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Saturday, July 3, 2010

Art in Context at the Bargello Museum

Today was an incredible reminder of what is often lost when we experience art. Namely, how deeply affected, in both the creating and viewing, each piece is by it's cultural context.

This morning our class visited the Bargello Museum with our "guide" Joan Reifnsyder. It is an incredible museum, often overlooked by many tourists.



Built in the late 1200's, it is one of the oldest public buildings in Florence and eventually became a meeting place for the city council (a guild of merchants). The merchants' power was, however, severely limited by their lack of a military for they were not nobility afterall. For protection, they would hire a knight from outside of Florence.  Bargello actually means Captain of Justice and the influence of these "captains" can be seen in their coats of arms lining the interior wall of of the courtyard. By 1574 the building served as a jail and many of the rooms still show evidence of where the cells used to divide the space.

By the mid 1800's, the Bargello became the first national museum as Italy united and Florence was the Capital for a short 5 year stint. At that time it was completely restored, vaults painted etc. and the building appears now as it was completed then. It is primarily a sculpture museum, housing important works by Ghiberti, Brunelleschi, Donatello, and Michelangelo (all of whom are considered Renaissance artists). I name these artists, specifically, because their sculptures are so much better understood within their cultural context.

I, for one, am not a fan of gilded allegorical works.  If I had been in the Bargello by myself I would have flown by these two "Sacrifice of Isaac"s without a second thought. But they both play an important role in Florentine architecture and provide interesting insights into newly emerging Renaissance tastes.

                  by Lorenzo Ghiberti                                      by Filippo Brunelleschi

In 1401 there was a competition to commission an artist to design the doors on the northern entrance to the Florence Baptistry. Several artists competed, all adhering to the same parameters of design (Isaac and Jacob, an angel, a symbolic lamb, a donkey and two shepherds) but only the 1st and 2nd place pieces were saved... the rest were melted down for the bronze to be used in the actual making of the doors... a classic example of how art was actually created in the Renaissance: by commission only. Artists didn't create a piece of art and then try to sell it, like now. Every artist knew exactly where the money was coming from before they started any work of art.

Ghiberti's design won the competition. But why was it chosen over over Brunelleschi's? It all comes down to composition and the depiction of emotion. Ghiberti's design is classically Greek, with the contraposto (weight on one leg with lowered opposite shoulder) pose of Isaac and the beautiful angular structure of the figures, where the eye is led from the symbolic lamb in the upper left, down through Abraham's upraised arm and then perfectly supported at the bottom by the donkey and shepherds. The figures are calm and contained within their borders. Brunelleschi's in much more violent.  Abraham is already plunging the knife into Isaac's throat (so much so that the Angel has to actually physically restrain his hand) and the look of torture and anguish on both Isaac and Abraham's face is palpable. The bottom figures seem to be bursting from their borders rather than maintaining a supportive calm. This is the direction the Renaissance will eventually head (Caravaggio  immediately comes to my mind) but Florentine tastes are not there yet. They are looking to the ancient Greeks for their aesthetics and so Ghiberti wins because his design is perfectly aligned with such fashions.



When Ghiberti won the competition it began an incredible series of events... later, by default from his success on the northern entrance, he created the famous golden doors of the eastern entrance, coined the "Gates of Paradise" by Michelangelo. AND, Brunelleschi having lost the commission, left Florence to study Architecture in Rome, only to return and build the Duomo's magnificent dome! A perfect reminder that rejection in one place can provide the perfect opportunity for excellence elsewhere.

David sculptures can be seen throughout all of Florence. The story of a young boy defeating a man giant through wit alone was a favorite symbol for the budding republic. These two sculptures were both done by Donatello in the early to mid 1400's.


It is hard to believe that these two depictions of David are by the same artist. The one on the left, cast in bronze, is Donatello's most famous work and was the first freestanding statue (meant to be viewed by walking completely around it) created since antiquity. Notice how young David is depicted here, like a prepubescent boy of perfect proportion, with effeminate features, soft skin and an ethereal expression. In contrast, the one on the right, carved in marble, appears strangely elongated (especially in the neck), with a stronger "male" presence and stance.

The bronze has a history of controversy. Some claim the alluring girlishness of the figure pertains to homosexual practices during the Renaissance, others, that Donatello was simply interpreting the Bible's description of the young lad to an exaggerated dramatic effect... stressing the mind over might allegory. So we know that Donatello had obvious and intentional control of his proportions and emotional impact. So why does his marble depiction of the same character appear so distorted? As I have said before, all Renaissance art was produced on commission, so we must understand the purpose of this sculpture, primarily where it was meant to seen from, in order to understand why the artist choose to create it in such a manner. This David was meant to be fitted into a niche upon the facade of a church where it would be viewed by the public. Limited by the narrowness of the street, the viewpoint would be one of a dramatic upward angle, so in order for the proportions to appear correct, they must be elongated else it would seem as though David had no neck at all. A perfect example of how taking art out of its intended context can completely distort our viewing of it.

Just as the David and Goliath story is a potent symbol for Florentine's social philosophy, so too is Michelangelo's portrait of Brutus an important allegory for political prowess. We all know the story of Brutus aiding in the assassination of Julius Cesar. So how is this important to contemporary Florence?


When the bust was commissioned in 1540, Lorenzo di Medici (not the famous Lorenzo the Magnificent) had recently assassinated his cousin Allessandro di Medici, a direct descendant of the Medici family line who had gained much personal power when he had the Pope declare him Duke. Many attribute the commission of the bust as directly linked to this modern day assassination. Even Michelangelo's rough handling of the hair seems to perfectly depict the texture of Allessandro's mulatto race. The commission would have been a reminder to Florentines of the importance of disposing of powerful despots when that power is self proclaimed and not represented by the republic.

Without this knowledge of the contemporary political climate, I would have walked right by this sculpture, writing it off as yet another simple aesthtic honoring of antiquity. I will never look at art so sparingly again, neglecting to inquire into its purpose, and thereby relying solely upon an aesthetic experience. There's so much more to learn about these pieces. What good is perfect technique if the idea behind it is never understood?

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

A "New" Technique For Accuracy


At the Florence Academy of Art they teach the Sight-Size Method, a technique used in the 15th to 18th Century ateliers that allows artists to capture their subject in the exact size that it appears. Basically you set up your easel at a desired distance (the closer to the model the more life sized it will be) and take several steps back. From this vantage point, where the model and your easel are perceived on the same plane, you can begin to translate your view in a one to one ratio. Many artists use tools, like plumb lines (a piece of string with a weight tied to the end so it hangs perfectly vertical) so they can properly see the proportions of where things lie in relation to eachother. Some even use sticks for measuring and black mirrors to properly gauge shadow and light relationships. Once you have a perfect outline of the form then you can start blocking in shadows.



The process is incredibly tedious, involving an observation from the vantage point (feet squared, back straight, arms locked into the correct position for measuring!), walking up to the paper, placing the mark from memory and then returning to the exact same vantage point to observe again to make sure you made a correct mark. Then returning to your easel to make corrections. Try this back and forth for 3 hours with a live model who inevitably is moving. Just the slightest inch of weight change and your drawing is no longer accurate! Oooof.

Of course all of this painstaking work is only for a prepatory drawing that will then be transferred to canvas so that when the painting process begins all the quarks have been worked out. So it's all about simplicity and clarity of outline and where blocks of shadow fall within the form. You're not making a pretty drawing, just a mechanical rendition for plotting a painting. That has been the hardest part for me to get over.

I've been working from live models for years under a completely different philosophy. In Paris I learned to paint the live figure intuitively, to use every contour line to express the model's interior energy. A hard line that separates form in light and shadow doesn't really exist when the transitions always blur in living movement. Even as a small child I specifically remember the moment when, adhering to coloring within the lines in my cartoon book, I searched in vain for my own outline. 

Needless to say the past two days have been intense. The physical exhaustion of standing and walking back and forth from vantage point to easel is compounded a thousandfold by the mental concentration needed for such an exercise. They say master chess players burn 5,000 calories just thinking. I wonder what an artist burns just looking?! I can probably eat all the gelato my heart desires.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Paint is Liquid Thought

"Paint records the most delicate gesture and the most tense. It tells whether the painter sat or stood or crouched in front of the canvas. Paint is a cast made of the painter's movements, a portrait of the painter's body and thoughts. The muddy moods of oil paints are the painter's muddy humors, and its brilliant transformations are the painter's unexpected discoveries. Painting is an unspoken and largely unrecognized dialogue, where paint speaks silently in masses and colors and the artists responds in moods. All those meanings are intact in the paintings that hang in museums: they preserve the memory of the tired bodies that made them, the quick jabs, the exhausted truces, the careful nourishing gestures. Painters can sense those motions in the paint even before they notice what the paintings are about. Paint is water and stone, and it is also liquid thought. "    ~James Elkins from What Painting Is

Monday, June 28, 2010

First morning in Firenze

Mornings always make me wince. The alarm demands attention and groggy confusion beats routine against the clock of the work day. Even the physical comfort of warm blankets become a source of guilt when lingering there only postpones the inevitable beginning to the day. But not this morning. 

Today I awoke to birds’ song and a pink sunrise over the foggy hills.  Little black angular bodies with their wings sharp and alert, pitched and dived over the terra cotta tiled roofs.  Just lying in bed and observing didn’t even occur to me... with my camera already in hand  I wandered to every window in the apartment I will call home for the next five weeks, 3 cats in tow rubbing against my bare feet. From the kitchen I watched the sun grace the city, catching at the uneven lines of tiling and puckering the peeling plaster. The gardens remained dark in the shadowed courtyards creating beautiful boundaries between morning and night. And just as the sun wrapped the Duomo in a cloth of pale gold, the first bells began.  A perfect morning in Florence.

It’s interesting to me how we become accustomed to a daily routine and how easily we take things for granted. In the absence of a favorite cup or the smell of one’s own in the blankets,  even making breakfast away from home (tea and crackers smothered in ricotta cheese)  becomes something entirely new and exciting. Living in a foreign country is a process of discovery in the smallest of things... from how differently even milk tastes to the unbelievable gratitude that can abound in finding a portable fan tucked away in the back room.

Friday, May 14, 2010

2007 Interview

Brooke Walker-Knoblich was asked to be The Art List's Artist of the Month in 2007.

Artist of The Month – Interview Questions

Name: Brooke Walker-Knoblich
City: Sacramento
State: California


The Art List: How and when did you start creating art?
Brooke Walker-Knoblich: My life has always been immersed in art. I attended Live Oak Waldorf throughout my childhood, had a fantastic art teacher in High School, Terence Baxter, and received a BA in Studio Art from UC San Diego in 2005. However, even though I colored 'til I had blisters on my fingers as a child and art was something I did for “fun” I didn’t become a serious artist until I spent my junior year abroad in Paris, France. In Paris I studied with Kathy Burke, a renowned portrait artist, and had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to participate in the Master’s Copy Program in the Louvre Museum, wheeling my easel out of the storage closet to paint from Santerre’s “Suzanne au Bain” for several hours a day. I came back home with a new sense of purpose