Thursday, July 16, 2009

How can one painting mean different things, and all be right?

Art historians deal with concrete facts: names, dates, places, provenance, materials, techniques. Supporting these facts is one real, tangible item: the actual work of art. Between these two concretes lies a great deal of space for interpretation. In my experience, students see a work of art and expect it to have a single, concrete meaning that answers any and all questions about the work: Leonardo's Last Supper is the Last Supper, Michelangelo's David is "only" the sculptural illustration of the Biblical David and sign of Florentine pride, Monet's Impression, Sunrise is just the "impression" of a scene.

What takes students a longer time to learn is that art history is often about holding diverse, and sometimes conflicting, ideas simultaneously. Not only is that a delicate balancing act, but then art history asks students to use those ideas as a foundation for their own analysis. Adding to students' difficulties is that art historians specialize in methodologies: iconography, feminism, Marxism, New Art History, biography, etc. Think of these methodologies as a lens that color perception of a work of art. To one art historian, Titian's Venus of Urbino is a nude representative of a way for artists to make money in addition to religious commissions: marriage pictures and softcore porn for the wealthy. To another art historian, the very act of drawing and purchasing a picture of a nude woman is akin to the prostitutes modeling for Titian, both painting and woman can be bought and sold. (No self-respecting wealthy Venetian woman would have been posing nude during this time period!)

This post intends to introduce the casual reader to different types of art historical methodologies, and also to explore how different interpretations of the same facts can be "right."

We start by looking at this painting by Vermeer:

Johann Vermeer, The Art of Painting, c. 1662-1668, oil on canvas, approx. 29" x 25."
Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna


Vermeer shows an artist sitting at his easel painting a model. The artist and easel are located on the right half of the canvas, and the left half is crowded with a cluttered table, and behind the table, the artist's model. She holds a book and trumpet, and wears a blue dress and a wreath on her head. Vermeer has overlapped textures, colors, and patterns: the curtain at left, a tiled floor, the artist's red socks, the model's blue dress, a map on the wall. At left, closest to the viewer, a curtain is pulled back and the effect is as though the viewer is encroaching on a private scene. The glow of the light source from the upper left corner and hidden by the curtain reinforces this intimacy.

Vermeer historians and connoisseurs might focus on the curious light source: how it is obscured from the viewer, and how it ripples across the different objects/colors/textures in the room. They might note that the placement of the light source in the upper left corner is similar to Vermeer's other paintings (examples here and here). Renaissance historians may note the general rise during the Baroque of pictures of artists in their studios, the result of Renaissance artists striving to raise the status of the artist from craftsman to talented genius.

Conservators might examine The Art of Painting with scientific instruments and find out the whiteness of the back wall mixes lead white with alabaster and quartz. The inherent sparkle of quartz and the rough texture of the painting captures the cool light of Northern Europe both within Vermeer's scene, and then also when viewed in person - the light as it hits the canvas has a unique luminosity. Simultaneously, the painting is familiar to the 17th century viewer who is accustomed to the same light as Vermeer, and also charactertistic of Vermeer's eye for capturing the many dimensions of light and color.

The traditional interpretation of The Art of Painting examines the painting in terms of symbols: the model has the attributes of Clio, one of the original nine muses that also stood for Fame. Painters would use Iconologia by Cesare Ripa, printed in the Netherlands in 1644 and 1699, to find out what accessories to add to a figure so that the viewer would understand that it wasn't "just" a woman holding a trumpet with a wreath, but to stand for the abstract idea of Fame. Vermeer has included attributes that could remind us of an artist: black and white tile are symbolic of chiaroscuro, and the sketchbook of disegno. The map is symbolic of Dutch pride in their free nation (Dutch independence from Spain ocurred in 1634) and also their pride in their mapmaking, which was the best in the world. All of the symbols are housed in a cozy Dutch interior (a popular 17th century subject and a specialty of Vermeer's).

Altogether, this view sees the realities and act of painting, as Vermeer making a case for the higher status of the artist. The artist is both creator and interpreter, and gifted with the talent to draw and paint. In this interpretation, art history is similar to math: 1 + 2 + 3 = 6; all the symbols add up to one neat and tidy meaning that "explains" the painting's meaning, which otherwise looks like a regular genre scene. Since the Baroque, art historians have used symbolism to "decode" Dutch paintings; once decoded, these symbols create an overall message to the viewer.

More recently, eminent art historian Svetlana Alpers rejected this symoblic interpretation in favor of what she sees as the "mapmaking impulse." She views Vermeer's The Art of Painting as evidence of a broader context, the Dutch scientific vision for ordering knowledge and how that affected their worldview. Evidence supporting Alpers's vision are the various Dutch developments in the 17th century: the previously mentioned mapmaking industry (and subsequent naval prowess), and the invention of the microscope. Essentially, Alpers is proposing a new way to "read" a painting. Rather than decoding symbols to find an overall message, Alpers situates Vermeer's painting within the larger context of Dutch culture. Dutch Baroque artists, originally seen as realists, are now studying the idea of what can be real, rather than straightforwardly presenting reality.

So now what? We have different ways to analyze this painting: as part of Vermeer's entire oeuvre, evidence of Vermeer's innovative approach to pigmentation and light, Dutch realism, symbolis, and the Dutch "mapmaking" impulse. Which interpretation is right?

The answer: all of them!

Notice how all the above interpretations all rest on the same facts: artist, name, date, and place/style. Yet each of the facts about the period, artist, context, and the individual work of art can be read in several different ways. When beginning to weed through the amount of information and interpretations offered about a painting/artist/work of art, one should always begin with the concrete facts, and then a close looking at the concrete object. So long as an interpretation has solid facts as the foundation of the analysis, then a student shouldn't worry too much about what something "means."

The best paintings in the world are not what they "mean," but what they represent to many people. The best paintings in the world inspire countless interpretations because of the ambiguity, and inspire viewers to hold several conflicting or differing interpretations in their mind at once. When doing this, the painting, just by its very existence, forces the viewer to increase their mental dexterity through organization of information, critical thinking about the sources, and the memorization of facts. All just because it exists, the painting can make someone more aware of art, history, and life.

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