Does My Theory About Caravaggio's Paintings Hold Water? (or Wine?)

This portrait of Maffaeo Barberini is a disputed Caravaggio painting, and one of the ones being included in MFA Boston's Spring 2014 exhibit. Art historians think this portrait was done in 1596. Its subject later became Pope Urban VII; he was a supporter of the arts and a poet and there are records to show that he later commissioned a painting by Caravaggio, so the two of them are undoubtedly connected in history. I was lucky enough to see it last year at LACMA's Caravaggio exhibit, and it is lovely, but based on a very superficial observation, I have to doubt its provenance. Here's why: there are a number of other paintings known to be done by Caravaggio from the same time period - 1596-1602 - that also feature a vase that is exactly the same each time, but which is slightly different than the one in the portrait at the left (which, please notice, has grooves in it). Here they are:

This is called Boy Bitten by a Lizard (1596). Check out the shape and style of the vase of flowers he painted. No grooves.

There's also this one, entitled "Bacchus" (also 1596). There are a lot of similarites between Lizard and Bacchus, but let's focus on the vase for a second, which holds wine this time. The vase looks exactly the same as the one he used in Lizard.

There's also this one, Penitent Magdalen (1597). This time the vase may hold wine again, or perhaps perfume or oil, according to some art historians. It's the same one Caravaggio used above.

And finally, here's Supper at Emmaus(1602) again, which I posted in a previous blog. Again, with the same carafe (I know it's a little hard to see the vase on the crowded table, but it's the same shape and style).













So why use a vase with grooves in it, unless you are a lesser painter who might struggle with painting such clear relfection of light? Or unless you are someone else and it is the closest thing you can find to the shape of the vase Caravaggio repeatedly used? He was such an influential painter that were was a whole generation of artists who later imitated his style of painting in lights and darks. They were even given a name - the "Caravaggisti".

Caravaggio was a master of reflection - if you can squint and see in each of the other examples where the vase he is using is probably the same, you can see light or windows reflected very clearly in it each time. It makes you think of the flash in a photograph, but remember, it was well before flash photography. In the Maffaeo Barberini portrait, you can see light too, which might be why some art historians attribute this to Caravaggio, but I'm not sold.

Because I'm such a Caravaggio nerd, I cannot help but share one last detail about reflections and vases in Caravaggio paintings that is just so cool. The picture at left is a detail from Caravaggio's Barcchus that was only noticed after the painting was cleaned in the 1920's. It's a small person and an easel - a self portrait of the painter reflected in the glass. Apparently it's hard to see unless you're up close (I've never seen this painting in person, so I only know about it from my reading). Is there any doubt that Caravaggio was the most important Baroque painters when we uncover details like these?

Maybe there's a reflection in the Maffaeo Barberini portrait in Boston's exhibit- I'll check when I'm there....

Caravaggio's Portraits: (Without) Warts and All

Here's another painting that's part of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston's #TrueCaravaggio exhibit.

So...all the stuff I posted in my last blog, about Caravaggio's trademarks? The stuff about the red drapery and the dirty feet and things falling off ledges? Yeah, throw that stuff out the window for this, because this is a portrait. Painting portraits must be a particularly challenging thing: yes, you get paid to make them, and that's obviously good, but you must also make a portrait realistic AND flattering if you want to get paid- which, I imagine, can be challenging when the subject of your portrait is a 74 year old military man. Caravaggio (this work is known to be by him) totally succeeded here. Here's the backstory I can scrabble together for this painting, which makes it all that much more interesting:

Caravaggio killed someone from a powerful family in Rome in 1606, possibly over a tennis game, possibly by accident. (It wasn't his first run-in with the Italian police either.) He spent the rest of his life on the run, in different cities, trying to rebuild his reputation and get back to Rome, where he had been famous and sought after for the best painting commissions in the city. One of the places he ran to was Malta, where he hoped to be made a knight. Why? It's thought that he assumed this would give him the stature he needed to be pardoned for his crime. Obviously, being made a knight is no easy feat, however. Caravaggio painted this portrait, and another similar one, to ingratiate himself with the knights in his new (albeit temporary) home.

First off, let's look at our portrait of Fra Antonio Martelli (above). In Michael Fried's The Moment of Caravaggio he says that x-rays that have been taken of Caravaggio's paintings often prove that he likely painted ears first when he painted someone, and that "in general, in his paintings, ears are given fully as much prominence as eyes." He wasn't talking of his particular portrait, but he certainly could have been; we don't see two eyes, but an ear and an eye - unusual for a portrait. Andrew Graham-Dixon says of this painting in his Caravaggio biography, A Life Sacred and Profane,that "Caravaggio has painted the hands so cursorily they seem unfinished. It was the sitter's face that fascinated him." Hmm. I'll be happy to see this in Boston and judge for myself - the hands seem pretty good to me! Imagine the intracacies of painting the hand holding the sword.

This Caravaggio painting of Alof de Wigancourt (which hangs in the Louvre in Paris) was done around the same time as the one above, which I'm showing here since, for many years, people thought they were of the same person, and in fact, the one mentioned above was at one time thought to be a practice version of this one. Again, we see the importance of the ear, and only one eye visible (well, basically). What I've read suggests that perhaps Caravaggio posed his subject this way because he wanted to flatter, and Alof de Wigancourt had a prominent wart on the side of his nose that's hidden in shadow. He also looks quite a bit thinner here than I've seen him in portraits by other painters...again, probably Caravaggio really wanting that to get on his good side (literally) to secure that papal pardon and a passage back to Rome.











And it speaks to Caravaggio's new humility (for lack of a better word), for him to hide flaws in painting someone. When painting Fillide Melandroni, a prostitute that was the subject of at least four of his paintings, he always kept her gimpy finger. Check it out below,in the upper hand, holding the sword:

and here, holding the mirror:

So...is the portrait of Fra Antonio Martelli a #TrueCaravaggio? Yes. But a humbled Caravaggio, who was on the run.

True Caravaggio? St. Francis in Prayer at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts

There's a brief, small, Caravaggio exhibit being held in Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts this spring. They have two known works by the painter and two that are attributed to him, and are asking the public about what does or doesn’t make these paintings authentic by tweeting their opinions with the hashtag “#truecaravaggio”. I'll be flying out to Boston in a few weeks to see it. I’m only a hack – a self-taught art history buff who’s spent some time in Rome and who has a particular interest in Caravaggio, the 17th century Italian painter, but here goes.

St. Francis in Prayer, by Caravaggio (?) This is one of the 'attributed' ones. (I refer to it several times below.)


Here’s one of the paintings from the Boston exhibition they’re asking us to analyze. I’ve seen it before, in Rome, but it’s not one of his more stunning works; as Caravaggio paintings go, I find this one rather ho-hum. It’s also missing a lot of his trademarks (you’ll see them in some of the painting examples to follow). Where’s the dramatic swath of red curtain or drapery? Where’s the lovely play of light on bare skin that Caravaggio is so good at? There’s a particularly good opportunity for him to paint dirty bare feet here too, which he seemed to love to do, and yet he didn’t bother with that. And no one has been beheaded here either (at least recently).


Judith Beheading Holofernes, by Caravaggio. See the dramatic red curtain? Oh yes, and check out the beheading. He liked to paint both of these things.

So for all the typical Caravaggio things that aren’t here, what is here to make art historians think the St. Francis is one of his paintings? Well, we do have a skull (he was rather fond of those, as seen in his paintings of St. Jerome in Meditation, St. Jerome writing, and another version of St. Francis in Meditation). St. Francis himself does look quite a bit like the same St. Francis Caravaggio painted in his much lovelier painting St. Francis of Assisi in Ecstasy (see below)- same trimmed beard, facial wrinkles, and haircut fringe. The robe is a similar colour and is tied with a rope here as well (but then all Capuchin monks robes look like this). And the angled cross and rock does remind me a little of his Crucifixion of St. Peter masterpiece. There’s the dramatic lighting of a Caravaggio painting here, with light coming from one source on one side, and a dark background, and a very simple halo on the central figure like the one he gave the Madonna of Lareto. He’s put a patch on the shoulder of the monk’s robe to draw your eye away from the central action in the painting (according to Caravaggio author Fried), just like he did with St. Thomas in the Incredulity of St. Thomas painting or the disciple on the left in the first Supper at Emmaus painting he did.


Crucifixion of St. Peter, by Caravaggio. Note the rock, and the angled cross, the swath of red, and the lovely play of light on skin from the single light source. Also note the unusual composition where we see people’s backs and dirty feet.

But I find the composition of St. Francis in Prayer….boring. (Sorry, whoever wrote in ArtDaily that this was a ‘profoundly moving’ image, but I disagree.) Normally we’re seeing a different angle in a Caravaggio painting – someone’s back (Cardsharps, Musicians, Rest on the Flight into Egypt , Calling of St. Matthew, or Crucifixion of St. Peter, above) or we are in the middle of the action (Taking of Christ, Sacrifice of Isaac), or something’s at least about to fall off a ledge (Entombment, Supper at Emmaus, seen below.). I realize this is meant to be a solitary, thoughtful work, but even so – it just seems so….brown. Caravaggio was more of a show off than this, wasn’t he? The painting makes me think of a cheesy bridal portrait where the photographer asks the bride to look at her flowers. And is he licking his lips while looking at the skull? I suppose it’s a good thing I’m headed to Boston to see this in person again because I think St. Francis looks rather more hungry than pensive.


Supper at Emmaus, by Caravaggio. Again, note dramatic light and shadows and the bits of red. But also, the patch on the elbow of the left disciple and how the fruit bowl is about to fall off the table – classic Caravaggio touches.

Complicating the authenticity of this particular St. Francis in Prayer painting as a Caravaggio is the fact that I’ve read that it was copied frequently. (And just before its inclusion in this Boston exhibition, this painting appeared alongside another, almost identical version of it in a small exhibition at the College of William and Mary, in Virginia, although that painting is unfortunately not part of the Boston exhibition I’m going to see.) I’ve read that the version I’m going to see in Boston is thought to be the original because after undergoing x-rays, they can see that the figure in it was originally painted a little smaller and the hand holding the skull was originally painted in a slightly different position (and obviously, a copier wouldn’t copy that). However, what’s to say that Caravaggio didn’t copy his own painting and they’re both by his hand? He was known to do that (Fortune Teller and John the Baptist being obvious examples). And again, I must ask, why was this particular painting of Caravaggio’s frequently copied? I wonder if it could be related to something as simple as cost and ease – there aren’t many colours to mix when you’re painting something very monotone like this, and in the 17th Century, that could have been a consideration for many painters (Caravaggio himself included.)

Another complication about this painting is the approximate date it was done. John T. Spike, a Caravaggio specialist and one of the curators of the recent exhibit in Virigina dates it to 1595 in his book, but everything else I read suggests it was likely done in or around 1603. There’s no record at any point of him doing the painting (as there sometimes has been with his other works), and except for once, Carvaggio never signed any of his works- so it can be tough to tell. Several other authors of Caravaggio books (Fried, Vodret, Graham-Dixon, Robb) all consider it more likely made on the later date because of the one record that does exist, a note from the libel trial of someone who lent Caravaggio a monk’s robe and had it returned by him in 1603. But this kind of time stamp ‘evidence’ seems a bit thin, since we know the St. Francis of Assisi in Ecstasy painting he did was dated 1595 and uses the same robes.

St. Francis of Assisi in Ecstasy, by Caravaggio. See how similar the monk looks to the painting we're analyzing? But I much prefer this painting.

No matter which date it was painted, it is interesting to note that Shakespeare wrote Hamlet in roughly the same time period. And Hamlet, amongst other things, features a (now famous) speech in which the protagonist typically holds a skull, exactly like this, saying, “Alas poor Yorick! I knew him…”

I could say the same thing, but about Caravaggio – “I knew him” – at least I thought I did. Is this St. Francis in Prayer painting by him? I’m really not sure. But I can’t wait to see it again in Boston.

Selfies in Seattle

My iphone is vintage and does not have a rear facing camera, so selfies are tough for me to take.

“Can you take a ‘youie’ of me?” I asked Hannah in the lobby of our hotel in Seattle.

“What?”

“A ‘youie’. It’s a selfie you take of other people,” I explain.

“Mom, that is not a thing.”

“Yes it is. I saw it on TV.”

“Mom.”

“What?”

“It’s not called that.”

“It totes is! Totes magotes! I’ve got all the lingo down, girl. I’m cool like that,” I say. I tried doing some rad hand gesture to illustrate my coolness, but it ended up with my just sticking my thumbs up and swirling them around.

Hannah covered her eyes with her hand for a second. “You. Are. Pathetic.” she said.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

At least the picture she took was kind of nice:

Also, there were other ironic pictures:

Girls being posers in the restaurant:

Our loaner hotel goldfish, whose presence wasn’t ironic but whose name was:

The Edgar Allan Poe metal lunchbox I found:

And the girls make-your-own lego selfies:

They were each able to choose one accessory. Hannah chose a microphone and Sophie chose a sword. Why? What does this mean? I am afraid.

Rome: The Stone Cold Statue Dialogue

The Capitoline Museum in Rome has so many beautiful rooms, so many beautiful statues. You can’t appreciate them fully when they’re all together like that – you get immune to the beauty of carved marble - so I suggest that Rome should share it’s wealth of amazing statues with the rest of the world, and Steve thinks this is a good plan, and that perhaps each person should be given a statue as they leave the museum, like a very heavy goodie bag.

They have so many that they jumble statues of gods and emperors together, and sometimes even just throw in a statue of a head or a even a foot. This is what I was thinking of when I wrote this dialogue between two statues that face each other in a gallery room– one of Apollo, the god of poetry, archery, and the sun – and a mortal one of Augustus Caesar.


Apollo: So…you’re new.


Caesar: What do you mean new? I’m an ancient statue as well.


Apollo: Of course, I mean you’re new here. I used to face Hermes.


Caesar: Yes, I heard someone stuck something called ‘gum’ on his toe, so he had to go get cleaned, and they moved me in. But this is a much better view than I used to have, so I’m happy.


Apollo: Hey, what’s it like outside? I can’t believe they put me, the God of the sun, facing inward, so I never get to look at the weather.


Caesar: Well, it’s not raining.


Apollo: That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got? No descriptions of golden rays? Azure skies?

Caesar: I dunno. You’re the poetry and weather guy. It’s not bloody raining.

Apollo, sighing, then muttering under his breath: Mortals.

Ceasar: Was that a dig? I’ll have you know I was Emperor of the Roman Empire.

Apollo: Yes, but didn’t you just kind of, you know, give yourself that title?

Caesar: Well, technically, yes….

Apollo: Then I’ve made my point.

Caesar: Look here, at least we know for certain that I was real. You may be just an abstract idea.

Apollo: Are you joking? I’ve been holding this bow and arrow for thousands of years. Could a mere mortal do that? Come on. Admit it. I’m magnificent. Look at my perfect physique.

Caesar, snickering: Well, it’s not exactly perfect.

Apollo: What do you mean? Look at this six-pack. I hear people comment on it all the time.

Caesar: Fair enough….but (giggle) you’re missing your, uh, bits and pieces.

Apollo: What?!

Caesar: Your tackle. Your junk. You didn’t know? Okay, I’ll try to put this delicately. Um….someone snapped your penis off hundreds of years ago.

Apollo: What?! No!

Caesar: Oh yes. It’s even sort of, um, concave down there where it should stick out. Shame, really.

Apollo: Oh, if only I could look down to see if you were telling the truth! Hermes teased me about it once or twice, but he was such a jokester, I thought it was just posturing. You know, cause I’m a superior God.

Caesar: You know who’s superior in that department - if you know what I mean – is Priapus down on the first floor. You try not to look, but, well, you know.

Apollo: Well, at least I had something at one time. You’re fully clothed.

Caesar: Yes, the mortal statues all are. It would be a bit creepy wouldn’t it, if we made naked statues of ourselves with great physiques, and then had to run into people at the market after a few big meals? Unkind comparisons could be made. But at least I know I’m all man, uh, underneath this skirt.

Apollo: Pff. Whatever.

Pause.

Apollo: Has anyone ever told you that you look like Voldemort?

Caesar: Who’s Voldemort?

Apollo: I think he’s a modern day God, from a play called Star Wars. (I try to pick up as much as possible from the clothing and conversations I hear amongst the young people, you know.) It’s because your nose is all smashed off. That’s what they used to say about Hermes – his nose was smashed too.

Caesar: I know, I’m a bit sensitive about it….I used to have the most magnificent Roman nose. Hey, I hear there’s a beautiful statue of Venus on this floor who’s got all her fingers. I could go for some of that, let me tell you. Do you think I’d have a chance with her, or would I be completing against this Voldemort?

Apollo: Bah, don’t even bother trying. We’ve all had a go, to no avail. That statue is one stone cold bitch.

Caesar, giggling: Good one.

Apollo: he he he…..I’ve still got it.

Stylish Little Stay

The über fancy SLS Hotel in Beverly Hills was designed by famous French designer Phillip Starck (the guy who makes the uncomfortable looking clear plastic chairs). Its lobby is lit like a nightclub—very dark at all hours-- and has a tall glowing box behind the front desk with a written series of phrases that try to hint at what SLS stands for:

Soft like silk

She looks spellbound

Seriously lovely space

Scribble love sonnets

Sparkle like sunshine

Share lovely sunsets

Sleepy little sighs

And it seemed kind of cute and only just a tiny bit precious as we read these phrases while sitting on a mirrored bench, in front of a mirror, waiting to check in. Across from the bench was huge black horse lamp-- the size of an actual horse-- with a light bulb and a lampshade sticking out of his head. Beside him was an enormous pot belled pig statue, carrying a tray of tiny apples on his back.

Lisa grabbed an apple so I did too, and we ate them in about 3 bites and then found ourselves holding apple cores with nowhere to put them. “I want to think of an SLS phrase about there not being a garbage can anywhere,” I said to Lisa.

“Seriously lacking sanitation,” she shot back right away.

The room was beautiful, heavily mirrored, and featured many more SLS phrases. The Room Service menu was entitled Some Light Snacks. The mini bar drinks menu said Sip Luscious Spirits. There was a little box beside one bed called Sensuous Little Secrets that you could purchase for $26. Inside it were 2 condoms and 2 very sexy ‘adult antimicrobial wipes’. Ew. I felt they missed an opportunity by not labeling the condoms with the subtitle ‘stops little swimmers’. Oh well.

The bathroom was another adventure: were the toilet not immediately visible upon walking into the room, I would have assumed I probably had to climb up on the counter to relieve myself, since this stainless steel sink looked more like a stylish bedpan than anything else.

I loved the half-a-white-jelly-bean bathtub with mustard coloured curtains, although it was a bitch to get in and out of, and the position of the hand held shower wand caused me to knock the shampoo onto the floor every time I used it.

And, the four mirrored bathroom walls were a bit much too; short of closing my eyes, there was no way to avoid watching myself pee. (No picture of that, sorry.)

On our guestroom floor while we waited for the elevator to go out that night, we could have sat in this chair featuring a cat head on a suited person’s body,

sitting next to a lamp with a gun for a base,

beside a huge 15 foot by 7 foot backlit photo of Penelope Cruz writhing around with a snake,

and a pool table (because all of these things go so well together, obviously).

On the pool table was a little sign saying ‘sink lovely shots’, telling us to ask at the concierge desk if we wanted the billiards stuff. Perhaps they had to put the sign there because people kept bringing in their own snakes and then climbing up on the table and writhing around like Penelope? I’ll admit, it was tempting.

Only place in the whole hotel without mirrors: the elevator. Instead they had life sized pictures of people avoiding looking at each other, they way they do in a real elevator.

But what do I know about style? Nothing! When I’m in a hurry, I’ll occasionally wear crocs out of the house, and recently I got my haircut for the first time in eighteen months. Sometimes when she looks at my outfit, my ten year old daughter pats my arm condescendingly and says “It’s okay, mom.”

Ah, but what do I know about hotels? A lot. I used to be a manager in a few upscale hotels, taught hotel management in a college, and have even written textbooks on the subject, and this hotel was great in all the right ways: our room was perfectly silent, I slept soundly, the soap smelled good, and, most importantly, the staff were so kind and professional I’d say I haven’t experienced better service anywhere. So what if their breakfast menu features a twenty five dollar dish of quail eggs, mixed with bananas, rice, and salsa? Who am I to judge? Maybe that’s a thing now.

So long, SLS-- it was a sweet little stay (especially because Lisa's husband generously gave us his airline points to pay for it). And if you ever go, now you know -- do not pee in the sink. You're welcome.

White in Watts

Simon Rodia isn’t the first guy to build stuff in his backyard, but he’s probably the coolest.

In the early 1920s, Rodia bought a triangular lot in Watts, Los Angeles and spent the next 30 years building 3 huge towers next to his house that still stand today--using only small hand tools, re-bar, coat hangers, cement, and stuff he found nearby. Two of the towers are over ninety five feet tall; Rodia himself was less than five feet tall. He had no ladder, no helpers, and no education. He influenced modern day builders with his structural methods and he was so admired by the Beatles that his image is on the album cover of Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, right beside Bob Dylan. And almost no one in LA today seems to know who he is.

Lisa and I went to LA for the weekend and decided to go see the Watts Towers. It wasn’t the easiest place to get to – our taxi driver had no idea what we were talking about when we asked him to take us there- and he sped away pretty fast after he let us out. We knew that the area wasn’t great – but I read today that Watts has the lowest median household income in all of LA and that 50 percent of people there live below the poverty line. It’s the home of huge riots in both the 60s and the 90s, and is where the infamous ‘bloods’ and ‘crips’ gangs hang out. So it was obviously a perfect place for two middle aged white Canadian moms to get dropped off with their luggage on a Friday afternoon.

All the structures Rodia built are behind a tall locked metal gate and fence (as are all the homes and trailers in the neighbourhood). If enough interested people gather and pay the $7 entry fee, one of the three women who work in the art centre building nearby will unlock the gate for a minute while they let in and lead a tour group. We aren’t allowed to touch the towers, but we can see up close how Rodia recycled pop bottles, broken plates, shells, tiles, and just about everything else he found at an abandoned factory nearby to decorate his work. He even decorated the floor by making impressions in it with heat vent grates and pieces of metal screen doors. Check it out:

In a few spots he pressed his simple tools into the cement along with his initials SR, the way Van Vogh would scribble ‘Vincent’ in the bottom right hand corner of a painting.

The towers were amazing and the African American and Hispanic women who worked there were great. They called us a taxi when the tour was over, and Lisa and I chatted with them for a few minutes about where we were from before we headed outside to wait for the cab. We sat in the California sunshine and talked for at least half an hour before one of the women stuck her head out of the art centre and called out “Hey! Vancouver!”

“Yeah?” I said.

“I called the cab again. It’s gonna be, like, 20 more minutes.”

“Okay, thanks.”

School had been out for a while when three tween African American girls walked by and started skipping double dutch behind us with two long ropes. They were obviously trash tracking each other, although the vernacular was so hard for me to understand that the only word I could pick out that they were saying to each other was nigger. We also witnessed a pit bull growling and biting a skateboard so fiercely on the street in front of us that none of a group of about twenty laughing teenage boys could get it away from him until one sprayed the dog’s face with water.

When the taxi showed up, over an hour after he’d been called, the driver didn’t even want to get out of the car, and he admonished us for going to that area. Later in the weekend I curiously asked another taxi driver if he knew what Watts Towers was and he had no idea. But he did say “YOU TWO went into Watts? Two WHITE girls?!” Why is race still so bloody complicated?

Rodia himself was Italian, but he asked someone local to translate the phrase ‘our town’ into Spanish and he inscribed Nuestro Pueblo on the entrance because he wanted it to be for everyone – and yet some people who lived nearby used to get their kids to purposely vandalize the towers anyway. Some say this is why after 30 years of building, he deeded the property to a neighour for free, walked away, and never returned (although he lived another ten years). And yet later when the city wanted to knock the towers down, people in the neighbourhood were some of the folks who rallied around to save them.

In any case, I came away from Watts Towers wanting to BUILD STUFF. I procrastinated like crazy about writing this today by cleaning out one big kitchen cupboard and found the following items I never use and can donate to my building project:

- 15 christmas tins
- The glass part of a blender for which I no longer have the base or lid
- A woven plate holder I have never figured out a use for…why would a plate need a holder?
- 2 jars of ancient jam I made once that was so solid that I broke a knife trying to spread it, but couldn’t bring myself to throw away because I’d worked so hard making it
- A spare fridge door tray from a fridge we no longer own
- A my little pony comb
- Parts of 2 different sets of popsicle molds
- A metal wine bottle holder we got for our wedding 17 years ago that we have never used

So…what can I MAKE? Any ideas?

And will you put me on your album cover?