Act 3, Scene 2

The narrative began with Act 1, scene 1 on April 10, 2013.

To access all scenes, scroll to blog archive at the bottom of the page.

Manet (passes coffee and sandwich to Fiorentino)

Here's a spot, Rosso. I wish this place had tables, but standing is a small sacrifice for such a wonderful breakfast. They elbow their way in among the other standing customers and place their coffees and sandwiches on the long narrow marble countertop, and for a moment quietly enjoy breakfast.

www.smart-travelling.net

Fiorentino

This is a pleasure that is still novel to me, but I am completely intoxicated by this new beverage. I understand that Venice was the first place in Europe to import coffee and serve it in coffee bars like this.

www.smart-travelling.net

Manet

Yes, apparently so. The Italians love their coffee "fast" – hence, espresso. And espresso is new to me as well ... absolutely delicious. Let's walk to the grand canal when we finish here. Today I think I'll visit the Accademia, and perhaps the Guggenheim collection as well. I have seen enough of the Biennale for now. What are your plans?


Fiorentino
Well, if you don't mind my company, I'll come with you to the Accademia at least. I find the building itself a rather peaceful place, and there are works there by Titian and Bellini, Tintoretto, Veronese and others that I'd like to see.


Wonderful. I think that you and I have a good deal in common and I shall be glad to have the chance to discuss painting with you – especially after seeing your magnificent Deposition in Volterra.

Act 3, Scene 1

The narrative began with Act 1, scene 1 on April 10, 2013.

To access all scenes, scroll to blog archive at the bottom of the page.

7:15 a.m. Venice is shaking off its slumber. Church bells have rung sporadically from the different sestieri of the city for about an hour, but unlike the predictable cacophony of so many bells routinely ringing together at 6 p.m., these too seem somehow disoriented and disorganized, waking from a good night's sleep. Along the grand canal, as elsewhere, waiters gently serve coffee and cornetti to yawning tourists, anxious to begin their day of sightseeing. 

http://www.tripadvisor.ca/Restaurant_Review-g187791-d1172029-Reviews-Cornetto_Notte_Anagnina-Rome_Lazio.html

The narrow streets have not yet shaken off their morning shadows, and the late September frostiness they generate. Sunlight glints off the rippling grand canal. The gondole are quiet, rocking themselves awake, nudging the colourful striped poles when the odd boat passes on its way to deliver fresh fruit and vegetables to the market stalls, or to pick up the trash from hotels along the smaller canals around the city. In the San Polo district, north and west of the Ponte di Rialto, the Pasticceria Rizzardini welcomes its regular crowd along with the many tourists who know they have found the source of some of Venice's best pastry. The shop is warm in contrast to the brisk morning air beyond its doors and foggy windows. Between noisy blasts from the busy espresso machine, we hear quiet chatter among those who wait for their turn to order. The aroma of good coffee is almost enough to settle nerves. Mouths water at the sight of such abundance: cornetti con creme, con cioccolato (bignè al cioccolato), tramezzini, fritters, meringue venezia, millefeuilles, cakes, cookies, panna fresco, strudel and more.

A pair of elegant looking men exchange polite conversation as they inch nearer to the pastry counter. One is clean shaven with a thatch of red hair, the other sports a beard.

Manet (to the woman behind the counter)
Due tramezzini e due caffe doppi, per piacere. (To his companion) Please, Rosso, this is my pleasure.

Henri Fantin-Latour, Portrait of Edouard Manet, 1867

Fiorentino
Ah, thank you Edouard; that's kind of you. I'm very much in need of coffee.

Rosso Fiorentino. Deposition. 1521. Oil on wood. 375 × 196 cm. 

Pinacoteca Comunale di Volterra, Italy

Act 2, Scene 9

The narrative began with Act 1, scene 1 on April 10, 2013.

To access all scenes, scroll to blog archive at the bottom of the page.

Aitken

For me, the whole idea of what influences my work and what I don't want to influence it can sometimes get confusing. That's been a big part of the challenge both in my research and in my studio practice. The reading and research challenge my thinking; sometimes I hit upon something I know I can use in the studio. But making those decisions, unconsciously or not is what pushes my own work along, and sometimes trips it up too. It's all part of the fun, and even though I sometimes feel like this way of life sort of grabbed me by the throat – I mean I don't seem to have much choice, I have to make art – if it weren't also fun at times, there'd be no point in it for me.

Newkirk

Yeah, I think when it feels right, it's also fun. You are the gatekeeper of your own personal authenticity, aren't you. I mean that only you can decide exactly what feels like your own identity emerging in the work. And you can feel it right away too if something has crept in because of something you read, or that someone said, but that you sense just is not you. You stand back and look at what you've done, and your head starts ringing with a big "NO, this isn't right!" 

It's also interesting to me that culturally, we may have lost a common symbolic language that, at one time, not only added layers of meaning to art, but that was also nearly universally understood. So just what comprises these layers of meaning now, if not the old symbolism, and just how universally are they understood? I'm thinking about this in terms of what for me is the bigger question. Are all the links we have to other generations of artists simply fading into irrelevance?

Velazquez

I think you are referring to the Christian symbolism that was used for so many centuries both as a way to engage people with the art (Newkirk is nodding), and also to teach them. It's something I have noticed here at the Biennale. Not that I particularly miss the old vocabulary, but I have found it difficult to see a new one emerging. Is it gone, this idea of a common language do you think, or is it just changing? And as you suggest I think, David, are we seeing a trend toward more idiosyncratic art, art that is egocentric and disconnected from any tradition of thought?

Picasso

Some of the old language refuses to be discarded – ancient Greek mythology, for example, still finds its way into art today. In the past century western society has indeed become increasingly secular. Well, Diego, you would certainly have seen some change in this direction even when you were working at the Spanish Court. The old religious stuff is often of less and less interest both to artists and to their audiences, in my view at least. However, there are new things that show up more frequently in art, and these may be coalescing into something like a broadly understood set of symbols. I'm not sure. Most of the iconic images that come immediately to mind are violent in nature, unfortunately – handguns, for example, or the cloud from an atomic bomb exploding. Then again we have the anti-nuclear peace symbol of the sixties, and that makes frequent comebacks. Everyone takes away much the same inferences from these images, I believe, but whether we'll see a kind of codification of symbols, I don't know. Maybe it doesn't matter. One difficulty I see is the rapid pace of change. How long, for example will the old symbol for a telephone receiver continue to resonate with anyone? ... please pardon the unintentional pun. (shrugs ...) Perhaps I am straying too far from the topic of our conversation. Too many questions, too few answers.

Velazquez
But symbolism is just one of the ways that artists add density and depth to their work. Maybe symbols aren't as important as they once were. Or am I simply out of touch with the artistic conventions of this new multicultural world? He stands, finishes his glass of wine.

I am enjoying this conversation immensely, but the city is winding down for the evening, and I must get some rest ... if I can sleep at all, that is. My mind has begun to wander. What a stimulating day it has been. And what a delicious dinner and a lovely evening we have had. My thanks to you all.

Picasso rises as well. Both men bid the others "buona notte," Picasso with the anachronistic but gallant gesture of bowing to kiss the women's hands – this is greeted with quiet laughter, and maybe some blushing, but no offence is taken.

Picasso
It has been a great pleasure to meet you all, and (to Holland) I do hope that we'll have time to discuss the ballet, and (to Aitken) to talk more about your work as well, young lady. My curiosity has been aroused. Thank you all. (Reaches out to shake hands with the standing Newkirk, smiles and nods, then turns to push a chair aside as he follows Velazquez).

As the two artists leave the restaurant, speaking quietly in Spanish now, we see them pause as Picasso lights a cigar. Velazquez prefers his snuff as before. They choose a direction and walk away, into shadows broken by the intermittent light of the restaurants and bars still serving so many visitors.

Act 2, Scene 8

The narrative began with Act 1, scene 1 on April 10, 2013.

To access all scenes, scroll to blog archive at the bottom of the page.

Picasso, addressing this to Aitken

This is quite interesting to me. Jennifer, you say that your knowledge of the history of art and artists is fairly thorough after about 1850, but rather spotty before that (Aitken nods, puts her espresso demitasse back on its saucer). I think that I can accurately describe my work as a distillation of influences that would certainly include Ingres, and our friend Diego, as David pointed out, and then as far back as Filippo Brunelleschi and his seminal work in codifying the rules of perspective, against many of which I purposely rebelled, or that I discarded or interpreted. But also, I have an interest in the art of older and even ancient traditions – Greeks, Minoans, Japanese – and then there are the so-called primitives, the aboriginal artists of many continents. It's all fascinating and irresistible to me.

Aitken

Yeah, I see that. Probably my studies have kept me so busy, not only making art but researching and writing theses and defending them too, that so far I simply haven't had time or energy to expend on widening my interests much beyond the 20th century. I'm sure it'll happen, but it will take some time.

Jennifer Aitken,Composition1: 2012, foam and tape, approx 10’ x 5’ x 3’

Newkirk

I guess what I am asking is whether it's necessary for an artist to look so broadly and deeply into the past.

Picasso

Necessary? Is anything necessary? Perhaps looking broadly and deeply, as you put it, is not always and absolutely essential, but how can such interests not be enriching? And how can such enrichment fail to inform one's life, one's art? Seems to me that, as with all experience, this kind of knowledge affords the potential at least, for an artist to offer a more engaging experience to his, or her audience, no? And I believe that to be a good thing. I have seen though, that many people today seem to have difficulty spending time with a painting, or a sculpture, or even with these installations. A quick look, a smile that passes for pleasure, and they are off to the next thing in the gallery. The layers and references of the work, historical or literary or intellectual, often take more time to discover and to appreciate than many today are willing to spend with art.

Holland

But there will always be a general-interest audience for art, and a smaller more aware and engaged audience of true art lovers, don't you think? The show of Shary Boyle's porcelains impressed me at the Canadian Pavilion here at the Biennale. David and I plan to spend some time in Tuscany and Umbria. I have only seen reproductions of the Della Robbia altarpieces and I'm especially looking forward to seeing them in the flesh. To my eye, they are absolutely stunning - and I just can't imagine that they are not connected to Boyle's porcelains, that there was no influence there. Just her choice of medium – porcelain – is unusual. I would think that Della Robbia had to be an inspiration on some level. Jen, isn't she one young artist whose work reflects some deeper layers of history?

Shary Boyle

photo by Christopher Wahl

Aitken

Yeah, I think so. But I guess you'd have to talk to Shary about it. I haven't read anything that connects her with Della Robbia. She does have an interest in ancient mythology. And her work is sometimes described as ecofeminist. Her stuff often deals with very tough subject matter, including abuse. There must be porcelain artists she admires, I'm just not sure about Della Robbia.

The rejection of Pluto, 2008-9, Shary Boyle/Courtesy of the Art Gallery of Ontario

Act 2, Scene 7

The narrative began with Act 1, scene 1 on April 10, 2013.

To access all scenes, scroll to blog archive at the bottom of the page.

Velazquez (grinning broadly and chuckling)

Well yes, you have indeed elucidated, and quite beautifully I might add, an explanation of Las Meninas, Pablo. (sips his wine)

Aitken (also grinning)

Wait a minute. You said that Pablo had given us an explanation. You did not say that his was the explanation, Diego. What's up with that?

Velazquez (now laughing)

Well you don't really expect that I'm going to purposely subvert centuries of fascination with my painting.

Picasso, Newkirk, Holland and Aitken – groans, laughter and protests of "You're bad! Oh, come on now! Sly devil. Never trust anyone over 300! Ha Ha!

Everyone enjoys the moment and something like quiet returns to the table as they finish their dinners. Coffee follows, camomille tea for Holland. We hear the clatter of dishes being collected, the scuff of chairs being pushed back from tables; smiles accompany sighs of contentment at every table. New diners arrive to claim tables that have been vacated.

Newkirk

Well, I suppose I'm to blame for that fiasco. But thank you, Pablo, for your analysis. I like it whether it's definitive, or not. And, despite my disappointment, I do like the idea of the mystery continuing too, Diego. What a marvellous painting it is in any case. And actually, it's the spatial play that interests me more than the mystery on the canvas you're painting – back and forth, deep and shallow within the painting, and even extending into our own space on this side of the picture plane. Just amazing, really. Oh, I know that others played with this sort of thing, coming out to greet the viewers in our own space; Michelangelo's architectural designs, like the staircase in the Laurentian Library, for example, and of course Bernini. Personally though, I think that your painting is so satisfyingly complex and prophetic, even inspirational for Paul Cezanne and Pablo. (Picasso nods and murmurs agreement. And Velazquez, acknowledging the compliment, tilts his head to one side and, smiling, nods graciously).

But, if you don't mind, I'd like to return to the question of artistic legacy. I sometimes wonder if it matters at all. I certainly know of young artists whose work would seem to suggest that they are making 'cool' stuff, for 'cool' occasions, that their art is in line with the immediate gratification they are accustomed to – think of digital photography as compared to film, the internet, texting, carrying your phone everywhere. It sometimes seems that the art is purpose-built, and disposable – that's not new, I know. Does this mean that new art also should be about immediacy? Are we seeing a school of immediacy that is content to discard history? And does it matter? Should it matter?

Pablo, you may not have seen this, but John Richardson has written a massive and very thorough biography about you. In it, this stayed with me. He quotes Ingres as having said "He who will not look to any other mind than his own will soon find himself reduced to the most miserable of all imitations, that is to say his own works."

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres

Act 2, Scene 6

The narrative began with Act 1, scene 1 on April 10, 2013.

To access all scenes, scroll to blog archive at the bottom of the page.

Picasso (takes a sip of wine, tapping the rim of his glass and nodding to Newkirk – he's ready for a refill – brings a cloth napkin to his mouth)

Very nice wine. So. About your painting Diego. In my opinion, the answer is obvious. We see the royal couple in the mirror, yes? It reflects their presence in the scene. And we have established that they are standing on this side of the picture plane, in the viewer's space. The mirror reflects the king and queen. It does not reflect you or me, although I grant that a viewer might conceivably be standing to one side. Nevertheless, Diego, you are staring out of the painting, toward the space on this side of the picture plane, and you certainly would not be looking at me, or at any other viewer or invisible sitter while the royals are standing right there! If the king and queen were there to visit your studio to see what you were working on, why would they not be standing or seated somewhere with a view of the painting you are making? I rather doubt that you would make such a large painting of yourself, as some have suggested, or that although we see the royals in one mirror, that there is another placed beside them that you are studying as you paint a self portrait. No, I must believe that you would not indulge in such things with them in the studio. And finally, you are not painting the infanta Margarita, although we know that you did make a fine painting of her as well, in the same costume she wears in Las Meninas, and that you did several other paintings of her in different costumes. However, the portrait of her in this costume is quite a small one – only about a metre high.

The Infanta Margarita, 1656

And you are not looking at her, Diego. No. Perhaps she is there with her entourage, ready to pose for you when you have set aside what we see you working on. Or maybe she has already done so. We cannot establish a timeline with certainty. But, as I said before, you are looking at the king and queen. You are also painting on a very large canvas. It's only logical that they are the subject of that painting.

Picasso, knife and fork poised over his plate, looks across the table at Velazquez, and resumes eating his dinner with relish.
Let's see. Have I missed anything? I don't think so. What do you say, Diego; have I divined an answer to your mystery?

Act 2, Scene 5

The narrative began with Act 1, scene 1 on April 10, 2013.

To access all scenes, scroll to blog archive at the bottom of the page.

The glass doors facing the street are open, to catch the cooler evening air. We hear the shuffle of feet as tourists and locals stroll in quiet conversation and occasional laughter, snapping photos with everything from cell phones to expensive SLRs with impressive lenses. Nothing moves on nearby canals. A few tables in front of the restaurant are now occupied as are all of those inside. This has become a comfortable, now bustling room full of pleasantly tired and appreciative diners. Each of those in our little group seems entranced by the colourful dishes around the table, the mouth-watering aromas of the seafood and fish dishes and their seasoning. While all are enjoying the excellent food and wine, conversation returns to issues in the arts.

Newkirk

Diego, I can't tell you what a thrill it is to be sitting with you and Pablo, having dinner together. And since we are somehow magically in a way, together, there is a question I simply have to ask; I hope you don't mind. It's one that scholars and artists have been wrestling with for, what ... centuries? (Picasso nods and grunts his agreement as he works lobster from its shell). The question is about the painting we call Las Meninas – you referred to it in your inventory of the king's collection as La Familia. Well, I think it's safe to say that people have been seriously analyzing the painting since its creation ... the Baroque painter, Luca Giordano, for example – funny, the Italians called him Fa Presto, because he worked with such speed – he definitely saw the painting as a masterpiece. I suppose he may have been particularly interested, having studied under your friend, Ribera. He must have wondered about the painting's structure just as we do today, unless you explained it to him personally on one of your visits here, that is. Maybe you can settle this for us once and for all. 

Las Meninas, Diego Velazquez, 1656

I'm referring to the image of the royal couple, the one hanging discreetly on the far wall to the left of the doorway where your cousin, I think, stands on the stairs. The image could, I suppose, be a double portrait, but the general consensus is that it's a mirror. The question is whether you are at work on a huge portrait of the king and queen who stand in front of you, and it follows, in our space – the viewers' space; or are you working on a portrait of the child and the king and queen are in the studio, watching you work as Philip often did, and they are simply curious and interested? OR, are you at work on this painting itself? And still more ... it could be a self portrait. What are you painting? That's really the question.

Velazquez (smiling broadly, a fork in one hand, a piece of bread in the other)

Well, you are correct about its being a mirror - the image on the back wall, that is. It is flattering that my work has attracted such attention over all these years. Pablo, does this interest you? What is your guess about this question that David asks?