Birds of a Feather

On Dorothea Tanning, American Animals, and Audobon.

Dorothea Tanning, Costume design for Bayou, a ballet by George Balanchine (1951)

‘Dorothea Tanning brought what can only be called her ‘quirky’ sensibility to the costuming of the performance. The whimsical costumes themselves embody a sense of movement, not only through the fabrics, gauzes, and veils employed, but in their fitting - itself contorted, bewitched, and ecstatic.’

In 1961, George Balanchine commissioned Dorothea Tanning to create a series of costumes and set designs for various ballets he was choreographing. Tanning had first met Balanchine, the co-founder of the New York City Ballet, at the Julien Levy Gallery, home of her first art exhibition in 1944 and a popular spot for Surrealists both living in New York or otherwise (Leonor Fini had also exhibited there). Tanning reflected that meeting Balanchine at the gallery was a “momentous” moment. She went on to collaborate with him on productions including Night Shadow (choreographed by Balanchine and premiered at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York in 1946), The Witch (choreographed by John Cranko and premiered at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden in London in 1950); and Bayou (choreographed by Balanchine and premiered at New York City Center in 1952). 

Much like the cat costumes Fini created for ballet productions, Tanning’s costumes are incredibly fabulous, harking back to her past as a young artist working in fashion advertising. The one that stands out for me in this instance is her ornithological design for Bayou, not only for the glamour the design exudes but because my mind connects it to something else that, on the surface, does not appear connected at all.

American Animals (Dir: Bart Layton, 2018)

Written and directed by Bart Layton, American Animals (2018) is as much a heist film as it is an anti-heist film. Starring Barry Keoghan and Evan Peters, it is one of the most riveting true crimes of recent years, the film's fascinating unreliable narrators allowing the audience to constantly question whose recollections are the closest to what actually happened. The film ingeniously cuts back and forth between the dramatised depiction on screen and the real young men discussing their memory of events to the camera. Occasionally, they are in conversation with the actor versions of themselves. This added layer to the narrative results in a brilliant examination of the nature of truth and memory.

American Animals is about four college students plotting to steal a rare first edition of John James Audubon's Birds of America along with other rare books from Transylvania University library's rare-book collection. The boys' meticulous plans for their heist include watching several crime films, including Reservoir Dogs (1992), Rififi (1955), and Heat (1995), finding the best exit routes, and obtaining disguises. In their mind, their plan is foolproof. But nothing ever is, and as the anticipation and tension continue to build, the moment of truth arrives — and increasingly unravels on screen. That pressure then remains for the aftermath, which includes (and I do not think this is a spoiler in any way) a gorgeous arrest scene soundtracked by Leonard Cohen’s Who by Fire.

It’s a fantastic film if you haven’t seen, and one I always recommend. Of course, I rewatched it last week before visiting Compton Verney Art Gallery, where an Audobon ‘Bird’s of America’ exhibition has taken place up until this weekend. Amongst the paintings, canvases, and books on display, the curators have carefully acknowledged Audubon’s less pleasant ways, which places his work in an entirely new light for someone like myself who knew very little about the artist. The large, beautifully bound books were a treat to see, but rest assured, no heists were committed on the day.

A Quentin Blake exhibition was also taking place in the gallery, which included some ornithological creature illustrations to my amusement. The artist and writer, known for his independent work and collaborations with Roald Dahl, provided a wonderful juxtaposition — the dark and often violent in one gallery against the bright and humorously cheery in another. Blake’s bird cartoons once again reminded me of Tanning’s costumes, and I relished in this delightful complete circle. Perhaps you find this connection between a Surrealist artist, a contemporary true crime/heist film, some very expensive and often large nineteenth-century books, an illustrator/writer, and back to Dorothea odd. But then again, if you are a regular reader of this newsletter, perhaps you won’t think it too odd at all.