Years in the making, Chris Fischer’s latest catalogue of the collection of old master drawings at SMK, formerly in the Royal Print Collection, in Copenhagen, is now available. It covers the Venetian drawings, which is one of the collection’s strengths, even if it only contains a handful of real masterpieces.
I had the fortune of collaborating with Chris on this catalogue during my short stint as a research fellow at SMK, 2012-14. My contributions were minimal, but I am still proud to see my entries on Domenico Campagnola and his Paduan colleague Stefano dall’Arzere in there along with Chris’ exemplary entries on everything from Carpaccio and Veronese to Aliense and the Tiepolos. Also, Chris’ general introduction to the Venetian school of drawing is as good a short primer on this complex and still somewhat neglected field as you will find anywhere.
Bizarrely, the museum does not seem to sell this new publication, nor the former entries in what is a gold standard series for the cataloguing of drawings, anywhere online. I’m sure the catalogue will soon be available through international booksellers, but so far the only place I’ve found it is the Danish store Saxo.com.
Chris Fisher, with contributions by Matthias Wivel, Venetian Drawings (Italian Drawings in the Royal Collection of Graphic Art), Copenhagen: Statens Museum for Kunst, 2018
I fredagens bogtillæg til Information kan man læse min anmeldelse af forfatter Kim Leines tegneseriedebut, Trojka 1: Skarabæens time som han har lavet sammen med den efterhånden garvede og altid interessante Søren Mosdal og som er første bind af en planlagt trilogi. Desværre er resultatet ujævnt og lidt skuffende.
Her er et uddrag:
[Det er] typisk Leine. Han har det med at anbringe sine mandlige hovedroller i ekstreme situationer og dermed tilspidse deres indre konflikt mellem drift og fornuft. I hans romaner forløber det imidlertid mere organisk, med plads til menneskelig uforudsigelighed, mens det her ekspliciteres i forklarende talebobler, nogle af dem alt for lange. Måske er det blot de startvanskeligheder, man kunne forvente i forbindelse med skiftet til et uvant medie, men det synes også at være gået lige lovlig hurtigt.
Umiddelbart skulle man tro, at Mosdal, skaberen af det dragende vikingeepos Fimbulvinter (2014) : der satte den tidlige Grønlandsfarer Erik den Røde under meget lignende pres : ville være den perfekte fortolker af Leines machounivers. Men desværre forvalter tegneren opgaven omtrent ligeså skødesløst som forfatteren.
Læs hele anmeldelsen her (men desværre kun hvis du har betalt).
Antonio Tempesta, loftsudsmykning fra Uffizi-galleriet i Firenze, 1579-81. Foto af Pernille Klemp.
Endnu engang er jeg blevet udsat for lemfældig redaktion. Efter en længere redigeringsproces, initeret af avisen selv, lykkedes det alligevel Information at trykke en tidlig kladde i stedet for den færdige version af min anmeldelse af Maria Fabricius Hansens The Art of Transformation. Den officielle udgave, som kan læses i ugens bogtillæg og på Informations hjemmeside, er præget af fejl og bommerter, samt vendinger der måske ikke er helt ligetil og forståelige. Som en særlig service bringer jeg derfor hermed den færdige, rigtige tekst.
Renæssancens underverden
Af Matthias Wivel
I løbet af det femtende århundredes sidste årtier begyndte humanister, kunstnere og arkæologer i Rom for alvor at udforske det begravede Domus Aurea—Kejser Neros ‘gyldne hus’: et enormt forlystelseskompleks, han havde bygget på byens ruiner i tiden efter den kataklysmiske brand i år 64. Efter despotens død blev store dele af det revet ned mens andre blev begravet, og med tiden svandt det fra folkeerindringen og blev legende, som så meget andet i den tidligere kejserstad.
Det underjordiske palads’ ruiner, med dets tilsandede haller, kollapsede korridorer og afsondrede kamre, nærede forestillinger om antikkens underside blandt renæssancens lærde—det hedonistiske, det uhyggelige, det uhåndgribelige, i al dets skønhed og gru. På væggene fandt de farverige dekorationer, der i disciplinerede mønstre sammensatte stiliserede planteranker og hybride fantasivæsner i imaginære arkitektoniske rammer.
Denne opdagelse accelererede udviklingen af et nyt ornamentalt vokabularium hos tidens kunstnere—et vildtvoksende dekorationssystem, der snart skulle udsmykke bygninger overalt i Italien og efterhånden også hinsides. Det dannede rammer omkring og indtog randområderne mellem de mere naturalistiske, ofte fortællende billeder og billedserier, der prydede alt fra kapeller til kunstkamre, ja, det koloniserede sågar den tredje dimension i form af arkitektonisk ornamentik og interiørdesign.
Luca Signorelli, fra San Brizio-kapellet i Orvietos katedral.
I ugens bogtillæg anmelder jeg Maria Fabricius Hansens store mongrafi om 1500-tallets såkaldte grotesker — et særligt ornamentsystem inspireret af antikkens dekorationsmønstre, en vildtvoksende, ofte irrationelt funderet billedverden, der ofte ses mellem og omkring de mere rationelt formulerede narrative billeder, der ofte udsmykkede bygningsværker. Bogen, som er baseret på mange års forskning, forskyder sig i mange retninger og bliver en art kortlægning af det ubevidste, det uhøjtidelige og det uhyggelige i renæssancens billedverden. Stærkt anbefalelsesværdig. Læs anmeldelsen her (men penge).
At the National Gallery we’re currently running a series of half-hour lunchtime lectures on the history of the Gallery told through six key paintings. I kicked off the series a couple of weeks ago with a talk on a painting that has become near and dear to me for perhaps obvious reasons, The Raising of Lazarus by Sebastiano del Piombo, from partial designs by Michelangelo. It was an ideal place to start since it was the first painting inventorised at the founding of the National Gallery in 1824, with the number NG1. See it above. The talks are all available at the National Gallery’s YouTube page.
I dagens bogtillæg til Information kan man læse min anmeldelse af andet bind i Juan DÃaz Canales og Rubén Pellejeros Corto Maltese-kopi, Equatoria. En veloplagt pastiche, der ikke desto mindre fordrer spørgsmålet hvorfor?Læs her (men ££).
Lidt sent: I fredagens bogtillæg til Information kunne/kan man læse min anmeldelse af Anne Mette Kjærulf Lorenzens grafiske romandebut, om at springe ud som lesbisk sent i livet. Udmærket, om end ikke voldsomt original bog, men imponerende sikkerhed fra en debutant. Læs her, men €€.
I denne uges bogtillæg til Information kan man læse min anmeldelse af den nys udsendte, nyfarvelagte udgave af Tintin i Sovjetunionen — den første historie om den unge reporter og hans hund, og den eneste i hvilken man ser ham skrive reportage! Jeg har altid synes at det album er undervurderet — det har en helt usædvanlig energi over sig, udført med overskud og er samtidig effektivt, grovkornet satirisk på den gode måde. Nyfarvelægningen er desværre totalt unødvendig og tjener kun til at dæmpe dynamikken i Hergés tegninger, der jo er udført med henblik på sort-hvid. Et tungnemt cash grab fra den belgiske forlægger Castermans side. Anyway, læs her (men: $$).
For the past couple of years I’ve been working with Miguel Falomir, director of the Museo del Prado in Madrid, and Professor Enrico Maria dal Pozzolo of the University of Verona, to bring you this exquisite exhibition of one of the greatest portraitists of the Western tradition, Lorenzo Lotto (1480-1557). It gives me great pleasure finally to see it open in Madrid tomorrow, where it will remain till 30 September before travelling to London for a more concise showing between 5 November and 10 February. It includes a large, varied selection of his portraits as well as a number of objects of the kind he depicted with such care in them — jewellery, books, sculptures, clothing, carpets… — for what I hope will function as an extension of portraiture and our understanding of it into so-called material culture.
Lotto is one of the great idiosyncratic artists of the Renaissance, painting like nobody else. His religious paintings are full of energy, humour, and a striking down-to-earth pathos, as are his portraits which are amongst the most varied and empathetic of the period. Itinerant for most of his life, he found the greatest success in his early career in Treviso in the first decade and especially Bergamo in the second, though he continued to produce fascinating, personal work through his late, depressed years.
Rarely able to attract the kind of elite clientele that was available to his great contemporary Titian, he distinguished himself for posterity by painting mostly the emerging bourgeoisie, the demographic that would increasingly dominate European politics, economy and culture down to the present day. His portraits seem remarkably frank, warts-and-all without being ostentatious about it, and as mentioned deeply empathetic. His sitters always invariably appear interesting to us, as if the artist is bringing forward their unique qualities for us to contemplate, not just on their behalf but on the behalf of humanity.
Conceived by Miguel and consolidated by Enrico, who is one of the premier Lotto specialists working today, the exhibition is one to which I’ve contributed mostly as a junior partner, but I am proud of the results, also of my own labour on it. The Prado has produced the catalogue, which we hope will stand as a significant contribution to Lotto scholarship, as well as an easy to access introduction to his activities as a portraitist and the historical and social context within which he worked. I’ve contributed the entries on the portrait drawings and the National Gallery’s three Lotto portraits, among other things. Do seek it out if you’re interested, and most importantly go see the exhibition. Please note that the exhibition is significantly larger at the Prado, which is definitely the place to see it for completists and specialists, while it will be more select, but hopefully no less beautiful and poignant at the National Gallery.
