Livre d’Matisse

“I do not distinguish between the construction of a book and that of a painting and I always proceed from the simple to the complex.” -Henri Matisse, 1946

Le Cygne
Livre d’artiste, or Artist’s Book, were common at the turn of the 20th c. in France, and Henri Matisse produced more than a dozen illustrated books in his lifetime. Lucky folks in Atlanta will be able to see some of Matisse’s most successful book illustrations on display at the Museum of Art at Oglethorpe University from January 17 until May 9. This exhibition looks lovely, and I enjoy the convergence of the simple lines of the lithographs and the poetry.

Matisse especially loved poetry, and he produced dozens of drawings and etchings to illustrate the work of French poets Stephane Mallarme and Pierre Ronsard that are on view. Initially he created a 30 lithograph portfolio in 1941, but seven years later Matisse had transformed it into a 128 page volume entitled Florilege des Amours de Ronsard. Matisse’s drawings accompany the lyric poetry with flowers, nudes, dancers, and music.

I wasn’t familiar with this part of Matisse’s ouerve, and in looking for more information, found the artist had also illustrated James Joyce’s Ulysses and Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal!, which leads me down another path of exploration…

Florilege des Amours de Ronsard

The Book is the Art


A great collection of art book images over at BibliOdyssey is inspiring. Pulled from the Art Institute of Chicago’s Joan Flasch Artist Book Collection, the archive is searchable by medium, binding, or category. The example below is a Wizard of Oz pop up book. I never did do the pop up book I had wanted to, but some of the books in this collection are reviving that desire.


The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by Robert Sabuda

Ravels in Review Friday


We’ve hop-skipped-and-jumped around this week, leaping off cultural juggernauts to cultural lows with some harmless light entertainment in between. I expected this week to be more about the art fairs New York had last weekend, but I was underwhelmed by a lot of what I saw and there’ll be no dearth of opinions elsewhere, I’m sure.

Peak: Shakespeare, who’s apparently a babe
Trough: Paying for ersatz art of yourself. No one has yet risen to my bait of ‘why, in this post-Warhol age, the things I mentioned are not art?’ Hint: I do believe there is a reason why.
Middling organisms of cultural evolution: Noel Coward singing and my guilty pleasure reads, art heist books. Suggestions welcome.