your observation to piece together what is being depicted. Consider the figures and what they represent, and if there is a narrative or theme being portrayed. Make connections to what you already know. If the work is abstract, observe the marks made by the artist. What is the overall mood of the artwork? How does it make you feel?

In Part 2, we continue into a more detailed analysis of art.

Continue to Part 2

Part 2

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An Interview with Sante D’Orazio (Part 1)

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Talisa Soto-Bratt, Photo by Sante D’Orazio, 1992

D’Orazio’s world is populated by supermodels, actors, rock stars, and icons. His +30 year career has seen concurrent themes of eternal youth, stunning beauty, and rock and roll. D’Orazio’s portfolio is a mixture of informal and posed – an uncensored and provocative trademark. Since he first shot for Italian Vogue in 1981, D’Orazio’s work has been published in the likes of Andy Warhol’s Interview, Italian, French and British Vogue, Vanity Fair, and GQ among others.

In part 1 of their 3 part interview, Sante D’Orazio and Alexandra Kosloski discuss the artist’s current projects and the emotional connection behind his photographs.

AK: Can you describe what it feels like to make art? What is that feeling to you?

Sante D’Orazio: It’s beyond the feeling; it’s a way of life. I can’t not make. There’s a sense that if I’m not creating, I’m usually destroying. It’s the two sides, the yin and the yang of creativity. I’ve seen it with so many different artists and so many different fields. You get destructive. If you don’t have an outlet, it hurts. Whether it turns inwards and it becomes depression, or it comes out in so many different forms. Once you find the creative form, it’s healthier, but it’s just about finding it. And you need it. It’s life giving or taking.

Geometric painting by Sante D’Orazio, 2021

AK: What is your current studio practice like?

Sante D’Orazio: It varies. Recently, I had to get spinal surgery, and so I couldn’t take pictures. I couldn’t move around– because when I shoot, I move– I bend, I twist, I turn. I couldn’t do that, so I was painting more. The worse it got, the less I could paint. I had to find something else, so I started writing. I’ve always told stories since I was a kid, so I decided to write those stories down, not thinking of any particular narrative. I just wrote stories down and put them away, and when I had enough of them, I put them in some order and I had a memoir. And so I wrote a memoir during the COVID period and the period where I couldn’t walk.

Then the other thing I’ve been doing lately, which I hadn’t done in 40 years, is editing my archive. Let’s say I was doing ten pages for Vogue: they only used ten pictures, yet I shot maybe a thousand. Now, you don’t throw the others away– they’re all good pictures. Some are even better than the ones that they used, but I had to put them away because I’m onto the next shooting, and then the next one after that. When you were shooting at my pace, you didn’t even have time to know if your pictures were any good. And the only time you knew that they were good is when the client didn’t call, because if they did, that means there was something wrong. They never called you when something was right. So you put them away, and move on. And now, I’m finding gems I never knew I had. I remember the shootings, but I didn’t remember the particular images and oh, my God, I can’t believe it. I have a new me through all those images. So, I’m only up to 1993 and I started eight months ago, so you can imagine how much work I have to do.

AK: That sounds like a huge undertaking.

Sante D’Orazio: It’s daunting.

D’Orazio in his studio

AK: Not only the sheer volume of images to filter through, but emotionally, I imagine it’s exhausting.

Sante D’Orazio: Yeah, it is. The other thing that you have to know is that taking the picture is really only half the job– the other half is recognizing it within the edit. No one can edit for you if you’re looking for yourself on an artistic level. On a commercial level, knock yourself out. But on a personal level, I have to edit. I have to find my picture. I think that’s the only reason a photographer– and I’ll speak for myself– has any great success. 

You have to connect with your subject emotionally. I do. I make a strong connection with my subject. There’s trust, there’s a bond, and there’s a real closeness that happens. If it appears sexy or sensual, it is, but not on a physical level, it’s on an emotional level. And it ends there. But you really care about each other. And when you see each other again, it’s that same trust and love. I just edited some pictures of Talisa Soto– she was a great model– and I sent them to her and she texted me back, she goes “Sante, I always loved working with you.”

AK: That’s so nice to hear.

Christy Turlington by Sante D’Orazio, 1993

Sante D’Orazio: Yeah, it’s so nice. I always felt the same. And it was that bond that I’m talking about. It’s care, a lot of care.

AK: I was wondering if you could talk a little bit more about that, because there is such a sense of freshness and intimacy in your photographs, even when they’re obviously posed. Do you think that that bond plays a role?

Sante D’Orazio: Big role. Yeah. Guys in general are insensitive when it comes to that, but women seem to see it immediately. That trust stays because I was never a predator. And when they came back, the photographs just picked up again from that moment. And that’s what you see in the pictures.

You see it in their eyes. You just catch the whole feeling as soon as you meet somebody. And then to finish what we were saying, is that you have to then find that moment in their eyes in the edit. The eyes may be looking to the left, and the way they’re looking– is it inquisitive, is it trusting, is it not trusting? You have to be able to recognize that, you have to be sensitive to it. And then that’s the picture.

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How To Buy Art

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Terracotta rim fragment of a kylix, 460-450 BCECourtesy of the Met Museum

“I seek not good fortune. I myself am good fortune.”

-Walt Whitman

This may be the smartest advice on art investment you will ever read, and yet there will be no proofs, charts or diagrams. It is extracted from a full life’s experience, itself built on my father’s life’s experience, the wisdom of which he shared readily with anyone who would listen, but especially with me. It’s about collecting art from a love of art and not in order to make money. And while I can’t promise you will make money this way, as that is not the stated intention, I also can’t see how you would fail. Yet in the end, perhaps the greatest rewards are entirely impractical, utterly ineffable, and most enriching. If energy of work and bright ideas are represented by money, the energy of inspired genius and all the best of the human spirit is represented by art, so to trade the former for the latter, we are always getting the best deal. 

Maffet Ledger, 1874-81, Courtesy of the Met Museum

I hate to sound like a paradoxical fortune cookie so it’s best to draw from life experience examples. When I was a teenager I thought I was smart. So smart that I knew Picasso sucked, and that anybody who liked Picasso was stupid or brainwashed. Then my father was the middle man on a big Picasso deal and an important Picasso hung in our living room, replacing a particularly joyous Miro I loved seeing daily in passing. Now, this Picasso was so expensive that it was a special kind of ugly. That stripped down Madrid palette: black, white, gray and shitty ochre. Plus all the bells and whistles of distorted facial features. A travesty. I complained when it went up, passed it with a shudder and couldn’t wait for it to be sold, so we could reinstate the Miro, and probably fly to Europe for a celebration of the big sale as was our wont.

After a night of drinking I reclined on the sofa still swaddled in my blanket, eating a bowl of cereal and watching rap videos on MTV. I looked over at the horrible Picasso, back at Public Enemy… and then back at the Picasso. Something happened. A light went on. I can’t explain what occurred psychologically but probably something like a million brain synapses firing at once, and from that point on I could stand toe to toe with John Richardson and debate Picasso. And he was every bit as topical to date as my favorite rappers. I saw.

William Michael Harnett, The Artist’s Letter Rack , 1879, Courtesy of the Met Museum

I was a graffiti artist on the subway scene. Whenever the big guys in this underground movement had an exhibit above ground, Futura, Dondi, Rammellzee or Lee Quinones, everybody in the civilized world showed up. So as a card carrying member of this closed society, I thought of all the zillionaires and movie stars as mere hangers on. But then there came a wave of artists in their own right, very interesting ones, who brought a new kind of synergy to this popular avant garde. Luminaries like Keith Haring, Kenny Scharf, Richard Hambleton, Martin Wong, and David Wojnarowicz. This new wave of innovation was not driven by marketing or PR but– to use Robert Faris Thompson’s specialty term– because it was “cool”.

When Fun Gallery showed Basquiat we all went to the opening. Hands down one of the coolest guys downtown. Neck and neck with Rammellzee. The paintings that still smelled of fresh oil stick were $1,200 or maybe just an even grand. And Dad and I were in that group of New Yorker insiders, with money to spend, yet none of us, nobody… bought one. 

Strangely, nowadays collectors only want to buy a Basquiat. It’s seen as safe, as blue chip. A (cringe) status symbol. I even meet people who want to make a million dollars SO they can buy a Basquiat. To buy and live with a Basquiat absolutely has value today, such as if one bought a Picasso or DeKooning, the investment should appreciate, and the art will radiate its riches. But clearly the best time to buy was at that Fun Gallery show. When the work was new, the ideas were raw, the artist was alive, young and hungry, living dangerously and needed the sale. Again, nobody bought one.Basquiat, in the arc of his mayfly short life, enjoyed success. However, we continually fail to recognize and support young artists, specifically, and art as a whole when we are not there to applaud a genius on their debut on the world stage.

Excluding most of the artists present at the Fun Gallery opening, everyone in that room could have afforded a Basquiat or ten, would have helped the world to be a more beautiful place, and oh my– was there a dollar to be made. But even the rich never seem to be rich enough to invest in art where it counts, in that unpredictable liminal phase, where the work is exciting and not yet market proven.

Pere Oller, Mourner, ca. 1417 , Courtesy of the Met Museum

It takes a hero, like that great collector couple. I forget their names, but I watched the documentary- the husband drove a taxi for a living. They loved art and went to all the openings together. They would fall in love with a picture, say a Rauschenberg, and tell the gallery they would pay it off little by little, from paltry wages. In this humble way this enchanted couple cobbled together a world class collection and became fabulously wealthy, but most importantly, lived surrounded by the powerful magnetic field of their passions. 

My father left a stint in the military to hang around the Abstract Expressionists, Beat Poets and Be-Bop musicians, and caught the tail end of all that. He was a teenager working in an art supply store when he met Warhol, who was then still in advertising. Andy asked Pops to take a freshly minted soup can for a walk up Madison Avenue to see what he could get for them. It’s mentioned in the diaries later that “Rick Librizzi [dad] sells my prints too cheap”. And dad was never all about the money, but later I think it did affect him when we sat at Christie’s watching works he sold at 30 or 50K skyrocket to Lotto jackpot figures. Either that or his seat was very uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, he rationalized it, recalling that was the year we rented the suite at the Negresco with the sea view like Matisse. After all, Pops was born dirt poor and believed you could never make every dollar, but had to get some life lived while you had the chance. Maybe I’m wandering off topic a bit, but staying rooted in experience is the best way to show, not tell, the many ways collecting art enhances our human experience. And to invest means not just our money, but our energy, power to believe, and generosity in humble open mindedness, so that even dressed in rags we know an angel when we see one.

When I lived with my dad it was only a matter of time before calls came in from museums requesting the loan of some painting he had paid, literally, fifty dollars for, so when I came of age, I made it a point to collect every notable talent at the moment they emerged from the woodshed. True, some artists materialize on the scene, to be lauded as the toast of the town for a season, only to be damned to obscurity afresh by autumn. And if intrinsic value is anything, qualitatively some of my favorite works come from fringe names that may be lost forever to time, like some anonymous Egyptian or Greek hand. But with every crop of promising talents there is generally one, sometimes two, or in a blessed vintage three who keep at it, and keep striking that sweet spot of relevance until they become household names. This is when your head and heart can agree that your time and energy was well spent. The rise of the one artist who establishes a market pays for the lot of investments, and perhaps your own celebratory tour of European capitals on payday.

Nesting Bowl, 460-450 BCE, Courtesy of the Met Museum

Along with the dilettante who brags about a sound investment in secondary market stock, is the novice Art Historian who can downplay Picasso’s importance, perhaps citing some of his horrible personality traits, chats to be enjoyed while waiting in line for a table at the latest celebrity chef eatery, drawn in by glowing reviews heard on a television program. An entire art-world whose stance is anti-innovation, or even anti-Art. Art as a luxury item. But to venture out as a pioneer on the still-cooling volcanic horizons of a new landscape forged by a visionary avant-garde, that is where real thrills are to be had, together with risks. 

When Dad was collecting East Village artists and supporting the graffiti movement, Richard Hambleton rose from anonymity, painting his menacing shadow man figures on the abandoned streets to an “overnight” art stardom bypassing the entry level investment phase favored by my father. Dad would buy cheap and sell dear as a rule, but from a distance treasured what Hambleton had contributed to the tradition. Pollock had abandoned representation for the sake of the vital gesture, and then turned around abruptly to shock and offend the art public by returning to the figure. Critic and collector felt betrayed by the ex-abstractionist, and he by them. Hambleton, according to my father, came along to push this lost cause to a solution, applying the Ab-Ex dynamic to all-American classic subject matter.

Guillaume-Benjamin-Amand Duchenne de Boulogne, Grimace, 1854, Courtesy of the Met Museum

Yet a decade later, Richard would approach my father in the park, humbly asking if he might be interested in buying an ass-kicking rodeo painting tied to the back of his old bicycle. By then Hambleton had tumbled from the ivory tower of bohemian royalty, and thus began a friendship that doubled as a symbiotic business partnership. Dad bought as many paintings as he had room for, and sold off the others to friends and collectors. And at some point my own friendship with Richard blossomed into a business alliance. I bought as many as I could hang on my walls, and visited his studio with fashion models, and pot dealers, and anyone I might encounter with means to acquire something beautiful, and with inherent value well beyond the asking price. Everyone who bought at this stage, and supported a distressed genius, was thrilled by this meaningful exchange, only some were later disgruntled when powerful agencies aligned with our family efforts restoring his market where it belonged– disgruntled that we had not effectively convinced them to invest in time.

Although I am no psychic, it did not surprise me to see Hambleton’s prices spike at the end of his life. And it was not a mere question of engineering, either. But when an artist is that authentic, that tied in with history, that unique and innovative, generally it’s merely a question of time before the trade catches up. In the annals there are of course cases like Picasso’s: a staunch purist who never resorted to charlatanism, who seized the reigns of a thriving career at a young age persevering for the next sixty years with nary a hiccup, persisting to this day as gold standard. Or Van Gogh’s, who suffered the torments of the damned in his lifetime without any respite in worldly success, who nevertheless has in time reached the hearts of zillions. And yes, the works have grown to be treasured as priceless. That a Van Gogh painting never was worthless, however unsaleable they may have been during his lifetime, therein lies the question and answer to absolute value in Art. First and foremost we must appraise an artwork for its potency in conveying human feeling. And when it succeeds at that, Art always generates a profit well beyond any financial return, even when it’s not resold.

Keisai Eisen,Winter Landscape, 460-450 BCE, Courtesy of the Met Museum

When I was a teenager Jean Michel Basquiat made me a great drawing, employing his key iconography, and I had it framed and lived with it for many years. When I became a father, I never saw bills come crashing in so quickly, so with regret I brought this sacred relic to an auction house. Whereupon they asked me for the paperwork. It had never occurred to me to have the damn thing pedigreed, and now was made to understand that the board was no longer considering certifications. I was met with disappointment, to find this precious item ripped of its price, but met my fiscal challenge in some other manner. And I continue to live with this spark of genius, that might have easily been traded in for a sack of rice, but continues to inspire and bring joy to my household instead… in that intangible way that poetry can always nourish us where bread fails. 

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