Getty Art + Ideas

We’ve asked members of the Getty community to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. These recordings feature stories related to our daily lives.

This week, Johnny Tran relates deeply to the joy of a family gathered around the dinner table and considers the importance of beautiful public housing to Black Angelenos in the 1940s. He discusses a photograph of architect Paul R. Williams’s Pueblo del Rio project from Leonard Nadel’s unpublished book Pueblo Del Rio: A Study of a Planned Community. To learn more about this photograph, visit: rosettaapp.getty.edu/delivery/Deliv…s_pid=FL218644.

Over the next few weeks, look for new recordings every other Tuesday.

Transcript

JAMES CUNO: Hi, I’m Jim Cuno, president of the J. Paul Getty Trust. In a new podcast feature, we’re asking members of the Getty community to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. We’ll be releasing new recordings every other Tuesday. I hope you’ll find these stories about our daily lives—from laundry on the line to a dog at a scholar’s feet—thought provoking, illuminating, and entertaining.

JOHNNY TRAN: Hi I'm Johnny Tran from the curatorial department of the Getty Research Institute.

Due to COVID-19, I decided to move back to my childhood home, in Anaheim, California to be with my parents and sister. And moving back I realized just how lucky I was to have the option of going back home to be with family in these difficult times. That's something my immigrant parents didn't really have a chance to do, and it got me thinking about what makes a home a home.

I work primarily with our architecture and design collections. And in these recent months, I find myself coming back to this unpublished book that we have in the archives called Pueblo Del Rio: A Study of a Planned Community. There are stunning photographs in this book, but there is one in particular, of a woman named Bessie Samuel and her family and that just pulls me back every time.

It's an image of a Black family sharing a meal in their new modern kitchen. It's an sort of everyday sort of scene. However, for the Samuel family, it takes a lot of effort to get to this moment.

The Samuels called Pueblo del Rio their home. It's a public housing project in the South Central area of Los Angeles, and the designs were led by actually the most renowned African American architect, Paul Williams. Built in the early 1940s, it was primarily for African American defense workers. This was a time when LA was highly segregated, there are very few housing options available, particularly for people of color.

By the late 1940s Leonard Nadel, an American photographer, was hired to document the public housing projects like Pueblo Del Rio. You see Nadel’s skill and not only documenting the really beautiful functional modernist design of the house. But you see the everyday life, the people who live in these buildings, like the Samuel family.

It makes me appreciate the steps that my parents took to have a home, and these little family moments that I get to have with them. Like every night when we have dinner.

It also makes me realize just how far we still have to go and the enormous changes and challenges we face to provide housing for underserved communities. Pueblo del Rio was a positive step forward, and I realize it takes community engagement and government action to achieve this.

I love this quote that Nadel ends the book with, from Franklin Roosevelt: “We have accepted a second bill of rights under which a new basis of security and prosperity can be established for all. Regardless of station, race, or creed. Among these are the right of every American for a decent home.”

CUNO: To view Leonard Nadel’s photographs of Paul R. William’s Pueblo del Rio from the late 1940s, click the link in this episode’s description or look for it on primo.getty.edu

Art institutions around the world responded to the COVID-19 pandemic by closing their doors and rethinking planned exhibitions, programming, and partnerships. Now, a few months into the crisis, museums are beginning to reopen, but they are also reevaluating what the next few years might bring and how they might continue to work collaboratively.

The pandemic hit just as the Getty was beginning to partner with museums in Mumbai, Mexico City, Shanghai, and Berlin on its Ancient Worlds Now initiative, a ten-year project dedicated to the study, presentation, and conservation of the world’s ancient cultures.

In this episode, Neil MacGregor, former director of the British Museum, joins Yang Zhigang, director of the Shanghai Museum, and Andreas Scholl, director of the Altes Museum, Antikensaammlung, Collection of Classical Antiquities, in Berlin. They discuss their responses to COVID-19 and their hopes for the future of the Ancient Worlds Now initiative.

For images, transcripts, and more, visit getty.edu/podcasts.

We’ve asked members of the Getty community to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. These recordings feature stories related to our daily lives.

Over the next few weeks, look for new recordings every other Tuesday.

Transcript

JAMES CUNO: Hi, I’m Jim Cuno, president of the J. Paul Getty Trust. In a new podcast feature, we’re asking members of the Getty community to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. We’ll be releasing new recordings every other Tuesday. I hope you’ll find these stories about our daily lives—from laundry on the line to a dog at a scholar’s feet—thought provoking, illuminating, and entertaining.

LARISA GROLLEMOND: I'm Larisa Grollemond, assistant curator of manuscripts at the Getty.

When we first started working from home back in March, what now seems like really an eternity ago, I started keeping track of time by counting off the weeks. I eventually stopped around week 13 or so, but I think, as many of us have experienced, there are lots of different ways that we mark time: walking the dogs, eating meals, your 100th zoom call of the week. So I've been thinking a lot about the ways that medieval people marked time.

And as the months passed by, how all of the seasonal markers that we rely on to keep track of time passing seem even more important. This is a calendar page for July from a Book of Hours, which was the kind of manuscript that many medieval people relied on as a guide to daily prayer. They often also have these calendar pages which are really practical as well as often really beautifully illuminated. And this one shows a list of saints’ days in alternating colors, sort of like the holidays would be marked for us on a normal wall calendar. Memorial Day, Passover, the Fourth of July.

These are also often decorated with seasonal markers, usually something like an agricultural chore that you'd have to do during that time of year. Here for July, you can see a man and woman pictured at the bottom of the page reaping wheat, and it must be really hot. The man's legs are bare and the woman's over skirt has been pulled up. They both look like they could really use a break.

Even though probably not many of us are reaping wheat, I think I feel a new connection to the person who must have used this calendar to find their place in time, as the days feel both interminably long and weirdly compressed at the same time, and watching all the hallmarks of the seasons passing that we've come to expect come and go. And I think that the predictability and regularity of a calendar is reassuring. It's kind of heartening to think that July in France in the early 15th century when this manuscript was made might have felt like July in Los Angeles in 2020.

CUNO: To view this July calendar page from the workshop of the Bedford Master, made in Paris, France, around 1440 to 1450, click the link in this episode’s description or look for it on getty.edu/art/collection.

Art institutions around the world responded to the COVID-19 pandemic by closing their doors and rethinking planned exhibitions, programming, and partnerships. Now, a few months into the crisis, museums are beginning to reopen, but they are also reevaluating what the next few years might bring and how they might continue to work collaboratively.

The pandemic hit just as Getty was beginning to partner with museums in Mumbai, Mexico City, Shanghai, and Berlin on its Ancient Worlds Now initiative, a ten-year project dedicated to the study, presentation, and conservation of the world’s ancient cultures.

In this episode, Neil MacGregor, former director of the British Museum, joins Sabyasachi Mukherjee, director general of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya in Mumbai, and Antonio Saborit, director of the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City, to discuss their responses to COVID-19 and their hopes for the future of the Ancient Worlds Now initiative.

For images, transcripts, and more, visit getty.edu/podcasts.

We’ve asked curators from the Getty Museum and Getty Research Institute to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. These recordings feature stories related to our daily lives.

This week, curator Idurre Alonso imagines a trip to the lush Brazilian landscape through an illustration in a 1648 book. To learn more about this artwork, visit: http://hdl.handle.net/10020/cat_ALMA2113047222000155.

Over the next few weeks, look for new recordings every Tuesday.

JAMES CUNO: Hello, I’m Jim Cuno, president of the J. Paul Getty Trust. As we all adapt to working and living under these new and unusual circumstances, we’ve asked curators from the Getty Museum and Getty Research Institute to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. We’ll be releasing new recordings on Tuesdays over the next few weeks. I hope you’ll find these stories about our daily lives—from laundry on the line to a dog at a scholar’s feet—thought provoking, illuminating, and entertaining.

IDURRE ALONSO: Hi, my name is Idurre Alonso and I work as curator of Latin American collections at the Getty Research Institute.

So I chose this image, which is the frontispiece of a book called Natural History of Brazil, written by Willem Piso in 1648, as I was thinking how we're basically trapped in our houses. And we can’t get out and we can’t travel. And so thinking on how this image takes me to, to a place in Brazil almost this idyllic place, almost like paradise. With this very lush nature, and I would like to be there.

And what I like about it is that you have all these different elements, [it] is full of details that talk about how many different species, new species, and new trees and new fruits were found in Latin America. One of the elements that I really love are the monkeys in the top part, holding the banner with the title of the book. And I also love this sloth climbing into the tree in the right part. And of course, then you have the couple, the indigenous couple, which is depicted in a very classical, conventional way.

And all these depictions in this print is referencing paradise, the biblical passage of paradise. And so instead of having Adam and Eve, then you have this couple. You can see this snake climbing, instead of a tree, well it is a tree, it is a palm tree. So using a local tree from Latin America.

Looking at all these elements, I think about how much I would like to be in a place like this. And I also think about what is the other side of, of this print. This idyllic image contrasts with a reality of what actually happened during the colonial time, how indigenous groups were decimated and forced to convert to Catholicism, and how also natural resources were heavily extracted many times by enslaved people.

So those are all the things that I that I can think of when I, when I look at this image and imagine myself there while I'm sitting in my sofa here in Los Angeles.

CUNO: To learn more about Willem Piso’s Historia naturalis Brasiliae, published in 1648, click the link in this episode’s description or look for it on primo.getty.edu

We’ve asked curators from the Getty Museum and Getty Research Institute to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. These recordings feature stories related to our daily lives.

This week, curator Kenneth Lapatin dives into a new world through a Roman carved gem that features Aeneas fleeing Troy. To learn more about this artwork, visit:  https://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/336770/.

Over the next few weeks, look for new recordings every Tuesday.

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JAMES CUNO: Hi, I’m Jim Cuno, president of the J. Paul Getty Trust. As we all adapt to working and living under these new and unusual circumstances, we’ve asked curators from the Getty Museum and Getty Research Institute to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. We’ll be releasing new recordings on Tuesdays over the next few weeks. I hope you’ll find these stories about our daily lives—from laundry on the line to a dog at a scholar’s feet—thought provoking, illuminating, and entertaining.

KENNETH LAPATIN: I'm Kenneth Lapatin, curator of antiquities at the Getty villa. In quarantine, working from home in a seemingly endless soup of time, it's easy to get sucked into rabbit holes, delving too deeply into the depressing news of the day, or binge-watching Netflix. But this strange time has also afforded space to read, write, and think. And for me this unexpected opportunity for research has become a kind of escape, a happy place where sometimes I can slip into the zone where time is momentarily suspended.

I’ve become particularly fascinated by this one Roman gem, less than an inch tall, about the size of an olive. This translucent reddish orange stone is a cornelian. When held in the hand and rotated in the light, this gem would have flashed, gleamed and glowed, amazing viewers in an age before electric light.

Using minute cutting wheels dipped in abrasives and other tools, the anonymous ancient gem engraver carved into its surface a scene of escape. The large central figures the Trojan Prince Aeneas, he carries his aged father on his shoulder and leads his son by the hand.

But here in this tiny gem, there's so much more than just the three heroes. The gem engraver has carved each block of the impregnable walls of Troy. The scene takes place at night, but the bright glowing stone itself vividly evokes the fires that consumed Troy when it was sacked by the Greeks, after they breached the tall gate of the doomed city, hidden in the infamous wooden horse.

Here in the tumult of the sack of his city, Aeneas has already lost his wife and will soon lose his father. It was the will of the gods.

But there is also hope. In the lower left, three sailors prepare for escape as Aeneas brings his family aboard the ship that will take them to a new life in Italy.

The ancients viewed the destruction of Troy as the necessary precursor to the founding of Rome. This gem was carved early in the reign of the Emperor Augustus, the adopted son of Julius Caesar, after decades of civil war. It is in remarkably good condition. It has suffered only a few minor scratches. This exquisite gemstone evokes destruction and suffering, loss and pain, but it also contains messages of durability, strength, and hope for a better future.

CUNO: To view this Roman carved gem with Aeneas and his family escaping Troy, made in Italy around the year 20 BC, click the link in this episode’s description or look for it on getty.edu/art/collection.

In the year 1000 CE, complex trade networks were taking shape, stimulating unprecedented cultural interactions. The Vikings reached the shores of North America, trade routes connected China with Europe and Africa, and in the Americas, cities like Chichén Itzá underwent explosive growth that attracted people and goods from afar. These are just a few of the world-changing phenomena of this transformative era.

Valerie Hansen explores these early economic and cultural exchanges and their long-term impact in her new book The Year 1000: When Explorers Connected the World―and Globalization Began, which originated as a college course co-taught with Mary Miller, director of the Getty Research Institute. In this episode, Hansen and Miller discuss the state of the world around the year 1000. 

For images, transcripts, and more, visit getty.edu/podcasts.

We’ve asked curators from the Getty Museum and Getty Research Institute to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. These recordings feature stories related to our daily lives.

This week, curator Bryan Keene sees a common motif from illuminated manuscripts in a paper chain craft that he makes with his children. To learn more about this artwork, visit: https://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/103069/.

Over the next few weeks, look for new recordings every Tuesday.

Transcript

JAMES CUNO: Hi, I’m Jim Cuno, president of the J. Paul Getty Trust. As we all adapt to working and living under these new and unusual circumstances, we’ve asked curators from the Getty Museum and Getty Research Institute to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. We’ll be releasing new recordings on Tuesdays over the next few weeks. I hope you’ll find these stories about our daily lives—from laundry on the line to a dog at a scholar’s feet—thought provoking, illuminating, and entertaining.

BRYAN KEENE: Hello, my name is Bryan Keene and I am a curator of manuscripts at the Getty Museum. Growing up, my family used to make brightly colored chains out of paper to commemorate a holiday, birthday, or other special occasion. Each day in anticipation of the big event, we would tear off a link, knowing that we were one day closer to seeing our friends and family and to celebrating together.

Now, my husband and I are working from home with our two small children, ages 3 and 5 and we’ve had to celebrate all of those special occasions while in quarantine. Once the severity of the current pandemic became clear, we decided to reverse this art-making project: every day for the last eleven weeks and counting, we’ve added a link to a chain. Our daughter helps to determine the pattern of color or design for the current week and our son practices writing words of things that we’re thankful for or memories from the day.

I look at our chain as a reminder of the pervasive interlace and knot patterns found in decorated books—from Ireland to Italy and from Egypt, Ethiopia, Armenia, Persia, and beyond.

One of the earliest codices under my care was written and likely decorated by a monk called Sigenulfus in the year 1153. He was part of the Benedictine community in Montecasino, which is about 90 miles southeast of Rome

The bright red, yellow, blue, and green interlace on this page is characteristic of manuscripts from Montecasino, as are the countless hidden creatures. As I look closely, I see small white dogs who wrestle amid scrolling vines, while blue-faced monsters appear and lurk at either end of the lower portion of the shape. There are tons of figures hidden throughout. The shimmer of gold catches my eye as I struggle to find a spot to fix my gaze. And at the center, a bleary-eyed face stares out at me. I think we’ve all felt this way in the previous weeks.

These decorations surround the letter M, which opens a prayer asking for mercy. The last line on the page asks that we be cleansed with hyssop or a salve, and that our spirits be renewed.

Having spent a lot of time in monastic communities for study, I feel something familiar about the current moment, at least in terms of the reduction in daily activities, the number of people we encounter, and the feeling that each day is surprisingly similar to the previous one.

So we’ll continue to add to our chain, inspired by this captivating illumination. And I hope that you’re able to find quiet and meditation at this time, until that wonderful day when we can all spend time together looking at works of art in museums again.

CUNO: To view this illuminated Initial M, likely written and decorated by Sigenulfus in Montecassino, Italy in the year 1153, click the link in this episode’s description or look for it on getty.edu/art/collection.

We’ve asked curators from the Getty Museum and Getty Research Institute to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. These recordings feature stories related to our daily lives.

This week, curator David Saunders reflects on how a painted vase from the 6th century BCE that shows Ajax and Achilles playing board games helps him make sense of his work-from-home life. To learn more about this artwork, visit:  https://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/6890/.

Over the next few weeks, look for new recordings every Tuesday.

JAMES CUNO: Hi, I’m Jim Cuno, president of the J. Paul Getty Trust. As we all adapt to working and living under these new and unusual circumstances, we’ve asked curators from the Getty Museum and Getty Research Institute to share short reflections on works of art they’re thinking about right now. We’ll be releasing new recordings on Tuesdays over the next few weeks. I hope you’ll find these stories about our daily lives—from laundry on the line to a dog at a scholar’s feet—thought provoking, illuminating, and entertaining.

DAVID SAUNDERS: Hi there, my name is David Saunders. I'm a curator in the Antiquities department. One of the objects that I've been looking at with renewed interest and perspective is this Athenian black figure neck amphora that shows Ajax and Achilles playing a board game.  

Normally its on view at the villa. I guess if I feel if I'm feeling generous, I would forgive you if you overlooked it. The shape is very typical, the decoration and the quality of painting is fairly commonplace, the image is by no means unusual. But like so many of the works in our collection they invite kind of a fresh perspective as our own sort of lives evolve.

Ajax and Achilles are the leading heroes of the Greek army. They've come with their comrades to Troy to recover Helen. And for whatever reason, we don't quite know, they are not needed on the battlefield, either conflict hasn't taken place yet or there is a pause in the fighting for whatever reason. And for Ajax and Achilles everything they do is centered around their status as warriors. It's their job, if you will, being on the battlefield is their workplace.

I'm certainly not going to compare myself to Ajax and Achilles, I, you know, for many reasons. But similarly, as a curator to not be in the museum every day, it's sort of sort of comparable. So much of what I do is centered around centered upon working with objects directly or engaging with our public. And to be working from home and to be at a remove from that is— it's hard.

And seeing Ajax and Achilles here, it's kind of encouraging and endearing almost to see them passing the time that they find a way to occupy themselves. We are seeing a side of Ajax and Achilles that we would never see otherwise that there's sort of this sort of casual, innocuous sort of low stakes, depiction of them play playing this game. At the same time, you see how sort of intensely focused they are, and they're bringing all of that kind of warrior persona, if you will, to the playing of this game. You know, all that energy that they have on the battlefield is being kind of concentrated on this tiny little board game. And you kind of wonder how healthy that is, you sort of almost want to tell them just to kind of actually relax, you know, loosen your grip on those spheres. And I think again, in our current moment, wanting to be productive whilst working from home, but recognizing that this is a very different situation and a different climate and it's okay to find other ways of being oneself and contributing to our community.

And I look forward to a time not only when I can see the vase directly once again but, like Ajax and Achilles, sit face to face with a friend and enjoy their company.

CUNO: To view this black-figure neck amphora featuring Ajax and Achilles, made in Athens, Greece around 510 BCE, click the link in this episode’s description or look for it on getty.edu/art/collection.

Architect Marwa al-Sabouni was born and raised in Homs, Syria. When the Syrian civil war began, she decided to remain in her home with her husband and two young children. An architect at the beginning of her career, al-Sabouni was determined to pursue her PhD in architecture, even as the war raged and her apartment building was caught in the crossfire between the Syrian army and opposition groups.

Al-Sabouni published her reflections on war, urbanism, and the relationship between architecture and community in her 2016 memoir The Battle for Home: The Vision of a Young Architect in Syria. In this episode, she discusses her life and her understandings of architecture, identity, and culture.

For images, transcripts, and more, visit getty.edu/podcasts.