Kiefer / Van Gogh @ the Royal Academy

Introduction

I didn’t think I liked Anselm Kiefer – some time in the past I went to a show of his which oppressed me with its heavy German guilt and huge, murky pictures – but this show is a revelation, completely changing my opinion of him. The seven enormous Kiefer paintings here are all stunning and two or three of them feel like real masterpieces, transformative dazzling works, thick layers of paint encrusted with twigs and straw and shimmering with gold highlighting – immersive and awesome. Photos cannot convey how entrancing and mesmerising they are.

Installation view of Kiefer / Van Gogh @ the Royal Academy (photo by the author)

Biography

Kiefer is German, born in 1945 in the last months of the Second World War (hence the heavy weight of guilt which hangs over so many of his works). During the 1980s and 90s he went from strength to strength becoming one of the Big Names of contemporary art. In 1996 he was elected an Honorary Royal Academician and his close relationship with the Academy might explain why he seems to have had a big hand in curating this show.

Kiefer’s odyssey

The premise is simple: Way back in 1963, as a promising 18-year-old art student, Kiefer received a travel grant which helped him embark on an artistic and spiritual. He set out to follow in the footsteps of his artistic inspiration Vincent Van Gogh, starting at his home in the Netherlands and travelling through Belgium to Paris and beyond, to Arles in the south of France, where van Gogh spent his last years.

As you go into the exhibition there’s a free A4 handout which contains 20 or so quotes from the diary Kiefer kept of his journey. This very close engagement with the life and locations and works of the earlier artist cemented what was to become a lifelong influence.

Exhibition layout

This exhibition brings together works by van Gogh and Kiefer and sets them side by side to show the influence of the post-impressionist master on the post-modernist master.

The show is in the three big rooms which make up the Gabrielle Jungels-Winkler Galleries round the back of the Academy.

Room 1 contains four absolutely massive, immersive, recent works by Kiefer, dating from 2019 or so.

Room 2 is more intimate and contains 4 van Gogh drawings set against 6 Kiefer drawings from that 1963 trip, most of them very small – less than A4 size – as they were done in the notebook he took with him. Plus 5 van Gogh paintings, late works which demonstrate the Dutchman’s staggering talent, some of which (the poppy field) gesture very clearly towards the kind of abstraction Kiefer was to pick up 80 years later (van Gogh died in 1890, Kiefer really got going in the 1970s).

Room 3 returns to the monumental scale and contains 3 absolutely huge Kiefer paintings and, almost lost in their overwhelming scale, the famous little painting by van Gogh of a pair of empty boots. But it’s the vast Kiefers which overwhelm you.

Installation view of Kiefer / Van Gogh @ the Royal Academy showing Starry Night (2019) (photo by the author)

Influences

There are wall labels for each of the rooms and for many of the individual works. You can read them for yourself in the large print guide (link below). I’ll pick out some themes which struck me.

1. Surface texture

While van Gogh worked in the traditional media of oil paint and ink, Kiefer uses conventional materials – such as oil and acrylic paints, watercolour and photography – combined with more unusual elements such as straw, seeds, lead and gold leaf.

In some of his paintings, Kiefer scorches their surface with fire, evoking a sense of destruction and desolation. Despite these differences of media, the two artists share an affinity for painterly surface textures.

This is most obvious in the two most impactful works here, Starry Night (a direct homage to van Gogh’s painting of the same name) and the Crows (a reference to an equally famous van Gogh work). Here’s a shot of the Crows in its entirety. A photo can’t begin to do its visceral impact justice.

The Crows by Anselm Kiefer (2019). Emulsion, oil, acrylic, shellac, gold leaf, straw and clay on canvas. Courtesy of the artist and White Cube (photo: Georges Poncet) © Anselm Kiefer

And here’s a close-up I took of the surface, which is covered with bales of straw, thrusting out from the canvas, immensely tactile and visceral – you can feel them, their coarseness, you feel like you’re wading waist-high through a field of hard abrasive straw stalks.

Detail of The Crows by Anselm Kiefer (2019) showing how the swirls and ridges of paint are densely encrusted with clusters of straw (photo by the author)

In this side view of Starry Night (2019) I try to capture the way these encrusted elements really stick out of the painting, to some distance, blurring the division between painting and sculpture.

Side view of Starry Night by Anselm Kiefer (2019) showing the canvas’s dense encrustation with straw (photo by the author)

2. The natural world

Kiefer’s and Van Gogh’s works are related through their use of recurring motifs from nature such as earth, fields of wheat, sunflowers and crows, all alluding to the cycle of life.

I’ve been talking about the two massive works which depict wheat fields. In room 3 there’s a big Kiefer work which speaks directly to ‘the cycle of life’, given the portentous title Eros and Thanatos.

In my reviews of Sigmund Freud I explained how, in his later, post-Great War theory, Freud tried to take account of humanity’s lust for destruction by positing the existence within us – in fact within all life forms – of an impulse to live and reproduce, and an equal and opposite impulse, to make the struggle for existence stop, to find complete rest. He rather pompously named these two theoretical ‘drives’ Eros and Thanatos, Greek gods of love and death.

In this huge painting, a life-sized scythe is stuck to the surface – which is already cluttered with swirls of oil and emulsion and acrylic paint, with shellac, sediment of electrolysis, metal wire and burnt wood, all showered with gilt highlighting – and represents not only the life-bringing activity of harvesting wheat to make bread to sustain human life – but also the traditional medieval symbolism representing the Grim Reaper who cuts short every human existence. And so the cycle, or maybe just the tragedy, of life.

Installation view of Eros and Thanatos by Anselm Kiefer (2013 to 2019) Emulsion, oil, acrylic, shellac, gold leaf, sediment of electrolysis, metal wire and burnt wood on canvas. Courtesy of the artist and White Cube

3. Yellow and gold

Van Gogh’s love for and repeated use of yellow is also mirrored in the work of Kiefer, who sees the Dutch artist’s recurrent golden skies and fields as resembling the gilding of religious icons.

The yellowest van Gogh here is ‘Field with Irises near Arles’ from 1888. From one point of view, what’s really striking (certainly about this small reproduction) is the way the composition allows colour to be applied in bands across the painting, from the dark green irises in the foreground, to the lighter green band behind them, and then the narrow triangle of yellow plants behind them, before the row of turquoise trees.

Field with Irises near Arles by Vincent van Gogh (1888) Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (Vincent van Gogh Foundation)

Anyway, gold and gilding is what really distinguishes the two most epic of Kiefer’s works here, ‘The Crows’ and ‘Starry Night’ (as well as the less awesome ‘Eros and Thanatos’). It’s hard for a photo to capture the sense of the gleaming, reflecting, shimmering effect Kiefer’s lavish application of gilding across the surface of his twigs and wheat stalks gives to the works. But in this close-up you can see that the gilding along the top of the work is as lavish and solid as the equivalent gilding in a Renaissance religious painting – hinting at the subliminal religious values of Kiefer’s works.

Detail of ‘Eros and Thanatos’ by Anselm Kiefer in Kiefer/ Van Gogh at the Royal Academy

4. Horizons

The influence of Van Gogh on Kiefer can also be seen in relation to the use of compositional devices characterised by elements depicted at close range combined with deep perspectives, high horizon lines and panoramic formats.

As soon as this is pointed out to you, you realise how true it is. All the van Gogh paintings here have a very strong horizon, a very clear horizontal frontier between land and sky. Regarding van Gogh’s painting of irises, above, the curators note that:

In it, the purple of the irises is set against the yellow of the field, and in the background the green of trees is a foil for orange roofs. Describing this work as just like ‘a Japanese dream’ in a letter to his brother Theo, Van Gogh made use of compositional devices found in Japanese woodblock prints, such as zooming in on a foreground detail, juxtaposed with a deep perspective onto the distant town
in the background.

Vivid foreground detail (the individual petals of the irises) set against the deep perspective across the field, through the row of trees and to the rooves of the houses on the horizon. Yes. Beautifully composed.

Horizons may not appear as starkly in the Kiefer works with the exception of The Crows, which is a very direct homage to van Gogh, but nonetheless it is hinted at, spectrally present in one of the not-quite-totally-overwhelming but still huge and powerful and spooky painting of big black ravens flying over another of Kiefer’s wheat fields.

Nevermore by Anselm Kiefer (2014) Emulsion, oil, acrylic, shellac, gold leaf and sediment of electrolysis on canvas. Eschaton Kunststiftung (photo by Charles Duprat) © Anselm Kiefer

This also is a wild image of the dark forces of the natural world, his trademark scouring of the canvas indicating the huge, wayward, uncontrolled stalks of wheat, chaotically astrew an unnatural turquoise background, dominated by a thick flock of matt black ravens, looking a bit like Stuka dive bombers. An enormous and hugely powerful, minatory image.

Thoughts

Obviously it’s worth going to see the van Gogh paintings alone, irises, poppies, a snow-covered field… The man was a magician with oil paints.

But I haven’t dwelt on them (and haven’t even mentioned the lovely drawings and the one sculpture) because you should really go to this exhibition to see what Anselm Kiefer is capable of. I was staggered by the scale but also by the power of his compositions; the use of sheaves of sticks and twigs and straw sticking out all over the surfaces; the awesome sense of composition so that each one has its own distinct visual rhythm and feels just right; and the canny juxtaposition of turquoise colouring with the shiny gilt backgrounds; and everywhere the dramatic eruption of the hugely powerful, non-paint elements of sticks and sheaves, indicating forces way beyond man’s control or understanding.

Absolutely stunning.


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Pesellino: A Renaissance Master Revealed @ the National Gallery

The Renaissance artist Fancesco Pesellino (about 1422 to 1457) was successful and famous in his day. Whether producing commissions for Florence’s ruling Medici family or working collaboratively with leading artists of the Italian Renaissance, Pesellino’s talents were hugely sought after during his lifetime.

However, Pesellino died young and this, combined with the difficulty of attributing works (many have been attributed to collaborators or to his grandfather, who had the same name) has meant that his legacy has been largely overlooked, making him ‘one of the greatest Renaissance painters that few people have heard of’.

This FREE exhibition at the National Gallery aims to rectify this neglect. It brings together 20 or so of Pesellino’s works across a range of media, including altarpieces, chest decorations, sketches and illuminations.

Central to the exhibition (all held in just one dazzling room) are two masterpieces from the National Gallery collection: the Pistoia Trinity altarpiece (1455 to 1460), and the newly restored ‘Stories of David’ cassone panels (about 1445 to 1455).

The Pistoia Santa Trinità Altarpiece by Francesco Pesellino, Fra Filippo Lippo and Workshop (1455 to 1460) © The National Gallery, London. Royal Collection Trust / © His Majesty King Charles III 2022

The curators write:

The ‘Pistoia Trinity Altarpiece’ is one of only two large-scale altarpieces Pesellino is known to have produced. Left unfinished at his death, it was completed in the workshop of Filippo Lippi, for whom Pesellino had completed a predella for the Novitiate chapel in Santa Croce 15 years earlier and who added the predella, or base. This is the earliest pala (an altarpiece with a single main panel) in the National Gallery.

The altarpiece is an ambitious depiction of the Trinity, the Christian doctrine of one God in three persons, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit (represented as a dove). Pesellino designed and partly painted the main panel. In the 18th century, the altarpiece was sawn up to make independent paintings for sale. Individual pieces arrived in Britain incrementally and were later acquired and reassembled by the National Gallery. The lower right section is a modern reconstruction.

Biography

Francesco di Stefano was born into a family of painters in Florence in about 1422. ‘Pesellino’ is a diminutive of his grandfather’s nickname, Pesello (‘the pea’). His grandfather was a specialist in banners and festive ephemera who taught him the rudiments of painting. Pesellino likely received further training from leading masters in the city. Early in his career, Pesellino often worked in collaboration, both with established painters on major commissions and on smaller projects alongside his peers. By his late twenties he was already undertaking commissions for high-ranking clergy and Florence’s ruling elite.

Pesellino devised lucrative profit-making schemes in partnerships with fellow artists and set his sights
on becoming a specialist in painting altarpieces. The exhibition includes templates of popular subjects he created for other artists to copy, such as the Madonna and child.

His ambitions were cut short in the hot summer of 1457, when Florence was ravaged by plague. He died leaving his most ambitious work to date, the Pistoia Trinity altarpiece, unfinished. It was eventually completed by his elder contemporary and one-time collaborator, Fra Filippo Lippi.

Narrative paintings

The show emphasises Pesellino’s skill at narrative or storytelling in paint. His range is indicated by some of the painting titles (the first four are scenes painted at the base of the Pistoia Santa Trinità Altarpiece, above):

  • Saint Mamas in Prison thrown to the Lions*
  • The Beheading of Saint James the Great*
  • Saint Zeno exorcising the Daughter of the Emperor Gallienus*
  • Saint Jerome and the Lion*
  • The Stigmatism of Saint Francis and Miracle of the Black Leg
  • A Miracle of Saint Silvester

Obviously, most of these paintings are religious in tenor, depicting scenes from the Old Testament, New Testament or Legends of the Saints. An example of the legend category is the striking painting of ‘King Melchior Sailing to the Holy Land’.

King Melchior Sailing to the Holy Land by Francesco Pesellino (1445 to 1450) © Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, Massachusetts

The curators explain:

A fleet of vessels carrying colourfully dressed crews navigates an impossibly short stretch of water, the shorelines dotted with walled cities. The seascape is fantastical, but with carefully observed naturalistic details like the foamy spray around the boats and pink undersides of the clouds at sunrise. Enthroned at the stern of the largest ship, Melchior travels to pay homage to the new-born Jesus, bringing a casket of gold. The panel was part of a series Pesellino made in collaboration with other artists. Some of the faces reveal the hand of another painter.

Three things struck me about this painting. One was the childlike clumsiness and lack of perspective. The main ship is much too huge for the tiny bit of sea it’s wedged into, the little rowboat in front of it looks silly, the dog at bottom right is poorly done, the tiny monk hiding in the rock at the bottom is a bit absurd.

Second was the extraordinary simplicity of the landscape: the rocks at the bottom and bottom right, the headlands and hill further up, are ridiculously simplified; they look like the polystyrene rocks from an episode of Star Trek.

But what really his me is how bright and vivid the colours are. The red and yellow striped awnings over the stern of each ship look like children’s sweet wrappers. Almost everyone’s clothes are painted in super-vivid shades of blue, green and red. The whole affect is almost day-glo.

Compare and contrast with a work which has a completely different feel, a diptych (two paintings in adjacent frames) of The Annunciation.

Diptych: The Annunciation by Francesco Pesellino (about 1450 to 1455) The Courtauld, London. Photo by the author

This feels completely different from the Melchior painting: the perspective is accurate and effectively conveys the sense of the colonnade on the left and room on the right. And the realistic depiction of the folds of the angel’s and the virgin’s cloaks. But above all the subtle use of shading, on the cloaks and on the walls (e.g. behind the virgin) give it a completely different feel from the Melchior. It feels warm and intimate and sophisticated.

Illuminations

Off to one side and easy to miss is a set of three beautiful illuminations Pesellino made for a book.

Three illuminations from the De Bellum Poenicum of Silius Italicus by Francesco Pesellino (1447) being: Allegory of Carthage, Mars in a Chariot and Nicholaus V Pontifex-Maximus, courtesy of the State Hermitage Museum St Petersburg, the Biblioteca Marciana Venice, and the State Hermitage Museum, respectively

As the curators explain:

A milestone in Pesellino’s career was the illuminated manuscript he made for Pope Nicholas V. He again worked in collaboration, this time with the established miniaturist Zanobi Strozzi, a fellow Florentine. The partnership was probably a calculated means of advancing his reputation. Together they produced a lavish volume of the Roman poet Silius Italicus’s epic about the Second Punic War (218 to 201 BCE).

Pesellino’s full-page illuminations show allegorical figures, ancient generals, the Roman god Mars and a portrait of Pope Nicholas himself. With their exuberant colour and animated drawing, these miniatures embody his aptitude for grandeur and dynamism on a small scale. They also indicate the heights that Pesellino had reached by the age of just 25. Whether commissioned by Nicholas himself, or perhaps given to him by a member of the Florentine elite, the volume was apparently a successful calling card. Pesellino subsequently received further commissions from the papal court.

Restoration of David

The Pistoia Santa Trinità Altarpiece is the biggest thing in the show – it is huge and dominates the whole room – but it’s not really the centrepiece. That role falls to the two wide, narrow panels depicting the ‘Stories of David.’ In fact, from what I can make out, it’s the recent completion of conservation work on the panels which provided the peg for this whole display.

The Story of David and Goliath: panel 1 by Francesco Pesellino (about 1445 to 1455) © The National Gallery, London

To quote Wikipedia: ‘A cassone or marriage chest is a rich and showy Italian type of chest, which may be inlaid or carved, prepared with gesso ground then painted and gilded.’

Pesellino created two of these cassoni and both are given the full treatment here. They are displayed next to each other along with picture labels which explain the origin and purpose of the paintings, and then identify individual people and elements in each painting.

The panels illustrate the Old Testament story of David and Goliath. The first panel shows three successive episodes in the same frame, something which takes a moment to get used to. Over on the left young David is leaning over to select a stone for his sling. Just right of centre, right of the prancing white horse, he is shooting the sling at big Goliath who dominates the right-hand side. And then in the centre, just below the prancing white horse, is depicted David gruesomely sawing Goliath’s head off.

The second panel shows the triumphant procession of David, accompanied by a boisterous entourage, bearing Goliath’s head back to his local town where he is greeted by elders and a clutch of toothsome young ladies (far right).

The Story of David and Goliath: panel 2 by Francesco Pesellino (about 1445 to 1455) © The National Gallery, London

There are hundreds of talking points but four things stood out for me.

1) How incredibly packed and dense they are, huge crowds, scores of people and animals in all kinds of poses. Their arrangements have dramatic and psychological impact. For example, silly though it sounds, I really liked the scene on the right of panel 2 where half a dozen fresh-faced young men are being welcomed back to the town by a group of lovely young women. They both, young men and women, look so happy, so young and fresh and full of life. It gave me a moment of pure loveliness.

2) As the commentary points out, Pesellino very obviously tested his technical abilities by depicting, especially animals, in unusual poses; hence several horses with their bottoms towards us (for example, next to the fallen Goliath in panel 1) and the dogs facing away from us in panel 2.

3) As regular readers of my blog know I rather dislike the Italian Renaissance. This is based primarily on the feeling the drought-ridden, barren rocky backdrops give me, bereft of plants, flowers or life. I much prefer the contemporaneous art of the Northern Renaissance. A good example of this sterile barrenness is the simple-minded ‘landscape’ of the Melchior painting. By complete contrast, these panels show in great detail the grass everyone is treading on, and that it is sprinkled with flowers. It has the lovely feel for nature I associate with more northern paintings. For this reason alone I loved it.

4) Lastly, the gold! An extraordinary amount of the picture has been painstakingly gilded with gold leaf. Off to one side of the panels is a TV monitor showing a 4-minute video which is hugely instructive. Silent, using close-ups and written captions, it takes you into the secrets which were revealed during the panels’ extensive restoration work. Above everything they showcase the ubiquity in every part of the paintings of gold leaf – X-ray photography shows that about a third of the images is golden. But the video also showcases the astonishing attention to detail given to every feather, every head-dress and countless pieces of armour.  I was dazzled by the use of splashes of tiny dots which create a shimmering highlight on the golden sections.

Pesellino carefully applied gold and silver leaf, sometimes in tiny pieces, to describe items as small as horse shoes. These details were then burnished, incised, punched and sometimes glazed to create shimmering effects.

The display cases feature magnifying glasses to help you pick out the thousand and one details and marvel at the intricacy of the metalwork. Amazing.

Detail from The Story of David and Goliath: panel 2 by Francesco Pesellino. Note 1) the dogs done from an odd perspective 2) young men and women on the right and 3) intricately worked gold everywhere © The National Gallery, London

It’s 50 years since the David panels were displayed side by side like this and it’s a marvel and a delight. They emphatically demonstrate ‘the depth and breadth of Pesellino’s talents as a painter of complex narratives, ceremonial splendour, animals and intricate detail,’ just as the curators claim.

Thoughts

I wasn’t expecting to enjoy loads of religious paintings very much but was entranced. The annunciation and the illuminations are lovely, but I got really absorbed in the David panels, especially after watching the video which opened my eyes to the gilding technique and the amazing detailing throughout. The more you look, the more you see.

Giorgio Vasari, the Renaissance artist and biographer, included Pesellino in his Lives of Artists, writing that, ‘From what we know of him, if he had lived longer, he would have achieved much more than he did’. One of art history’s great might-have-beens.


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