Painting by the Square Foot

As painters, we often go our merry way churning out dozens of modest size easel paintings--portraits, landscapes, still-lifes, abstracts--congratulating ourselves, patting ourselves on the back for a job well-done, reasonably satisfied by our artistic efforts, sales, and critical acclaim. If we challenge ourselves, we usually do so in terms of technique, or color, or subject matter. And except for a few abstractionist among us who sometimes let the dimensions of their paintings get a little out of hand, most of us never challenge ourselves in terms of size. How many of you ever completed a painting over a hundred square feet?  I figured as much. Neither have I. I'd like to sometime though, before I get too old to climb the scaffolding.

Cubist Self-Portrait, 1913-17, Diego Rivera

Mural painting brings to mind the geniuses of the Renaissance. On this side of the ocean it brings to mind (first at least) the inimitable Mr. Diego Rivera. Born in 1886, Rivera was a contemporary of Picasso and Matisse, except that he was born on the wrong continent, Guanajuato, Mexico. He began by studying sculpture at the academy of Jose Guadalupe Posada in Mexico City before winning a four-year scholarship which took him to Spain. There he studied with Eduardo Chicharro, a realist painter. However it also served to introduce him to Picasso and Cubism. Both influences stuck. He also picked up a little Ingres, some Cezanne, and a generous helping of Renaissance murals to season the mix.

Alegory of California,
1930-31,
Diego Rivera

In returning to Mexico, Rivera began to emulate the Renaissance masters decorating churches. Eventually, he managed to acquire a government position in the arts allowing him to do his large-scale best all over the country, mostly for the Department of Education. Briefly he served as director of the Academy of San Carlos but was soon booted from that position when his ideas of what an art curriculum should look like turned out too be a little to radical for that institution. It was just as well.  The freedom allowed him to marry fellow-artist Frida Kahlo (who often appeared in his creations as seen in the bottom mural) and pursue more lucrative commissions north of the border during the 1930s, first in San Francisco, where he left behind An Allegory of California (left) for the stock exchange there, then to even more prestigious commissions in Detroit for Henry Ford, and New York for the Rockefellers. He died in 1957 at the age of 71, celebrated as Mexico's greatest artist, and the distinction of probably having covered more square feet with painted images than any artist since Michelangelo.

Pan American Unity Mural, 1940, Diego Rivera, San Francisco Community College,
features his wife (they married twice), Frida Kahlo, holding the palette.

A Painter's Legacy

None of us is going to live forever. Sooner or later we become too old to paint. Eventually we die. Depressing isn't it? What we leave behind as artists is our legacy. And if we are strong enough as artists, we may even leave behind a living legacy--followers so impressed and enamored with our work they pursue the path their mentors might have taken had we lived. Artists such as Leonardo, Caravaggio, Rembrandt, Rubens, and others have been so honored in that their styles have lived on after them. Some, such as Rembrandt and Rubens, practically guaranteed this by nurturing during their lifetimes, a large school or workshop of apprentices who were deftly trained to emulate the master in all things artistic. Others, such as Leonardo and Caravaggio had followers based solely upon their own stature as artists and the power of the images they painted while alive. Yet another artist of similar stature, totally without intending to, left behind a similar living legacy as a painter even though he considered himself primarily a sculptor, designer, and architect. His name is practically synonymous with art--Michelangelo Buonarroti.

Virgin and Child with Saint John and
Angels (Manchester Madonna), 1497,
Michelangelo Buonarroti

The man lived to be 89 years old. If not immortal, he at least seemed that way to those around him, having outlived practically all his friends and most of his enemies at the time. During his lifetime, he worked for no less than seven different popes. And being Michelangelo, he was notorious for having several projects going at one time. He seems to have considered his own death to be highly unlikely. Although he left perhaps a half-dozen unfinished sculptures it was his unfinished painting projects that seem to have inspired later artists. Perhaps sixteenth century sculptors were too overwhelmed by his work, (or too inept) to attempt to copy or pursue his sculpting style. But even during his lifetime, artists as well-known as Raphael, and unknown as Marchello Venusti were already copying his painting style. Its possible, inasmuch as Michelangelo preferred sculpture to painting, they simply filled the void Michelangelo left in his wake.

The Entombment, 1500-01,
Michelangelo Buonarroti

Two unfinished paintings are interesting to inspect. One, known as the Manchester Madonna (above, right), is quite early, begun when Michelangelo was about 22 years old. In it, Christ (as a young child) indicates a passage in a book held by his mother involving his future sacrifice. The right side of the painting (the angels) is largely finished as are the central figures of Christ and his mother (except for her hair). The figures on the left are barely roughed in. A second unfinished painting is titled The Entombment (left) and was begun around 1500. It is unique in that it is probably the only totally nude depiction of Christ in existence. Christ appears among four female figures supported by a man presumed to be Joseph of Aramithea. All six of the main figures are largely complete though a foreground space is bare indicating a seventh figure was planned. After 1530 a number of unknown or little-known artists did paintings based upon Michelangelo's drawings. Subjects were as varied as Leda and the Swan, a Holy Family, and The Purification of the Temple, which is said to have influenced El Greco's Christ Driving the Traders from the Temple painted in 1600, just 36 years after Michelangelo's death. It's ironic indeed that Michelangelo's meager legacy of  painting had many more followers than did that of his sculpture.

Christ Driving the Traders from the Temple, ca. 1600, El Greco

Painted Terracotta

There seems to be no end to the list of things upon which artists have chosen to paint. Wooden panels gave way to stretched canvases, which have become the norm, but before that and in modern times the choices artists have made as the holding surface for their paints have been rather mind-boggling. They range from the sublime to the ridiculous. Miniatures have been painted on surfaces as small as a pea and murals on surfaces as large as entire buildings. Starving artists have been known to paint on burlap, cardboard, window blinds and flat rocks. The wealthy have used gold and silver. I once painted on two layers of bed sheets gessoed together. One layer seemed too thin so while it was still wet I stretched a second over the first and re-gessoed it. Actually it was a pretty nice surface. I once nailed burlap over the back of a picture frame and carefully gessoed the front. Look Mom, no stretchers!

Christ and Mary Magdalene, 1510-1515,
Giovanni della Robbia, Giovanni Francesco Rustici

Around 1510, the Florentine painter Giovanni della Robbia teamed up with the sculptor Giovanni Francesco Rustici to paint on clay. Rustici crafted large, terracotta panels in sections much like a jigsaw puzzle. Once they were leathery, the back of each panel was carved out to lighten the weight, then they were allowed to air dry. When bone dry, they were carefully fired in a wood kiln. Once removed and cooled, they were turned over to the painter who applied special mineral pigments carefully chosen to withstand the intense heat of a second, glaze firing. The palette was limited--blue, yellow, purple, and green. Once the painting was done, a transparent glaze was applied over the work and it was refired. The results were often quite spectacular--low-relief paintings marrying the best efforts of the sculptor and the painter that, though fragile, could often withstand the ravages of time, fire, and water better than any other surface.

Lamentation, 1480-1520, Guido Mazzoni

These two artist's collaborated to create Christ and Mary Magdalene (above), a large work consisting of over 30 terracotta pieces mounted as an altarpiece. Conceived in two parts, the lower section is a highly detailed and sculpturally realistic confrontation between the two figures in the garden. It is unique because the figures and background were white and only the sky is actually painted because of the fact that it was done in a golden yellow. (Later works by the two artists were much more colorful presentations.) The upper part, a semicircular arch depicts God, holding a book, flanked by a couple putti. Earlier, around 1480-1520, another artist, Guido Mazzoni, sculpted and painted a freestanding group of terracotta figures for San Giovanni Battista, in Modena, Italy. His grouping of seven mourners around the dead Christ who lies out on the ground before them, at first glance, looks like something from a modern-day wax museum. His Lamentation (above, right) is like a frozen moment from a medieval religious drama--striking in its realism, startling in it's emotional impact.

The Original Sculpture Garden

Crown Hill Cemetary Gate, Indianapolis, Indiana

When one wants to see great art from the past, the natural inclination is to visit some big metropolitan art museum. Each major city in the U.S. seems to have one. Some, of course are bigger and better than others, and all have their different strengths and weaknesses. One of the weaknesses of most major art museums is their sculpture collections, especially work from previous centuries. Often steel and concrete abstractions may dot the grounds while inside, there's a solitary nude perhaps, but for the most part, that is the most part. But there is a place in many large cities where you can go and see often some of the best carved works of art created in the past hundred and fifty years--your friendly, neighborhood cemetery. While many small-town "graveyards" as they're often called, offer nothing more in the way of art than a mind-numbing array of nearly identical, twentieth-century, granite lumps, those in bigger cities are more diverse. Indianapolis' Crown Hill Cemetery is a typical example.

Orphant Annie from the grave of poet, James
Whitcomb Riley who created her.

As cemeteries go, Crown Hill is not that old--a mere 147 years. Originally, it was a small, tree-shaded knoll on the outskirts of town, thought to be the highest point in Marion County.Today, its 555 acres has a population of almost 190,000. And it's also the home of some of the best sculptural efforts to be seen in the Midwest. One of the most intriguing is a bronze statue of a woman in mourning created by the noted sculptor Ruolf Schwarz from Austria. Most monuments are more symbolic. Among the graves of President Benjamin Harrison, poet James Whitcomb Riley (above, left), and bank robber John Dillinger, can be found doves (symbolizing love and purity), broken columns (symbolizing a life unexpectedly cut short), open Bibles (often found on the gravestones of the clergy) and life-size angels whose outstretched wings point the way to heaven. One monument bears a carved painters palette marking the grave, not of a famous artist, but the final resting place of one who merely found pleasure in painting.

The recently restored life-size sculpture figure
of young Corliss Randall Ruckle, who died
in 1889 at the age of twelve.

A hundred years ago, a "picnic in the park" might mean a quiet summer's afternoon dining informally from a blanket spread near a departed relatives grave. Today, even in the most beautiful weather, the tree-lined avenues that give access to the burial plots and the acres of outstanding sculptural art are largely deserted. Today, the descendants of those buried here often live in distant cities, but even those living nearby prefer the "Golden Arches" to the three stone arches that mark the main entrance to this beautiful, megalithic park. Apart from its sculpture, Crown Hill is also something of an architectural sampler as well. Here can be found faithful examples of Classical, Gothic, Egyptian, Romanesque, and yes, even Modern styles in the 57 family owned mausoleums with their ornate bronze doors, marble columns, and stained glass windows. It may be a bit eerie toward the waning hours of the day, but the next time you want to see outstanding sculpture and architecture, don't fight the traffic to go downtown. Instead, pack a picnic lunch and head for the biggest cemetery you can find. It's far more "restful." Who knows, you might even find your future place of rest.

The Lady of the Hill

Nouvelle Cuisine

Food artist, Paul Bocuse

One of the staple subjects of still-lifes from about as far back as still-lifes go (at least to the Renaissance), has been food. We've all seen and grown tired of the traditional bowl of fruit, that amateur artists today still find a respectable challenge without the intimidation found in many more complex subjects. The thinking seems to be, if it was good enough for Cezanne, it's good enough for me. Growing tired of fruit, artists long ago moved on to vegetables, followed by meats and game (some cooked, some raw, some just merely dead). This favorite still-life subject probably sparked the old phrase, "Looks good enough to eat." However, in the 1970s, Paul Bocuse gave a whole new meaning to that phrase with his still-lifes which were meant to be eaten.

A Bocuse still-life work of art

Bocuse coined the term, "Nouvelle Cuisine" (basically just "new cooking,") to stand for a whole new way of looking and thinking of food. Bocuse wasn't a painter, he was a chef, but there were elements of both painting and sculpture in his art. In the kitchen, portions became smaller, sauces became lighter, herbs and spices were carefully tested to tweak old recipes, bringing out new flavors and aromas. But there was a difference in the dining room as well. Starting with just the right plate to serve as a sort of "canvas," food was presented with careful consideration to it's size, shape, color, and texture, basically all the elements of design in painting, but now applied to the creation of a still-life meant to be eaten, and according to some, to pretty to be consumed. The dishes were presented with all the aesthetic attention to arrangement and composition a painter might envy.

A window display featuring noodles of various nationalities--all plastic

In fact, Nouvelle Cuisine, apart from being sort of an art in itself, actually inspired yet another art, that of photographing foods for the glossy gourmet food magazines sold beside the tabloids on the check-out lines of supermarkets. Photographers even began to specialize in the highly technical art. They quickly discovered that some foods simply don't photograph well, or can't stand up to the heat of studio lights. (Imagine, for instance, trying to photograph an ice cream confection.) In due time, substitutions were found (lard came to be used for ice cream) and eventually, there evolved yet another art form, the development of fake, plastic food that not only photographed well, but could set in a restaurant showcase and look pretty (and delectable) for months on end with only an occasional dusting. The movement had come in full circle, from painted food still-lifes, to the real thing, and then back to still-lifes imitating the real thing in plastic. And the one thing they all have in common is they still look "good enough to eat."

New Masterpieces

I suppose it's almost a given fact that all of us have seen dirty pictures at one time or another.  How would you like to get paid to look at dirty pictures? BIG BUCKS! Actually what you get paid for is cleaning them up. Okay, I'm not talking about pornography here now. I'm talking about the lonely life of an art restoration technician. It's tedious; it's time-consuming; and it's a solitary existence--hours spent totally immersed in the artwork of some great master--nose just inches from the canvas, perhaps viewing your work through binocular magnifying glasses, daubing away with Q-tips and solvent, delicately trying to remove centuries of dirt and varnish to reveal the beauty that gradually faded from view generations ago. Often the restoration work takes longer than it did the artist to create the painting in the first place. And sometimes, more than just revitalized beauty awaits the eyes of those paying the thousands, sometimes millions of dollars to have their artwork restored.

Landscape with Bacchus and Ceres, 1624-27,
Nicolas Poussin

Recently the owners of a painting titled Landscape With Arcadian Shepherds had it pulled from the vault of the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool England to be restored. A year later, they found themselves the proud owners of a Poussin! Nicholas Poussin (pronounced Pu-SAN) was a French artist born in 1594, famous for his classical subject matter and landscapes, but most importantly his careful attention to draftsmanship in his work. This painting, re-titled Landscape with Bacchus and Ceres, (once it was clean enough to actually discern the subject matter) was painted between 1624 and 1627 during a period of time when the artist was trying to establish his reputation in Rome. It's an important work because it came at a time when the artist was struggling to find himself and find commissions through the production of a wide variety of styles and subject matter.

Having previously been deemed by the Queen's art expert, Sir Anthony Blunt, to be too crude to be the work of Poussin, the owners quickly found themselves not only bearing the high cost of the restoration work, but that of a hefty, multi-million-dollar insurance policy as well. The painting is a typical Poussin, bucolic landscape with nude or barely clothed male and female figures frolicking together in an erotic idyll thinly cloaked in mythological respectability. In short, it was a highly salable piece of artwork catering to the secular (male) tastes of the time. Even then, Poussin was astutely aware that "sex sells." He went on to produce and sell dozens of such paintings. What makes this work so important is that it could be considered a prototype for the kind of work that was to influence the primacy-of-drawing faction (Poussinistes) of French painting for generations to come. The painting is no longer literally a dirty picture, though the newly revealed subject matter might not have been far removed from that almost four hundred years ago when it was painted.

A "New" Giotto

One of the difficulties with oil paints, especially old oil paints is that they don't last forever. They crack and even chip off.  Sometimes, when they do, startling discoveries are made. That was the case with the privately owned Madonna della Minerva (no photo available), a Madonna and Child done on a wooden panel about 1300. Records showed that the figures had been repainted as early as the 1400s with the gold leaf background restored sometime in the 1500s and then the whole thing repainted in oils sometime in the 1600s. Needless to say, by 1993, it was starting to need repainting again. It was then art archivists got hold of it and began to peel their way down through the dirt and the layers of paint to what they discovered was, in fact a fresco--a thin layer of plaster into which pigment had been embedded.

Santa Maria sopra Minerva in Rome, with its 19th century
facade and Bernini's famous elephant obilisk, is just around the
corner from Rome's famous Pantheon. It was here, in the Altieri
 Chapel, that Giotto's fresco originally found a home.

Fascinated, the owner ordered it restored, only to find yet another surprise.  It was by Giotto. Further research revealed it was painted originally for the altar of Rome's Altieri Chapel in Santa Maria sopra Minerva. The work has a genuinely Byzantine-Medieval appearance, yet the three-dimensionality of the figures clearly mark it as having come from the brush of Giotto during one of his frequent sojourns to Rome in the years shortly after finishing the Assisi Frescos. Giotto is known to have been to Rome several times during the period of the pontificate of Boniface VIII (1294-1303), not so much to paint but to study painting, especially the work of the ancient Roman artists, particular that of Pietro Cavallini. This particular painting is thought to be one of only two or three surviving works of Giotto from this period.

Navicella Mosaic, 1298, Giotto
(reconstruction)

The Roman art Giotto went to study, included the huge Navicella mosaic which at that time adorned the wall over the atrium side of the main entrance to the original St. Peter's basilica. This modest-sized church was ordered built by Constantine, the fourth Christian Roman emperor in 315 A.D. Finished in 350 A.D., it was situated over the tomb of St. Peter. The present St. Peter's Cathedral was literally built around and over it. The brick and timber edifice was not completely torn down until the present structure was well underway. It is believed that some of Giotto's work (along with dozens of other Medieval paintings and mosaics) were destroyed in the process. Of Giotto's work, only the Stephaneschi altarpiece and less than five square feet of the Navicella mosaic (by an unknown artist) were saved from old St. Peter's.

The Romanesque Old St, Peter's Basilica, Rome, 333-1550 (from a 15th century print).
The obilisk at left marked the original Circus of Nero. Today it resides as the
centerpiece of St. Peter's Square. The boxlike structure directly to the right of the
basilica is the Sistine Chapel.

Plan with overlays indicating the relative positions of the Circus of Nero, old St. Peter's,
and the present day St. Peter's Basillica