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deedeedaydreaming · 1 year ago

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The People’s Paintings

Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I know, Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me, Enter and take their place there sure enough, Though they come back and cannot tell the world. My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here. The sudden blood of these men! at a word— Praise them, it boils, or blame them, it boils too. I, painting from myself and to myself, Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame Or their praise either.

That comes from Andrea del Sarto, published in 1855, a dramatic monologue inspired by the eponymous Renaissance painter. Robert Browning, through the figure of del Sarto, explores religion, love, and art. For now we shall focus on the third of these three things alone — though, perhaps, they are interminably intertwined and ineluctably inseparable. Well, it is not my place to ponder that question right now; 'tis yours. So I hand the proverbial microphone over to you. These are some of my favourite paintings...

1)

An obscure painting by an obscure artist - “The Shining Plain” by Tom Lea (1907-2001).

A native of El Paso, Texas, Lea first worked as a painter and muralist, and later as a novelist and historian. During WWII, he served as an artist correspondent for LIFE magazine, embedded with the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps. He was witness to some of the most tragic and bloody days of the war–the sinking of the aircraft carrier Wasp by a Japanese submarine, and the bloody (and strategically questionable) battle of Peleliu, from which came his most well-known paintings, “The Two-Thousand Yard Stare” and “The Price”.

After his return from war, Lea returned to painting real and imagined scenes of his native Texas, perhaps as healing. “The Shining Plain” (1947) was one of these. It is a sparse painting, a field of knee-high grass under an overcast sky, likely inspired by similar plains that still cover much of central and northern Texas. A buckskin-clad man in a coonskin cap, perhaps a settler or trader, rides a horse, and is followed by a pack-carrying burro. Small details–the man’s expressionless, bearded face, the long gun, the conspicuously large knife in his belt–note that this is a man who has seen hardship, war, and death. But other details cast the scene in a more peaceful light. The man and his animals are facing left–westward, perhaps? The man carries his rifle comfortably, barrel facing to the rear. Both horse and burro are in mid-stride, and their ears are perked up and forward–a fearful animal would have their ears flat and lowered. Is there something of interest ahead? A water source? A destination? A place to call home? And above them all, the overcast skies are breaking, and sunlight is pouring through.

2)

I hope this isn’t cheating as it’s a print of a drawing which I have always admired. It’s a festive dinner at the Seamen’s Hospital in Greenwich and signed WS. The Seamen’s hospital was paid for by Queen Mary wife of King William as she thought that disabled seamen should have a hospital the same as the Chelsea one for soldiers. In the event it proved to be far too grand for the seamen and the wonderful Painted Hall and other buildings were used by the trustees. The rules were strict, but in general life was a great deal better than having to fend for themselves.

This image is clearly a good deal later than the original foundation (probably mid Victorian) but the dinner looks like a good one and the mugs of ale are cheering. The artist has caught the expressions on the faces of the seamen wonderfully but they all seem much more focussed on eating than on conviviality. Perhaps that’s because such a feast was rare and because they would not have wished the female serving maids to hear what they were saying. It’s also good to see a black seaman in the company and a reminder that we have always been a diverse community. The diners are reminded to be loyal and religious by the texts on the wall and we, the viewers are reminded about the dreadful injuries sustained in the many wars in which so many of them were constrained to fight.

3)

One of my favourite paintings is The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanal. Everything about this painting is so beautifully haunting, from the angel's body pose to the emotions depicted in his face and eyes; sadness, anger, humiliation, and defiance.

4)

The Birth of Venus is a painting by the Italian artist Sandro Botticelli probably made in the mid 1480s. It depicts the goddess Venus arriving at the shore after her birth, when she had emerged from the sea fully-grown (called Venus Anadyomene and often depicted in art). The painting is in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy.

Although the two are not a pair, the painting is inevitably discussed with Botticelli's other very large mythological painting, the Primavera, also in the Uffizi. They are among the most famous paintings in the world, and icons of the Italian Renaissance; of the two, the Birth is even better known than the Primavera. As depictions of subjects from classical mythology on a very large scale they were virtually unprecedented in Western art since classical antiquity, as was the size and prominence of a nude female figure in the Birth. It used to be thought that they were both commissioned by the same member of the Medici family, but this is now uncertain.

They have been endlessly analysed by art historians, with the main themes being: the emulation of ancient painters and the context of wedding celebrations (generally agreed), the influence of Renaissance Neo-Platonism (somewhat controversial), and the identity of the commissioners (not agreed). Most art historians agree, however, that the Birth does not require complex analysis to decode its meaning, in the way that the Primavera probably does. While there are subtleties in the painting, its main meaning is a straightforward, if individual, treatment of a traditional scene from Greek mythology, and its appeal is sensory and very accessible, hence its enormous popularity.