"Fine" Art

When I was in grade 9 at a private girls’ school in Montreal, they did their level best to civilize us. One of our classes was art history but I’m afraid that when the lights went out for the slide shows, spitball wars broke out between several of the more incorrigible young ladies, myself included. Thus, alas, my career as an art connoisseur was short lived. On our recent European adventure in those cities known for some brilliant museums, I decided to go and see what all the fuss was about.


In Madrid, I went to the Museo Lazaro Galdiano, one of the smaller museums. This was a private collection of a guy who lived in the early part of the 20th century which is now housed in what used to be his own mansion. It is very clearly now a museum but what’s interesting is that each of the rooms has an explanatory panel along with an old picture of what the room looked like when it was a private residence. He and his wife not only collected paintings but all kinds of other things – ceramics, textiles, silver, weapons, mostly Spanish, but if not, things that had some connection to Spain. Apparently there are over 15,000 pieces of art and a library of 20,000 books. I like these smaller museums where you practically have the place to yourself.

There was a lot of art from the 15th and 16th century, real dark stuff (literally, it was much later that the painting technology allowed for brighter colours) and after spending quite some time looking them over I was ready to flee with a bad case of the screaming heebie jeebies. Heavily religious imagery including canvas after canvas of bleeding Christs. Aside from dark somber portraits of bigwigs which was likely the artists’ bread and butter, just about everything was religious in nature. (I would have known that had I been paying attention in class).

There was so much more to the museum than painting, however, and it was great to see how this man and his wife went about collecting all those different things that meant so much to them through their years together. How nice that the collection remains intact and in their own home, long after they've gone.

Back to the paintings. There was one I liked, that seemed different from the rest. It was also painted later (1771) than those earlier doom and gloom pics. Yes, it was a dead Christ, but we are spared the blood and darkness, and instead, saw a magnificent and lifelike body cradled gently by angels about to take him away. It was brilliant. The amazing torso, the use of shadow around the faces, the light and colour, the portrayal of the tenderness of angels. It stopped me in my tracks. Talent. This happened to be by Goya.

Which led me to the Prado Museum (I kept threatening to go to the PradA, but that’s another story) where there was a huge Goya exhibit. We were in Spain May 1st and 2nd which were public holidays. May 2nd marked the 200th anniversary of an event where the citizens in Madrid rose up against the French occupiers, which was followed the next day by some pretty severe retaliation by the French. Both events are represented in two famous Goya paintings, which were displayed side by side in this exhibit.

The exhibition’s theme was Goya’s images of war and there were many of his pen and charcoal drawings which reminded me of war photojournalism. I guess back then this was how it was captured in pre-camera days and Goya pulled no punches about the atrocity and brutality that was going on. I was impressed and quite moved.

So the next stop on the art tour was in Amsterdam at the Van Gogh Museum. Van Gogh decided that he was going to be a great artist and talked his brother into supporting him. During his lifetime he didn’t sell anything and when his brother died six months after he did, the sister-in-law inherited the paintings and set out upon a brilliant marketing campaign to persuade everyone that he was indeed a great artist. Successful obviously. Here there is a Museum with his name on it and it and many other museums across the world make millions and millions out of cards, calendars and coffee mugs with sunflowers on them.

Did I mention that he was a whack job to boot? He tried to talk Paul Gauguin of Tahiti fame (or infamy), to come and live with him where they would have each other, think great thoughts, talk great ideas and paint great things. Old Paul went for a visit and after being cooped up in the house in rainy season listening to Van Gogh babble on and on, he finally split. That’s when Van Gogh cut his ear off.

OK, well everybody has a few problems, and indeed he was a soul in great distress, but maybe he should have seen if he had any talent before making the decision to become a great artist. What shite! The only painting I thought had any integrity was this one…

Headed for the museum’s exit, greatly disappointed, there was another temporary exhibit on in the next wing. What the heck, we’ve already spent 10 euros to get into the building – so off to an exhibit of the work of John Everett Millais, an English artist of the 19th century. I’d never heard of him (must have been engrossed in the spit ball wars).

Well this was more like it. I wandered around entranced and happy - loved it all. This painting is of Ophelia. I was so impressed with the entire exhibition I came back the next day for another look. I couldn't drag myself away. There weren't many people in the exhibit as everyone was upstairs looking at V.G., so there was time to get up close and personal with the paintings. Amazing. Genius. He paints women in an amazing way. Obviously loves them (had a huge love affair with the wife of his best friend - who happened to be a major art critic, which could have been a career limiting move, but they subsequently married and he also had several daughters). The velvet of the gowns on the paintings is so real you feel you could stroke it. The light and colour of the outdoor scenes is almost better than a photograph if that makes any sense.

The Bridesmaid

I bought the exhibition catalogue and as I now leaf through it and see the images of those so brilliant paintings I spent time with, I recognize that those images on paper in the book are only pale shadows of the brilliance of those canvasses I stood before. Those paper images only serve as a memory prompt to relive that feeling of awe, in front of the work of this guy who could capture nature, beauty and emotion with a paintbrush. So how good is that to have had the opportunity to see this in person?

I think I'm finally starting to understand what the fuss is all about.