FeatureReviews

ABrushWithDeath

d av i d pa c k w o o d

Caravaggio:TheFinalYearsferdinando bollogna et al.

Electa Napoli/National Gallery, London 2005 d25.00191 pp. 49 col/89 mono illusisbn 88-510-0264-9

UK and US dist Yale University Press

Caravaggiojohn gash

Chaucer Press 2003 d15.99128 pp. 62 col/47 mono illusisbn 1904449-220

US dist IPM, Virginia 001 800 7583756

Caravaggio’s life shows that truthcan certainly be stranger thanfiction, and it is astounding that

he produced such a body of original andinnovative work during a period when heseems to have been fearful for his life.Something of this fraught lifestyle isevoked in a written description of theartist’s Messina period, by a commentator,Susinno, who described Caravaggio as a‘lunatic’, ‘going armed [and] ‘more likea mercenary than a painter’. We shouldnever forget that Caravaggio, the renegadepainter, was just as adept with the swordas the brush, and maybe for him thebusiness of painting was more like a duelthan a craft. This incompatibility betweenthe painter and the swordsman tempts oneto raise a smile. You want to retain thisserio-comic image of Caravaggio, workingon such paintings as the Raising of Lazarusand warding off potential assailants atsword point whilst blocking in a figurewith the other hand. It’s a nice thought,but the truth is that Caravaggio hadsufficient protection from the great andgood to enable him to produce deeplymeditated essays on life and death,relatively free from turbulence. Nonethe-less, the ceaseless agitation of this pain-ter’s mind can be seen in such canvases asthe Raising of Lazarus, where Christ’s out-stretched arm seems to suggest dam-nation rather than salvation, more inaccord with the punitive iconography ofLast Judgements than images of redemp-tion. Here is Lazarus, right hand pathe-tically reaching up towards the lightemanating from Christ in the upperregister, but note that Lazarus’ left hand

reaches downwards to the earth, fingersgroping for a skull that rests on theground in the darkness; a symbol of theinevitable process of decay, perhaps?Significantly, Caravaggio seems actuallyto witness this eschatological drama, sincewhat could be his own features are visiblebehind the gaping followers of Christ.Like a Renaissance festaiuolo, a figure whocomments on the action whilst being partof it, Caravaggio seems both to exist in thisworld, and yet be apart from it. And likeLazarus in the painting, he seems indeci-sive about his spiritual destination, neitherrising upwards towards salvation, norsinking down into the shadows of theeternally damned material world.

Other paintings in the National Gal-lery’s exhibition (23 Feb–22 May, 2005)illustrate the idea of physical matter thatdrags the soul down into the world ofthe flesh. In these paintings, flesh seemsresilient, supple and alive, as if affirmingits right to rule over the insubstantialrealm of spirit with which the paintingsare supposedly concerned. Compare thehaggard, crossed figure of Lazarus withthe piteous, gaunt body of St Andrew,hanging on his cross in the Crucifixion ofSt Andrew (Cleveland Museum of Art). Youobserve how Andrew’s body sags earth-wards, and what is one to make of thatstrange, inexplicable anatomical detail, abelt of flesh that rises up from the saint’sbreast cage, loops over his stretched rightarm and disappears into the darkness?Caravaggio seems to have devised this odddetail to emphasise the agony of the saintsince it cruelly binds Andrew more firmlyto his cross. This fascinating section offlesh brings to mind Rembrandt’s Dead Ox,where the dripping cadaver represents akind of vanitas, an exemplum of flesh andbone, suggesting the inescapable presenceof earthly putrefaction. Alternatively, couldthis expressive physiognomy be read as asarcastic comment on the academicism ofthe Carracci, who elevated the copying ofthe male body into a design principle?Whatever the motivation behind Cara-vaggio’s strange new flesh, there is nodoubting its communicative power as itthrusts aggressively towards the viewer asin, for instance, the Salome with the Headof John the Baptist (Prado, Madrid). Here,

the executioner’s crudely modelled leftshoulder is displayed to the viewer as if tocomplement the main object offered, thedead Baptist’s head. Caravaggio seems tooffer these detached fragments to theviewer’s gaze, especially in the show-stopping David and Goliath (BorgheseGallery, Rome) where the famous severedhead is an agonising self-portrait prof-fered to the viewer by a pensive youngDavid. Consider too the aggressive thrustof the middle shepherd’s knotted shoulderand arm in the Adoration of the Shepherds, amotif so out of place in a picture where allother figures are sedately clothed in gownsand tunics. These examples of accentuatedphysicality could be seen as compositionalgaucheries, but this seems unlikely givenCaravaggio’s mastery of his medium.Perhaps the intrusive rustic arm shouldbe read as the physical irruption of matterinto the realm of spirit, bearing all downto ground level, especially the Virgin, wholiterally sits on the earth in the manner of aMadonna of Humility.

Alternatively, the emphasis on thematerial world could be read as a visualcomment on how science was cohabitingwith painting, making of it an instrumentby which the natural world could begauged and exploited. The main catalysthere was Galileo, who in his childhoodhad harboured secret ambitions to be adraughtsman. Galileo had never despisedpainting, and so it is tempting to makegreater connections between his scientificview and the uncompromising realism ofCaravaggio’s art, as is attempted in theaccompanying catalogue to this exhibi-tion. The recent David Hockney ‘SecretKnowledge’ controversy has brought theissue of science, particularly optics, backonto the agenda of Caravaggio scholar-ship. It is hard to know what ‘scientific’knowledge Caravaggio could have pos-sessed, though perhaps not as much asthat assumed by the curators of thisexhibition. It stretches one’s credulity toread that the Sleeping Cupid, painted duringthe artist’s sojourn in Malta for FraFrancesco dell’Antella, shows Caravag-gio’s awareness of the ‘clinical symptoms’of a dead child. More feasibly, as thecurators state, the choice of decompo-sing dead Cupid reflects a dialogue with

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Caravaggio’s Renaissance namesake, Mi-chelangelo. Perhaps the origins of theSleeping Cupid are to be found in artisticcompetition between Caravaggio and hisnamesake rather than in the many ingeni-ous iconographical explanations present-ed here.

Although the Maltese period is under-represented within the context of theexhibition itself, most noticeably becauseof the absence of the Portrait of Alof deWignacourt (Louvre, Paris), David Stone’sfascinating and compelling essay in thecatalogue does much to fill in the blanks.His analysis of the iconography of theGrandmaster’s full-length portrait, con-taining a submissive yet proud slave,reveals much about the character ofWignacourt. It seems that the leader ofthe Knights of St John wanted to projectan image of quiet strength and authority, awarning to those who would seek to testthe mettle of the Order. Stone is helped bythe fact that he recently discovered Wigna-court’s letters, which show how deter-mined the Grandmaster was to installCaravaggio upon the fortress island. Noless absorbing is the story of Caravaggio’srelationship with another Knight, Martelli,who may be depicted in the portrait of amember of the Order available for viewinghere (Pitti Palace, Florence). A Prior ofMalta, Martelli would undoubtedly havebeen a figure to impress Caravaggioduring his time on the island and, if thefeatures shown here are those of Martelli,the artist has captured the solid, resolutenature of the man.

Austerity and gravitas seemed to havecharacterised Caravaggio’s stay on Malta,almost as if he were seeking to capture forposterity the monastic atmosphere of thereligious knights who observed a strictdiscipline, despite occasionally lapsinginto some human passion or vice. Hencethe calm grandeur of Caravaggio’s great-est achievement on Malta, the Beheading ofSt John the Baptist (Oratory, Valletta Cathe-dral) – a glaring omission here. This hugecanvas, painted for the Hall of State in theMaltese Oratory, provided the backdropfor the ceremony of defrocking in absentiawhen Caravaggio had successfully eludedthe long arm of the Knights of Malta. Ithas a personal resonance since it is theonly painting that Caravaggio signed,grotesquely painting his name in theblood red paint that trickles towardsthe lower frame, almost intruding intothe viewer’s space. The theme of bloody

violence and the effect on the observer ofCaravaggio’s art has been worked on inrecent years by theorists who have seendecapitation as a trope applicable to thecruelty and bloodshed of our own times.This is true, especially as Caravaggio’s artseems to abstract the violence of his ownepoch into some ageless realm wherehorror is comprehensible to all. Stonehas some interesting things to say aboutCaravaggio’s rigid management of vio-lence, a tendency which helps to bring outthe absurd nature of the human situation.This is more Beckett than Shakespeare,and it is fitting that Derek Jarman, inhis film biopic, Caravaggio, drew on theuniverse of Endgame for his scenes ofCaravaggio alone in his studio. Here, inCaravaggio’s Beheading of St John the Baptist,is the modern hell of inaction, the frozenmoment of time in which not only thehorror and futility of everything is recog-nised, but also the more horrifying factthat nothing can be done about it.

As Caravaggio’s art and life draw totheir untimely end, it is noticeable thatthere is a significant change in tone. Thecrowd of figures in the street, whichBellori disgustedly said that Caravaggiohad used for inspiration, has thinned outand we are left with two or three actorsoccupying stark canvases. As you moveaway from the rooms housing the largecanvases such as the Raising of Lazarus andAdoration of the Shepherds, towards the verylast works, you leave oratorio behind, andencounter cantata di camera in the intimate,psychologically taut atmosphere of suchpictures as The Denial of St Peter (Metropo-litan Museum of Art, New York) andThe Martyrdom of St Ursula (Banca Intesa,Naples). The Denial of St Peter refuses thetheatre of outward gesture that we see inworks such as the David and Goliath, andturns inwards. The picture does not offeritself to the viewer, but seems to holdback, the idea of retreat suggested byPeter’s gesture of turning his handstowards his breast. Peter’s turning of thehands symbolises repentance, which, tra-ditionally, followed the rejection of Christby the saint. No less private, but far morecharged is the picture hanging next to theDenial of St Peter in this exhibition: TheMartyrdom of St Ursula. Here, we stand infront of the last picture that Caravaggioever painted, and again we have the face ofthe artist, straining to observe the humandrama unfolding before him. The Tyrant ofmedieval legend fires an arrow at Princess

Ursula, who had spurned his advances.The missile flies towards its target, butUrsula, with the same gesture of Peter,hardly seems to register the impact of thedeadly dart. The arrow is frozen forever intime, but look closely at the flint of thatarrow: it is transparent. Here, in thismoment when time hangs suspended, itis almost as if painting has stopped too.Admittedly, the picture is unfinished,but you wonder why Caravaggio’s brushwavered at that particular point, at thatdepiction of the moment of death?Caravaggio, suffering from illness andweighed down by the burden of living, feltthat all had been said, and from thatmoment onwards painting would speakno more. Painting therefore ceases, andthe transparency of the arrow flint, imply-ing the death of painting, represents amoment of recognition when the painterrealises that this is the end of life too.

Caravaggio’s paintings live on in anafterlife of exhibitions, catalogues andvigorous scholarship, which brings me tothe problems with Caravaggio: The LateYears. Yes, it is hard, given the evidencepresented here, to gain an unambiguousoverview of Caravaggio’s late years, butthat fact, though frustrating, is not thefault of the curators. However, criticismis merited for the unevenness of the cata-logue, which ranges from the ramblingessays by Ferdinando Bologna and Anto-nio Ernesto Denunzio to more focusedones such as that co-written by KeithSciberras and David Stone on the Malteseperiod. Even more irksome is the arrange-ment of the latter part of the catalogue intotwo sections comprising ‘new proposals’and ‘old copies’, shown only in Naples.This hardly seems appropriate to thecurrent exhibition anyway but, if it is,why haven’t some of these variants and‘proposals’ gone into the London show inorder to elucidate the problem of ‘copies’,in itself a fascinating and highly specia-lised aspect of Caravaggio studies? Over-all, the catalogue gives the impressionof having been put together hurriedly,perhaps spurred on by the thought thatthis opportunity of assembling a groupof late paintings by Caravaggio may, likea comet destined to pass once in ourlifetime, never be seen again. The curatorsmay well be right. Who knows when thesepaintings will be brought together again,which is surely why the National Galleryhas grasped the opportunity to place theirearly Supper at Emmaus next to the lesser-

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FeatureReviews

known and later version in the Brera inMilan, which after repeated viewings has

the edge over its more famous companion,not least because of the humble solemnitythat characterises the Brera painting.

So, the London show was not an

unqualified success, given the missingpaintings from the Neapolitan leg ofthe exhibition and other museums, but itwas certainly welcome despite the cracksin the structure. Whilst walking aroundthis exhibition I conceived the desire tocurate an exhibition of my own, contain-ing paintings that have not been lentbecause of administrative wrangles, man-agerial incompetence or pure chauvinism.There is no doubt that the absence fromLondon of certain pictures severely da-mages the overall vision of ‘Caravaggio:The Final Years’, and this is unfortunate.

John Gash’s book on Caravaggio hasbeen re-issued to coincide with the cur-rent exhibition, and although it could bedismissed as a picture book, that would beunfair. It contains a lucid introductionwith some judicious comments regardingreceived opinion on Caravaggio, as well asknowledgeable summaries of the paint-ings themselves. However, I remain to beconvinced, unlike Gash and the curatorsof ‘Caravaggio: The Late Years’, that theRouen Flagellation of Christ is autograph,especially given the awkward handling ofthe executioner. Still, Gash is extremelycompetent when engaging with the bio-graphers’ critical judgements on Caravag-gio. Gash’s essay would suit the exhibitionvisitor seeking a short, but informed,introduction to Caravaggio without theapparatus of the footnotes, and incestuousarguments about attribution and datingthat plague much of the catalogue.

David Packwood, University of Warwick

Portrait of a Knight of Malta, Fra Antonio Martelli,1607–8 Caravaggio (1571–1610) r GalleriaPalatina, Palazzo Pitti, Florence

Call forEntries:BlindArt Opens2006 ‘Sense&Sensuality’CompetitionBlindArt is delighted to announce thatthe 2006 ‘Sense & Sensuality’ competi-tion is now open. All artists in all mediaare invited to submit work that does notexclude the visually impaired, and thatcan be explored through touch and theother senses.

Submission deadline is 10 January 2006,with a d5000 First Prize and the BlindArtPurchase Prize for the charity’s Perma-nent Collection.

100 entries will be chosen for displayat Bankside Gallery, London, from 14September to 8 October 2006. For anentry form visit www.blindart.net, orcall 020 7245 9977.

The winner of the 2005 First Prize was‘Head’, a work by Scottish mother anddaughter artists, Liz Munro and NualaWatt. It explored and expressed Nuala’sown visual impairment, through digital

photography and printed ‘flocking’.This visual and textural work wasaccompanied by a poem called ‘Bird-song’, written by Nuala.

Judges of the 2006 competition include:the artist, Marc Quinn; Richard Cork,art critic; Gary Sargeant, visually im-paired artist; Manfredi della Gherardes-ca, art adviser; Sheri Khayami, Founderof BlindArt and visually impaired;Catherine Hillis, RNIB; and Prof GlynnWilliams, Head of Fine Art, RoyalCollege of Art.

BlindArt launched their inaugural com-petition in 2004, which culminated inthe acclaimed ‘Sense & Sensuality 2005’exhibition, the first to allow works of artto be touched and enjoyed with allsenses. It was held at the RCA in Marchthis year, and received global andnational press and public attention.

For further information, contactBlindArt Press OfficePippa Roberts020 7923 3188pr@pipparoberts.comPippa Roberts Publicity& Communications101 Mapledene Road, London E8 3LL

Laura Colborn020 7381 1981colborns@btinternet.com

12 The ArtBook volume 12 issue 3 august 2005 r bpl/aah

FeatureReviews