More than once on this trip my dad has quoted his friend Dave Harris (I think that's the one) who apparently has this opinion about cathedrals in Italy: "if you've seen one, you've seen them all." He's a rotten art critic, obviously, but after wandering through approximately twenty-five churches, any of which, if transplanted to Indiana would be a destination all by itself, a little teeny bit of that sentiment starts to creep in. When there are walls upon walls of paintings, ceilings upon ceilings of frescoes (including an amazing 3-D one we saw at St. Ignatius today), sculptures not only situated as thought-provoking centerpieces in little side-chapels, but also crammed up into the corners of the ceiling and used as furniture to hold up paintings . . . well, it gets harder to give every brush-stroke, every deft turn of the chisel its full due. You start to wonder exactly who it was who got to march through the churches of Italy and pick out the "worthy" art—you know, the pieces that belong in textbooks, the names that almost everyone can identify—even if they can't distinguish him/her (who am I kidding? Him. There are no Renaissance women artists . . . I mean, except Gentileschi, but we haven't seen anything by her yet) from a reigning pop-star.
Man, can I just take a little intermission here and apologize for the fact that none of these posts seem able to maintain a coherent line of thought/reasoning? It is so so so late, and we walked and saw so so so much. The brain: it is not so functional.
Aaaaanyway, what exactly is it that sets some of these artworks above the others? I mean, all these guys worked hard and got paid for their work (look at me ignoring this chance to discuss the patronage system's strengths and weaknesses and getting very calmly on with what I'm saying). What makes one guy Michelangelo and another guy Giacomo Giacomicini (that's Italian for Joe Schmoe)? I've been thinking about this a lot today.
Today we saw art at the Galleria Borghese, where in particular are housed works of Bernini. Bernini has always been a favorite of mine, but never more than today, when I got to see his work up-close and personal. The most impressive one I saw today (I can't call it my favorite because of its subject—Hades, keep your pants on, buddy) was The Rape of Persephone. Wow. The details in that thing blew me away. Hades hand reached around Persephone's waist just like a very real, oversized, manly hand clenching the skin of a horrified young girl. The way that his fingers pressed into her flesh both enchanted and repulsed me. She was a real girl, being violated by a nasty old man. Lolita and Humbert Humbert. Ew. I felt some emotions in the presence of those two.
My actual favorite had to be David. Of course I haven't seen Michelangelo's in his glory yet, though I have every reason to believe it lives up to its reputation, but Bernini's David is the real David that I imagine when I read 2 Samuel (I'm just kidding, I'm not actually sure the story is in 2 Samuel—I'm embarrassed to admit that I do not know the actual location of one of the most famous stories in the Old Testament). He is young. He is not big. His muscles . . . are there, but also not big. He's . . . not naked, because let's face it, who strips down before fighting a giant? But in his eyes. Wow. That look in his eyes. Part determination, part faith, part resolve, and still a teeny bit of humility. Bernini's David is a kid who is right on that cusp of doing the right thing purely because it's right, but just barely aware that his actions could possibly have consequences beyond what he can predict. It's exactly the right stage of adolescence for him. The other thing I love about the sculpture is what is beneath him: the slightly too-big armor that he had to take off. I mean, I just don't know how Bernini managed to really tell the whole story in this one brief image. But he did.
There were also Caravaggios today. Again, I had to stop. The eyes, they just demanded my attention. My favorite was the one of Mary, Jesus, Elizabeth, and a snake. We weren't allowed to take cameras into the museum, so I'll have to find an online image somewhere. But the casual intensity of the faces as Mary sort of carelessly teaches Jesus how to kill this snake by crushing its head speaks volumes. Volumes. What metaphor was Caravaggio bringing into play? Who was his snake? The church? The pope? The government? Mary?? I'm not sure. Maybe at our next hotel my google powers will be more accessible And Wikipedia.
So yeah. Some art is just that extra step beyond extraordinary. It has to first be absolutely perfect in execution, or there's no point in trying. But, after all the technical things are perfect, there is one thing lacking yet. Passion. It has to be there too, or they eyes of the viewer will just flit across the surface and on to the next thing. This is something I want to apply to my own life. Seek first for excellence of craft, fine technique, exquisite detail. Then, when all those things are in place, then, and only then, unleash the inner passion and let it unfold.
Okay, object lesson: complete. Other things to remember from today: not getting to our hotel early enough and getting reassigned to a crappy room with a down-the-hall bathroom and a half-hearted internet connection, my dad snores like a flippin' bear (and I'm already wearing earplugs, which, thank you Aaron, so much for that packing tip!), gorgeous walk through Villa Borghese, you can live exclusively on gelato and pizza in this city and feel like you're on top of the world, I got to talk to Aaron and the kids today, and man do I miss that bunch. I have seriously the best husband in the world, EVER, and I need to appreciate that guy more. He has booked all our hotels, most of our gallery visits, has sent me detailed instructions to get me from place to place, and is meanwhile running a more orderly house than I normally do (okay, maybe never having dishes because every meal consists either of pizza, tacos, or Whoppers has something to do with it). But in all seriousness, I don't actually know another husband/dad on the planet who could pull off what he does. Aaron, babe, I love you!
See you tomorrow in Firenze!!
No comments:
Post a Comment