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Caravaggio et al.
Sep. 9th, 2006 10:34 amBack from Düsseldorf, but alas not yet in Munich, as the Pope will arrive there today, and I don't fancy getting stuck in the resulting traffic jams. I'll drive tomorrow and be finally within my own four walls.
Meanwhile, here's a quick report on the new Caravaggio exhibition in Düsseldorf, the first exhibition devoted exclusively to Caravaggio in Germany. On Thursday night, there was a preview for the sponsors, for various museum directors and members of the media (particularly those who had somewhat helped), which was my good fortune because that way I got to see it before the official opening, which was yesterday evening. The differences, ceremony-wise, were interesting. In both cases, you had speeches - partly the same speeches, more about that later - but in the former, the energy firm E-on who was the main sponsor apparantly felt they had money to burn - so the preview of the exhibition was followed by a dinner in baroque style, complete with musicians in costumes playing various quartets. Alas, poor Monteverdi, Vivaldi et al. could hardly be heard because of the overwhelming noise level of everyone eating and talking - I wonder whether musicians at baroque festivities fared with the same problem? Probably. Anyway, one also received a catalogue for free, which, considering those catalogues had the usual weight and price these items tend to have, was no mean thing. There was another, much slimmer volume going with the exhibition, as an agency hired by the museum had had the original idea of comissioning eight European writers to write an original fictional story dealing with Caravaggio.
By far the greatest advantage, however, as I found out on the second evening at the official opening, was that the attendants of the preview, though really not that much smaller in number than those who attended the official opening, were not restricted. Which is to say: during the official opening, the guardians left in only a certain number of people at a time in the two rooms where the exhibition took place. Which made for the stairs and the elevators being jammed to the max and anyone with claustrophobia being driven crazy. (Especially if something happened to them as it did to me on that second evening - being in an elevator which got stuck. Thankfully, we were liberated soon; though I'm not claustrophobic, I'm really not that fond of elevators, thanks.)
During the preview, however, perhaps because the majority of the audience were those rich folks sponsoring the whole thing, i.e. the equivalent of those Cardinals and nobles in Caravaggio's time, as one of the speakers pointed out, there were no such restrictions. Which meant no queues, no jammed staircases, and still enough room to regard the pictures. Before I get to those, let me say something about the speeches: they were mostly what you'd expect, talking about Caravaggio, with the ci-devant director of the museum, whose last exhibition this is, Jean-Hubert Matin, praising the sensual daring in the homoeroticism, whereas the man conceptualizing the exhibition, Jügen Harden, focused on the contemporary background. There was one passage in his speech which was significantly toned down during the official opening night from what he had said during the preview, and what he had said during the preview had taken me aback. It was this.
Asking himself the question "did Caravaggio believe?" , he said he didn't think it was as simple as Caravaggio being anti-church (though mainly being sponsored by same). He pointed out to the painting of the Beheading of St. John the Baptist (not to be confused with the painting of Salome and John's head, which Caravaggio had done earlier) which the Maltese Knights had comissioned from Caravaggio and which he executed for the St. John's Cathedral in Malta, asking and receiving membership in the order at the same time. On this painting, Mr. Harden said, we find the only instance of Caravaggio writing his name, not as a signature - for paintings were not signed in those days - but he let the blood dropping from John's head form "F. Michelangelo" on the floor, Michelangelo Merisi being his real name, and "F." standing for "Frater", "Brother", i.e. one of the Maltese Knights. Now we get to the part of the speech that became startling. "With this gesture," Mr. Harden went on, "he declared his solidarity with the Maltese Knights, who had settled down in Malta only a few decades before, who had survived one of the most bloody sieges in history by the Turks. He said he was one of them. The same blood. Malta was the fortress of Europe in those ways, defending Christianity against the assault of Islam, and this makes Caravaggio more contemporary than ever, for do we not face the same situation today? We are engaged in a clash of cultures, against people who take offense at a caricature, and I for one am glad to belong to a Western culture which appreciates art."
There I sat, disbelieving my ears. Firstly, this mixing of the Siege of Malta with the recent Danish Mohammed caricature mess is just the kind of irresponsible and ahistorical talk best left to demagogues. (I'm Catholic. I'm from a town with a really ugly record when it comes to the burning of witches in the 1600s. I'd rather not be accused of lack of intolerance, misogyny and lethal fanaticism, thank you very much.) Secondly, the implication that "Eastern culture", if we have to use such a general term, does not appreciate art shows more ignorance. I take it he never saw the Alhambra, or stunningly beautiful mosques of Cairo, or the Taj Mahal. It was just infuriating, and I had to calm down before going on to the exhibition so I could, well, appreciate art. Well worth appreciating.
(During the official opening, this portion of the speech became more vague - that the mixture of religion and art was very contemporary in a time where we "engage in arguments" with "certain cultures" - but he still apparantly thought he had to make these points.)
When in Berlin on Monday, I had heard that all paintings for the exhibition still had not arrived, and this was indeed the case, but you wouldn't know it - they very neatly covered it up. Also, the fact that the museum had been limited in the number of undisputed originals they could get was turned into part of the concept - for each Caravaggio, we saw a few copies or paintings with their origin still in dispute, with the viewer challenged to spot the differences and to appreciate how well or ill done the relevant copy was. Among the originals, there was the famous Amor Victorious, and the St. John the Baptist (Youth with Ram) for which the same boy posed. They were hung on opposite ends of the room and it was fascinating to stand in the middle and turn from one to the other. It was also interesting that none of the copies of the later managed to catch the teasing glint in the eyes, though some were able to get the sensuality across. The AP, who was with me as there isn't an art museum or exhibition he hasn't been curious about, liked these two plus the sleeping child Cupido best and said if he had been living back in the day, these would have been the Caravaggio works he'd have bought. (As displays of male sensuality in the visual media aren't his thing otherwise, I found this intriguing, but did not comment.) He thought one of the two versions of the Lute Player on display, both said to be by Caravaggio himself, was obviously a fake, and when regarding the painting of Martha Admonishing Mary Magdalen, exclaimed "but she (Mary) looks like Josephine Beauharnais", which is true, though I hadn't noticed it before. Look!
On both evenings, the stage for the speeches (and on Thursday evening the E-on building itself) were decorated by horns filled with flowers, a very baroque emblem, and the smell of the flowers, fighting valiantly against the many visitors, stayed with us as we regarded the paintings. If you're near Düsseldorf during the next months, check out the exhibition. Strange rethorical asides apart, it gave me two splendid days.
Now: more attempts to catch up with writing duties, and packing for Munich!
Meanwhile, here's a quick report on the new Caravaggio exhibition in Düsseldorf, the first exhibition devoted exclusively to Caravaggio in Germany. On Thursday night, there was a preview for the sponsors, for various museum directors and members of the media (particularly those who had somewhat helped), which was my good fortune because that way I got to see it before the official opening, which was yesterday evening. The differences, ceremony-wise, were interesting. In both cases, you had speeches - partly the same speeches, more about that later - but in the former, the energy firm E-on who was the main sponsor apparantly felt they had money to burn - so the preview of the exhibition was followed by a dinner in baroque style, complete with musicians in costumes playing various quartets. Alas, poor Monteverdi, Vivaldi et al. could hardly be heard because of the overwhelming noise level of everyone eating and talking - I wonder whether musicians at baroque festivities fared with the same problem? Probably. Anyway, one also received a catalogue for free, which, considering those catalogues had the usual weight and price these items tend to have, was no mean thing. There was another, much slimmer volume going with the exhibition, as an agency hired by the museum had had the original idea of comissioning eight European writers to write an original fictional story dealing with Caravaggio.
By far the greatest advantage, however, as I found out on the second evening at the official opening, was that the attendants of the preview, though really not that much smaller in number than those who attended the official opening, were not restricted. Which is to say: during the official opening, the guardians left in only a certain number of people at a time in the two rooms where the exhibition took place. Which made for the stairs and the elevators being jammed to the max and anyone with claustrophobia being driven crazy. (Especially if something happened to them as it did to me on that second evening - being in an elevator which got stuck. Thankfully, we were liberated soon; though I'm not claustrophobic, I'm really not that fond of elevators, thanks.)
During the preview, however, perhaps because the majority of the audience were those rich folks sponsoring the whole thing, i.e. the equivalent of those Cardinals and nobles in Caravaggio's time, as one of the speakers pointed out, there were no such restrictions. Which meant no queues, no jammed staircases, and still enough room to regard the pictures. Before I get to those, let me say something about the speeches: they were mostly what you'd expect, talking about Caravaggio, with the ci-devant director of the museum, whose last exhibition this is, Jean-Hubert Matin, praising the sensual daring in the homoeroticism, whereas the man conceptualizing the exhibition, Jügen Harden, focused on the contemporary background. There was one passage in his speech which was significantly toned down during the official opening night from what he had said during the preview, and what he had said during the preview had taken me aback. It was this.
Asking himself the question "did Caravaggio believe?" , he said he didn't think it was as simple as Caravaggio being anti-church (though mainly being sponsored by same). He pointed out to the painting of the Beheading of St. John the Baptist (not to be confused with the painting of Salome and John's head, which Caravaggio had done earlier) which the Maltese Knights had comissioned from Caravaggio and which he executed for the St. John's Cathedral in Malta, asking and receiving membership in the order at the same time. On this painting, Mr. Harden said, we find the only instance of Caravaggio writing his name, not as a signature - for paintings were not signed in those days - but he let the blood dropping from John's head form "F. Michelangelo" on the floor, Michelangelo Merisi being his real name, and "F." standing for "Frater", "Brother", i.e. one of the Maltese Knights. Now we get to the part of the speech that became startling. "With this gesture," Mr. Harden went on, "he declared his solidarity with the Maltese Knights, who had settled down in Malta only a few decades before, who had survived one of the most bloody sieges in history by the Turks. He said he was one of them. The same blood. Malta was the fortress of Europe in those ways, defending Christianity against the assault of Islam, and this makes Caravaggio more contemporary than ever, for do we not face the same situation today? We are engaged in a clash of cultures, against people who take offense at a caricature, and I for one am glad to belong to a Western culture which appreciates art."
There I sat, disbelieving my ears. Firstly, this mixing of the Siege of Malta with the recent Danish Mohammed caricature mess is just the kind of irresponsible and ahistorical talk best left to demagogues. (I'm Catholic. I'm from a town with a really ugly record when it comes to the burning of witches in the 1600s. I'd rather not be accused of lack of intolerance, misogyny and lethal fanaticism, thank you very much.) Secondly, the implication that "Eastern culture", if we have to use such a general term, does not appreciate art shows more ignorance. I take it he never saw the Alhambra, or stunningly beautiful mosques of Cairo, or the Taj Mahal. It was just infuriating, and I had to calm down before going on to the exhibition so I could, well, appreciate art. Well worth appreciating.
(During the official opening, this portion of the speech became more vague - that the mixture of religion and art was very contemporary in a time where we "engage in arguments" with "certain cultures" - but he still apparantly thought he had to make these points.)
When in Berlin on Monday, I had heard that all paintings for the exhibition still had not arrived, and this was indeed the case, but you wouldn't know it - they very neatly covered it up. Also, the fact that the museum had been limited in the number of undisputed originals they could get was turned into part of the concept - for each Caravaggio, we saw a few copies or paintings with their origin still in dispute, with the viewer challenged to spot the differences and to appreciate how well or ill done the relevant copy was. Among the originals, there was the famous Amor Victorious, and the St. John the Baptist (Youth with Ram) for which the same boy posed. They were hung on opposite ends of the room and it was fascinating to stand in the middle and turn from one to the other. It was also interesting that none of the copies of the later managed to catch the teasing glint in the eyes, though some were able to get the sensuality across. The AP, who was with me as there isn't an art museum or exhibition he hasn't been curious about, liked these two plus the sleeping child Cupido best and said if he had been living back in the day, these would have been the Caravaggio works he'd have bought. (As displays of male sensuality in the visual media aren't his thing otherwise, I found this intriguing, but did not comment.) He thought one of the two versions of the Lute Player on display, both said to be by Caravaggio himself, was obviously a fake, and when regarding the painting of Martha Admonishing Mary Magdalen, exclaimed "but she (Mary) looks like Josephine Beauharnais", which is true, though I hadn't noticed it before. Look!
On both evenings, the stage for the speeches (and on Thursday evening the E-on building itself) were decorated by horns filled with flowers, a very baroque emblem, and the smell of the flowers, fighting valiantly against the many visitors, stayed with us as we regarded the paintings. If you're near Düsseldorf during the next months, check out the exhibition. Strange rethorical asides apart, it gave me two splendid days.
Now: more attempts to catch up with writing duties, and packing for Munich!
