Venice: Canaletto and His Rivals

Canaletto's The Entrance to the Grand Canal, looking West, with Santa Maria della Salute, about 1729. © The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. The Robert Lee Blaffer Memorial Collection, gift of Sarah Campbell Blaffer (56.2).

Monday evening as I strolled up to the National Gallery on my way to view the recently opened exhibition, Venice: Canaletto and His Rivals, I was struck by a rather amusing coincidence.

Work is being done to the front façade of the National Gallery and a wrap around the scaffolding sees a Credit Suisse-sponsored scene that imagines Trafalgar Square as a Venetian lagoon.  "Canaletto Comes to London" it proudly proclaims, but the funny thing is that only a few weeks ago the art world was up in arms about similarly sponsored billboards in La Serinissima herself.



Venice's famous Ponte dei Sospiri (a name coined by Byron who romantically suggested that prisoners being led from the interrogation rooms on one side of the bridge to the prison cells in the Doge's Palace on the other side, would sigh at their last sight of the beautiful city while making the crossing) has of late been covered in huge ads for Coke, Chanel, and Bulgari.  In a city like Venice, always fighting a battle between the built environment and, well, the environment, such ads have been common sources of raising restoration funds.  But the current slew of advertisements, such as those surrounding the Bridge of Sighs, are different: they aren't about the city, but the brand footing the bill.  At least with the old ads, one might come to some idea of what the original building looked like.  Not only does the Bulgari ad completely obscure the Bridge, but it succeeds in enfolding the architecture of the city into a kind of gruesome ad campaign. 

 

Image by Davers

Having said all this, I found the National Gallery's ad particularly amusing because it highlights the hypocrisy of the gang of talking museum heads who signed an open letter to Giorgio Orsoni, the Mayor of Venice, and published it in the Art Newspaper.  Given that their museums and exhibitions are funded by BP, Ernst & Young, Credit Suisse, etcetera, on what grounds, I wonder, do the museum heads protest Orsoni’s decision.  Just because his corporate advertisers get more visual impact for their buck doesn’t mean we aren’t dealing with the application of precisely the same principles.  Given the National Gallery's Venice-themed wrap-around (which admittedly isn't half as bad as the ads on the Bridge of Sighs), perhaps it's unsurprising that Nicholas Penny has opted out of the open letter.  To be clear, it’s not that I’m all in favour of selling off beloved city landmarks or national art exhibitions to the highest corporate bidder.  Simply that the hypocrisy of museum directors with their pleading open letter on the one hand, but only too happy to accept cash from BP et al (as long as the logo placement is subtle) on the other hand, drives me bonkers. 

As for the Canaletto show, it's surprisingly good, and I say surprisingly as someone who adores both Venice and Canaletto.  I tend to find the exhibitions at London's major museums - especially the Tate “disaster-zone” Modern - utterly pointless and so attend with suitably lowered expectations.  Venice is one of the most visited cities in the world, so its regular appearance as the subject of blockbuster exhibitions is no surprise: it brings in the big bucks.  But despite its overwhelming popularity and resulting theme-park trappings, Venice has a subtlety only to be found once one diverts from the Grand Canal.  Amusingly, I know a lot of people who don’t like Venice but I maintain that they either haven’t been with me or they haven’t been in the off season.  Possibly both.  Venice is incredibly beautiful, picturesque to the point of being grotesque, but it won’t give you anything for free.  You have to go exploring, get lost, go for a swim, get off the Rialto and into Cannaregio. 

It amuses me to think that in many ways, twenty-first century Venetian tourists are Canaletto’s heirs: making view pictures with their Minoltas and Canons instead of hog-hair brushes.  The purpose is one in the same: wealthy tourists want a memento to remind them of their visit to this most beautiful city.  In the eighteenth century, one might have bought Canaletto’s Entrance to the Grand Canal: Looking East (1744), whereas now one can snap a quick pic of the same scene on the Number 1 vaporetto chugging down the Canal.  Just because the former is part of the Queen’s collection of art doesn’t mean that the self-styled snap is any less precious...

Canaletto. The Entrance to the Grand Canal, looking East, with Santa Maria della Salute, 1744. © 2010, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II

So, Canaletto’s paintings are beautiful – Venice at her loveliest, most golden, most unearthly – and the Grand Tourists head home with proof of the pudding, but what’s actually rather refreshing, even challenging, about the curation of this show is that it doesn’t rest on such an unexamined approach.  In fact, the exhibition title gives it away – the star of this show isn’t Canaletto, but Venice – and the comparison of Canaletto with his nephew and protégée, Bellotto, as well as later view painter, Guardi, provides an illuminating juxtaposition to the differing approaches of the veduti painters.  It’s tempting to use a Goldilocks analogy when considering the three: Bellotto too cold; Guardi too hot; Canaletto just right, but that hardly does justice to the subtleties of their styles.  Canaletto’s later works are the easiest to take in, the most obviously beautiful, but such unchallenging beauty quickly wears thin.  The Goldilocks analogy is particularly apt in the Bellotto room: one fascinating pairing has another of Canaletto’s scenes depicting the entrance to the Grand Canal sandwiched by two different attempts by Bellotto to paint the same scene.  Of course, it’s impossible to tell whether Bellotto was making a concerted effort to distance himself from his uncle’s technique – quite likely – but neither painting has the harmony or the gorgeous diffused light of Canaletto.  One attempt is too harsh, the other is too soft and Canaletto’s sits in between and sings.

But despite the beauty of Canaletto’s works, Guardi steals the show – while his images display all the hallmarks of view painting, his work feels less constrained by the demands of the genre or the whims of tourists: the lighting is stronger, less diffused and tonally there are more greys and browns, instead of the jewel tones omnipresent in Canaletto.  A few of Guardi’s pieces look as if finished with India ink: thick, swift, black liquid brush strokes define window frames and architraves, where Canaletto is softer and more forgiving. 

Guardi. The Lagoon with the Torre di Malghera, around 1770–80. © The National Gallery, London

Guardi. The Grand Canal with the Rialto Bridge from the South, about 1780. © Image courtesy of the Board of Trustees, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. Widener Collection. 

There’s something compelling and refreshing about the wild looseness of Guardi’s paintings after Canaletto’s over-idealised, disneyesque portraits of La Serinissima at her most clichéd.  Though the city may be affectionately referred to as eternally serene on account of those familiar, sweeping vistas, Venice's history is one of turbulence and violence, and for all its fairy-tale beauty Canaletto’s work serves as a reminder that at the end of the day, in the world of art at least, the interests of money reign supreme.

critics + artists = love

Is it better to create or critique? As someone very interested in both the creation of art as well as the criticism of it, I've always found it hard to swallow the bitter relationship between the two. Recently expressed in a very facile blog post on the Guardian's website, the writer insists that critics shouldn't befriend artists for the sake of maintaining perfect objectivity. She felt that she might be unable to write a negative review of one of her artist friends for fear of hurting their delicate feelings, as if artists were composed of nothing more than wispy layers of tissue paper.

All art, as well as criticism of it, is subjective. A truism perhaps, but neither has the final say which one could argue rests with the consumer of both. Artists who "can't handle" criticism are missing an important part of the process of art. The best and most respected critics, who care passionately about their subject, can function almost as patrons of artists, providing needed support, encouragement, and exposure. Certainly lazy or vicious critics can do much damage, but again, there is nothing inherently wrong with the concept of criticism.

Creators need critics to write about their work as much as critics need creators to produce works worth reviewing. So why shouldn't there be more intimate relationships between the two? I suppose it's partly because the consuming public enjoys buying into the myth of the artist as a fully-formed genius descended from space: the loners, the womanisers, the larger than life personalities - myths largely perpetuated by the critics themselves, for it nothing else, this myth sells.

Many artists hold negative views of critics because they feel, as Whistler famously did that, "none but an artist can be a competent critic." Perhaps, but artists and critics, and furthermore the public, all have different measures of success. Who knows why the public likes what it likes, critics are trying to look at the bigger picture, understanding the artist in relation to himself, his culture, and the larger canon as well as the artist's mastery of his material. For argument's sake, let's say most artists are concerned with their craft, with the technical details of it: the metre of poetry, the painterly technique, etc. Essentially, artists admire other artists who have perfected their craft, who display a mastery lacking in more amateur craftsmen. While any good critic will of course appreciate these skills, they are also considering the more banal issues of enjoyment and emotional response.

It isn't enough for an artist to say that he hates critics because critics don't understand the art making process, a ridiculous claim. Artists cannot have such fragile egos that any subjective negative criticism drives them to despair. Critics have been proved wrong in the past by changes in public taste and they shall no doubt be proved wrong in the future. Certainly, positive criticism can help a fledgling artist establish a career, but the assumption that a critic owes any artist anything other than a carefully considered opinion is ludicrous. Note I stress carefully considered opinion as too often critics indulge their own egos for the sake of shock-factor or publicity.

But to stress that critics and artists are natural enemies makes no sense to me. These two should be allies against the indolent and more and more culturally ignorant public as well as government budget makers who continually attempt to slash funding for arts programmes in this country. To say that critics are failed artists is a mistake, for what is criticism if not a creative exercise. Not that artists cannot and should not be critics, for on the contrary, some of our best literary critics are also some of our best writers. I suppose if anything, this then is my point. Instead of widening the gap between the two, banning artists and critics from being Facebook friends (that's actually what the Guardian blog writer suggests), we ought to encourage a more fruitful relationship between the two.

I know it isn't politic to say, but I really can't stand Jacqui Smith

Despite the whole taxpayer funded porn fiasco, I'd hate the lady anyway if only for her association with the positively draconian Home Office whose policies make me want to string her up from the Tower Bridge. But more on that later...

Another beautiful Saturday and I'm stuck inside. I've got a chapter deadline in two months, and having done little more than five minutes worth of work in the last two weeks, I've come out to the middle of nowhere to put my head down and catch up on two weeks in two days. No distractions, no noisy upstairs neighbours, no, um, kitchen to distract me (ha ha ha ha) - no other distractions, apart from myself that is. Every time I look up from my shiny macbook, I'm confronted with my own face (because there's a large mirror hung on the wall - not because I'm hallucinating). Sure I like my face, but it's a bit strange to always see yourself looking back at you, every time you're trying to understand why 18th-century Frenchmen were so blood-thirsty...

Not only that, but I may have accidentally brought along a few distractions in the form of a few films and a thick stack of magazines. I think I may have a magazine obsession. It's not healthy. I have only one sibling, a younger brother, and when we were little he wanted to do pretty much everything I wanted to do and naturally, my mother encouraged him as it meant we could be shuttled around simultaneously. He's into his own hobbies now, thank god, but it's funny how a two way relationship eventually developed. Two things my brother loved when he was younger: Calvin and Hobbes and Wired magazine. I think my brother has sadly grown out of both, but luckily for the family name, I'm keeping the torch alight. I adore Calvin and Hobbes and I was also rather heartened to discover that Wired has just launched a UK version of the mag. I'm not a huge techie, but for some reason I really like Wired. It's beautifully put together and the features are interesting. I stopped reading newspapers apart from the FT and most fashion-y magazines because I always felt cheated and vaguely disappointed after flipping the last page over. Like I'd just invested all this time and energy into reading the whole thing only to be filled with thoughts of the world's impending destruction, children who'd been raped at the age of 2, or fashionistas who needed to get a serious grip on reality. I like the FT, the Spectator, Wired, and the New Scientist because they don't make me feel like I've wasted my investment of time and brain space. I'm interested in the world and its happenings, but I want to know what's important - without the doom and gloom bollocks that sells other papers and tabloid mags.

Take the whole Jacqui Smith expenses fiasco. Predictably the Guardian half-heartedly defended the Home Secretary and the reporter focused much of her attention on a possible Labour mole in the fees office - as if we should all be shocked at the moral reprehensibility of the mole who leaked office secrets. The Telegraph got Boris to deliver a rousing denunciation of Labour over-spending in general, not just expenses. It was only the Spectator's Rod Little who made the point with panache, humour, and a relatively bipartisan attack on the sheer ridiculousness of tax payers effectively subsidising MPs living expenses. That old US saying, "no taxation without representation" obviously holds no weight on the other side of the Atlantic... And just because it pisses me off, but what in the world did Jacqui Smith's husband have to apologise for? As far as I'm concerned she is responsible for putting through her own expenses, or at the very least, approving what goes on the expenses. Why are any TV or internet bills going through her expenses? Surely the only things that ought to be paid for by taxpayers are for expenses that directly relate to the business of being an MP: travel and related expenses, the second house allowance (which obviously needs a serious overhaul), and that's it. I don't see how it's her husband's fault - even if he should read my last post on porn and cease use immediately. Though I imagine if Jacqui Smith were my spouse, I'd resort to porn too. Surely there's one positive: at least he wasn't using taxpayer money to claim expenses for prostitutes...

Enough distraction. Back to work.

News flash! The Guardian is stalking me!

I think the Guardian's fashion team are stalking me... Either that or Stephen Jones is.

A few months ago I got it into my head that it would be a fun thing to make a hat out of newspaper. I'm sure I was procrastinating from doing important work, but that's hardly the point. I wanted to make a newspaper hat that you could actually wear outside, so I came up with the idea of lacquering it with varnish.

So I was a bit miffed when I saw that Guardian had done something similar in the G2 on Wednesday. Especially because they called it the fashion-forward hat for "Recessionistas" which is just inane and ridiculous. When did being creative start being called being "recessiony"?

Their hat (though I can't figure out if it's a Guardian design or a Stephen Jones design):


My hat:


To be fair, the Guardian has struck a deal with the V&A whereby if you rock up in your hat made from the Guardian (surely according to their "easy-to comprehend in case you're completely thick" instructions), they will give you two tickets to the Stephen Jones hat exhibition for the price of one. Good luck finding a second person willing to wear such a stupid looking hat.

Moral of the story? Ditch the Guardian and make your own cool stuff.

Since when did pop stars take fashion advice from politicians?

The woman in the top photograph is Yulia Tymoshenko, the Prime Minister of Ukraine (standing next to Vladimir Putin). In complete contrast to female politicians in the States or the UK, she actually looks pretty stylish, if a little bit Heidi meets orthodox iconography.

The woman in the bottom two photographs is Little Boots, one of 2009's "hot tips" in music, according to the Guardian. How I feel about taking "underground" music advice from the Guardian is another thing altogether.

How funy then that one of the bright young things of Brittish pop music should take her style advice from the Prime Minister of Ukraine...