In this 2010 photo, visitors admire the portrait of Caravaggio by an unknown painter during the presentation to journalists of an exhibit dedicated to the Lombard painter titled: "Caravaggio in Rome", in Rome. (AP Photo/Pier Paolo Cito file) via CBS

Yesterday,  the art world exploded with news that 100 new Caravaggio paintings and drawings had been discovered by a team of art historians in Milan at the Sforzesco Castle. The Castle is home to a collection of works from the studio of Milanese painter Simone Peterzano, who was teenage Caravaggio’s teacher for four years, from 1584 to 1588.

Art historians  Maurizio Bernardelli Curuz and Adriana Conconi Fedrigolli, who made the discovery, had been studying the Peterzano collection for two years. They are the first to attribute these works to Caravaggio. It is of importance that, as the Castle has said, all of these works have been readily visible and accessible for years, and that no such attribution has been made before despite the collection having been studied in the past:

The strangeness of the “discovery” sits with me, as well, and with many others across the web, who have commented varyingly that such a discovery would be “astonishing” and that the desire to publish the findings so quickly seems “premature” and “rushed.” The second I read the headline for this news, I was immediately skeptical. Caravaggios on such great scale? How did no one notice this before? Surely, with the growth of Caravaggio studies especially in the past couple decades, someone, somewhere, would have at the least entertained the idea.

Indeed, confusion about the discovery’s timing is a major contributor to apprehension about the research. Why, if these works have been in the castle’s collection for years, has no art historian or Caravaggio specialist ever hinted at these works’ creator? If these works had been discovered in 2010, some might attribute such a large scale find to the 400th anniversary of Caravaggio’s death – and the rush of scholarship and attributions and new discoveries that went along with that magnificent and flurried year for Caravaggio studies. But these works have been in the Castle’s collection for years.  The Castle’s administrators themselves were uncertain about the discovery and the rushed publication of the research:

The reason for the immediate eBook publication is indeed perplexing. Perhaps, however, the art historians wanted their research to be immediately accessible without waiting for the red tape and process that accompanies publication in academic journals. I’m not sure of the motives behind the quick publication, but skepticism is reaonable.

The largest and most pressing mystery is, of course, is the validity of the attributions. The news has been ablaze again today with debate over the accuracy and methodology of the research, and the scholarly community has begun expressing both doubt and excitement about this new theory. Art historians are divided. Even the Vatican has commented on the validity of the attributions, saying that the readiness to attribute such a large body of drawings to Caravaggio was greatly optimistic. For now, I am inclined to agree with art historian John T. Spike, who told the Telegraph today:

Dr. Spike has also noted via Facebook that one of the sketches is quite possibly of a sculpture that was not yet made (“make that ninety-nine” possible artworks! — put a smile on my face)!

Click to enlarge.

The debate has highlighted that there is still plenty of mystery surrounding Caravaggio’s life, and if these paintings and drawings prove authentic, they will open up a floodgate of new work that will be worth years of additional studies about Caravaggio’s art and life. If, however, these works are deemed as falsely attributed, they will have begun a fresh dialogue in the academic and art communities about Caravaggio, and hopefully new ideas will blossom about his early life based on this find and the discussion it has already begun to  ignite.

The findings have been released in a two-volume  eBook, available on Amazon. The ebook is formatted for Amazon Cloud Reader, Kindle for PC/Mac (iPad), and Kindle Fire and is available in multiple languages.

Have you been following this story? Do you think the paintings and sketches are of artistic importance, or do you agree with those, such as Dr. Claudio Strinati, who find the research “interesting but not important”?

Tags: Academia, Art History, Caravaggio, Debate, John T. Spike, Museums, News

Caillebotte c. 1787.

Gustave Caillebotte (1848-1894)

Gustave Caillebotte was trained by celebrated French painter Leon Bonnat. He was three years out of Bonnat’s studio when he first exhibited with the Impressionists, and over the years his style did not stray much from the teachings of Bonnat, whose works generally contain a serious, Velasquezesque air.

Caillebotte, The Floor-scrapers, 1875

Caillebotte debuted his works at the Impressionists’ second exhibition in 1876. He  was the star of the show. His series The Floor-scrapers received numerous excited reviews. One of the most commonly used words to describe Caillebotte’s series was “original.”  was one such critic. In the 8 April 1876 issue of La Gazette, Marius Chaumelin, an art critic who had never heard of Caillebotte, implored:

For The Academy, a London periodical, Philippe Burty wrote on 15 April 1876  that The Floor-scrapers was “energetic,” calling to mind Florentine art. And, in a separate, earlier review of 1 April 1876, in La Republique Francaise, Burty exclaimed that Caillebotte was “a beginner whose beginnings will create a sensation”—a prediction that came into fruition quickly. Caillebotte was the critic favorite from the time he first exhibited in 1876 until the seventh Impressionist (and his last) exhibition in 1882.

At the exhibition of 1882, Caillebotte’s paintings were unhappily received by many critics (and some paintings at prior exhibits were also negatively reviewed, though not to nearly the same extent). Jean de Nivelle, writing for Le Soleil on the 4 March 1882, commented “One of the most relentless Independents, Caillebotte, is showing around twenty hilarious paintings.” On 2 March 1882, the infamous art critic Albert Wolff noted that “[w]hen Caillebotte is not demented, he has as much talent as anyone.” As satirical or amusing as these comments might be, they are part of a consistent whole that recognized the fall of Caillebotte, once welcomed for his refreshing “non-Impressionist” style. As true taches Impressionism became more popular, Caillebotte became an outsider and was, in a way, betrayed by his own style. Caillebotte was 34 at the time. He never exhibited his work again.

Like art historian Richard R. Brettell, I am skeptical about just how “Impressionist”  Caillebotte’s paintings are—and were, in their late 19th century context. Even though the Impressionists’ styles varied from artist to artist, Caillebotte’s varied to a degree of complete difference. Critics must have noticed this difference, even if they didn’t write about it, especially since Caillebotte’s works were in the same room as Monet’s and their stylistic differences would have been impossible to overlook. Also noticeable across these exhibits would have been the different focus that Caillebotte’s art had when contrasted with his contemporaries’ art.

As a whole, Caillebotte does not focus on celebrating the fleeting moments of joy and livelihood in French life as his contemporaries so often displayed; nor on capturing the “special characteristics of the modern individual.” His exhibited works vary in theme and are “ordinary,” as critics sometimes called his work. His art was caught between the solemn, austere mood he was trained in and the glorious, excited style that he exhibited alongside. Caillebotte captured the vibrant nature of Parisian life and merged it with the desire for a renewed sense of national pride that much of France was feeling at this time as they recovered from the humiliating defeat of the Franco-Prussian war.

“Art must produce virile and grand works, worthy of the task in front of us, styles worthy of the terrible times we have come through and of the future that awaits us.” — Louis Emile Edmond Duranty, 1876

The above was modified from an honors paper I wrote while at UCLA.

Tags: Art Critics, Art History, Caillebotte, Exhibition, French Art, French History, History, Impressionists

Caravaggio, The Taking of Christ, detail of self portrait

In her biography of Caravaggio, Helen Langdon refers to Caravaggio’s “evangelical call to young artists,”¹ welcoming and encouraging them to pursue the way of his new and modern style. Historical documents paint a different picture, of a Caravaggio who fiercely guarded his style from imitators and frequently retaliated with violence or polemical paintings when artists copied his style or even received a commission he wanted. These two things, Caravaggio recruiting others to his new art, and Caravaggio’s protective nature, seem diametrically opposed. And yet, in art history, discussion abounds about Caravaggio the Leader, Caravaggio who consciously created this great movement of a new art, Caravaggio who welcomed others to emulate what he had created.

I don’t see Caravaggio as the conscious leader of a great movement. Perhaps this is an unconventional or unpopular viewpoint. There’s no denying that his art had an unprecedented  impact on the Roman art world,  but it’s difficult for me to subscribe to the idea that Caravaggio was willing to share his glory with others by allowing them to share in the style he had worked so hard to create. Rather, once Caravaggio’s art became “The Art” to have,  it behooved other artists to emulate him. His contemporaries would naturally be drawn to copy his style and to attempt to arrive at what made him great.

When twenty-one year old Caravaggio arrived in Rome in 1592, he, like many artists before him, arrived a poor man with big dreams. He had received an inheritance, but, for reasons we don’t know, this money was basically gone by the time he arrived in the Eternal City.² He began working for a priest, Pandolfo Pucci, an arrangement which may have been set up for Caravaggio by the powerful Colonna family. (Pucci was Pope Sixtus V’s sister’s steward, and when the pope died, she went to live in the Palazzo Colonna.) Caravaggio was unhappy in Pucci’s household and didn’t have the artistic freedom he desired. He was treated poorly (he complained his only food was salad and as such his nickname for Pucci was Monsignor Insalata) and during his stay he was made to paint copies of devotional pictures. When his patron was away, Caravaggio was “reduced to painting pictures for sale, of humble subjects beneath the dignity of Roman figure painters, and often the speciality of artists from Northern Europe.”³

Unfulfilled, Caravaggio left Pucci’s household and hopped between a number of Roman studios, including Lorenzo Siciliano’s studio where he met his lifelong friend, Mario Minniti. He and Mario still longed for more than what Rome’s studios placed them in, and, “[a]llies in hardship, both dissatisfied, spurred on by the spirit of emulation, they determined to win their independence and to aim higher and for some time (though it is not at all clear exactly when) they lived together.”⁴

Caravaggio continued to move between Rome’s studios and was consistently unhappy with their restrictive artistic environments. He needed to be independent, and attempting to make it in the large world of Roman art was difficult. Eventually, Caravaggio began working with an art dealer, Costantino Spata. Spata introduced Caravaggio and his art to the man who would become one of his most important patrons and help skyrocket Caravaggio to a life of fame and demand: Cardinal Francesco Del Monte. It was for Del Monte and his social circle that Caravaggio painted some of his most famous early works, lighthearted scenes of trickery and myth and music. Important as these early works were for Caravaggio (and are for us today), I must echo Walter Friedlaender’s sentiments from Caravaggio Studies:

These early  genre pictures were the catalyst that brought about Caravaggio’s truest talent: displaying devotional scenes with mesmerising quality. Caravaggio clearly continued to desire increasingly greater commissions for increasingly powerful patrons, most of whom were so thrilled with Caravaggio’s works that once they commissioned his art, they also became his lifelong advocates and protectors. I want to point out that though Caravaggio’s dedication to devotional scenes can be seen as a product of the time in which he lived, where churches and other religious organizations were commissioning artwork left and right, I also think his dedication to revolutionizing religious imagery was more than simply a quest for money, fame, or merely because he received continual commissions from princes of the Church. Plenty of patrons in Tridentine Italy were still commissioning mythological albeit moral scenes, and Caravaggio himself painted the rare mythological scene or two. Once Caravaggio found his niche, he didn’t turn back. He was a man dedicated to his art who continually rethought religious scenes and told these stories on a new and personal level.

Nowhere can his dedication to his art be seen better than in his inclusion of himself in many of his paintings. Caravaggio painted himself many times throughout his career, including multiple times as an observer in religious scenes. His portrait was a mark of pride in his work, a stamp, an immediate signifier that Michelangelo da Caravaggio made this. His inclusion of himself in religious scenes also has religious and artistic precedent⁶, but there’s one particular interpretation that I would like to focus on.

Caravaggio, The Taking of Christ, c. 1602

In Caravaggio’s Taking of Christ, Caravaggio can be seen  on the far right of the painting, holding up a lantern to illuminate the scene and looking at the activity before him with fascination. Inserting oneself into one’s paintings wasn’t unheard of and can be read as a sort of signature⁷; however, Caravaggio’s inclusion of himself within the painting is also in line with popular seventeenth century devotional practices. Just as Caravaggio placed himself in this scene of Christ’s Passion, so too should the faithful. This is part of Caravaggio’s genius: he, so prone to pop up in Roman streets and have violence follow, was now a participant in the Taking. But could the lantern that he holds up be more than just an object of illumination for the scene?

Langdon observes that in most representations of this scene, the lantern lies on the ground, dropped in the commotion.

Langdon suggests that Caravaggio’s lantern serves a greater purpose than illuminating the scene. His presence is an invitation for the next generation of artists to follow in his footsteps and embrace his style of unrelenting naturalism. The reading is clever and for that I admire it. I don’t, however, think this reading is the ideal analysis for this painting — and maybe it isn’t even correct. Regardless, it does raise the bigger question of Caravaggio the Leader.

As has been discussed, Caravaggio fiercely valued his independence and his reputation and spent several years building up his reputation in Rome, leaving studios when the work was not ambitious enough or was demeaning, until he came to a point where he had powerful patrons. Even after this, he continued to desire bigger and better commissions, evidenced by his pining for a Papal commission (which he finally, after years, received — an altarpiece that no longer hangs in the Vatican). He he wasn’t afraid to challenge visual traditions, rethink vision as a form of devotion, or portray events the way his mind thought them best seen. There are many examples of this, including Caravaggio’s Death of the Virgin, his first Raising of Lazarus in which he painted a decaying corpse from life (now destroyed by his own hand⁹), and his first St. Matthew and the Angel. Caravaggio created a new art which attracted a large following in Rome and abroad — and he was aware of the demand for and impact of his art.

He had always been wary of artists who got too close to him stylistically, but once he was one of Rome’s premiere artists, he became increasingly protective of his style. He did count Zuccaro and others among Rome’s famous pre-Baroque artists as “good” artists (whatever his motives), and at the same time he lashed out against those who arrived close to his style and his humble interpretations. His style set him apart. Why would he openly encourage others to copy him, when his style and interpretations were what set him apart in Rome’s competitive art world?

Caravaggio was clearly some type of leader. He was a leader in the sense that he forged a new artistic path and others followed, whether he liked it or not. He never founded a workshop or a school.¹⁰ He had many friends, and many more artists looked up to him. He certainly counted a number of the Roman Caravaggisti as his friends, and they frequently went to Rome’s taverns, borrowed props from each other, and sometimes got into trouble together. Caravaggio had great animosity toward a few of those who would infringe on his style, but with others, art together was playful competition. Perhaps Caravaggio didn’t feel threatened by some of these artists, knowing they didn’t have the connections he did to surpass him in greatness, or knowing that they dabbled in other modes of representation.¹¹ I’m not sure. Whatever his reasons for liking some Caravaggisti and despising others, I think what Caravaggio appreciated more than anything in his circle was good art. He counted very few of the artists in Rome as good artists, as Creighton E. Gilbert has said:

The trial Gilbert is referring to is the 1603 trial where Caravaggio was sued for libel by one of the Caravaggisti, Giovanni Baglione.¹³ Caravaggio’s testimony focused mostly on who created good art and less on defending his innocence. He also probably blatantly lied about being associated with his closest friends, also involved in the suit. The artists Caravaggio lists as good artists do not approach his style and were immensely popular, established Roman artists well before the time that Caravaggio came to Rome.

Guido Reni, Crucifixion of St. Peter, c. 1604-5

Some artists were clear threats, such as Annibale Carracci. No one posed a greater threat than Guido Reni. Reni, a Bolognese artist, was present in Rome by 1601 and had close ties with Cavalier d’Arpino (in whose studio a young Caravaggio spent some time in). d’Arpino had big plans for Reni, and it has been suggested that d’Arpino meant to provoke Caravaggio by bringing Reni to Rome.¹⁴ He promised Cardinal Pietro Aldobrandini that Reni would “transform himself into Caravaggio and would paint the picture [of the Crucifixion of St. Peter] in Caravaggio’s dark and driven manner [quella maniera cacciata e scura].”¹⁵ And transform into Caravaggio he did. Reni used Caravaggio’s painting of the same subject as inspiration, which enraged Caravaggio to the point that he threatened Reni’s life, forcing Reni to flee Rome for some time.¹⁶ The skill that Reni displayed with his St. Peter — so immediately beloved for its lyricism — made him an imminent threat to everything Caravaggio had made for himself and of himself. This near-violent episode with Reni is met with some skepticism by scholars¹⁷, but its existence is important nonetheless in presenting a fairly tangible (if problematic) idea of what Caravaggio thought about plagiarism, and what Rome’s patrons thought of other artists’ abilities.

Perhaps it was the best thing for his fame, that,  in 1606, Caravaggio was forced to flee Rome and was welcomed and celebrated as a renowned artist in every place he went — Naples, Sicily, Malta. His art attracted and received an international audience during his exile, and true to his nature, Caravaggio was still protective as ever. His patrons longed for his presence back in Rome, and longed even more for his art. With Caravaggio’s departure, the artistic world in Rome had a void it needed filled, and Caravaggio wasn’t there to defend his art:

Alienated and unable to defend his art in person, Caravaggio’s powerful style was left undefended for Rome’s artists to profit from. What would Caravaggio have thought, coming back to his beloved Rome alive in the late summer of 1610, seeing his style plagiarised? How would his career have progressed? Would he be welcomed as an internationally famous star, or welcomed with trepidation and uncertainty about what to do next? I wonder if he would have been emotionally prepared for his homecoming. I wonder if he would have been welcomed with a lot of pomp, or if he would be forever branded as Caravaggio who murdered someone but was pardoned four years later — an unpredictable, unbalanced genius. And yet, when Caravaggio was in the South of Italy, his biographers there consistently described him as mad. Did leaving everything he had worked for — despite all his success in the south — drive him over the edge? If it did, I think he reached his breaking point physically and emotionally by the time he reached Port’Ercole and realized that the ship he was on had sailed off with his possessions. He needed the paintings on the boat to gift to Cardinal Nephew Scipione Borghese, thus procuring  a warm welcome and a pardon, and among them were some of his most personal works, including his Borghese David with the Head of Goliath which he probably completed earlier in 1610. One story says that Caravaggio chased after the boat — nearly 100km upstream — running in the hot beach, surrounded by nothing but rock and wave, desperate to get his paintings back, and in exerting all of his energy and health chasing the wind, Caravaggio died.

To his death, Caravaggio remained protective of his art. During his exile, his patrons continued to hope that maybe soon he would return to them, but he never did. Upon his return, his style would have responded again, as it had so effortlessly ebbed and flowed with the different regions he visited, responding to their wealth, spirituality, poverty, sickness, and crowds, and he perhaps would have continued into further greatness. Caravaggio didn’t have many material possessions (we know this from inventories taken of his belongings), but he did have one thing that he prized above all else and that was wholly his own: his art.

Caravaggio was a revolutionary and an innovator whose art breathed new life into the aesthetics and mechanics of Catholic devotion. He was not leader or a mentor who welcomed or recruited others to copy what was his. Caravaggio was simply a man “of a fantastic humor … bizarre”¹⁹ and above all, a good man and painter “who [could] perform well in his art and … paint well and imitate natural things well.”²⁰

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Tags: Art History, Artistic Intention, Baroque Art, Caravaggio, Rome, Sacred Art

A few weeks ago, Storia dell’Arte published stories from readers who have told interested parties what they’re studying in college (art history) and have been met with insensitive responses. I have written about this before, but never from a solution-oriented angle. I want to give my two cents about how we can begin to correct the public’s perception about art history, and related (i.e., museum studies, conservation) majors.

Here’s some of the stories:

Conversations like this one aren’t limited to undergraduate study, sadly. When I tell people I will be studying art history in graduate school in the Fall, the response is often some variant of  “Don’t want to be in the real world, eh?” I hate to shatter their worldview, but graduate school is the real world. My work will just not be the same as “real world” people, who don’t spend eight hours a day reading primary sources about Caravggio’s police record or grading undergraduate student work. (Both those things, by the way, make this almost-grad-student immensely happy and I would do it for the rest of my life.)

I thought that this perception would change once I told people I was in graduate school, but that, too, has become plagued by a perception that graduate students are such because they want to escape the economy and hide out in academia for a few years. I don’t deny that there are graduate students out there who undergo graduate study for this reason, and it has its merits, but it isn’t something that can be slapped on as the definitive motive for graduate study. It’s gotten to the point where I qualify my upcoming “doomed fate” by saying that this is what I love to do and I’d rather be a poor graduate student than a rich woman stuck at a job I have no passion for.

I think the root of the problem is ignorance about what art history is and, perhaps more importantly, what it has been in the past and thus how it has molded and impacted other fields of study. How can we as a society begin to correct public perception about art history? Sometimes I feel like its counterparts — museum studies and art conservation — garner more respect from the public because their intrinsic value and career options are more readily accessible in the public mind.

The ignorance displayed when talking about art history is often underscored by concern, as you read above in the stories given — for an art history student’s job prospects and financial situation, the value of their education, and if their time could have been (or be) better spent. It isn’t uncommon for us art history majors to hear things like, “Why don’t you go to (law or medical) school instead?” These types of statements assume that money and material status, often signifiers of success, are the most important thing — the highest goal. While I’m sure that none of us would turn down wealth and material possessions (in fact, a recent survey conducted found that as women become more educated they desire higher paying careers — men as well, but the opportunity is rising for women), the truth is that it’s nearly impossible to be an art history major for “the money,” which means that we’re in it for something else. For the intrinsic glory of an art historical mystery solved, or the education that comes with an interdisciplinary field like this one, or the intrigue of studying past modes of expression. Whatever our individual reasons for choosing this field, we all have them.

I don’t think we can point fingers to a single social occurrence and blame that for existing perceptions about art history. Rather, I think perceptions of art history and the deep sense of concern that arises from telling someone what we’re studying, is indiciative of a society that has, over time, emphasized empirical evidence and the sciences over pursuits of the mind, which, in the past, were held in high esteem.

Efforts by non-profit organizations, academic institutions, and museums are being made to re-emphasize the importance of the arts and art history, which is perhaps the best avenue to begin increasing public knowledge about the importance of the arts and art history. Any misinformation in the public realm that exists about the value of the arts and art history can and should be corrected by the above institutions as well as by professionals on a more microscopic level. Certainly, their efforts are not buttressed by recent reports that have found fine arts and history (art history would be a blend of these) to be among “the most useless college degrees” (in a study by Georgetown University; you can also see a visual summary of this study at the Daily Beast). Indeed, it could be argued that the media is a huge part of why the public feels the way they do about fine arts, history, and art history majors. When seen in this light, the public’s concern over our job prospects and education value is an echo of the media’s constant barraging of the message of despair that their child/relative, who majors in one of the Most Useless College Degrees, will find employment only by some great miracle. Finding employment has proved difficult for many recent college graduates (if I can understate greatly — it did take me eight months to find a job, including looking for three months pre-commencement), but it isn’t impossible. I also wouldn’t trade my study in art history for any amount of wealth or job permanence.

I’ll sing art history’s praises for the rest of my academic career, because I love what I do, and I want my passion for this field to spark curiosity in other people, so that they love it, too.

Tags: Art History, Careers, College, Experience, Majors, Tumblr