Stonemason's Yard

Canaletto
Canaletto, Stonemason's Yard, 1726

In the year of 1720, a 23-year-old young man came back from Roma to his beloved hometown, Venice, after things went little rough in the sets of Scarlatti's new opera. Unlike his father, the experience as a theatrical scenery painter was not all that delightful; for him, it was a little hard to adjust to working with theater people. Luckily, after, as he said later down the road in his life, "solemnly excommunicated the theater," he soon realized his talent in painting. As it turned out that the Roman sojourn was not all that fruitless, the experience of scenery painting gave him a thorough grounding in perspective, draughtsmanship, and architecture. So when he returned to Venice, he soon dove into the art of realistic view paintings. Shortly, a formerly-unknown name was mentioned more and more frequently among the patrons and finicky collectors, and compared alongside with the already famous Carlevaris.

Canaletto, a young painter specialized in Venetian townscapes, who could make the sun “shine" in his picture, attracted many eyes sated by the French Rococo style. Derived from his early apprenticeship in scene painting, the theatricality that Canaletto created in his painting provided the viewer with the exact amount of immediacy. Such as in his Stonemason's Yard, the close observation of daily life, expressed through the exaggerated foreshortening and great contrast of light and shadow, created a scene provincial, yet with the aesthetic merit that everyday life could not provide.

In the 1720s, before Canaletto turned his frame to more celebrated sites for the tourist market, we see a romantic, perhaps bit cavalier young painter, setting up his easel in the streets of Venice, among the working people and great architecture, conveying an easy and almost poetic mood of the townscapes. Well, appreciate and cherish that much as you can, in art and in life, because like Canaletto, it all slipped right through the brushes and never came back.

  • 7:00 AM

Marriage A-La-Mode, part II

1743
William Hogarth, Marriage A-La-Mode: 2, 1743

William Hogarth, an English painter, is known for his '"modern" and 'moral' subjects. Hogarth interned with a goldsmith. Later on his career he started to work with painting. Hogarth was continually claiming that his work was plagiarized and lobbied vociferously for the Copyright Act of 1735 to protect writers and artists.

In Marriage A-La-Mode presents a scene of higher class citizens. There are three hard diagonals. The first starting on the far left side, the corner of the frames down through the man in the blue coat. The second starts at the window down through the man in the red coat. The last one the man on the far right, beginning at his head going through all the way down through his toe.

Hogarth balances the painting with inception paintings (the paintings within the painting) above all of the people on the bottom. Also, the paintings are used as harsh verticals to split the painting in to thirds. The use of the clusters of people adds to this effect. Within the thirds there is a different object on the floor, left: a dog; middle: the handkerchief; and right the family tree. He uses the men on the far sides, on the left the man in the blue coat and on the right the man in the red coat to balance the painting as well.

The man standing facing the window holds blueprints for a building. One could assume that the building is the one that is being built outside the window. The men in the center, are holding money and papers that are talking about the marriage of the woman and the man to the left. The man in the red coat is pointing to the family tree on the floor. Possibly showing that they will be added to the family tree. If you look at the woman she does not look happy to be betrothed. While the man leaning into her looks more than delighted that she is going to be married.

  • 7:00 AM

Broken Eggs

1756
Jean-Baptiste Greuze, Broken Eggs, 1756

 Upon his first meeting with Cosette, Monsieur Gillenormand can’t help but exclaims, “How pretty she is! She is a Greuze.” This reference of Greuze in Les Misérables clearly demonstrates the acknowledged touching quality of his paintings, as if bringing up the artist’s name immediately provokes an image of a misty-eyed, love-craving teenage girl.

Truthfully, Greuze did his fair amount of teen girl portraits. Unlike the fellow painters of his time, Fragonard and Hubert Robert, Greuze devoted himself in the picturesque details of the contemporary life of ordinary people, rather than indulging in the ancient art and brilliance of the Renaissance. Genre paintings, a term that arose in 18th century France to describe painters who, like Greuze, specialized in elimination of idealization and focusd on the rudimentary conponents of life. And what’s a better example of daily life than broken eggs? 

Finished in 1756, the time when Greuze first rose to fame, Broken Eggs presents a moral teaching to all. A young woman dressed in working-class clothes sits at the lower left, again looking sad and embarrassed; besides her a basket sits of broken eggs. The middle figure, a young man dressed in fancy attire tries to get to the woman, but he is being held angrily by what appears to be the girl’s mother. Then we recognize a naughty boy on far right, who completes the compositional triangle of the other figures. 

The broken eggs on the floor suggest the impossibility of repairing what’s broken, hinting the girl’s lost virginity. The mother looks aggressive and angry, threatening the young man to take responsibility of he has done. The man, on the other hand, does not seem that he’s going in a bloody fight with the mother, rather he shows a determination to fix the situation. This strikes a similarity even 250 years later, when people still try to restore the innocence that’s already lost, or deal with the consequences of irreparable actions. Greuze, the moral compass of 18th century French art, here, teaches us an important lesson - what’s broken is broken. 

  • 7:00 AM

Monkey as Painter

Chardin
Jean-Siméon Chardin, Monkey as Painter, 1740

I chose this painting because to me it seemed a little different from the rest of Chardin’s work. Chardin’s works may flaunt his talent for painting rich color and positioning his objects beautifully in space, but to me his work has always felt a little dry. I admired his talent, but I couldn’t spend hours looking at his paintings. Then I found this hilarious painting of a monkey carefully outlining what looks like a portrait. Clad in typical painter's garb and standing next to his painter’s equipment, Chardin’s monkey looks unnervingly human. Its haunting eyes stare back at the viewer plaintively. I can’t get over the eyes—they give the monkey intelligence, which for some reason makes it way funnier. Aside from being hilarious, this picture actually appeals to me on a compositional level as well. Chardin was a master of the art of painting, and he used his talent here. The brushwork around the monkey’s head in particular blows me away. The amount of detail he gets out of the fur on the monkey’s face seems impossible given the rather few brush strokes he uses.

Although painting a monkey as a painter deviates dramatically from Chardin’s typical still lifes and domestic scenes, Chardin’s hallmarked style shines through. In particular, the lighting is typical of Chardin—light does not seem to come from a specific source. The painting seems illuminated from within. Chardin forgoes the dramatic lighting present in paintings by past masters like Rembrandt and Caravaggio for a quieter feel. His paintings feel calm—the studios, tables, and kitchens he paints seem inviting and warm. I am not sure how I feel about this. At a passing glance, his works seem pleasant enough to look at—the proportions fit nicely and the colors are beautiful. But to me, at least, his paintings seem to grow flat after a while. I cannot stare into one of his paintings and feel absorbed like I can the works of some of the great old masters. However, Chardin may not have objected to this. He painted in the enlightenment, and his works represented a move away from emotional religious scenes towards the cold rationality of the enlightenment. The flat emotion this painting and its brethren give off may signify a calculated choice to prefer science over the fires of torment or the light of salvation.

  • 3:09 PM

A Shaded Avenue

A Shaded Avenue
Fragonard, A Shaded Avenue, 1773

When I enthusiastically chose Fragonard in class this week, a few key words came to mind: "naughty", "hedonism,", and "trees." I scrolled through pieces like The Swing and the like, blatant eroticism abounding, and then I came upon this. There is nothing blatant about this piece other than Fragonard's pride in his trees. The entire scene is about the distractions around this couple's secret rendezvous, whether that be the girl picking weeds or the statue and those gazing at it in the corner, but especially the overwhelming archway of trees. It is intimate in the cleverest of ways, with the entire piece emphasizing how hard it is for these lovers to be alone with each other, finding the one place they can meet without disapproving eyes. The girl wears a bonnet and apron while her suitor wears a suit, so their class difference is apparent.

But the truly unique aspect of the piece is how inconspicuous every character in it is. There is no emphasis on the couple or the onlookers at all. They are all completely overshadowed by the trees reaching into the heavens. Fragonard uses similar colors all through the piece to blend the characters into these sky-scraping trees, with dark greens and browns giving the scene a far more natural tone than his usual work. Honestly, the colors make every part of the scene seem natural, in both the way of the vegetation and of their romance. Fragonard is awful sneaky...

  • 7:00 AM

Allegory of the Planets and Continents

1752

Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Allegory of the Planets and Continents, 1752

If the Rococo movement were a contest to include the most post-Baroque extravagance, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo could easily rest on his laurels.  A fresco spanning nearly thirty square feet, Allegory of the Planets and Continents attempts to encapsulate European perspectives of the entire known universe.  The periphery depicts America, Africa, Asia, and Europe, while in the center a line of classical gods spirals up to the sun beyond Apollo.  In keeping with the Rococo standard of over-embellishment and intense details, Tiepolo creates a graceful setting for nearly one hundred deities, humans, and animals.

On the American side of the fresco gathers a feather- and antler-clad band of natives, with a kingly figure almost mockingly perched upon an alligator, maybe a sign of his false throne.  On the opposite side of the work sits, much more elevated, an imperious-looking European ruler with the laurels of Rome, the greatest ruler in the world.  On the other hand, Asia's leader figure appears to be falling off of an elephant as other humans tumble on the ground and a philosopher gesticulate.  And the "African" representatives glory in wealth and lie lazily against camels.  One could note how the actual African continent is neglected in favor of Middle Eastern culture.  The sky holds Hermes with his trademark caduceus and array of other winged beings on clouds.

Allegory of the Planets and Continents isn't a simple ceiling decoration.  For a moment, stop analyzing.  Just observe.  Count the subjects.  See how the dark border fades into sunlight.  It may not be politically correct, but it is an artistic attempt to capture the world with exquisite detail.  Even if it's a very Eurocentric world.

  • 7:00 AM

Pilgrimage Church Of Wies

Die Wies Pilgrimage Church
Dominikus Zimmermann, Pilgrimage Church of Wies, 1745-54

 Is it a palace? Is it a museum? Nope. It’s a church in Steingaden, Germany, and ornate doesn’t even begin to describe this Rococo masterpiece created by Dominikus Zimmermann. From the outside, the building appears to be simple, plain, a place you go to worship, but the closer you get to the door, the more detail you begin to notice. Then, when you open the doors, your senses immediately go into overdrive, as you try to take in every minute detail Zimmermann presents to you. The gold detailing on the columns that lead your eye up. The religious frescos that greet your gaze at the ceiling. The angels that spread their wings in the painted, heavenly sky. The white walls that contrast the lavish and ornate center. These elements make the architecture and design of this church a force to be reckoned with, and it all started with a wooden statue of Christ.

A woman from the town of Steingaden, Germany, claimed to have seen the wooden Christ cry, and when people flocked to pray to the tear-stained statue, the town realized that a small chapel could not host this amount of visitors. Thus, the town decided to erect a church that would be built around the statue.

Zimmermann began the creation of this holy place in 1745, and completed the project in 1754. With the help of his talented brother, Johann Baptist Zimmermann, Dominikus created a sanctuary for not only worshippers, but also those who admire the skills and details that make up the Rococo Period. 

I was immediately drawn to this church as all the bright colors, gold, and detail captured my eye, but I also found it interesting how the Rococo design influenced the building techniques of churches. The Fleming textbook describes the Enlightenment Period, in which Rococo flourished, as a time that “challenged the entrenched power of religion and government with the authority of knowledge,” and if this is so, why did a trending design that was linked to the Enlightenment spread to the church? Zimmerman understood that while some pushed against the church, others still remained loyal, and  Zimmermann attempted to give both groups what they wanted. Zimmerman pushed the boundary between the church and the changing society, using elements of both to create one structure. A church for worship, and an architectural masterpiece to examine for centuries.

Today, the Pilgrimage Church of Weis, also known as Wieskirche, is under the protection of UNESCO, and will be preserved as a piece of history forever. 

  • 7:00 AM

La Boudeuse

1718
Antoine Watteau,  La Boudeuse, 1718

Looking at this painting I find myself wanting more from it, I want to be lured into it, captured by its beauty and emotion. But all I really get are a couple of misplaced figures in a well-painted meadow. Watteau paints theatrical scenes and sometimes he takes those figures and places them into a colorful backdrop. Clearly these amorous lovers are having a moment, but I feel like I can't connect with it. The woman stares back at you not with passion but rather melancholy and subtle boredom. Even Watteau's technique is nothing stunning - a flat painting at eye level, no real characterized depth and no embracing feeling as you look.

Despite the subject matter this painting is unique and done with great skill. The shadowing on their clothing is some of the most accurate and makes the colors pop. Movement and color were two of Watteau's best allies when it came to painting these scenes. During the Rococo painters figured out that not only did subject matter, but color also really added to the beauty. Mocked up by looking at Venetian furniture and art,Watteau received great praise from critics and common people alike for his luminous palette.

The thing that strikes me is the precision he is able to produce from such large brush strokes. It's as if he can envision not only the shapes, but also the color in such massive steps. I also enjoy how I get more emotion out of those harsh strokes than I do looking at this rosy-cheeked man court this woman. 

  • 7:00 AM

The Dead Soldier

1790

Joseph Wright of Derby, The Dead Soldier, 1790 

The soldier is the focal point, almost in the center of the painting, clad in scarlet. My eyes travel directly to his crumpled figure in brilliant red. But then, like a nightmare, I notice his hand. His hand is green. Cue the blood-curdling scream.

Perhaps even more disturbing than the hand itself is the disheveled woman clasping it, crying into it. Obviously distressed at her husband’s death, she has turned her face away from us. She is having one final private moment with her love. Her baby is the only one whose face we see. It lays in its mothers’ arms, expressionless, placid. It does not mourn its father's death. Instead, it invites us into the makeshift tent. Its hand clasps its father’s, linking the innocence of young life and the corruption of war and death. Those three cannot escape the war. It rages on behind them, fills the sky with smoke. Bursts of red direct our eyes diagonally across the painting deeper into the battle, from the wife’s dress in the bottom left corner, to the scarlet corpse, to the cannon wheel hiding in the shadows, to the flash of pink in the center-right. Red punctures the painting, makes it bleed.

I don’t want to look at this painting anymore. It makes me want to scream, to pull the baby away from its inescapable misery, to let go of the green hand. But I can’t. I have to let this scene live on in eternal turmoil and be thankful that I don’t share its fate.

  • 7:00 AM

The Chinese Garden

Boucher
Boucher, The Chinese Garden, 1742

 While scanning the page of Boucher's masterpieces, I stumbled across this beauty and wondered, How does this painting belong with the others? Why are there such rad colors in this and not the others? Where can I buy that sweet orange hat? What is up with that guy's hair? The more I looked at this, the more I fell in love with it, and the more interesting it became.

When I looked closely at this painting I realized that there were some aspects that were typical of a Boucher, while there were other aspects that were unique to this painting. This change represents Boucher's transition from his traditional work to the chinoiserie style. For example, what initially drew me to this painting was the vibrant blues and oranges. The use of these colors immediately made me realize that this painting was unlike many of the others that Boucher painted, as he traditionally used more pastel colors with intricate gold work. In addition, the background of the painting seems like it could stand alone as a Chinese landscape rather than a lush forest.

The theme of the painting, on the other hand, remained the same. Like many of Boucher's paintings, there is a highlighted woman being pampered. Although there are no distinct rays of light or shadows to draw the eye to one particular person; however, the woman having flowers put into her hair is obviously significant because of how pale her skin is. The lightness of the skin seems to increase with the ranks of the people painted. One detail I thought was interesting was the fact that even though this painting is of a Chinese garden, the women of focus in the painting are wearing clothes that resemble the European women's clothes that Boucher painted in other works. Another similarity in this work is the level of fancy "fluff" in the painting. The flowers put in the woman's hair are similar to the jewels that surround many other women that Boucher painted. 

At first glance, it seems as though this painting does not fit with many of Boucher's other famous works, but in reality, many details stay true to Boucher's traditional style, while others were slightly influenced by the new chinoiserie craze.

  • 7:00 AM