Art History Today

Room for more Gallery Warders?

The answer is a resounding yes, but despite the looming flagship Leonardo exhibition, as this Guardian article reports, the National Gallery is pressing ahead with its plans to have warders guard two rooms instead of one. This comes a few weeks after the attack on Poussin’s art, and amid claims that the gallery’s security is on a par with other leading museums. Really? Surely Artwatch UK’s Michael Daley is right to express concern at this policy. As he’s quoted in the Guardian:

"The most alert and attentive person cannot be in two places at once … and cannot see through walls." He acknowledged the gallery's claim that perambulatory staff were more effective, but said: "The quantity of surveillance is halved whether or not its quality improves."

Meanwhile, taking a break from his coverage of the London riots, Jonathan Jones of the same newspaper  lashes out at Artwatch for even broaching the subject? In the comments section he splutters:

“This "story" is sensationalist hysteria that relies heavily on a very dubious source, ie, Artwatch UK.

Artwatch is quoted here as a neutral voice of authority on such matters. It is nothing of the sort: it is a dogmatic pressure group with a long history of picking on the National Gallery in particular.

The reporter says "such is the concern that Artwatck UK has been contacted". That makes it sound like Artwatch is a bit like the Hague court or Ofart, a cool and responsible public body.

This is a bit like a political story that said, "such is the concern that the English Defence League has been contacted."

Artwatch is not neutral, and should never be allowed to speak with unquestioned authority in any news story.”

Why? Artwatch UK is expressing the view of many people, curators, security experts, art historians, employees of the N.G., anybody interested in protecting its art, especially after the dreadful attack on the Poussin paintings. It’s a legitimate concern, and Artwatch only have the welfare of the art in mind. And do you really, Mr Jones, need to bring the English Defence League into this?

The Passion of Poussin

It came as quite a surprise to learn this week that a hitherto anti-Poussin critic, one that I chastised last year, has suddenly changed his mind- Jonathan Jones has now fallen in love with Poussin’s art, on appropriately Valentine’s day.

Most people  find it very hard to love Poussin. Most of the students I teach admit no love for Poussin at all. If I had a fiver for every time I’ve heard that Poussin is cold, passionless, academic etc, well you get my gist. Jones had much the same reaction, then. “But for a long time he left me cold. I knew it was my problem, not his. What I needed – it turned out, base creature that I am, is this painting. It finally encouraged me to see the passion of Poussin – and set me free to wander among the monuments of his profound art.

Rather than reproduce the National Gallery’s Nymph and Satyrs, which Jones is choosing to love to death, I’m putting up a similar paining that I’ve always liked: the master’s Pan and Syrinx, painted about 1637, and now in Dresden. Anthony Blunt said that this belonged to the “blonde” group of Poussin’s pictures, those that have this coppery, yellowish colour which is very attractive to look at. There are also other erotically charged works with this tonality like this one recently cleaned. The subject is both erudite and erotic. Syrinx was a chaste nymph who was pursued by the amorous Pan. To evade him she ran to the river and was turned into hollow water reeds that made a memorable sound when the frustrated god blew across them. From the reeds Pan created the first panpipe.

 

The picture was probably commissioned by one of Poussin’s patrons in Paris, maybe one interested in both musical theory and the erotic dimension of the myth? That’s the thing about Poussin: you have passion and intellectual content in the same package. Now with this laughable emulation of Poussin’s Pan and Syrinx by the 18th century rococo painter J.F. Troy, I’m wiling to bet that whoever commissioned this was solely interested in the sex rather than the learning. But with Poussin you can have both, although perhaps it takes some time for the former to register with the viewer.

Congratulations to Mr Jones for being successfully seduced by Poussin; let’s hope it is a long and lasting affair. As for myself, I still retain a passion for Poussin. It’s just Poussin studies that I’m not so enamoured of these days. That’s definitely needs a kiss- the kiss of life!

A Picture of Cameron’s Britain?

It's hard not to think about politics these days with the mammoth ideological debates raging about welfare, education, housing, disability, the undeserving/deserving poor, the enforced move to the banlieus… the list runs on.

Usually art critics steer clear of high octane politics, but not so Jonathan Jones of the Guardian who is firing up readers with his own critique of Cameron and his leeches. Good! In a recent post, Jones muses on what a Cameronian Britain could look like and asks how Victorian art could help us picture it. .

"It might help us picture the Britain that is being made if we compare two paintings – one a Victorian favourite, the other dating from the very dawn of the 20th century. The Blind Girl (1856) by John Everett Millais is a work of art with a social conscience, or at least social sentiment. It portrays two children in rags, on the outskirts of a prosperous village: cast out and unprovided-for, the blind girl and her sister wander the British countryside, playing music for pennies. But as she sits exhausted on the ground, the blind girl casts her face upward and heaven's light shines on her.

Contrast this pathetic scene with Giuseppe Pellizza da Volpedo's 1901 painting The Fourth Estate. Not a painting of journalists – the fourth estate in this painting is the working class. The organised working class. United and imposing, they march forward, irresistible, to claim what has been denied down the centuries. In a history of modern society, you could place these pictures side by side to show how, in just half a century, the "poor" became the organised proletariat, and charity gave way to socialism.

"The fact is, the poor are made to look isolated, vulnerable and politically harmless. Look again at Millais's child beggars; the painting, by the way, is in Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. He portrays them at the very edge of the human community, cast out of mainstream British society which looks so cosy in the distance. They are set apart by their poverty. They will never threaten anyone else. They will suffer and die. By contrast, the very definition of the working class in Pellizza da Volpedo's painting is collective strength: poor proletarians and educated artisans unite in struggle. The poor are pitiable. The working class is revolutionary."

Given the incessant battle of words over work, I'm wondering if Ford Maddox Brown's painting of the same title might be more appropriate. Workfare Victorian style!

 

 One other thing. If the proposed local government cuts are implemented, and lots of jobs in the cultural sector are shed as a result, then it might be difficult to keep museums like Birmingham Art Gallery open for the public- poor or not- to see Millais's 'Blind Girl'. Just a thought.

JJ is at it again. Santo di Titi's portrait of Machiavelli compared with Cameron's unctuous smile.

Poussin v Jonathan Jones

I've objected to Jonathan Jones's reductive view of 17th century art before- see here- so when he wrote an article on Poussin denouncing the artist and accusing Poussin scholars of snobbery, I felt compelled to post. Sadly, Jones's view is drearily typical of how Poussin is seen today: an academic painter, of interest only to intellectuals pursuing esoteric themes in his art. It has to be said that Poussin studies itself has done much to promote this false view, Just take a look at the Villa Medici conference of a few weeks ago- that had all the hallmarks of a cabbalistic society intent on keeping Poussin a secret. At least Jones's article is out in the public realm, which is really where the debate on Poussin should be, rather than sequestered away in the hallowed halls of academe or curatorial departments.

Admittedly, there are exhibitions for the public to see; there were ones in Bilbao and New York in 2007/8. Yet, although they were open to the public, was any attempt made to arrange a conference of scholars whom the public could hear? No, of course not. The curators of this exhibition organised the events to showcase a picture that was going into a French provincial museum. There's nothing wrong with that, but there is a downside to all this curatorial activity becoming visible. My New Zealand colleague, Tony Green, who has just published Poussin's Humour, a book that counteracts the classical, dry-as-dust- perception of Poussin, has an interesting take on this controversy. Tony points out that attitudes like Jones's are down to the increase in information flow that highlights the prices of Poussin paintings, the re-discovery of lost works- and so on. That data nexus does give the punter - and journalist- the image of Poussin studies as the preserve of curators and museum professionals who certainly can be snobbish where this painter is concerned. Jones says that he was invited to a Poussin exhibition once, and where was this show put on? The Villa Medici, of course. Is it any wonder that Jones holds the view that Poussin studies is an elitist field?

But not all Poussin scholars regard Poussin as a figure of academic classicism to be preserved in amber for the delectation of connoisseurs. Outside the small circle of scholars grimly hanging onto the idealist view of Poussin, new work is emerging; but the problem is that it takes a very long time, not only for fresh writing to be published, but for work to become assimilated into the field. A high-ranking scholar once told me that Poussin studies moves "slowly." Substitute glacial for slowly, an apt metaphor for as far as Poussin studies are concerned, we seem to be frozen. We're looking at a cultural field that has turned to ice. Still, there are signs of the Great Thaw- the ice can't melt quickly enough for this Poussin Eskimo.

Despite Jones's ill-judged attack on Poussin, it has served the purpose of stimulating debate about this painter. I'm heartened by the number of comments and the fact that people feel strongly enough to give their views. A great many don't buy into Jones's naive view of Poussin. That suggests to me that the web may have a significant role to play in the battle for Poussin's soul in the future .Let's face it. We need all the help we can get!

In Defence of Orazio

If I needed any proof that journalists don't know much about art, all I have to do is to look at Jonathan Jones's article on women painters, which rubbishes Orazio Gentileschi, the father of Artemisia, the celebrated female artist. This writer shows his ignorance of Orazio by stating that Orazio's art is the antithesis of Caravaggio. It's not as simple as that. For one thing it's known that Orazio knew Caravaggio well; he even lent him props, a detail he had to mention in a law trail against Caravaggio. Orazio may even have seen Caravaggio paint, which may have motivated Orazio to paint alla prima, or straight onto the canvas without the aid of preliminary sketches. It is true that Orazio was to evolve a studied elegance in his art- the pirouetting pose of a monk or saint- but Orazio owed much to Caravaggio despite dispensing with the blood and guts realism that was to attract Artemisia.

I first came across Orazio's art in a local museum where one of versions of the Rest on the Flight into Egypt often intrigued me. Why did he make his Joseph so comically supine; what induced him to have the ass's head peeping out from behind the wall? And there were the colours: cool purples and browns accentuating forms set out in clear planes. Since then I've seen many Orazio works in the U.K., Europe and the States, so I have more of an idea of his traits and influences. I've never regarded him as clinical, a label that Jones gives him. It's true that there's a slightly abstract quality to Orazio's art, but that's because he was diligent in his design, working the composition over and over until it had achieved the degree of perfection which he wanted. Take a look at his Vision of St Francesca Romana (above); look at the careful treatment of the draperies and the creamy impasto of the saint's scarf. I also like his palette; there's the vermilion of the virgin's dress which harmonises with the slate grey of the saint's dress and the previously mentioned snowy white of the scarf. Yet there's even a hint of Caravaggio here with the realistic handling of the angel waiting at the right.

Jones also takes a swipe at what he calls Orazio's "creamy realism" which he sees as anticipating Victorian art. Not being an expert on Victorian art, I don't know if his art influenced that era. I can imagine that Orazio's Raphael- like art may have appealed to artists seeking some kind of classical model. But I can't see Orazio Gentileschi leading to artists like Lord Leighton or others of that ilk. Think again Mr Jones.