Posts By Micah Christensen
Eight Works from the 102nd Spring Salon
Each year since 1924, the Springville Museum of Art (Springville, Utah) has hosted a contemporary art competition called the Spring Salon. Artists from around the country, including John Carlsen, Norman Rockwell, Emile Gruppe, and Maynard Dixon have participated. The contest still receives submissions from all over; but, the majority are from the unusually artistically dense Intermountain West (i.e. Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, and Arizona). There is no barrier to entry. Everything submitted — regardless of medium, style, size, or subject — is considered by (usually) two professionals, usually taken from different disciplines. (This year, the judges were the art administrator and scholar Felicia Baca, currently serving as the Executive Director of the Salt Lake City Arts Council, and Bryan Mark Taylor, the world-renown painter and inventor.) The result is one of the most consistently dynamic contests I have seen anywhere.
What follows is not an exhaustive review of the Spring Salon. (That would be a monumental task.) Instead, I have eight works which stayed with me well after leaving the Museum.
Eric Overton’s The Steward (2026) was commissioned for a Northern California vineyard to honor the contributions of Mexican-American farmworkers. Overton came to sculpture as a physician and photographer, which speaks to his understanding of anatomy. The downward gaze and obscuring hat create an anonymity that make this figure an effective everyman. It is reminiscent of Paul Dalou’s Grand Paysan (c. 1899), even down to the gesture of the rolled up sleeve. Despite the similarities, Overton has created something original in its stance and gesture that conjure a sense of strength that made the sculpture feel almost monumental in scale, despite being less than three feet high. More than that, it projects a dignity and humanity that is a true honor to its subject.
Azalea Rees works in a dizzying array of media. This diminutive self portrait — the product of what must have been countless hours of embroidery — is unlike anything I have ever seen. It transforms the medium into something new and expressive.
In seventeenth-century Holland, a group of artists known as a the Haarlem Tonalists dedicated themselves to painting their native, overcast landscape in a palette of colors so restricted that sometimes their works only had two or their colors. Consistently one of the greatest magicians of oil painting I know, here Cristall Harper takes her formidable arsenal of skills to a level that could rival Jan van Goyen. Whereas van Goyen works were limited to value transitions on (mostly) a single plane, Harper has established a deep field of vision with the subtlest control of stroke, value, and saturation. Wow.
Leroy Transfield has been one of the most consistently surprising sculptors in a region saturated with them. Classically trained, Transfield retains in his sculptures a discipline of anatomy and gravity that cannot be attained without deep knowledge of the human form. Yet, his composition and gesture are never staid, but always fresh and tailored to the narrative of his work, which he details here:
“When I was a boy growing up in New Zealand, my mum and every other household hung their washing on a line. This simple task of hanging out clothes to be dried and cleaned is a banner of every mothers’ hope for her family.” —Leroy Transfield
My photo of Finding the Way Around (2025) by Colby Sanford does little communicate the monumental scale of this three-panel work. Years ago, I remember a professor of mine distinguishing German and Italian opera by saying “One is about the battles between gods and men, the other is about everyday life — both about the epic struggles of good and evil.” Over the years, Sanford has become increasingly ambitious in mining his personal life to make beautiful, heroic images of everyday life. Despite the intensely personal nature of his works, Sanford’s images feel universal.
Howard Lyon is one of the few regional artists with a truly international reputation. That career has been made of many kinds of genres, including photography, illustration, fantasy, and religious painting; but always informed his study of Old Masters. A few years, ago Howard Lyon won the Salon’s top prize for his remarkable painting After the Dance. That painting seemed to trigger a new direction, where Lyon is making increasingly sophisticated works that are based in mythology and draw on the aesthetics of artists like Frederic Leighton, Albert Moore, Lawrence Alma-Tadema, and John William Waterhouse. This work, Zephyr Flirting with Flora (2025) is catnip for an art historian like me. A painting of the God of the West Wind playfully tossing about the clothing of the Goddess of Flowers
For me, this small painting hung at waist level down a Museum hall, is one of the great revelations of the entire contest. (I’m not throwing shade on the Museum, which has the herculean task of hanging hundreds of artists’ works and attempting to make all of them happy; an impossible task.) In 2007 the economics scholar David Galenson published the book Old Masters and Young Geniuses, where he theorized that artists fall into two general categories: those who spend a lifetime developing a mature and effective skillset and young innovators that often hit on a new approaches that, despite their inexperience, have lasting effects on art. (Personally, I think that there are plenty of artists that can be both young and skilled, and mature and innovative.) I mention this because contests tend to celebrate “the new” and not always recognize the iterative, long-term accomplishments of experienced artists whose work we are accustomed to see. David Koch is a perennial participant and multiple award winner of the Spring Salon. This work shows Koch’s skills honed to an extraordinary level: the application of paint conjuring both the ever-changing water’s surface and a series of diagonals that draw the eye from the bottom left to to the setting sun, the very limited palette that nevertheless creates a beautiful contrast of light effects, and the overall balance of abstraction and naturalism…I am in love with this work. In a region teeming with world-class landscape painters, David Koch is one of the great and consistent masters.
Who else, other than Casey Childs, could take a parent’s nightmare of children on screens and turn it into a hallowed moment?! Of the painting, he wrote:
“The title Young Padawan, inspired by Star Wards, frames this moment as part of a larger idea of learning and becoming. Like a student training in the ways of the Force, he is focused, curious, and completed immersed. The gold patterns surrounding him echo a sense of reverence elevating this everyday experience into something timeless.” —Casey Childs
Part of what makes this work special, is a the raised surface of the work that reflects the light in unpredictable ways. Personally, I would love to see this work hung like an icon and lit by flickering candlelight.
It is this kind of inventiveness, meaningful insight, and sensitive observation, which go beyond just painting what is in front of the artist, that has made Casey Childs one of the world’s most admired portrait painters.
Sorolla, 100 years: A Lecture for the California Art Club
Last month, I was asked by Elaine & Peter Adams of the California Art Club to speak to a group — largely made up of artists and art historians — about Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida (Valencia, 1863 – Madrid, 1921). Sorolla has long been admired by traditional artists for his remarkable skills. A large portion of my Masters thesis and Doctoral dissertation were about how Sorolla was trained in those skills.
The year 2021 marked the 100th anniversary of Sorolla’s death, which was celebrated by around 45 exhibitions in at least four countries. I was able to see 38 of those exhibitions, and hope to include my experiences in a forthcoming book. (Stay tuned.) In the meantime, I used this lecture to talk briefly about some of my conclusions.
Where the #%$! Have I Been? Ten Years, Ten Answers.
It has been nearly 10 years since my last post. I don’t know if anyone reads blogs anymore—or cares what I think. (Is this a koan-like version of a tree falling in the forest?) What I do know is this: I miss having an outlet to share thoughts about art. So whether this becomes a regular practice again or just a place for occasional, self-indulgent reflections, I’m dusting off the ancient Bearded Roman blog.
Maybe I should start with where I’ve been. It has been a busy decade. Here are ten highlights, in terms of art:
1. In 2016, I completed my PhD at the University of London. My 100,000-plus-word, 414-page dissertation—Madrid, Paris, Rome: Spanish History Painting from 1856 to 1897—explores how French academic training intersected with Spanish and Italian models in the instruction, creation, and exhibition of art. (If your sleep medication isn’t working, it’s a solid substitute.) The research took me to more than 40 archives, dozens of museums, and on repeated trips to Spain, France, and Italy. It also resulted in three cases of pneumonia, four bladder infections, and two bouts of shingles. Let no one say, “He didn’t suffer for his art.”
2. This year, I am founding the Salt Lake Museum of Art. It is not what most would expect from me—no European painting, sculpture, or decorative arts, which have long defined my scholarly and gallery work. Instead, it is a love letter to where I live. Utah has more contemporary artists per capita than any other state in the Union—and among the fewest museums, second only to West Virginia. As a result, many local artists are better known elsewhere than at home. We hope to change that. The museum will feature not only Utah artists, but also significant figures who worked in the region. One of our first exhibitions is the first-ever show of Utah paintings by Albert Bierstadt. I’ve written the catalogue and will share more soon.
3. I co-authored the Dictionary of Utah Fine Artists with Vern Swanson, Donna Poulton, and Angela Swanson-Jones. It includes roughly 4,000 artist biographies, about 800 of which I wrote.
4. I have been a regular guest on Jeff Hein’s Undraped Artist Podcast. Hein—one of the world’s leading figurative painters and a good friend—and I meet about once a month to discuss a historic artist, usually of my choosing. We also record an annual Christmas episode.
5. Alongside Spanish, I have added French to my working languages, opening far more primary sources without translation. Much of this is thanks to ongoing conversations with the brilliant linguist, traveler, and native Breton, Anthony Lollierou.
6. I concluded a thirteen-year board tenure with the Springville Museum of Art. Located about an hour south of the State’s capital, it is home to one of the most — no exaggeration — vibrant arts communities in the world. I am now a board member of the California Art Club, one of the country’s oldest artist-run organizations, for whom I occasionally write and lecture.
7. Over the past decade, I have become a regular juror for several competitions, including the California Art Club Gold Medal Competition and the Almenara Prize.
8. In 2016, I co-founded the Zion Arts Society, a nonprofit, with my friend Eric Biggart. For three years, we produced the Zion Art Podcast and organized more than a dozen exhibitions featuring hundreds of emerging local artists. We paused just before the COVID-19 pandemic, but it appears another friend, Boad Swanson, may revive the effort for a new generation.
9. I am now a partner at Anthony’s Fine Art, a 40-year family-run gallery. The role has me traveling frequently across the United States and Europe to acquire historic works from collections and auctions. I spend roughly half my time viewing thousands of works each week. This has built a growing internal visual database that continues to shape how I see both historical and contemporary art—formally and as an investment.
10. Over the past decade, I have visited more than 100 museums, seen hundreds of exhibitions, and read extensively in art history and theory. The result: creaking shelves and nearly 100,000 images in my Apple Photos—most still unshared.
In short, I am more aware than ever of how little I know.
That awareness has made me less inclined to offer definitive opinions. I now look back with some embarrassment at earlier posts—some of which I have removed entirely. Chalk it up to the confidence of youth, when opinion outpaced experience. Today, I remain keenly aware of my limitations, but I still intend to use this space to think through ideas that arise in ongoing conversations with artists.
Despite my long absence, people still ask about the blog, which surprises me. I was recently a faculty member at the Portrait Society of America’s Annual Conference, where several artists mentioned it. What surprised me more was hearing from two artists in their 20s who had been reading the archives. When I logged in for the first time in a decade, I found that Bearded Roman still receives around 600 visits a day.
So whether you’re new to these ramblings or an old friend, thank you—for being here, and for your patience.
Post-Narrative Painting by Jean-August-Dominique Ingres
The term “post-narrative painting” was coined by Susan Siegfried in her landmark book Ingres: Painting Reimagined. At a time when Neoclassical depictions of virtuous actions — popularized by his teacher Jacques-Louis David — dominated French art, Ingres created works that confounded and frustrated the public by “abandoning physical action as a basis of heroism.”1
In this week’s discussion, we use Siegfried’s writing as an approach to understanding the unusual development and career of Jean-August-Dominique Ingres (French, 1780-1867). As you can tell from the recording, I was just overcoming a nasty flu and nearly lost my voice by the end. (Sorry.) Enjoy.
Jean-Aguste-Dominique Ingres (French, 1780-1867) from Micah Christensen on Vimeo.
Outsider Art: Géricault’s Challenge
Unlike his competitors, Théodore Géricault (French, 1791-1824) was not a product of the École des Beaux-Arts. Géricault had less than three years of formal education. As a result, he was unfettered from the Neoclassical aesthetics that dominated the French Academy and public tastes. This lack of formal education had is consequences. Even well into his career, Géricault struggled to confidently master composition and the human figure.
In this week’s discussion, we discussed the development and short career of Géricault. His dramatic and controversial paintings provided an alternative to Neoclassicism, influencing artists for generations.
Becoming David
Attempting to summarize David’s career in 90 minutes is futile. Jacques-Louis David (French, 1748-1825) is one of the most discussed artists in history. His approach to Neoclassicism affected generations of artists. Combining his revolutionary artistry and political activities, makes David a perpetual well of interpretation and intrigue.
Instead of biting off his full oeuvre, at this week’s discussion between me and a group of professional artists we spent the majority of our time discussing David’s early career; his early lessons the French Academy and his many attempt for the Prix de Rome.
Understanding Canova & His Critics
As part of an ongoing weekly discussions with contemporary artists, I explored the career of Antonio Canova (Italian, 1747-1822). Today, Canova is considered a major proponent of Neoclassicism. But, for contemporaries, Canova’s interpretations of the antique works were often at odds with predominant theories. We explore major works by Canova and how they were received by his critics, for better and worse.
Including Goya in the Traditional Canon
Note: Each week I hold a discussion with a group of professional artists on the development and career of a major artist. I post a video recording of each discussion. This week’s artist, Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, prompted an unusual amount of controversy. After reflecting on the thoughtful comments made by those who attended, I have decided to write a little reaction of my own here. The video can be found at the end of this post.
“The last Old Master and the first Modern painter” is an oft-repeated phrase used to describe Francisco de Goya y Lucientes (Spanish, 1746-1828). It captures the un-categorizable nature of Goya’s nearly seven-decades oeuvre, and hints at both his appreciation for the past and influence on those who came after. This week, I led two discussion on the development and career of the Spanish painter. Each gathering was heavily attended by professional artists, mostly traditionalists. I was surprised by the resistance experienced in comments and questions about Goya’s ability to paint.
For that reason, before posting video of the discussion, I would like to write a few words. First, to Modernists, who see Goya almost exclusively as a anti-traditionalist. And, secondly to traditionalists who are often unable to appreciate Goya’s remarkable craftsmanship. He does not belong solely to one team.
A few words about Goya for Modernists
Francisco de Goya (Spanish, 1746-1828) San Juan Bautista niño (1812) Oil on canvas. 112 x 82 cm. Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid
In a 1921 essay titled “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” the poet TS Eliot, railed against the predominant spirit of his time, which he believed, saw originality as the highest value. Eliot did not see originality as innovation. In fact, he believed that innovation was dependent upon a solid understanding and appreciation of tradition:
We dwell with satisfaction upon the [artist’s] difference from his predecessors, especially his immediate predecessors; we endeavour to find something that can be isolated in order to be enjoyed. Whereas if we approach a poet without this prejudice we shall often find that not only the best, but the most individual parts of his work may be those in which the dead poets, his ancestors, assert their immortality most vigorously. And I do not mean the impressionable period of adolescence, but the period of full maturity. 2
Those who lionize Goya as having broken with tradition often ignore his portraits, religious and historical paintings and, instead, latch on to his experimental and private work, such as the so-called “Black Paintings” or etchings from the Disasters of War. While it is true that these works were revolutionary, they were also not usually intended for public consumption. Goya’s Black Paintings were made for the dining room in his private residence. And, the Disasters of War were not printed until some 35 years after his death. In other words, the artworks that we often see exclusively as representing Goya in art-history materials and courses were not the ones he was best known for in his own lifetime. I am not attempting to diminish the remarkable departure his experimental oeuvre represented at the time or their subsequent influence on artists. Looking only at his experimental works, Goya seems like a man out of time, almost completely divorced from the aesthetics of his time, which is not accurate.
A few words about Goya for Traditionalists
I have come to the conclusion that most artists interested in the classical tradition see Goya as unworthy of study. It is my belief this is not so much about whether or not his work is wanting. Goya is often excluded from the traditionalist lexicon because he was so well regarded by anti-traditional artists and modernists.
Francisco de Goya (Spanish, 1746-1828) Hannibal the Conqueror Viewing Italy from the Alps for the First Time (1770-1771) Oil on canvas, 87 x 131.5 cm. Selgas-Fagalde Foundation, Cudillero, Spain
It is true that Goya’s influenced generations of artists seeking alternatives to Academic painting, most notably Gustave Courbet and Eduoard Manet. Yet, it is also true that over Goya’s nearly seven-decade career there were works, even very late in his career (e.g. The Spanish Consittution) that were traditional. As a young man, he worked alongside Anton Rafael Mengs. Under the German painter’s encouragement, Goya made a series of copper-plate etchings of works by Velázquez. Goya then went on to Italy on a kind of private prix de Rome, where he copied Greco-Roman statuary and produced an ambitious, large-scale history painting depicting Hannibal crossing the Alps.
Detail, Francisco de Goya (Spanish, 1746-1828) Duke of Wellington (1812-1814) 25 1/3 x 20 1/2 in. Oil on panel. National Gallery, London.
In his portraiture, Goya could have hardly picked less polemical models to emulate:
“I have three masters: Nature, Velázquez, and Rembrandt.”
These are not the words of a anti-traditional revolutionary. Yet, it is my belief Goya has been treated lightly by traditionalists not necessarily because of his own work; but, because the Spanish artist was so well regarded by anti-traditional artists and modernists.
Goya’s timeline roughly parallels that of Jacques Louis David, David had established a strong, Neoclassical vision of art that dominated the French Academy and beyond. During the 1790s, while Goya was Professor of Painting at the Academia de San Fernando (Madrid), the taste for Neoclassicism led to heated debates on whether or not students in Spain should be held to new standards in terms of draughtsmanship and substitute their various Old-Master study materials — including artworks by Spanish, Flemish, and French artists — with those by Italian artists that more closely aligned with Neoclassical ideals, such as Raphael and Guercino. We have notes from the meeting where Goya stated his case for replacing pluralism with a nearly uniform style:
Finally, Sir, I cannot find another, more effective method for advancing the Arts, neither do I believe it exists, than to award and protect … the full liberty for genius to flow from those students of Art who want to learn [their instincts], without suppression, and without efforts to bend their inclination toward this or that style in Painting … 3
He was one of four professors at the Academia de Bellas Artes that voted, unsuccessfully, against the Neoclassicization of the Spanish Academy.
Francisco de Goya y Lucientes (Spanish, 1746-1828) Witches’ Flight (1797-98) 43.5 x 30.5 cm. Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid.
Does this mean Goya was “anti-academic”? I don’t believe so. In fact, I believe that Goya was attempting to preserve the Academy against itself. The strict adherence to towards Neoclassical dogma — one that arguably denied the Naturalism of Hellenistic sculpture — in European academies throughout the nineteenth century led to many schisms and misunderstandings about the nature of the Classical tradition.
If you are traditionalist or a portrait painter, I encourage you to look at Goya’s portraits. Last year, the National Gallery of London hosted the largest gathering of Goya’s portraits ever assembled in one place. It was astounding. I discuss is at length in the above video. (Skip ahead if you must).
Casado’s prescription for coming to terms with Goya
In 1882, the painter José Casado del Alisal was elected to the Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando the same school where Goya had taught nearly 100 years earlier. On that occasion, Casado attempted to describe to his colleagues — many of whom were still riding the anti-Goya wave of Neoclassicism and Neoplatonism — the value of Goya and his place within the pantheon of Spanish art:
Such a painter, so personal and impossible to copy, with his confident magnificence, with his strange and sublime eccentricities. He cannot have imitators, neither was he able to found a School. His genius was consummated with him …4
It is my hope that those who are anti-traditional can look at the entirety of Goya’s career and see where the Spanish artist subsumed and projected the traditions he inherited. Equally, I hope that Goya is welcomed with open arms by traditionalists, who may be surprised that they have unfairly ignored or marginalized a great master.
MJC
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Tiepolo Is Not a Decorator
It seemed like a compliment when, Michael Levey, former Director of the National Gallery (London) described Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (Venice, 1696- Madrid,1770) as “the greatest decorative painter of eighteenth-century Europe, as well as its most able craftsman.”5 (And, Levey was certainly a life-long advocate of Tiepolo.) But, for many the terms “decorative” and “craftsman” seem to indicate a lack of seriousness — a missing gravitas reserved for an Old Master.
Because much of his work was made for and installed in architectural settings — and limited to three geographic locations (i.e. Venice, Wurzburg, and Madrid) — Tiepolo is not always given the attention, I believe, are befitting his remarkable gifts for composition and narrative.
Above is a raw audio recording of a discussion between me and a group of professional artists discussing Tiepolo’s development and major work. With only 90 minutes we could not hope to approach all his works; nevertheless, we covered a lot of ground.
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Discussing Bernini with Contemporary Artists
Below is a raw audio recording, accompanied by high-resolution images, of a discussion I led with a group of professional artists (i.e. sculptors and painters) on the development, early works, and career of the artists Gian Lorenzo Bernini (Naples, 1598-Rome, 1680). Lasting about 90 minutes, we did not attempt to discuss all of his works, let alone all of his major accomplishments. But, the discussion brought up valuable insights regarding the kinds of choices artists — then and now — make when creating challenging works of art.
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