Thomas Hoving (1931–2009)

Rarely have I enjoyed a book more while disliking the author so intensely. I think he'd be rather difficult to be in proximity with -- and yet he can tell a story that keeps you on the edge of your seat. What an amazing recount of the roller coaster ride of transforming this venerable museum. What an interesting take on city government and arts groups and community groups, etc. The part about the exhibit "Harlem on my Mind" was particularly poignant -- I saw this exhibit as a very small show more child and it's still etched in my head decades later. A man who accomplished a great deal, who can spin a yarn, and who one can admire for his accomplishments if not his demeanor or methods. Read it. show less

Woo. Never a dull moment. No spade not called a spade, no opinion unexpressed. One thing I will certainly say for Hoving, though, is that he isn't any more afraid to discuss his own foibles and shortcomings and outright failures than he is everyone else's. That's part of what makes his writing appealing. When his own horn deserves tooting, it certainly gets tooted (and, again, he is fair - others' horns toot all over the place as well), but he doesn't ignore his errors. I'm still stunned by show more the sheer underhandedness that went into the acquisition of many, if not most, of the works in the museum, and the strata of hatred and enmity and cronyism (?) throughout the art and antiquities community. Maybe it's just as well I never went that route (it was a passing dream) - I would have been eaten alive. I was attracted by the title, which was Hoving's intent when he became Director of the Met. And he did it. show less

There is something about the world of crime as it intersects with art that is just fascinating. The cleverness – sometimes brilliance – applied to creating forgeries, cheek by jowl with sometimes massive stupidities that either reveal them or blind suckers who believe in them; the pervasiveness of copies through time and space; the age-old question of why a forgery is worth less than an original when experts can't tell which is which (Mr. Hoving makes his opinion on this topic very show more clear). In his long career in and around the art world, Hoving collected more stories than, it seems, any other six people combined, and happily among his many gifts was a gossipy, intelligent, conversational writing style which sets those stories down in some terrific pot-boilers of books.

My only regret about False Impressions is the sparseness of illustrations. There are quite a few black-and-white photos inserted, of a few of the works of art discussed as well as people and events along the way, but there are so very many works examined which aren't included, for some of which Goodsearch and Google come up lemons. Ideally, of course, I would have loved to have seen all of the forgeries – and, where applicable, their originals. There is one example of both side by side, challenging the reader to pick which was which, and yes, I did pick correctly, therefore finding it to be a great idea. For the rest, I spent quite a bit of time combing the internet, with decidedly mixed results; some of the forgeries that were discovered have been relegated to storage deep in the bowels of the Met, and will never be seen again by the ordinary public.

Hoving talks here, as in Making the Mummies Dance, about handling the old and beautiful and unique, and that inevitably rouses deep jealousy in me. But he was well aware of the privilege and responsibility and honor of being able to do so, which keeps me from feeling full-blown hate-you envy; he never lost his admiration and adoration of art, never became jaded about the Monets and Vermeers and medieval altarpieces, was as excited by the last wonderful piece he handled as he was by the first - which all is one of the reasons I love to read his books. show less

Magnificence. Instead of getting a wordy autobiography, Wyeth gives us his paintings and provides the reasoning and associated memories with each work of art. Now, that's a true biography. Thus we see the artist as the artist, not as a biographer wants to be seen.

Wyeth was a Regional Realist and very East Coast American, which also comes across in his descriptions. The reader can look at The Cider Barrel, for instance, and discover that good cider needs to be kept filled to the brim. If that show more information wasn't there, the picture would still stand, but now you view it in a completely different way.

He also brings out his technique, such as not being as neat as his father, N.C. Wyeth, was with his illustrations. His father's death deeply affected Andrew, as seen in Weatherside. The Olson house is falling apart, but instead of cleaning the artwork, Wyeth remains real, because his father's tragic death reminded him that all things pass and nothing holds still forever. Same with Marsh Hawk, a tempura showing old wagon trains that were later destroyed in a flood. Nothing lasts.

Wyeth can also be humorous, and this is where his descriptions are so apt. Storm At Sea was painted with most of the lighthouse purposely cut off, which irritated a passing tourist who remarked, "You can see he's an amateur by how he's cut off the top of the lighthouse." Everyone is a critic!

"You're in the lap of the gods-almost like painting with your eyes half-closed. Sometimes I don't want to see too clearly."

This entire book is a treasure, not just for the incredible art but for the honesty and the intimacy that Wyeth provides us. I now want to travel to Maine and Chadds Ford, PA to see the countryside and the people of Andrew Wyeth's world.

Book Season = Winter (snow, dry, colorless) show less