That painting is one of the dumbest paintings in the history of painting.
When searching for an illustration for the previous post I saw the thumbnail of that painting and thought I recognized it. When I enlarged it I was more convinced that I had seen it before. I may be mistaken (I frequently am) but I believe that that painting was part of David Hockney's case for the use of lenses by some painters. I have written some on Mr. Hockney's book, Secret Knowledge, on that subject and attended the NYU conference on same some years ago.
I hold that that painting is an abortion of a painting for the following reasons. First, the title:
"An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump."
Let's play Jacques Derrida and deconstruct that title:
"An Experiment..."
Okay, we know the genus "experiment." We understand that word. But "experiment" singular. There seem to be two experiments going on here.
"on a bird..."
On a bird? You're not allowed to experiment on birds anymore, at least not live ones. I don't know if that bird is alive or not. You can experiment on dead birds, like conduct the bird equivalent of an autopsy. Whatever is going on with the bird, there's also a jar on the table that seems to have nothing to do with the contraption with the bird in it.
"in the Air Pump."
It's an air pump. It's the air pump, as distinguished from the genus air pumps. Maybe this was the first air pump, or a particularly distinguished air pump.
What's an air pump? Some thing that you squeeze or whatever and it blows air. The air pump has a crank thing that could produce blown air. Ooh, really ingenious. Let's blow air on a bird and see what happens.
This painting was from the period in Western Man's history known as "The Enlightenment." "The Enlightenment" was an oxymoron. It was unenlightened. It was similar to that period in Western Man's history known as "the 1970's," the era of polyester, leisure suits, polyester leisure suits, disco music, the Bee Gees, professional baseball players wearing shorts, and like abortions.
Besides the title, there is the composition of the painting, viz.
What is in that jar? From memory (but see above) it's supposed to be phosphorus. Now I, Benjamin Harris, didn't do too good in school in chemistry. And I acknowledge that phosphorous does glow in the dark. However. However. Unless the enlightened subjects in the painting are doing an experiment with uranium-235, nothing, I say nothing, glows in the dark like that. Look at how intense that light is.
So where are the shadows?
"An Experiment with Light in a Dark Room:" The sun-in-a-jar u-235 or whatever it is would cast deep--deep, deep, deep, deep, deep--dark shadows. The form of the guy idiotically pointing to the bird would cast a deep--deep, deep, deep, deep, deep--dark shadow on the wall behind him. You would not be able to see the bird cage or the wooden moulding in the back. If, all of the foregoing if, this wasn't a dumb painting.
What does the u-235 have to do with the air pump? Is it a nuclear-powered air pump? That would be ingenious.
Now look at the people. The people are not connected to each other, nor to the composition as a whole. They're a cut-and-paste job. The "artist," the renowned "Joseph Wright of Derby" (to distinguish him from the other renowned artists named Joseph Wright), seemingly has taken unrelated subjects from unrelated scenes and put them together in this painting. Like nobody would notice.
First we'll take Barry Gibb:
What is he looking at? It looks like he's in charge of the "Experiment"--he's manning the crank--and the way his mouth's painted it looks like he's caught in mid-explanation of his Experiment, "And when Ah tuhn the crank thusly a-yuh is pro-dooosed which causes the bir-rid to flut-tuh."
In mid-explanation to whom? He's not looking at any of the other people in the room. Who-are-you-talk-ing-to-mo-ron?
To B-G's right are the lovebirds:
They are not paying B-G any mind. Because they are unconnected to the scene. They were in a park or drawing room and Joseph Wright of Derby cut and pasted them into this "laboratory."
Now, look at this kid down here:
Compare his face to the male lovebird's:
Kid.
Lovebird.
They're the same person. Joseph Wright (of Derby) has taken the same subject and painted him twice into the painting, like nobody would notice. That was not an uncommon occurrence in painting. If I'm not mistaken, Leonardo da Vinci* did it in The Last Supper. Why artists, whether Leonardo or Joseph Wright da Derby, did it, I don't know because it's dumb.
If you take away the female accoutrement and just look at the facial structure the female lovebird may be the same person as the male lovebird and the kid:
Continuing counter-clockwise we encounter George Washington:
The Thinker is impressed by the B-G's experiment if no one else in this painting is. He's studying the uranium-235 in the jar. No he is not. His eyes don't line up with the jar. The great Joseph Wright of Derby has cut and pasted this guy from somewhere else and almost--but not quite--aligned his gaze properly. The Thinker's gaze actually align's with the eyes of the kid. He's leering at the kid. Maybe The Thinker's a pervert. Or maybe this is a dumb painting.
Maybe there is a deep subliminal political message here, the decapitation of George Washington. Swine Joseph Wright of Derby.
The Thinker and Barry Gibb may be the same person:
The two female cherubim are distressed about tweety-bird, the older cherub not able to look--or maybe she's blinded by the u-235. "Look, tweety's okay," the guy says, with his arm around the older cherub. The guy may be the same as The Thinker and Barry Gibb.
The blinding light of the u-235 doesn't travel very far. Junior's at the birdcage illuminated as if by a single candle on the table. And the moon--and the moonlit clouds--are clear through the window. How? No how.
*corrected from Michelangelo May 12.
Oil painting by Joseph Wright of Derby (1768 (Enlightenment)).
