The Stettheimer Dollhouse & Duchamp’s Little Known Miniature

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A dollhouse and Marcel Duchamp. Not exactly two words you expect to have a strong relationship.

But that would be incorrect, I was amazed to discover recently, when I came across the Stettheimer Dollhouse at the Museum of the City of New York. Peering through the glass that now encloses it, I saw a dollhouse taken to new, opulent heights with 16 rooms of elaborate themed decoration in a miniature two-story mansion that speaks of upper-crust 1930s New York. No detail was too small: tiny pieces of Limoges porcelain, carefully fashioned window drapes and swag, elaborate wall murals and mirrored doors as well as chandelier after chandelier. In fact, it is a replica of the Stettheimer sisters’ home created by Carrie Stettheimer. If the decor seems fantastic, it is also surprisingly mimetic; the Stettheimer home was also decorated in such a whimsical way. Stettheimer reproduced in detail period furniture, trim, and light fixtures and painted tiny wallpaper like the Noah’s Ark scene in the children’s nursery. She began it in 1916 and worked on it through the 1930s, her constant and singular artistic pursuit.

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Beyond the care taken with this dollhouse, and its panache, is another surprise. Stettheimer asked some of the artists who frequented their home to create tiny copies of their paintings and sculptures for the dollhouse. The Stettheimer home was a hub of cultural activity as the sisters entertained a bohemian milieu, as evidenced by the dollhouse’s ballroom. The ballroom boasts an art collection to rival full-sized collections with works by Alexander Archipenko, George Bellows, Gaston Lachaise, and Louis Bouche. The stunner is a 2 x 3-inch rendition of Nude Descending a Staircase contributed by Marcel Duchamp. Lachaise did a miniature alabaster nude statue that appear outside the ballroom doors alongside William Zorach’s tiny bronze Mother and Child. The collection is displayed in carefully composed environment where the striped floor matches the gilded chairs and fireplace, complete with tiny logs waiting to be lit.

Carrie Stettheimer. Photographed on October 8, 1932 by Carl Van Vechten.

Carrie Stettheimer, photographed on October 8, 1932 by Carl Van Vechten.

 

Florine Stettheimer is known as the artist of the family: her original paintings are now prominently hung in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s modern wing, where they stick out as separate from the larger Modernist conversation. Florine’s work also appears in the dollhouse: she contributed a miniature portrait of Carrie (it hangs in Carrie’s favorite bedroom of the dollhouse). Yet her sister Carrie’s dollhouse can be considered a unique work of art in its own right, a fantasy world perhaps all the more enticing because of its roots in reality. Carrie Stettheimer died in 1944 and, in 1945, her surviving sister Ettie gave it to the Museum of the City of New York, so that now Carrie’s life work is now on permanent view at the Museum of the City of New York.

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Relative size of my thumb and Duchamp’s miniature Nude Descending a Staircase (bottom center).

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William Zorach’s bronze Mother and Child (L), and Guston Lachaise’s alabaster nude (R).

Revisiting Imran Qureshi’s Roof Garden Commission: Miniature as Medium

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If you are like me, you might not have realized how closely Imran Qureshi’s installation on this roof of the Met this summer is connected to the tradition of miniature painting in South Asia. Certainly the red splatters remind one more immediately of Jackson Pollock, as well as of bloodstains, even if the suggestion of violence felt somehow unreal when seen over the trees of Central Park. When I saw the Pakistani artist’s more traditionally realized miniature painting below, it clicked into place for me.

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Qureshi’s 2011 miniature on traditional wasli paper, Blessings on the Land of My Love, uses the same splattered motif as the roof garden, only organized around the drainage grate on an interior courtyard. Blessings Upon the Land of My Love was also a 2011 site-specific installation at the Sharjah Biennial 10 that used this red vegetal patterning to take on the architectural structure.  The miniature on paper suggests that Qureshi sees the same vision whether writ small or large, and that moving the miniature off the page and putting it in dialogue with architecture still retains some essence of the miniature. In fact, considering the installation in closer relation to miniature painting allows one to see both how Qureshi employed formal elements of his traditional miniature training, in the Pahari style foliage, and even to connect it with the Mughal practice of employing pictorial artists to decorate their palaces with large wall paintings in addition to illustrating books. In a sense, miniature painting is a medium that the artist works through, rather than resides in.

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Last Days for Chris Burden at New Museum

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The Chris Burden retrospective at the New Museum ends January 12, so if you’ve been meaning to go see it, now is the time. The documentation of his painful, well-known 1970s performances, like when he had someone shoot him, are well done and fill a void in purposefully little documented events. Rather flat, almost terse voiceovers by the artist looking back and describing these past performances feel particularly intimate as they play over footage of Burden inching over broken glass or setting out to sea in a canoe with a gallon of water that would save his life. However, most of the museum (which you can make your way down from the top in a less elegant version of the Guggenheim spiral) is devoted to large, show-stopping works.

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Case in point: All the Submarines of the United States of America is a gallery-sized installation of 625 suspended cardboard submarines. A wall of the gallery (seen here) names each of the submarines represented in the exhibition. Without the voiceovers, or other direction, you are left to sift through the possible political meanings of the work. (The submarines have been very popular on Instagram lately.)

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Sharing the gallery with the submarines, A Tale of Two Cities is a miniature reconstruction of two city-states at war with each other. Made out of thousands of toys, the details of the installation can only be seen through he binoculars set up along the perimeter. Or, was the case when I was there, perhaps through a camera lens.

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