Intermission, part 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.

This intermission attempts to track the connected artistic 'lineage' of some influential painters, from the early 15th century to the present. To follow this thread and to see all images mentioned, 
go back to part 1 of this intermission.

And then came photography.

Photography has been a game changer for the art of painting. The historical depth of photographic experimentation is impressive. Pinhole cameras have been in use since the time of Aristotle (384 BC – 322 BC). Canaletto was able to produce highly detailed scenes of Venice, for example, with the help of a camera obscura in the early18th century; and the first successfully etched permanent photographic image was made in 1822 by Nicéphore Niépce. Delacroix was a pioneer in the use of photographs in his studio practice. Artists since the 19th century have been able to use photographs and to manipulate them to freeze light and shade, to magnify detail, to verify or interpret colour (after the arrival of colour printing), and to freeze the pose of a model, for example. On the other hand, photography encouraged some artists to explore the perception of space in new ways, to re-interpret the appearance of objects, and finally to examine those formal aspects of painting that are unrelated to the visible properties of any object in the natural world.

The Neo-classical style of David and Ingres, the Romantic art of Delacroix, and the new art of photography all played roles in the evolution of Impressionism, and perhaps in all painting since.

Below is an excerpt from the web site of the Musée National Eugène Delacroix 

6 rue de Furstenberg 
75 006 Paris

Delacroix, a cult artist

Baudelaire, for whom Delacroix was the modern artist par excellence, would sit on a bench in the Place de Furstenberg on the lookout for the artist who he would then follow without daring to approach directly. From the window of a neighboring building, Monet and Bazille would try to make out his shadow as he went about his business in his studio. Manet would ask for permission to copy the Barque of Dante (Lyon Musée des Beaux-Arts; New-York, Metropolitan Museum) in the Louvre. Fantin-Latour painted a Homage to Delacroix (Paris, Musée d’Orsay). Thus grew up a small set of admirers around the figure of Delacroix.

This tutelary image was to have a lasting effect on artists such as Cézanne, Degas, and Van Gogh, all three of whom copied his compositions. Cézanne worked fervently on an Apotheosis of Delacroix that he would never complete. He even delighted in singing the praises of the red of the oriental slippers in Women of Algiers (Paris, Musée du Louvre), comparing its savor to that of a glass of wine in the throat and readily asserting to anyone who cared to listen that "we all paint through him!" Degas, a collector of past works, brought together almost two hundred and fifty of the master’s paintings and drawings.

The Impressionists were also highly indebted to him. With his disjointed brushwork and palette of varied hues, Delacroix provided a foretaste of solutions that the open-air painters would adopt to convey the effects of light. This is apparent in some of his sky studies in watercolors or pastels, and in a small painting, the Sea at Dieppe (Paris, Musée du Louvre). Seurat and Signac studied Delacroix’s works and writings at length. Like him, they set their art between "mathematics and music," and in 1899 Signac even traced a direct line of descent in a treatise entitled From Eugène Delacroix to Neo-Impressionism. Moreover, Signac, like Maurice Denis, another great admirer of Delacroix, was one of the founding members of the Société des Amis d’ Eugène Delacroix, established in 1935 to save the studio on Place Furstenberg from being destroyed.

Claude Monet, Bathing at La Grenouillere, 1869

Intermission, part 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.

This intermission attempts to track the connected artistic 'lineage' of some influential painters, from the early 15th century to the present. To follow this thread and to see all images mentioned, 
go back to part 1 of this intermission.

Artists of the 18th and 19th centuries were deeply affected by the times in which they lived. The Enlightenment, revolutionary zeal, war, famine, oppression, the Industrial Revolution and the subsequent "shrinking" of the world (both people and ideas traveled faster than in previous periods), the bohemian life of artists largely set adrift by the old system of patronage by Church and State – all were conditions making art ripe for change. Free of the necessity of painting flattering portraits of the wealthy aristocracy, of making erotically amusing paintings – thinly-veiled as illustrations of biblical or mythological themes – for the same clientele (see, for example, Lucas Cranach the Elder), and altarpieces for the Church that had for centuries been financially aligned with the same aristocratic class, young politically astute artists turned inward to explore their own artistic ideas. The great Romantic painters took on politics as well as motifs related to more exotic times and places.

Eugène Delacroix, Liberty Leading the People, 1830

Théodore Géricault, The Raft of the Medusa, 1818-19

An interesting note about Géricault, considering our intergenerational interest in painters like Titian and Velazquez: "Géricault soon left the classroom, choosing to study at the Louvre instead, where (from 1810 to 1815) he copied from paintings by Peter Paul Rubens, Titian, Diego Velázquez, and Rembrandt. It was during this period at the Louvre, that he found a vitality which he preferred to the prevailing school of Neoclassicism." (http://deskarati.com/2011/12/16/theodore-gericault/).

Stepping back for a moment to review the artistic legacy we have traced to this point, at first glance it would seem difficult to connect the paintings of Barthélémy d'Eyck (1444-1469, blog post archive, July 20, 2013) with those of Géricault and Delacroix. However, if you take the time to retrace the influence trail we have explored, I think you'll find a fairly direct line of descent. As I previously have pointed out, that line might well be followed in other directions as well, where the branches of our "family" tree have diverged.

Intermission, part 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.

This intermission attempts to track the connected artistic 'lineage' of some influential painters, from the early 15th century to the present. To follow this thread and to see all images mentioned, 
go back to part 1 of this intermission.

The crushing realities of the Napoleonic wars also profoundly affected Goya. Although one would not consider his painting The Third of May romantic in any way, it is almost electrically charged with emotion, a key ingredient in the art of the Romantic period. Goya composes a tableau that sets in opposition the conflicting human responses to the chaotic conditions of the time – the desire for a logical solution to all problems (the orderly efficiency of the firing squad), and the real emotional response to oppression and tragedy (the victims).

Francisco Goya, The Third of May 1808, 1814

The testy relationship between these two human characteristics (logic and emotion) has provided fertile ground for exploration by many artists (including the author) through to the present day. And this interest is not limited to the traditional arts. Some of the characters in the cultish sic-fi TV show Star Trek, for example were developed in order to explore this precise dynamic. Think of Spock and McCoy, or in The Second Generation series, Data and Giordi. It's a theme I think you'll often find in theatre, TV, movies dance and opera.

In his later years, Goya's work entered the realm of psychology, something we tend to think of as a 20th century preoccupation.

Francisco de Goya, Bobalicón, 1816-1823

Intermission, part 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.

This intermission attempts to track the connected artistic 'lineage' of some influential painters, from the early 15th century to the present. To follow this thread and to see all images mentioned, 
go back to part 1 of this intermission.

The 18th century and the Enlightenment saw a burgeoning interest in the classical periods of ancient Rome and Greece. Architects often studied the ruins in Rome, for example (as Brunelleschi had done in the early Quattrocento), and created new designs to reflect a widespread admiration for the ancients. Robert Adam and Piranesi (known for his etchings - perfected under the influence of Venetian artists) were two such architects.

The affection for things classical became evident in painting in a couple of ways that historians once tried to detach from each other in order to simplify our human predilection for assigning things to categories. Neo-classical artists such as Jacques Louis David explored classical themes in their work as an illustration of the logic of the Enlightenment. David in particular was highly influential as a court painter toward the end of the French Ancien Régime. He handily made the transition to revolutionary, and finally back to monarchist as Napoleon's artist of choice.

Like the paintings of Caravaggio, David's work is highly polished, although it is also less genuinely human and natural, and more monumental in its intent.

Jacques-Louis David: The Oath of the Horatii, 1784

Neo-classical painting reflected the orderly and logical nature of classical art and architecture. At the same time, however, the revolutionary spirit of the time was aligned with the republican period of Rome. There was logic in this affinity, but the transition from monarchy to republic and back (several times in the case of France) was anything but orderly. It was a messy and very emotional period in the history of Europe. As well, looking so far into the past for models of government, behaviour and art was a quite romantic notion. Greener hills in the past, the glory that was Rome, simpler times, the nearly universal use of Latin and Greek - all of these things fascinated people who were seeking change, and escape from the realities of poverty, oppression and war. Ancient Rome was an exotic idea - distant in time, and conjuring the romance of distant places in that vast and long dead empire.

Naturally, artists were among those who espoused the romance of far-away times and places. And by the time of the French revolution, the traditional patrons of the arts, church and state, had largely abandoned the best avante garde artists. Left to their own devices, painters broke free of the restraints that had been imposed by wealthy patrons and by the church. They began to paint subjects of their own choosing, since no one was paying them to do otherwise. Here are the origins of the stereotypical image of the bohemian artist, starving in an attic in Paris. During much of the 19th century, for many artists (like Van Gogh, for example) the stereotype fit like a glove.

So, while in the work of Neo-classical painters like David, order and logic were paramount, at the same time young Romantic artists were exploring the messier side of being human.

Goya had visited England where he was deeply affected by the work of the English Romantics, Turner and Constable.

Intermission, part 4

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.

This intermission attempts to track the connected artistic 'lineage' of some influential painters, from the early 15th century to the present. To follow this thread and to see all images mentioned, 
go back to part 1 of this intermission.

El Greco, a native of Crete, then part of the Venetian Republic,  moved to Venice in about 1567 where he apparently studied under the aged Titian. El Greco's work was strongly influenced by Titian, Tintoretto and Veronese (as was the work of Velazquez, as we have seen). In 1570 El Greco moved to Rome, where the work of Michelangelo and the Mannerist painters impressed and influenced him, regardless what we know of the criticism El Greco is said to have directed toward Michelangelo's talent as a painter. He was particularly fond of the paintings of Parmigianino and Correggio. In 1577 he moved to Toledo in Spain.

El Greco's influence will skip a few generations of painters, and then re-emerge in the work of Manet, Cezanne, Picasso and others. (See Act 1, scene 9).

Staying in Spain however, Francesco de Goya (30 March 1746 – 16 April 1828), who incidentally had also travelled to Rome, picks up the thread of Venetian painting (as had El Greco) through Velazquez whose work he admired. His painting of King Charles was directly based on an earlier Velazquez. 

Francesco de Goya, King Charles III as a Huntsman, 1786/88

Velazquez, Cardinal Infante Don Fernando as a Hunter, 1632-33

With Goya, and the closing of the 18th century, we are about to enter one of those periods in the history of art, when artistic triumphs were often tied to political events. It might be argued that all three of the major movements of painting in the 20th century have their roots in this period. In over-simplified terms, these three movements could be described as (a) art that is logical and orderly, or (b) emotional and chaotic, or (c) a kind of inquiry into the realm of psychology. It would be a gross distortion to suggest that these three artistic directions were always mutually exclusive, as we shall see.

As well, it is indisputable that, as we more nearly approach the present day, documentation of all sorts is more readily available to those who look for it. Less time has passed when letters, works of art, oral history and other documents might have been lost or destroyed. One consequence of this wealth of information is that more evidence is available to those who disagree over the interpretation of events, biographical details, stylistic and technical aspects of visual art, etcetera. Documents can be found to support many points of view. Mine is just one.

With that disclaimer, back to Goya.

Political events toward the end of the 18th century were born of The Enlightenment. Philosophers of the time – Spinoza, Locke, Newton, and others had great faith in the power of logic. In France, logic dictated that the French people should free themselves from the tyranny of monarchy, just as the Americans had done in 1776. A number of prominent French revolutionaries had aided the Americans in that struggle, among them, General Lafayette (Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de La Fayette), who had hoped to establish in France a constitutional monarchy similar to that in Great Britain – a government responsive to the needs of ordinary French people, still retaining a monarch as its titular head of state. The ideal gave way to a less logical and more emotional series of events by the time of Robespierre. His Reign of Terror (1793-94) may have been rationalized as logical, but the manifestation of what Robespierre claimed as logical was an extremely emotional bloodbath. Discussion and debate within a legislative body may be seen as logic in practice, but political instability, famine, war, and mass executions are indeed emotional for those affected. France suffered through all of these conditions around the time of the revolution, which began in earnest in 1789.

In 1789 Goya was comfortably salaried as the the court painter to the Spanish royal family of Charles IV. Soon however, he would be deeply affected by the unrest that spilled from the borders of France, throughout Europe.

Intermission, part 3

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.

For an explanation, and to see the complete set of images in this particular 'lineage' of artists, go back to part 1 of this intermission.

Colantonio's painting, The Delivery of the Franciscan Rule, the centre panel of an altarpiece dated about 1445, demonstrates the artist's mastery of oil painting – a technique developed in the north and fairly new to Italy, and one that would eventually replace (to a large extent) the traditional egg tempera technique that had been standard practice in Italy.

Antonello da Messina was Colantonio's pupil. He may also have been influenced by another northern master, Petrus Christus (a follower of Van Eyck), with whom knowledge was perhaps exchanged – the Flemish technique for Messina, and Italian linear perspective for Christus. Messina's life is documented in Vasari's Lives of the Artists. In any event, oil painting and linear perspective come together in Messina's work.

In 1475, Messina spent a year in Venice (so central to our earlier fictive story – it should be noted that, in contrast to that fictional narrative, these details about the inter-relatedness of the artists are as historically factual as possible) where he was influenced by the paintings of Piero Della Francesca and Giovanni Bellini, to whom we next turn our attention with his masterful painting St. Francis in Ecstasy, c. 1480 (oil and tempera on panel). Bellini became a master of the northern technique of oil painting, probably introduced to Venice by Messina.

Giorgione (Giorgio Barbarelli da Castelfranco; c. 1477/8–1510), along with Titian, was a pupil of Bellini. Vasari recorded scant and sketchy information about Giorgione, but other sources confirm his relationship with Titian, and that the early death (by plague) in 1510 of this great painter was one of art history's great losses. He was universally liked and respected. Giorgione apparently met and was impressed by Leonardo Da Vinci when that artist visited Venice in 1500. It's interesting that, although Florence is considered the birthplace of Renaissance art, with Rome assuming a leading role during the period referred to as the High Renaissance (roughly 1495 through 1525) Venice seems to have been a favourite destination for so many important artists from other parts of Italy as well as for influential artists from all over Europe. The resulting exchange of ideas and techniques (and this in addition to the regional flowering of painting that featured Bellini, Titian, Giorgione, Tintoretto and others) makes Venice an unquestionably vital European Renaissance centre, extending its influence well beyond the lagoon city itself.

Next in our line of succession are Titian and Velázquez.  In the interest of brevity, let us grant that, as mentioned above, Titian was a pupil of Bellini, a friend of Giorgione, and probably the one-time teacher of Tintoretto, who then began winning commissions in his own right, notably scooping the contract to decorate the Scuola Grande di San Rocco in Venice. In a sense this brings us full circle, as San Rocco is where our partly fictitious story opened in Act 1, Scene 1.

Velázquez did indeed visit Venice on two occasions and was inspired by Tintoretto's work at San Rocco and did in fact make sketches there. (Follow the link to Carl Justi's book, and from there go to the chapter on Venetian painting.)

At this point (and at other junctures we shall see along the way), the threads of legacy extend in many directions, as do the lines of descent in any growing family. Michelangelo influenced a generation of artists from all over Europe, including Titian and Tintoretto, who as we noted, influenced Velázquez. Peter Paul Rubens was both a great artist and a diplomat who lived in the Spanish Netherlands (present day Belgium) and visited Spain as well as Italy (Venice, Florence and Rome among other places) and other countries in Europe. He was a friend of Velázquez, and had made plans to travel to Italy with the Spaniard, but was called away on a diplomatic mission instead. In Rome Rubens was impressed by the work of Caravaggio (Michelangelo Merisi or Amerighi da Caravaggio, 29 September 1571 – 18 July 1610), whose dramatic use of chiaroscuro (clear and obscure, or light and dark) along with his depiction of heroic characters as ordinary working class people, attracted the attention of new generations of artists. 

Velázquez, Rubens, and Caravaggio (who was at least a generation older) were sources of a kind of cross-pollination, drawing inspiration from many of the same sources (most notably from Michelangelo). The Venetian influence (of Titian and Tintoretto) seems to have confirmed, in the work of both Rubens and Velázquez, a tendency to looser brushwork as compared to the polish of Caravaggio.

Michelangelo da Caravaggio, Supper at Emmaus; 1601-02

Peter Paul Rubens, The Consequences of War, 1637

Velazquez, Diego, Las Hilanderas (The Spinners), c. 1657

Intermission, part 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.

For an explanation, and to see the complete set of images in this particular 'lineage' of artists, go back to part 1 of this intermission.

Francisco Goya, The Second of May 1808 or The Charge of the Mamelukes, 1814

J.M.W. Turner, Dido Building Carthage, or The Rise of the Carthaginian Empire, 1815

Eugène Delacroix, The Death of Sardanapolus, 1827

Before continuing with more examples of work by these artists whose influences we are tracking, it might be a good idea to recap those relationships to this point, before losing the thread of this particular exploration of the notion of a legacy.

A few pages back, at the opening of Act 10, scene 3, we began with a painting by Barthélémy d'Eyck (fl. 1444-1469), an  Annunciation. D'Eyck, or possibly Van Eyck (he may have been related to Jan Van Eyck, widely regarded as one of the early Flemish masters of oil painting). Barthélémy d'Eyck was apparently in Naples around 1440, likely at the behest of king Alphonso V of Aragon who had brought  together in that city a number of artists from all over Europe. It was here that our next painter, Niccolò Antonio Colantonio met and studied with D'Eyck and incorporated Northern European techniques (among others) in his own work.