De Chirico, Piazza with Apollo and Ariadne, c. 1913 (top); Sleeping Ariadne, a Roman copy after a Greek original (bottom left); Apollo Belvedere, detail of face (bottom right)

Giorgio de Chirico (1888 – 1978) was a Greek-born Italian surrealist painter. His father was an Italian nationalist who moved to Greece for his job as a railway engineer. Coupled with the family’s support of a new Italy was a heavy immersion into Greek culture that began in de Chirico’s childhood. Growing up, De Chirico was surrounded by antiquities as well as the modern Greece that contemporary writers were trying to reconcile to an ideal Hellenistic Greece that they felt wasn’t worthy of the modern Greeks. De Chirico rejected the classicist ideals of his time and was uneasy with industrialization and urbanization. He went to Paris and was part of the surrealist group there for some time, until he was rejected from the group due to various conflicts. The split was so bad that Andre Breton and another surrealist published a work in a surrealist magazine called Here Lies Giorgio de Chirico, the center of which was de Chirico’s famous nearly ubiquitous tower. Dead and buried to the surrealists, de Chirico moved to Turin and made a series of piazza paintings. His works often have a train in the background, as you can see here. The train may have a dual-symbolism, in that it may represent his deceased father (a railway engineer) and/or modernity and industrialization. Also prevalent in de Chirico’s works are architecturally confused towers, which may or may not be based off of existing towers in Italy and which vary greatly in architectural form. The towers are said to be a symbol for de Chirico himself. Two classical sculptures also often make appearances in de Chirico’s work: Ariadne is a constant presence (de Chirico was obsessed with this sculpture and her form often changes shape and levels of plasticity) and the Apollo Belvedere, which for de Chirico symbolized everything he disliked about modern classicisizing artistic culture and its Winckelmannian ideals.

The painting above is a perfect example of the sense of enigma that de Chirico purposefully infused into his work. His work has always left me uneasy and unsettled, not in the way that Dali leaves me unsettled — lost in a sort of strange dream land that is strictly out of Dali’s imagination — but rather because de Chirico borrows famous classical forms and places them in absurd situations, places, and climates. Why is Apollo imprisoned in this building as if in the stocks? Is he Apollo, or is he a plaster cast? How does Ariadne relate to him? She’s more free and open, but why? Are the two men (in contemporary dress) related to her? Are they enacting a business deal? Is Ariadne a real marble, perhaps for sale or for public view, or is she, possibly like Apollo, a cast? What can be said of de Chirico’s looming presence over this scene via the tower? And his father’s — via the train? And if the train is a symbol of urbanization and modernity, does it relate to the two men shaking hands? Are the humans in the picture — modern humans, urban humans — responsible for the chaining up of classicism and the release of other types of classicism? Perhaps Apollo is symbolic of Winckelmannian ideals and he  is being kept at bay, while Ariadne represents a different type of classicism, able to be open and freely experienced and practiced. And finally, what of the box or cube at the front right of the painting (of which many make appearances in these piazzas) — is it a bench to invite us in, or is it a stumbling block, letting us stumble over and over again through this painting?

These are the things that unsettle me with de Chirico. There is no end to Why? and to curiosities. Do I even want to know the answers to these questions, or would knowing the answers make the work even more disruptive and disturbing to my art historical consciousness?

Perhaps De Chirico himself provides a clue into his shocking imagery that disrupts chronology and aesthetics:

Why for instance are the houses in France built in a certain style and not in another? There is no use citing history and the causes of this and of that; this describes, but it explains nothing for the eternal reason that there is nothing to explain, and yet the enigma always remains.

Perhaps enigma is the central meaning and function of de Chirico’s work.

Tags: Art History, Artistic Intention, classicism, giorgio de chirico, surrealism, Tumblr

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

Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, born September 29, 1571.

Happy Birthday, Caravaggio! You’ve had a great year. People all over the world, especially Italy, celebrated the 400th anniversary of your death on July 18, 1610. Exhibits displaying your masterpieces sprung up internationally, a couple new books about your life were published, and scholars think they found one of your long lost paintings, St. Augustine. Despite being simultaneously loved and hated in Italy during your life, your art now graces some of Italy (and the world’s)  greatest museums, and your life has intoxicated many of the world’s incredible scholars.  You don’t look too happy about the birthday hat I photoshopped on top of your head, but humor, photoshopping, and pointy birthday hats are a tradition in today’s world. Besides, you enjoyed practical jokes, even if you could get a little mean. Baglione and your clever poetry from that summer in 1602, remember? Like Albrecht Durer, when he found out about the (fake) death of Martin Luther, I wonder what you could have given the world if you had just lived another 20 years. Your sudden death caused pleasure for some, who wrote some wild rumors about your life. Your death also propelled your art into the world through the Caravaggisti and gave you international posthumous fame. The saddest part about your life, for me, was that you never lived to receive news of the Papal bull lifting the pena capitale off your head. You’ll be happy to know that in the last 400 years, public and scholarly perception of you has changed dramatically.

The following, most from Philip Sohm’s article, Caravaggio’s Deaths, are examples of 17th century perceptions of Caravaggio by fellow artists and biographers: 

• “When [Giovanni Pietro] Bellori called the twelve artists of his Vite eleven saints … and one bad man … it is clear that among these twelve apostles Caravaggio played the role of Judas” (454).
• Poussin accused Caravaggio of betraying art, and, when he saw Caravaggio’s controversial The Death of the Virgin, he exclaimed: “I won’t look at it, it’s disgusting. That man was born to destroy the art of painting. Such a vulgar painting can only be the work of a vulgar man. The ugliness of his paintings will lead him to hell.”
• According to Francesco Albani, Caravaggio was responsible for the “decline and total ruin of painting” (454).
• “Vicenzo Carducho called Caravaggio the ‘anti-Christ’ and the ‘anti-Michelangelo’ because he led his followers away from the truth” and, “just as he rejected artistic authorities… so, too, did he deny Church and family” (455).
• Filippo Baldinucci thought Caravaggio was delusional upon receiving his medal from the Order of the Cross of Malta – he “referred to the proverb, ‘You can deck out an ass with a fancy saddle and gold braids as if it were a noble horse, but once it brays you know it is just an ass” (456).
• Giovanni Baglione described Caravaggio rather mildly, given their disagreeable history: he was “sarcastic and haughty … quarrelsome…” Baglione’s biography of Caravaggio can be read here, in English.

Despite all the people that hated Caravaggio as a person and thought his art represented the decline of painting, he had powerful patrons that testified to how in demand his art was. He worked for Francesco Maria Del Monte, a Cardinal who commissioned Caravaggio’s early works featuring young adolescents, such as Sick Bacchus and The Cardsharps. Del Monte’s support and commissions moved Caravaggio up on the artistic ladder of competitive Baroque Rome, and while he was there, Caravaggio received continual commissions for some of Rome’s most important churches and influential citizens. It was in Rome, too, that he attracted an artistic following, the Caravaggisti. Killing a man, fleeing Rome, and having a Papal bounty on his head could not dampen Caravaggio’s popularity as an artist. Some of his most powerful protectors were also his patrons. He spent the last four years of his life fleeing from bounty hunters and the authorities and continuing to paint devotion-inspiring and thought-provoking religious scenes. While on the run, he worked for one of Malta’s most imposing men, Alof de Wignacourt, who realized one of Caravaggio’s dreams by inducting him into the Order of the Knights of Malta. In Malta, Caravaggio received a large commission for the Beheading of Saint John. He got into a brawl, was imprisoned and stripped of his new title, fra (brother), escaped prison in a Tom Cruise-esque legendary manner, and fled. He went to Sicily, where he painted several religious scenes and was kept company by friends. A few months later Caravaggio reached  Naples, and an attempt on his life was made, disfiguring his beloved face. With Wignacourt and the Knights against him, and anonymous parties attacking him in the street, Caravaggio headed north for Rome to further his attempts at obtaining a pardon. Mythological accounts of his death exist, so historically accurate details are difficult to pick out, however, my favorite account is this: Caravaggio reached the Port’Ercole and got off the boat with his belongings still on board. He was arrested by a guard for essentially no reason and spent a couple days in jail. Once he had the money, he posted bail and immediately went to the harbor, where legend has it the boat that had his prized possessions – including painting(s) meant for Cardinal Scipione Borghese, who could pardon Caravaggio of his murderous crime – sailed off before his eyes. He ran after the boat along the beach, and in the hot sun, fainted, fell sick with fever, and died.

In the last four centuries, many biographers and scholars have contributed to our understanding or misunderstanding of Caravaggio.  A number of these scholars work(ed) in American universities and many more can be found all over the globe, as well. A couple contributors are not art historians by trade, but have produced compelling biographies of Caravaggio, most notably Peter Robb’s M: The Man Who Became Caravaggio and Andrew Graham-Dixon’s Caravaggio: A Life Sacred and Profane. Caravaggio.com has an extensive list of scholars who have contributed to the body of scholarship surrounding Caravaggio.

I’d like to focus on what you think about Caravaggio. I asked this on the website’s Facebook page and Tumblr:

I was so happy with the astute  responses!

• doublebifrost‘s response brings up one of the most important and immediately recognizable aspects of Caravaggio’s art: his stark, unforgiving realism. “I always loved the fact that he used ordinary, non-rich folks as his models and never went for flattery over realism in their likeness ” One of my favorite things about Caravaggio as a person is his stubbornness. He refused to compromise his artistic vision to merely satisfy his patrons or conform to the norm standard of representation. Despite painting for Roman ‘royalty,’ he still kept company with the people he wanted to – prostitutes, fellow artists, jokesters, drunkards. He enjoyed wearing the fine clothes of an Italian nobleman and carrying a sword or two. Unlike Andrea Mantegna, a painter for the court of Mantua in the Renaissance, who was treated like royalty and purportedly thought of himself as such, Caravaggio didn’t place himself on a pedestal except to acknowledge that he was a good artist and that was it.
• abbscules and deadsunflower both brought up another striking feature of Caravaggio’s art that made his art so impacting: his use of lighting. Caravaggio’s use of lighting was unparalleled in the 17th century. He mastered chiaroscuro and controlled the lighting in his painting so that it revealed, hid, or emphasized parts of the story being told on canvas. 
  
• On Facebook, Jennifer says: “I think he totally deserves every bit of recognition he gets, if not more! I’m actually not a huge fan of the Baroque period overall, but I absolutely love Caravaggio. I think my favorite is “the Calling of St. Matthew”… I love how he recalls the gesture of God the Father in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel in Jesus’ gesture towards Matthew. The dynamic between St. Matthew and Christ and the onlookers is so powerful. I also love the detail in “The Lute Player” as well. He did an amazing job of using brilliant colors and depicting emotion without being ostentatious.” Jennifer’s statement contains part of the beauty of Caravaggio’s art: that you don’t have to like the Baroque period to appreciate it! The realism is so easy to relate to, so natural, that the viewer can’t help but be drawn into what’s being portrayed.
• wtfArtHistory mentioned one of Caravaggio’s many artistic rivals, Annibale Carracci. Rivalry is a key component to consider when studying Caravaggio’s art, and this comment hits the nail on the head by acknowledging the Cerasi Chapel in Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome: “I love the juxtaposition between Caravaggio & Annibale in the Cerasi chapel, which for me demonstrates two strands of painting in 1601 ” A quick glance at the Web Gallery of Art’s page for the chapel and you can see how different Annibale’s painting and representational styles were from Caravaggio. In such direct contrast to Caravaggio, Annibale’s work is much more Rococo, if I may, and standing in that chapel, I imagine I would be hard pressed to take him seriously when faced with the intense, brooding imagery of the two Caravaggios nearby.  Annibale wins, in the end: Caravaggio’s style spread internationally, while Annibale’s style took over Italy by the end of the 17th century.
• dr-attonitus described Caravaggio’s Judith Beheading Holofernes as “theatre on canvas.” This statement sums up the entire body of Caravaggio’s work and the reaction the viewer has watching it unfold.
• Several readers mentioned their favorite paintings by Caravaggio: The Sick Bacchus, The Calling of St. Matthew, The Lute Player, Judith Beheading Holofernes, The Crucifixion of St. Peter.
• fauvinist suggested that Caravaggio “deserves an HBO show. x) But one that’s supremely accurate and belligerent.” I think we need to band together and start a petition!

It is pure joy for me to see the wealth of scholarship and general interest in Caravaggio that has bubbled up and been sustained in the past couple decades. I don’t think scholars are done telling Caravaggio’s story. I am certainly not!

Happy birthday to a complicated, talented, groundbreaking artist.

As I was preparing this tribute post to Caravaggio, I struggled with what sort of dessert I could post an image of in celebration of his birthday. By the 17th century, cakes had taken their modern tiered, icing, decorated form, but only the very wealthy had elaborate cakes. And I have no idea what an Italian Baroque cake would have looked like, anyway. I thought about chocolate chip cookies, but they weren’t developed until the 19th century. So, instead of posting an image of a sweet, tasty treat, I decided on a staple of every 17th century Italian’s diet: wine!

Caravaggio, Adolescent Bacchus, 1595-97. Detail.

I hope you had fun celebrating Caravaggio’s birthday in this post!

Tags: Art History, Caravaggio, History, Italian Baroque, Italy, Rome, Tumblr

Hello all! A brief update on some updates to the website:

• Shorts: This page consists of essay shorts I’ve written. They are usually accompanied/based on a photo or painting. Shorts are not visible on the homepage, but from the homepage, you can access them by clicking the “Shorts” link.
• Facebook: Caravaggista.com now has a Facebook page, the intent of which is to promote community and of course, art history.
• Tumblr: This is an informal blog dedicated to art history, promoting education, literacy, cute cats, and photography. It will eventually become more structured, consisting of a work of art per day with a brief paragraph about it.
• Share & Promote this website on Facebook, Tumblr, or your blog. You can choose from a variety of buttons to display on your blog or website if you really like this site.
• New About Section: I divided up the original ‘About This Website’ into About… The Author, Why? [Why Caravaggista?], Contact, and an intellectual property disclaimer.

Tags: Art History, Facebook, News, Tumblr, Updates, Website