Billy's Lines Of Gibberish

Il Cenacolo (The Last Supper) by Leonardo Da Vinci (1495-1498) Refectory of Santa Maria delle Grazie (Milan).

Last may, I went to Italy twice. I spent five days of vacation in Florence, then attended a Conference in Milan. Due to lack of time, I wrote one blog in Florence only, and one in Milan.

I do love Italy, and Italians. There is a lightness, a Joie de Vivre in the air of most Italian towns, you will hardly find anywhere else. Also, Art is everywhere.

In Florence first, then in Milan, I was stunned by frescoes. There's always a difference between looking at a reproduction and seeing an artwork for real. Walter Benjamin named aura this specificity of artwork, which is unique, linked to a special place, and part of history.

Il Cenacolo by Ghirlandaio (1448)

Frescoes certainly have an aura, because they are part of the place on which they were painted. Also, frescoes are impressive because they are very large. Characters painted are taller than you sometimes. You may feel as if you were a witness of the scene.

It was the case in particular in Florence — the city with 70 museums — with frescoes by Filipino Lippi and Domenico Ghirlandaio, in Santa Maria Novella Church and the Church of Ognissanti, famous for the great Last Supper fresco, Ghirlandaio painted in 1488.

Santa Maria Delle Grazie (Milan)

It was the case also in Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan, a red brick church and monastery built in the 15th century where Leonardo da Vinci painted his Last Supper, Il Cenacolo, in the refectory of the monastery from 1495 to 1498.

Because it was a long-term work, Leonardo did not paint on wet plaster but on a dry wall. Strictly speaking, the painting is not a fresco then. It is a mural painting. Unfortunately, because of the method used, the work deteriorated quickly and its restoration has been a never-ending task.

If you want to see the painting, you must book in advance, and arrive on time. You will then be admitted among a small group of visitors (around 25 people), one group at a time, every 15 minutes. You must go through a double entrance door first, for sake of constant temperature and humidity. You wait there a few minutes, then you enter the refectory at last.

The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci (click on the picture for a larger scale)

Here it is, painted on the wall on the right side of the refectory. Awesome, huge — about nine meters wide — painted with a perspective that continues the walls of the refectory

The characters are approximately life-sized, a little taller. Although the work is damaged,you feel as if you were there, standing at about eight meters from the table. All 13 character are in front of you, on the same side of the table. Unlike Ghirlandaio and others, Leonardo did not paint Judas apart from his colleagues.

Jesus has just announced that one of those sitting at the table will betray him. The twelve apostles react with various degrees of shock, denial, and anger.

Jesus is in the middle of the painting. Precisely in the middle. In fact, a small hole in his right temple was used by Leonardo to help define the vanishing point of the whole perspective of the painting. Around him, on his right and left sides, the apostles are grouped in four groups of three, and each of the three figures in each group reacts its own way.

On the left side,  Bartholomew, James the Younger and Andrew appear stunned by Jesus’ declaration. They look at him with stupefaction. Andrew raises his hands before him in a gesture of horror and incredulity — yet an apostle can hardly be incredulous, can he ?

 

In the second group, a knife in hand, Peter is ready to punish the traitor. He leans towards John, the boyish, almost feminine apostle seated beside Jesus: "Ask the Master, John! Who is it?" He pushes Judas forward, who holds a purse with thirty pieces of silver inside.

On Jesus left-hand side, Thomas, James the Elder and Philip are assuring Jesus of their obedience. James the Elder expresses his indignation, and we can almost hear Philip protesting his loyalty: "You know me, Master, you know I did not do that".

The last group on the right is made up of Matthew, Jude Thaddeus and Simon. They are involved in an animated discussion, and don't look at Jesus. "One of us? How is it possible?" Matthews asks Simon, while Jude Thaddeus seems to be about to clap his hands in a "didn't I tell you?"

-:-:-:-:-:-

[BbN #13]

Note: You cannot fully appreciate such a masterpiece in less than 15 minutes. There's so little time, you must hurry, you can hardly have a look at every character. It is frustrating. If you ever go to Santa Maria delle Grazie and see The Last Supper by Leonardo, here is my advice then: book for it twice, half an hour apart. I will do that, the next time I go to Milan.

Amasis – Heracles entering Olympus Attic black-figure olpe — ca. 550-530 BC

I have been an affiliate of Les Amis du Louvre (Friends of Le Louvre) for years. It is a patron of the arts foundations, which aims at increasing art collections in the Musée du Louvre in Paris. Also, it gives free access to the Museum, permanent collection and temporary exhibitions as well.

I probably visited the Museum more than a hundred times, I have not yet explored the whole of it though. In particular, I visited the department of Greek, Etruscan and Roman Antiquities on rare occasions only.

Because I read an article about Attic pottery lately, I decided to follow two Thematic Trails in that department of Le Louvre: Hercules trail and Greek pottery trail. More than 2500 years after they were made, Greek pottery pieces  are still fascinating. I especially valued so-called black-figure paintings on Attic vases.

A couple of vases displayed Hercules (Herakles in Greek), one of which is displayed above. After I followed both trails, I enjoyed myself seeking on the Internet twelve Greek ceramic that illustrate the twelve labours of Hercules.

Here they are (click on the pictures for bigger view and more details).

The Nemean Lion	The Lernean Hydra	The Cerynean Hind
The Erymanthian Boar	The Augean Stables	The Stymphalian Birds
The Cretan Bull	The Mares of Diomedes	The Belt of Hippolyte
The Cattle of Geryon	Apples of the Hesperides	Cerberus

[BbN #12]

Pieter Brueghel the Elder — Landscape with the Fall of Icarus [Landschap met de Val van Icarus], ca. 1558 Oil on canvas mounted on wood — 73.5 x 112 cm Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels

I am leaving Paris this Friday morning, en route to Peru where I'll spend ten days. Not another medical conference this time, but mere tourism, with my brother and father. We shall visit Lima, Cuzco, The Machu-Picchu, Lake Titicaca... I feel pretty excited and plan to take a lot of photos there.

There's only one (very little!) fly in the ointment: they don't have the White Night in Lima yet, that will occur on the next Saturday night in Paris and many cities. The White Night is a cultural night of discovery that has been organised every year since 2002 in a growing number of cities, in Europe first, then in the whole world.

Throughout the White Night, museums, libraries, monuments, places of worship, tourist sites, cinemas, parks and gardens, hospitals, swimming pools, universities, etc. will stay open. You can go and see an exhibition at 2 am or visit a library at 5 am if you feel like... you will sleep later, tomorrow is a Sunday.

I usually manage to be in Paris on the Nuit Blanche, as it is called in French. Three years ago though, I was in Brussels, and enjoyed it a lot in this welcoming city. I walked in the streets all night long, listened to music bands, ate mussels with french fries, and went to several museums. The Fall of Icarus by Pieter Brueghel the Elder was exhibited in the Museum of Ancient Art, part of the Royal Museums of Brussels.

I don't know why I've always had the feeling that the scene in this painting occurs in the New World, instead of the Aegean sea... on the Peruvian coasts, maybe, which makes I have now come full circle in the weird associations of idea that made up the present blog.

Poor Icarus... In the painting by Brueghel, his fatal fall is of minor interest.
The ploughman is bent over the ground...

They couldn't care less what happens to a dreamer, a reckless person who dared to challenge the sun.

Les plaintes d'un Icare [Ch. Baudelaire]

I thought of this melancholy painting today when I read again this poem by Charles Baudelaire.

Les Plaintes d'un Icare Les amants des prostituées Sont heureux, dispos et repus ; Quant à moi, mes bras sont rompus Pour avoir étreint des nuées. C'est grâce aux astres nonpareils, Qui tout au fond du ciel flamboient, Que mes yeux consumés ne voient Que des souvenirs de soleils. En vain j'ai voulu de l'espace Trouver la fin et le milieu ; Sous je ne sais quel oeil de feu Je sens mon aile qui se casse ; Et brûlé par l'amour du beau, Je n'aurai pas l'honneur sublime De donner mon nom à l'abîme Qui me servira de tombeau. Charles Baudelaire

Lamentations of an Icarus Lovers of prostitutes, in crowds, Are sated and content and cheery, But as for me, my arms are weary Because I have embraced the clouds. Thanks to the stars — O peerless ones! That flame deep in the boundless sky, My burned-out eyes can now descry Only the memories of suns. In vain I sought to trace and fit Space in its mid and final stance I know not under what hot glance My wings are crumbling bit by bit. The love of beauty sealed my doom, Charred, I have not been granted this: To give my name to the abyss That is to serve me as a tomb. Transl. Jacques LeClercq,1958

	The favour of the gods has given me a marvelous gift, which has never left me since my childhood. It is a voice which, when it makes itself heard, deters me from what I am about to do and never urges me on. (Socrates)
Socrates and his Daemon by Eugène Delacroix Ceilings of the Library, French National Assembly, Paris.

Socrates used the word Daemon to name that voice in his inside that would to talk to him when he was about to do something wrong. Daemon (also Daimon or dæmon) is Latinised spelling of the Greek δαίμων. The word has been used to distinguish the daemons of Greek mythology, good or malevolent supernatural beings, from the Judeo-Christian demons, malignant spirits able to possess humans. Daemon in Ancient Greece had no devilish meaning. It referred to any upper power, including friendly spirits.

Socrates spoke familiarly of his daemon, joked about it and followed blindly its advice. He considered it to be a gift from the gods allowing poetry, mysticism, love, and philosophy itself. “The one who knows what is the right thing will do the right thing”, he would say, because he thought a good view of things makes people acts for the good — which means they behave wrongly when they are mistaken only. It is therefore of greatest importance for everyone to deepen their knowledge, he thought.

Socrates wanted to define clearly what is fair and what is not. Unlike the Sophists, he thought that the ability to distinguish the good from the evil lies inside the reason of the individual, not in rules of the society. “You cannot be happy when you act against your convictions” he believed, and who wants to be unhappy? If you know how to be happy, you will do everything you can to be happy. Therefore, the one who knows what is fair will also do what is fair.

Using a modern terminology, Socrates' daemon would be called intuition sometimes. However, the Greek word was clearly used to name an entity akin to what we would now call a guardian angel, and Socrates certainly attributed personality and voice to his daemon.

Jacques-Louis David — The Death of Socrates (1787)

In classical psychology, it was frequently translated as moral conscience. It's not perfectly accurate though — although the daemon was giving negative advice only: he would only tell Socrates what he should not do, not what he should do — because many things his daemon prevented Socrates to do were not evil things per se: doing politics, for instance, and especially steering clear of his own death sentence.

In psychoanalysis, one could parallel Socrates' Daemon to Superego. In fact, Carl Jung himself used the term daimon to describe a unique, independent spirit — neither good, nor evil — living in everyone.

Danae (Gustav Klimt, 1906-1908) Oil on Canvas, 77 x 83 cm

Several months ago, I went to a great painting exhibition at the Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais in Paris, entitled Vienna 1900.

The exhibition focused on four major figures of the Austrian Secession (Austrian term for Art Nouveau), between 1897 and 1918: Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, Oskar Kokoschka and Koloman Moser.

Shortly said, although I am not that enthusiastic over Kokoschka's paintings, it was among the best exhibitions I have ever seen, that showed how the distinctive treatment of space and perspective by these artists marked a revolution in pictorial language.

It was also an opportunity to see one of the most famous paintings by Klimt, Danae, which is usually part of a private collection in Austria. I have always loved this canvas, one of the most erotic paintings I know, that used a mythological subject as the pretext for a depiction of female pleasure.

According to Greek mythology, Danae was only daughter of Acrisius, king of Argos. After the oracle prophesied to Acrisius that his grandson would kill him, he locked Danae in a tower where nobody could enter.

Zeus however, the leader of all Gods, felt in love for the beautiful king's daughter. Despite every precaution taken, he felt upon the sleeping Danae as a golden shower, and she conceived Perseus. Several years later, Perseus would kill Medusa, rescue Andromeda from a sea monster, and kill Acrisius as predicted, by accident in an athletic contest, when the wind sweeps away his javelin.

The very moment when Zeus, as a golden shower, seeds Danae, had inspired many artists previously, from anonymous Greek artists...

Danae and the Shower of Gold (ca 450 BC) Bell-shaped crater, Musée du Louvre — Paris.

to Jan Gossart aka Jan Mabuse...

Danae (Jan Gossart aka Mabuse, 1527) Alte Pinakothek — Munich.

Titian...

Danae and the Shower of Gold (Titian, 1554) Museo del Prado — Madrid.

Tintoretto...

Danae (Tintoretto, ca 1554) Musée des Beaux-Arts — Lyon.

... and many more.

Klimt painted Danae in 1906-1908, at the acme of his so-called Golden Period. At the time, he would use genuine gold leaf together with paint in his canvases! In Danae, the gold he used as a tool was not only associated with the colour, but the theme of the painting itself.

Klimt selected precisely the moment at which the golden shower falls between the legs of the sleeping Danae. He did not make use of any narrative scenery, yet he succeeded in fixing the erotic moment through the curves of the contoured form, the flowing streams of the ornament, the gossamer black veil revealing the woman's body, and the selection of an unusual view. The nude body itself becomes part of the formal composition.

Besides the mythological story, Klimt displayed on Danae the availability of the woman, concentrating on the representation of female orgasm. The red-haired woman here is not a Greek princess but the universal symbol of seductive femininity.