The Dream of Solomon, by Luca Giordano (1693)

The Dream of Solomon is a truly stunning picture by Luca Giordano, painted when the artist was nearing his 60^th birthday.

For those who do not remember, Solomon was the king of Israel and the son of David.  It is believed that Solomon reigned from circa 970 to 931 BC.  He is best remembered, perhaps, for his vaunted wisdom, which was the result of a specific request for guidance by God.

Upon achieving the throne, Solomon wondered where best to build a temple to worship God.  He also sought to be a good, just and kindly ruler.  Upon thinking about it, he retired to bed in Gibeon and had a heavenly vision.  As it is recorded in the King James Bible, Solomon prayed, asking God to:  Give therefore thy servant an understanding heart to judge thy people, that I may discern between good and bad: for who is able to judge this thy so great a people?

This request, so simple yet so profound, moved God.  The Bible says:

And the speech pleased the Lord, that Solomon had asked this thing. And God said unto him, Because thou hast asked this thing, and hast not asked for thyself long life; neither hast asked riches for thyself, nor hast asked the life of thine enemies; but hast asked for thyself understanding to discern judgment; Behold, I have done according to thy words: lo, I have given thee a wise and an understanding heart; so that there was none like thee before thee, neither after thee shall any arise like unto thee. And I have also given thee that which thou hast not asked, both riches, and honour: so that there shall not be any among the kings like unto thee all thy days. And if thou wilt walk in my ways, to keep my statutes and my commandments, as thy father David did walk, then I will lengthen thy days.

Your correspondent simply loves this picture.  Not only is it painted with a master’s touch, but for its sumptuous and allegorical qualities.  As Solomon sleeps, God appears in his dream, surrounded by angels.  God shines the light of wisdom onto Solomon, and provides a vision of what will be Solomon’s temple. 

The Temple Solomon would build following his visitation would hold the Ark of the Covenant, and stand for 410 years before being destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar II. 

Above Solomon is the vision of Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom, who will inspire Solomon in his judgements.  (Minerva is also the goddess of music, poetry, medicine, weaving, crafts and magic – such a one-stop shop.)  She represents a pre-Christian figure here; at her side is a lamb and a book, representing the eventually arrival of Jesus (the Lamb of God), and the holy book, the Bible.

This is such a rich picture, anticipating the abundance that would be later be found in rococo painting.  There are the angels surrounding God, his flowing robes, the delicately rendered blankets on Solomon.  The fantastically ornate bed upon which Solomon sleeps is a marvel in itself, particularly with the golden headboard in the figure of a faun near which rests his crown.  (Fauns would unconsciously impart wisdom – another pre-Christian echo.)  The muted colors promote the dreamy mood of the story, and there is a gauzy quality that provides a quality of a vision.

Interesting, too, are the use of yellows and blue to create light.  It is not a picture of many colors – yellow, blue, gold and orange – and yet it is bright and sensuous rather than drab and monotonous.  And despite the supine character of Solomon, Giordano still manages the dynamism of movement simply through his inventive composition.

Solomon himself is, frankly, beautiful, looking more like a reclining Apollo than anything else.  His features have an almost feminine cast of beauty (not unknown in Giordano’s other work), and combined with a beefy musculature create a figure both strong and sensitive.

It is, to this viewer, Giordano’s great masterpiece.

The World’s Most Expensive Photograph

The World's Most Expensive Photograph

(No, I Don't Get It, Either)

Sigh.  As if yesterday’s story on Peter Woytuk’s “installation” on Broadway was not enough to break the fragile crystal of this aesthete’s heart, now we have news that Rhein II, a 1999 photograph by Andreas Gursky, was sold at Christie’s New York for the world-record-setting price of $4,338,500.  You can see the photograph yourself, above.

Well .. where to begin?  Let’s start with Christie’s own Web site, which reads that the photo is a “breathtaking masterpiece of scale and wonderment, as well as the icon of Andreas Gursky's pioneering photographic oeuvre."

Well, at least the Christie’s copywriter is earning his or her money.  This ink-stained wretch goes on to write, “reaching out towards infinity, the work invokes a contemporary take on the ‘sublime’ with the astounding perfection of line and color achieved through the invocation of an apparently natural landscape."

The 73x143 in. color print is face-mounted to Plexiglas (no note if the buyer paid extra for that) and was bought by a “distinguished German sucker collector.”

Now, I’m sure that printing a picture that is 73x143 is a formidable task itself; and I’m sure that the good Mr. Gursky (born 1955) photoshopped it to his heart’s content.  However, this is a perfect example of the breakdown of our collective aesthetic sense, and how the hucksters have invaded a once rarefied realm.  Then again, I’m sure our “distinguished German collector” is not really interested in the arts, but is that most horrible kind of parasite, the art speculator. 

Perhaps a scam of such magnitude is only possible in our current Balkanized intellectual environment, where the world’s most famous auction house would engage in such monumental flummery as to pawn a holiday snapshot off as art and expect a gullible public with deep pockets to buy it as such.  Regular readers of this blog will think back to our recent examination of various masterpieces based on the Biblical David, and wonder what has happened to both the arts and the people that support them. 

I know I do.

I would like to break precedent here at the Jade Sphinx and make a direct offer to Christie’s.  Below are two recent camera-phone snaps taken while visiting Stony Brook, Long Island.  To quote Christie’s again, the viewer is "not invited to consider a specific place along the river, but rather an almost 'platonic' ideal of the body of water as it navigates the landscape".

Yeah.  That’s what I meant.  An opening bid of $1 million (I’m not greedy) can take them away.  Surely there is a “distinguished German collector” for me, too?

Caravaggio’s David and Goliath

We go from the sublime David of Michelangelo to the profoundly disturbing David and Goliath of Caravaggio.  Born Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571-1610), Caravaggio was the original ‘bad boy’ of art.  His remarkable body of work, with its heightened drama and use of differing levels of dark paint, created the bridge between the High Renaissance and the Baroque school of painting.

Caravaggio trained in Milan under a master who had trained with Titian.  He moved to Rome while still a young man in his 20s and quickly set up a reputation as a painter of considerable skill.  He also established his reputation as a wild man – drinking, brawling and having a string of affairs with young boys.  He killed a man in 1606 during an argument, and fled Rome with a price on his head.  He was involved in serious fights in 1608 and 1609 (in Malta and Naples, respectively), and died at 38 from a fever in Porto Ercole, near Grosseto in Tuscany, while on his way to Rome to receive a pardon.  This picture of David and Goliath was sent ahead of Caravaggio to Rome as a Papal offering prior to his pardon.

Let’s look at this remarkable picture.  If you look closely at the upper left hand of the canvas, you’ll see that David has just entered a tent, presumably the tent of Saul, to display the head of Goliath.  Notice that the sword is at an angle to David’s groin, another (perhaps unconscious) instance of the Renaissance mind eroticizing David.

It is reported that Caravaggio referred to the figure of the young David as “il suo Caravaggino” or, in English, “his little Caravaggio.”  This pun has puzzled art historians for centuries.  Was Caravaggio referring to his young studio assistant (and probable lover), or did he paint a picture of his younger self?

If Caravaggio did indeed paint his younger self as David, this picture becomes even more amazing because Caravaggio modeled the face of Goliath on himself, as well – making this picture of David and Goliath a double-portrait.

The face of Goliath is not that of a monster nor giant, but a dissipated satyr.  The eyes are heavily lidded and puffy, the mouth slack and weak, the teeth rotting, the hair long and unkempt.  But, underneath it all, is there not a resemblance between David and Goliath?

Even more remarkable is the expression of young David’s face.  There is none of the serene self-satisfaction of Donatello, nor the heroic resolution of Michelangelo.  Rather, this David seems mournful as he regretfully holds the head of Goliath into our view.  Could this not be Caravaggio looking regretfully upon his older self?  Or, if as is supposed, this picture was a Papal offering, a promise that the older, monstrous Caravaggio is now dead, eliminated by his own better self?

Caravaggio’s David and Goliath is a puzzle inside of mystery – and one of the most enigmatic works of the Renaissance.

Michelangelo’s David

Michelangelo’s David is, of course, the most famous male nude figure in the world.  It has been photographed, recast, and rendered into kitschy souvenirs.  But despite five centuries of familiarity and more recent efforts to render the masterwork irrelevant or banal, this 17 foot colossus maintains its power to enthrall, inspire and move.

Its gestation was not easy.  The work was originally entrusted to Agostino di Duccio (1462) and then to Antonio Rossellino (1476), but both gave it up as a bad job.  The block of marble mined from the Opera del Duomo of Florence was flawed with veins, was too tall and too narrow, and otherwise unacceptable.  Leonardo also turned down the job (no surprise there) and the marble slab was left in the courtyard of the Opera del Duomo until 1501.

When the David project was resurrected by the gonfalonier Pier Soderini, who was engaged in another artistic and intellectual revival of Florence, he approached Michelangelo.  That artist – an incredibly difficult, arrogant, argumentative man – could not resist the opportunity to succeed where other artists had failed.  He was only 26 years old and would complete the commission in two years.

David was originally commissioned to be one of a series of statues lining the roof of the Florence Cathedral, but David was placed instead in a public square outside the Palazzo della Signoria.  Its reception was both rapturous and censorious.  Soderini thought the nose too big – Michelangelo went up to the face and pretended to chisel away at it.  Soderini was satisfied and Michelangelo secretly cursed him as a fool.  Some conservative factions – and philistines seem to be with us in every age – threw stones at it.

Where to begin writing about this, perhaps the greatest achievement of Western art?  That David is beautiful is a given, but what can we glean about the statue other than youth and beauty?

First, let’s see where this David is different from the David of Donatello and Titian.  The first thing you’ll notice is what is missing – Goliath.  There is no headless body, no foot resting on the severed head.  Indeed, Michelangelo depicts David before killing the giant – his hand holding the stone that will kill Goliath close to his thigh, sling at the ready, eyes on his adversary.

Note, too, David is heroically nude, in the Classical mode.  This David is not just the Biblical David, but also every hero from antiquity through to the present day.  The statue is Perseus and Achilles and Hercules as well as David – he represents an ideal of young heroism.

Unlike most statues of antiquity (or those based on a Classical ideal), Michelangelo eschews the placid beauty of the face for one of handsome intensity.  Seen from the front, David has a handsome and resolute profile.  But approach the statue from other angels and the face alters – intensity turns to thoughtful composure to a face coldly assessing a great danger.  It is this human dimension that elevates Michelangelo’s David from some chilly ideal of humanity and breathes life into the figure.

The head and hands seem to be slightly too large to accommodate the figure.  The common view is that, since it was meant to be viewed from below, that Michelangelo made them too large to accommodate the change in perspective.  I, myself, do not agree with this theory.  Rather, I think the head and the hands are accentuated because they are the organs of thought and action.

Michelangelo’s David is such a part of our environment that it seems almost impossible to imagine the world without it.  It is my favorite work of art, and a large porcelain copy is on my desk as I write these words.  The figure of David provides both solace and inspiration, and remains an ideal – physical, spiritual and intellectual – to which we can all aspire.

Titian’s David and Goliath

Simply a magnificent painting by the Venetian painter, draughtsman and designer Titian (born Tiziano Vecellio 1489-1576).  Perhaps the greatest Venetian painter of the Renaissance, Titian was called by his contemporaries The Sun Amidst Small Stars (after the final line of Dante’s Paradiso).  He was a remarkably versatile painter, equally at home with landscapes, portraits and large narrative pictures.  He is particularly important to art history because of his unique mastery of color.

Titian was born in Pieve di Cardore, in Venice, and lived to be quite an old man by Renaissance standards.  His style changed often throughout his lifetime, but his serious study and application of color was a constant throughout his career.  His later works were, perhaps, muted compared to his earlier pictures, but his overall approach also grew in subtlety. 

This painting is now in the church of Santa Maria della Salute in Venice. It was originally made as a ceiling painting for the Santo Spirito in Isola; Titian made two other ceiling paintings for that church, Cain and Abel and the Sacrifice of Isaac. 

Look at the barren landscape Titian uses for his tableaux – nothing save some rocks and the merest hint of vegetation and blasted scrub to the right.  The place – and perhaps not even the time – are not important in this picture, rather, the only reality of the picture is the eternal struggle between boy and monster that take up frame.

Unlike Donatello’s bronze David (or Michelangelo’s, which we will look at later this week) David is mostly clothed.  (Indeed, he wears more clothing than the traditionally heavily armored Goliath.)  Curiously, his simple tunic rides heavenward, revealing his leg and the curve of his bottom.  His arms, too, are extended heavenward, obscuring his face and placing emphasis on his musculature.  I find this fascinating – the Biblical text specifically describes David as ‘beautiful,’ but it seems as if Renaissance artists make a point of eroticizing the boy hero.  This is not surprising as David was the patron saint of the Florentine state, and the Renaissance put a very high premium on male beauty.

David’s physical proximity to the fallen giant is surprisingly intimate, as if here were straddling the corpse of his foe.  The size and musculature of the brute are clearly contrasted to that of the boy; this painting includes a particularly gratuitous wound where the head was severed from the body.

Titian’s superlative use of color is also demonstrated by the exsanguinated body of Goliath.  The arms and head are already white marble, the blood having run from his dreadful neck wound.  The face of Goliath, though fierce, seems curiously at peace.  One cannot help but wonder if this monster is glad to finally be free of his own brutality.

Titian again uses vibrant color in the sky and the heavenly light it sheds on the scene below.  Look at how the clouds draw in white-yellow radiance close to the opening, and build into brownish grays moving away from the light.   More importantly, look at how the light plays on the arms of the triumphant David, also highlighting part of his torso and his leg – as if God sends a signal of approval to His champion.  The same light falls on Goliath, but rather than adding tints of celestial color, the light of heaven renders him yellowed or dead white.

One last thing before we stop looking at this extraordinary picture – note Titian’s command of drawing.  The basis of all great painting is sound draughtsmanship, and take particular note of Goliath’s toes and fingers, the curve of his great sword or the extreme foreshortening of the composition.  This is a splendidly drawn painting, and Titian’s anatomy and composition – his entire dramatic narrative – are unlike any other depiction of the story.  Titian’s David and Goliath is, simply, one of a kind.

Donatello’s Bronze David

I thought it would be interesting to look at how some of history’s greatest artists depicted the Biblical David, who slew Goliath and later became King of Israel.

The story of David and Goliath is powerful in its simplicity.  The Israelites are battling the Philistines to no avail because they have the great giant, Goliath, on their side.  The Philistines challenge the Israelites – if one of them could best Goliath in one-to-one combat, that outcome would decide the battle.

No Israelite is brave enough to take up the challenge other than David, a simple shepherd boy who it too young to be a solider.  Without armor or weapons, the boy uses his slingshot to daze Goliath with a stone before decapitating him with his own sword.

The great Renaissance master Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi (known as Donatello) (1386–1466) undertook two statues of David.  The first, in marble, is, to my mind, a negligible work.  But his later David in bronze (seen above) is a remarkable achievement.  This bronze David is the first unsupported, standing work cast in bronze during the Renaissance, and the first freestanding male nude sculpture made since antiquity.  It captures David after defeating Goliath, one foot triumphantly on the giant’s severed head.

The statue appears to have been cast some time in the 1440s, and Giorgio Vasari (1511–1574) in his Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects wrote that it stood in a column designed by Desiderio da Settignano in the middle of the courtyard of the Palazzo Medici.  The inscription reads (translated into English) as: The victor is whoever defends the fatherland.  God crushes the wrath of an enormous foe.  Behold!  A boy overcame a great tyrant.  Conquer, o citizens.  David was the figurehead of the Florentine state, and the Renaissance was a rich in depictions of him.

The figure’s history is a little spotty – there is no surviving documentation for the commission of the statue, though it is assumed that it was created for the Medici family.  We do know it was in the courtyard of the Medici Palace in 1469, and it bounced around from the Palazzo della Signoria to the Pittia Palace, then the Uffizi and then the Bargello, where it can be found today.

It is perhaps impossible for us with our 21^st Century eyes to appreciate how remarkable, how revolutionary Donatello’s bronze actually is.  First off, the centuries long Dark Ages were drawing to a close, and Donatello, certainly a Renaissance figure, went back to the traditions of Classical antiquity and depicted the saint as a heroic nude.  His nudity further indicates the presence of God – a small boy, without armor, is able to defeat the heavily plated Goliath through God’s grace.

And yet … and yet, to our eyes (and perhaps those of the Renaissance) there is something uniquely disturbing about Donatello’s David.  To our eyes, David is more than a little feminine.  The hat (a contemporary Renaissance era hat, oddly enough, garlanded with laurel leaves) and boots seem to highlight the boy’s nudity.  And the Goliath’s sword is so enormous compared to David’s physique that it completely infantilizes him.

Also, look too at David’s delicately curled hair, his hippy voluptuousness, the emphasis Donatello places on the lower stomach – this David is eroticized and feminized at the same time.  More interesting still is David’s left hand resting on his hip and bent left leg, which to our eyes read as ‘come hither,’ rather than stoically triumphant.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about Donatello’s bronze David is the expression on the face.  David, an untried boy, has just gone from obscurity to become a hero to his people, vanquishing a giant in the process.  Shouldn’t we see resolution?  Or relief?  Or even heroic self-confidence?   Instead … there is a blank, almost placid beauty.  Many poets of the Romantic era insisted that there could be no great beauty without some strangeness in the proportion, and I could think of no better illustration of that notion than Donatello’s David.