Painter's Paintings

The National Gallery's exhibition explores the artworks owned by artists such as Freud

I imagine it can be difficult for large galleries to find unique ways to show off their collection. Sometimes the links can be tenuous (this was one of the main criticisms of Tate Britain’s Fighting History exhibition last year). Yet, the National Gallery has found a really fascinating link between many works in its possession: the artworks owned by famous artists, who were often inspired by the pieces on their walls. The exhibition displays key pieces in the private collections of eight artists: Freud; Matisse; Degas; Leighton; Watts; Lawrence; Reynolds; and Van Dyck.

Loving the sunshine outside the National Gallery 

Starting with Freud, the exhibition draws a link between the items he possessed and the work he went on to create. He was clearly drawn to realism in the portraiture of the likes of Constable, Corot and Cezanne. A comparison was drawn between Cezanne’s Afternoon in Naples (1875) and Freud’s After Cezanne (2000). Although the difference in styles is obvious, it is clear that Freud was influenced by the post-impressionist. On face value, it seems the composition and subject matter is the main thing the paintings have in common, but when observing the paint strokes, it is clear Freud was interested in Cezanne’s expression conveyed with thick and fast layers of paint. However, the issues dealt with in the pieces are quite different.  Cezanne’s intimate piece shows a loving couple who could be in brothel whilst Freud has turned the narrative more sour by exploring a more contemporary theme of isolation and sexual dependence. This is perhaps why Freud referred to the two pieces as “cousins”.

Cezanne's Afternoon in Naples (1875)

Freud's After Cezanne (2000)

 Another piece in Freud’s collection was the main catalyst for the exhibition. Corot’s Italian Woman (1870) was given to the nation by Freud and is interesting in the fact that Corot was far better known for his landscapes. Freud clearly preferred portraiture, as he also owned a portrait by Constable, another famous landscape artist.  Freud was fascinated with the way Corot’s woman emerged from darkness and the emotion etched into her face with thick, expressive brushstrokes. This piece hung above Freud’s mantelpiece underneath which was Degas’ Head of a Woman Resting on One Hand (1834), another portrait which explores a similar psychological complexity which is seen in many of Freud’s works.

Corot's Italian Woman (1870)

Degas' Head of a Woman Resting on One Hand (1834)

I found this tangible relationship between painter and the paintings he possessed fascinating. However, occasionally there seems to be looser connections in the exhibition. For instance, the link drawn between Cezanne’s Three Bathers (1882) and Matisse’s Back III (1916). The exhibition states a Matisse was inspired by Cezanne to reduce the body to its essential elements and emphasise a stylised bulk. I felt that although the subject matter is the same, the final artworks created are very different. Cezanne’s fluid brushstrokes make his bathers seem more comfortable and smooth whereas Matisse’s sharp angles and choice of dark bronze as the medium portrays a darker emotion. I think in this instance the relationship is more of an inspiration rather than a copy or tribute.

Cezanne's Three Bathers (1882)

Matisse's Back III (1916)

One of the most successful elements of the exhibition was the way it also explored the personal relationships the artists had to each other. For instance, Degas supported young impressionists by buying their paintings but would often return their pieces after quarrels. Gauguin in particular benefited from Degas’ generosity: he had 11 of the artist’s painting. Degas felt Forain imitated him and once said “he paints with his hands in my pockets.’ Quotes about Degas’ compulsive art collecting were printed on the walls. My favourites include “I buy! I buy! I can’t stop myself!” and Albert Bartholome’s analysis of the artist: “and the next morning he starts again: still Ingres, some Delacroix… and then he takes a certain pride in announcing he can no longer afford to clothe himself.” (1896). Similarly, Reynolds spoke of art collecting: “The possessing of portraits by Titian, Van Dyke, Rembrandt… I considered the best kind of wealth.” It really provided a fascinating insight into the men as both artists and collectors.

A Personal Insight: Reynolds had tried to exchange Gainsborough's Girl With Pigs (1782) for a Titian

This exhibition was successful in the links it created between the vastly different works in the collections, whilst also creating an intimate viewpoint into the relationships between all of the artists and their most personal works.

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Beauty and Horror: The Great Synagogue

The front facade of the Synagogue on Dohany Street 

 Last month, I was travelling Europe with a bunch of friends. Our days consisted of emergency laundry, beaches, and cheap cuisine. Our nights were long and based solely in clubs. So going to a Synagogue in the middle of Budapest was pretty different, but as teenage Jews it seemed like a necessary detour from our usual itinerary.

The Dohany Street Synagogue, also known as the Great Synagogue, is the largest Shul (the Yiddish word for the Jewish temple) in Europe, and the second largest in the world. Budapest is a blend of beautiful architecture from many styles, eras and movements, so the Synagogue is not a uniquely stunning building, as it is surrounded by many. However, its history is unique in the loss and spirit the  walls have witnessed.

The back garden of the synagogue

It was built in the Moorish Revival style in the 1850s, copying the architectural elements of many Islamic buildings across Europe at the time. It was the first synagogue built in this style, using features such as the onion shaped domes, and was so successful that it was adopted as the most popular style for synagogue architecture, built across the globe.

Upon entering the synagogue, I was struck with the phenomenal beauty and size of the Shul. I think any Jew who has been to a Shul before would feel an emotional connection to the place. It follows the same structure as any other Synagogue, with the seats for the congregation leading up to the altar and the ark where the Torah reading takes place, above which is the eternal light. But of course the Dohany Street Synagogue is far grander than any Shul I have ever stepped in. Whereas many Shul’s interiors are rather simple to cater for small Jewish communities, this one is unapologetic in its grandeur and scale. It communicates a time when the Hungarian Jewish community was huge and observant enough to warrant a building of this proportion.

The Ark where services would have taken place 

In direct contrast with the overpowering strength and majesty of the inside of the Synagogue, upon walking outside, visitors are met with a cemetery. I found one of the most tragic things about the courtyard is that it was created in the 1930s as a memorial for the Jewish soldiers who fought in the ranks of the Hungarian army in WW1. Yet, within 13 years, the area had been included in the Hungarian ghetto under Nazi occupation. By 1945, when the Russian forces liberated the area, corpses of Jews were left in the very courtyard in which I stood last month.  Today, the beautiful courtyard covers the graves of more than 2000 Hungarian Jews who were left to die in inhuman conditions under the shadow of their own synagogue.

The memorial to fallen Jews. The metal leaves are endurable and strong. Many do not have names to convey the many whose names are not known, but are not forgotten. 

People place stones on memorials instead of flowers to show solidarity and endurability

The history of this Shul has stuck with me. The spirit of the Hungarian Jewry who survived and rebuilt their community. The architecture which speaks of a time when thousands more Jews would have congregated within these beautiful walls. The courtyard which is now a memorial for two wars where millions lost their lives.

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Milan and Mantegna

With Caravaggio's Supper at Emmaus (1606) 

Stopping off for one day in Milan on my trip around Europe, I knew I had to get an art gallery in. We’d been to Lake Como, which, whilst stunningly beautiful, had very few opportunities for art-history-geekage. So I felt I had the right to drag my brother and dad away from pizzas and air conditioning of fashionable Milan to the Pinacoteca di Brera. The collection is mainly that of religious works, such as altarpieces, because they had ‘poured into the museum’ in the 1800s after the suppression of the monasteries in Italy.

The gallery's collage advertising 'Andrea Mantegna: New Perspectives' 

I initially chose this gallery out of the many in the city because it boasts ownership of Caravaggio’s 1606 painting Supper at Emmaus. However, the gallery was also publicising their dialogue between Mantegna’s The Lamentation of the Dead Christ and two other works of the same scene by artists Caracci and Borgianni. As James Bradburn, the General Director of Pinacoteca di Brera, points out in a video created by the museum, many galleries curate exhibitions which bring new paintings into the building that often have no connection to some of the most famous and important pieces already there. The Pinacoteca di Brera went against this trend and brought in a painting to communicate with paintings already in the gallery. Rather than having a whole room laid out for the exhibition, the Caracci piece was just on a wall next to the Mantegna with simple explanations underneath. The paintings really speak for themselves here.

Mantegna's The Lamentation of Christ (1480) 

Mantegna’s The Lamentation of Christ (1480) was ground-breaking in its experimental use of foreshortening. Here, Christ’s feet and lower body are thrust at the viewer. This view seems more intimate than paintings which present Christ’s face and upper body, because feet are not often seen as important in portraying emotion or character. This unusual portrayal of the Saviour- with the pallor of the skin and the lolling of the head- lowers his death to that of any normal man.

Borgianni's Lamentation over the Dead Christ (1615)

Borgianni’s interpretation of 1615 followed the same composition and style as Mantegna but used a more Caravagessque technique, incorporating chiaroscuro into the scene. Caracci’s 1583 piece endeavours for more harsh realism in the death of Jesus, and it is because of this that it is my favourite piece of the three. Mantegna was hugely influential in the use of perspective in art in the 1400s, but I’ve always felt his technique was slightly wooden. Perhaps because he was still relying on strict mathematical rules such as lines of focus and converging points, Jesus’s body seems quite square, almost as if it is a sculpture rather than a corpse. Caracci’s, however, uses more fluid lines. The body is far more contorted, showing a more masterful understanding of perspective and experimental use of composition. Here, the focal point is just the feet, but the torso where the light hits it. The contrast of the pale skin and scarlet blood, along with the hint of bones under the flesh, makes this representation of Christ seem less like a statue and more like a dead young man. Underscoring the realism of the scene is the focus in the foreground on the instruments of Christ’s torture. 

Caracci's The Body of Christ and the Implements of His Martyrdom (1583)

As well as these fascinating paintings collected here, the Pinacoteca di Brera also allowed visitors to see the behind-the-scenes of the maintenance of the gallery. The photo below displays how the museum carefully stores paintings that are not being shown to the public. I have always found this an interesting aspect of galleries, as they actually often display a small percentage of the pieces in their ownership at a time. Further on in the gallery was a large glass room where workers painstakingly restore paintings. Although photography is not allowed, it was fascinating to see the machines used as well as the back of a medieval painting, allowing me to see where the wood panels were originally connected to one another. Conservation and restoration is clearly hugely important to the gallery, and I was pleased they allowed the public into this element of the institution.

Behind the scenes in the gallery: how they store paintings not on display 

From just a few hours in Milan, I was able to see some world-famous artists’ works as well as the behind the scenes of the city’s most influential gallery… And of course I had some pasta and gelato whilst I was there!

With another of the museum's famous paintings: Hayez's The Kiss (1859) 

(Paintings Copyright the Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan)

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