Monday, April 16, 2012

Metropolis II

BCAM, Level 1, West

January 14, 2012–Ongoing
Image

Metropolis II is an intense and a complex kinetic sculpture, modeled after a fast paced, frenetic modern city. Steel beams form an eclectic grid interwoven with an elaborate system of 18 roadways, including one 6 lane freeway, and HO scale train tracks. Miniature cars speed through the city at 240 scale miles per hour; every hour, the equivalent of approximately 100,000 cars circulate through the dense network of buildings. According to Burden, "The noise, the continuous flow of the trains, and the speeding toy cars, produces in the viewer the stress of living in a dynamic, active and bustling 21st Century city."

 

  • The cars are attached by a small magnet to the conveyor belt that brings them to the crest.
  • The only motorization of the cars is the conveyor belt to the top.
  • Once the cars cross over the crest and head downward, their entire movement is by gravity.
  • They travel at a scale speed of 240 mph, plus or minus.
  • The tracks they take are Teflon coated to reduce friction.
  • The tracks are beveled at 7 degrees to give added torque for speed when
    they come through corners and curves.
  • The trains are out of the box electric train sets that run on electricity.

http://www.lacma.org/art/exhibition/metropolis-ii

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Artists group fighting for re-sale rights

Toronto painter Charles Pachter's 1981 painting

Toronto painter Charles Pachter's 1981 painting "Red Barn Reflected, which was one of the marquee offerings at Waddington's Concrete Contemporary Auction...

The Painted Flag, the iconic 1981 acrylic on canvas by Toronto artist Charles Pachter.

THE CANADIAN PRESS

The Painted Flag, the iconic 1981 acrylic on canvas by Toronto artist Charles Pachter.

Toronto artist Joanne Tod's 1990 painting

Toronto artist Joanne Tod's 1990 painting "Flange," which sold for at $4320 (including premium) at Joyner/Waddington's Concrete Contemporary Auction Thursday...

Toronto artist Kelly Mark's

Toronto artist Kelly Mark's "Not Fragile," which sold for $2880 (including premium) at Joyner/Waddington's Concrete Contemporary Auction Thursday night in...

An image from Toronto artist Edward Burtynsky's

An image from Toronto artist Edward Burtynsky's "Rock of Ages" series of photographs on quarries, which sold for $10800 (including buyer's premium) at Joyner...

An untitled still life painting by Toronto artist Jay Isaac, which sold for $3120 (including buyer's premium) at Joyner/Waddington's Concrete Contemporary Auction Thursday night in Toronto.

An untitled still life painting by Toronto artist Jay Isaac, which sold for $3120 (including buyer's premium) at Joyner/Waddington's Concrete Contemporary...

In 2003, Charles Pachter painted a vibrant, poppy-red double image of a barn, as seen after the springtime thaw had turned the fields near his rural studio into sodden slicks of melted snow. It was called “Red Barn Reflected,” a playful nod both to geometric abstraction and the weighty heritage of Canadian landscape painting that many artists of his generation labour beneath (“I called it my Lawren Harris barn,” chuckles Pachter, 69, citing the Group of Seven giant).

He sold it for $7,500 that year, he remembers, to a couple in Caledon whose names he can’t recall. On Thursday night, it went up for auction with a presale estimate between $25,000 to $30,000.

It didn’t sell, but Pachter’s wound is only to his pride, not his wallet. Had it sold, he wouldn’t have seen a cent of it: resale rights for artists’ works sold in Canada are a non-existent sore point on the to-do list of CARFAC, which lobbies for artists’ rights here, and they’ve started to gain traction.

This month, a joint parliamentary committee of Heritage and Industry ministry staff are reviewing a CARFAC-proposed amendment to the Canadian Copyright Act that would give living artists a five per cent royalty on all sales of their work after its original sale. Had the royalty been in place last November, CARFAC notes, 35 living artists would have been paid more than $98,000 in royalties from three auctions that month.

The royalty would apply to the “secondary market,” and with few exceptions, it would apply to almost all sales at auction on the country. The proposal also calls for the five per cent royalty to be paid to artists’ estates if they died within 50 years of the sale. The biggest beneficiary last fall would have been the estate of Quebec painter Jean Paul Lemieux, whose painting 1910 Remembered sold for a record $2.34 million. It would have netted a $117,000 royalty.

In Pachter’s case, the payout Thursday would have been around $1,250. Not life-changing, perhaps, but worth its weight in respect.

“Certainly, part of the royalty payment is the principal of it,” says April Britski, CARFAC’s executive director. The committee is expected to report its recommendations for the amendment by the end of the month; Britski is hopeful that the CARFAC proposal will be enshrined in law by the end of the year.

It’s not always just principle, though, even for living Canada artists. In November 2010, Alex Colville, now in his 90s, saw his 1953 painting “Man on Verandah” sell for $1.287 million. The royalty, had it been in effect, would have netted Colville around $64,000 — likely far more than he received in the original sale in the first place.

This is, of course, an extreme example in a post-war and contemporary art market that’s only recently begun to find its feet. This week’s auction was a case in point. It was the first of its kind: A bonafide contemporary auction exclusively of Canadian art almost all by living artists. By any standard, it was a modest affair. Some pieces sold for less than $1,000, and topped out, after a brief, spirited bidding war, with the $19,200 (including 20 per cent buyer’s premium) sale of a Standing Nude by Kitchener painter Jeremy Smith.

“We see this as very much a nascent market,” says Stephen Ranger, the vice president of new business development for Joyner/Waddington’s, which hosted the auction. Ranger dubbed the affair “Concrete Contemporary,” meaning to lend a with-it sheen to the traditional stodginess of the Canadian auction circuit. It brings both the CARFAC mission, and the struggles of the Canadian contemporary scene to develop a commercial base, into simultaneous sharp focus: Of the 69 works offered, all but three were by living artists; some started as low as $600.

Ranger wants the auction, now and in future, to act as a bridge between contemporary Canadian artists and potential buyers they might never otherwise see. “We’re tapping into what I think is an underserved area of the art market in Canada,” he says. “We have such a great, vibrant gallery scene, but that hasn’t necessarily translated into sales. What we’re hoping is that people who don’t necessarily go to some of these galleries might be within the reach of Waddington’s, and be interested in what we’re doing.”

On those terms, Concrete Contemporary was a modest affair that could be cautiously termed a mild success. Even though less than half the works sold, the room was full, and the bidding was brisk and lively. Smith almost doubled his low estimate of $10,000, Ottawa painter painter Carol Waino’s Structures of Memory nearly tripled hers, selling for $16,800 (including premium) and Toronto painter Kim Dorland’s Northern Light, Saskatchewan, which topped the high end of its estimate by $600, going for $15,600 (including premium).

But there were some notable disappointments, too, serving as a nagging reminder of a market still struggling to establish itself. The high end suffered: Along with Pachter, a large scale work by Vancouver photo-conceptualist Ian Wallace, made for the Power Plant, didn’t sell when bidding stalled at $50,000, short of its reserve price. Bids on a small drawing by the late Betty Goodwin topped out at $22,000, short of its $24,000 low estimate.

Still, it’s a modest first step towards a larger goal. “Part of what we’re trying to do is make sure there is a secondary market for Canadian contemporary art, period, and that it does appreciate,” Ranger says.

If the royalty is implemented, Rangers says abruptly, “we’ll comply.” To this point, he says, the auction houses have not been consulted, by CARFAC or the committee, Ranger says. “There’s a misconception, I think, that auction houses make significant money on the backs of artists, and that’s not the case. In many cases, auction houses have made artists’ careers, and that’s what we’re trying to do here,” he says.

“In this arena, a royalty payment is little more than the pure principle Britski mentions (Smith would have been the kingpin of the evening, taking home a little less than $1000), and some artists aren’t sure if it might cause more harm than good.

“Maybe this is the kind of conversation we might want to have after the 10th, or 15th of these,” says Jay Isaac, a Toronto painter whose work was bid up to $2,600 Thursday night, short of its low estimate of $4,500. “I’d love to get a few hundred bucks — I wouldn’t say no,” he says. “But I’m 100 per cent in support of this auction, just as it is, because I think it’s something that can help build a whole new market for contemporary art in Canada.”

Royalty payments along the lines of what CARFAC is proposing are legislated throughout the European Union and in California, though a parallel U.S. federal effort is also underway. Why Canada has been slow to adopt the same measures seem vague to CARFAC’s Britski. “Dealers and auction houses are concerned that the market is too fragile to support it,” she says, while pointing out that over the past several years, auctions of traditional Canadian art have set new sales records virtually every year.

This is mostly due to unquashable interest in Canadian historical works, particularly by iconic Canadian painters like Tom Thomson, Harris and Emily Carr.

But in this realm, appreciation in value is far from a sure thing. Pachter wonders at the potential predicament: “What happens if the price goes down — would I have to give the collector a rebate?” he laughs.

When asked about the modest royalty payout for “Red Barn Reflected,” Pachter sighs. “Well, it would be better than nothing,” he says. He learned long ago to let go.

In 1981, he opened The Flag Show in Toronto. It was what it sounds like: The Canadian flag, painted in various stages of unfurling against a bright blue sky.

He sold one of them, “The Painted Flag,” to Neil Vosburgh for $3,500, who then owned the Duncan Street Grill in Toronto, where it hung for years. Vosburgh sold it years later to a mining magnate in the Yukon, after which Pachter promptly lost track of it, until it turned up at a Joyner’s auction in 2009.

It sold for just under $38,000 — more than triple its low estimate of $12,000 — to the McMichael Canadian Art Collection, where it now hangs with pride of place. “I didn’t get a thing for it,” he laughs. “But was I proud? You bet I was.”

History of The Painted Flag

1981: Sold by artist Charles Pachter to Neil Vosburgh for $3,500

Sold a few years later by Vosburgh to an unnamed mining magnate in the Yukon.

2009: Sold at auction for $37,760.

Commission Pachter would have received from the sales if five per cent resale rights were in effect: $1,888.45

 

 

http://www.toronto.com/article/716486--artists-group-fighting-for-re-sale-rights

Thursday, April 12, 2012

'Da Vinci's Ghost' Lives On In The Vitruvian Man

A reproduction of Leonardo da Vinci's drawing of The Vitruvian Man.
Enlarge iStockphoto.com

A reproduction of Leonardo da Vinci's drawing of The Vitruvian Man.

Most people are familiar with Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man: A nude man, with his arms and legs stretched, inside a square within a circle. But few know the story behind the drawing — what drove him to sketch it, and how it fit into his own theories about man's place in the universe.

Toby Lester explores da Vinci's passion to create an image of the perfectly proportioned human in Da Vinci's Ghost: Genius, Obsession, and How Leonardo Created the World in His Own Image. He tells Talk of the Nation guest host John Donvan that the sketch's name — Vitruvian Man — offers the first clues about da Vinci's motivation.

"Vitruvian derives from the name of a Roman architect called Vitruvius, who wrote and worked in the 1st century BC," says Lester. Vitruvius, in a book on architecture, described the ideal human form that "could be made to fit inside a circle and could be made to fit inside a square."

Vitruvius thought of that ideal human body as a blueprint for universal design, and if you studied it, you could "latch on to the design principles that made both the human body and the universe perfect." He then proposed that architects who understood that design could use it to create perfect buildings.

His idea was so captivating that though he didn't illustrate his concept, many people tried. "Especially in the 15th century, in the decades leading up to Leonardo's own time in drawing, a number of people begin to try to render that idea in visual form," says Lester. But da Vinci's drawing is the one that stuck.


Interview Highlights

On rumors Leonardo da Vinci drew the image as a reflection of himself

"There is no way of saying for sure. There just aren't images of Leonardo that will tell us this, and he certainly didn't admit to it himself. I do think that you can say that the figure that's in that picture corresponds in nice ways to existing descriptions of Leonardo that exist. He was described as being very finely built, strong, very beautiful with locks of hair that curled and went down to his shoulders. There are a couple of possible renderings of him, one that survives in a sculpture from Florence and another that's in a fresco from Milan, and they both look a bit like that figure as well.

Da Vinci's Ghost

"To me, though, even if you can't say for sure that the figure looks like Leonardo, at a kind of metaphorical level, I absolutely believe that it's a self-portrait in that I see him looking at himself in that picture and trying to make sense of himself."

On da Vinci as a young man

"You have the myth of him as this kind of fully formed genius with a big beard kind of gazing presciently off into the distance and transcending his age. But at the time I'm talking about in the book, which is the 1470s and 1480s, he is coming of age; he's learning the tricks of the trade, he is apprenticing himself to other artists and making mistakes and living it up as well. And then he's trying to make a living, and he's not necessarily doing that well.

"He had a horrible problem with deadlines. He, I think today, probably would have been diagnosed with ADD. He started things and kept starting them again and again and again, getting deflected by his own kind of ravenous mind into doing researches into other things. If you commissioned a painting from him, good luck."

On da Vinci's lack of formal education

"He was a real autodidact. He was raised, in his early years at least, in the town of Vinci and probably didn't receive a whole lot of formal schooling. And that hobbled him in some ways when he got to Florence and then after he moved to Milan where he drew Vitruvian Man in one way, simply because he wasn't very good at Latin.

"... In his notebooks, he even got these touching little attempts of his to teach himself Latin, you know, conjugating verbs and things. And he certainly got better as time went on, but he relied a lot on the help of others. He constantly was writing down in his notebooks people he wanted to consult about this or that question on this or that topic. He must have been both a fascinating guy to spend time with but also probably exhausting."

On whether da Vinci drew the Vitruvian Man as a God figure

"I think there's absolutely that going on, and especially of, you think of it as part of a continuum. ... There are a lot of images of maps of the world and maps of the cosmos where you've got a circle and a square and then this human figure that's at once representing — usually in the Christian context, Christ — but then also the kind of father figure, God.

"... The circle, since ancient times, connoted, you know, things divine and cosmic. It's the perfect shape, that all of its points on its circumference are equidistant from the center, and it was the shape that governed all of the supposed concentric fears that made up the cosmos. And then you've got the human element of things, the square, where you bring things down to Earth and make sense of them, set them right."

 

http://www.npr.org/2012/03/08/148235387/da-vincis-ghost-manifest-in-the-vitruvian-man

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

The Mona Lisa's Twin Painting Discovered

Conservators at the Museo del Prado in Madrid recently discovered that this copy of the Mona Lisa was painted by a pupil working alongside Leonardo da Vinci.
Enlarge Javier Soriano/Getty Images

Conservators at the Museo del Prado in Madrid recently discovered that this copy of the Mona Lisa was painted by a pupil working alongside Leonardo da Vinci.

The Mona Lisa is one of the most enigmatic and iconic pieces of Western art. It has inspired countless copies, but one replica at the Madrid's Museo del Prado is generating its own buzz: Conservators say that it was painted at the same time as the original — and possibly by one of the master's pupils, perhaps even a lover.

Juxtaposing the two paintings — and using infrared technology, which works like an X-ray, allowing one to see beneath the paint to see previous, obscured versions — conservators say that Leonardo and the painter of the replica made exactly the same changes at the same time.

"The changes mirrored the changes which Leonardo made on the original," Martin Bailey, correspondent with The Art Newspaper in London, tells NPR's Melissa Block. "[Conservators] concluded that the two pictures had been done side by side in the studio, and it was probably on easels which were two or three yards away from each other."

The copy brings da Vinci's studio to life — and stirs up questions. Who was this mystery painter? According to Bailey, the artist is likely to have been one of Leonardo's main assistants: Melzi or Salai (who was rumored to have been da Vinci's lover).

Side by side, the pictures look noticeably different: The copy is significantly brighter and more colorful; even Mona Lisa's famously coy smile takes on a new cast.

The original Mona Lisa is on permanent display at the the Musee du Louvre in Paris.
Jean-Pierre Muller/Getty Images

The original Mona Lisa is on permanent display at the the Musee du Louvre in Paris.

"The original Mona Lisa in the Louvre is difficult to see — it's covered with layers of varnish, which has darkened over the decades and the centuries, and even cracked," Bailey says. "What is wonderful about the copy is how vivid it is, and you see Lisa in a quite different light. I thought her eyes are enticing. And you see her enigmatic smile in a way that you don't quite get in the original."

Bailey says the find will be relevant to historians and laypeople, in that paradoxically, a copy might bring viewers to the original with fresh eyes.

"It is, after all, the world's most famous painting, but people don't look at it fresh," he says. "They look at it almost as an icon. If you go to the Louvre, people aren't actually really looking at the painting; they just want to be in the same room with it. For me, the beauty of the copy is that it actually makes us look at the painting as a painting, and I hope it will have that effect on other people, too."

 

 

http://www.npr.org/2012/02/02/146288063/painting-sheds-new-light-on-the-mona-lisa

GERHARD RICHTER

Gerhard Richter Painting review: Ordinary film about an extraordinary artist

   A documentary about famous artist. Written and directed by Corinna Belz. 97 minutes. Opens March 30 at TIFF Bell Lightbox. PG

 

About two-thirds of the way through the interminable Gerhard Richter Painting, the titular subject himself passively balks at the prospect of being further recorded at work in his studio. Painting under observation, he grumps, is “worse than being in the hospital.”

If it feels that way for you, Gerhard, imagine what it’s like for your audience. Over its nearly two hours of drab, dull-as-dishwater footage of the politely taciturn painter quietly going about his business, director Corinna Belz tries mightily to offer a naturalistic portrait of the artist that many consider to be the greatest painter of his generation.

Early on, though, Belz’s conceit for the film wears thin. Granted access to Richter’s studio in Cologne, Germany for the better part of summer 2009, Belz assumes a fly-on-the-wall approach, which might work well if the subject is gregarious, dynamic or engaging.

Richter, alas, is none of these things. Introspective and near-mute — with, I’ll allow, a bone-dry sense of humour that surfaces infrequently, usually to address the absurdity of a camera pointed at him — the film unblinkingly casts long glances on the near-80-year-old artist at work, mostly on a pair of gaudy abstract paintings that Richter himself is both puzzled and troubled by.

The artist slaps a base coat of yellow on canvas with a thick, broad brush, like a house painter, adding swaths of blue, then red, before taking a huge squeegee to the surface, smearing the paint into decadent ruin. “It’s not working,” he shrugs. Belz gamely tries to have Richter explain why. Richter slumps to the wall, wordless. “We should talk about the film now,” he says, and starts laughing.

These kinds of unresolvable interactions are standard fare for Gerhard Richter Painting. It quickly becomes clear that Belz has set the quixotic task for herself of trying to contain, or at least describe, the ineffable — the torturous process Richter goes through to create paintings that match his standard, a standard that has established him as both a first-order master painter, and a multi-million-dollar seller. (Last year, his works sold at auction for a combined total of more than $200 million, more than any other living artist, and more than works by household names Mark Rothko, Claude Monet and Alberto Giacometti combined.)

Richter is kindly, but unengaged in Belz’s process, far too committed to his own. This, one would think, would lead a documentarian into a fleshing out of her subject’s life, history and relationships with others. But Belz does none of this. The only interviews beyond Richter himself are incidental chats with Richter’s assistants, who mirror his oblique obfuscations and a quick conversation with Richter’s New York dealer, Marian Goodman, who explains how she saw a particular genius in Richter’s work in the 1980s, when it was lumped in with so-called Neo-Expressionists like Julian Schnabel.

Goodman’s instinct was right. Richter’s work is nothing short of extraordinary, from his early works painting hauntingly indistinct portraits of murder victims from newspaper photographs on through his formal engagements with classical subjects like still-lifes and portraiture. Each time, Richter explored the strange aesthetic borderland between crisp photographic representation and the interpretive looseness of painting, until he arrived at pure abstraction, a more recent fascination.

Belz gives us almost none of this. So focused is she on the process of these two paintings, of the present moment, we get only the briefest snippets of Richter’s life, and how he arrived at where he is. He was born in Dresden in 1932, survived the allied razing of the city as a child, and slipped across the border into the West a few years before the Berlin Wall was sealed, in 1961. His fascination with darkness, despair, brutality, both personal and political (his Uncle Rudy, a blurred portrait of a kindly-seeming Nazi SS soldier, remains one of the most haunting images of the 20th century) is touched on hardly at all by Belz, who busies herself with trying to catch lightning in a bottle — a struggle Richter has yet to resolve for himself.

I have no doubt the Richter we see on film is true to life, though there is depth to be gleaned. In his very good, thoroughly researched and multi-sourced recent biography of Richter, Dietmar Elger manages to glean from him that “saying I was indifferent was an attempt at self-protection . . . but I don’t mind admitting now that I painted things that mattered to me personally —the tragic types, the murders, the suicides, the failures and so on.”

No such statement ever emerges from Belz’s film. Deflecting her queries with oblique, confused suggestions of unknowing — Richter maintains he doesn’t understand the quality of what makes a successful work, only that he knows when he sees it — we end up with less a portrait of Richter than a silhouette.

Given the extraordinary treatment his work has been given in the past year — Panorama, a survey of 50 years of Richter’s work, launched at the Tate Modern last fall; it was recently in Berlin, and will be at the Centre Pompidou in Paris by summer — this film might have been an opportunity to start thinking about legacy.

Instead, Belz appears to build her film around an archival interview with Richter from 1966, which she presents early on.

“To talk about painting is not only difficult but perhaps pointless, too,” the 30-something Richter says. “You can only express in words what words are capable of expressing.” Now you tell me.

 

http://www.toronto.com/article/720143--gerhard-richter-painting-review-ordinary-film-about-an-extraordinary-artist

http://www.google.ca/movies?hl=en&near=Toronto,+ON&sort=1&ei=hEOET9SaKcbJgQeQ38TaBw&mid=c171f5e29c975de1

Friday, April 6, 2012

El Lissitzky

El Lissitzky


El Lissitzky (1890 – 1941) was born Lazar Markovich Lisitskii in 1890 in Pochinok, in the Russian province of Smolensk, and grew up in Vitebsk. He pursued architectural studies at the Technische Hochschule in Darmstadt, Germany, from 1909 to 1914, when the outbreak of World War 1 precipitated his return to Russia. In 1916, he received a diploma in engineering and architecture from the Riga Technological University. Lissitzky and Kazimir Malevich were invited by Marc Chagall to join the faculty of the Vitebsk Popular Art School in 1919; there Lissitzky taught architecture and graphics. That same year, he executed his first Proun (an acronym in Russian for “project for the affirmation of the new”) and formed part of the Unovis group. In 1920, he became a member of Inkhuk (Institute for Artistic Culture) in Moscow and designed his book Pro dva kvadrata. The following year, he taught at Vkhutemas with Vladimir Tatlin and joined the Constructivist group. The Constructivists exhibited at the Erste russische Kunstausstellung designed by Lissitzky at the Galerie van Diemen in Berlin in 1922. During this period he collaborated with Ilya Ehrenburg on the journal Veshch/Gegenstand/Objet.
In 1923, the artist experimented with new typographic design for a book by Vladimir Mayakovski, Dlya golosa, and visited Hannover, where his work was shown under the auspices of the Kestner-Gesellschaft. Also in 1923, Lissitzky created his Proun environment for the Grosse Berliner Kunstausstellung and executed his lithographic suites Proun and Victory over the Sun (illustrating the opera by Alexei Kruchenykh and Mikhail Matiushin), before traveling to Switzerland for medical treatment. In 1924, he worked with Kurt Schwitters on the issue of the periodical Merz called “Nasci,” and with Arp on the book Die Kunstismen. The next year, he returned to Moscow to teach at Vkhutemas-Vkhutein, which he continued to do until 1930. During the mid-1920s, Lissitzky stopped painting in order to concentrate on the design of typography and exhibitions. He created a room for the Internationale Kunstausstellung in Dresden in 1926 and another at the Niedersächsisches Landesmuseum Hannover in 1927. He died in 1941 in Moscow.

'For the voice' by Vladimir Mayakovsky

'For the voice' by Vladimir Mayakovsky

1919 Proun 1 C oil on panel 68 x 68 cm

1920 Beat All the Scattered

1920 Beat the Whites with the Red Wedge

1920 Book cover for 'Suprematic tale about two squares'

1920 Cover to 'For the voice' by Vladimir Mayakovsky

1920 Do not read, grab bars, paper, pieces of wood, fold, paint, build

1920 Lenin Tribune

1920 Preliminary sketch for a poster

c1920 Proun 4 B. oil on canvas 70 x 56 cmjpg

c1920 Untitled oil on canvas 80 x 50 cm

1922 Cover of the avant guard periodical 'Vyeshch'

1922 Proun 19 D

1922 Proun

1923 1o Kestnermappe Proun lithograph 60 x 44 cm

1923 Globetrotter (in Time) from 'Victory Over the Sun' portfolio lithograph 51 x 43 cm

1923 Gravediggers from 'Victory Over the Sun' portfolio lithograph 51 x 43.1 cm

1923 New Man

1923 Old Man (Head 2 Steps behind) from 'Victory Over the Son' portfolio lithograph 51 x 43 cm

1923 Proun 2

1923 Proun G 7 tempera & varnish on canvas 77 x  62 cm

1923 Proun poster

1923 Sentry from 'Victory Over the Sun' portfolio lithograph 53.3 x 45.7 cm

1924 Proun 99 129 x 99 cm

1925 Proun N 89 collage, tempera 50 x 65 cm

1928 Basic Calculus

Proun 30

Proun 43

Proun 8
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_Lissitzky