by Valérie Kinder, Collections Intern
Hello, dear readers. Before I tell you about my recent work and discovery, please allow me to briefly introduce myself. Since September, I have been doing an internship at the Kentucky Museum, where I have focused the majority of my time examining, studying, and researching the miniatures in the Snell Collection.
As time goes on and I become more familiar with the miniatures, I find myself referring to them as “my” miniatures, as well as tiny friends whom I must get to know better.
Yes, they sometimes “talk” to me in their own way, but they are also evasive, secretive, and reluctant to open their heart to this French lady, who scrutinizes them with ever-inquisitive eyes. Every time I encounter a new miniature, it’s almost like a birthday ritual: I am excited because I know something special is coming, but I am not sure what kind of surprise it will be—good or possibly even exceptional! There is no such thing as a “bad surprise” with the miniature collection. A “new” (new to me, at least) miniature is like a gift. It is wrapped in white, crumpled tissue paper, and before I start uncovering the little treasure, I must put on Nitrile gloves that make me feel like I am prepping for an intricate surgery on a loved one.
Each miniature has a different story to tell. Sometimes it is an epic poem, but more often it is a haiku that is shrouded in mystery. I love my first encounter with a miniature; standing face-to-face and staring at each other with awe and wonder and sometimes, a little bit of fear. I must admit, my first impressions are not always favorable, but I write them in my notebook nevertheless, as a reminder of my initial emotional response, before forming any aesthetic judgment. I know that any confrontation with art can be intimidating, especially for non-specialists, and, despite my degree in Art History, I still have much to learn. Yet, I feel I must let the miniature introduce itself before I read its accompanying note file, which gives me crucial information about the subject, the technique, the period, and the artist if I am lucky. I eventually developed my current procedure—deliberately not reading Mr. Yassin’s notes before I examine a work myself—because of an experience I had with one very special miniature. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Who is Mr. Yassin, you might ask? He was Robert Yassin, Chief Curator at the Indianapolis Museum of Art, and he did an evaluation of the Snell Collection in 1975. Mr. Yassin was very knowledgeable, but over time I began to wonder, could he ever be wrong?
I never will forget the day that fueled that speculation. I checked the miniature number, went to the filing cabinet, took out the folder that contained the list of miniatures and Mr. Yassin’s comments about them. I had not seen miniature #A177 yet, but here is what I read:
Yes, admittedly, there are some oddities about this painting—the flatness of the girl’s bosom, the unfinished appearance, the chaotic and highly visible brushstrokes, the uncontrolled impasto—that may have led Mr. Yassin to question the painter’s talent. But, there are also some intrinsic qualities: an unusual modernist composition, dynamic, gestural and somewhat calligraphic lines infused with energy and creative impulse, a minimalism and synthetic expression approaching abstraction, a strange combination of vibrant red and demure earthy tones that captures the fleetingness of life, a highly naturalistic treatment of light, the minutiae of detail, and an obvious Impressionist influence.
But let’s not forget the signature, which on a painting is not always a good sign. In the case of the alluring Spanish girl, it required some creative detective work. Who was Pinazo? Long story short, I learned that Ignacio Pinazo Camarlench (1849 – 1916) was a Spanish painter from Valencia and a great pioneer of modern Valencian painting. He studied at the San Carlos Academy of Fine Arts and won several national awards during his artistic career, ending up being a member of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of San Carlos and a respected teacher. Although he was an acclaimed painter during his lifetime, he had been forgotten and only gained recognition recently, when he was described as the foremost impressionist Spanish painter by curators at the Instituto Valenciano de Arte Moderno. He was known for his rapid brushstrokes, pictorial inventions, and for painting on wood without prior surface preparation.
My goal was to figure out if this Pinazo was indeed the artist who painted the Spanish girl because the signature did not really match those of his other works. However, many of his trademark characteristics—idiosyncratic brushstrokes, singular use of color, and most telling, his preference for elongated rectangular wood panels in his miniatures, are present in the Kentucky Museum’s miniature, strengthening the attribution to the Spanish master!
Of course, it needs to be professionally assessed. As far as I am concerned, it does not matter if the Spanish girl is by a famous painter or not! She epitomizes what makes working at the Kentucky Museum a unique, exciting, and enjoyable experience.
About Valérie
Valérie Kinder is a graduate of WKU’s Art History program and currently pursuing her Master’s in Education (Instructional Design) with the University of Bordeaux, France. She chose to work with us for her internship, blending collections research with creating educational materials on the art collection. A native of Normandy, France, Valérie’s expertise has been invaluable to our ongoing research and cataloging efforts, including a forthcoming miniatures exhibition with Dr. Guy Jordan. We are so grateful for all her hard work, and look forward to seeing the great things she will accomplish!