Among Cape Cod’s remarkable attributes is a way of surfacing when and where you least expect it – associations, affiliations, allusions, connections historical and contemporary, a single degree of separation among strangers.
So when I was in Atlanta, Georgia, I should have expected a few Cape curveballs to slide across my plate. But when they did, once again I was surprised.
The High Museum of Art in downtown Atlanta (High being a family name rather than a description of the work) is not the Met in New York or Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts but still a flagship with a deep collection; classic oil portraits, landscapes, still lifes, porcelain and glass gleaming in cases, Realist to Impressionist to Abstract. Also well-represented are Black American and African creators, as befits the city’s heritage and present.
On the second of five floors is a room showcasing American art from the early 20th century. I was trying to slow down and appreciate each piece, not glaze over, when one of many rectangles caught my eye; “Figures on the Beach, Provincetown.”
I had never seen the painting nor heard of the painter, B.J.O. Nordfeldt, who rendered it in 1916. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but surely evoked the place.
Why was it hanging on a rarefied wall in Atlanta?
It seemed to be offering a tip of the hat, acknowledgement that a collection of American art from 100 years ago should include something from Provincetown.
I ran a quick check on Nordfeldt. After serving in World War One he showed up among an emerging artist group but didn’t stay long and spent much of his life in the Southwest. He gets some credit for initiating what became a distinctive Provincetown form, white line printing (which this painting is not), though Blanche Lazelle personified the technique and for my money living artists Billy Evaul and Ellen LeBow are more expressive masters of it.
OK, a fun Cape moment in the American South. Cool. Move on.
I meandered through Americana, room to room, moving forward in time, when it happened again. This time the piece was not Cape Cod evocative, but the artist was:
“The Flowers” was painted around 1958 by Robert Vickrey in what the museum called a “magical realist aesthetic”; flowers on a windowsill, the rest of the painting the so-called magical part — though to me a realistic reflection fronting a realistic interior.
I met Vickrey in Orleans where he lived for a long time until his death in 2011. He was a practitioner of “egg tempera”; he mixed egg yolks with pigment to make his colors and medium. It was the dominant European technique for centuries, fast-drying, stable, supplanted by oil painting in the 1500s. That Vickrey employed it was in keeping with his personality -- educated, curmudgeonly, proudly unconventional yet also traditional.
While “magical realism” became his tagline, he was best known for more straightforward renditions:
From the 1940s to the 1960s Vickrey’s work appeared in Time Magazine, a big deal then, portraits and sketches of movie stars, royalty, the famous, for example a cover of reclusive writer J.D. Salinger.
He accepted only a few private commissions, one for Speaker of the House Thomas P. “Tip” O’Neill, who swung by from his place in Harwich to sit (or stand) for Vickrey in Orleans. That portrait, unveiled in 1986, resides in the permanent collection of the U.S. House of Representatives.
It was fun invoking home once again while standing in a museum in Atlanta, again pondering the question:
Why is a small Robert Vickrey, not particularly memorable, tucked into a world-class show displayed in Georgia? Maybe because it included a reference to Atlanta’s biggest export, Coca Cola?
Just kidding — kindah.
The better answer is that this is another proof of Cape Cod’s proclivity for showing up.
Haven’t subscribed yet? To keep seeing a Voice (a cool trick), please support this local expression:
Love this. Monday the MFA posted a pic on FB of a woodcut from a current exhibition through October. Called Provincetown Printmakers, the comment mentioned Nordfeldt among others. I was at the museum on 3/30 and happened to see them.
This is amazing Seth. My wife Laurie’s father Clifford Gustafson was an artist who most likely painted with Vickrey. His work is on display at the Orleans Inn. Many of his students come by to share the impact he had on their lives. Art is our connection to the past and hopefully generations to come will continue to love it as much as us.