Out of Lascaux

Seeing the Spiritual in the Sensual

Well, the service was very well received. I enjoyed it and so did everyone else. I present it here for you. But one caveat - it's very long, so if you want to read all of it, just click below.

All of the following paintings are by Georges de La Tour (ca 1600-1650)

The Wrightsman Magdalen, Metropolitan Museum of Art.
This is the focal point for today's discussion.

Penitent Magdalen, LA County Art Museum

Penitent Magdalen, National Gallery, Washington, DC

A lot has been said and written about the woman known as Mary Magdalen in the last few years. She has gone from being a prostitute to the wife of Jesus. But this seemingly abrupt turnabout is not unusual. The Magdalen has metamorphosed many times over the centuries. She has been the oil bearer who washed Jesus’ feet with her hair; she has been one of the women at the tomb; she has been the first to see the arisen Christ; she has been the loose woman purged of sin; she has been a prostitute; she has been a aged and withered desert hermit; and she has been the rich, sinful woman who gave up all her wealth to follow Jesus. A Prayer by St. Anselm written in the 11th century gives us a telling look at how the Magdalen was perceived throughout the centuries, and how she was often represented:

St Mary Magdalene,
you came with springing tears
to the spring of mercy, Christ;
from him your burning thirst was abundantly refreshed;
through him your sins were forgiven;
by him your bitter sorrow was consoled.
My dearest lady,
well you know by your own life
how a sinful soul can be reconciled with its creator,
what counsel a soul in misery needs,
what medicine will restore the sick to health.
It is enough for us to understand, dear friend of God,
to whom were "many sins forgiven, because she loved much".
Most blessed lady,
I who am the most evil and sinful of men
do not recall your sins as a reproach,
but call upon the boundless mercy
by which they were blotted out.
This is my reassurance, so that I do not despair;
this is my longing, so that I shall not perish.
I say this of myself,
miserably cast down into the depths of vice,
bowed down with the weight of crimes,
thrust down by my own hand into a dark prison of sins,
wrapped round with the shadows of darkness.

Therefore, since you are now with the chosen
because you are beloved
and are beloved because you are chosen of God,
I, in my misery, pray to you, in bliss;
in my darkness, I ask for light;
in my sins, redemption;
impure, I ask for purity.
Recall in loving kindness what you used to be,
how much you needed mercy,
and seek for me that same forgiving love
that you received when you were wanting it.
Ask urgently that I may have
the love that pierces the heart; tears that are humble;
desire for the homeland of heaven;
impatience with this earthly exile;
searing repentance; and a dread of torments in eternity.
Turn to my good that ready access
that you once had and still have to the spring of mercy.
Draw me to him where I may wash away my sins;
bring me to him who can slake my thirst;
pour over me those waters
that will make my dry places fresh.
You will not find it hard to gain all you desire
from so loving and so kind a Lord,
who is alive and reigns and is your friend.

Of all her different incarnations through the centuries, it was the beautiful but repentant woman of sin, her voluptuous body often only half-clothed, who captured the imagination of 17th century artists and patrons. The most popular type of image of the Magdalen showed her with long, flowing hair, partially covering her breasts, her white flesh glowing tantalizingly through the strands of luxurious hair, or peeking out from a strategically placed cloth of silk or satin. This was an image meant to titillate, an image of an obviously loose woman, a woman drenched in sin, but purged of it by her tears of devotion.

While the Magdalen was seen as sinful, even adulterous at times, it was this very sinfulness which attracted devotion. If she could be forgiven her sins, then surely a humble penitent whose sins were not even of the flesh but of the mind, would be forgiven all and see the kingdom of heaven.

But the Magdalen was not just the sinful woman of the world. She was also the beloved of Christ. It may seem shocking to us today that anyone would think she could have been his wife, but it is not so far from what has been believed for centuries. She was always close to Christ; it’s just that in certain eras, the church downplayed this relationship, wishing to avoid giving the impression that women could have such a prominent place in the church hierarchy. Even so, it is not unusual to see the following passage from the Song of Songs associated with Mary Magdalen:

Upon my bed at night, I sought him whom my soul loves; I sought him but found him not; I called him, but he gave no answer. “I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves.” The watchmen found me, as they went about the city. “Have you seen him whom my soul loves?” Scarcely had I passed them, when I found him whom my soul loves. I held him, and would not let him go until I had brought him into my mother’s house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me. I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the gazelles or the hinds of the field, that you stir not up nor awaken love until it please.

So it is the penitent sinner, the lover of Christ, the woman searching for redemption through the love of God, seeking peace through salvation, who is seen in the paintings of the 17th century. She is beautiful, she is passionate, and she is sensual.

The painter Georges de La Tour was active in the French province of Lorraine during the first half of the 1600’s. He was a big fish in a small pond, well known in his own province, proclaimed “Painter to the King,” but never invited to the royal court. His images are dark, brooding religious pieces, with stage-like compositions and everyday people used as models. His candle light pieces are his most stunning: mysterious, dramatic, and utterly still.

La Tour painted at least three variations on the theme of the Penitent Magdalen. In the two not shown here, she is dressed in old clothes, her surroundings simple and poor. She sits in a darkened room contemplating either a flame or a skull. While the major elements are the same, our Magdalen is different. She wears a red, brocade skirt and a fine linen shift. Jewels litter her dressing table and the floor. The mirror she gazes into is gilt framed, and the candle stick is of fine craftsmanship. This is not the ascetic Magdalen: no, our Magdalen has only just renounced the world, her worldly goods discarded about her. She is a rich woman who has realized that her wealth will bring her nothing, not happiness, not peace, not salvation.

The connecting elements found in all of La Tour’s Magdalens are the skull and the flame of the single candle. These are the images of the memento mori, a popular iconographic theme in the 17th century. Memento mori means literally “remember you will die.” Meditation upon death was an accepted practice, one meant to prepare oneself for the inevitable. We all die, and when we do, we had better be properly repentant, or we will pay for our sins with eternal damnation. The devout often spent time contemplating death, often using an image as focal point. A skull is the most recognizable element of this type of imagery, but flowers, fruit, flames and mirrors also figure prominently in the iconography. The flowers, fruit and flames represent the brevity and beauty of life. They hold a fascination for us while they bloom, while they are ripe, or while they burn, but their beauty is fleeting. In no time at all, they have withered, rotted, or turned black.

Let’s look at the iconography of these elements. By iconography I mean the symbolism behind each of these items, for nothing is here by accident or as decoration. Everything has a meaning, and adds to the power of the image before us. First, the skull. To our modern eyes, it is obviously an image of death. The fact that it sits casually in her lap, as if it were a beloved pet, may seem odd. But to the 17th century eye, it belongs there. The Magdalen is contemplating death and the impermanence of life. From earth we come and to the earth we will go, no exceptions. Sooner or later, our flesh will die and rot away, leaving only the skull and bones that litter our cemeteries, our ossuaries, our catacombs, and our imaginations. It is a vivid reminder of our own mortality, and a clear signal that the Magdalen has accepted her mortality and is comfortable with it, for she will be forgiven her sins, and hers is the kingdom of heaven.

The candle flame. The flame has several meanings. For one thing, it is the light of salvation, a vision of God’s love in the darkness of sin. It is the flame of enlightenment, showing us the way to true understanding. But it is also fleeting, impermanent, a symbol of the brevity of human life. With one breath it goes out, its light extinguished, leaving only the cold and the dark. In the image before us, it is both of these. You can choose to view it as you wish.
The mirror. The mirror is a symbol of woman’s vanity. The vain woman is always gazing at her reflection, admiring herself, primping in order to attract attention. But it is all for nothing. In a few years, her beauty will wither, her skin will wrinkle, her joints will creak, and she will grow old and die. But the Magdalen is gazing not at her own reflection, but at the reflection of the candle, the reflection of the light of God, the symbol of her salvation. She has rejected her own vanity, just as she has rejected the trappings of wealth, the pearls and jewels strewn carelessly on the table and floor. She has accepted instead the idea of her mortality, and the knowledge that God’s love is more important than jewels or beauty or wealth.

So why am I talking about Christian symbolism and God’s love so reverently in a Unitarian Church? Me, a professed Buddhist? Simple: I love this painting. When I first saw it in the Metropolitan Museum of Art many years ago, it stopped me in my tracks. I stood and marveled at how it spoke to me. It made me sit down and gaze at it in wonder. Amid the noise and hustle and bustle of mid-town Manhattan and the cacophony associated with a huge, world-class museum, here was an oasis of peace and serenity. Gazing at it, one can shut out the world with the flick of an imaginary switch.

What caught me at first was its dramatic intensity. A dark room lit by a single candle creates a sense of being alone with the figure, surrounded by a cocoon of darkness. Some might consider it claustrophobic, but I found it inviting and comforting, like being under the covers in bed on a cold morning.

Then there is the Magdalen herself. Even though we cannot see her face, we know she is stunningly beautiful. Her hair flows like a sable waterfall down her back. We get a tantalizing glimpse of her white flesh beneath her open linen shift. This is no peasant woman with coarse hands and dirty fingers, nor is she a gaudy or used-up harlot. She is a wealthy, beautiful woman sitting in her boudoir, meditating.

But as we look closer we realize that, although she is realistically painted, she is not real. She is a statue. Her skin is too smooth, and her fingers have a strange, waxy shine. The highlights on her hands match the highlights on the skull. And there is no movement here. We do not get the feeling that she will turn and speak to us. No, she will remain that way forever, and we can gaze at her and with her without fear of interruption. The only movement in the painting is in the candle flame. We can see that it flickers, it gutters, and that it will go out at some point. And when it does, she will still be sitting there in the darkness, unmoving.

Then what is the focal point of this painting? The beautiful but still image of a Christian goddess? Or the candle flame that reminds us of our own mortality? I think it depends on your own inclinations. For me, it’s the entire image. It is a sensual experience, able to draw the viewer in with its mysterious, other-worldly beauty. However, I also feel that I could sit and meditate with the Magdalen on the candle flame and perhaps find the same enlightenment that she has found. In that, it is a supremely Buddhist image, worthy to be included on the wall behind the altar with the statue of Buddha and the burning candles. Or it can be an altar all to itself.

The imagery in this painting is universal. Skulls are a symbol of death and dying everywhere. The candle flame is a symbol of impermanence, a reminder of how quickly and unexpectedly the spark of life can be extinguished. And the mirror is a reflection of the soul. It reflects our inner selves back to us, reminding us that we are human, that we share all of the faults and frailties of the rest of humanity. A Buddhist who had no idea who Mary Magdalen was, or had no familiarity with Christian iconography would still know what this painting is about. It is about the impermanence of life and the acceptance of death as a part of life. Our Buddhist might miss the whole idea of salvation, but if you look at it objectively, that idea is only there if you know who the woman in the painting is.
So our Christian image is inherently Buddhist. It is role model and example, while being an aid to meditation unto itself. The symbolism within this painting is universal. Everyone dies, Christians and Buddhists alike. And we must all accept that fact.

The Buddhists meditate on death for similar reasons as Christians. Life is short, impermanent. We can die at any time, and we must be ready when it comes. If we do not accept our death, we will not be reborn into a pleasant life. We may not even be reborn at all. Let me read you the Buddhist 9-Point meditation on death:

1. Death is certain:
a. There is no escape
b. Life has a limit, each moment brings me closer
c. Death can come in a moment and fully unexpected

2. The time of death is uncertain:
a. My lifespan is uncertain
b. There are many causes for death, few for sustenance of life
c. My body is fragile; even a thorn can kill me with an infection
3.
What can help me at the moment of death?
a. Wealth, possessions?
b. Relatives and friends?
c. My own body? Only my positive karma from practicing dharma can help!

I have no idea whether Georges de La Tour believed in the whole idea of salvation or of meditating on death, for how can we know the mind of a man dead 4 centuries? But I do think we can safely say that the woman in the painting would whole-heartedly accept this meditation on death. She would probably replace the last point with some statement about Jesus as her savior, but in the end, it’s all the same.

I end with a quote from the Dhammavadaka, or the voice of Buddha’s Teachings:

Remember always that you are just a visitor here, a traveler passing through. Your stay is but short and the moment of your departure unknown. None can live without toil and a craft that provides your needs is a blessing indeed. But if you toil without rest, fatigue and weariness will overtake you, and you will be denied the joy that comes from labor's end. Speak quietly and kindly and be not forward with either opinions or advice. If you talk much, this will make you deaf to what others say, and you should know that there are few so wise that they cannot learn from others. Be near when help is needed, but far when praise and thanks are being offered.

Take small account of might, wealth and fame, for they soon pass and are forgotten. Instead, nurture love within you and strive to be a friend to all. Truly, compassion is a balm for many wounds. Treasure silence when you find it, and while being mindful of your duties, set time aside, to be alone with yourself. Cast off pretense and self-deception and see yourself as you really are. Despite all appearances, no one is really evil. They are led astray by ignorance. If you ponder this truth always you will offer more light, rather than blame and condemnation. You, no less than all beings have Buddha Nature within. Your essential Mind is pure. Therefore, when defilements cause you to stumble and fall, let not remorse nor dark foreboding cast you down. Be of good cheer and with this understanding, summon strength and walk on. Faith is like a lamp and wisdom makes the flame burn bright. Carry this lamp always and in good time the darkness will yield and you will abide in the Light

Magdalen and Mandrake Roots

Becki made an interesting comment about an image of the Penitent Magdalen I posted sometime back. She noted that Reni has depicted a couple of mandrake roots on a stone beside her. Well, I had to go and investigate this. I found a very interesting article on the history, myths and legends about the plant. However, after reading that, and digging around some more, I could not find one possible reason for Reni to have put that plant in the painting. Yes, he had some kind of fear of women, but that doesn't seem to relate to his depictions of the Magdalen. The plant is known to have various powers, from an aphrodesiac to helping women in childbirth, to a nasty poison. But I cannot see how any of this relates to the Magdalen, to penitence, or even to prostitution (prostitutes don't need love potions).

The roots beside her certainly seem to be mandrakes. Even so, I also looked around to see if there are ANY herbal roots related to penitence and I found none.

Perhaps Reni included it at the request of the patron, Cardinal Antonio Santacroce, but there is little way of finding that out. I am really stumped on this one. I wish I could provide more information, and I will certainly keep it in mind when next I am searching through my art books. Until then, good luck Becki!

The Penitent Magdalen in Art

Mary Magdalen has always been a popular figure in western art. In the middle ages she was revered as the woman closest to Jesus. She washed his feet with her hair and was the first person to see him after he had arisen (see earlier post below). But as the centuries wore on, her association with "fallen women" grew more prominent, until she became the prostitute saved by the teachings of Jesus, which is not the same as being his confidant at all.

When she was saved, Mary Magdalen repented her life of sin. The Magdalen as penitent had songs and poems written about her. Her tears were considered sacred. Churches sprang up dedicated to her. Holy orders of former prostitutes - Magdalenes - existed in some cities. This was the Magdalen everyone knew. The companion and confidant of Christ was forgotten in the shadow of a more sensational figure.

There are two types of images of the Penitent Magdalen found in Renaissance and Baroque art. The first type was made popular by Titian, and really held sway above all others. This was the beautiful Magdalen, eyes tearfully lifted towards heaven, with an ample bosom only partially covered with her glorious main of chestnut hair.

Penitent Mary Magdalen
Titian Vecellio
1560's

Titian was followed by many others, including El Greco, Guercino, Vouet, and both Gentileschis. There is one word that describes these images better than "devotional," and that's "titillating." The Magdalen became an excuse to portray the female form without the inappropriateness of a common nude.

Guido Reni
1630's

But it wasn't just about showing naked women. The late 16th century was the time of the Reformation, when the Catholic church was losing the faithful to the new Protestant faiths right and left. The Counter-Reformation sought to bring them back any way they could, and one way was by selling sex along with piety. Dramatic, often scandalous images cropped up. Some of the first "shock" art appeared at this time, as artists experimented with new and dramatic ideas and images. While some found this new art offensive, most were drawn to the power of the imagery.

Paradoxically, another image of the Penitent Magdalen emerged, created by the most scandalous of artists, Caravaggio. While most of his images are dramatic and powerful, he went in a different direction with the Penitent Magdalen.

Caravaggio
1597

The Magdalen has been transformed from a half-naked prostitute to a quietly thoughtful rich woman who has thrown off her jewels and worldly goods. This Magdalen has just turned from her wicked ways and sits regretting her past. He's not selling sex here, only a quiet repentance.

This leads to my favorite painting of all time. Georges de La Tour painted a Magdalen that hangs in the Metropolitan Museum in New York.

Georges de La Tour
1638

The power in this one lies in the dramatic use of light and shadow, and the fact that you cannot see her face. She could be anyone. Any woman could comfortably put herself in the Magdalen's place as she contemplates death and the vanities of life. She's also so contemplative, so still she seems to be meditating. The figure even has a smooth, waxy sheen to the skin, as if she is a wax statue. This is a painting that I will sit in front of and feel relaxed and at peace. But perhaps that's just me.

La Tour was famous for his Magdalens. Another version is one in which he combined his rich, faceless woman with the more traditional penitent living in poverty. He painted several versions, one of which hangs in the County Mueseum of Art, Los Angeles.

Georges de La Tour
1640

The Magdalen in art was the Magdalen of the popular imagination. Whatever happened to be the prevalent view of her was the way she was portrayed, whether as devoted follower of Christ or repentant sinner. But somehow, she was never portrayed as being as close to Christ as some would claim today. Even in the 70's, the Magdalen in Jesus Christ Superstar sang about loving him, but there was never any deeper relationship implied. The idea of the Magdalen being the wife of Jesus, while not entirely new, has never been explored in art or culture. There was only one legend of the Magdalen coming to Marseilles with a daughter, and that is sketchy at best. Ultimately, the "woman" beside Jesus in the last supper is John, and always has been. The Magdalen was portrayed in her own way.

Mary Magdalen in Art

It occurs to me that with all this attention on The Da Vinci Code, I haven't really posted much about Mary Magdalen. Now, I could say something self-deprecating about my "vast knowledge" here, but the fact is that I did a LOT of research on Mary Magdalen in grad school. She was going to be my PhD thesis. Ok, I could say something self-deprecating about my non-existent PhD, but I'll leave it at that.

So. Mary Magdalen. If you have seen any of the many shows about the Da Vinci Code, or even read the Da Vinci Code, you already know the basics. The Mary Magdalen from the bible is very different from the image that has developed over the centuries. In the bible, she was a rich woman who followed Jesus. She was one of the Mary's present at the crucifixion. She is the woman Jesus first appeared to after he had risen from the tomb. She is also the woman who had seven demons cast out of her. But there is no evidence that she was ever a prostitute; the woman taken in adultery and saved from stoning by Jesus was a different woman. So was the woman who washed Jesus's feet with her hair

In art, the Magdalen has had many incarnations and many functions. In early Christian art, she played an important role as the first person to see the arisen Christ. He told her to be happy, but that she could not touch him for he had not yet ascended to heaven.

Nolie Me Tangere by Giotto
1320's

She was also seen as the emaciated penitent clothed only in her hair. But again, this image stemmed from a story about an early saint, Saint Mary of the Desert, who spent years wandering and praying and being fed and nourished by angels. But she wasn't the Magdalen, either.

Penitent Magdalen by Donatello
1457

Another popular image of the Magdalen shows her with the alabaster ointment jar. This actually has two different origins. The first is from the story in which a woman, later identified as the Magdalen, washed Christ's feet with expensive oils. The second symbolizes her involvement in washing Christ's body after death, which may or may not be true but was never mentioned.

Mary Magdalen by Carlo Dolci
ca 1660

The penitent Magdalen was to have enormous influence in the Baroque period of art, but since that is my favorite era and I have a lot to say (and pictures to show), I think I'll leave that for another time.

Meanwhile, Back at the Atelier...

I feel the need to post on art history. Anything on art history. As it happens, DS and I just finished a very cool 3D puzzle.

St. Peter's Basilica

I had DS write a short paper on it, but since he didn't save the file (grrr) I'll just give some links to a few decent sites.
Catholic Encyclopedia
Wikipedia
Tour of St.Peter's
EWTN

And speaking of Michelangelo, there's this article about a newly found fresco by him.

Lost Caravaggios Discovered

Ok, so they weren't exactly "lost," just unknown for many years. This article in the BBC News tells of two Caravaggios found in a church in Loches, France. The scholars spent a few years studying them before making their pronouncements. And a good thing, too, because I would not have immediately thought they were both by the same hand.

Supper at Emmaus
Church of St. Anthony
Loches, France

Supper at Emmaus
1601-02
National Gallery, London

The first one is the newly discovered version of Supper at Emmaus. The second one is the version in London. Side by side, the Loches version seems like a cartoony copy of the London version. It lacks richness, and Christ looks completely wrong. The old man by his side (St. James) looks like a faithful replica of the other, and the other apostles almost as much. However, since I am not a Caravaggio scholar, I will trust the experts to tell me this is, indeed by Caravaggio, and not a follower or a student. It may be that the patron wanted a more iconic version of Christ for his painting, one with the narrow face made popular by the Byzantines, and perhaps insisted on the change in his looks. But that only works if the London version came before the other. I don't know what date they have given (if any) to the Loches version.

The other painting is of the doubting Thomas putting his finger in Christ's wound. They did not publish a picture of that one, so I don't know how they compare. But, for your edification, below is the version now in Potsdam.

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas
1601-02
Sanssouci, Potsdam

(Hat tip to Craig at The Anger of Compassion for pointing out this article.)

Bosch Figurines

These are way cool. I seriously want a few.

(via Newthings)

Highlights: 3/13/03

Sometime ago, the Cranky Professor made a passing reference to Caravaggio's Judith and Holofernes. Well, I thought Judith and Holofernes would be a fine topic for an art history lesson, so here it is.

Caravaggio, Judith Slaying Holofernes, ca 1597-1600

As one might expect from anything created by Caravaggio, this image caused quite a stir. It's bloody, violent, and downright creepy. A beautiful girl calmly cuts the head off of a man who has just awoken to find himself under attack. If you cut the image in half, you see a violent image of a writhing man with blood gushing out of his neck. In the other half is a pretty girl, frowning slightly, attended by her old maidservant. It is a strange juxtaposition of what we would today call "sex and violence."

The theme of Judith and Holofernes was not uncommon in renaissance art. The story comes to us from the Old Testament, in which Judith is a wealthy young widow living in a city besieged by the warrior Holofernes. Judith bravely offers herself to Holofernes in order to get him drunk and kill him in his sleep. She is considered a heroine for her brave sacrifice and her enormous courage. But for all that she does, indeed, kill him mercilessly in his sleep, most images before this time were of the beautiful Judith with her maidservant and the head of the already dead Holofernes.

Michelangelo, Judith and Her Maidservant, Sisteen Chapel, 1508-1512


Mantegna, Judith and her Maidservant, ca 1490

While Mantegna presents us with a studied, serene interpretation, Michelangelo allows us to see the nude corpse of Holofernes in the background, thereby reminding us of the brutality of the act that has just been commited. But it is still after the fact. Judith remains unsullied by the violence of her action.

Artemesia Gentileschi is one of those truly legendary artists of the Baroque, nearly as famous as Caravaggio, but for different reasons. The most telling reason is that she was a woman. The other reason is that she was raped by her supposed tutor and was never allowed restitution in the case. For this reason, many art historians, particularly those of the feminist persuasion, will look at the image below and see Artemesia exploring her frustrations and emotional torment in paint. In the referenced article, the author, quoting the "experts", says:

These distinctly different versions of the Judith figure are most likely due to the sex of their artists. Gentileschi's depiction of a strong, able Judith, can be attributed to her understanding of the female gender, as she "drew inspiration from her own sense of personal autonomy"-making her Judiths "Possibly the freest of masculine stereotype in the entire genre of Judiths."4 Caravaggio's work, however, does not escape the typical stereotype of a woman, however, as Judith is portrayed as a weak figure. She appears to be distant from the action, and she is both uninvolved and incapable. Caravaggio seems to have worked harder to create a highly individualized portrait of the Holofernes character than Judith, which is somewhat unusual as she is considered the central character of the tale. This is most likely due his better understanding and comprehension of the male character, than the female, making "Holofernes's pain and surprise more easily imagined than Judith's feelings at the moment."5

Artemesia Gentileschi, Judith Slaying Holofernes, ca 1612

But these feminist interpretations look only at the differences between these two works. Her addition of the young maidservant holding the struggling man down does add something to our possible interpretation of the image. But if we look at the similarities - the composition, the juxtaposition of beauty and violence, the calm expression on her face - we see that Artemisia is really copying from the master, just as every artist of her day did. Caravaggio was emulated throughout Europe in the 17th century, and Artemisia would not have been the only artist to copy this painting. It just so happens that she is the only female to have copied it. And we have two versions of her copy, both very similar and somewhat lacking in invention. While I believe that her personal life will have some effect on her work, I cannot say that we can see it here, especially when we consider her other versions of the subject.

Here she has returned to the more traditional imagery of the older masters. These versions show a much finer mastery on her part, for she is not attempting to create something conceived by another artist, but one more in keeping with tradition and her own style. These images are definitely better works of art in every way, and we should consider these as her true oeuvre, instead of the earlier, more derivative pieces.

As I have said before, art is not created in a vacuum. But in the 17th century, the most important influence on an artist's work was other artwork. Caravaggio stands out as an innovator, and we can perhaps, give him a little more leeway in our interpretation of how his life affected his art, but those who came after him looked to him for inspiration, and rarely sought it within themselves. This is not to say that they did not put something of themselves on canvas. Artemisia's version of Susanna and the Elders certainly presents us with an image of a virtuous woman wronged, whereas earlier versions had shown a tittilating image of voyeurs watching a beautiful woman bathing. So, yes, you could say that there is something of Artemisia's own experience showing through in this work. But, I would only caution against the over-interpretation of such images using our own modern perspective of the art as personal expression. Art was still done mainly for patrons, not for personal satisfaction.

Highlights: 1/19/03

Ok, I saw the National Geographic program "Did Leonardo da Vinci Create the Shroud of Turin?" Very interesting. We already have evidence that the shroud is a medieval forgery - carbon dating has shown the cloth to be from the 13th century. But no one has really been able to explain how it was done. In come the art historians, who see the hand of Leonardo all over it. He had the skill, was in the right place at the right time, and was just the kind of person who would do it. One confusing thing was that they had one expert who said that the cloth had pigment on it, while another showed how Leonardo could have done it with a primitive photographic process. I wasn't sure which one the art historians were supporting. I kind of like the photo idea. It is certainly feasable that Leonardo could have experimented with photo sensitive chemicals and an early camera obscura. And the face on the shroud does look like his self portrait, which he surely would have done, even on such a sensitive project. There are two problems with their argument, though. 1) There is no documentary evidence whatsoever that Leonardo might have created the shroud. The experts say this is because it was done in secret, either for the Savoy family or for the Pope himself so that they could pass off the shroud as the real deal. It's possible, but it proves nothing. 2) If Leonardo did indeed use this experimental form of photography, surely he would have used it again somewhere on something, or at least have written about the process. But the experts made no mention of any such evidence, so I assume there is none. Still, it's a nice hypothesis. Maybe something will come to light someday to prove it.

Update: Nicholas Allen gives scientific evidence why Leonardo did Not create the Shroud of Turin.

Highlights: 1/7/03

Today is art history lesson day. The subject: The Ecstasy of St. Francis. The iconography: St. Francis received the holy stigmata from an angel, and it led him to experience a holy euphoria. The Ecstasy of St. Francis differs from the Stigmatization of St. Francis in that we see not the angel giving him his wounds, but the euphoric after effects. The image: the subject was popular in painting through the middle ages and into the baroque era (approximately the years 1200 - 1700).

The Ecstasy of St. Francis, Giotto, ca. 1290

This painting by Giotto, considered a marvel of realism at the time, is part of a cycle of frescoes telling the story of St. Francis of Assisi. Giotto has captured the saint's euphoria by placing his legless body on a cloud floating above the heads of the stunned witnesses. Above him is the image of Christ Himself blessing the saint from his heavenly throne. Giotto has not left much to the imagination, it's all there. It is concrete, and it is happening here and now. The heavy, blocky style of painting compliments the very solid imagery he has represented. Any observer with the least bit of knowledge about St. Francis would know what he is looking at. This is an image that is meant to be read like a book, this being a chapter in a book painted on the walls of the Assisi Chapel.

St. Francis in the Desert, Giovanni Bellini, ca. 1480-85

This image was the reason I decided on this post in the first place. The post was going to be about this painting, but it grew a mind of its own. So be it. Bellini's St. Francis is a small panel painting at the Frick in New York. It's one of the earlier Italian oil paintings, and it has a glossy surface that gives it a gem-like feel. It continues the earlier traditions of St. Francis in Ecstasy in that we have a very real, solid landscape, yet one that is apparently concocted for this image. The saint stands in his immaculate robe, shining in the rays of the sun. He has just stepped out from his study, and is looking up at heaven, and seeing something we, the viewers, do not see. And why should we? We are not priviledged to that vision, as we are not saints. Just as Giotto showed us a solid reality, so does Bellini; the landscape is meticulously painted, down to the donkey in the middle ground and the shepherd and his flocks in the back ground. There is seemingly nothing mystical in this painting. We are not awed by the celestial power of the lord, but by the magnificence of nature, and all the details therein.

The Ecstasy of St. Francis, Caravaggio, ca. 1595

Now we come to a most baroque representation of the subject. Caravaggio's image is unique, yet wholly in keeping with the spirit of the time. He has done away with the solid landscape and focussed only on the saint and the angel that comforts him. The ecstasy is over and he has swooned into the angel's arms. A divine light illuminates the two figures, while all else is in darkness. Caravaggio's figures seem more realistic to our modern eyes than either of the others, yet the painting is more mystical than either of the earlier works. The angel - who looks like an ordinary young boy with wings - is bathed in that ethereal light, giving him a heavenly glow. This image does not give us concrete clues and iconography. Instead we are presented with a picture of an emotion, of a spiritual experience that cannot be read but must be felt. This is what makes this painting baroque.

Posted by Alexandra at 02:11 PM | Comments (4)

Highlights: 12/14/02

Dargie asks me, "How is tenebrism substantially different from chiaroscuro?" A very good question. Let me see if I can explain. Chiaroscuro is the play of light and dark; great contrasts of light and dark. We see that in The Candle Light paintings below as well as Caravaggio's work. Tenebrism is more specifically the use of dark, regardless of how much light is in the painting. Each of the above examples qualifies under tenebrism as well. However, a painting of a daylight scene, with great contrasts of sunlight and shadow would qualify as chiaroscuro, while it would not qualify as tenebristic. Edward Hopper used chiaroscuro in his works quite often. The link is specifically for his work "Early Sunday Morning." Now, something like his "Nighthawks" could possibly qualify under both terms.

From the American Heritage Dictionary:
chiaroscuro: 1. The technique of using light and shade in pictorial representation. 2. The arrangement of light and dark elements in a pictorial work of art. [Ital: chiaro, light + oscuro, dark].
(tenebrism is one of those art historical jargon words, and therefore is not itself in the dictionary)
tenebrific: 1. Serving to obscure or darken. 2. Gloomy, dark [Latin: tenebrae, darkness]

Highlights: 12/11/02

The Candle Light Painters. This was not a movement, not a style, and it wasn't even a community of artists. Quite simply, the Candle Light Painters were artists who painted scenes in which a candle was the only source of illumination. They created wonderful effects of light and dark, dramatic scenes in which the candle light is a major player. Although Caravaggio was the initial inspiration for this type of tenebrism (working with darkness), he did not actually use artificial light in his works. It was his followers who started it. It may be that Gerrit Honthorst was the first of the Caravaggisti to create candle light paintings.

Christ before Pilate, by Gerrit Honthorst, ca. 1617

In this, one of the earliest candle light paintings, Honthorst creates a mood with the single candle. The light shines primarily on Christ, and only partially illuminates Pilate. The rest of the scene is in darkness, irrelevant to the story. Caravaggio was famous for his dramatic, stage-like images. This scene is also presented as though it is on stage, with the actors posed so that the candle creates the greatest effect.

Samson and Delilah by Gerrit Honthorst, 1615

This image is probably the inspiration for the painting of St. Irene by Georges de La Tour (below). We see the same use of the candle light for dramatic effect. The light shines brightest on Delilah’s face, as she is the center of attention. It only marginally illuminates the servant and the sleeping form of Samson.

St. Irene Attending St. Sebastian, by Georges de La Tour 1649.

While obviously inspired by the above painting, it is still very different. The viewer is presented with a still-life tableau, captured in dramatic detail by the torchlight. The players in the scene stand posed like statues. In his later works like this one, La Tour tended to erase small details in his paintings, like buttons, folds, creases and character lines on faces and skin. The smooth skin shines in the torchlight, allowing for the light to play on broad, smooth planes.

The Newborn, by Georges de La Tour, 1640’s.

This is one of the most tender images created by any of the Candle Light Painters. The image is called the Newborn, but it has also been refered to as “Mary, Christ and St. Anne”. It is thought that the La Tour painted his daughter, wife and grandchild. The baby is remarkably lifelike, with the face of a real newborn and not an older child or small adult. The candle serves to focus the light on the baby, who is center stage. La Tour was fond of having his models shield the candle with their hands so as to direct and focus the light.

Two other painters who came much later are Godfried Schalcken and Richard Wright of Derby. I present one image by each of them below.

Girl Eating and Apple by Godfried Schalcken, 1675

A Philosopher Lecturing with a Mechanical Planetary, by Wright of Derby,1766

I just wanted to show that this particular painting phenomenon continued in smaller circles for many years. These 4 artists are by no means the only painters of this genre, but they are fine examples of it.

Posted by Alexandra at 07:47 AM | Comments (4)

Highlights: 11/30/02

My inaugural painting study will be the Beheading of St.John the Baptist by Caravaggio.

The subject in itself is rather common, but the way that Caravaggio portrayed it is unique, even shocking. Traditionally, the head of St.John the Baptist rests on a platter held by the lovely Salome. In the background may lie the decapitated body of the saint. There is usually very little violence involved in this scene in paintings up until this time. But Caravaggio has given us a brutal scene, with St.John thrown to the ground with his hands tied behind his back.

Instead of a hefty axe, the executioner pulls a knife from his belt. He holds John down with his other hand and prepares to decapitate the saint with his knife. A knife! One would think that this would be the hardest, most savage way to cut off someone's head. To add to the violence inherent in this scene, the saint's red cloak draped over his body reminds us of the blood that will soon be pouring from his neck.

In keeping with the brutality of this scene, an older woman, perhaps Salome's maid, stands horrified by the scene. A woman, presumably Salome, stands ready to receive the bloodied trophy on her platter. Another man, possibly a prison warden of some kind, directs the operations.

This painting with its violence and emotion is highly representative of Baroque art. The scene is presented as if it were on a stage, with the prison walls as the proscenium. Two prisoners look out from their cell, spectators in this grisly play. The painting must have been quite shocking, though many people did like it. Still, it was placed in a position of relative obscurity behind the altar, where it could never be seen in its entirety.

One might consider Caravaggio to be the first modernist painter, in that he liked to shock his audience. This is not the first time he has done this. He painted the Death of The Virgin using the corpse of a prostitute that had been pulled from the river as his model. He painted Saint Jerome with dirty feet, unheard of at a time when saints were revered for their purity and and piety. Caravaggio liked the attention and the commotion his paintings caused, even if they made it harder for him to get commissions. There was always someone out there who admired him enough to hire him.

Caravaggio painted this work for the Cathedral of St.John in La Valletta on the island of Malta about 1608. The church belonged to the Knights of St.John, also known as the Hospitallers and the town was named after one of their greatest generals. Caravaggio was in Malta in 1608-1609 because he had to flee Rome after killing a man in a brawl. The Grand Master of the Order, Alof de Wignacourt, wanted Caravaggio to do his portrait. He then did the Beheading picture for the church. I like to think that the reason the Knights accepted Caravaggio's work is because their order was steeped in violence and bloodshed. They were one of the first groups of "fighting monks" formed during the crusades to recapture Jerusalem, and they were the last Christian defense against the Turks, remaining on the island of Malta until the late 18th century. Perhaps this brutal image of Saint John struck a chord with them. Whatever the case, the painting has remained in the church since its installation, although it is now worse for wear through neglect.

UPDATE: I've been looking at my large detail of the Beheading and saw something that I had not seen before. There is a sword lying by the Saint's head, and I believe a trickle of blood by his neck. It occurs to me that the executioner has already done the hard part, and is merely finishing the job with his knife. This doesn't change the nature of the painting, except that the executioner isn't actually using the knife to behead St. John, and is therefore not quite as hard core as I had imagined. It's still a violent painting, wether the saint is already dead or not.

Highlights: 11-02-02

A few notes about Baroque sculpture. Gianlorenzo Bernini, more than any other artists of the time, is the epitomy of the Counter Reformation ideal in art. Make it big, make it spectacular, make it dramatic: in effect, make it theater, and the people will come back to the bosom of the Holy Mother Church. So maybe it didn't quite happen that way, but Bernini's art must have re-captured some of them. His David is so different from Donatello's and Michaleangelo's: the difference is action. All of Bernini's sculptures are moving, twisting, writhing creations the likes of which had never been seen before. They are captured at the height of the event for which they are known, whether it is the act of throwing the stone form its sling, or turning from a beautiful woman into a tree. I have always been very fond of his sculpture of St.Theresa with the Angel for its amazing sensuality, but my favorite is actually a bust. She is Costanza Bonarelli, a lover of Bernini's, and the bust is an exquisite rendering of an obviously passionate woman.

Highlights: 10/17/02

I found a lovely site for looking at the Sistine Chapel ceiling. It's another one of those highly clickable sites with lots of pictures and explanatory text. The only thing is that you should really have a large monitor - or at least a browser that fills your screen.

For our Leonardo site, I found this really cool interactive one. Leave it to a science museum to do it right. The Museum of Science gives us lots of movies and interactive explanations of Leonardo's use of perspective, as well as pictures of his artwork.

Leonardo da Vinci is considered to be one of the greatest artists of the Italian Renaissance, by most people. However, Leonardo's greatest achievements were not in art, but in science. He left us anatomical drawings the likes of which had not been seen before - because no one actually drew from the human form. He illegally disected cadavers in order to draw their musculature and veins. His designs for flying machines and siege engines are mind boggling for someone from the 15th century. It always leads those of us with furtive imaginations to wonder if he was not a time traveller of some kind, or at least met one.

Baroque Vs Rococo, Part 2

Sculpture and Architecture

Having established that the Rococo in painting was more of a French phenomenon than an Italian one, we can now move on to where it is more recognizable as a style. I say "sculpture and architecture," but it's more in the decorative ornamentation of architecture that Rococo manifests itself, rather than in building design or free-standing sculpture.

The artist who reigned supreme in both of these media was Gianlorenzo Bernini. His free-standing scultpures are amazing works from the hand of a brillliant craftsman. The flesh of his figures pulses with life, looking for all the world like it would be soft to the touch. But his "Baroqueness" comes with the theatricality of his works. They vibrate with action, emotion, and movement, some to the point of melodrama. His most Baroque is his Ecstasy of St. Teresa of Avila.

Here is the image that the mystic St. Teresa described in her Interior Castles in which she encountered an angel with a flaming arrow who pierced her with it to her very soul. The very erotic expression on the saint's face is no exaggeration or artistic license: the passage is highly erotic, and Bernini has captured it perfectly.

Early in his career, Bernini was asked to work on various parts of the St. Peter's in Rome. One piece, the Baldachino, is a hint of the over-ornate Rococo that is yet to come. Later on, in 1657, Bernini created the Throne of St. Peter.

Here is Andrea Pozzo's ceilings made 3-dimensional. Gilded putti float above the chair and surround the window which represents the light of God as seen in the form of the holy spirit - a dove is outlined on the window. The chair is a highly decorative piece with carved back and legs. But it is really a casing for the relic, which is an old wooden chair said to be the actual chair used by St. Peter himself. The whole thing is a writhing mass of angels, clouds and draperies, stunning in its grandeur but difficult to understand on a rational level. This is what Rococo was to become.

Where Bernini had some rationale behind his work - the image of the holy spirit shining above the holy relic - later artists did not. All of the grandeur and extravagant design was lifted whole from the Baroque and deposited into the Rococo, leaving the ideas, the iconography, and the rationale behind.

We can see it most clearly in Germany, where Dominikus Zimmerman decorated the pilgrimage church "Die Weis" in Upper Bavaria, mid 1700's.

Gilded garlands, wreaths and scrolls squirm across the walls and over windows, surrounding the altar in a spectacular display of artistic over-exuberance. As a professor of mine once said, the stuff just crawls down the walls like growing, golden vines. Another example of this type of Rococo enthusiasm is the more famous Versailles Palace. Another, more spectacular, but lesser known example is The Amber Room, which started this whole Baroque Vs. Rococo post in the first place.

I'm looking at these two posts and realizing how much I have left out. But I didn't want to write a dissertation: I merely wanted to clear up the differences, which I'm sure a lot of people didn't even know existed. I hope this explains it at least a little.

Baroque vs. Rococo, Part 1

After posting a previous entry and discussing something as being "rococo", it occurred to me that many people don't know the difference between Baroque and Rococo. It all gets lumped together by many scholars who are not specialists, either because the two are so similar or because the scholars don't really care enough to make a distinction. So, it is my civic duty to enlighten my readers.

Painting

The Baroque period in art is generally agreed top have begun around 1600, with the dark, dramatic paintings of Caravaggio and the classical frescoes of Annibale Carracci in the Farnese Palace. Where one artist emphasized light and dark, the other emphasized classicism. Immediately, we have two very distinct styles attributed to one era. This dichotomy continued throughout the era we call the Baroque. How else could we say that Rembrandt and Rubens are in the same category stylistically?

However, there is one idea that connects all these disparate styles together: theatricality. Whether the drama is created by the use of intense lights and darks, or by the use melodramatic scenes in stage-like settings, all Baroque art is dramatic.

Certain themes were popular with certain groups of artists. Mythological stories grew in popularity while biblical stories continued as a mainstay of religious art. Caravaggio made "Merry Company" - i.e. party - scenes popular. This included card players and musicians. The painting below is by one of his French followers, Nicholas Tournier.

As the 17th century wained, Baroque art became "more so," that is, it became ever more theatrical. The late 17th century example below is by Luca Girodano. It shows the Archangel Michael defeating Satan and his minions. The drama is there in the dark, writhing bodies being trod upon by a bright, shining archangel. This is the epitomy of Baroque art, in all aspects. Giordano uses both melodrama and light and dark to emphasize the image's theatricality. The classical influence re-introduced by Carracci dominates the look and feel of the figures, while the darkness below him boils with turmoil. It's all there in the 1680's and 90's.

As with any art style, people carried it to extremes as they lost sight of the content. The melodrama and billowing draperies remained, exaggerated to a point of silliness at times. Two prime examples are Andrea Pozzo and Baciccio, whose ceiling frescoes are so full of fluffy clouds, billowing draperes and adorable winged putti (child angels) that it is almost impossible to decipher the story they are attempting to tell. I give links instead of images because they need to be seen large, otherwise they are just a mass of writhing figures and colors.

The 18th century saw the rise of Rococo. Where Baroque art is dramatic in an attempt to pull the viewer into the experience as it is portrayed, Rococo is dramatic just for the sake of being dramatic. The most one can say about Rococo art is that it is pretty. Rococo did not get a true foothold in Italy, where content was still important because most paintings were still being done for churches. Italian art of the 18th century is still more Baroque than Rococo. It is up in the more northern countries, in France and Germany, where it gained a large following. The most well-known French artist was Watteau, who specialized in pictures of garden parties and images from the Comedie Francaise. The image below shows one of his works. Notice the overall decorative aspect of the work. This is a hallmark of Rococo art.

Overall, the Rococo is not seen much in painting. It is safe to say that the French were the supreme creators of Rococo, and that is why the most famous Rococo painter was French. To see true Rococo, one must look at architecture, where the decorative aspects of Rococo took off on wings of inspired glory. That will be my next post.