Posts tagged ‘National Gallery’

Mar 9

Bacchus & Ariadne

The year toils on, March is upon us, and in line with my new year’s resolution, I have made painting the very heart of my year’s endeavours. In that vein, I am progressing well with a new collection of abstract interpretations, not only of my own experiences, but also of well known masterpieces. Following hot on the heels of my interpretations of V elazquez’s Las Meninas, I have now painted what must be my favourite of my entire new collection, an interpretation of Titian’s masterpiece, Bacchus and Ariadne.

With its stunning sky of ultramarine and the sheer energy of the central character, Bacchus, jumping into the air, the painting has always been one of my absolute favourites in the collection of The National Gallery in London. Painted as part of a cycle of paintings on mythological subjects produced for Alfonso I d’Este, the Duke of Ferrara, the painting is based on a tale told by Roman poets Catullus and Ovid. It depicts Ariadne, daughter of Minos, being deserted by her lover Theseus on the island of Naxos. She is rescued by Bacchus, god of wine who, in a chariot drawn by two cheetahs, sweeps into the scene with his retinue of drunken followers in a campaign to seduce Ariadne. In so doing, he promises her the sky, where, he declares, she will become a constellation of stars, like the Northern Crown which can be seen glimmering in the sky.

Bacchus & Ariadne (2016 ©Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, acrylic on canvas)

Bacchus and Ariadne by Titian, 1522-23 (National Gallery, London)

The composition and the colours are so striking that in painting my own version, I wanted to change neither, instead choosing to retain the stunning blue sky with its rolling fair-weather clouds, while in front simplifying the forms of the characters, the trees and the landscape. In finding ways to “abstract” the figures, I discovered various triangles across the composition, and used this shape, in particular, in depicting the masculine figures in the scene, while for the feminine figures, I used curving forms.

Nothing can repeat the true genius of the Venetian master, Titian, but my version of this painting, created in perfect ratio to the original, is certainly something of a high point in my new collection of a freshly revolutionised style.

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. For more information on the work of Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, head to his art website at www.delacybrown.com

Dec 17

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Art in London (Part 2): The Goya Portraits

When I first saw the grand lofty gallery in the Prado filled with Goya’s portraits, and indeed upon subsequent visits, I admit that I was not overly won over. It was not so much that the portraits were bad, just that by comparison with the dramatic visions of the 2nd and 3rd May 1808 in the adjacent room, or of the even more terrifying and enthralling Black Paintings alongside that, the portraits of Francisco de Goya y Lucientes (1746-1828) always felt a little…bland. It also occurred to me that they all looked a little samey, with their piercing round black eyes sparkling like the glass eyes of teddy bears, and this led me to the perhaps premature conclusion that Goya had painted his sitters more idealistically, rather than realistically.

But the current Goya exhibition at London’s National Gallery sheds new light on this important epoch of the artist’s work, and seen within a narrative of their rich historical context, and with the ability to compare and contrast a magnificent set of some of Goya’s best, suddenly these portraits seem just as compelling as the magnificent sombre works which followed.

Carlos IV of Spain and His Family, 1800

Charles IV in Hunting Dress, 1799

Maria Luisa wearing a Mantilla, 1799

The Duke and Duchess of Osuna and their Children, 1788

The portraits of Goya cannot be deemed the most technically adept in the world. I could not help but notice that on this head or that, the shading was wrong, or the head-piece look flattened and oddly two-dimensional. And I was interested to read that Goya’s was mostly self-trained, a fact which was to me, a likewise self-taught painter, obvious in the gradual improvement of his portraits from early attempts through to his magnificent depictions of the family of Charles IV of Spain. However, his greatest skill was psychological insight, and this was evident in a series of portraits which seemed to penetrate the sitter through to the core. The result was a series of rooms which felt as though they were occupied by the living shadows of history, almost like the paintings in Harry Potter’s Hogwarts, whose sitter would come alive within the frame.

This all makes for a thoroughly enthralling exhibition whose sitters literally leap off the walls to introduce us to the historical periods which characterise the works; from the more informal portraits of the Spanish royals, painted with a view to pacifying the public in the aftermath of the French Revolution, to the somewhat obsequious depictions of French generals after the Napoleonic invasion of Spain. However of all the works, my favourites were of the aristocratic stars of the time, full of bold gestures and extravagant swagger, each competing with the other to afford the more exquisite portrait, and with it, the greater standing in society.

Portrait of the Duchess of Alba, 1797

The Dowager Marchioness of Villafranca, 1796

The Marquis of Villafranca and Duke of Alba, 1795

The White Duchess (Duchess of Alba), 1795

Goya’s portraits are a window on a long past world of aristocratic dominance, and regal fancy, and of a time caught between the birth of the enlightenment and the trauma of invasion and turbulent changes of power. And while many of the sitters exhibited those same teddy-bear black eyes which had caught my intention at the Prado years before, it is the intensity behind the gaze in those eyes which left a lasting impression on me as I left this superb London show.

Goya: The Portraits is on at The National Gallery in London until 10 January 2016… so get there quick!

Nov 6

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Rembrandt’s Late Works: Better seen, and never forgotten

While the works of Rembrandt, Dutch master and one of the most applauded artists in the history of art, are instantly recognisable for their energetic brush strokes, moody lighting, undeniable intensity and rich umber colour palate, there is nothing like seeing his paintings in reality to truly appreciate the virtuosity of his work.

The National Gallery London’s new blockbuster on Rembrandt, The Late Works, provides just the opportunity to do that. In the dark bowels of the Sainsbury Wing of galleries, in rooms purpose-designed with dark walls and sharp focused lighting perfectly offsetting the brilliance of Rembrandt’s mastery over light, one enters the exhibition to come face to face with not one, but a whole room of Rembrandt self-portraits. Each demonstrates a startling honesty in self-examination, as the artist becomes visibly older and more saggy. But in as much as this room shows that a Rembrandt self-portrait is far from a rareity (he made some 80 painted, drawn or etched self portraits in the course of his career), it immediately demonstrated that there is nothing like seeing these famous works in reality: for only then can you appreciate the brilliant layering of the paint, and the masterful use of brushwork to build an aging texture of skin which appears so realistic as it catches the light against a dark mocha background, that it almost feels as though Rembrandt has cast himself in three dimensions, ready to climb out of the frame when the many visitors to the exhibition have gone home.

Self-Portrait (1669)

Self Portrait with Two Circles (1665-9)

Such was the main impression that this excellent new exhibition left on me as I departed. I felt thrilled to have had the opportunity to see so many brilliant works executed at the tail end of Rembrandt’s career, when his personal fortunes were in decline, but when the product of his paintbrush was more fantastic than ever. But so too was I struck by the breadth and significance of the collection on show, testament no doubt to the National Gallery’s partnership in organising the exhibition with the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, who either own or have access to much of the works on show. The result is the chance to come face to face with famous works such as the Jewish Bride – a subtly romantic painting which held Van Gogh so spellbound that he declared he would give up 10 years of his life for a few moments before the painting – and the masterful group portrait, The Syndics, a superb work on a huge scale, surely surpassable only by The Night Watchmen, perhaps Rembrandt’s most famous work.

The Syndics (1662)

The Jewish Bride (1665)

A Woman Bathing in a Stream (1654)

The Consipiracy of the Batavians under Claudius Civilis (1661)

The other thing that struck me was how bloody popular this exhibition is. Even when you have a timed ticket, you need to queue. Admittedly I went along at the weekend, but that does not mean to say that this show will be any quieter during the week, such is the appetite no doubt for a sensational London art show after a year consisting largely of flops and unknowns (I do not include Tate Modern’s brilliant Matisse or Malevich shows in this otherwise scathing review). What this then means is something of a struggle throughout the show, something which is felt less when gazing upon huge works such as the rather questionable Conspiracy of the Batavians under Claudius Civilis, a portion of Rembrandt’s less than successful painting for Amsterdam’s new Town Hall. It is however annoying when trying to study the stunning intricacies of Rembrandt’s print works. I never knew that he was such a skilled printmaker, and his drypoint etchings were, in particular, worth elbowing the odd visitor out of the way.

The Three Crosses (1653)

Christ Presented to the People (1655)

Christ Presented to the People

Christ Preaching (1652)

But what these crowds all go to show is how superb this show is – a final hurrah for 2014, and the first great show to come out of The National Gallery, in my view, since the Da Vinci sensation in 2011/2012. Whether it be the intense forlorn gaze of Lucretia at the point of her honour suicide, the sensationally melancholic Man in Armour thought to be Alexander the Great, or the knowledgeable calm grace of Margaretha de Geer depicted wearing her ginormous lace ruff, there are masterpieces aplenty to keep you hooked to this show, and resilient to the many crowds around you.

Portrait of Margaretha de Geer (1661)

A Man in Armour (Alexander the Great?) 1655

Rembrandt, the Late Works is on at the National Gallery until 18th January 2015.

Apr 10

Paolo Veronese – The Martydom of Saint George

London’s National Gallery is celebrating one of the gems of Italy’s and more specifically Venice’s Renaissance age: Paolo Veronese (1528-1588). In its new exhibition, Veronese: Magnificence in Renaissance Venice, the National can’t help but put on a show. In celebrating the work of this artist, whose paintings epitomise the magnificence and theatricality of Renaissance Venice with huge historical and religious canvases, bold colours and a wonderful aptitude for painting figures, classical buildings and sensational drapery, the National Gallery brings us one big hit of a painting after another. It’s almost a problem for the exhibition, which has collected together so many brilliant, vast masterpieces, that the visitor is bamboozled, unable to concentrate on any one painting in particular.

So being the great public service blogger that I am, I decided to solve this problem with a neat solution – to focus on just one of the utterly brilliant paintings on display, and the one which took my breath away over and above all the rest.

Paolo Veronese (c.1565), The Martyrdom of Saint George – on loan from the city of Verona (image source: wikipedia commons)

Painted in 1565, The Martyrdom of Saint George was created at the apex of Veronese’s illustrious career. Measuring some 4.2 metres in height, this vast canvas offers us all of the glorious elements that make Veronese’s paintings sing like a grandiose opera almost half a century after they were painted. Depicting the moment when Saint George, a Roman soldier, accepted his martyrdom after refusing to worship pagan idols, this moment of dramatic realisation is captured with skilfully applied light (just look how our eyes are drawn to that perfectly lit torso and the outstretched arms of the martyr), and a brilliant composition, with clouds tumbling upwards into paradise, where the Virgin and Christ child appear with Saints Peter and Paul along with the allegorical figures of virtue: Faith, Hope and Charity.

The balance of the painting is brilliant, with the cerulean blue sky echoed in the drapery beneath Saint George, in the clothing of the turbaned man on the left, and up in the celestial clouds at the top, while the figures are variously placed at different heights, intensifying the feeling of drama and the sense of audience participation in this dramatic moment of religious history.

Of course this painting is but one in an amazing collective celebrating the genius of the often overlooked Venetian master. And at the risk of being quite overcome by it all, you may as well go along and revel in the glory.

Veronese: Magnificence in Renaissance Venice is on at the National Gallery, London until 15 June 2014.

Oct 8

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Rothko vandalism calls into question the accessibility of Britain’s art

Something about Mark Rothko’s famously monotone canvas, Black on Maroon from the Seagram Murals, looked different when London’s Tate Modern closed its doors yesterday: Sprawled across it’s semi-black surface were the freshly applied words of a savage vandal, a sensational act of vandalism on a painting worth millions, whose fresh drip marks bore a pertinent resemblance to blood – a vicious wound imposed upon this vulnerable and historical canvas. Reading “Vladimir Umanets, A Potential Piece of Yellowism”, this is the work of a blatantly narcissistic probably psychopathic criminal, who believes that he did no wrong. In fact, as he audaciously told the press today, he feels that his attack “adds value” to the priceless Rothko piece.

Yesterday’s vandalism

Of course, in truth, the homeless Russian is yearning for attention, and by writing this article, I am really not intending to give it to him. But what his act of violence does show in the stark light of day is 1) how vulnerable some of our most precious works of art truly are and 2) how lax the security is surrounding them. Considering a similar Rothko piece recently sold for £53.8 million at auction, the potential worth of the now vandalised piece would, if it was a gemstone, be accompanied 24/7 by a troop of armed guards. Yet in most of our galleries, the walls are literally dripping with works of similar or greater value, with only one sleepy security guard to protect a whole room.

The Rothko room at Tate – now closed

But I do not intend to criticise the security efforts of Tate Modern and other galleries like it. Rather, I consider the security provided to be appropriate for the proper appreciation of art, without causing the visitor to feel intimidated, or kept at too far a distance to properly enjoy the work. And herein lies my problem. As more and more attacks such as yesterday’s Rothko outrage continue to occur, the tighter security will become, and the more difficult it will be for us, the art loving public, to enjoy these great works.

I have always loved the way one can wander, uninhibited, into the likes of Tate or the National Gallery and access those wonderful artworks with such ease and with such an intimate proximity. Take, by contrast, the Musée d’Orsay in Paris, home to some of the world’s most famous Impressionists works. There you have to queue out in the cold for a good 40 minutes minimum before you can get into the place, such is the stringency of the airport style security required before a visitor can gain access. It’s a horrible hassle, but is this now the future? You don’t hear of this grand acts of vandalism happening at the d’Orsay, nor the Louvre or Orangerie, where other such security measures are implemented.

The slashed Rokeby Venus

By contrast here in London, I have often worried how in the National Gallery, they allow so many tourists to simply wander in, laden with rucksacks and all, baseball caps covering their faces, traipsing around the gallery in such numbers that it must be practically impossible to properly guard the countless priceless masterpieces on show all around them. And this is the place which itself has been the subject of such sensational acts of vandalism before, such as “Slasher Mary”, the suffragette, who in 1914 slashed the naked back of the poor Rokeby Venus by Velazquez, which still bares the scars to this day. Lessons have been far better learnt by the Dutch however, whose The Night Watch by Rembrandt, slashed in 1975, is now heavily guarded, and by the Reina Sofia in Madrid, who now keep Picasso’s Guernica under heavy guard, hoping to prevent a reoccurrence of the horrible defacing inflicted upon it by Tony Shafrazi when, in 1974, he painted “Kill Lies All” in red paint across it.

Rembrandt’s Night Watch, also vandalised in 1975

Red paint across Picasso’s Guernica

Whatever the security, these incidences of senseless, selfish vandalism will undoubtedly continue to occur every so often. But as inevitable as these attacks may be, so too will increase the inevitability that more and more, our most prized works will be locked away, kept behind a safety rope or bullet-proof glass, and visitors made to queue for frustrating lengths of time in order to get anywhere close. And all this just as gallery visits were at their highest figure for years. It seems nothing good can last forever – there will always be some idiot round the corner to ruin it all.

Rothko painting vandalised in Tate Modern (telegraph.co.uk)
Man admits defacing Rothko work but denies being vandal (itv.com)
EXCLUSIVE: I defaced Tate’s £50 million Rothko and just walked off (standard.co.uk)

Mar 9

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Next train stop: The National Gallery (aka waiting room/ hang out/ free for all)

I had a free hour between meetings the other day – no point in heading home only to turn around again (always best to avoid the Northern line, whatever time of the day) so I decided to head into London’s preeminent art space, The National Gallery. One of the pulls of the gallery is the fact that it’s free. It means that you can drop in and out as many times as you like and therefore digest the large collection more easily. Nevertheless, it seems that charging no entry has proved to be one pull too many for the many visitors to the Gallery.

Walking into the National felt very much like walking into one of London’s busiest train terminuses. People were rushing about all over the place. Huge groups were gathered in the foyer, others were walking around, luggage in tow, some were on the phone, others having animated conversation. I put this down to its being a foyer – a meeting place for the masses who have toured the galleries or are about to. But to my consternation, once I began to walk around the galleries, I found the situation to be the same even in the farthest of rooms from the entrance. The galleries seemed to act as a thoroughfare for all and everyone in London. There was a constant feeling of unease and stress as the breeze of countless individuals and large groups rushing through the galleries pervaded the air. Meanwhile, all of the seats in the centre of the galleries would be loaded with people who appeared to have been getting cosy there for sometime. I saw people listening to ipods, half asleep. Others reading books, magazines, newspapers. People were chatting, catching up. Others were sat down, eyes to the floor or on their watch, looking bored to tears. Plenty were texting, others speaking on the phone. Most importantly, only 1 in every 25 people who were in the galleries seemed to take any interest in the art on show whatsoever!

Norms (ignoring Art) at the National Gallery (2012 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, pen on paper)

For those, like me, who are interested in the wonderful art on show, all this made for a distracting experience. Appreciating art requires a tranquil calm environment, free from distractions. How else can one enter the world which the artist has created, to consider the artist’s motives, his feelings, emotions and the story being narrated on canvas. Trying to appreciate art here was akin to analysing a Rubens hanging in the midst of a busy underground platform.

Busy impressionist gallery at the National Gallery - but at least here some people are looking at the paintings!

The press has recently applauded the increase in visitor numbers to London galleries. The increase, it is said, has been credited to the move of the Labour Government (i.e. the government whose policies ruined most things in the UK) to make the majority of London galleries and museums free back in 2001. It’s a move which has since been adopted by the coalition government, and money is put aside to subsidise the participating institutions who otherwise lose out on the admission fee.

Don’t get me wrong – open access to art is a wonderful thing. Art has a power like nothing else to enrich lives, to enable escapism to another world, to brighten a day, to enhance emotions. And the freer the access the better. The problem is, no one in the National Gallery seemed to even bother with the paintings. For them, the space was a place to hang out, to rest their feet, to chat with friends, to escape the winter weather. And for those of us who do appreciate art, that was a real distraction.

Saint Sebastian by Gerrit van Honthorst (c.1623)

The National Gallery’s collection is superb. I went along to see Velazquez’s Rokeby Venus having recently painted my own Norm piece devoted to the work. But asides from this, a look round just a few galleries introduced me to some wonderful new lesser known pieces of which I had no prior knowledge. Take Saint Sebastian by Gerrit van Honthorst – what a superb painting. St Sebastian is ever the romantic icon – a beautiful matyr who pulls at the heart strings of his viewer. This sensitive portrayal beautifully captures the moment of his ultimate torment. The soft supple depiction of his well toned flesh contrasts to devastating effect with the violence of the arrows piercing it, blood staining the peachy tones of his perfect skin. And what about Willem Kalf’s Still Life with Drinking Horn. Still lifes may be potentially a bit “past it” but the skill of this piece is astonishing, the lobster painted with startling precision, it’s ruby red shell tantalising all the senses, while the portrayal of horn, glass and drapery shows that the artist’s skills can be turned to any material or texture.

Still Life with Drinking Horn by Willen Kalf

Rokeby Venus, slashed by Mary Richardson in 1914

For me, when a gallery becomes a thorough fare, the magnificence of its art is somehow degraded – not given the respect it deserves. This feeling is increased by the lack of security at the gallery – no bag checks at the entrance, no security gates, and security guards who are present but wouldn’t realistically be able to prevent an attack on a painting – only catch the perpetrator. Has the National Gallery not learnt from past lessons then, such as the devastating attack on the Rokeby Venus at the hands of a suffragette, “Slasher Mary” in 1914? The scars are still visible on the great Venus for all to see. By contrast in Paris, at the Louvre, the d’Orsay, the Pompidou, you cannot enter those galleries without full scale security checks, and of course an admission fee. The result is that the paintings are given the respect they deserve – as masterpieces of the nation.

A difficult debate ensues. Should art be made free to the nation and if so, how can you stop abuse by those who take very little interest in the art on show, or whose interest is laced with violent intentions? I think a security check, at the very least, should be installed, and bags, phones, ipods should not be allowed. Free access should be encouraged, but these paintings must be given the respect they deserve, or the ghosts of all those unhappy artists, turning in their graves, will surely haunt us forever.

Norms do… the Rokeby Venus (normsonline.wordpress.com)

Jan 5

Norm Profile: Robot Norm

Following on from my previous posts last year profiling some of my old Norm portraits, that is those painted in 2005-6, the last to feature (it was a limited collection) is Robot Norm. It somehow seems appropriate to profile this Norm now, futuristic as he is, at the same time as we are all heralding in a New Year full of possibilities, new advances, inventions and more and more things and places to explore, and in my case, to paint and photograph. Robot Norm was sold when it was first exhibited back in 2006 at my solo exhibition, Between Me and My Reflection. I believe he is now hanging somewhere in Southampton, and hope that he is very happy there.

Robot Norm follows the same, illustrative style of my original Norms collection. In common with all Norms, he has only one arm, but unlike his Norm counterparts, he is an automaton, engineered, no doubt, by other Norms, but still retaining the Norm-like curvaceous shape. He is fitted with all the mod-cons which a Robot could possibly need – a dial pad, an electronic extendable arm, and an antennae, no doubt for receiving commands, yet his body is somewhat roughshod in its construction, with sheets of metal pinned like a patchwork into one metal whole.

Dec 22

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Da Vinci Season – Part 2: National Gallery exhibition review

Christmas is fast upon us, people are rushing around shopping like maniacs, there are now gigantic queues for macaroons at Ladurée on Piccadilly (I thought this madness only occurred on the Champs Élysées. We did however queue for 3 boxes…) and people are allegedly selling Waitrose Heston Blumenthal Christmas puddings for millions on ebay. However something else is in the air in London, and now, scattered across my coffee table and desk, where newly arrived Christmas cards should be taking central place, postcards of the masterpieces of Leonardo Da Vinci are fanned all over, renaissance music replacing carols on the CD player, and an open, full scale catalogue of Da Vinci’s works enables lavish Leonardo indulgence at every turn of the glossy pages. Yes, as promised, I have visited the much hyped National Gallery blockbuster, and now I can firmly pronounce myself to be a huge Da Vinci fan.

The Musician (Da Vinci, around 1486-7)

The exhibition, Leonardo Da Vinci: Painter at the Court of Milan, is not, at least to my mind, the exhibition of the decade as some commentators have lauded it. Nothing can quite surpass last year’s The Real Van Gogh at the Royal Academy which displayed a vast collection of mind-bogglingly superb works, nor indeed Tate’s incredibly comprehensive 2005 Frida Kahlo retrospective. It is, however, almost undoubtedly the exhibition of 2011. Unlike the close competitor – Tate’s Miro retrospective – Da Vinci did not go arrogantly off the rails towards the end of his career and start burning canvases or indeed painting them white with a single wiggly black line running somewhere across centre. No, for with the Da Vinci show, we are shown, from one work to another, what an undeniable master draftsman and painter this man was (asides from his various other mathematical, scientific, architectural, and engineering plaudits, to name but a few). Considering, compared to most artists, Da Vinci painted only a handful of works, each and every one is executed to an exceptional standard. Even in their various degrees of preservation, it is possible to see how superbly Da Vinci catches the light on his sitter’s skin, how accurately he has utilised his advanced knowledge of the human anatomy and perfect mathematical ratios to capture the very essence of human expression in his portraits, and how brilliantly, through detailed studies and sheer artistic brilliance, he was able to paint the most perfect drapery, clothing and overall compositional balance.

Da Vinci, Drapery Study for an angel (1495-8)

The paintings on show are far and few between, but we know this before entering. To have displayed 9 of only 15 surviving paintings is a coup for the National, and one can’t really ask for more. Take the Mona Lisa from the Louvre, and it would be like ripping Big Ben away from the Houses of Parliament. However, by reason of their sheer rarity, the sight of one, glowing majestically against a plum painted wall (the lighting is, by the way, very well executed) sends excitement through the audience in the same way that one becomes suddenly star struck when seeing a previous nobody reality TV star in a supermarket (I speak from experience – and no, I am not trying to suggest that Da Vinci’s paintings could ever be considered inconsequential). Then, filling the galleries besides are a great number of preparatory sketches and paintings executed by Da Vinci’s pupils and assistants. However the sketches are far from fillers (much like the use of endless sketches and scientific memorabilia in the recent Royal Academy Degas Ballerina show). Rather, they are crucial to understanding how Da Vinci managed to achieve such polished results, as well as gaining an insight into his thought processes (for example, this wonderful drapery study shows his intention for an altered composition for his painting, The Virgin of the Rocks in its second version, an alteration which, owing to pressure from his patrons, was never actually realised – the original compositional planning for which can now be seen, using xray, under the paint of the final version). They are also crucial, no doubt, to proving the provenance of the various paintings, all of which seem to have undergone some level of doubt as to whether Da Vinci actually painted them.

The Belle Ferronniere (Da Vinci, around 1493-4)

Having said that, the sketches are small, as, indeed, are the majority of the paintings, and, predictably, one does find oneself becoming ever so slightly aggressive in trying to get within a metre’s distance of a work. While the National Gallery has been quite careful to limit the visitors to the show (and the huge queue for the daily released tickets which spirals outside is testament to the Gallery’s strict policy when it comes to letting in too many people all at once) there are still an awful lot of people all vying to have their fill of each and every detail of this show. Thus, I did find that one became unavoidably sucked into a sort of revolving carousel around the various exhibits, so that, like a slow conveyor belt, you could get your moment before a painting before being politely shoved forward by the belly of the man standing behind as he/it got a little too close for comfort. Break off from the conveyor and you would find it difficult to get close to a painting again for a while. And thus my eyes were not so much veiled by tears, as one commentator predicted I would, but rather by the sight of people’s heads. But then it’s alright for the reviewers isn’t it – they get to see the exhibition among only a handful of other critics. No wonder they were overcome with emotion – at how bloomin lucky they were to get the exhibition to themselves! Still, I’ve experienced worse, and for the National it does provide the added bonus that more people will buy the expensive exhibition catalogue in order to actually get a good look at what was on show.

Admirer looking at Lady with an Ermine as exhibited at the National

So what was on show at the exhibition? Well the exhibition was broadly split into 7 galleries, each room centralised around one or two Da Vinci masterpieces. In the first room, we met The Musician which is allegedly unfinished, but looks pretty good to me. In the next room, the stunning Belle Ferronniere was hung just across from my favourite, Lady with an Ermine, the two ladies almost competing with one another for who would be judged most beautiful as they had probably competed in life, the lady with an ermine being Cecilia Gallerani, mistress of Duke Ludovico Sforza, and the Belle Ferronnere thouht to have been the Duke’s wife. The Belle Ferronniere is a stunning work, her pose so confident, petulant almost, as though challenging Cecilia Gallerani, whose portrait was literally hung in the direction of La Belle’s gaze, to usurp her role as primary lover to the Duke. Both exhibit truly modern, strongly characterised poses, particularly considering the century in which they were painted.

Da Vinci's unfinished Saint Jerome (around 1488-90)

In the next room, the evidently unfinished Saint Jerome takes centre stage, but even in this state of incompletion, the painting demonstrates how accurately Da Vinci painted the human anatomy. It also proves a useful demonstration of Da Vinci’s working techniques and the stages he undertook in building up layers of paint on a canvas. Moving through into the exhibition’s central gallery, two much larger, more complex compositions are hung opposite one another is a fantastic pairing which is a unique achievement of the Gallery’s show: Da Vinci’s original Virgin of the Rocks, usually to be found in the Louvre in Paris, has been hung with the second version of the same composition, which is owned by the National Gallery. This allows for a direct comparison to be made of the two “rocks”. Personally my favourite was the National Gallery’s later version, where the colours were brighter, and the details more refined such as the little flowers in the foreground. Nonetheless, this version has been recently restored, hence the enhanced colours and more obvious details.

Dec 21

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Da Vinci Season – Part 1: Norms do… The Lady with an Ermine

Da Vinci is back in vogue in London. The exhibition Leonardo da Vinci: Painter at the Court of Milan which is currently running at London’s National Gallery has received unprecedented high praise across the board. Critics are calling it a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see so comprehensive a collection of Da Vinci’s remaining masterpieces in one show. One art critic’s review was so expressive with superlatives and emotional exasperation that it read as though she had been party to some kind of religious transmogrification. The paintings, she said, were so stunning that one could barely take them in through eyes which were uncontrollably veiled with tears of unrepressed joy. Or something like that. High praise indeed, and with 5 stars across the board, what better way to grasp at some last minute Christmas sparkle than by attending the exhibition itself, a visit upon which I shall embark tomorrow. While you will of course be the first to receive my review of the show for which tickets are allegedly selling for £400 each online (yes, the temptation to sell is there – for these two tickets I could get a 5 star weekend in Milan, let alone see a show about nine paintings and a load of sketches… but naturally I am opting, in good conscience, for the cultural extravaganza of the year), in the meantime, Part 1 of my seasonal homage to Da Vinci is in the form of the good old Norm parodies which you now know and love. Yes, today, the Norms bring you: Norm Lady with an Ermine.

And by way of comparison, here is Da Vinci’s stunning original masterpiece…

The Lady with an Ermine (Leonardo Da Vinci)

Da Vinci’s masterpiece was painted in around 1489-1490 and is usually to be found housed in the Czartoryski Museum, Kraków, Poland. It is in fact the central masterpiece of the Museum’s collection, and it’s inclusion in the London show is said to be the greatest coup for London curators of all their achievements in putting the show together. However, her inclusion was not without difficulty, and the Lady with an Ermine’s visit to London comes only as a result of huge democratic efforts, not just on the part of the National Gallery, but on behalf of the UK Government’s diplomats and foreign office officials.