Alberti’s Window

Well faithful readers, I’m sure that you’re tired of hearing about Vasari in my posts. I don’t blame you. I’ve been writing Vasari-inspired posts for the past several weeks, as I’ve slowly worked my way through the Lives of the Artists text. The funny thing is, I never intended on reading the whole book this fall. I checked out Lives so that I could verify a couple of quotes, but then I just kept reading. And reading. And reading. And now, 500+ pages later, I’ve finally finished! So, this review will probably be my last Vasari-centric post, at least for a while. Here are my final thoughts on Vasari’s Lives:

– This book is simultaneously boring and fascinating. It’s difficult to read Vasari’s lengthy passages which describe works of art, especially since there were no reproductions available in my text. (This website, however, promises to display illustrations with each biography, although I don’t know if all extant reproductions will be provided for every description in the text.) However, many of Vasari’s anecdotes and short stories are really fascinating. I especailly found the story of Brunelleschi and Ghiberti’s rivalry to be quite riveting.

– Vasari’s hyperbolic writing style is a little silly. He is over-the-top in his praise for the majority of artists in the book. Likewise, much of art in the book is described as the most beautiful thing in the world – those descriptions become old after a few paragraphs. Vasari also opens many chapters with generalized, broad statements about life, happiness, or art (a type of “Happy is the man who…” statement), and that also gets a little annoying.

– I can see why Vasari is sometimes called “The Father of Art History.” His methodology of verifying multiple sources for information helped set a precedent for the discipline. He also offers critiques for works of art, and it’s easy to see how he helped to set the standard for art criticism. Even though his writing is prolix and dull at times, it’s quite interesting to see his methodology and ideological influences.

– I would recommend this book to a serious art historian. I think anyone with a mild interest in art would get bored quite easily: the interesting anecdotes and stories are embedded deep within Vasari’s text. If you want to know more interesting stories without reading the book, just let me know. I took notes!

* I am counting this book as part of Heidenkind’s Art History Challenge.

I read The Challenge of the Avant-Garde (Paul Wood, ed., Yale University Press, 1999) several weeks ago for Heidenkind’s Art History Challenge. This is a textbook is comprised of case studies which discuss 19th-mid 20th century art, particularly in how art relates to the concept of “avant-garde.”

Overall, I was quite pleased with this book. I’ll be using it for an upcoming class. I particularly like how the book examines how the term “avant-garde” and has changed over time. I did think that some parts of the book were confusing and biased (the authors seem extraordinarily bent on discussing art that has been underprivileged or underexposed in art historical studies), but I still would recommend it.

I was particularly interested in one case study that discussed Caillebotte and domestic space. I have always associated Caillebotte with modernity through his outdoor depictions of 19th century Parisian life, such as Paris Street: A Rainy Day (1877) and Pont de l’Europe (1876), I didn’t realize that Caillbotte also was interested in domestic space and interior settings. Two such paintings involve depictions of floorscrapers:

Caillebotte, Floorscrapers, 1875

Caillebotte, Floorscrapers, 1876

Fionna Barber (the author of this case study) emphasizes that these paintings are also depictions of modern Parisian life – the floorscrapers are modern individuals (wearing contemporary clothes) who are involved in their professional work.¹ Understandably, this painting didn’t sit too well with critics at the time – largely because the image of the lower-class, “heroic worker” was clearly identified with paintings by the controversial artist Courbet (for an example, see Courbet’s Stonebreakers (by the way, did you know that the Stonebreakers was destroyed in 1945 during a bombing of Dresden? Isn’t that tragic?)).

If you want to learn more about Caillebotte and domestic space, I’d recommend that you pick up The Challenge of the Avant-Garde.

1 Paul Wood, ed., The Challenge of the Avant-Garde (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999), 145.

Tonight I finished reading Dark Water (by Robert Clark) as part of Heidenkind’s Art History Challenge. This book focuses on the 1966 flood in Florence which ruined and threatened many works of art. I liked a lot of things in this book, particularly in the middle section where Clark discusses damaged art/books and restoration techniques. I have to admit, though, that Clark’s writing style and half-baked themes about Icarus/water/Ruskin were annoying.

Anyhow, I was most fascinated about how much damage was caused by this flood (which was around 20′ deep in some areas). Clark writes that some 14,000 moveable artworks were damaged or destroyed.¹ The Biblioteca Nazionale also suffered extensive damage; 1.3 items needed restorative work and 8 million catalog cards were inundated.² It was also interesting to read about the innovative things that art/museum directors did to save pieces of history and culture – I particularly enjoyed reading about how the science museum’s director escaped the flood by walking along the roof towards the neighboring Uffizi gallery, while cradling Galileo’s telescope in her arm.

Here are some pictures taken right after the flood (by LIFE photographer David Lees):

Interior of the Basilica of Santa Croce, 6 November 1966
(Look at all that mud!)Moving Paintings in the Piazza Signoria, 6 November 1966Flood Damaged Books, 1966

Damaged Documents Hanging on Racks, 1966

Pretty crazy, huh? Does anyone have any recollections from when this flood occurred?

A large portion of the book discusses the destruction and restoration of Cimabue’s Crucufix from Santa Croce (c. 1288). Water damaged a good portion of the painting, and it took about ten years for the huge piece to be restored (partially because the wooden cross had absorbed so much water). There was a lot of controversy as to whether the cross should be restored at all, since there was so much damage. Ultimately, it was decided that overlapping trateggio (hatching applied with a fine brush) would be placed in the damaged areas, so that the viewer could see the damage but also get a sense of the original composition. I know that some restorers still disagree with how the Crucifix was restored, but it seems to me like the restoration team did a their best, given their limitations.

Here’s a picture of the original crucifix (photographed before 1966):

And here are two post-restoration photographs (the first one is from 1977):

What do you think of the restoration? Do you wish that the area was painted over to give a semblance of Cimabue’s original work, or do you like that the restoration recognizes the damaged areas?

All in all, Dark Water was a pretty interesting book to read. I found the beginning and end of the book to be a little boring, but the bulk of the book was quite fascinating.

1 Robert Clark, Dark Water: Flood and Redemption in the City of Masterpieces (New York: Doubleday, 2008), 162.

2 Ibid., 225.

If you thought that the painting above, Woman Reading Music (Rijksmuseum), was by Vermeer, you’re mistaken. Don’t feel too bad – for a while this painting was thought to be the work of the 17th century master. This webpage points out how the model in this painting is the same one in Vermeer’s Woman Reading a Letter; furthermore, this painting is set in the same location as Vermeer’s Woman with Lute. In actuality, though, this painting was completed sometime between 1935-40 by the forger Han Van Meegeren.

Van Megeeren was a master forger who spent much of his career making forgeries, particularly in the style of Frans Hals and Johannes Vermeer. Right now I’m reading more about Van Meegeren in the book, The Man Who Made Vermeers by Jonathan Lopez. It’s a really interesting book and I highly recommend it. It’s really fascinating to read about what forgers do to make their art convincingly old – the paint needs to have a certain chemical compound to imitate old oil paintings, and yet withstand the chemical tests that determine authenticity. Plus, the forgery needs to be created on the canvas of an old painting from about the same period – the forgery is painted on top of the ground layer of the original painting, so that the final product convincingly has the same craquelure. Forgers definitely are clever.

It’s no surprise that as a forger, Van Meegeren latched onto the idea of creating paintings by Vermeer. During the latter half of the 19th century, Vermeer was rediscovered and celebrated within the art world. There are only 35 known paintings by Vermeer, which really isn’t very many at all (by contrast, it’s estimated that Picasso created around 50,000 works of art). Many scholars think that Vermeer did not create many more paintings than the ones that are known today. The last Vermeer paintings to be rediscovered were Woman Holding a Balance (rediscovered in 1911) and Girl with the Red Hat (rediscovered in 1925).¹

These last discoveries took place during Van Meegeren’s early career, and the art world was desperate to try and find more work by Vermeer. It’s amazing to read how hungry museums and collectors were to snatch up “Vermeers” during all this hype – the Boijmans Museum in Rotterdam paid an enormous sum of around 550, 000 guilders for Van Meegeren’s forgery of Supper at Emmaus (painted in Vermeer’s early style).² From what I calculated using this site, it looks like that would have amounted to around $4 million in today’s currency.

Here are a couple of other forgeries by Han Van Meegeren:

Woman Playing the Lute, ca. 1933 (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

Malle Babbe, in the style of Frans Hals, ca. 1935 (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

Girl with a Blue Bow, ca. 1924 (The Hyde Collection; Glens Falls, New York)

A Young Woman Reading, ca. 1926 (The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

The Lace Maker, ca. 1925 (National Gallery of Art, Washington DC)

If you are interested in looking at more Van Meegeren forgeries, someone is starting to compile a list with images here. You can also read more about Van Meegeren’s story and trial here.

So, what do you think of the forgeries? It’s interesting to think about how authorship changes the value and reception of a forged work of art. Do you think that these works of art are not as good, now that they have been revealed to be the work of an imposter? Personally, I think that Van Meegeren had a lot of talent. But I think it’s sad that he didn’t utilize his talent to develop an original style. It takes talent to imitate the masters, but I think it takes more talent to create your own artistic niche.

1 Jonathan Lopez, The Man Who Made Vermeers: Unvarnishing the Legend of Master Forger Han Van Meegeren (New York: Harcourt Books, 2008), 53.

2 Wayne Franits. “Vermeer, Johannes.” In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, > accessed 4 August 2009. It should be noted that Lopez’ figures are a little different than this entry – Lopez writes that the price was 520,000 guilders, or about £58,000 (See Lopez, 139). Supper at Emmaus was purchased in 1937 by the museum, and its authenticity was not questioned until 1945, when Van Meegeren confessed his forgeries in order to exonerate himself from charges of selling national Dutch masterpieces to the Nazis.

My mother-in-law owns a really great book called Women Who Read Are Dangerous. The book is a compilation of artwork (mostly paintings) that depict women reading (or holding books). I think that the idea of this book is really fun, and it made me (jokingly) think about the plausibility of creating a Washer Women Are Dangerous book!

I particularly am struck by how many of these paintings fit into the idea of rejecting the male gaze. There are so many paintings that depict women actively involved in the act of reading. Instead of inviting a (male) viewer of the painting to look at them, these women are completely absorbed in their books. They deflect the gaze of the viewer and move the focus of the painting to the book or letter. Curiously, a lot of the reading women appear in profile view, which is similar to Barbara Kruger’s Your Gaze Hits the Side of My Face (I’ve written more about Kruger’s work and the male gaze here). Fun stuff. It’s also fun to think about the male gaze and think about another photograph in this book: Eve Arnold’s 1952 photograph Marilyn Monroe Reading Ulysses (yes, Marylin actually was reading that classical piece of literature!). In some ways, I think one could argue that the pin-up actress was rejecting the male gaze in this photograph.

Anyhow, here are a couple of fun pieces that also appear in the book:

Carl Larsson, Karin Reading, 1904
(Not only is she rejecting/deflecting the male gaze by being in profile, but her hand is covering part of her face!)

Pieter Janssens Elinga, Woman Reading, 1668-70

Tomb of Eleanor of Aquitaine, c. 1204

Johannes Vermeer, Woman Reading a Letter, c. 1663-64

Edward Hopper, Hotel Room, 1931

Rembrandt van Rijn, The Prophetess Anna (Rembrandt’s Mother), 1631

Walter Launt Palmer, Afternoon in the Hammock, 1882
(FYI – The greens in this painting are a lot more vibrant than in this reproduction)

There are a lot of other great paintings in this book that don’t have reproductions online, since they belong to private collections. You should get this book and check these paintings out, whether you are or aren’t a “dangerous woman” that likes to read!

What do you think about the idea of the male gaze in connection with these paintings? Do you have other favorite works of art that depict women reading?