My Inspiration for March 2023

What an incredible March I have had! With the excitement of a murmuring brook I have awaited each new day, nervously, in wild anticipation of spring that has finally sprung, to see which joys of soft blossoms and fresh leaves it will bring me. The purple hyacinth whose fragrance has been colouring my daydreams and lulling me to sleep this past week has closed its petals, but the fragrant flowers in my heart have only started opening theirs, blooming and thriving, more vibrant and fragrant than ever before. A month of love – a month of blossoms and vast blue skies! The nature’s awakening. Lying in the warm rays of the afternoon sun like the cat, delighting in the warm shade of green on the newly sprung leaves of a weeping willow, picking daffodils and cherry blossoms and enjoying every delicate transient moment that their beauty offers. This month I was obsessed with the art of Konstantin Somov and even more with the Kangra paintings on love, especially those which show the mischievous and tender love adventures of Radha and Krishna, Japanese ceramics and their philosophy of wabi-sabi especially in relation to poetry and art, ikebana or the Japanese way of flower arrangements, colours of the month: baby blue, baby pink and red, paintings of Sleeping Beauties, lanterns and cherry blossoms, blooming trees in art as well as in nature around me. Perhaps the faithful bamboo had been with me all throughout the winter, but – at long last – the music of the birds has returned to me and I am grateful for that. Very happy to see what April has to offer!

“Lovers are always waiting. They hate to wait; they love to wait. Wedged between these two feelings, lovers come to think a great deal about time, and to understand it very well, in their perverse way.”

(Anne Carson, from “Now then,” Eros the Bittersweet)

“I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves dress’d,
And the starry night…
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost
Which is Nature‘s, and may be
Untainted by man’s misery.”

(Percy Bysshe Shelley, Rarely, rarely comest thou)

“I want to sleep beneath
Peaceful skies in my lover’s bed
With a wide open country in my eyes
And these romantic dreams in my head
‘Cause once we made a promise we swore we’d always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender…”
(Bruce Springsteen, No Surrender)

David Hamilton – Suzanne Farrell (1971)

Alex Chatelain – Jean-Marc Maniatis Ad (Vogue Paris 1970)

Willie Christie – Uschi Obermaier Wearing a Top from Forbidden Fruit & Skirt from Vern Lambert (The Sunday Times Magazine 1974)

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Picture by Thomas Geppi.

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

photo by maoyeamh.tumblr.com

Two pictures above found here.

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

*

Vincent van Gogh – Sprig of Flowering Almond in a Glass, March 1888

“(…) the truth of real beauty did not lie so much in the beauty of a field of flowers but in the contemplation of the life of just one. By focusing on just one flower one might be able to break the perceptual gap that lies between the flower and oneself and to realize that the flower and oneself are not after all existentially separate.”

Vincent van Gogh, Sprig of Flowering Almond in a Glass, March 1888

Dutch painter Vincent van Gogh was born on the 30th March 1853. Since his birthday is coming up in a few days, I decided to write a little something to commemorate the happy occasion.

Van Gogh loved to paint flowers, sunflowers and irises most notably, but in early spring days he loved to capture the fleeting beauty of blooming orchards and sometimes, as you can see above in the painting “Sprig of Flowering Almond in a Glass”, even just one sprig of an almond blossom was a motif worthy of being captured on canvas. He painted this in March of 1888 in Arles where he had moved because of the warm climate, but he was instead welcomed by snow. Still, nature allowed this almond to bloom just in time for Vincent to paint it. Not a whole blooming tree, but a single sprig was beautiful enough to Vincent to capture it on canvas. This “portrait” of a flower is very different from most flower paintings of the time; it is simple and unpretentious, only a little branch with blossoms as young as the dawn of the day.

Those still lives with dozens and dozens of different flowers, all vibrant and beautiful without a doubt, can be overwhelming to the eye, but in this humble portrait of an almond branch we are allowed to focus on the details; on the delicate whiteness of the petals, on the crooked branch that delights the eyes with its perfect imperfection, on the tiny green leaves, even on the transparency of the glass vase and on the yellow lines on the table which bring to mind the play of the sunlight. This departure from the formal, the usual and the customary paintings of flowers and the insistance on simplicity brings to mind the spirit of wabi-sabi; it is an intuitive appreciation of the transient beauties of this material world, it is the understated beauty of the modest and imperfect things such as this small branch.

Shōka arrangement by the 40th headmaster Ikenobō Senjō, drawing from the Sōka Hyakki by the Shijō school, 1820

“The rhythm of blooming”, by watara_ikebana.

Shirō Kasamatsu, Springtime Ikebana, n.d.

The more I gazed at Van Gogh’s arrangement of a sprig of flowering almond in a glass, the more it reminded me of ikebana; the Japanese art of arranging flowers. This simple almond sprig, taken from nature, broken off from the tree branch, is suddenly transformed from something ‘natural’ to something ‘artistic’ in the very act of being put in the vase. Van Gogh was doubly artistic in a sense, for he arranged and then painted the almond blossoms. Moreover, he chose to portray a flower of humble, fragile, transient beauty. Ikebana literally means “living flowers” in Japanese and the roots of this art of arranging flowers can be traced back to the seventh century in the flower offerings to Buddha. Then, in the Muromachi period (1333–1568) a more sophisticated way of arranging flowers known as ‘rikka’ emerged and today the term is synonymous with the word ‘ikebana’. Every flower or plant carries a symbolism in this art and there are many strict rules when it comes to the arrangements. At times the rules seemed to matter more than the final aesthetic, but not to people like the sixteenth tea master and aesthetic-revolutionary Sen no Rikyu who embraced the wabi sabi aesthetic when it came to tea ceremonies, garden deisign and flower arrangement:

“Sen no Rikyu, with his dislike for rules and con-trived forms of beauty, felt that the real beauty and aesthetic value of flowers lay not in there adherence to rules but to the way in which they were sympathetically displayed.

It was Sen no Rikyu who started the nagaire movement, which means to “throw into,” and it is here where the spirit of wabi sabi can be found. Doing away with all formalism and again refraining fromusing opulent vases from mainland China, Rikyu remained true to his overall aesthetic scheme and chose the simplest of vases for the flower displays in his tea ceremonies, known as chabana (tea flowers). In place of more impressive flowers Rikyu insisted on the use of smaller wildflowers picked in the fields. He is said to have been the first to introduce the bamboo vase as a serious artistic expression, and the first vase used, called the Onjoji vase, has been treasured ever since. Even when the vase started to leak, the small pool of water that gathered around the bottom was appreciated as a natural flaw, beautiful and expressive in its own right.

On one occasion Rikyu had heard of Hideyoshi’s desire to see the beautiful morning glories that were in flower in the tea garden. Following protocol Hideyoshi was invited, but on his arrival he was surprised to see that all the morning glories had been cut. However, on entering the tearoom, Hideyoshi noticed an exquisite flower arrangement that consisted of just one beautiful morning glory. Rikyu was showing his master that the truth of real beauty did not lie so much in the beauty of a field of flowers but in the contemplation of the life of just one. By focusing on just one flower one might be able to break the perceptual gap that lies between the flower and oneself and to realize that the flower and oneself are not after all existentially separate.” (Andrew Juniper, Wabi-Sabi)

As passionate, crude and impetuous Van Gogh had been, at times, the fact that he painted these gentle blossoms, with such delicacy and tenderness, with such affection and attention, shows that indeed, as he once wrote, there was “calmness, pure harmony and music” inside of him. The practice of ikebana was suppose to be a way of calming one’s mind, and I can’t help but wonder, did it calm Vincent to gaze at these almond blossoms and paint them? Was it a visual meditation? And how long did they sit in that vase on his table and what sweet songs did they sing to him to soothe him? Flowers are soothing creatures, their beauty colours the life. One cannot be in the company of the flowers and remain angry, or want for anything more. A single flower is enough to make one smile and warm one’s heart.

The Love Adventures of Radha and Krishna – Indian Miniature Painting

“O Krishna! Ever since she has seen you, she does not want anything else. She does not look at a lotus nor does she want to look at the beautiful moon. Even though by nature she is romantic, she does not want to listen to love stories. The beauty of three worlds do not touch her. If she does not see you, she will die. Please come and meet her!”

(From the Rasikapriya, as translated by Harsha V. Dehejia)

Radha and Krishna in the Grove, opaque watercolour on paper, Pahari, Kangra, ca. 1780

These past few weeks I have really been enjoying these watercolours of divine lovers Radha and Krishna. Their love and devotion are pure and strong, but still there is a certain playfulness and naughtiness in their love and these artworks beautifully illustrate these different moments of love, from sweet tenderness to jealousies, the yearning and the waiting, the love gazes and adoration, all in the beautiful, enchanting, verdant nature settings. All the watercolours in this post belong to the Pahari painting school; it is an umbrella term used for Indian paintings, mostly miniature, that were made in the Himalayan hill kingdoms of North India from the seventeenth to the nineteenth century, notably Kangra, Guler, Garhwal and others. The theme of love is an all pervading theme in the world of arts, but in no other art movement, in no other time has the cult of love been cherished to such an extent. Love seems to have been a religion and the very air that everyone was breathing, and this certainly tells us something about the culture and about the times in which these paintings were created, and not only created but also cherished and enjoyed. Vibrant colour, delicacy, sensuality, female beauty, a perfect dose of tenderness and naughtiness; these paintings posses all these elements – in abundance.

Perhaps my favourite out of these artworks is the one above called “Radha and Krishna in the Grove”, painted around the same time that the French Rococo painter Jean-Honore Fragonard was painting his amorous couples, stolen kisses and secret park meetings. Lovers, flirtatios and natural setting; similar motifs in both examples. The presentation of nature in Fragonard’s paintings is beautiful and his vision of love alluring and playful, but nothing can compare to the Beauty of Nature and Beauty of Love in the Kangra paintings on love. In this watercolour Radha and Krishna are shown enjoying their time and one another by a flowing stream of water, sitting on a soft bed of plaintain leaves, hidden by the lush tree tops, delighting in the fragrance of all the flowers. The nature around them is vivacious and alive, as if reflecting the ardours of love between the lovers. Krishna is dressed in his traditional yellow attire while Radha is looking delighful in gold and red. There are pink lotus flowers blooming on the surface of the river, all eager to hear the sweet nothings whispered between the lovers. It is just such an idyllic painting. The nature in all these watercolours absolutely mesmerises me.

Krishna Uses A Ruse To Meet His Beloved, 1781

This is a dream-like moment, but things are not always so sweet and dreamy between Radha and Krishna. In “Krishna Uses a Ruse to Meet His Beloved”, Krishna is seen dressed in an attire of a gopi so that Radha will think he is a gopi and will confide in her about her love woes. I love the gold details in this watercolour, the trees again are stunning but I also I love the little details that help build a story such as the little boat, for example. It makes me imagine that Krishna used that boat to come. Will they leave together on the boat to some far-off shore like the one in the watercolour above, where they can enjoy private moments? The lotus flowers are all-pervading, noisy yet beautiful creatures. Never kiss in front of them – they will tell.

Radha imagines Krishna with other women, from Gita Govinda, attributed to Purkhu, 1820

Krishna flirting with the Gopis, to Radhas sorrow. Kangra Painting, c. 1760

I also really love the watercolours where Radha is telling her friend about Krishna suspected cheating; in the lower right portion of the painting there is Radha confiding in her friend, while in the other parts of the painting there are different, imagined scenes of Krishna seducing other alluring gopis and enjoying himself while Radha is alone. The following watercolour is a proof that these are not mere jealous imagining on Radha’s behalf; there is Krishna is his yellow-like-the-Sun attire seducing with his appearence alone, and then words, all the beautiful and smitten gopis. Yes, yes, Radha is his special one, his one and only, but tell it to her when such a flirtatious scene is going one! Woe is her. But we know that Krishna will come back soon to comfort her, seduce her and assure her of his love and devotion, and she will again be all loving and trusting and sweet. It is the eternal dance of love, played by the sound of Krishna’s flute and Radha’s heartbeats. This is the downfall of being in love with a charmer.

Krishna Spying on Bathing Radha; truly how naughty!?

There are playful moments such as those when Krishna is spying on Radha while she is bathing, or when Krishna is wearing Radha’s clothes and Radha is wearing Krishna’s clothes, as presented in the watercolour bellow, imagine just how entertaining that would have looked like in real life, even in painting it is amusing, and then there are tender moments where Krishna is combing Radha’s hair and she is taking quiet delight in it, smiling contently because she knows that while he may be gazing at other gopis, admiring their beauty or flirtatiously amusing himself with them, that in the end she is the one, the Queen of His Heart:

“Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me
I don’t want to leave her now
You know I believe and how

Somewhere in her smile she knows
That I don’t need no other lover
…

(The Beatles, Something)

I really must take a moment to appreciate the absolute beauty of nature in all these watercolours! I am drawn to it as the bumblebee is drawn to lavender. I love the attention to details when it comes to the depiction of the landscape. In painting after painting, it is just stunning – a true feast for the eyes, and the heart. Every tree is individualised. Every little leaf, every little pink or red flower is vibrant and alive, oozing its fragrance over the paper and over the centuries that have passed since it was painted. The various shades of green and blue, the layer upon layer of different plants, the little leaves and little blossoms, everything so palpably dreamy and delicate. Truly, the characters of these paintings are not just the figures of Krishna and Radha, but all the trees and flowers and lotuses and birds. One thing I know for sure, a piece of my heart belongs now to these painting, or rather, to the magical land that was depicted and created in them, and it is a land of Love and a “land of fragrance, quietness, and trees, and flowers”, to quote John Keats’s poem “Hyperion”. When I think of some famous western representations of love and lovers in art – how lifeless and bland they seem to my eyes now. Compared to the vibrancy and magic of these Kangra paintings, they seem grey in comparison. The real tenderness, the real passion, the real union of souls; I find it all in these paintings of Krishna and Radha.

Radha with Her Confidant, Pining for Krishna, Folio from the Second or Tehri Garhwal Gita Govinda (Song of the Cowherd), 1775-80

Radha and Krishna Dressed in Each Other’s Clothes India, Himachal Pradesh, Kangra, c 1800-1825, Opaque watercolor and gold on paper

Krishna Combs Radha’s Hair c. 1820

“Charm of my life! by whose sweet power
All cares are husht, all ills subdued–
My light in even the darkest hour,

My crowd in deepest solitude!”

(Tibullus, To Sulpicia)

Radha and Krishna shelter under a Parasol. Attributed to the Purkhu family workshop, Kangra Miniature, c. 1825

Krishna Charms Radha Forest Glade, An Illustration From ‘Lambagraon’ Gita Govinda Series. Circa 1820. Kangra.

Radha and Krishna take shelter in a tree, Garhwal, 1820-1830

Krishna Adorning Radha’s Hair ca. 1815-20, Unknown Artist (Indian), opaque watercolor and gold on paper

The Heroine Who Waits Anxiously for Her Absent Lover (Utka Nayika) – Indian Miniature Painting

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?—

(Percy Shelley, Love’s Philosophy)

The Heroine Who Waits Anxiously for Her Absent Lover, Utka Nayika, 1760-65, Northern India, Himachal Pradesh, Pahari Kingdom of Chamba, Gum tempera and gold on paper, 25.2 x 16.6 cm

A beautiful young woman is seated all alone on a bed of leaves in a verdant landscape of hills and trees. Everything around her is thriving and alive; the flowers are blooming, the new leaves are sprouting on the trees, everything is bursting with vibrancy and richness. One cannot count all the flowers and leaves, for they are innumerable. Nature is awoken and so is the woman’s heart from which love is flowing freely like a wild, vast river. Still, despite all the liveliness about her, the woman is heavy hearted, for she is waiting and yearning for her lover. She does not know when he will arrive, nor will he arrive at all, nor what might have prevented him, a change of heart perhaps? Or has he seen another pair of pretty eyes on the way through the forest and forgotten all about her? The woman is lifting her rosy veil to see better whether her darling is coming. Oh, but she needn’t lift the veil, for the steps of her man she would recognise from afar, the beatings of his heart for her she would be hearing from a long distance, his loving thoughts of her would be travelling by the nocturnal breeze all the way to her ears.

What is softer? The bed of leaves underneath her, or the kisses with which she would welcome her man, if only he would come. In vain is the soft bed of leaves, in vain the cheerful colours of her clothes, in vain the earrings and the bangles, in vain the fragrant neck and silky soft hair, for her lover will not come and enjoy it. Instead of his breath on her neck, the woman will feel only the cold breath of the night, instead of his body being her cloak, the dark starlit sky will cover her with its veil, instead of his fine dark eyes all aglow with love and desire, only the stars will gaze and glow at her. Poor naayika! It is almost as if everything in nature is mocking her sorrowful state of solitude. Everything is painted in pairs; the love-birds are chirping in pairs on the tree branches, the deer is followed by his faithful mate, and even the trees are painted as couples, their branches embracing, their leaves kissing. Everything around her is murmuring and whispering and sighing with pleasure. Everything is sensual and awoken. Every little blossoms is whispering of the secret pleasures that are being denied this night to the woman. The breeze is bringing the dazzling scent of the flowers to the woman’s nose, but instead of the floral scent she would have prefered the scent of her man.

It brings to mind the verses of the Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley’s poem “Love’s Philosophy”:

“The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?—

See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven

If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?“

–

Oh miserable night! Very soon the “Moon will fall at the feet of morning, loosened from the night fading’s embrace”, to quote Tagore’s poem “Unyielding”. I cannot help but wonder, at which moment will the tears, arosen in the heart, gather in her eyes and spill down her beautiful, soft cheeks, yearning for the touch of her beloved’s lips as the thirsty soil is yearning for drops of rain. If her lover were to come at last, he would have to ask himself: are those the eyes of my beloved or two beautiful clouds full of rain?

The title of the painting “Utka Nayika” refers to one of the eight different kinds of heroines or “nayikas” found in traditional Indian visual and performing arts. The heroine can be seen in many different states of love in relation to her hero or nayaka. In some paintings she will be waiting for him, in others she can be angry at him, she can be distressed by separation, or even deceived by her lover. “Utka Nayika” is an expectant heroine, the lady anxiously awaiting for her lover. The setting of this type of scene is usually a beautiful nature setting, a forest glade, with lush trees and flowers, but sometimes it can be a balcony or even a bed. The mood of these types of scenes is a that of distress, anxiety, yearning, of love-sickness. There is also a sense of mystery because we can only assume what had prevented the hero from coming to the meeting. The Utka Nayika doesn’t know, and neither do we.

Fashion Inspiration: Yes, I deserve a spring – I owe nobody nothing

“Yes, I deserve a spring–I owe nobody nothing.”

(Virginia Woolf)

Sonam Kapoor for Harper’s Baazar Bride June 2016.

Sonam Kapoor for Harper’s Baazar Bride June 2016.

Venice – The City of Venus, the City of Virgin: Botticelli and Madonna

“So Venice was the city of Venus. The goddess was born from the sea. She was intimately associated with the sea. It was said that she was created by the white spume that Neptune cast on the islands where the city arose, implying the deep sexuality of the city within the lagoon. (…) It is one of the primal sights of the world. The word Venice conjures up Venus within its syllables. The naked Venus was represented by the city without walls. “Venus and Venice are Great Queens.”

Sandro Botticelli, The Birth of Venus, c. 1484–1486

These days I am reading Peter Ackroyd’s book “Venice: Pure City”, chapter by chapter, enjoying it slowly and conjuring images of the wonderful city in my imagination. What struck me as particularly fascinating, at least up to this point in book, was the connection between Venice and Venus, the Roman goddess of Love, and also the connection of Venice to the Virgin, the Virgin Mary, but also to the whore. Here is a passage from Ackroyd’s book: “In poetry, and drama, Venice was often portrayed as the beloved woman. (…) It has been celebrated for its power to seduce the visitor, to lure him or her into its uterine embrace. The narrow and tortuous streets themselves conjured up images of erotic chase and surprise. The city was invariably represented as a female symbol, whether as the Virgin in majesty or as Venus rising from the sea. It was stated in legend that Venice was founded on 25 March 421, the feast of the Annunciation, and on that same day Venus was in the ascendant. The city was doubly blessed. How could it not be invincible?

So Venice was the city of Venus. The goddess was born from the sea. She was intimately associated with the sea. It was said that she was created by the white spume that Neptune cast on the islands where the city arose, implying the deep sexuality of the city within the lagoon. (…) It is one of the primal sights of the world. The word Venice conjures up Venus within its syllables. The naked Venus was represented by the city without walls. “Venus and Venice are Great Queens,” James Howell wrote in his Survey of the Signorie of Venice, with a further pun on “quean” or prostitute. Venus was queen of Love, and Venice was queen of Policy.”

When I think of Venus the first painting that comes to mind is Sandro Botticelli’s beautiful and well-known, often used and misused, painting “The Birth of Venus”. It was painted around 1484-86 as a decoration for the countryside villa for one of the members of the Medici family. It is hard to believe that this painting is more than five hundred years old because its beauty is so delicate and fresh, like a pink rose which was just plucked from the garden minutes ago and is still covered with drops of dew. The painting doesn’t really show the birth of Venus, as the title suggests, instead Botticelli chose to portray a popular Ancient representation of Venus, popularised again during the Renaissance revival of Paganism, that of “Venus Anadyomene” which shows the arrival of Venus to the shores of the island of Cythera.

The God of Western Wind, Zephyr and his friend the God of Gentle Wind, Aura, are blowing Venus towards the shore where she is being welcomed by one of the Horae, one of the personifications of the seasons and godesses of natural order, who is holding a rosy-salmon coloured robe so that the shy Venus , or “Venus Pudica”, can cover her beautifully curved body. I do love Venus’ long golden hair, flowing in the Zephyr’s breeze, and I love most of all her dreamy gaze, as if she is unaware of it all, as if it is happening to someone else, she seems distant from her very own rising from the sea – oh don’t I know how she feels! The shell upon which Venus is standing has certain connotations, of a similar kind that Ackroyd makes in the book when describing the watery and dark canals of the city of Venice. I also love the roses flying in the air. At various points in the book Ackroyd refers to Venice as the feminine city and it is really easy to see and feel the connections. Botticelli’s beautiful Venus rising from the sea waves and the city of Venice which, seen from afair, looks as if it too is sitting on the sea waves, the hazy contours of its roofs and domes and cathedral spires arising from the sea mist that hangs over the lagoon.

Madonna filming the music video for “Like A Virgin” in Venice, July 1984.

When I think of Venice and the Virgin, I think of Giovanni Bellini and Titian, but I also instantly think of Madonna’s song and video “Like a Virgin” because it was filmed in Venice. In the video Madonna is seen dancing and singing flirtatiously whilst riding on a gondola. Many of the things symbolic of Venice, such as the canals, the gondolas, the lion are all found in the video. Madonna is playfully acting the character of a virgin in the video, and while in some scenes she is dressed in a white wedding gown and has a shy demenour, in other scenes she is dressed in her typical eighties fashion; a neon green crop top and a plethora of cheap plastic jewellery. The way she is dressed, and the way she carried herself, one cannot help but wonder; is she a virgin or a whore? The same can be asked of Venice – a city on one hand addicted to material pleasures; parties, prostitution, gambling, and on the other so madly enthusiastic about the Cult of the Virgin with the Images of Annunciation adorning every corner of the city. The City of Venice is like a courtesan covering herself with a veil and kneeling down in a church, clasping her hands, praying and gazing coyly at the altar, but she is not fooling anyone. Here is what Peter Ackroyd writes about the Cult of the Virgin in this very naughty City of Venice:

“But Venice was also the city of the Virgin. Images of the Annunciation are to be found on the Rialto bridge, on the façade of Saint Mark’s, and on the walls of the ducal palace, as well as diverse other places in the city. The worship of the Virgin entailed, even demanded, the glorification of the state. The endurance of the republic was another proof of its divine origin. (…) The city, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, was being characterised as a whore. It was known for its apparent “decadence” and for its mercantile greed. The Queen of the Sea was transmogrified into “the whore of the Adriatic.” (…) There seems to be something deeply troubling about cities of luxury and of sensation. (…) The city was a decrepit courtesan, sporting its baubles of gold. The futurist, Marinetti, described it at the beginning of the twentieth century as “steeped in exotic lewdness.” The English poet, Rupert Brooke, depicted it in a “tawdry and sensual middle-age.” It was perhaps inevitable. A place that continually asserts that it is a sacred centre, a city of the Virgin Mary, will inevitably incur disgrace and disillusion. (…) Virginity was a Venetian obsession.”

Madonna

“The cult of Mary penetrated every aspect of Venetian society. (…) There were more than three hundred altars, in the fifteenth century, devoted to the worship of the Virgin. In the church of S. Maria Gloriosa there were no less than eight separate altars dedicated to her. The famous nikopeia, a Byzantine icon of the Virgin supposed to have been painted by Saint Luke himself, was carried in state around Saint Mark’s Square on the feast of the Assumption; this relic became the palladium of the republic, its safeguard and defence, and is still to be found in the basilica of Saint Mark’s. Venice was the Virgin, too, because she had never been assaulted. She was inviolate and immaculate, protected by the waves of the sea like a precious girdle. Mary is peace. Peace is stability.

(…) Hers was a popular devotion. There were many shrines on the corners of the calli, with a votive lamp burning before the Virgin; these were maintained by the people of the immediate neighbourhood. There was not a Venetian home, however humble, without its picture of the Virgin. There were artists who did nothing else but execute cheap images of the Madonna known disparagingly as madonnieri. They were, however, only following in the tradition of Bellini. When the bells rang for the enunciation of the prayer “Ave Maria,” the Venetians would fall down on their knees in the streets and squares.“

Konstantin Somov – Carnival Scenes: Pleasure is addictive, Pleasure is a dream

“Pleasure is addictive. It can have all the elements and attributes of a fever. Pleasure is a dream.”

Konstantin Somov, Italian Comedy, 1914

I had written about Konstantin Somov carnival scenes, in particular his watercolour “Lady and Pierrot” from 1910, but today let us take a look at some of his other carnival scenes filled with figures of Harlequins, Pierrots and elegant Rococo ladies. In his choice of themes Somov was greatly influenced by the eighteenth century painters and themes, in particular the elegant, fanciful world of Watteau’s art where everyone is searching love and happiness in the ambience of elegant parks with marble statues and forest groves with whispering ivy-overgrown trees. If you take a look at Somov’s paintings that I’ve chosen to present here, “The Italian Comedy”, “The Fireworks”, and even the scenes from the notorious “Book of the Marquise”, and then compare them with the paintings by Watteau, it is easy to see the similarities. Still, it is not to say that Somov’s paintings are mere copies of Watteau, not at all, for his artworks have a distinct flair and are rich in colours and a tad more flirtatious and daring than Watteau’s which I enjoy greatly. In Somov’s carnival scenes we find none of that suble yet tangible wistfulness, no sense of transience and fragility that permeates Watteau’s paintings. In Somov’s portrayal of the carnival and leisure, there is a mood of frivolity, of carelesness, of unashamed pleasure; let the champagne flow and kisses, wherever they may, fall!

I feel that Somov’s art, not just the paintings here but many of his other artworks as well, are a visual companion to the line “Pleasure is addictive, pleasure is a dream”. I mean, the figures in Somov’s art just cannot seem to get enough of it – the pleasure, in whichever form; the parties, the laughing, the dancing, the kissing, the drinking, the gambling, the staying up all night and gazing at fireworks, it’s just constant frivolity and playful decadence. In Somov’s painting “Italian Comedy”, painted in 1914, we have a playful garden scene. The smiling Pierrot takes the centre stage, but there is also a Harlequin and a lady dressed in a striped Rococo gown and a Lady Harlequin as well. Despite the setting being a garden, it feels oddly like a stage, choreographed and somewhat stiff, more so than Somov’s other carnival scenes. In the background there are fireworks; another motif seen often in these paintings by Somov.

Jean-Antoine Watteau, Harlequin and Columbine, 1716-1718

Jean-Antoine Watteau, The Italian Comedy, 1716

In Watteau’s painting “Columbine and Harlequin”, painted two hundred years before Somov’s painting, there is a similar garden-carnival scenes. The centre is occupied by a dashing, flirty Harlequin in his vibrant attire and he is trying to seduce Columbine. Look at his hand gesture, I wonder what joke is he telling her? She doesn’t seem all that amused, perhaps it is Pierrot who is on her mind… In the background there are other young people, yearning for love and fun. I do love Watteau’s paintings and now Somov’s watercolours and other paintings are giving me the same thrill. The art of the early twentieth century with its radicalism and experiementation, the harsh squares and rectangles of Cubism, the garish colours of Fauvism, the angst and horror of Expressionism, none of it was for Somov who looked back in time when seeking inspiration, who wanted to drink from the fountain of beauty and love, and not from fountain of modernity and speed.

Konstantin Somov strikes me as a man who painted what he could not live, and that is partly true as reveiled in his letter to a fellow painter Elizaveta Zvantseva, dated 14th of February 1899: “Unfortunately, I still have no romance with anyone—flirting, perhaps, but very light. But I’m tired of being without romance—it’s time, otherwise life passes by, and youth, and it becomes scary. I terribly regret that my character is heavy, tedious, gloomy. I would like to be cheerful, easy-going, amorous, a daredevil. Only such people have fun, those not afraid to live!” Also, the world that we see in both Watteau and Somov’s art is a world that… simply does not exist, and never will come a day when it will exist, only perhaps in the hearts and minds of the imaginative romantics and in these beautiful canvases that we can gaze at for hours and fantasise. For me, these paintings are a world just beyond reach and so gazing at them fills me with excitement, but also provokes inside me an inexplicable yearning that may, if I allow it, turn into a heartache.

Konstantin Somov, Fireworks, 1929

Now, again, I would love to connect these Wattea and Somov’s carnival scenes with a passage from Peter Ackroyd’s book “Venice: Pure City” because I find it fascinating:

“The Carnival was instituted at the end of the eleventh century, and has continued without interruption for almost seven hundred years. After a period of desuetude it was resurrected in the 1970s. “All the world repairs to Venice,” John Evelyn wrote in the seventeenth century, “to see the folly and madness of the Carnevall.” It was originally supposed to last for forty days, but in the eighteenth century it was sometimes conducted over six months. It began on the first Sunday of October and continued until the end of March or the beginning of Lent. This was also the theatre season. In a city that prided itself on transcending nature, it was one way of defying winter. Yet if the festivities last for half a year, does “real” life then become carnival life? It was said in fact that Venice was animated by a carnivalesque spirit for the entire year. It was no longer a serious city such as London, or a wise city such as Prague.

There were bands and orchestras in Saint Mark’s Square; there were puppet shows and masked balls and street performers. There were costume parties in the opera houses, where prizes were awarded for the best dress. There were elaborate fêtes with gilded barges, liveries of gold and crimson, gondolas heaped with flowers. The Venetians, according to William Beckford in the 1780s, were “so eager in the pursuit of amusement as hardly to allow themselves any sleep.” In this season, everyone was at liberty. Evelyn described the Carnival as the resort of “universal madnesse”.

Konstantin Somov, Book of the Marquise. Illustration 8, 1918, lithography

Konstantin Somov, Book of the Marquise, 1918, lithography

(…)There were firework displays; the Venetians were well known for their skill at pyrotechnics, with the reflection of the coloured sparks and flames glittering upon the water. There were rope-walkers and fortune-tellers and improvisatori singing to the guitar or mandolin. There were quacks and acrobats. There were wild beast shows; in 1751 the rhinoceros was first brought to Venice. There were the elements of the macabre; there were mock funeral processions and, on the last day of the Carnival, a figure disfigured by syphilitic sores was pushed around in a barrow. Here once more is the old association between festivity and the awareness of death.

Venetians dressed up as their favourite characters from the commedia dell’arte. There was Mattacino, dressed all in white except for red shoes and red laces; he wore a feathered hat, and threw eggs of scented water into the crowd. There was Pantalone, the emblem of Venice, dressed in red waistcoat and black cloak. And there was Arlecchino in his multi-coloured costume. There were masked parties and masked balls.

(…) Pleasure is addictive. It can have all the elements and attributes of a fever. Pleasure is a dream.”

Kyōsai Kawanabe – Hell Courtesan – She’s a Maneater

“She’ll only come out at night
The lean and hungry type
Nothing is new, I’ve seen her here before
Watching and waiting…

Money’s the matter
If you’re in it for love
You ain’t gonna get too far
Watch out boy she’ll chew you up
She’s a maneater…”

Kyōsai Kawanabe, Hell Courtesan, 1874, colour woodcut

I usually appreciate the Japanese ukiyo-e prints because of their innovative compositions, or because of their sense of calmness or contemplation, but in this woodcut by Kyosai Kawanabe called “Hell Courtesan” it is definitely this strange and creepy mood that lured me and keeps luring me to gaze at it again and again. I mean, just the title alone, “Hell Courtesan”, yes – I want to see a painting by that name, absolutely. The visuals of this woodcut justify its title. “Hell Courtesan” shows an evil, blood-thirsty courtesan sleeping and dreaming, and the space around her represents her dreams. There is no need for a small crimson letter to be stiched onto her dress, for she is a walking ‘crimson letter’, wrapped in a fetching red robe. Even the King of Hell is seen peeking from the lower part of it. Looking at his crazy protruding eyes and a grimace on his blood red face, I am scared indeed; I certainly would not want to be dreaming of him, but in comparison to the King of Hell, this courtesan is even scarier and all the skeletons in the background are a living, no wait, a dead, proof of that. The skeletons might be seen as representitive of all of her victims. Perhaps for some murderers, to dream of their victims would be a nightmare, but to this courtesan it is a pleasant, fun almost, dream.

As it goes with old tales, the story about Hell Courtesan or “Jigoku Dayu” has many variations but generally it is said that the courtesan lived once upon a time in the pleasure quarters of old Japan and that she was very beautiful but also very cruel. She was wicked to everyone around her; her servants, fellow courtesans and even her clients. When she died suddenly one day the King of Hell forced her to wear an outer-kimono which was made out of all the souls of hell which were being tortured by the demons, and this was to be a constant reminder to her of how badly she had treated others when she was still alive. The skeletons seem rather jolly; the are dancing, laughing, joking and drinking, it’s a whole party going on there!

Kyosai Kawanabe has been called “the painting demon” and also “the last virtuoso of Japanese art”, well he certainly had a wild imagination as you can see in this woodblock. There is almost a sense of humour present in his work and skeleton do appear in his other artworks as well. Now that I think of it, his macabre spirit makes me think of James Ensor’s paintings. But now, to end a post, here is a song that kept reminding me of the painting, by Daryl Hall and John Oates called “Maneater”:

“She’ll only come out at night
The lean and hungry type
Nothing is new, I’ve seen her here before
Watching and waiting
Ooh, she’s sitting with you but her eyes are on the door
So many have paid to see
What you think you’re getting for free
The woman is wild, a she-cat tamed by the purr of a Jaguar
Money’s the matter
If you’re in it for love
You ain’t gonna get too far

Watch out boy she’ll chew you up
(Oh here she comes)
She’s a maneater
(Oh here she comes)
Watch out boy she’ll chew you up
(Oh here she comes)
She’s a maneater

I wouldn’t if I were you
I know what she can do
She’s deadly man, she could really rip your world apart
Mind over matter
Ooh, the beauty is there but a beast is in the heart…“

–

Paul Signac – Entrance to the Grand Canal, Venice

“Venice has been called a feminine city. (…) it is by living there from day to day that you feel the fullness of her charm; that you invite her exquisite influence to sink into your spirit. The creature varies like a nervous woman (…) you desire to embrace it, to caress it, to possess it.”

Paul Signac (1863-1935), Entrance to the Grand Canal, Venice, 1905

The soft and hazy pink, lilac and yellow shades of Paul Signac’s painting “Entrance to the Grand Canal” have completely seduced me and the more I gaze at this mesmerising painting the more I feel myself becoming one with its flickering surface made in its entirety out of little dashes of colours. What a contrast; the calm, almost zen-like patience it takes to paint in this Pointilist manner, with the finished effect which is dazzling and vivacious and alive. In short, it looks effortless, but the process of creating in was not effortless. The painting, as the title suggests, shows the entrance to the Grand Canal in Venice. On the right we have the cascading row of gondolas and on the left the canal poles or ‘pali di casada’ and another gondola with a gondolier, slowly approaching its destination. A sea of yellow and blues divides the lively foreground from the dreamy background where the silhouettes of Dogana del Mar and the church Santa Maria della Salute stands against a pink and yellow sky. It appears indeed as if they are floating in the air. The water, the sky, the architecture are all but dots and dashes of pink, yellow and blue, and in the eye of the viewer they seem to be merging. There are no strict lines that divide the one from the other, and perhaps this manner of capturing Venice’s charms is the most suitable for this flimsy, illusory, watery, floating city.

Details

Paul Signac spent a lot of time in Saint-Tropez and painted many lively seascapes, but visiting Venice and staying there has proven to be an extraordinarily prolific time in his career. Signac had been reading John Ruskin’s “The Stones of Venice” and that was a further motivation to visit the famed city. During his month there, from mid April to the end of May in 1904, he painted over two hundred watercolours and he used these watercolours as inspiration for his larger oil on canvas paintings. I am pretty sure that the last watercolour in this post titled “La Salute” could have served as a basis for the “Entrance to the Grand Canal, Venice”. The watercolours are charming indeed, as you will see bellow, they are very playful, sketchy and I love that. Signac loved to sit in the gondola and sketch the view he had from that almost water-level position. He sketched tirelessly and captured the changing weather and flickering colours of the lagoon, and these watercolours are a sort of a visual diary as well, in the same manner that Delacroix had sketched during his travels to Morocco or Turner’s watercolours of sunsets, clouds, hills and castles during his travels. Signac also painted other scenes from Venice, such as the lagoon of Saint Mark. All of his paintings of seas and ports are beautiful in their hazy dreaminess, but for some reason the pink and yellow shades in the painting above are my absolute favourite.

Paul Signac, Venice, Grand Canal, 1904, watercolour

Paul Signac, Venise, San Giorgio et la Salute, 1904, watercolour

The colours, the softness, the fluidness, the mood, the hazyness and the rosyness of this painting, have all reminded me of this passage from Peter Ackroyd’s book “Venice: Pure City”:

“Venice has been called a feminine city. Henry James noted that “it is by living there from day to day that you feel the fullness of her charm; that you invite her exquisite influence to sink into your spirit. The creature varies like a nervous woman …” He then expatiates on the various “moods” of the city before reflecting on the fact that “you desire to embrace it, to caress it, to possess it.” (…) It was considered to be licentious in action and attitude. It was, after all, the city of touch, the city of sight, the city of texture. It spoke openly to the senses. It revealed itself. The presence of water is also believed to encourage sensuality. Luxury, the stock in trade of the city, represents the apotheosis of sensuous pleasure. The lovers of the world came, and still come, here. It was known to be the capital of unlimited desire and unbridled indulgence; this was considered to be an expression, like its trade and its art, of its power. Venetian conversation was known for its lubriciousness and its vulgarity. The French poet, Guillaume Apollinaire, called Venice “le sexe même de l’Europe.”

Paul Signac, Venice, 1904, watercolour

Paul Signac, Venice, La Salute, 1904, watercolour

“In poetry, and drama, Venice was often portrayed as the beloved woman, all the more charming for being constantly in peril. It could be said in Jungian terms that when the masculine identity of the city was lost at the time of its surrender to Bonaparte in 1797, it became wholly the feminine city enjoyed by exiles and tourists from the nineteenth century onwards. The journalism and literature ofthe last two centuries, for example, has included many representations of Venice as a “faded beauty.” It has been celebrated for its power to seduce the visitor, to lure him or her into its uterine embrace. The narrow and tortuous streets themselves conjured up images of erotic chase and surprise. The city was invariably represented as a female symbol, whether as the Virgin in majesty or as Venus rising from the sea.

(…) It was believed that the men of Venice were, in the words of one eighteenth-century critic, “enervated and emasculated by the Softness of the Italian Musick.” The tenderness and luxuriance of the city were considered to be corrupting. But there was also the ambiguous status of land and water, of frontier and mainland. Anyone of weak sensibility might thereby be aroused or stimulated into transgressing ordinary boundaries.“

Edgar Degas – Rest – Waiting for the Kiss of Spring

“O eyes long laid in happy sleep!”
“O happy sleep that lightly fled!”
“O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep!”

Edgar Degas, Rest, 1893, pastel

Edgar Degas has many lovely pastels which I enjoy gazing at from time to time, mostly of ballerinas – a motif which he was famous for – but for months now this beautiful pastel with a simple title, “Rest”, from 1893, has been on my mind. The pastel shows Degas’ favourite subject; a woman. This time a half-nude woman sleeping on a pile of fabrics, she is covered only partly with a bright blue blanket. While her auburn hair is cascading down her back, her face is, thank you Degas, turned towards us. Perhaps she was folding her laundry and started daydreaming of sparrows and blossoming orchards and baby blue skies in the middle of her task and eventually fell asleep; been there, done that. The thing that immediately drew me to the painting was the bright blue blanket. That colour! Ah! Is it really a man-made fabric or a meadow of cornflowers? Even though it is long and covers a lot, Degas left plenty of skin-coloured areas to tempt us; a leg coyly peeking out of that sea of blue, the face, the arm and the bosom. How delightful is the contrast between her delicate porcelain skin and that blue colour? Another pop of colour here comes from the bright blue wall behind her, and that same blue is repeated in dashes on the floor. Truly that blueness is irresistible.

The forgotten castle (Château de la Mothe-Chandeniers).

The colours and the mood of the painting make me think of this forgotten castle in a picture above. Degas’ slumbering maiden was probably just a Parisian working class girl, but in my imagination she is the Sleeping Beauty and she is sleeping in one of the chambers of this castle, waiting in vain for a kiss of spring… The maiden is in a sweet slumber; the long, frosty and icy slumber of winter that is about to be awoken by a sweet, fragrant and warm kiss of spring. I imagine the Spring to be a personified as a wickedly handsome man, fragrant and long-haired, with a slightly mischievous yet disarming smile, dressed in green robes or perhaps nothing at all, the Zephyr from Botticelli’s painting “The Birth of Venus” comes to my mind. And then the woman will open her eyes and whisper:

“I’d sleep another hundred years,
O love, for such another kiss;”
“O wake forever, love,” she hears,
“O love, ’t was such as this and this.”

….“O eyes long laid in happy sleep!”
“O happy sleep that lightly fled!”
“O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep!”
“O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!“

(Lord Tennyson, The Day-Dream)

When she stands up, the blue blanket of winter will fall down and in a second be replaced by a dress of dandelions and a corsette of dandelions that the man-Spring had been weaving and making for her in all those long wintery afternoons. And then the two will dance and play till their hearts’ delights in flowery meadows.