“Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death, And prophesyingwith accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events”- WilliamShakespeare (Macbeth, 2.3)

Ok, let’s talk about the bizarre.

Not the bizarre fascination so many people seem to have with reality shows... TOWIE, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding anyone?  Nor am I talking about the bizarre and scary world which has created the ‘Honey Boo Boo’ phenomenon.  Even the Blobfish and the Aye-Aye lose their bizarreness factor when compared to what I’m going to be talking about! (You may want to Google Blobfish and Aye-Aye, just so you get an idea how bizarre this is going to get...)

Ok, I think I’ve created enough suspense.  Today folks, allow me to introduce you to Hieronymus Bosch: artist extraordinaire, and possessor of one heck of an active imagination!  (Not to be confused with the fictive character of the same name featured in the Michael Connelly books!)

For those of you who may not be familiar with any of Bosch’s work, he created all kinds of mythological and mutant species within his artwork.  Some may be recognisable to us from myth and legend, whereas others are entirely figments of his astonishing imagination.  Many people have suggested, over the years, that Bosch was one of a series of artists suffering from hallucinations (attributed to ergot poisoning – caused by mould in grain), and so this was the source of his extraordinary characters.  Maybe, maybe not. The jury’s out.  But, take a look for yourselves:


The Last Judgement, triptych, c. 1450-1516

In one of Bosch’s works, The Last Judgement, we see a triptych of creation – God casting out the rebel angels, Eve being created from Adam’s rib, the serpent (in the shape of a woman...I’m going to go out on a limb and say that Bosch’s view was that Lilith was the serpent) giving the apple, the angel casting the unfortunate couple from the garden.   Then we have the Last Judgement.  Earth is rife with torments as humanity is shown with all of its sinful nature.  Jesus is above this, judging the souls.  Finally, on the right-hand side is Bosch’s interpretation of hell, where the wicked souls are punished and demons run rampant with giant fish and what appears to be different types of bird creations...I can see aspects of pelicans and penguins in there, and they happen to be wearing green coats.

Now that’s all well and good, but I’ve seen some of this ‘demons and hell’ creativeness before, in other forms.  What is new to me is the ‘Earth’ panel.  Virtually indistinguishable from the ‘Hell’ scenario, the colours and landscape blend together seamlessly.  And then you look closer.  To look at this canvas in person, try and get hold of a magnifying glass! On the computer, make good use of your ‘zoom’!

Perplexing figures of heads on feet, a turbaned head of a man attached to what looks like two spiked shields with a tail and clawed feet (on the top of the roof).


Close-up detail, middle panel, The Last Judgement

Now look to the bottom right-hand corner.  Is that a giant Swiss Army knife?  That’s what it looks like to me! Follow that line to the left, and you’ll come across the mutation of a hatching egg (on legs) with an arrow piercing it.  In between the egg and the Swiss Army knife is what appears to be a plague doctor (with a stork mask as was common in the period of the Black Death).

If this isn’t confusing enough, see if you can spot the other two eggs in this painting.  By their size, in proportion to the rest of the figures, they appear to be ostrich eggs, and are right next to what seems to be a Turkish man, complete with robes and turban.  What makes this especially interesting is that this figure seems to be the only one in the ‘Earth’ panel who is clothed (besides the demons), and then you look closer and see that this may not actually be a human after all – the bird claws acting as his feet give him away.

So, what is your verdict?  Was Bosch just another artist tripping on mouldy grain, or did he actually have a genius for imagining the bizarre and outlandish that few could hope to match (possibly with the exception of Tim Burton!)?

 

Undoubtedly one of the more inventive takes on dystopia that I’ve seen for quite some time, I would highly recommend anyone interested in investigating the fantastical to explore the ‘Fables of Flemish Landscapes, Bosch, Brueghel, Bles, Bril’ exhibition being held at the Palais des Beaux Arts  de Lille from 7^th October 2012 until the 14^th January 2013.  Myths and legends spring from the canvas in this remarkable collection of paintings, reality is exchanged for artistic license, and paradise and hell are created out of the fantasy one unexpectedly finds in the landscape genre.  If you want to brush up on your Bosch before visiting the exhibition, check out our e-book ‘Bosch’ by Virginia Pitts Rembert.  Alternatively, explore the full extent of dystopia in ‘Apocalypse’ by Camille Flammarion.

Seelisches Fernweh – Van Gogh und der Japonismus

Es ist kein Geheimnis, dass Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890) nicht in der besten psychischen Verfassung war, jahrelang führte er einen inneren Kampf gegen sich selbst, litt unter Depressionen und Wahnvorstellungen und wurde in eine Nervenheilanstalt eingewiesen. In diesen Zeiten der Qual und teilweise nahe dem Wahnsinn, schuf er einige seiner größten Meisterwerke. Höchst verwunderlich ist darüber hinaus, dass er sich in den 1890er Jahren ausgerechnet einen Künstler zum Vorbild nahm, der gegenteiliger nicht hätte sein können: der im heutigen Tokio geborene gelernte Holzschnittkünstler Utagawa Hiroshige (1797-1858), dessen Kunst wie die traditionelle japanische Kunst im Allgemeinen auf Ruhe, Stärke und inneren Frieden basieren. War van Goghs Faszination für die japanische Kunst vielleicht gleichzeitig ein Versuch, sich selbst zu heilen?

Fest steht, dass van Goghs aufkeimendes Interesse an Hiroshiges Arbeiten zeitlich mit einem schweren Schicksalsschlag zusammen fällt: Obwohl das Verhältnis zwischen ihm und seinem Vater nicht immer einfach gewesen sein soll, traf es den Künstler doch sehr, als sein Vater im Frühjahr 1885 nach einem Schlaganfall starb. Vermutlich hat er im selben Jahr Arbeiten Hiroshiges bei einem Besuch des Rijksmuseums in Amsterdam studiert.


Hiroshige, Plum Estate, Kameido; aus Einhundert berühmte Ansichten von Edo, 1857.
33,7 x 21,9 cm.
The Brooklyn Museum, Brooklyn.


Vincent van Gogh, Japonaiserie: Blühender Pflaumenbaum (nach Hiroshige), 1887.
Öl auf Leinwand, 55 x 46 cm.
Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.

Hiroshige erlernte während seiner Lehrzeit bei Utagawa Toyohiro (1773-1828) die Grundtechniken der traditionellen japanischen Malerei und Druckgrafik. Die Ausbildung beschränkte sich zunächst auf das Nachzeichnen der Arbeiten seines Lehrers und anderer bekannter Holzschnittmeister. Als Hiroshige jedoch nach dem Tod von Utagawa Toyohiro seine Reise zum kaiserlichen Palast in zahlreichen Zeichnungen festhält, nach denen er in den Jahren 1833 und 1834 seine Farbholzschnittsammlung 53 Stationen des Tokaido anfertigte, revolutionierte er den japanischen Holzschnitt: Zum ersten Mal waren das alltägliche Leben, die geschäftigen Straßen und das einfache Volk dargestellt und zum künstlerischen Bildmotiv erhoben.

Ähnlich wie Hiroshige eignete sich van Gogh die Grundlagen des japanischen Stils durch Uki-e, das heißt durch Nachzeichnen seines Vorbildes an. Während er zunächst einzelne Arbeiten und Motive Hiroshiges kopierte, lässt sich der Einfluss nach 1887 in nahezu allen seinen Arbeiten nachweisen.


Vincent van Gogh, Der rote Weingarten in Arles, 1888.
Öl auf Leinwand, 75 x 93 cm.
The Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts, Moskau.

Wie sehr Hiroshige van Goghs Kunst beeinflusst hat, können Sie am Besten beim direkten Vergleich der Arbeiten beider Künstler entdecken. Hierzu bietet sich bis zum 17. März 2013 der Besuch der Pinacothèque de Paris an: Unter dem Titel Van Gogh et le Japonisme werden dort zum Einen 40 Werke van Goghs präsentiert, zum Anderen gibt es eine zeitgleich stattfindende Ausstellung zu Hiroshige.

Den Einfluss Hiroshigos auf van Gogh können Sie aber auch sehr gut mit den im Verlag Parkstone International erschienenen Titeln van Gogh und Hiroshige: a hundred views of Edo von zu Hause aus entdecken.

http://www.pinacotheque.com/?id=801

 

-C.Schmidt

Van Gogh: Genius and Covetous?

Vincent Van Gogh: A man of many talents...and many mysteries.  Here’s a small list of ‘did you know...?’:

• That he was a teacher?


• That he was a missionary?


• That he was a late-bloomer, artistically?  (He didn’t start painting until his late-twenties.)


• That he was an extremely dedicated worker...he produced around 2,100 artworks in about ten years.  That works out to 210 sketches/paintings/watercolours/doodles per year!  (If you happen to be in possession of any of them, you’d be guaranteed to be an owner of a valuable piece of art!)


• That he was named after his stillborn baby brother?


• That he suffered from mental illness...leading up to the supposed self-inflicted shooting?


• That after he shot himself, he was able to walk back to his hostel, and was left smoking a pipe by two physicians who told him they couldn’t remove the bullet?


• That he survived for 29 hours after he was shot?


• That there is a theory that somebody else shot him, because the gun was never found?

And, for the purposes of this article:
That he was a ‘the grass is always greener...’ sort of guy.


Japonaiserie: Flowering Plum Tree (after Hiroshige), Paris, 1887. Can you tell it’s a copy?


The Courtesan (after Eisen), Paris, 1887.

Allow me to explain.  For me, it’s usually: ‘I wish I was taller.  Then I’d be able to wear those shorts, that dress, yadayadayada.” You know what I mean, everybody has something they wish was different, or wish they had.  Van Gogh, or Vinnie to his friends, was no different.  But for him, the green-eyed monster appeared through an unlikely source: that of Japanese ukiyo-e wood block prints.  About the time that he was in Paris, Vinnie discovered this form of Japanese art, and fell in lust.  He collected hundreds of these prints, but collecting wasn’t enough.  He wanted to own this form of artwork, and create it himself.  So, Vinnie did the equivalent of what I do to make myself taller. (No, he didn’t buy a new pair of ultra-high stilettos.) He copied existing Japanese wood-prints!  Now, some people might want to throw the word ‘plagiarism’ around, some may want to commend him on his source of inspiration.  Whatever, I’m not judging.  I will say, that Vinnie’s three notable works in the ‘Japonisme’ style are incredibly detailed, bold and masterfully executed.  Of course they are – it’s Van Gogh!


Portrait of Père Tanguy, Paris, 1887. Look how many copies of ukiyo-e he has painted!

However, finding out that one of the greats was as susceptible to a bit of peer-envy as I myself can be, well, I just find that selfishly reassuring.

But, please, don’t just take my word for it!  If you want to get up close and personal with Van Gogh and his work, and sneakily compare his take on Japanese ukiyo-e with the real deal, I strongly recommend that you make a trip to the Pinacothèque de Paris.  The dual exhibition of ‘Van Gogh et le Japonisme’ is on display from 03 October 2012 to 17 March 2013.  If Paris isn’t your scene – or you simply would rather wait until springtime (although Frank Sinatra does then go on to sing about how he loves Paris in every season), then you may be interested in looking up Vincent Van Gogh, written by Victoria Charles. 

Das Licht am Horizont

Viele kennen das seltsame Gefühl, wenn man weit draußen auf dem Meer ist, wenn kein Horizont in Sicht und einfach nichts anderes als Wasser um einen herum ist, Wasser und darüber der grenzenlose Himmel. Die Ferne, die Leere, das Ungewisse mag unter anderen Umständen vielleicht ein Gefühl der Freiheit auslösen, nach einer gewissen Weile jedoch, insbesondere, wenn man nicht weiß, wie weit das Ziel noch entfernt ist, ob man es erreichen wird oder wenn man sich gar in den Weiten des Meeres verloren glaubt, überwiegt das Unbehagen und das Gefühl des Verlorenseins. Wie viel bedeutet es in solchen Momenten, wenn man tief in seinem Inneren weiß, dass man nicht alleine ist und es nie sein wird?

In christlichen Darstellungen ist Gott allgegenwärtig. Der Himmel spielt gerade in Darstellungen des Neuen Testaments eine überaus wichtige Rolle. Nicht nur der Regenbogen, als der neue Bund zwischen Gott und den Menschen, kündet dabei von der Präsenz Gottes – bei Darstellungen des Jüngsten Gerichts bevölkern ganze Engelsscharen das Firmament. Die Wiedergabe des Himmels trägt entscheidend zur Stimmung christlicher Darstellungen bei, ein grau in grau gemaltes Firmament, schwarze Wolken am Horizont oder gar ein sich durch Blitze ankündigendes Gewitter kann nichts Gutes bedeuten und wird als Zorn Gottes gedeutet. Dennoch existieren kaum Darstellungen ohne Licht oder einen Silberstreifen am Horizont, der auf die Allgegenwart Gottes hindeutet und einen Hoffnungsfunken, einen Grund zur Zuversicht symbolisiert. Die religiöse Welt ist stets eine dualistische, dominiert durch den Antagonismus zwischen Licht und Finsternis, der wiederum den Gegensatz zwischen Himmel und Hölle, Gut und Böse bzw. Tugend und Strafe symbolisiert.


Nicolas Poussin, Kreuzabnahme, um 1630.
Öl auf Leinwand, 119,5 x 99 cm.
State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg.

Auf Poussins Kreuzabnahme befindet sich im linken Bildhintergrund eine große dunkel-schwarze Wolke vor dem grau-gelben Morgenhimmel. Das am Kreuz hängende weiße Grabtuch erzeugt zu dieser einen starken Hell-Dunkel-Kontrast und zurückgerafft wie eine Gardine gibt das weiße Tuch den Blick auf den Morgenhimmel frei. Von der Bildmitte aus nach rechts oben zum Himmel ragend kündigt es gleichzeitig die Auferstehung und die Himmelfahrt Christi an. Selbst in der Darstellung dieses schier unfassbar traurigen Moments wird durch den Hell-Dunkel-Kontrast an die Hoffnung und Zuversicht erinnert, die es stets zu erhalten gilt.

Weitere Himmelsdarstellungen gibt es in der aktuellen Ausstellung Les couleurs du ciel: Peintures des églises de Paris au XVIIe siècle (Die Farben des Himmels: Pariser Kirchengemälde des 17. Jahrhunderts) im Musée Carnavalet in Paris zu entdecken. Noch bis zum 24. Februar 2013 werden rund 120 christliche Gemälde, Zeichnungen und Stiche des 17. Jahrhunderts aus französischen und ausländischen Sammlungen gezeigt.
Im 17. Jahrhundert wurden die klassischen Meister wie Nicolas Poussin (1594-1665) zur Ausschmückung der Kirchen mit Gemälden beauftragt, die zum Teil noch vor Ort zu sehen sind, daher wird zusätzlich zur Ausstellung eine Kirchenführung in den Kirchen Saint-Eustache, Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs und Saint-Joseph-des-Carmes angeboten.

Entdecken Sie die ältesten Museen der französischen Hauptstadt und entdecken Sie bequem von zu Hause mit dem im Verlag Parkstone International erschienenen E-Book Christus in der Kunst den großen Star der christlichen Malerei – seine Geburt, sein ungewöhnliches Leben und sein dramatischer Tod machen ihn zum Hauptakteur religiöser Kunst – keine andere Person wurde in der Kunst häufiger dargestellt als Jesus Christus.

http://carnavalet.paris.fr/fr/expositions/les-couleurs-du-ciel

 

-C.Schmidt

Let them eat ice cream!

The 17^th century was a busy one. Full of territorial disputes around the world, English colonisation of the Americas, Japanese isolation, the fall of the Ming Dynasty in China… I could go on. But I won’t. More importantly, the world was (still) heavily focused on religious art, though many artists started to branch out and become a bit more narcissistic, here’s lookin’ at you Rembrandt and your many self-portraits.

Do you know what else came to be in the 17th century? Ice cream. You (probably) read it here first! No proper recipe for ice cream, though various other versions previously existed in Persia, China, and Italy for example, appeared until 1674 in France.

 


“Welcome back! Could we get a little creamed ice after this lovely meal, JC?”
Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, Supper at Emmaus, 1601.
Oil and tempera on canvas, 141 x 196.2 cm.
The National Gallery, London.

 

Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Surely the invention of ice cream stirred a deeper belief in God and Jesus Christ – who or what else could inspire such a cold, creamy, delicious treat? Could it be that artists of the time were so overjoyed with appreciation that they could find no other way to express their praise except to paint on the canvasses closest to the Heavens at the time: ceilings?

 


“Bless you, child. Go forth and enjoy ice cream; but eat slowly or you will get a brain freeze.”
El Greco, The Saviour, 1610-1614.
Oil on canvas, mounted on wood, 100.4 x 80.2 cm.
Museo del Greco, Toledo.

 

The Musée Carnavalet is exhibiting The Colours of Heaven now through 24 February 2013, a collection of paintings, drawings, and engravings devoted to Paris’ many churches. Don’t worry; you won’t have to crane your neck to look upwards too much. And if you’d like to see more religious devotion, check out the beautifully illustrated ebook, Christ in Art by Ernest Renan.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Bernini: una experiencia casi religiosa

Las imaginativas esculturas sinuosas, curvilíneas y biseladas de Gian Lorenzo Bernini son claros ejemplos del dinamismo y el efectismo del barroco. Todos los artificios y trampantojos que caracterizan a este estilo no tenían otro objetivo que impresionar y emocionar al espectador. Para lograr este fin, Bernini estudiaba cuidadosamente la perspectiva y jugaba con los materiales y la luz. Su afición al teatro era bien conocida y, por ello, muchos de sus conjuntos escultórico-arquitectónicos —inspirados en el gran Miguel Ángel— tenían un marcado carácter escenográfico. No dejaba nada al azar, tal como nos lo presenta la exposición del Metropolitan Museum of Art, «Bernini: Sculpting in Clay»; construía sus figuras en miniaturas de arcilla que modelaba con los dedos y algunas herramientas antes de comenzar a trabajar en el mármol.

 


Éxtasis de santa Teresa, 1645-52.
Mármol, 350 cm.
Capilla Cornaro, iglesia de Santa María de la Victoria, Roma.

 

Una de las composiciones más teatrales de Bernini es este Éxtasis de santa Teresa que plasma un momento en el que el amor de Dios traspasó el corazón de la Santa, tal como lo describe en su Libro de la vida:

Veía un ángel cabe mí, hacia el lado izquierdo, en forma corporal... Veíale en las manos un dardo de oro largo, y al fin del hierro me parecía tener un poco de fuego. Este me parecía meter por el corazón algunas veces y que me llegaba a las entrañas. Al sacarle, me parecía las llevaba consigo, y me dejaba toda abrasada en amor grande de Dios. Era tan grande el dolor, que me hacía dar aquellos quejidos, y tan excesiva la suavidad que me pone este grandísimo dolor, que no hay desear que se quite, ni se contenta el alma con menos que Dios. No es dolor corporal sino espiritual, aunque no deja de participar el cuerpo algo, y aun harto. Es un requiebro tan suave que pasa entre el alma y Dios, que suplico yo a su bondad lo dé a gustar a quien pensare que miento.

Esta experiencia mística se denomina «transverberación» o «transfixión» del corazón y se considera un verdadero regalo divino. Ciertamente, se puede percibir una carga sexual en la descripción del mismo por parte de la Santa, pero su propósito era inspirar fe y la única forma de hacerlo en términos comprensibles para el espectador era comparándolo con sentimientos que este haya podido experimentar. El conjunto escultórico de Bernini está construido con esta misma finalidad. Una ventana oculta permite que la luz se deslice por los rayos de bronce y caiga sobre las níveas figuras de Santa Teresa y el ángel, que parecen suspendidos en el aire bajo un fresco que imita al cielo. Las ropas del ángel son livianas y vaporosas, lo que contrasta con la pesadez del vestido de la Santa y establece una clara contraposición entre lo terrenal y lo divino. La expresión de Santa Teresa es al mismo tiempo de placer y de profundo dolor, mientras el ángel sonríe complacido. Por último, Bernini quiso hacer aún más manifiesto nuestro papel de espectadores del milagro mediante dos relieves que representan los palcos del «teatro».

Si quieres participar en el juego de las esculturas barrocas y dejarte seducir por ellas, no te puedes perder la exposición del MET, que permanecerá abierta hasta el día de Reyes del año que viene, ni estos magníficos libros sobre el arte barroco y la escultura de Victoria Charles.

 

Bernini: The Beauty and The Beast

Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Fontana della Barcaccia. c. 1623. Marble. Piazza di Spagna, Rome, Italy

Rome is the city of light, certainly, but it is also the city of water. Tourists may visit for the city’s celebrated history and architecture, but they leave entranced by the babbling fountains which dot the city like stars. What most don’t realize is that most of those fountains were designed by the same man: the astoundingly talented Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

Immortalized in countless great works of cinema, from Frederico Felini’s La Dolce Vita to Woody Allen’s To Rome With Love, Bernini’s fountains are essential to the character of this most romantic of cities. His Fontana della Barcaccia on the Spanish Steps even provided the backdrop for Gregory Peck and Audry Hepburn to meet cute in Roman Holiday, and has been photographed by countless tourists attempting capture a uniquely Italian image. In many ways, modern Rome is the city Bernini built.

Still, as influential as he is today, Bernini’s path to artistic immortality was not smooth. In the seventeenth century when he was a young man he was quite a controversial figure, his artistic genius at times overshadowed by the scandals that surrounded him.


Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Self-Portrait as a Young Man. c. 1623. Oil on canvas, 62x46 cm. Galleria Borghese, Rome, Italy

Bernini was the darling of the art world from the age of eight, when Pope Paul V boasted that the child would be “The Michelangelo of his century.” And as he grew up, and his skills increased, so did his social success. Beloved by the wealthiest families in Italy, and a favourite of the church, Bernini led a charmed life. At least, until he met Constanza Buanerelli.

Constanza was the wife of Bernini’s assistant Matteo, a young and lovely woman whose freshness and charm immediately won over the artist. He was inspired by her sensuality, and she quickly became his muse, her post-coital rumple immortalized in stone in one of his most celebrated busts.


Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Bust of Constanza Buonarelli. c. 1635. Marble, 72 cm. Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence, Italy

Alas, their happiness was brief. Bernini was an extremely jealous lover, infuriated that he was forced to share Constanza with her husband. He repeatedly insulted the hapless Matteo to such a great extent that his affair with Constanza became a matter of common knowledge, and she was jailed for adultery. Protected by his powerful friends, Bernini himself got off scot free.

Constanza, tired of her lover’s covetousness, took her revenge by beginning an affair with his brother. Enraged, Bernini followed the pair to the steps of St. Peter’s basilica, the Pope’s seat of power, whose interior he had so masterfully designed years before. He beat his brother half to death with an iron rod, and bribed a servant to slash Constanza’s face with a razor, destroying the beauty that had once captivated him.

Pope Urban VIII used his power to get Bernini out of trouble, even excusing the 3000 scudi fee the court leveled against him. But the pope was tired of helping the bad boy artist out of romantic scrapes, and this time his help came with a price. He forced Bernini to marry a virtuous woman of the church’s choosing, a union that was by all accounts a happy one, lasting decades and producing eleven children.

Still, Bernini never sculpted his wife. Maybe he had learned his lesson with Constanza, his great love and his muse, whose faithless beauty he so fatally immortalized.

Those of you lucky enough to be in New York should make sure to check out Bernini: Sculpting in Clay at the world famous Metropolitan Museum of Art from October 3, 2012 to January 6, 2013. Or to follow along at home, and get critical insight into Bernini’s controversial life and work, check out our ebooks on Sculpture and Baroque Art, both written by celebrated art historian Victoria Charles.

-George Kostrowitzky