Philolog

Caravaggio, Penitent Magdalene, c. 1596, Doria Pamphilij Gallery 122.5 x 98.5 cm

An evolved Baroque Magdalene is curiously seen in Caravaggio’s uniquely sensitive Penitent Magdalene of 1596, now in the Doria Pamphilij Gallery in Rome. Caravaggio’s treatment here is both sympathetic and idiosyncratic but visually correct only in regard to iconographic traditions of the Magdalene, This tradition, however, conflates four gospel texts that may have nothing to do with one composite woman nor do they necessarily all refer to the persona of Mary Magdalene, who is often said in modernity to be degraded into a sexual object of male fantasy.

Nonetheless, the iconography Caravaggio employed here is both clever and innovative in many respects for its adherence to biblical text. In Caravaggio’s warm-colored tones bespeaking both her passion and Christ’s Passion, the Magdalene’s most typical visual attribute is the unguent vessel containing nard (Greek ναρδος from Hebrew or Aramaic נרד ) with which she is associated in tradition (rather than clearly supported from text) as having washed Christ’s feet with her sensuously long and lustrous reddish hair – and red is the color of sanguinity - after sacrificially pouring out its precious perfume (although here Caravaggio may be painting in advance of that biblical narrative moment). The same perfume nardus in Latin known from Pliny’s Natural History XXI.70 is probably from the Indian or Near Eastern desert plant Nardostachys jatamansi and is also called spikenard, its liquid color being golden red or orange like the Magdalene’s hair and the golden perfume hue seen here in Caravaggio’s painting. Other attributes are conveyed in the Magdalene’s putative life as a courtesan, implied by rich clothes and extravagant jewelry, and her body language of penitence is marked by her humble position, in this case close to the ground on a very low chair. What the Magdalene renounces in Caravaggio’s image is consonant with what has been noted in typical Pauline testimonia of the modest new woman of God - often suggested as a misogynistic text - who is unadorned by anything but grace: “not with their hair braided, or with gold, pearls or expensive clothes” as St. Paul writes in I Timothy 2:9

While it is ironic that the passionate Magdalene could not easily seem to so synchronously lamenting her loss of virginity at this stage in her life, in a Caravaggian twist, she could also ambiguously and reflectively weep over newfound self-imposed chastity as her ultimate sacrifice. It is also not impossible that Caravaggio (or better yet his very literate patron Cardinal Del Monte) could have known the infamous Mary Magdalene material from the "heretical" 15th-16th century source Jacobus Faber Stapulensis. Faber published in Latin and was in Italy from 1492 onward for some years before being condemned by the Sorbonne as a heretic in 1521, likely due to insinuations of at least some form of "sanctified" intimacy between the Magdalene and Christ, an idea modernity has more commonly raised in secular media.

Caravaggio paints the Magdalene possibly ambiguously, choosing the moment after she has loosened her hair (sometimes perceived as a provocative act in which a courtesan would have usually prepared to bed a client-lover, but here in preparation to wash Christ’s feet). Bellori’s comment about the artist is merely depicting a girl “drying her hair” is more likely to be an instance of Caravaggio’s pervasive realism and even a possibly clever anticipation of the biblical narrative of the generally anonymous "sinner" woman who washed Christ’s feet with her hair as an act of contrite devotion (Luke 7:37-50).

Unlike Bellori above who observed it as the perfumed “ointment” (un vasello di unguenti), later commentators like Langdon interpret the glass vessel on the side as possibly a “small flask of wine”, or either according to Spike since both have Christian meanings, the oil for anointing and the wine for the Eucharist, although the symbolism of its association with nard in this abandonment of luxury and sensuality seems clearer if the Magdalene is renouncing the precious perfume for personal use, especially as she is distanced from the other objects clustered together in the painting and by her act of sacrificial devotion related in the Gospels and Legenda aurea.

Puglisi points out that this is one of Caravaggio’s first religious portraits and that the “naturalism of this painting sets it apart.” Subtle symmetries are repeated in many details: the glass perfume vessel is echoed in the small wooden finial of the chair in a direct vertical line; the russet color of her hair is seen again in the satin brocade of her mantle and waist sash; the highlighted pearly tear on her cheek – since Luke 7:38 clearly states her weeping which is later elaborated as proof of penitence - is also a likely simile of the vessel shape itself; her hair frames her body in a close ellipse to the vessel; the angle of the chair parallels the tiles of the floor pattern; the damask of her dress is similar to the brocade image on the mantle; and the pearls and other gold chains and jewels lie on the floor behind the vessel in close proximity. Although only a speculation, the chains here may be gold but they could nonetheless be interpreted as binding the Magdalene to a life of possession – even the putative "demonic possession” from which she was exorcised (Luke 8:2) which could thus be graphically illustrated. It is interesting that Peter Abelard in Sermo 13 in Die Pascha interpreted Mary’s weeping in Luke’s Gospel as tears of longing and love, not penitence, which view was also seen as somewhat heretical.

There are other pictorial details, however, which encourage closer inspection. The biblical texts state that the perfume vessel which the woman (Mary Magdalene?) used on Christ – often mistranslated from the Koiné Greek New Testament as being of alabaster stone - was a glass alabastron (Greek ’αλαβαστρον), probably sealed in ampule form against desiccating air and oxidation; terribly expensive because vessel and perfume were to be used only once, the glass needing to be broken to release its perfume inside. Caravaggio depicts a glass vessel here, either deliberately or accidentally in closer accordance with the text, but perhaps better to highlight the gold transparence of the nard perfume as symbolic of the Magdalene’s pouring her life out. On her dress is another vessel or receptacle noted by Cinotti as a possible simile of the Magdalene herself and which she fills here in Caravaggio’s schemata. In this instance, the vessel on her dress bears a shell-like form as possibly representative of the Classical notion that shells (extrapolated from Hesiod’s Theogony) were one of the visual attributes of sea-born Venus to whose sacred cult most courtesans belonged either professionally or by practice as those who live for amor sacer. The perfume vessel shown in two distinct forms may be an accommodation of both traditions: the translucent glass form at her feet and also as an opaque white alabaster form on her dress. Vegetal motifs on her clothing may depict the source of the perfume as floral – and flowers are another attribute of Venus - but could in any case merely indicate the fertility which courtesans explicitly evoke.

The way she holds herself, noted as “isolated self-containment” by Gash, suggests her encircling of empty space as if her lap and arms are bereft of or seeking a missing loved one, also a haunting image of the Magdalene as a receptacle now open in love and penitence. Recent comment calls the image an “empty mother’s cradle” and a “womb without life” as Spike opines. On self-containment, it has been pointed out that only women can experience two types; men merely one: a woman can be contained in her mother’s womb and contain a child in her own whereas a man can only be contained in his mother’s womb in Ricci’s words. The tradition of the Magdalene’s physical contact with Jesus – while controversial - was not atypical, since touch was characteristic of the way many people experienced Jesus in the Gospels. Caravaggio also has the Magdalene’s wrists tied with slender white threads, an elusive and seemingly ambiguous note, possibly evocative of commitment or even its antithesis in bondage, although a white thread around the wrists was also a possible common sign of betrothal in the medieval world akin to the chains lovers wore as bracelets.

Her jewelry also bears inspection. Pearls – also shell derived from the sea - are another reinterpretation of Classical attributes of Venus born from the sea as goddess of love, as are both perfume and bathing. Despite Bellori’s contention that Caravaggio scorned Classical sculpture like the work of Pheidias and Glykon and Roman art and his derogation of Caravaggio as “an illiterate”, Caravaggio’s knowledge of Classical iconography has been discussed elsewhere, notably his possible awareness of Philostratus’Imagines (Latin) and Eikones (Greek) which carefully describe Classical images as Camiz and Orr have shown and, according to Benedetti, his likely use of Classical sculpture for models in Cardinal Del Monte’s Antiquarium and the Giustiniani Collection. How much Caravaggio knew of Classical antiquity is confused by Bellori’s infamous anecdote noted above, where the artist preferred mimesis of nature to mimesis of convention. Of course, Cardinal Del Monte would have known many of the possible Classical allusions as one of the most erudite prelates of his day and could have easily communicated much of this to the artist if Del Monte was in any way connected to the commission.

It is also interesting that in parts of the Renaissance and Mannerist world a Jewess could be identified by mandatory pierced-ear loops or earrings, with her pearls now strewn on the ground and with a clear piercing of her earlobe visible, as Jean Weisz noted to this author in the Doria Pamphilj. This is also a possible allusion to Christ’s piercing in his Passion. The pearl necklace is broken in two sections, perhaps to show the abandonment of her life as courtesan. Curiously, there are 36 pearls total in the two strands and the break occurs between 20 and 16 or 16 and 20, possibly meaningful of a chronology where she encountered Christ in her prime at 20 years old and later lived beyond her conversion another 16 years, a likely timeline of the Classical world derivable from patristic tradition although Puglisi refers to a tradition which had her living as a hermit for the last twenty years of her life, which could also be applicable here, and the Legenda aurea states the Magdalene and many other disciples migrated to Marseilles 14 years after Christ’s Passion, which could yet also give meaning to the strand of 16 pearls as her conversion was some time before Christ’s trial and crucifixion according to all the gospel accounts cited earlier. Even her barocco earrings are shaped similarly to her body form. The chains she has discarded could remind of the medieval iconography of the La Dame à la Licorne tapestries where cast-off necklace symbolize sensual renunciation and denial of the passions. Perhaps the gold chain could represent the discarded and broken sensual life and the white thread around her wrists could represent the new pure life her tradition implies she will soon follow as an ascetic.

Even the term “penitent” suggests internal cognition that led to external behavior - became “to turn back" perhaps more reminiscent of the Greek verb metanoeō (Greek μετανοεω) “to change one’s or away from, to change direction”, easily translated into Latin as repedare to “turn back” and fits here as well with rependere “to ponder, consider or meditate upon” to become a source for repentance and resipiscentia from Lactantius (c. 250-325 CE) Patristic author of Divinae Institutiones 6.24,6 although here the Latin could even mean “turn away from” as Caravaggio has implicitly shown. Thus here Caravaggio’s bold innovation changes from the major Magdalene depictions followed by Titian and others in traditional narrative details from Legenda aurea, but is actually more intuitively or deliberately dependent on the biblical texts for his iconography. This is a work of genius rather than a mere commission from a Church prelate whose tastes were appreciably subtle. In short, there is striking antithesis again here in Caravaggio between the sweet and the bitter, pleasure and pain, past and present all admixed together in her name and in her life. Where she could be sweetness and rich beauty personified with all the floral and perfume fertility of eros, she is instead a paradox of profound unhappiness and in bitter tears despite all the loveliness her life represented up to this moment.

In one of the most striking coincidences in the painting, Caravaggio may be mischievously modeling his own courtesan girlfriend Anna Bianchini as the exemplary Magdalene in an overtly rebellious flaunting of Archbishop Gabriele Paleotti’s 1582 rule against painting cortigiani, concubini and meretrici (“courtesans, unmarried concubines and prostitutes”) portrayed as saints and/or as figuri nudi, especially in church-sponsored art. On the other hand, it might have been challenging to find any other women willing to be quiescent models for artists of dubious moral piety. Nonetheless, Caravaggio’s possible irony may be apparent in his choice of model: although here acceptably repentant and leaving all the trappings of her former life behind, what better person to depict a lovely "courtesan" with luxurious hair than a lovely courtesan (Anna Bianchini) with luxurious hair ?

Sources:

Giovan Petro Bellori. Le Vite de pittori, scultori et achitetti moderni. Rome, 1672 ed., Evelina Borea, Torino, 1976.

S. Benedetti. Caravaggio: The Master Revealed. Dublin, 1995, 212-13. Benedetti explores the importance of Classical statuary to Caravaggio and his probable models of Classical sarcophagi such as the Revenge of Orestes and the Roman Meleager’s Companions Carrying His Body, among at least three other Classical images, either from Del Monte’s Roman Antiquarium or his country estate Vigna di Ripetta or from the nearby Giustiniani Collection accessible to Caravaggio in Rome.

Ann Graham Brock. Mary Magdalene, The First Apostle: The Struggle for Authority. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2003.

F. T. Camiz. "Music and Painting in Cardinal Del Monte's Household." Metropolitan Museum Journal 23, 1991.

Mia Cinotti. Caravaggio: tutte le opere. Bergamo, 1983.

J. Dillenberger. “The Magdalen: Reflections on the image of the saint and the sinner in Chrsitian Art” in D. Apostolos-Cappadona, ed. Image and Spirit in Sacred and Secular Art. New York, 1990. 28-50.

Bart D. Ehrman. Peter, Paul and Mary Magdalene: Followers of Jesus in History and Legend. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006, Part III, 179-255, 259 & ff.

John Gash. Caravaggio. London: Jupiter Books, 1980.

Patrick Hunt. Caravaggio. Life and Times Series. London: Haus Publishing, 2004, 42-47, 55-57. Portions of the discussion here are excerpted directly from the author's 2004 book.

Katherine Ludwig Jansen. The Making of the Magdalen: Preaching and Popular Devotion in the Later Middle Ages. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2000.

F. Mormando, ed. Saints and Sinners: Caravaggio and the Baroque Image. McMullen Museum of Art, Boston College, 1999.

Lynn F. Orr. Classical Elements in the Paintings of Caravaggio. Ph.D. Dissertation, UCLA, 1982.

Elaine Pagels. The Gnostic Gospels. New York: Vintage, 1989, 64-7.

Catherine Puglisi. Caravaggio. London: Phaidon, 1998.

John Spike. Caravaggio. London / New York: Abbeville, 2001.

Jacobus Faber Stapulensis (in French, Jacques Lefèvre Étaples). Two Treatises on St. Mary Magdalene, especially De Maria Magdalena et traduo Christi disceptatio, 1517 (both Paris, 1517 and 1518). Cf F. M. Cross and E. A. Livingstone. The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church. Third ed. Oxford, 1997: 593, 1049.

Jacobus de Voragine. The Golden Legend (Legenda Aurea): Lives of the Saints. William Caxton, tr. (from Latin). Selected and edited by George V. O'Neill. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1914. Vol. IV, 36-42.

Copyright © 2009 Dr. Patrick Hunt
Stanford University

http://www.patrickhunt.net

Posted by Patrick Hunt at 4:09 PM | Permalink

Fig. 1 Rubens, Landscape with Philemon and Baucis, 1620

"Parfois, un arbre humanise mieux un paysage que ne le ferait un homme." Gibert Cesbron

Man and nature… The story of humanity has been an unending conflict between civilisation and that needing civilising. One is constantly assaulting the other: man with his axes and ploughs, and nature with its tempests and floods. Very rarely has man lived in complete harmony with his surroundings. Until the Renaissance in Western Europe, the kinds of emotions with which man associated nature centred on fear. And yet, over the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Western European man nurtured a different sort of relationship with his environment: a connection that was not based on necessity or the desire to tame, but an aesthetic appreciation of the mystery of nature’s wild beauties. Nature became “landscape”, and an artistic genre in its own right.

The rediscovery of ancient Greek and Roman literature after the fall of Constantinople in 1453 revived interest in the animist perspective of the great civilisations of the past. The Greeks believed not only that trees and brooks had spirits but also that natural phenomena could be explained by means of myths. Every element of nature stemmed from divine intervention. Storms, earthquakes, and plagues were physical manifestations of godly anger. Attributing emotions to nature helped man to understand the world around him. This tight understanding bridged a gap between man and nature, which enabled – with a small leap of imagination – the transformation of one matter into the other. Ovid illustrates this bond in his Metamorphosis, a compilation of poetry that had a profound influence on writers and artists of the Renaissance.

The myth that both dramatically and tenderly explores man’s relationship with nature in the Renaissance period is the story of Philemon and Baucis. Philemon and Baucis are an old mortal couple, still deeply in love after decades of marriage. Although they live very humbly, they offer hospitality to Jupiter and Mercury – travelling through the land in disguise – when the people of a nearby town had all turned the gods from their doorsteps. The gods punish the townsfolk by summoning a flood, but reward Philemon and Baucis by granting their wish: to be able to die together at the very same moment. When the old couple dies, they are transformed into trees that grow forever in each other’s embrace. The myth was the inspiration for two important artists of the seventeenth century: the French poet Jean de La Fontaine and the Flemish painter Peter Paul Rubens.

An analysis of the poem Philémon et Baucis by La Fontaine and the painting Landscape with Philemon and Baucis by Rubens (Fig.1) will illuminate the nature of the relationship between man and landscape. The term “man” encompasses many different bodies: the peasant, the urban-dweller, and for our purposes, even the gods. The works of art invite a comparison between the controlled power of the human body and the savage power of nature. Philemon and Baucis’ metamorphosis into trees unites the two worlds and humanises the landscape. Though, it is possible that the two spheres were not so different to begin with, as we consider the notion of landscape as the mirror of the human being.

I. Landscape and the Peasant

No link between man and nature is as deeply forged as the connection between the peasant and the land he cultivates. In his Court traité du paysage (Short Treaty on Landscape), Alain Roger states that the peasant does not appreciate the beauty of a landscape in an aesthetic capacity, but rather he judges the beauty of a landscape based on its usefulness. “This does not signify that the peasant is bereft of all ties to his country and that he does not feel any attachment towards his land, quite the contrary; but this attachment is all the more powerful because it is symbiotic” . Further in the text, Roger reassesses his idea of the “natural contract” that exists between peasant and landscape, defined as “either death or symbiosis.”

The myth of Philemon and Baucis corresponds to Roger’s theory. Philemon and Baucis live in peace with nature. La Fontaine writes that they “cultivated, without assistance, Their enclosure and their field for two score summers.” This wisdom is rewarded by “a bit of milk, of fruits, and the gifts of Ceres.” The earth is respected and well cared for; therefore, it reciprocates with its fertility. Moreover, the cabin belonging to Philemon and Baucis is described by La Fontaine as narrow and humble. With its broken table and used carpet, is so decrepit that it is practically an extension of nature itself.

In Rubens’ painting, the artist transmits by his use of colours the notion of commensalism between the old couple and nature. While Zeus and Hermes are garbed in vibrant blue and red, Philemon and Baucis’ clothes are coloured in tones nearly indistinguishable from the hues of the countryside. Rubens uses the same greys and browns to paint their clothing and skin as the shades he applies to the waterfalls and trees. Already, during their lifetimes, Philemon and Baucis blended in with nature. This link in life prefigures their bond beyond death.

Meanwhile, the city-dwellers of the nearby burg have lost their contact with the land and consequently, they perish as punishment. Is there a correlation between life in an urban environment and the corruption of its inhabitants? In Ovid’s time, cities were being built around the quintessential city, Rome. The poet would have been able to witness the degeneration of nature and the result of this rupture between men of the countryside and city-dwellers. In his work entitled Philémon et Baucis, author Ernst Jünger says of Ovid, “He was born in the Samnite village of Sulmo, and although he lived in Rome since his earliest youth, it is likely that he always spent a part of the year in his country estates. As always with the Latins, cultivated lands, labours and gardens were more familiar than the woods. The way in which one sowed, cultivated, harvested and consumed the fruit of the land held not the slightest secret from him.”

For Ovid, the myth of Philemon and Baucis might have represented the joy of civilising nature while still cultivating and appreciating the goodness of the earth. The danger lay only in building a civilisation to the detriment of nature. City-dwellers lose their roots, so to speak, and their connection to the land. And since the land is, in animist cosmology, simply a physical manifestation of spirits and gods, we can deduce that the city-dwellers lose a certain part of their faith.

After the fall of Constantinople to the Turks in 1453, scholars fled the great city with their manuscripts and knowledge, and Western Europe found itself flooded by the literature and philosophy of Antiquity. Authors of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries began to re-examine ancient literary themes, finding in the old stories material with which they could easily identify. Why did La Fontaine choose the myth of Philemon and Baucis in particular? As in Ovid’s era, large cities were developing in France. Consequently, the abundance of bodies, malnutrition and lack of hygiene contributed to the diseases that raged across Europe. Numerous illnesses, notably the bubonic plague, struck thousands of victims, particularly in overpopulated cities where maladies spread quickly. The punishment delivered upon the townspeople in the myth of Philemon and Baucis would have struck a chord with the public of La Fontaine’s Europe. We can consider the destruction wrought by Jupiter and Mercury as symbolic of the plague, which was also considered a punishment imposed by God: “God, irritated by the sins of an entire population had decided to extract vengeance…” Readers of La Fontaine’s poem might have hoped to be protected from divine retribution in the same way that Philemon and Baucis were spared by the gods. The health of the body depended on the respect that that body showed for its environment.

II. The Power of Men and Gods

In Homer’s Odyssey, the text describes only the voice of the sirens and neglects their entire physical description. This omittance only thickens their elusive and mysterious character. La Fontaine’s poem, however, often alludes to parts of the body in reference to its human and godly protagonists: hearts, front, wrinkles, feet, eyes, eyebrows, hand. Instead of distancing the characters, as Homer does with the sirens, these physical details humanise not only the mortal characters but also the gods. If it looks like a human and walks like a human… Although the gods possess abilities lacking in ordinary men, in art, we represent and thus consider them to be simply glorified humans: powerful undying men.

Fig. 2 Rubens, Self-Portrait with Isabella Brant, 1609

Artists employ many different kinds of visual strategies to depict the importance of a certain figure in relation to others present in a painted scene. For instance, in Rubens’ 1609 Self Portrait with his wife Isabelle Brant, the artist places himself in an elevated position. (Fig. 2) His wife is seated at his side; the top of her hat does not even reach the level of her husband’s nose. In this case, height designates Rubens’ superiority over Isabelle, and establishes in the mind of the observer a certain dynamic in the perception of their marriage.

Continue reading "METAMORPHOSES OF MAN AND NATURE: The Myth of Philemon and Baucis as Represented by Rubens and La Fontaine" »

Posted by Naomi Levin at 4:33 PM | Permalink

Fig. 1 Titian, Bacchus and Ariadne, 1520-23, National Gallery, London 176 x 191 cm

Between 1520-23 Titian painted Bacchus and Ariadne, one of a series of mythological works for the ducal study [studiolo, the so-called 'Camerini d'Alabastro'] in the castle of Alfonso d'Este, Duke of Ferrara. (1) [Fig. 1]. Although the room was disassembled in 1598 after the d'Este family line in Ferrara died out and the castle reverted to the pope, the duke wanted these mythological paintings:

“to be explicitly all'antica in both style and content; indeed the subjects were largely based on descriptions of lost classical paintings." (2)

This is an intriguing idea where it might be asked which lost paintings and which ancient authors might describe them? This is an immediately reminder of Aristotle's comparison of the paintings of Zeuxis and Polygnotus [Poetics 6.27-28] or the paintings of Polygnotus at Delphi as recorded by Pausanias in his Description of Greece, Book 10.xxv.1 & ff., especially the Polygnotus portrait of Ariadne in 10.xxix.4 from the Lesche of Cnidos:

“You see a painting of Ariadne. Seated on a rock, she is looking at her sister Phaedra...Ariadne was taken away from Theseus by Dionysus, who sailed against him with superior forces, and either fell in with Ariadne by chance or set an ambush to catch her. This Dionysus was, in my opinion, the first to invade India.” (3)

Another Pausanias passage [Book 20. xx. 3-4] describes the paintings in the temple of Dionysus Eleuthereus in the theater precinct in Athens:

“The oldest sanctuary of Dionysus is near the theater...There are paintings here...Pentheus and Lycurgos paying the penalty of their insolence to Dionysus, Ariadne asleep, Theseus putting out to sea, and Dionysus on his arrival [at Naxos] to carry off Ariadne.”

This passage is similar in part to what Titian has depicted in Bacchus and Ariadne. Other source possibilities also abound. In Pliny [Nat. Hist. XXXV. 36, 65 & ff.] there is the story about Zeuxis that his painted grape clusters were so real that even birds tried to peck at his grapes, (4) where, admittedly speculative, such clusters might reference a painted Dionysian scene, since it was in a theater context. The probable source of the lost art applicable to Titian's work here, however, is usually thought to be that series of Naples wall-paintings described by Philostratus:

“Nor yet is it enough to praise the painter for things for which someone else too might be praised; for it is easy to paint Ariadne as beautiful and Theseus as beautiful; and there are countless characteristics of Dionysus for those who wish to represent him in painting or in sculpture...Having arrayed himself in fine purple and wreathed his head with roses, Dionysus comes to the side of Ariadne.“ (5)

Naturally, while extant Roman wall paintings or mosaics often have Dionysus (or Bacchus) and Ariadne or their sacred marriage as subjects [e.g., the 1st c. BCE Bacchus hieros gam[e]os panel in the Villa of the Mysteries, (6) the painting of Bacchus and Ariadne known from Boscoreale but now also lost; (7) and the 3rd c. CE Antioch mosaic pavements of Dionysus and Ariadne in the House of Dionysus and Ariadne, (8) to name only a few], many of these would have come to light only after the 18th c. [especially at Pompeii and Herculaneum], long after Titian. Even though many of the ancient paintings may now be lost or their influences untraceable, the classical iconography of the likely subject matter is still accessible. Although the question of lost classical paintings is quarry obviously worthy of the chase, it is not the subject of this brief paper on Titian's use of both classical iconography and literary sources in Ovidian and possibly Catullan narrative. Mosaics showing Bacchus returning from India are also known, such as the famous Sousse, Tunisia pavement with tigers (Fig. 2).

Fig. 2 Bacchus returns from India, Sousse, Tunisia

Additionally, while it is likely that Titian's sources were mostly from literary texts rather than from the surviving classical visual arts, this problem will be discussed later in conjunction with early 16th c. Venetian collections such as that of Cardinal Grimani, (9) in which light we should consider that: "There were probably more notable works of ancient art available to artists in Venice and other northern Italian cities in the first decades of the sixteenth century than is normally supposed" as Marilyn Perry has suggested (10) [following the trail of Otto Brendel] with her notation of the early collections of Grimani, di Martini and Isabella d'Este.

If visual referents are difficult to prove, what about classical literary influences on this painting? In his landmark collection Essays on Literature and Art, Walter Pater discussed the school of Giorgione and Titian and extrapolated that the early Renaissance transformed prior literary narrative. It was his idea that "we may trace the coming of poetry into painting by fine gradations upwards" and also that a painting of this period can be "quite independent of anything definitely poetical in the subject it accompanies". (11) That poetry here should not be limited to mere literary text is clear, nevertheless Pater distinguishes between inspired visual accompaniment and the inspiring source subject. As Lucilla Burn elaborates:

“With the rediscovery of classical antiquity in the Renaissance, the poetry of Ovid
became a major influence on the imagination of poets and artists. His were among the first classical texts to benefit from the invention of printing in the late fifteenth century; they were widely and enthusiastically translated, and remained a fundamental influence on the diffusion and perception of Greek myths through subsequent centuries. “ (12)

Hope details the Duke of Ferrara's prior interest in artists such as Bellini, especially for the illustration of familiar Ovidian narrative. In the case of Bellini, however, the Duke did not express communication in "detailed instructions" and was ignorant of the "casual attitude of Venetian artists to erudite subject matter". (13) This description of casual attitude might well fit other artists and works, such as Hope mentions in Bellini's Feast of the Gods [National Gallery, Washington], (14) but Titian's attitude is anything but casual in his depiction of Bacchus and Ariadne, particularly since the classical iconography of Bacchus [or Dionysus in the Greek tradition], more than that of Ariadne, is a complex one, with multiple attributes or recognizable traits consistently portrayed in Greek and Roman art via black and red figure vase paintings, wall paintings, sculpture and mosaics. (15)

In terms of all'antica in style, Hope also mentions that "in general, authentically classical subject matter was almost always important to patrons elsewhere in Italy" (16) Furthermore, he claims that after d'Este's experience with Bellini, Titian was provided with a specific text to follow in the case of Bacchus and Ariadne (17) which classical texts can probably be adduced, as has been often attempted. As G. H. Thompson showed, Ovid is the most likely classical literary source for Titian, with probable direct allusions to the Ars Amatoria as a primary inspiration for this painting. Thompson also related and challenged the long-held opinions of Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo [Trattato dell'Arte della Pittura, Scoltura et Architettura, 1585] and Carlo Ridolfi in 1648 that Catullus Carmen LXIV was the primary source for this Titian painting. (18)

Continue reading "Titian's BACCHUS AND ARIADNE (1520-23) from Classical Art and Literature" »

Posted by Patrick Hunt at 11:11 PM | Permalink

Fig. 1 Klimt, Pallas Athene, 1898, Historisches Museum der Stadt Wien, Vienna

“...Her terrible eyes shining...” (Iliad I.200)

Gustav Klimt's use of Classical myth iconography is directly derivative of antiquity in his many images of Athena. Perhaps the outstanding image of this goddess since Classical antiquity, however, is his Pallas Athene of 1898 [Fig. 1] (1). She is a very different persona from his famous femmes fatales whose sexuality is overwhelming, for example his Judith (1901) and Danae (1907-8). Here it is Athena’s divinity which Klimt finds more interesting, rather than her sexuality, which is not surprising given the gender ambiguities she demonstrated in Greek antiquity. Perhaps Klimt implies that power is a catalyst to sexual instincts, as history has long suggested that power is one of the most important sexual stimuli in human behavior and that the desire for power is strongly connected to sexual desire. In any case, this somewhat asexual Greek goddess becomes Klimt's most powerful female in his art.

Continue reading "Pallas Athene of Gustav Klimt: Eyes of a Goddess" »

Posted by Patrick Hunt at 12:00 AM | Permalink

Andrea Mantegna. Samson and Delilah, c. 1505. National Gallery, London

Andrea Mantegna painted this Samson and Delilah (circa 1505) with features that are unexpected. Most depictions of Samson and Delilah should be identifiable by merely a woman cutting a sleeping man's hair, as would be derived from the biblical text of Judges 16. This simple image is all that is needed for a straightforward iconographic identification. When additional, idiosyncratic elements beyond this simple image appear, several questions arise about the possible reasons. In this painting, for example, why does Mantegna include a fountain spring pouring from a rock into a water trough? Why is there a vine entwined around a tree and a rocky crevice just between the fountain spring and the water trough? These are not elements in the Samson and Delilah biblical source story of Judges 16 nor are they found in Josephus. Are there other iconographic elements in the painting that connect to different biblical and related texts such as Proverbs 5 and 7?

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Posted by Patrick Hunt at 1:06 AM | Permalink