Art & Architecture – My Own RE:public

Murder in Trieste

I intermittently catch the BBC Radio 3 cultural program “The Essay”, and are often surprised by its content, but it actually took an article in the Frankfurter Allgemeine to alert me to these episodes (still available as I write on Sounds) about the circumstances surrounding the 1768 murder in Trieste of Johann Joachim Winckelmann – considered to be one of the first practitioners of what we would now call art history and archaeology. I say that, but it is more. The cultural historian, Seán Williams, is also telling the wider narrative of a celebrity “gay life” (and death) during the Enlightenment – what could be done and what not, where and with whom – and how it has been interpreted in the afterlife, both in respect to Winckelmann but in the myth building around cultural icons.

*Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717–1768) by Anton Raphael Mengs ca. 1777 (The Met object ID 437067)*

Winckelmann interests me. He turns up in this blog post, in which I touch upon newer research and reconstruction methods in polychromy that supports the view that the artifacts of antiquity were very colorful indeed; running counter to the monochromatic orthodoxy which had first arisen during the Renaissance but the certainty about which began to crack during the Neoclassical period of the 18th century – a cultural movement and time of which Winckelmann was a “mover and shaker”. Under nearer scrutiny, traces of pigment were being observed for the first time on objects, and even Winckelmann (albeit belatedly) changed his stance. But, by the 20th century, and for whatever reason – racism, the aesthetic of fascism it has been suggested – all the scholarship and practical methodology of the 18th century was being rejected in favor of the marble white, purity narrative, and prevails still in the contemporary consciousness. The latter is hardly surprising when the artifacts and fragments on display in the museums of the world mostly have very little pigment remaining, and labels are not always explanatory.

As I say, Johann Joachim Winckelmann interested me anyway, but Sean Williams’ radio essay has added an extra dimension. (Here, in his own words, a short accompanying text.)

Pugin

Should one not be adequately informed, by virtue of professional or personal interest, in the social and cultural history of Victorian England (and the Georgian that preceded it), one could be forgiven for not easily placing the name Pugin (says she absolving herself!). That is, to be precise: Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin^[a] (/ˈpjuːdʒɪn/PEW-jin; 1 March 1812 – 14 September 1852). And so pasted from Wikipedia; for, having come to the end of a fabulous biography, I now realise I have been saying – in my head anyway – quite correctly (by chance!) the first syllable but consistently mispronouncing the last syllable with a hard ‘g’. And for reasons I can’t say, for there is that rule dependent upon the following vowel and in days gone I certainly had a penchant for an icy gin and tonic of a summer evening. Too long a stay in Germany perhaps, where the g of Germany and gin is confined to words derived from other languages – like, for instance, ‘Germany’ and ‘gin’!

As mentioned previously, in a weaker moment last year I relented and, despite my modest budget, subscribed to the London Review of Books. The reading of a random piece here and there or a rare purchase at a Hauptbahnhof en route from here to there had become a bit tiresome. And I haven’t regretted doing so; even when some articles tend to veer too left of my (fading) scope of vision. While sometimes delivery has been tardy (unfortunately a digital only sub. is not offered so it is always the case that I have an online version for a significant time before the hard copy turns up) and this year has seen a hefty price hike, I am sticking with it for the moment. During the year gone I have discovered some really excellent pieces of writing – from people known to me and not, about subject matter with which I am familiar and that which I’m not.

Rosemary Hill is an example of such an ‘unknown’ (to me) with whom I have been glad to become acquainted. As it transpires, Hill is not only a regular contributor to LRB, but a widely respected writer and cultural historian. Early in the year gone, I was impressed by a ‘Diary’ piece in which Hill, inspired by the 1921 census becoming available and an interest in discovering her father as the baby he then was and the family that surrounded him, explores her familial roots in South London and in doing so vividly illustrates the conditions under which the ‘working-classes’ lived at the end of the nineteenth century and into the twentieth. Then later I listened to a series of podcasts hosted by Rosemary Hill on Romantic Britain coinciding with her new book Time’s Witness (I await the paperback – remember, the modest…meager budget – ordered and due in a couple of weeks) which led to the discovery of her 2008 Wolfson History Prize winning book God’s Architect: Pugin and the Building of Romantic Britain (2007), of which an immaculate paperback copy fell into my hands.

Coloring antiquity

This NYT article alerted me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art exhibition entitled Chroma: Ancient Sculpture in Color; an adaptation it seems of that which I viewed at the Liebieghaus (the home, so to speak, of many of the exhibits) in Frankfurt – there called “Gods in Color” – in February 2020, and about which I posted here. In fact, various versions have been touring the world over the last decade or so, but given the larger space available (not to mention, the budget) it is possible that the Met show is more ambitious. The Met web page is very informative (as was also that during the Frankfurt show) but new is an app than encourages virtual recreations and reflects the collaborative work of those behind the polychromy project. (And everybody knows nothing works without an app these days!)

My own photograph of the reconstruction of a marble archer – taken at the *Liebieghaus*, Frankfurt, in February 2020.

Of course, times being as they are, it is inevitable that the conversation surrounding the content and merits of the show would be dominated by matters of identity. And given the particularities of the project and the issues that arise from the reconstructions of Vinzenz Brinkmann and Ulrike Koch Brinkmann, the pivot is not hard to make.

And the NYT piece certainly doesn’t let down in this respect; pointing out how the Brinkmann team’s reconstructions have led to degrees of disquiet in academic and research circles. It seems some would contend that these particular reconstructions have been afforded such celebrity in recent years that it is often overlooked that they, in fact, represent only the scholarship of one pair of researchers, and should not be seen as a definitive verdict. This further leads to wide-ranging debates (often motivated through self or particular interest) on variations of polychromy and, of course, whiteness – and not just during antiquity. In this respect, the Times points to an interesting 2017 blog post from the historian, Sarah E. Bond, and this very lengthy and very excellent 2018 New Yorker article.

The following YouTube video (also on the Met site) is an excellent introduction to the scholarly and technical background to the project.

Vinzenz Brinkmann and Ulrike Koch-Brinkmann on their research into ancient sculptural polychromy and their work in creating full-size reconstructions of original Greek and Roman artworks.

By the way, I was incredibly informed by the exhibition in Frankfurt – loved it, really; even if a favorite jacket came to grief in the cloakroom and it was to be my final cultural adventure before the pandemic took over our lives. If I knew anyone in New York I would highly recommend heading for Fifth Ave. (through March 26, 2023), and I am also fairly sure it will turn up elsewhere in the future – probably with new exhibits.

To every picture be there a poem

“Musee des Beaux Arts” – W. H. Auden (1938)

A subscription is probably required to access this interactive tour de force at The New York Times, but it is such a remarkably timely piece that I feel inclined to make mention of it here.

Elisa Gabbert does her own close reading and analysis for the Time’s “Close Reading” series of W.H. Auden’s 1938 poem “Musee des Beaux Arts“, an ekphrasis which is in turn, if not an analysis, the poet’s own particular appreciation of two narrative paintings from Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Firstly, The census at Bethlehem (1566) and then Landscape with The Fall of Icarus (1555). An appreciation of an appreciation if you will.

*The census at Bethlehem* (1566) by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium.

Or, in respect to the Icarus painting, even a couple more iterations of appreciations. For Bruegel also looks elsewhere for inspiration; finding it in the Roman poet Ovid’s Metamorphoses – itself an inspired narrative work with mythological and historical elements. Bruegel arranges his scene as Ovid does (compare just a few lines and the painting below); but he has the spectacular event met with indifference rather than astonishment. As if a boy falls from the heavens every day. Or was Bruegel inserting a temporal dimension suggesting that, in any precise moment, a lapse in attentiveness, a diversion, may mean that something is missed? And that something could be a boy falling from the sky or something much more real – like the darkening clouds of war for instance. (Like everywhere else in Europe, the low countries were permanently engulfed in one conflict or other during Bruegel’s lifetime.)

Beneath their flight,
the fisherman while casting his long rod,
or the tired shepherd leaning on his crook,
or the rough plowman as he raised his eyes,
astonished might observe them on the wing,
and worship them as Gods.

- Ovid's Metamorphoses (Book VIII) Eng. trans. Brooks More, 1922.

*Landscape with the Fall of Icarus* (c. 1555) by Pieter Brueghel the Elder. Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique © Bridgeman Art Library / Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium

As Gabbert points out, neither the painting nor Auden’s poem overtly signal approaching disaster let alone impending war, yet dangers are lurking in both. In the painting, Icarus has indeed fallen; his flaying legs barely noticed by a folk going about their business or just not caring, nor by the viewer eagerly progressing from one master work to the next, not seeing what Auden saw. After all, unprompted, human nature will have it that we see what we want to see – or we don’t see at all.

Looking eastward from Germany in these day, one can see the result of a political culture that was too concerned with economic interests and chose to look away for too long.

A right royal Welfare Queen

In the process of posting at the end of last year on the film Passing, I considered Imani Perry’s review of that film, and in glancing Perry’s Wikipedia profile I was alerted to her role in a recent interesting art transaction; from which arose questions to do with ownership of art and the responsibilities that come with that – to the artist and to the public arena.

As reported here at Artnet, Perry was in fact the owner of the Amy Sherold painting Welfare Queen (2012), which was sold at auction for a sum way beyond the estimate. Controversy ensued on a number of fronts. Firstly, Sherold’s own dissatisfaction that this work which she herself sold to the fledgling collector Perry, for the first time and under generous circumstances, a decade ago, should now be auctioned; destination unknown. (Sherold articulates her disquiet on the matter in a statement to Culture Type.) And this leads, of course, and as the Artnet piece considers, to the matter of re-sale equity conditions. Mostly one would think in “royalties” (no pun intended!) but equally so in terms of due “care”, and I think it is this latter that grates so at the artist. Perhaps not all, not even most, artists have this as an imperative, but it seems for this Black woman artist a transaction has more worth than the almighty dollar; rather is an act of passing on the guardianship of her work, her art, her intent. An honorable intent.

Welfare Queen, oil on canvas, Amy Sherold, 2012.

In her lot essay for Phillips (something else that raised eyebrows; normally the prerogative of a qualified other, not the collector), and the above video, Imani Perry enthusiastically states her highest regard for the artist and the painting, and (in the essay) her wish that the new owner will be similarly disposed. I suppose it is no one else’s concern … well, Amy Sherold may be entitled to a legitimate interest … but one has to wonder, should the painting have meant so much to Perry, why on earth did she unload it at all, let alone let it loose to the highest bidder in the capitalistic playground of the auction house? As I say: not my business! For Ms. Perry: good business, perhaps. As I write, I can’t track the buyer which seems to indicate that it was not purchased by a public gallery and is destined for another private collection. Hopefully, one with an interest in its public display, because, for all the reasons Perry says, it is a powerful work that invites reflection and identification in many ways, and especially in respect to stereotyping – based on race, gender, class – created very often through political expediency and becoming entrenched through language (‘welfare queen’) into societal norms.

Diverting, I also note that in her essay Imani Perry remarks upon the painting being a constant companion and inspiration during the last years and in the course of her own creative endeavors, right up to the writing of her latest book, so I should mention that that book, South to America – A Journey Below the Mason-Dixon to Understand the Soul of a Nation, was in fact published last month by Harper Collins. There is a sample reading on the publisher’s website, an adapted essay (regarding New Orleans) at The New York Times and also there, a (middling to good) review by Tayari Jones.

Should you be unsure of quite where to place Amy Sherold, you may remember, as I do, her celebrated 2018 portrait of Michelle Obama; now hanging in the National Portrait Gallery in Washington. Well, usually! For now I see, through until May this year, it is on a nationwide tour – with its other half so to speak!

Going, going, gone – Van Gogh (3)

As I have previously discussed (here and here), with the interest and anticipation of the lay person, the Cox Collection was duly auctioned on November 11 by Christie’s – far, far exceeding expectations, it brought in nearly $332 million! My attention was focused on the Van Gogh works, and according to Art News an agent (waving the paddle 619) took home the haystack and the cypress and olive trees (the latter for a staggering $71 million!) – for the same buyer or different is not known. Given the secrecy, I think it is fair to guess that these remarkable works of art, already so rarely seen, will disappear again into a private collection and we – the greater public – can bid [sic!] farewell to their public viewing anytime soon (as with the Portrait of Dr Gachet which disappeared after being sold in 1990 for $82.5m – also by Christie’s). And the fate of the much talked about red-haired, pink-cheeked, flower-chewing boy/girl that so entranced me, and that I considered – seriously showing my art market acumen – to be seriously undervalued (and, I was right; estimated at $5-7 million it sold for $46.7 million!) seems likely to be the same; even in reproduction, I love this picture – ‘they’ would have found a better home with ‘us’ for sure. But who knows, maybe the buyers are fans of the share economy – to be stretched beyond cars and couches and such pedestrian comforts to the much finer things of life (and commerce).

Martin Bailey, who has definitely become my person to go to on all things Van Gogh, blogs on the outcomes of an eventful (not to mention, profitable!) evening in New York.

On haystacks and cornflowers – Van Gogh (2)

From my last post, The New York Times has now published an article on Christie’s forthcoming auction that will include three works from Vincent van Gogh; one of which is the Meules de Blé of which I wrote, stolen by the Nazis and only now returning to the public arena.

Fortuitously, the NYT linked to The Art Newspaper and the Van Gogh expert, Martin Bailey’s blog piece which provides relevant and well-informed background to the van Gogh works being offered. My interest is now ignited by Jeune Homme au Bleuet (1890) – The “Young Man with a Cornflower”, has its own particular narrative through place and time, that had “him” as a “her” – Jeune fille au bluet (the mad girl in Zola’s ‘Germinal’) – when it all began …

And when did it begin? Well, according to Virginia Woolf “… on or about December 1910 […is when human character changed]“. And, Van Gogh’s girl/boy was right there at the legendary Autumn 1910 exhibition at the Grafton Gallery in London, Manet and the Post-Impressionists, curated by Roger Fry, about which Woolf spoke – where more than a word was created that defined a direction, but the visual artistic representation displayed that signaled an end and a beginning. And by the bye inflamed the establishment to various degrees of rage! In 2010, The Burlington Magazine celebrating the centenary of the show, included an interesting piece about the original exhibition catalogue.

Though I am not adverse to haystacks, nor to cypress and olive trees, this figure I do find captivating. Unlike the stolen haystacks, an image of Jeune Homme au bleuet is in Wikipedia. It’s not at all a good reproduction so I post it here reluctantly – the colors quite wrong; the cornflower is blue, as is the blouse, the hair copper-red, the face pink and lips paler as if masked, the eyes emerald – so I refer you again to the very good Christie’s site; for both the much better visual reproduction and, again, an excellent lot essay.

The gender ambiguity is one aspect, but in these days of fluidity (making ambiguity somewhat obsolete!) I am more taken by the almost carnivalesque nature of the portraiture; reminding me of Pippi Longstocking illustrations and depictions elsewhere – the essay description of “mischievous ragamuffin” seems more than apt.

Lost and Found: A haystack & what a haystack! – Van Gogh (1)

For Sale: $20-30 million (at least!)

Tracking down lost art is a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack. So every story of success is worthy of note.

Looted, then lost, now finding its way back into the light of day: on November 11th a Vincent van Gogh watercolor on paper, executed in Arles in 1888 and titled Meules de blé, will be auctioned. Should anyone have a spare few tens of millions please inform yourself in a timely fashion on the Christie’s website – as I write “bidding begins in 29 days”!

This all came to my attention today via an article in Zeit Online written by one of Germany’s most prominent commentators on the art market, Stefan Koldehoff, who has written widely on provenance and stolen art. This particular work’s journey out of the nineteenth, through the twentieth century and into this, and across one continent and into another, sounds extraordinary – and it is, but it’s also not; for the stories surrounding the art – makers, buyers, sellers – that got entangled in the horrors of fascism and its aftermath are legendary, and are emblematic of the greater story of war, dispossession and displacement that defined that time.

At the moment I can’t seem to find a good English language report, but I dare say something will turn up – at the latest when a $$$ record is set in New York – money always sells! On the Christie’s site linked to above, the so-called “lot essay” gives some excellent historical background – from the time of execution until now. Quite how this work found its way into the United States remains unclear, but an amicable settlement has been reached between the current owners and the heirs of the two families in whose possession the work was up until its confiscation by the Nazis in occupied Paris in 1941.