The National Gallery in London has over 2500 paintings. Obviously, when one goes around trying to absorb it all, the images start to collapse into each other. Yet, I remember this one in particular by Diego Velásquez. As the guide positioned our group in front of this painting, I had several facetious thoughts at once which is I guess bound to happen when one comes from a country where only religious mendicants and very old people avail the liberties of bare flesh and stands in front of a classical nude. In any case, I remember thinking of nudes as sophisticated pornography for the rich. It is, in fact, not completely erroneous to think the rich men who commissioned these paintings for their boudoirs and the male artists who painted them shared in the male gaze directed at the female model who never returns the look but always looks away. This painting, however, has so much more going on than any of the Susannah bathing series which is so much more voyeuristic in its perspective. The Venus depicted here does not possess classical features but if you look in the mirror appears to have a more ordinary, low-brow if you will, face. To place this subject in a tradition of classical nudes was quite revolutionary. What is even more interesting is the history of its possession. It survived the Spanish Inquisition hidden behind curtains and secret doors. The curtain, of course, enhanced the voyeuristic effect of the painting. It made its way to an individual in Yorkshire who, having spent a lot of money in acquiring this painting, wanted to display it proudly to the public. However, the problem was that displaying such a painting would be offensive to ladies that would be present in his house. His solution was to hang it above his six-feet tall fireplace. This decision was based on the assumption that women, following the respectable code of behavior, would only either look down demurely or look up to meet the gaze of the men. Under no circumstance would a respectable woman look all around her--that would be considered unseemly! The painting and its placement together are such an interesting commentary on the privilege of the male gaze. It gets even better. During the suffragette movement, when British women were demanding the right to vote and were being imprisoned, a suffragette came in an hit this painting with an axe! Her explanation was that she wanted to destroy something "beautiful." The newspapers went berserk and spoke about it almost in terms of assault. Bruise on the shoulder, the wound...all such phrases seemed to indicate that the violent feminist had attacked the beautiful, passive woman. Even today, despite the repair work, we can see the area where the axe had torn the canvas apart. The fine lines are the marks of history, of male ownership of the female form and the feminist revolt.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
The Toilet of Venus
The National Gallery in London has over 2500 paintings. Obviously, when one goes around trying to absorb it all, the images start to collapse into each other. Yet, I remember this one in particular by Diego Velásquez. As the guide positioned our group in front of this painting, I had several facetious thoughts at once which is I guess bound to happen when one comes from a country where only religious mendicants and very old people avail the liberties of bare flesh and stands in front of a classical nude. In any case, I remember thinking of nudes as sophisticated pornography for the rich. It is, in fact, not completely erroneous to think the rich men who commissioned these paintings for their boudoirs and the male artists who painted them shared in the male gaze directed at the female model who never returns the look but always looks away. This painting, however, has so much more going on than any of the Susannah bathing series which is so much more voyeuristic in its perspective. The Venus depicted here does not possess classical features but if you look in the mirror appears to have a more ordinary, low-brow if you will, face. To place this subject in a tradition of classical nudes was quite revolutionary. What is even more interesting is the history of its possession. It survived the Spanish Inquisition hidden behind curtains and secret doors. The curtain, of course, enhanced the voyeuristic effect of the painting. It made its way to an individual in Yorkshire who, having spent a lot of money in acquiring this painting, wanted to display it proudly to the public. However, the problem was that displaying such a painting would be offensive to ladies that would be present in his house. His solution was to hang it above his six-feet tall fireplace. This decision was based on the assumption that women, following the respectable code of behavior, would only either look down demurely or look up to meet the gaze of the men. Under no circumstance would a respectable woman look all around her--that would be considered unseemly! The painting and its placement together are such an interesting commentary on the privilege of the male gaze. It gets even better. During the suffragette movement, when British women were demanding the right to vote and were being imprisoned, a suffragette came in an hit this painting with an axe! Her explanation was that she wanted to destroy something "beautiful." The newspapers went berserk and spoke about it almost in terms of assault. Bruise on the shoulder, the wound...all such phrases seemed to indicate that the violent feminist had attacked the beautiful, passive woman. Even today, despite the repair work, we can see the area where the axe had torn the canvas apart. The fine lines are the marks of history, of male ownership of the female form and the feminist revolt.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Proserpine by Rossetti
Went to Tate Britain today, especially for their Pre-Raphaelite collection. All the magnificent paintings I'd always seen in print and wondered about were there in front of me and the effect was stupendous. The painters and their women; their poems inscribed on the frame...some on my mind made it process where past and present collided. What I like best about their paintings is their narrative quality which I guess is not surprising considering I've devoted the best part of my life to narratives. Look at 'Proserpine' by Rossetti and how he uses the myth of the maiden trapped in the dark underworld for six months of every year of her life and spending that time longing for light. Look at how the painter captures the pensive expression in the model's eyes. Of course, it is Jane Morris, the wife of Rosetti's best friend William Morris who Rossetti was in love with. Maybe it is Rossetti's subjectivity at work here: seeing Jane as Proserpine, trapped in marriage. I love how Dante uses the burst of color in the pomegranate to contrast with the lush darkness that envelops Proserpine on all sides. Yet there is a hint of light...as if spring is almost here and she will be free again. Did I say I loved the Pre-Raphaelites?!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
