Author: admin

Goya’s Maja, the Duchess of Alba, and Sherry from Andalucia

The Clothed Maja, by Francisco de Goya y Lucientes 1798-1805 Museo del Prado, Madrid, Spain. museodelprado.es Click to magnify.

This painting seems rather tame for our day, though the look in the model’s eye has a bit of “come hither” to it. Many art historians propose Manuel de Godoy, 18th century Spain’s Prime Minister for King Charles IV, as the man who commissioned this work of his then mistress, Pepita Tudó. Given the dates of the work and the face of the woman, though not exactly Pepita but passable, that assumption seems to fit. However, there has always been a bit of a problem sustaining that theory completely when comparing this later work with the original maja, The Naked Maja, done between 1797-1800. For a good view of The Naked Maja, I shall send you to the Museo del Prado web page on that painting museodelprado.es.

While the face is the same and again not completely identifiable, the body of the naked version is smaller. The pose is relatively the same, but of course, the frontal nudity plus the direct gaze of the model were indeed shocking for that time. Frontal nudity was for those loose-living Venetians (Titian’s Venus of Urbino, 1534) and even still caused pearl clutching in 1863 when Manet’s Olympia was shown. Here is where the controversy lies. The heads of the majas seem to have been refashioned. Some say it was because Godoy married another woman, so wanted to hide the face of his former mistress. However, since the naked version was painted earlier, perhaps in 1797 during Goya’s stay at the estate of the Duchess of Alba, it is also speculated that the duchess had the face changed to conceal her identity. Years later in 1815, the Spanish Inquisition wanted to get to the bottom of the source of these naughty commissions, so Goya was called before the Inquisitors to tell all. However, his reply is unknown.

Self-portrait of Goya 1800-1801 and Portrait of Maria Cayetana de Silva, the Duchess of Alba by Guillermo Ducker, 1805

So here they are, the artist and his most famous model, María Cayetana de Silva, Duquesa de Alba. Seeing them posed here in respectable postures, one still feels a bit uneasy. The duchess’ hair, which was quite a mane during her lifetime, is painted here with a few proper curls on top of the head and long uncurled straggles falling down her neck. This contrast continues with the tight-lipped mouth in relationship to the direct penetrating stare of the eyes. It looks as though she is holding back something. Goya gives us a side-eye, as if to say that he knows more than he will tell, or perhaps that he is up to something. Certainly that was probably the case, when in 1796, he left his wife behind in Madrid to go to the far southern area of Spain, Andalucía, to the Sanlúcar estate of the then newly widowed duchess.

Goya had already painted this piece, The White Duchess, before his visit to Sanlúcar. The duchess was known to circulate through many levels of society, including visiting the studio of Goya from whom she commissioned art. Even before he did this full-length portrait, she had come by his studio one day to have him paint her face. Goya is quoted as saying, “…I certainly enjoyed it more than painting on canvas, and I still have to do a full-length portrait of her.” (Whatever was he implying?) Known as one of the most beautiful women in Spain, one can imagine that he did enjoy looking so closely at her and having her lovely face in his hands.

For a closer view of this painting and the comments made by Goya, go to eeweems.com for “Goya: White Duchess.”

The Black Duchess by Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, 1797.

This painting shows the duchess in mourning, as her husband, a cousin to whom she had been married when she was 11 years old, had just died. However, her mourning outfit has a tale to tell also. Her dress is that of the flamboyant young women of the streets of Madrid, known as majas, a word that sometimes stood in for mistresses. The duchess, who was an only child, had always had a willfull nature and one not to be hindered by the high status coming from her title and extreme wealth. She was known to disquise herself in one of these maja outfits to go out among the ordinary people and become just someone in the crowd.

However, there is more to this picture. One sees the duchess pointing down to the ground at her feet. This part of the painting had been painted over, but in a cleaning of the painting in the 20th century, writing was revealed. She is pointing to words, traced in the sand, that say, “Solo Goya” or Only Goya. As well, the two rings she wears on the forefinger and middle finger of her right hand are inscribed with the names Alba and Goya. This painting was done in 1797, a date also given for The Naked Maja, and was painted during the time that Goya spent at Sanlúcar consoling the widow. It is obvious that The Black Duchess held special meaning for Goya since he kept the painting with him right up until his death in Bordeaux, France, in 1828.

The Duchess of Alba and La Beata and La Beata with Children, both 1795 by Francisco de Goya y Lucientes. museodelprado.es

The two pieces above show that Goya had intimate knowledge of the household of the Duchess even before his long stay at Sanlúcar (1796-1797). In these two paintings we see the duchess’ dueña (an older woman chaperon) who was so religious she was called La Beata (the Blessed or the Pious One). The old lady is having the bejesus scared out of her by the duchess in one view. In the other, La Beata is holding on to someone for dear life as the duchess’ adopted daughter, María de la Luz, and a little playmate tug at her skirttails. (María de la Luz, whose parents had been slaves, was the only child of the duchess and inherited much of her adoptive mother’s personal wealth. While the family estates and titles went to other members of the Alba clan, María de la Luz and the duchess’ servants received generous amounts of money upon the duchess’ death.)

This all brings us back to who modeled for The Naked Maja. Goya may not have told anything noteworthy to the Holy Inquisition, hence the lack of any recorded response. However, there has been enough uncertainty circulating about that first painting, the naked one, to keep suspicions alive about the model being the duchess herself. There are other tales of waywardness involving the duchess and her relationship with Manuel de Godoy, who seems to have also been Queen María Teresa’s lover (see Goya’s painting of the Spanish royal family in 1800-1801, in which the face of the young infante (prince) bears a remarkable resemblance to that of Godoy museodelprado.es). One legend says that Queen María Teresa ordered Godoy to poison the duchess after Alba insulted the queen by arriving at the palace with her female entourage all wearing copies of a necklace that the queen was wearing the original of. The duchess died supposedly of tuberculosis in 1802 at the age of 40. The suddenness of it, though, seemed mysterious, hence the rumors of poison. This rumor was proved wrong when the duchess’ body was exhumed and tested in the 1940s, showing that she died of meningitis. The idea of poison lingered, however, and got incorporated in the 1958 movie about Goya and the duchess, The Naked Maja.

While the movie is good ’50s kitch (I must say that Ava Gardner does the duchess’ beauty justice), I have a more personal reaction to the film. One scene was particularly memorable because it had the royal court coming to see their court painter’s new creation for the royal chapel of San Antonio de la Florida. While all the swells were gathered below, they looked up into the cupola to see the saint dressed in humble brown ministering to the poor, some of whom were looking down on the wealthy gathered there below. I thought of that scene a few years ago when visiting the chapel in Madrid, along with my classmates and our art history teacher from Avignon, France. What a rabble-rouser Goya was, and the Duchess of Alba along with him. She must have been there when the court got the shock of looking up to see all those poor people up there, above them. However, as time passes, things fall into place, and someone in the Spanish government in the late 1800s had the wisdom to bring Goya’s remains back from France, and bury them there in San Antonio de la Florida, the scene of some of his great paintings, and one of his great controversies. How perfect. Eso es!

The cupola at San Antionio de las Florida in Madrid, Spain by Goya, 1798. Click to magnify.

Paintings used in this article are in public domain. For more information on the paintings, follow the links given.

Other sources include “Goya: The White Duchess” see eeweems.com link above, and franciscogoya.com/naked-maja.jsp

For more on the life of Francisco Goya, visit The Art Blog at VernelleStudio.com for “Goya, the Other Spanish Bad Boy.”

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

The Sherry of Al-Andaluz (Andalucía)

The Montilla-Moriles wine region in Andalucia casaolea.com

The Spanish legend goes that Santa Lucía was sent off on a mission that led her to this part of Spain with the commanding words, “Anda Lucía!” or “Go forth, Lucía!” which then became the name of this land. Actually it comes from the Arabic version of a name the Vandals gave to southern Spain, Vandalusia, the Land of the Vandals. Al-Andalus was the Arabic used for the regions of Spain ruled by the Moors, descendants of that combination of Islamic warriors (Arab, North African, and Black African) who invaded Spain in 711 CE. Now it refers to a smaller region in the southwestern part of Spain and is known for its fine wine and fine foods.

The Montilla-Moriles region is particularly famous for its fortified dessert wines, most particularly sherry, though it also produces a fine Moscato and Moscato d’Asti. Sherry is a fortified wine made from white grapes grown in and around the city of Jerez in Spain, but in other parts of Andalucía as well. Jerez is southwest of the Montilla-Moriles region, which is in the most northernly part of Andalucía close to Córdoba. Spain is famous for its red wines from La Rioja but also for its sherry. While sherry is not as popular these days as it was in earlier times, the history of its development is long. The Phoenicians brought viticulture to southern Spain about 3,000 years ago. The Romans took that over 2,200 years ago. However, it was the Moorish invasion that brought with it the use a the distillation process that produced both brandy and fortified wine. The word sherry comes from the Moorish name for a village called Sherish. However, the name is also associated with the town of Jerez.

Sherry bottles. Photo credit to sherrynotes.com

If you have been reading the posts on Of Art and Wine for a while, you know that any wine with an ancient past has a lot of variations that have been skillfully developed over the centuries. The same is true of sherry. While there are three grapes used in the making of sherry, the Palomino, the Pedro Ximénez, and the Moscatel, there must also be consideration for the special qualities of the terroir and micro-climates that can affect the taste of the wine, thus creating multiple versions of it. Sherrynotes.com does an excellent job of taking one through all these types and giving the significant features of each. I shall present two of them below.

Sherry was extremely popular in Victorian times. One of the most famous was Amontillado. Made from the Palomino grape, it can range in color from a deep golden to a deep amber. It even can come varigated (see the photo below). It is a dry wine with a complex blend of aromas, including hazel nuts, aromatic herbs and even dark tobacco. As you have probably guessed by now, Amontillado comes from Montilla, Spain. Of course, we know it is highly prized, just remember Edgar Allen Poe’s story, “A Casque of Amontillado.”

Amontillado showing off its varigated tones of gold. Photo credit to allwinesofeurope.com

Sanlúcar de Barrameda, the area where Goya visited the Duchess of Alba on her estate, is known for making a sea-scented sherry called Manzanilla. Sanlúcar de Barrameda sits on the Atlantic coast, and its lands run east toward the Guadaquivir river. It is a unique micro-climate that gives a touch of salt to the flavor of this sherry. Manzanilla also makes a wonderful cocktail. The article, “The Veil of Sanlucar” gives the recipe, click here sherry.wine. Being a product influenced by the sea, Manzanilla quite naturally goes well with fish and seafood dishes. Since we are speaking of Spain, seafood paella comes to mind immediately. There are many recipes for this traditional Spanish dish, but in the recipe given on againstallgrain.com, Danielle Walker throws in everything. You can add the sherry.

Paella with seafood and meat by Danielle Walker. Photo credit to againsallgrain.com

If one is going to be eating tapas, those wonderful little appetizers full of cheese, olives, ham, mushrooms, etc., then follow the guidance of Fiona Beckett when she advises to consume those tapas with a good sherry. See the 6 wines she recommends at matchingfoodandwine.com.

Tapas mix and pinchos food from Spain recipes also pintxos on a white wood board (Free photo from istock.com, credit to Getty Images.)

Whether one is going to Spain or just wanting to watch that old movie, The Naked Maja, plan to enjoy some of the delicious treats that come from the area around where the Duchess of Alba lived. Raise a glass of Manzanilla to her memory and thank Goya for capturing that period in Spanish history so well. Olé!

Coming soon: Klee’s Colorful Operatic Painting and Tunisian Wine from the Vineyards of Cap Bon.

Hammamet with Its Mosque by Paul Klee, 1914 metmuseum.org

Paul Klee participated in many of the early 20th century’s art movements. Though he received art training in Munich, Germany, it was when he went to Tunisia in 1914 that his sense of color was sparked by the amazing light he found there. Klee’s transformation and his experiences in Tunisia influenced not only his art but that of so many others. Then, there is also Tunisia’s history of wine making, which is a very long one, dating back some 3,000 years.

Waterhouse Cracks the Mirror, and Wines of Anglophonia: USA.

Boreas by John William Waterhouse, 1903. Click the image to magnify.

Boreas, that is a strange sounding name, not often spoken these days, except in terms like aurora borealis. That of course conjures up images of the cold of the far north and the lands of the northern lights. In fact, Boreas is the name of the ancient Greek God of the North Wind, who carried off the daughter of the king of Athens. He took her off to live with him in Thrace, where they became the king and queen of the winds. In Waterhouse’s painting we see old Boreas at work in a late Victorian setting, where a beautiful young woman wearing a spring flower in her hair seems about to be lifted up by a strong wind. The angle at which her body cuts across the painting indicates that she might not long be standing. The grasses and flowers lean heavily to the left, and the trees in the background bend to that same strong wind. Her blue-violet wrap serves only to show the force of that wind as it billows out from her as she is about to be swept off her feet and taken away. The protective positioning of her arms is emphasized by her shawl in full sail.

Yet amid all this action, the woman maintains the solemn, appropriately melancholy face associated with the female subjects of the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites. She is a perfect heroine of one of the tragic tales that they often represented, somehow resigned to her inescapable fate. So dramatic is this painting, it could serve as a promotional clip for a Masterpiece Theatre drama.

John William Waterhouse (1849-1917) was born around the time that the Pre-Raphaelites were getting started on their journey toward a romanticized realism based on the myths and legends of the past and the desire to break free of the academic dictates related to the art of Raphael (see the previous article on the Pre-Raphaelites). While John Everett Millais could be quite dramatic, his Ophelia being a prime example of that drama in storytelling, to me Waterhouse seems to take that storytelling into what could be called the cinematic. The advent of the camera and the photographic image, which toward the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th turned toward making pictures move, had effects that rippled through the visual arts on many levels.

Waterhouse was not alone in this move to action packed scenes in which every element was designed to tell a story. Across the Channel or La Manche, as the French say, Jean-Léon Gérôme, a leading academician and romantic painter, moved into near photographic storytelling, including doing paintings that later influenced movie images. Take a look at this painting, and tell me if you think this scene looks familiar.

Pollice Verso, sometimes called “thumbs up” by Jean-Léon Gérôme, 1872.

Yes, of course, we have seen versions of this in countless movies, from Demetrius and the Gladiators to Spartacus. It is a painting that helped create that “thumbs up” or “thumbs down” idea about how life and death were determined in the Roman arena. The actual title means “turning the thumb,” but the interpretations of what was going on in this painting lead to the verdict that thumbs up meant to spare the life of the fallen gladiator. And speaking of gladiators, the Ridley Scott movie by that name, Gladiator, was inspired by this very painting by Gérôme.

Among Waterhouse’s most famous paintings of a legend involving a beautiful young woman doomed by a curious curse is his series on The Lady of Shalott. The artist did three versions of it over the years from 1888 to 1915. The story is told in three paintings, like a mini-series, and is based upon the 1832 poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson with the same name. It is the retelling of an Arthurian legend of Elaine of Astolet. In brief a beautiful young woman is confined to her home on an island because of a curse that will fall upon her should she ever leave. Her only view of the outside world is by looking at the mirror image of what goes on outside her windows. One day, though, she happens to see a handsome young man. From here let’s allow Waterhouse to tell the tale.

Shadow, the first painting in the series on The Lady of Shalott by J.W. Waterhouse, 1888. Click image to magnify.

Act One: Here is the fair damsel sitting at her weaving, but dreaming of that world beyond what her mirror reflects. Isolated on an island, her only outlet is weaving what she sees into a tapestry. Her pose is one of ennui. Her scarlet dress a symbol of the underlying passions that stir in her soul. The contrast of that wistful pose full of longing and the brilliant red dress indicate an incipient conflict in her being, and the temptation of the forbidden fruit offered up by that world outside her windows. Then one day, she sees this handsome, noble knight, none other than Sir Lancelot of the Lake, himself.

Lancelot, the second work in the series The Lady of Shalott by J.W. Waterhouse, 1888. Click image to magnify.

Act Two: Elaine first sees the reflection of the handsome young knight and is moved to gaze directly upon him by leaving her accustomed place at her weaving. A bit of a change of costume is required as this lovely white gown symbolizes the purity of her sudden love for Lancelot. We can see that her movement to leave causes the balls of thread to go tumbling to the floor as she moves to free herself from the entangling strings of yarn. Her face is no longer dreamy, but in fact is quite determined to move out of her isolation. However, as she does, the mirror cracks from side-to-side just behind her, unleashing the curse, which is death.

The Lady of Shalott, here in the final painting of the series by J.W. Waterhouse, 1888 tate.org.uk Click image to magnify.

Act Three: Here Elaine sets off on her fateful journey down the river that takes her away from her island. Not unlike Millais’ Ophelia, she has but little of life left, represented here by two of the three candles being already blown out. She is about to let go of the chain that moors the boat to venture into the real world, all the time carrying with her the tapestry that shows what she thought life to be like.

Waterhouse is credited by some modern art historians as presenting this as an allegorical painting, representing the women of his day as wanting to break free of the limitations that society imposed on them, regardless of the costs. Think of Lizzie Siddal from part one of this blog on the Pre-Raphaelites, who gave up her work selling hats to become an artist’s model, a job that put her morals in question. Waterhouse’s series of paintings, so full of age-old symbolism about female sexuality, and how male-dominated society seeks to inhibit it by inhibiting women in general, gives the viewer a colorful, skillfully painted mini-series with cinematic images worth being visualized in film. It is Waterhouse’s detail in the telling of the story, and the poses he gives the character of Elaine that make his work here look like elaborate storyboards for a film shoot. In a way it seems that his art was one of the forerunners of the cinema itself.

Elaine, detail of the Lady of Shalott by J.W. Waterhouse, 1888. Click image to magnify.

Finally, in this detail of Elaine’s face, we have what Sunset Boulevard’s Norma Desmond would have wanted, a close-up worthy of Cecil B. DeMille.

Sources for this article: “John William Waterhouse, The Lady of Shalott” Tate Britain Art and Artists tate.org.uk

“Painting of the Week: John William Waterhouse The Lady of Shalott” from Daily Art Magazine dailyartmagazine.com

“Lizzie Siddal, Pre-Raphaelite Muse and Artist” marinamade.me

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

Wines of Anglophonia: U.S.A.

Funicular car high above the Napa Valley on the way to Sterling Winery.

As the previous article on the British Pre-Raphaelites included the beginning of our world tour of wines made in Anglophone countries, it must continue with the biggest producer, the U.S.A. When talking about wine in the U.S., the mind immediately goes to California, and its neighboring states on the Pacific Coast. However, the story of wine in the U.S. has a much more varied history. While we think that America’s first western name came from that of Americo Vespucci, the Italian explorer whose last name was given to the continents of the Western Hemisphere, the first Europeans to explore what is now the east coast of the U.S. called it, “Vinland” because of the numerous grape vines they found there. The first actual vineyards were planted in New Mexico in the early 1600s. The oldest still operating winery in the country, however, is in New York State. The Brotherhood Winery was founded in 1839 by a religious order to make sacramental and “medicinal” wines and still produces wine and maintains a restaurant and wine tasting rooms.

Ohio used a native grape called Catawba to make wines starting in 1802. They even made a rather celebrated sparkling wine and had a thriving wine-growing region until it was hit by a fungus. They moved off to the area around Lake Erie in New York State known as the Finger Lakes, which turned out to have a perfect climate for growing grapes to make high quality Riesling and Gewurtztraminer wines. It was also not affected by the “mildew” as they called the fungus, so the industry grew. In fact, one third of all wines produced in the U.S. come from New York State. New York even has vineyards on Long Island, which contains the boroughs of Queens and Brooklyn, but also Suffolk and Nassau counties, which is where one finds the wineries. Remember that the next time you visit New York City.

The Finger Lakes in New York State near Lake Erie

Speaking of American wine growing ventures interrupted by nature and its various “mildews,” Missouri may actually have been the source of the phylloxera contagion, a fungus that got transported to France in the late 1800s and devastated the vineyards there. The fungus that rots the roots of the vines is native to North America. Now not to cast aspersions on Missouri and its wine culture, it must be noted that it was German settlers there in the 1840s who even set up their first towns with lots designed to grow grapes. Hermann, Missouri, is still the center of Missouri wine country. Notably, it was industrious American viticulturists who worked with the phylloxera resistent root stocks that some American grapes had to create a hybrid that helped save the wine industry in France.

While the Spaniards brought wine culture to North America by planting vines in New Mexico, that culture spread to the perfect wine-growing areas on the Pacific Coast. One immediately thinks of California’s Napa Valley and of its neighbor, Sonoma. Sadly both the Napa and Sonoma Valleys suffered great devastation in September of 2020 because of the Glass Hill fire which destroyed many homes, several wineries, and some fine restaurants in the area around St. Helena and many homes in Sonoma. Much, however, is still there. For a more thorough look at the wines of that region in California, look at this post, “Wayne Thiebault’s San Francisco and Napa Valley Wines” ofartandwine.com.

Vineyard in Oregon

Just to the north of California is Oregon, which is making its mark by specializing. It is one of the foremost producers of Pinot Noir. The wine drew special attention after Paul Giamatti’s character in the movie, Sideways, praised its qualities to the detriment of Merlot. Oregon has become a “monograpist” region, but what a region. The Willamette Valley is a perfect location for growing Pinot Noir grapes and the production of that most drinkable of wines.

While Oregon specializes, Washington State has varied micro-climates that allow it to diversify. The Columbia River Valley has made Washington the U.S.A’s second largest wine growing state. Washington produces high quality Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Syrah, as well as Riesling, Gewurtztraminer and Chardonnay. It’s Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery in Woodinville, just outside of Seattle, not only has a long history of fine wine making, but also has a calendar of wine-tasting events and jazz concerts, which will hopefully once again be in full-swing as the COVID-19 virus is calmed by vaccines.

Finally, one of the elements in the local wine culture of Washington is Cellars Wine Club which operates an online wine club. Its experts travel the country and the world to select the wines for its various wine clubs. It has a club for every level of wine enthusiasm and budget. From the Single-Bottle Club to Premium Case Club, there is something for everyone. Take a look at the page on this blog which is dedicated to Cellars Wine Club ofartandwine.com.

Of Art and Wine affiliates with Bluehost.com and  CellarsWineClub.com and may earn from qualifying purchases.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Coming Soon: Goya’s Maja, the Duchess of Alba, and Sherry from Andalucia.

Two of Francisco Goya’s famous Majas, this one clothed, the other one nude, are reputed to have used the Duchess of Alba, Maria Cayetana de Silva, as his model. For sure he did paint several pictures of her as herself. The story of this relationship between painter and this model from Spanish nobility has even been the subject of movies, like The Naked Maja. However, the life of the duchess, as model and duchess, is better than any Hollywood movie. And then there are the wines of Andalucia where her country estate was.

Pre-Raphaelites and Melancholy Women, plus Wine in the Anglophone World

Detail of Ophelia by John Everett Millais, 1851-1852. Now in the Tate Britain in London, U.K.

Melancholia is described as a subset of depression that includes feelings of extreme despair and guilt. We cannot say exactly what feelings of guilt this famous Shakespearean character may have had, except over letting her father and brother come between her and the man she loved to the point where he rejected her. The he, Hamlet, also later killed her father. Extreme, I know, but this is Shakespeare. The end result was her tragic suicide by drowning. Here we see a depiction of her as she lets herself drift off to an inevitable death.

As one might guess from the subject matter, the Pre-Raphaelites were a group of 19th century British painters dedicated to returning to certain aspects of the art that came before Raphael. Founded in 1848, quite a revolutionary year in European history with revolts against monarchies throughout Europe (all of which failed at that time), the group sought to overturn the strict rules of the formal art academy. Those rules were based upon the principles found in the work of the High Renaissance as exemplified by Raphael. None of these painters despised the work of Raphael. What they did not like was the codified way that it was used to produce art, an art that had become overly-academic and so much less creative. These artists wanted to go back to the early Renaissance of the Quatrocento (1400s) to capture the nature of things and represent them in hyper-realism. This “realism” came with a heavy dose of romanticism, as the subjects were normally based upon myth and legend.

John Everett Millais self-portrait, Dante Gabriel Rossetti self-portrait, William Holman Hunt by F.G Stephens, as they were in 1847.

This group of rebellious looking young men were the founders of the group, which later consisted also of William Michael Rossetti, James Collinson, Frederick George Stephens, and Thomas Woolner. They were surrounded by a variety of poets, writers, musicians, and other creatives who wanted to change the way the arts were expressed. These painters emphasized great detail with lush and vibrant colors, all to tell the often tragic stories handed down in Shakespearean plays and in Arthurian legends. This brings us to the melancholy women and one in particular named Lizzie Siddal.

Sketch of Lizzie Siddal by Millais, 1852 and scene of candle heated bathtub from BBC production Desperate Romantics. Photo credit to Laurence Cedrowicz

The focus of the painter John Everett Millais for his painting of Ophelia was to create an accurate picture of what her drowning would have looked like. He scouted a spot along the Hogsmill River that matched the description in Shakespeare. He labored there for a number of months since it was anathema for the Pre-Raphaelites to finish their outdoor scenes in the studio. Millais painted the outdoors, while actually outdoors, to capture the exact nature of the location. (Notice in the painting the detail in his treatment of the plants, trees, and flowers along the river.)

Then it was time to set things up in the studio for the model, who was a beautiful 19-year-old who had worked selling hats. Her name was Elizabeth Siddal, and she goes down as probably art history’s most dedicated artist’s model. Millais persuaded her to model for his Ophelia by dressing her in a gown laced with silver that he had bought for £4 in a flea market (fleas included?) and putting her into a tub of water that was heated by a series of candles (see the BBC photo above). She modeled for Millais over a period of four months before one of the two great tragedies of her life occurred.

As any artist knows, the art demands full concentration, and so it was when one afternoon Millais was so intent upon his work that he did not see that the candles had gone out. Lizzie continued floating in cold water without saying a word, dutifully holding firm to the pose. She, of course, fell ill. Most say of a cold; I’d say pneumonia. Her father threatened to sue Millais, who was about 22 years old at the time and came from a wealthy family. Millais agreed to pay for her medical expenses, about  £50 which would be almost $10,000 in today’s currency. Though she recovered, the incident had a deleterious effect on her health for the rest of her life.

Elizabeth Siddal by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1854. Click to magnify.

Frida Kahlo famously said of her own life, “There have been two great accidents in my life. One was the trolley, and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.” Lizzie Siddal could have paraphrased that by replacing trolley with bathtub and Diego with Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Since he was a close companion and co-founder of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, Rossetti came to know Lizzie. In terms of documenting her beauty, with her as his companion, he could feast his eyes upon her at will. In fact, Rossetti’s sister, the poet Christina Rossetti said, “He feeds upon her face by day and by night. And she with true kind eyes looks back at him.” Sure signs of a tragedy.

And so it was. Their relationship lasted off and on for about nine years in which Rossetti energetically shared his good looks with many another woman. However, finally Lizzie and Rossetti married. It did not last long, and their first child was born dead. Lizzie suffered severely from post-partum depression and took a dose of laudanum, which is derived from the opium poppy. She died from it at the age of 31 in 1862. Rossetti laid a manuscript of the poems he had been writing about her in the coffin saying, “I have often been writing at those poems when Lizzie was ill and suffering, and I might have been attending to her, and now they shall go.” He later admitted to be haunted by her ghost. merrynaillingham.com

Now, not to present Lizzie as a goddess who let herself become a doormat, she won critical acclaim from none other than John Ruskin, the leading art critic of the day for her painting. Yes, she exhibited with the Pre-Raphaelites as a painter herself. Her love of poetry was what drew her into the world of these artists, where she could earn more money modeling than selling hats and thereby support her desire to become a poet. However, it was her painting that ultimately drew Ruskin’s attention, along with his support for her as a superb artist’s model. He even paid her 150 pounds sterling per year to have first right of refusal for her paintings. The Tate has a page on its website for her, tate.org.uk.

Ophelia’s hand from Millais painting All of the flowers have symbolic meanings.

This detail of Ophelia’s hand provides a lot of insight into the goals and the achievements of the Pre-Raphaelites. Though their painting has often been criticized for being overly romantic and melodramatic, the skill and dedication with which they approached the reproduction of the reality they saw has to be appreciated. Here one feels the sensation of the water that is floating Ophelia and these flowers away. Each of the flowers has meaning, from the violets, which also form her necklace and stand for faithfulness, to the red poppy that symbolized the death that their opium often brought. Shakespeare wrote a line in Hamlet for Gertrude in which she speaks of Ophelia’s death, describing the young woman as having fallen into a stream while picking flowers and being swept away, all the while singing. A bright red poppy is prominent in Millais painting, positioned near Ophelia’s upturned hand.

As time passed the Pre-Raphaelites were overtaken by the Impressionists, another radical (at that time) movement. However, John William Waterhouse (1949-1917), born at about the time of the creation of the Pre-Raphaelites, was to carry that movement into the early 20th century with what seems to me a more cinematic touch. TO BE CONTINUED…

Sources for this post are the following: “The Story of Ophelia” from the Tate Britain tate.org.uk; “John Everett Millais’ Ophelia – 3 Facts” news.artnet.com; “Lizzie Siddal, Pre-Raphaelite Muse and Artist” marinamade.me; “If Ophelia Could Talk, the True Story of the Iconic Artist-Muse” messynessychic.com

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

Wine and Anglophonia

Anglophonia? Okay, I admit to taking liberalities with the language, but what I mean to address is wine in the world not of the Mediterranean Latins or the Aegean Greeks, but in the lands of the English-speaking. The Romans are the ones really credited with the spread of vineyards and wine production throughout their vast empire. That empire included the British Isles and no, they were not left out when it came to the cultivation of the grape.

Bolney Wine Estate Vineyards in Sussex Photo credit Amber Dyer inews.co.uk

While one might not automatically think of England as a wine-producing country, in fact, the southern regions of England, like Essex, Kent, and Sussex, have a number of vineyards. There are abour 500 working vineyards in the UK, and many of them allow visitors. For a list of the 12 Best as of 2019, click the link under the picture above. The limestone soil (chalk) found there allows for the planting of a number of varieties of grapes, including Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, two of the most popular and useful varieties for wine making. One thing often noticed about UK wines is that they are expensive. This comes from there being small quantities of grapes grown compared to other regions on the planet and the labor-intensive way of making wine. This increases the quality and thus the higher price. To discuss these matters and tell “All About English Wines,” Wine Folly has an article to do just that, winefolly.com

British Columbia’s Okanagan Valley continues the Pacific Coast wine growing adventure.

Canada is another of those places that one associates with such cold weather that grape growing must surely be impossible. Au contrare mes chers amis! The warm currents that come up the Pacific Coast allow for many of the same growing conditions found in our own Washington State to continue over the border into British Columbia. There the Okanagan Valley is the star producer of wines. Vineyards with names such as Tantalus, Laughing Stock, and Burrowing Owl all produce 90 point Pinot Noir, Riesling, Merlot and Syrah wines. Meanwhile on the other side of that vast country, the Niagara region of Ontario has become quite famous for wine in its town of Niagara-on-the-Lake. While Chardonnay production is quite common, there is also a speciality of a different type, Ice Wine. For that the Peller Estates Winery offers a unique experience. One can have one’s ice wine served while one is in an igloo! Nothing like a true taste of Canadian cold while sipping a delightful sweet wine.

Cycling at New Zealand’s Marlborough wine growing region. Photo credit discover-the-world.com

Australia and New Zealand, yes, the two always come trippingly off the tongue together, and they do share a general geographic location and produce good quality wines. In Australia, Canberra and New South Wales are the stars. Clonakilla Winery in the Canberra District was the first to notice the warm days and cool nights in the region would favor the cultivation of the grape. Clonakilla produces very fine Riesling and Shiraz. Meanwhile New South Wales’ Hunter Valley knew wine grape cultivation since the 1860s. Here there are wineries that encourage tasting and food pairing. Across the sea a bit lies New Zealand, where its Hawke’s Bay area has become known as the “Bordeaux of New Zealand” for its production of rich red wines. Lonely Planet has a great top ten wineries article that covers Australia and New Zealand, and yes, there are pictures of kangeroos, lonelyplanet.com

Anthonij Rupert Winery in South Africa. Photo credit Danie Nel winemag.com

South Africa certainly wins awards for having a beautiful wine-growing region, but it doesn’t stop there. South Africa produces many world-class wines, such as the Anthonij Rupert medium bodied Bordeaux blend or Plume Palace’s Shiraz Rosé, or a Raised By Wolves Sémillon. The grapes grown in South Africa tend to be Cabernet Sauvignon, Sauvignon Blanc, Merlot, Chardonnay, and Shiraz. Most of the wine producing areas are relatively close to Cape Town, such as the Franschhoek area, named by Dutch settlers for the French Huguenots who first settled there in the late 1600s. That area is protected by the mountains that also capture the cool ocean breezes. The terrain is mainly sandstone and receives the benefit of the many streams that come from the mountains that surround it. South Africa also has a vast coastal growing region. For more on that click the link above.

While that is a quick trip around the English-speaking world and its viniculture, that is not all. In the Anglophone world, the major producer of wines is the United States, but that is something TO BE CONTINUED…

Of Art and Wine affiliates with Bluehost.com and   CellarsWineClub.com and may earn from qualifying purchases.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Coming Soon: Waterhouse Cracks the Mirror and Wines of Anglophonia: USA.

John William Waterhouse was also a Pre-Raphaelite though he was a baby when the movement started. He, however, continued the tradition with a move toward a slightly different look. Here is the second painting in the series on Lady Shalott, a damsel in the Arthurian legends who broke from her restricted life in order to gaze upon the knight Lancelot. In it one sees a flare for the dramatic that takes on a rather cinematic touch. In particular, just behind her is the mirror that cracked to signal the curse that befell her, yet another Pre-Raphaelite melancholy lady.

Art, Artists, Money, and 90+ Point Wines to Spend It On.

Damien Hirst, For the Love of God. 2007.

Yes, those are flawless diamonds, all 8,601 of them. I don’t know about the teeth, but they might be expensive dental work, too. At any rate, this piece was purchased for 100 million dollars and is the most expensive contemporary art work ever made – so far. I say so far because all of us who create art aspire to get the ultimate market value for our work, preferably upfront. It was Damien Hirst, the artist who created this piece, who put that idea into our heads. We should sell at the price that collecors bid the work up to. Artist should get more money on the front end, For the Love of God! (which is also the name of this piece of art).

Of course, Hirst went so far as to completely go around the normal gate-keepers: the galleries and the art dealers. He did an auction of new work from his studio in 2008 by going straight to Sotheby’s auction house. He was duly punished as an art world outcast for a number of years, a story that art publications made a cautionary tale out of. However, he made a startling comeback in Venice in 2017, where he sold over 300 million dollars of art! So what is Hirst’s secret? Well, he seems to have turned his art into a luxury goods business on the one hand, and on the other, once his reputation was built, he went solo (or rogue depending on your point of view). Rather like those actors who left the old Hollywood studio system, Hirst left the galleries to deal direct.

Damien Hirst in all his defiant glory. Photo credit Francesco Guidicini newyorker.com Click image to magnify.

Of course, Hirst isn’t the only artist who, after having gained fame, took it to the outer limits. Time for a famous story about the old money machine himself, Pablo Picasso, of whom his daughter Maya said, “My father is a man who lives modestly, with a lot of money in his pocket.” This matches a quote from the King Midas of Art himself, saying humbly, “I’d like to live as a poor man with lots of money.” Of course, his various villas on the French Riviera show that he may have failed in this ambition. However, this contradiction in his life did not seem to bother him at all. Nor did his life long declaration of being a communist conflict for one minute with his huge valuable art collection (his own work and yes, some pieces by Matisse).

Just to show how far he could go to demonstrate his “art” power, he once made his own money. When shown a new 500 franc bill, he asked to look it over. A friend handed him the new bill which had a border in white.

Picasso looked at it and said, “I am King Midas. In two seconds I can make this into a 1,000 francs.” He took a pen and began to draw a bull fight along the white edges of the bill. Afterward he signed it, of course. He then handed it back to the man, who later showed it off to a group of friends, one of whom immediately gave him 1,000 francs for it, proving Picasso’s point. Picasso/Midas was known to pay for meals by signing napkins he had doodled on. His most interesting foray into creating his own money was when he ran into trouble with the SPA, the French SPCA, in Vallauris, where in 1961, a bull fight had been held in his honor. A lawsuit was filed about animal cruelty, costing him legal fees of 5,000 francs. The artist sent his lawyer a check that he had designed, for 5,000 francs, with a date and his signature. The lawyer framed it and kept it in his office – a truly original Picasso.

Le Désespéré or The Desperate Man by Gustave Courbet 1844 Click image to magnify.

Gustave Courbet was a 19th century French painter that wanted to push the boundaries of art. Even though he painted during a period of Romanticism, his focus was on Realism, which was a rejection of the romantic painting that had been held over from the 18th century. In particular he wanted to deal with the plight of the working man. However, he did not necessarily want to be poor himself. While he is famous for shaking things up with paintings like the one above or his even more famous, Origin of the World, musee-orsay.fr, he claimed that he “minted money with flowers.” And so he did with these very sweet paintings that we now might see reprinted on candy box covers. Most of them bore names like A Basket of Flowers or Flowers in a Basket, and they sold very well.

A Basket of Flowers, 1863 and Flowers in a Basket, 1863 both by Gustave Courbet.

Specialization is nothing new in the world of art. Titian did it with his portraits in 16th century Venice. He even had a niche within a niche when it came to doing portraits of Charles V of Spain. Everyone who was anyone wanted a portrait painted by Titian, and for great sums of money, the artist was happy to oblige. In some ways, he may have been a forerunner of Andy Warhol, who also specialized in portraits. Men, women, children, dogs, even cans of soup got his stylized two-dimensional treatment at “The Factory,” as Warhol’s studio was called. Even though he did not approach creating any feeling of depth in his portraits, Warhol worked on the faces of his clients like a master plastic surgeon. He would elongate a neck, shorten a nose, enlarge lips, clarify the skin tone, or simply pop in unusual colors, all to embellish the look of his subjects. And he churned the images out en masse, which makes the name of his studio take on a truly industrial connotation.

Marilyn Monroe and Liz Taylor and Liz Taylor and Marilyn Monroe by Andy Warhol, 1965.

While it would be truly wonderful to use these examples to debunk the image of the starving artist, what makes for success combines a number of factors, not the least of which is timing. A great step forward into a new era of painting, at just the right moment, combined with a talent for marketing and the ability to create mystique, can do the trick but are difficult to align.

This leaves us to think of the Patron Saint of the Starving Artist, Vincent Van Gogh, here drawn by Henri Toulouse-Lautrec. His life story is full of “what ifs.” What if he had been born a bit later? What if his brother, Theo, had been a more daring art marketer? What if his estate had gotten even a small percentage of the monies that have traded hands over the years to buy his paintings? That last is something for all artists to think about. How about that instead of just owning the rights to our images for our lifetimes and for 70 years after our deaths?

What if the artist or the estate of the artist got paid a precentage of the sale each time a painting changed hands through purchase? Film actors get residuals anytime anything they performed in is run on television anywhere around the world. Residuals of that type might be an idea that would please both Damien Hirst and Pablo Picasso, and keep the wolves from the door of many another artist.

Primay sources for some of the information in this article are Les Artists Ont Toujours Aimé L’argent (Artists Have Always Loved Money) by Judith Benhamou-Huet and “The False Narrative of Damien Hirst’s Rise and Fall” by Felix Salmon newyorker.com.

Images of work by Damien Hirst and Andy Warhol used in accordance with Fair Use Policy for purposes of critique and review.

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

90+ Point Wine$

Ondulé Red at $79.99 Photo credit to The Creative Exchange on unsplash.com

Wine making like painting produces a wide range of products, varying from the truly awful to the exquisitely divine. We are sticking with divinity here, as we approach the subject of 90+ Point Wines. First of all, who among us did not even guess that wine had scores like on a final exam? As a teacher, my eyes focused clearly when I first came across this scoring system. I wondered what wine gets a grade of 90+? I admit that as a teacher I seldom had monies for bottles of wine costing hundreds of dollars. Of course now that I intend to be a rich artist, watch out!

Just to satisfy your curiosity as to how high the prices can go, here is a link to “The World’s Top 50 Most Expensive Wines” wine-seacher.com. Believe me these are in the Damien Hirst category. For most of the rest of us, a look at 90+ point wines that cost $100 or less brings the whole subject into reach. So what does that 90+ score mean?

There is a lifestyle magazine called Wine Spectator, founded in San Diego in 1976. It was purchased by its current publisher and editor, Marvin R. Shanken, a few years later. It was he who started the Wine Spectator Wine Tastings in 1986. Naturally, if you are going to compare tastes, there must be some system for ranking the different wines. Hence a grading system was developed. For a detailed wine tasting chart and the rankings of wines from different countries, click this link winespectator.com.

As with your final exam essay, for those of you who remember any of those, 95-100 is A, stratospherically divine. 90-94 is an A- which is outstanding, to be sure. 85-89 is very good, special even. 80-84 is good but well made. 75-79 is passing, moderately drinkable. Below that one gets into plonk, a term from Australian English that means wine of low cost and low quality.

There are several magazines that deal with wine ratings; however, their standards vary. Wine Enthusiast, for example, is a bit more generous in its ratings. As in the art world, the world of wines has its top critics, the Clement Greenberg or Robert Hughes of the industry. Wine Spectator’s Robert Parker plays a major role in the setting of prices of Bordeaux wines. He is of such fame that the French made him Chevalier de L’Order de la Legion d’Honneur. He also has his own monthly publication called The Wine Advocate. Michael Broadbent, who passed away last year, was the person known for establishing the wine auction during his time as a specialist at Christie’s.

So now let’s get down to the basics, like how the ordinary wine enthusiast experiences some of these wines. Here Robert Parker does not let us down. Millesima Fine Wine has a detailed list of 90+ wines, with the rankings by Parker, that range in price from around $20 to about $80 (see millesima-usa.com). They include red wines, whites, sparkling wines and champagne, Burgundy wines, as well as white Bordeaux, and all with his ranking numbers. These tend to range around 92 on the grading scale and offer excellent tasting experiences.

Another way to get the experience of these wines is to join a wine club. Cellars Wine Club, for instance, has a 90+ Point Wine Club with wines that rank those points on Robert Parker’s scale. One can enjoy a shipment of a couple of bottles or endulge one’s desires to expand one’s knowledge of these fine wines by joining the 90+ Point Case Club. All of the wines come with tasting notes and free shipping.

Art and wine have so much in common, from the artistry and science of their creation, and the way they can be viewed and tasted, to the role of the critics in helping to define and shape what we enjoy. As I say when giving the premise that this blog is based upon, art and wine are the perfect cultural pairing.

Articles used in this look at 90+ Point wines are linked in blue.

Of Art and Wine affiliates with Bluehost.com and  CellarsWineClub.com and may earn from qualifying purchases.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Coming Soon: Pre-Raphaelites and Melancholy Women, plus Wine in the Anglophone World.

Ophelia by Sir John Edward Millais, 1851-52.

Though when looking at this painting, one might not think of the Pre-Raphaelites as rebels, in fact, they were. They wanted to go back to the art that came before the Renaissance of Raphael, Michelangelo, and Leonardo. Yet while they wanted to turn back the hands of time, their art does have links to the forward movement of Impressionism.

An Art History C.S.I. and Wine and Poison, a Lethal Combo.

Self-portrait of Masaccio from the Brancacci Chapel in Florence, Italy.

Well, there he is, a Renaissance rock star without the rock music. What he rocked was painting. You can tell by the expression on his face that he was a no-nonsence type of guy, rough around the edges and maybe at the core as well. While his given name was Tommaso, or Thomas, he was known as a big fellow who cared little for personal grooming, thus he was nicknamed, Masaccio. In its kindest form it means Big Thomas, but it also means Messy Thomas or Dirty Thomas. He blazed brightly in Florence in the 1420s before taking his talent to Rome in 1428, the hot spot for papal commissions. However, he never returned, as someone supposedly killed him there that same year. Our search to find out what happened begins there and with two of the several competing theories about how he died.

According to a version I heard in an art history lecture I attended when living in Avignon,France, former seat of the Papacy, Masaccio’s fame preceded him to Rome where major jealousies were inflamed among the other artists vying for those papal commissions. This was added to by reports that Masaccio had developed a secret formula for creating a brilliant red. In fact, he had already shown his penchant for color in his works in Florence (see the portrait of St. Jerome in his red cardinal’s robes).

Producing colors, especially brilliant ones, was not an easy task in the early 15th century, so the idea that a formula for brilliant red was possible caused a great stir. One night as Masaccio walked down one of the narrow streets in Rome’s rabbit warren of small dark streets, a fellow artist, jealous of Masaccio’s talent and that newly created red, stabbed Masaccio in the back, leaving him to die on the street. I have searched for a printed version of this story but so far can only point to what the art historian said in the lecture.

The next story, I do have a written source for. It comes to us via Giorgio Vasari in his Lives of the Artists. It was written about 140 years after Masaccio’s death, but that is at least 460 years closer to Masaccio than we are. Vasari also believed that it was a jealous fellow artist who did Masaccio in, but this time it was by poison. One thinks immediately of the Borgias and their elaborate jeweled rings which held secret compartments of poison. A tilt of the hand and deadly powders could be dropped into the wine gobblet of some unsuspecting dinner guest. Given Masaccio’s crude life, it probably didn’t happen that elegantly. However, there is another problem here. Vasari’s writings, though well-studied and respected, have been investigated over the years and sometimes show gross inaccuracies. For instance, for centuries the art world took his story of Andrea del Castagno’s having murdered his rival Veneziano to be historical fact. However, in recent times, a bit more digging into the records shows that Veneziano outlived Castagno by five years, so if he was murdered, it was not Castagno who did it. Rest in peace Andrea, your reputation has been restored.

At this point, it might be better to take a look at why Masaccio was so famous. First of all, he was very young, still only 26 when he died. He was born near Arezzo in 1401, came to Florence in his late teens, managed to be accepted into the painter’s guild at age 19, and was befriended by Donatello and Brunelleschi, two of the greatest innovators in Florence at that time, one in sculpture and the other in architecture.

It was 1425 when this painting rocked the art world in Florence. Known as The Expulsion from the Garden of Eden, it was the first painting since classical times with bodies painted as they might naturally appear. In addition the figures are visibly emotional, suffering both grief and shame as the sword-bearing angel harries them out of paradise. Giotto, who painted 100 years before this, is credited with starting the return to natural realism in figures, but his were still within the stylistic structure of International Gothic. These figures go well beyond that or even the ones of the other painter who worked with Masaccio on the same project, the Brancacci Chapel in the Church of Santa Maria del Carmine. To see the difference, look just below.

Masolino da Panicale (known as Little/Delicate Thomas) Adam and Eve in The Temptation

Tommaso da Panicale was an older artist hired by the Brancacci family to work with Masaccio on their chapel. He became known as Masolino or Little/Delicate Thomas in contrast to his workmate, Big/Dirty Thomas. The older artist’s work here shows some awareness of the value of shadow in terms of making figures more natural looking (notice the shadow on Adam). His Eve, however, seems a lot flatter because of the lack of shadow, and both figures are rather placid though they are on the cusp of losing everything. Though the work of the two artists blended well, it was Masaccio’s figures that wowed the arts of Florence, and he was only beginning. Fifteenth century Florence was focused on the idea of creating depth in painting and drawing, of making something in two dimensions seem as though it contained three dimensions. Masaccio struck a major blow in that direction with his Holy Trinity, a painting in the Church of Santa Maria Novella.

The Holy Trinity painted by Masaccio (1426-28) in Santa Maria Novella

This painting, especially as it was originally aligned with an entrance to the church, was designed to give the feeling of depth, as though one could continue down some hallway behind the crucifixion scene. There was even a stone ledge separating the top of the painting from the skeletal figure on a stone coffer at the bottom of the painting. This added to the visual tricks to make the eye see depth and reality instead of a just paint on a flat wall. In particular, the coffered ceiling forming a vault over what appears as a hallway behind the main scene was exactly the goal of Florence’s search for perspective, the visual creation of depth. The figures below the crucifixion are Mary and St. John on the upper tier and the two patrons who paid for the painting, a husband and wife, on the bottom tier. Notice how they are aligned like steps that lead to the central figure of Christ. To understand how Masaccio used linear perspective to achieve this illusion, the video Empire of the Eye: The Magic of Illusion: Holy Trinity – Masaccio, takes the painting apart using 3D computer technology to show how Masaccio created this work, youtube.com.

Needless to say, that it was not only Filippo Brunelleschi, the creator of the fabulous dome that covered the great church Santa Maria dei Fiori (the Duomo of Florence), who mourned the loss of this talented young painter. Brunelleschi said upon hearing that Masaccio had died, “We have suffered a great loss.” So we return to the question of how did he die. As has already been seen, his life is rather mysterious. He even goes by two formal names, Tommaso Cassai and Tommaso di Ser Giovanni di Simone. While there are two stories of Masaccio dying because of artistic violence perpetrated out of jealousy, it is also quite possible that he died from either plague or perhaps the malaria that often infected Rome in the summers. There is a theory that he might have committed suicide, but there is no rationale given for why. Since he was already famous in Florence, it would seem he had a lot to live for, so I discount the suicide theory.

Regardless of how it happened, the fact that there were artistic rivalries so strong that violent actions took place can be seen in how Michelangelo received his flattened nose. In Alexander Lee’s, The Ugly Renaissance, Sex, Greed, Violence, and Depravity in the Age of Beauty (see erenow.net), he tells of how Michelangelo while sketching in the Brancacci Chapel engaged in a dispute with another promising young artist, Pietro Torrigiano, over who was talented enough to carry on Masaccio’s tradition.

Michelangelo, of course, declared himself to be that person. Tired of his classmate’s arrogance and sharp tongue, Torrigiano punched him in the face, declaring later that it was his greatest pleasure to feel the bone of Michelangelo’s nose crunch between his knuckles. Thus the extremely flattened nose Michelangelo is always depicted with. A fist fight in the holy chapel, perhaps Masaccio’s death by foul play, the tales are many. One thing for sure is that Masaccio led the way into the Renaissance, and who knows, he may have discovered a formula for brilliant red. Just look at Mary Magdalene’s cape.

Mary Magdalene at the Foot of the Cross by Masaccio, 1426.

Sources used for this post come from Giorgio Vasari, Vies des Artistes, translated into French by Léopold Léclenché and published by Citadelle Mazenod, France. Notes are also from an art history lecture at the Petit Palais, Avignon.

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Wine and Poison, a Lethal History.

Death Comes to the Banquet Table by Giovanni Martinelli, 1635.

Shock, fear, loathing, shame, and blame, they can all be seen on the faces of the characters in this 17th century painting. Notice that Death is holding an hourglass in one skeletal hand while approaching one of reverlers who is seated at a table of good eats and wine. Of course, Jeanine Gros, a winemaker from France’s Côte d’Or states without equivocation, ” ‘Wine’ and ‘poison,’ these two words do not belong in the same sentence” (from The Assassin in the Vineyard). I wholeheartedly agree, but history often tells a different story.

One form of poison which came to be known as “the poison of kings and the king of poisons” was arsenic. While there are medical journal articles telling how arsenic has been used for “medicinal purposes” over the years to help with sleeping sickness and syphilis, it was known even in ancient times to be an effective, hard to detect way to move someone on to the After Life. Renaissance Italy was notorious for its use. In particular a certain concoction known as a cantarella (arsenic and toxic putrefaction alkaloids) got its name possibly from the small liqueur glasses that sweet dessert wines were served in. Just something a little extra to finish off a dinner. The fact that arsenic is odorless and tasteless means it can be mixed with food or wine very easily. The symptoms, vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain, are similar to many other common ailments. It could kill quickly in a day or be given slowly over a year’s time and was effective either way.

Arsenic became known as the “powder of succession.” There was even a type of school run in Italy by a Hieronyma Spara to help wealthy young wives become wealthy young widows. Of course, the Borgias, the pope and his children, Cesare and Lucrezia, were all known poisoners, with Cesare and his father, Pope Alexander VI, actually poisoning each other (Accidentally? Or was it a kind of “quick draw” poisoning match?) Wine was often the means of delivery as after a few cups, who was keeping track of which cup went where, or who was pouring? The Borgias were so notorious that word was out not to dine with them for one rarely survived the dinner.

Here I will make a little historical aside, as I want to point out that there were even more ingenious ways of getting someone out of the way. Queen Catherine de Medici of France, a woman from Renaissance Italy, was known for her collection of poisons and for perfumed and poisoned gloves. Catherine de Medici would visit the city of Grasse in the hills above the Côte d’Azur. I can remember seeing her home, duly marked by a historical plaque bearing her name and dates of residence, on several of my visits to the old part of that town. The emblem of Grasse is a sheep because before becoming a perfume capital, it was famous for fine sheepskin products like gloves. Queen Catherine may have been Grasse’s link between the making of gloves and the development of its perfume industry, as it is said that she was known to get to some of her victims by giving them luxurious gloves smelling of lavender or roses, which hid the scent of poisons that would soak through the pores in the victim’s hands. Supposedly that is how she killed the mother of Henry of Navarre, who still became king of France after Catherine and her heirs died. See this article at culturacolectiva.com on “Catherine de Medici, the Devil’s Queen.” Or see Sarah Albee’s Evil Mother Blog on “Deadly Gloves” at sarahalbeebooks.com

Queen Catherine, herself. Be careful!

However, back to wine and poison, there are even more ingenious plots that have happened in recent times. In the 1980s, Austria, a producer of sweet wines highly favored by the Germans, went through a “sweetening” scandal when a few bad harvests produced sour grapes. The solution that a cabal of merchants put together was the addition of diethylene glycol to the wine. Not only was this not good for the wine drinkers, as once the scandal was discovered many wine products had to be recalled, it also killed the sewage system of a town when someone dumped 4,000 gallons of it into the sewers, destroying the useful bacteria used to process waste. See “Scandal Over Poisoned Wine Embitters a Village in Austria,” nytimes.com. However, there have been even thicker plots in recent years.

Kidnap the Vines; Ransom the Reputation.

Domaine Romanée-Conti in the Burgundy region of France Photo credit nypost.com

This lovely patch of land is in a very special part of Burgundy in France. It is only 4.46 acres and only 20,000 vines, but it makes a wine that connoisseurs say can make one sure that there is “a Presence in the universe beyond our own.” These are the vineyards of Domaine Romanée-Conti, a producer of a Burgundy that is beyond the Pinot Noir grapes it comes from. Only 500 cases of this Burgundy are produced a year, and one is lucky to get a bottle for a mere $1,000. Generally, the cost runs around $10,000. Aged bottles have gone for as much as $124,000. Why? It is le terroir, the land that the vines grow on, which in this region is quite varied, but where the heavens aligned and gave Domaine Romanée-Conti the best possible growing conditions.

With a wine this famous, there was bound to be trouble at some point. That point came in 2010 when the vineyard owner received a mysterious note with a map of his vineyard showing a couple of specific areas. The note said that the vintner could go there and see that the vines had been poisoned to verify that his whole vineyard was indeed in peril. The note promised that more poisoned vines would be found in 10-15 days. Aubert de Villaine, the owner of the vineyard checked the spot indicated on the map and indeed found that someone had injected the roots with weed killer. He simply thought to pull up those vines and replace them; however, the next note indicated that an unspecified number of vines had been poisoned over a long period of time somewhere in the vineyard and that when the growing season with irrigation began, the poisons would rise to the surface and kill the vines and their precious grapes.

Now here is the really interesting part. In order for the location of those poisoned vines to be known, de Villaine would have to pay 1 million euros to be given the location so as to neutralize the poison before the sap rose in the vines, and the vineyard was permanently destroyed. The stellar reputation and high dollar value of the wines from Domaine Romanée-Conti were in the balance. A cloak and dagger, cat and mouse game ensued in which de Villaine had to carefully find trusted law enforcement outside of the limited local area in case some of the locals were in on this criminal activity. He went to the French Police Nationale and got the help he needed. To read the whole story of this wicked plot and see how it ended (yes, the guy got caught), just go to “The Assassin in the Vineyard” at vanityfair.com.

So, no, “wine” and “poison” are indeed two words that should not be mentioned in the same sentence. However, as can be seen, just like poison and perfume, they have often gone together.

References for this article are found in the blue linked articles throughout the blog post.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Coming soon: Art, Artists, Money, and 90+ Point Wines to Spend It On.

All of this talk of poison may have affected me – hmmm, no. There is a reason I have Damien Hirst’s For the Love of God here. I want to point out to all those who think that artists like starving, that in fact, artists love money. Some of them in particular have literally increased the value of a bank note by simply drawing on it or signing it. Hirst’s diamond skull and his insistence that artists should be payed up front the thousands of dollars that their works will earn after being sold over and over on the secondary art market make for an interesting hypothesis.

For the Love of God by Damien Hirst, 2007. Image used for purposes of critique and review in accordance with Fair Use Policy.

Veronese, the Elegant, Eloquent Sophisticate, and Soave, a Still, White Wine.

Detail of the Wedding Feast of Cana by Paolo Veronese, 1563. Click the image to magnify.

Here we have them. Yes, THEM! They are four great painters from the Renaissance in Venice. Three of them are near immortals, and the fourth did well enough to be included in the blockbuster museum show, Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese, Rivalries in Venice, at the Louvre, 2009. They painted in the 16th century’s Bella Maniera, also called Mannerism, period, in a climate that did not favor the fresco painting of the Florentines. These Venetians benefitted from what the seas brought to them, which included oil painting, a medium much better suited to damp Venice. Oil painting freed them to paint on canvas, glory in the rich colors that Venice is so famous for, and develop a secondary art market in which paintings could be sold from one owner to another, since paintings on canvas can be easily moved.

So who are these gentlemen showing off their skills in music, yet another art? Up front on the left is the man who painted the great painting The Wedding Feast at Cana (1563), based on the Bible story where Jesus turned water into wine to serve all the guests. When I speak of this painting, I truly do mean great, as it has huge dimensions: 22’3″ x 32′ (yes, that is feet!), which can now only be accommodated in the grand halls of the Louvre (see gettyimages.com). He, dressed in gold and white and playing a tenor viol, is Paolo Veronese, his head slightly turned to hear what Diego Ortiz, the master of the viola da gamba, is whispering in his ear. (Perhaps something about that water-to-wine event? No, probably the latest on which artist might be getting the next big commission.) In the shadows on the flute is Jacopo Bassano, the #4 painter who had quite a respectable career and was famous for painting dogs. Veronese honors him here with the dogs that are at the musician-artists’ feet. Next, looking quite civilized, is our enfant terrible, Jacopo Tintoretto, on the violin, and finally the grand old man and great master, Titian, playing the bass viol. What a charming way to present these grand masters of their day and also put the artists front and center in this painting with a cast of 130 different figures.

Detail from the Wedding Feast at Cana (1563.) A bit of a tribute to Jacopo Bassano, famous for his dog paintings.

Of Art and Wine has already looked at the rise of Titian (1488-1576), once a student of Giorgione (1480-1510), who took over after his master’s death to rise to international fame through his many commissions from foreign heads of state. We have also looked at the career of Tintoretto (1518-1594), who specialized in Venetian clientele, and was a master at gaining important commissions in the city of Venice. Now, it is time to turn to the third of these masters, Paolo Caliari, a.k.a. Veronese (1528-1588), known forever by the name of his birth place, Verona.

Here in a self-portrait c. 1558, we see Veronese after his first flush of success in Venice. He had arrived in 1553 after a brief stay in Mantua where his contact with Julio Romano, the former right-hand man to Raphael, had exposed Veronese to the ideas of Mannerism, including its emphasis on elegance and color, both of which were of keen interest to Veronese. One of the things apparent in the exhibition at the Louvre was the change in Veronese’s painting wrought by his exposure to Mannerism and to Venice.

Virgin and Infant with St. Joseph by Veronese, 1550

While the painting above was done for a church in Venice, San Francesco della Vigna, it was still early on in Veronese’ career and when he was not an inhabitant of Venice. Though his skill in compositon and in the rendering of drapery is quite masterful, the colors used are very much toned down, blending easily with gray to produce a somber, and appropriate religious tone. Compare this to the halls and walls of the Villa Barbaro which he painted in 1560-61, a few years after his move to Venice. It isn’t hard to note the colorful effects that the light of Venice had on his perception of color.

Interior painted walls of the Villa Barbaro, by Veronese c. 1560

Veronese had been born to a stonecutter and a woman who was related to Venetian nobility, the Caliari family. His talent became apparent when in his teens, so he was sent to work in the studio of a local artist. However, Veronese’s talent soon outshown that of the other artists in his environment, so off he went on the journey that led him to settle in Venice. Using the name Paolo Caliari to associate himself with a Venetian family of noble background, he made his way into Venetian society. His talent was such that Vasari, writing years later, referred to Veronese’s mature period as beginning at about the age of 25! He became known as a painter of great dramas, which showed off his ability to paint human figures and arrange them in poses familiar to the Venetians of his day. They were often set in grand banquet scenes for which the Venetians were famous. Below is an example. It is the Feast in the House of Levi, along with a detail noting the principle participants.

This painting is enormous, of course. However, even with all the people, many of whom would be more familiar to the 16th century Venetians than to those in the time of Jesus, one does notice that at the table are Jesus and his Disciples. They are present because this consortium of people and animals (a dog and a cat are prominently in front of the table) was originally called, The Last Supper. Compared to Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, and those of a number of other painters of the day, all of whom focused on the principle characters at that sacred event, Veronese’s version is full of all kinds of other people and seemed far too celebratory to say the least. Even though Veronese was well-known, often commissioned,and favored by Venetian high society, painting a Last Supper with this cast of characters just did not seem right to the Holy Inquisition, who said, “Oh ney ney” and called the painter before them to do some explaining.

Though Venice had long maintained its independence even from the church, once actually sending some of the Church’s delegates back to Rome, the Holy Inquisitors were still nothing to be toyed with. Veronese may have been sweating at the thought of thumscrews to his delicate painter’s fingers, but his verbal abilities did not leave him as he told the Inquisitors that painters were like poets. They were inspired beings who were really not responsible for where the inspiration led them. However, upon looking at the painting, it most probably should be considered a painting of the Feast at the House of Levi and not a Last Supper. As the Inquisitors nodded, he assured them that it really was the Feast at the House of Levi and that he had simply been confused in his creative frenzy. He told them he’d change the name of the painting. They agreed and let him off with a warning about gaining some self-control.

Paradise in the Doges’ Palace in Venice. c. 1588 Domenico Tintoretto and the Studio of Tintoretto

The painting above was to be Veronese’s great masterpiece. It is a representation of Paradise. Veronese, a long-time friend of Jacopo Bassano and his family, had gained the commission from the Doge to paint this great wall in the room of the Grand Council. He was to do it with Francesco Bassano, the son of his friend, in a move that would have well-enhanced the career of Francesco, whose own father, Jacopo, was growing old. Everything was set for this prestigious work when suddenly Veronese died. The Doge and his council did not feel that Francesco could pull off this work without Veronese, and with Titian having died some years before, the studio they turned to was that of Tintoretto. Tintoretto himself was getting on in years, yet he was able to guide his son Domenico, who was the chief artist for this painting. Sadly for Francesco, with the loss of Veronese, he was left floundering. His father, Jacopo, died in February, 1592, and a few months later, Francesco committed suicide. One can only wonder how different things might have been had Veronese lived.

For those of us who love art, even though Veronese did not live as long as Tintoretto or Titian, he left us with such lovely, elegant works. His banquet paintings are so famous they have become the subject of a wonderful study by Kate Hansen on his Wedding Feast at Cana. It is called “The Language of the Banquet” (rochester.edu.) and takes a detailed look at the meaning in this painting that caused it to be said that “Paolo is praised with eternal fame.”

Vineyard painting from the Villa Barbaro by Veronese.

Sources for this article are the catalog for Titien, Tintoret, Veronese, Rivalités a Venise, published by Musée du Louvre Editions, 2009, and Dossier de L’Art #217, Veronese Exposition a la National Gallery, Londres, April, 2014.

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author’s page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Soave, a smooth, delicate, still white wine

A glass of Soave and a view of the vineyard that yielded it. Photo credit to news.italianfood.net

As we think of the elegant beauty of Veronese’s paintings and of those banquet scenes where wine flowed like water (or in the case of the Wedding Feast of Cana from water), there had to be room for one of the Veneto’s favorite wines, Soave. Like the French word we so often use for that which is elegant, suave, the Italian soave means the same thing and implies a soft touch. To the taste of fruits like peaches, honeydew melon, and citrus zest, it adds a Venetian bit of saltiness. With age, the really good Soave develops a rich oily tone with a touch of a nutty flavor both of which add zing to its taste.

Garganega grapes are the basis of Soave wines. Photo credit italyabroad.com

The pale, whitish-pink beauties in the photo above are the garganega grapes from which Soave is made. Grown in the Veneto in the areas around Verona and Vicenza, Garganega is also grown as far south as Sicily. Garganega grapes produce a pale yellow wine that is not particularly acidic and which can have the aromas of almond and white flowers (see link above). While Trebbiano di Soave grapes and even Chardonnay grapes can sometimes be used to make Soave, the real deal focuses on Garganega grapes.

Soave is one of Italy’s favorite wines and most wineries in the Veneto produce a Soave even though their main production might be Valpolicella or Prosecco. While those are sparkling wines, Soave is a still wine, so there are no bubbles. To get the best Soave, one has to look for the wineries that specialize in making this particular wine. Just buying a well-known winery’s soave won’t necessarily give you the taste experience you want. So heed the advice of Ian D’Agata on vinous.com and choose a winery known for making Soave. There is also Soave Classico, which refers to this wine when made in the Veneto and from 70% Garganega grapes. In particular Soave Classico is made only from grapes grown in the original area around Soave, itself. This also can be something to look for when hunting for a great Soave wine. Then make sure to serve it chilled, somewhere around 45 degrees Fahrenheit, to get the best of a cool, smooth, delightful flavor.

Grilled prawns, a wonderful simple dish to serve with Soave. Photo Credit matchingfoodandwine.com

When it comes to foods to match with Soave, well Venice is on the sea, in fact not unlike the Goddess Venus, Venice came out of the sea itself, as it stands upon hundreds of thousands of piles driven into the ground below the water. That means that seafood is a perfect match for Soave. Fiona Beckett on her site Matching Food and Wine (see link above) gives about a half-dozen great recipes for shrimp, any of which would work well with Soave. However, do not leave out clams, calamari, and salmon with asperagus or fresh tuna with penne pasta.

So while you dream of a visit to Venice to see some of Veronese’s best works in situ, enjoy some of this wonderful wine, which can still be had for a moderate price. If Venice is too far away for the moment, you can still travel by joining a wine club. Cellars Wine Club offers a good selection of imported wines.

Cellars not only has an Imported Wine Club, it also offers a great deal on cases of imported wines. The wines are selected by the experts at Cellars and come with tasting notes to enhance your tasting experience. The shipping is free and there is a “no bad bottle” return policy. It is a wonderful way to explore the world and the world of wine. Click here cellarswineclub or go to Pages on this blogsite to Cellars Wine Club.

Note:Of Art and Wine affiliates with Bluehost.com  and  CellarsWineClub.com and may earn from qualifying purchases.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Coming soon: Art History C.S.I. and Wine and Poison, a Lethal Combo.

Masaccio Self-portrait from the Brancacci Chapel c. 1422

Masaccio, a nickname for Tommaso or Thomas, can mean either “Big Thomas,” or “Messy Thomas,” or “Dirty Thomas.” They might all apply in this case. Masaccio was the painter who kicked off the 15th century’s Renaissance in painting that happened in Florence. His work at the Brancacci Chapel revolutionized painting as it was known at that time. Born in 1401 and dead in 1428, Masaccio died in mysterious circumstances in Rome, perhaps over a dispute about a recipe for red paint.

“L’enfant terrible” of Venice and Which Wine, Which Glass?

Jacopo Tintoretto Self Portrait, Venice, 1546.

What do you see when you look into those eyes? Perhaps determination with a touch of defiance? And that face, what does its expression say about its owner? One may see a strong will, seriousness, and shrewdness, but I think one can also see what has been called his “devouring ambition.” Even in this painting, rather than showing himself in a calm, dignified pose, like Titian, we see his right arm raised as if painting. He looks at us as though we are the mirror he is using as he paints his self-portrait. This man is always at work, always moving ahead, setting a standard, and beating the odds to carve out his space and fortune in the competitive arena of the 16th century’s Venetian painters.

Of course, amid the lavish wealth of Venice and the Venetian Republic, what was the son of a humble cloth dyer (il tintore) to do? Well, Jacopo Robusti (1518-1594) took his talent, and what his father’s workshop had taught him about colors and business, out into the wealthy world of Venice to make his mark. Not forgetting his roots, he focused his painting career on Venice and its wealthy patrons, using the name Tintoretto (the little dyer) as a sign of his authenticity.

Self-portraits of the three greatest painters of the Venetian Renaissance: Titian, Tintoretto, Vernonese.

There they are. The three greats of Renaissance painting in Venice. Titian, himself an ambitious man, who as a young painter, challenged his master Giorgioni’s talent as they painted the façade of Fondaco dei Tedeschi; Tintoretto, in an unusually candid, front-facing portrait he slyly called, Portrait of a Man, the man being himself in middle age; and Veronese, a charming, talented sophisticate, who when brought before the Holy Inquisition, claimed that artists like poets were divinely inspired, therefore, not completely responsible for what they did. (He changed the name of the painting in question to please the inquistors, but that story is TO BE CONTINUED…)

Tintoretto started at the age of twelve in the studio of Titian, a painter known for his wealthy clients, both locally and abroad, one of those foreign clients being the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain, Charles the Fifth. Tintoretto was such an irritant to Titian, that the older, highly regarded artist threw this upstart teenager out of his studio. Tintoretto immediately took up the mantle of Titian’s primary rival, Pondenone, who had just died, and proclaimed his focus to be on the style of Central Italy, one that pleased some of Titian’s clients, most notably Pietro Aretino, who then commissioned work from Tintoretto.

Pietro Aretino was a poet, racconteur, art dealer, promoter, and general man of many talents, one of which was the use of his acerbic wit. His tongue was so sharp that people paid him not to publicly assault them with his words. Here, in a portrait by Titian, he commented on his disappointment in how Titian had rendered his fine robes, saying that probably had he paid extra, the artist would have rendered the satin and velour in more elaborate detail. When he sat for Tintoretto, however, Tintoretto threathened him about making nasty comments about the painting, so there were none.

The painting of the 16th century Renaissance Bella Maniera (Mannerism) often featured the retelling of stories from the classics that had men ravishing women, who were then to do the appropriate thing, like commit suicide. The most commonly painted story with such an end was that of Tarquin and Lucretia. The thing that concerns us here is an innovation that Tintoretto makes in his telling of the story.

Tarquin and Lucretia by Tintoretto, c.1570 Art Institute of Chicago artic.edu Click on image to magnify.

As the dastardly deed unfolds, Tintoretto uses what modern filmmakers call a “freeze frame.” Here the artist chose not to show the pearls from the broken necklace just lying on the floor, but to freeze the picture with the pearls falling through midair. This stylistic touch adds to the drama of the scene. In a film version, the camera might cut away from the violence at that moment and show just those pearls dropping to the floor to represent what was taking place off camera. Innovations like that in Tintoretto’s painting may have been one of the reasons why David Bowie called the artist “a proto-rock star.” Bowie was one of the few private collectors who owned a Tintoretto painting (Angel Fortelling St. Catherine of Alexandria of Her Martyrdom). The man who purchased the painting from the Bowie estate has placed it in the Rubens House Museum in Antwerp, as Rubens was also a great lover of Tintoretto’s work.

The stories of the naked ladies in distress had a number of versions, one of which is not only one of my favorite stories of that type, as the men get what they deserve for their evil actions, but it is also the subject of my favorite Tintoretto, Susanna and the Elders.

Susanna and the Elders, by Tintoretto, 1555-1556. Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, Austria. Click on image to magnify.

I saw this painting at a wonderful show in the Louvre called Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese, Rivalries in Venice, 2009. I had always associated Tintoretto with those paintings of saints that come flying into scenes to save the day, supernatural supermen. However, this story was a more common one of two old men who spy on a beautiful young woman in the privacy of her garden. They try to proposition her for sex. When she flees to her house to get away, they say they are going to tell that they caught her, a married woman, having sex with a young man who was not her husband. By the laws of the time, adultery was punishable by death. They told their story, but the prophet Daniel had the wisdom to have the two accusers questioned individually about the details of what they had seen. They had two completely different stories, so it was they who were judged and sentenced to death.

When I saw this painting, I was captivated by how beautifully Tintoretto had painted the decorative elements in the painting. From the hedge of roses with its many blooms, to the faint reflection of Susanna’s leg in the crystal clear water, to the vanity items of her clothing, her pearls, the chalices and most of all the elaborate braids and ornaments in her hair style, this painting is such a joy to look at. The contrasts in light and dark make the garden scene magical as they at the same time hint at the evil intent of the two elders. Susanna is lit in quite a bright light, the source of which is hard to figure as she is sitting behind that dark hedge. However, the idea is to show her innocence, while the elders are shown literally as “creeps,” for one haunts the far end of the hedge like a spectre, as his companion pokes his bald head down around the hedge on the other end.

The other aspect that is so interesting in this painting is Tintoretto’s take on the subject of reflection. Giorgione in the early 1500s had worked with the idea of reflective surfaces as a way to show many sides of a painted 2D figure. The use of the mirror and other shiny surfaces began to appear in paintings of women looking at themselves in mirrors, their faces set in a mood of inner reflection as they saw their physical features reflected back to them. Many years later Tintoretto takes on the theme in his picture of Susanna, who does indeed gaze into her mirror, cast at such an angle that she would see herself face-on, but we only see part of her clothing reflected. One of her legs has a minimal reflection in the little pool of water on the edge of which she sits. However, her image would also be reflected in the cornea of the eyes of the two elders, who see her each from different sides. In a sense she is seen almost in the round though she is a 2D image.

One must admire the business acumen of Tintoretto, here seen in another self-portrait. He was a champion at “niche maketing” as he left the overseas, foreign commissions to Titian and others, concentrating instead on the local clientele of Venice. Circulating among those local clients, he was known for undercutting his competition in price. He painted fast and sold some 300 works during his career. He was certainly crafty when it came to outfoxing his competition for commissions.

One of the most amusing tales of sculduggery in terms of gaining a commission is that of the competition for the painted dome of the Scuola di San Rocco. Tintoretto had decided that San Rocco was his to paint. When the artists were called to bring in their sketches for the project, they came, as the elegant Veronese did, with wonderful designs and eloquent proposals. Tintoretto told the decision makers to just go up to the room and look up. There on the ceiling was his fully painted design for the dome. He’d used his contacts within the Scuola to get the measurements and had workers help him attach the finished canvas in place. Yes, he got the commission and most of the rest of the Scuola’s commissions as well.

Yet in all that he never forgot something he had learned in the studio of his master and rival, Titian. While he favored the drawing of central Italy and Michelangelo in particular, he remembered his old master, too. In Tintoretto’s studio was a sign that guided the artistic production of that studio. Loosely translated it read: “The drawing of Michelangelo and the colors of Titian.”

Source for this article: Titien, Tintoret, Veronese, Rivalités a Venise, the catalog from the 2009/10 exhibition of the same name, published by Musée Editions du Louvre.

For another look at the story of Susanna and the Elders in painting, go to the Art Blog at vernellestudio.com to “The Indecent Proposal:Susanna and the Elders, as seen by Tintoretto, Gentilleschi, and Benton.”

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com, her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Which glass, which wine? Help has arrived.

The aftermath of a wine tasting with food pairings in Gigondas, France. Click image to magnify.

I know the picture above is confusing. It surely reinforces your anxieties over choosing the right glass in which to serve your guests their wine. However, it is a cherished photo of a fabulous lunch made of samples of different wines (see the bottles on the menu) and food pairings to go with them. This I experienced with friends in the village of Gigondas, in the Vaucluse, the heart of Provence’s wine country. Fond memories aside, and sorry for startling you all with this confusion of glasses, it is time to get down to sorting this all out. Let’s start with white wines.

The basics of white wine glasses. Photo credit to vintageroots.co.uk Click the link for a good article on the subject.

Here white wine is simplified to the basics, focusing on the three main white wines most commonly drunk. You will notice the Chardonnay glass has a “bowl” with a wide opening. Chardonnay comes in three varieties, one of which is oaked, meaning it has matured in oak barrels, which gives it a buttery taste. To allow full appreciation of that taste, which has taken years to produce, the glass must allow more air to circulate when the wine is swirled in the glass, hence the larger more open bowl. The glass for Sauvignon Blanc has a more closed in rim and even a sturdier “stem,” which is one of the places one should hold a wine glass (or by the “base”) since holding it by the bowl warms the wine with the heat from your hands and robs some of the flavors. It also leaves icky-looking fingerprints. Sauvignon Blanc has fruit flavors of apple, peach and lime. A glass with a narrower opening allows those aromas to stay more in the glass so you can get the benefit of them. Riesling is a light, dry, crisp wine served in a similar glass for similar reasons. It is a bit smaller in size, but the wine-glass patrol will not write you a citation if you use the larger Sauvignon Blanc Glass.

Types of red wine glasses. Photo credit to vintageroots.co.uk

While it is possible to go absolutely crazy choosing red wine glasses, these four do the trick for most occasions. The Cabernet/Merlot glasses often come in the biggest size for wine glasses. That has to do with the need to swirl the wine to aerate it to bring out the flavors. In fact it and Shiraz (notice the similarity in glasses) both need time to develop once poured, so the open mouth format allows the air to enter and mingle with the wine. Bordeaux has a bowl that is more flared at the bottom, which allows for the swirling that it needs to aerate.

Pinot Noir, the most drinkable of the red wines, as it is food friendly and can be drunk before dining as well, has a special glass that is a bit different from the one shown above. Notice that the bowl is sometimes almost squared at the botton. It fits nicely into the hands which benefits the wine, as having it a bit warm brings out its flavors.

Flutes for sparkling wine. Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash

Champagne, as always, is uncomplicated. It is all about the bubbles and the look. Above we have the classic “flute” for drinking sparkling wines. The idea there is to keep the bubbles in. After all it was the bubbles that made Dom Perignon think he was “drinking the stars.” On the other hand the open bowl champagne glass called a “coupe” is an elegant remnant from old Hollywood movies and a memoire from the life of King Louis XV’s mistress, Mme de Pompadour, for the shape is modeled on the size of her breast. (Whatever were they doing?) Photo credit to Alina Nichepurenko of Unsplash.com

Finally we have those nice, and often very pretty little glasses used for drinking sweet dessert wines or having an after dinner sherry, port, vin santo, etc. For this, one needs only a beautiful glass to hold just a tasteful amount of one of these fortified wines. To top a fine meal off, it would not be out of order to go full Venetian in your choice of glasses, in memory of Tintoretto.

Murano decorated wine glasses Photo credit to picclick.co.uk

Should you decide that you really want a deep dive into wine glasses, here is the website for you, homestratosphere.com, which has an article on 18 types of wine glasses! Should you want to explore the difference that crystal makes over plain glass or heaven forbid plastic, check out this video by Dini Vino on youtube.com

Of course, to experiment with all these choices of wine glasses, it is helpful to have a good source of wines. For that, a wine club comes in handy. Cellars Wine Club offers a variety of choices of clubs, free shipping, a “no bad bottle” return policy, and tasting notes on each wine. Click here CellarsWineClub.com or go to the Cellars page on this blogsite (right hand column).

Of Art and Wine affiliates with Bluehost.com and  CellarsWineClub.com and may earn from qualifying purchases.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Coming Soon: Veronese, the Elegant, Eloquent Sophisticate and Soave, a Still White Wine.

Detail of the painter musicians in Veronese’s The Wedding Feast at Cana 1563.

This detail from the Wedding Feast at Cana is a fascinating story in itself. This little scene centers on four of the famous painters of the mid-16th century in Venice, i.e. Veronese and his homies: Titian, Bassano, Tintoretto. (The one in white and gold, is Veronese, himself.) Veronese was a suave sophisicate and fabulous painter that rounded out the rough edges of Tintoretto, gracefully challenged the success of Titian, and here showed off both his mastery of color and his musical skills. Needless to say, the only Venetian wine that suits him would be Soave.

Return of the Gothic and Wine’s Phylloxera Epidemic.

Test your Gothic: Some are Gargoyles and some are Grotesques. Do you know which is which?

Okay, let’s see who passed the test. First, I know some of you may have peeked at Google to see what we call these things that hung about Notre Dame de Paris. Google would have told you, generically, they are called Gargoyles. Au contraire mes chers amis, only the ones on the right are truly gargoyles. The ones on the left are grotesques. These horrible looking fantasy creatures supposedly protected the church from malevolent spirits, a sort of fighting evil with evil approach. On the right are the gargoyles, their open mouths allowed the water draining from the roof of the building to shoot out away from the walls to protect them from getting soaked. It was rather spectacular to see the gargoyles in action as I walked one rainy day on the north side of the church. As the water fell onto the sidewalks in spouts a few feet apart, a look up presented the view of those open mouths spilling forth streams of rainwater. The decided grimaces on these creatures took me right back some 800 years when Europe had fully emerged from the Dark Ages into what we now know as the Gothic.

However, before we get too far into how Gothic art and architecture were revived and reinvented, let’s get clear on the term. At the time of its existence as an international style for architecture (roughly 1150-1500), it was not known as Gothic. If you notice the end date for Gothic, you will see that it overlaps with the first of the Renaissance, and therein lies the tale of its name. Renaissance means rebirth and referred to a reemergence of the classics from some dark and barbarous period that had come just before. Therefore, that period had to be called by a name that conjured up those feelings of barbarity. Among the most terrifying of those “barbarians” were the Goths, hence Gothic became the name for that preceding period. To see the history of this architecture and see how unbarbaric it truly is, watch this video from Easy Architecture youtube.com

One might ask just how this revival of the art of ages gone by became all the rage in the 19th century. For this, we have to turn once again to Notre Dame de Paris, which stood solidly over the very heart of France for centuries. Unfortunately one currently has to write in the past tense about the Gothic beauty of Notre Dame de Paris because of the fire that destroyed so much of it in 2019. However, that was not the only time the church has suffered destruction and had to be redone. During, and for a while after, the French Revolution which started in 1789, Notre Dame de Paris was used as a stable and a cow barn. Worse yet, there were those who just wanted to tear the old church down, as was being done to churches all across France in the wake of the Revolution.

To the rescue came novelist Victor Hugo, who called this desire to raze the medieval building to the ground “architectural vandalism.” His response was to write a novel about the old church and its famous bells, all ten of which have names. The original title of his novel was Notre Dame de Paris, but it has become known as The Hunchback of Notre Dame in reference to Quasimodo, who, had he been an actual person, might have swung from the biggest and oldest bell, Emmanuel. However, Hugo was not the only one involved in trying to save France’s medieval past. He was joined by a masterful and creative artist, architect, designer, and historical decorator (my term), named Eugène Viollet le Duc, known as the man responsible for the Gothic Revival.

Mont Saint Michel, Normandy, France. unsplash.com

Above we have a photo of one of the most outstanding and iconic works of what we have come to call Gothic architecture, Mont St. Michel. It is also a building that Viollet le Duc worked to restore. Mont St. Michel has a natural location that was easily defensible, making it useful as a garrison. However, in the 8th century, the bishop of Avranches had a dream in which St. Michael told him to build a church there, hence the church that sits atop the mountain. As you can see in the photo above, it has a perfectly medieval, Gothic look. Viollet le Duc took on the renovation of the church and the cloistered garden in the abbey. The Gothic look was enhanced by the narrow cobblestone streets that wind up to the top of the mountain. He was, of course, not responsible for all the souvenir shops, boutiques, galleries, and restaurants that line the streets today. Ah tourism!

The heraldic shield of Mont St. Michel shows its connection to the waters of the sea. Until the building of a permanent bridge in 2018, the mountain was completely cut off from the mainland when the high tide came in. Anyone unfortunate enough to be caught out there as that tide came in – well, let’s just say they got to “swim with the fishes.” Of course low tide was also dangerous, as what might appear as solid ground was often actually quicksand. All this may be why the resident population is still only 30.

However, when we think of the romantic wonder of Mont St. Michel, the majesty of the huge cathedrals like Notre Dame de Paris or Chartres, or the astonding beauty of Sainte Chapelle (Paris), we realize that even in its original form, Gothic, was very sophisticated, very detailed in its decoration, and outstanding in the beauty of its wonderous stained glass windows. There is nothing shabby about Gothic at all, and Viollet le Duc saw that and ran with it.

Sainte Chapelle, Paris. The Holy Chapelle of King Louis IX, built in 1248. Redecorated in he 1860s by Viollet le Duc. Photo from pixabay.com

Sainte Chapelle is a wonderful experience of both Gothic and Gothic Revival work. The building was built as a life-size reliquary to hold treasures that King Louis IX had acquired from the middle east, including part of the Crown of Thorns, the Holy Sponge, a fragment of the True Cross, and a stone from the Holy Sepulchre. Its stained glass is famous, with some fragments stored in the Cluny Museum, but with seven of its original windows still in place in the chapel. However, much of the decorative work inside was inspired by the years of study that Viollet le Duc did on medieval French architecture. He made critical decisions about what was to be painted and what was to be left alone. For instance, most churches in the middle ages were painted on the outside. They were not the gray stone that we see today. Viollet le Duc left them in the gray state that people had become accustomed to. However, while the interiors of the great cathedrals were almost never painted, he decided that “…we do not doubt that the edifice was conceived to receive this decorative complement.” (Viollet le Duc, French Gothic Revival, p. 64). What this means is that what we see inside is more creation that a restoration.

Cluster Columns in Sainte Chapelle

Viollet le Duc did not create the designs purely from imagination but did extensive research in historical studies of fabrics, ornamentation, and goldwork. The richly painted and gilded walls, columns, and statues that one sees in his renovated buildings all work in color harmony to delight the eye, and in the case of Sainte Chapelle work in conjunction with the beauty of the sunlit stained glass windows. For more on his work, and how it also influenced Gothic Revival in England, see victorianweb.org and the article “Decorative Elements at La Sainte Chapelle, Paris.”

Now, we return again to Notre Dame de Paris, which having suffered that devastating fire in April of 2019, must once again be reconstructed. The debate is on about how traditional it should be versus how modern it should be. The president of France promised it would be done in five years, but stonemasons who work in traditional format say that is impossible. On the other hand, there are more modern ideas, including a version with a glass and steel roof containing a full garden atop the church for visitors to enjoy. See this video youtube.com, and after you watch it, tell me what you think Viollet le Duc would say about that design.

To get a better idea about the evolution of the Gothic, see this little video, Gothic Revival:Design in a Nutshell youtube.com. It focuses on the history of Gothic in England, but basically it works for everywhere else as well.

Source material for this post: Viollet le Duc, the French Gothic Revival by Jean-Paul Midant, translation into English by William Wheeler, 2002.

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

The Phylloxera Epidemic: What? Grapes can have epidemics!

Phylloxera infected grape vines. Photo credit decanter.com

I can’t say that it is any comfort in this time of global pandemic to note that plants can suffer their own global bouts with pests, but indeed it can happen. Above you can see what happens to the grape vines when they are hit by Phylloxera vastatrix (Phylloxera, the Devastator). The culprit is an aphid that carries a louse that likes to feed on the roots of the grape vines, which produces the disastrous images like the one above. As we saw in the presentation of the Gothic Revival, France in the 19th century was full of transformative events. Unfortunately, the arrival of the plant louse from the phylloxera aphid was one of them, wiping out 2.5 million hectars of vineyards. (A hectar is 2.5 acres. I will let you do the math.) However, America saved the day (hurrah!), but that was after it was the cause of the infestation to begin with (oops).

In the 1850s there were experiments involving the grafting of American and French grape vines. It is thought that somewhere between 1858 and 1862, there were American vines carrying Phylloxera from Missouri into France, where it appeared in the vineyards and began spreading in 1863. The devastation continued in part until around 1930.

The Great French Wine Blight, as it was called, proved to be a threat to the whole of the European wine industry. However, George Hussmann, a viticulturist in Missouri along with an entomologist, Charles V. Riley, set to work finding root stock that was immune to the phyllocera aphid and brought those to France to graft onto the French vines. As can be expected any kind of bug investation is difficult to get rid of once it gets started, so the process of saving the French vines took long years. However, it was ultimately successful, and the two Americans were rewarded with much praise and recognition given by the French government. As well, there were French vignerons who fled to California with uninfected root stock to graft to California mission grapes that had been originally brought by the Spaniards. This hybridization of the vines helped start the California wine industry. George Hussmann moved to California after his time in France and is credited as the father of the Napa Valley wine industry. (See this link: experiencehermann.com)

Interestingly, at this same time a little accident on the part of some Chileans actually saved the Carménère grape, which has a root that does not take to grafting. This deficit of biology caused this dark red grape to fall into disuse in Europe. However, a few years before the phylloxera aphid hit, a few Chilean vinters took with them what they thought were Merlot vines, only to find out they were Carménère. Luckily Carménère thrives in Chile, which is a land free of phylloxera. It has become the basis of the Chilean wine industry with 96% of all the grapes grown in Chile being Carménère.

So it looks like all is well that ends well, at least for the moment. One thing we know about epidemics, pests, bugs, viruses, is that they always evolve because like everything else on the planet, they like to live, too.

For an interesting article on what wine might have tasted like before phylloxera hit France and the grafting with American roots began, “Phylloxera: The great escape” by Kerin O’Keefe shows how some vintners are using ungrafted vines to create the taste of yesteryear decanter.com. Speaking of taste, do not forget that a great way to taste lots of different wines, get tasting notes, and stay within your wine-tasting budget is to join a wine club. Cellars Wine Club offers a wide range of clubs for every level of enthusiasm and budget.  Just click here cellarswineclub.com or go to the Cellars Wine Club page in the right hand column.

Of Art and Wine affiliates with Bluehost.com and  CellarsWineClub.com and may earn from qualifying purchases.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Coming soon: “L’enfant Terrible” of Venice and Which Wine, Which Glass?

Susannah and the Elders by Jacopo Tintoretto 1555-1556

Yes, Jacopo Tintoretto was the wild child of the Lagoon (as Venice called its surrounding waters). He was a great painter with great competition from Titian and Veronese, among others. He fought for and won many a handsome commission and was very cunning in how he gained some of them. A realist and and earthy fellow, he famously said, “God, grant me paradise in this life; I am not sure I will attain it in the next.” Enfant terrible indeed. One sure way to feel a touch of paradise is to drink your wine in lovely glasses – Venetian handblown glass, perhaps – and to make sure you have the right glass for the right wine.

The Lippis: Like Father, Unlike Son, and Vin Santo

The Fleeing Youth in St. John the Evangelist Resuscitating Drusiana by Filippino Lippi (1487-1502) Click on image to magnify.

All you have to do is look at the expression on the face of this young man to know that something is different about Filippino Lippi’s painting when compared to most other works from the same period. We have all seen the paintings of Botticelli, also done in tempera, in which the beautiful women are largely expressionless. Admittedly there is some drama in Botticelli’s representations of Zephyrus in The Birth of Venus and in Primavera, but they have none of the subtlety of Filippino’s handling of this youth’s face, where the eyes show a worried fear about what he is seeing as St. John the Evangelist raises someone from the dead. Those eyes say, “What am I witnessing here?” And the mouth begins to open in amazement.

I have to admit that I have always mourned the fact that Filippino Lippi’s work was overshadowed by the oil paintings of Leonardo and Raphael and those of the also wonderful Venetian painters like Titian, Tintoretto, and Veronese. They were all great masters, but Filippino was too. He just happened to paint in tempera, as was the custom of his father, Filippo Lippi, and his master teacher, Botticelli. To get an idea of how much difference in appearance there is between tempera and oil paint, I’ll refer you to a post “Venice: Have a Bellini on Me” at vernellestudio.com/blog.

Admittedly, Filippino died rather young in 1504 or 1507 (the experts disagree about the exact date), and he was painting in the age of the great frescoes, as he was born around 1457. In that sense he was a painter of his time, with his own career starting while in his teens in the studio of Botticelli, just before oil painting arrived in Italy with Antonello Da Messena and Giovanni Bellini in 1475. However, I am still going to make a case for Filippino’s greatness as part of the transition from the High Renaissance of the 15th century to that of the 16th century, which became the era of the Bella Maniera or so called Mannerism, known for its expressiveness.

Filippino Lippi self-portraits, from his teens into his twenties. Tempera fresco.

Filippino Lippi would have been used to seeing himself in paint, as his father Fra Filippo Lippi often used his baby son as a model for the Christ child (see the Of Art and Wine December 25th post on Fra Filippo, the Bad Boy Monk). What is interesting in these pieces is to see a certain honesty in the way the face ages from a rather plump-faced adolescent to the ever more slender and well-defined features of a man. Filippino had a very successful career during his lifetime. For instance, in the first half of the 1480s he was the person the Carmelites commissioned to finish the famous Brancacci Chapel, which had existed unfinished after the death of Masaccio in 1428. Masaccio’s work there is credited as being the opening bell of the Renaissance. The other artist painting in that chapel, Masolino, represented a style more akin to what was seen in medieval manuscripts. Filippino’s task was to finish the chapel and in a style that drew all the painting into harmony. When one sees the frescoes, though almost 60 years passed between its inception and its completion, the styles all work well together and look of a piece. Only upon more focused observation can one see the distinctions in the work of the three painters. However, in terms of Filippino’s use of emotive expression, one has to look at the Carafa Chapel in Rome and the Strozzi Chapel in Florence to see a unique quality in his painting.

Man catching a youth who fainted from the breath of a dragon from The Life of St. Philip the Apostle in the Strozzi Chapel, Santa Maria Novella, Florence. Filippino Lippi (1487-1502). Click image to magnify.

In this group scene, one sees a variety of reactions to the event that is central to the story of St. Philip dispatching a pesky dragon. Dragon’s breath is obviously pretty powerful as it has caused a young man to faint away and fall into the arms of the man pictured above, who looks down on the youth with compassionate eyes. The woman to his left covers her nose to subdue the stench while she, too, looks sadly at the fainted youth. To the right of the central figure stand two men, both with eyes closed, heads turned away, and one with a decided grimace. The rich detail of the fabric in their turbans and the decoration on their clothing is precisely rendered, but the expressions on their faces tell the story. Lippi does not mind giving them the appropriate wrinkles and frown lines to go with their reactions, but once again it is the eyes that relate the feelings.

Filippino Lippi’s agonized high priest in St. Philip and the Dragon in the Strozzi Chapel, Florence. Click on image to magnify.

To the left of the action in the fresco of St. Philip and the Dragon is this priest who seems to be in agony over the destructive force of the dragon and perhaps his own inability to do anything about the horrible creature. The graying head resting in a thin-fingered hand, the detail of the white beard and the touch of white in the eyebrow, the groaning mouth, the curl in the nostril, and the furrowed brow all represent an old man’s despair. In this portion of the fresco we also see the expressive hands of another person, with one hand held up in a gesture of surprise while the other points at the dragon.

Heretic on the right in the life of St. Thomas Aquinas, painted by Filippino Lippi 1489 in the Carafa Chapel in Santa Maria sopra Minerva in Rome, Italy.

In 1489, Filippino Lippi was called to Rome to paint the chapel of the Carafa family, a family closely allied to the Medici of Florence. In this piece one sees a representation of the Persian prophet Mani, the founder of Manichaeism, a Gnostic religion, in which the material world was seen as evil darkness from which the light and good were being withdrawn over generations “from the world of matter to return to the world of light from which it came” (en.wikipedia.org). The main thing that Lippi accomplishes here is to show a face in doubt as the prophet considers the teachings of St. Thomas Aquinas. The expression seems to say, “I wonder.”

The thing I try to point out here is while Leonardo created the mystery of the Mona Lisa (though he also did well with showing the cries of warriors in battle) and Raphael painted impeccably beautiful and placid virgins, Filippino Lippi, working in those less rich tempera paints, was able to express emotions both dramatic and subtle, and that tendency to express emotion was a distinct attribute of his painting. In terms of Italian painting, he seems to me to be a bridge between the first part of the Renaissance to the latter part where realistic expression became part of the Bella Maniera. It also makes me wonder what he would have produced had he lived longer and moved into using oil paints like Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo.

A still life of books from the Carafa Chapel in Rome, Italy. Painted by Filippino Lippi c. 1489. Click the image to magnify.

Sources for this article come from Fresques Italiennes de la Renaissance by Steffi Roettgen, editor, and Denis-Arnaud Canal, translator into French. Citadelle Mazenod publishing, 2001.

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

Vin Santo, holy wine, but is it?

Vin Santo and some almond biscotti to make a Cantuccini, appropriate for welcoming guests. Photo credit en.wikipedi.org

Amber, that is the color of Vin Santo, a rich, glowing, golden-red amber. Supposedly a wine originally used in holy communion, Vin Santo is a straw wine (a wine made from grapes that are partially dried on straw before going through the wine making process) that has become a favorite dessert wine over the years. It even comes in a fortified version known as Vin Santo Liquoroso, which makes it function the same way as Port. Though it is widely used throughout Italy, Vin Santo, like Filippino Lippi, is a product of Tuscany.

The cantucci is a cookie, also like Filippino Lippi from Prato, and is known as the Biscotti de Prato. The cantucci is a cookie that is not overly sweet, so it pairs well with the sweet Vin Santo. The cookie also goes well with tea or coffee. For really expert advice on how to eat cantucci, one must heed the information from Eataly in “The Key to Cantucci” eataly.com. By the way, if you have not been to an Eataly – go! My experience of it was in Bologna a few years ago. It is a wonderful purveyor of all things Italian. I see that there is one now in one of my other favorite places to travel, Toronto, Canada, on Bloor Street West and Bay.

Now back to Vin Santo. The process of vinification can take quite a while. The grapes used normally are white grapes like Trebbiano or Malvasia, but sometimes a Sangiovese is used to create a rosé version of Vin Santo. The grapes are sun-dried for 6-8 weeks, after which they go through a slow fermentation process of 40-60 days. This is followed by aging in French oak barrels, and aging continues in the bottle. (see santowines.gr).

As mentioned earlier, Vin Santo was a wine used for various ceremonies in the church. Here a scene from Les Tres Riches Heures de duc de Berry in the Communion of the Apostles. Now, of course, it has taken on the functions of many another dessert wine, often being served with fresh fruit, cheeses, nuts or light sweets like cantucci. It can be used as a sort of welcoming gesture when guests arrive. Certainly a good way to chit-chat over the details of the guest’s trip or just to catch up a bit on old times.

A Santorini Cavern Lava Cake with Vin Santo. Photo credit to dianekochilas.com

The recipe for the wonderful looking dessert above comes from a specialist in Greek cooking, Diane Kochilas (click link above). She pairs the dessert with Vinsanto, a favorite in Greece, as it makes the taste of the dessert “explode with flavor.” Should you want something less explosive, you might try a plate of strong cheeses, or just a creamy Gorgonzola. The wine should be served at slightly less than room temperature or somewhere around 60 degrees and served in a wide-mouth glass. However, for the total experience, you must have the cheese and the Vin Santo while looking at a folio of paintings by Filippino Lippi.

Vin Santo is often found in the 90+ category of wines and guess what? Cellars Wine Club has a 90+ wine club with wines ranked using the same scale as Wine Spectator. Cellars also has free shipping, a “no bad bottle” return policy, and tasting notes to go with each wine. Just click here cellarswineclub.com or go to the Cellars Wine Club page in the right hand column.

Of Art and Wine affiliates with Bluehost.com and  CellarsWineClub.com and may earn from qualifying purchases.

©marjorie vernelle 2021

Coming Soon: Return of the Gothic and Wine’s Phylloxera Epidemic.

Eugène Viollet le Duc is the architect responsible for what we now most often consider Gothic architecture. He is the man who reinvented the Gothic style that we see in so many of the churches and castles of France. Here we see his drawing of the façade of the church in Vézelay. He was a 19th century phenomenon. Unfortunately there was another very different phenomenon at that time, the phylloxera fungas which nearly wiped out wine production in France.

The Bad Boy Monk, and Holiday Dessert Wines.

Madonna and Child with Two Angels by Fra Filippo Lippi, c. 1460 Click image to magnify.

It’s the Christmas season, and in the Western world, images showing the story of the Christ child’s birth are everywhere. Many of these come from the Renaissance and are done by the famous painters of that age. Most were simple commissions, but some of them have more to the story than what is shown in the painting. We will get to what other story is being told here in a moment. For now, let’s just look at this painting.

A beautiful young woman, Mary, sits with her hands clasped as though in prayer with eyes downcast, as two angels lift up her newborn son. One of the angels looks out at us with a smile on his face, so happy he is to be present at this moment. The other angel’s face is rudely obscured by the child’s arm, but the child is Jesus. The baby reaches in a realistic fashion for his mother. Her hair is done up under a somewhat transparent headdress of the type worn by middle-class women in 15th century Italy, and her dress one common to that period. The angels themselves seem to be dressed like choirboys. It is said that this was done to make the figures more relatable to the people of the time, as if to say,”See, they are just like us.”

This painting takes it even further by having the Madonna and the angels come out of the picture frame (notice it is a frame not a window) to be even closer to the viewer, as if they are moving into our reality. Mary even casts a shadow on the picture frame like a real physical object would. Mary, as well, is decidedly a very pretty young woman and a very appealing one. The baby, unlike many that had been painted of the Christ child, actually looks like a real baby, not a small half-naked adult, which was a common look in the middle ages. One may ask, why is the focus on such realism? Why are the figures being drawn near to us? What does this Carmelite friar know about soft beautiful women and chubby cuddly babies?

Time to introduce the painter of this masterpiece, Fra Filippo Lippi (1406-1469). As opposed to his more pious companion in this picture, Coronation of the Virgin (1441-1447), in which all eyes are on the proceedings, Lippi, in this self-portrait seems to have his mind elsewhere. (You can see the full painting here travelingintuscany.com.) That look makes you wonder if while confessing your sins to this priest, would he confess his to you? And many the sins there were. A lustful fellow, he left the monastery at age 30 though he remained a friar his whole life. He was involved in various money scandals, lying, and cheating, but the biggest was when at age 50 he seduced a beautiful 20-year-old nun, Lucrezia Buti. In fact he more than seduced her; they ran off together and had a baby son.

Scandalous? Yes, but not necessarily unheard of in those days, as this nun’s convent was picked clean of its beautiful young acolytes until the only one left was the mother superior, who then died. So why was all this hanky-panky allowed? Well, it’s complicated. The main complication is how some of these people came to be monks and nuns to begin with. In Lippi’s case, he was orphaned at the age of eight and was given into the care of the Carmelites. While he loved and venerated the Carmelite order, he just wasn’t cut out to be a priest. As for Lucrezia and her sister, becoming nuns was the way to escape disasterous marriages. Obviously, people being people, there were any number of odd circumstances not in keeping with the dictates of these holy orders. However, in Lippi’s case, he had an ace in the hole, and that was his talent, something much prized by Cosimo de Medici, who literally ruled Florence at that time.

Some stories about Lippi have him taken into the Carmelite order after he was found drawing in the dirt, creating magnificent figures. He certainly would have seen the great Masaccio working on the Brancacci Chapel inside Santa Maria del Carmine (1420-28), making his figures come to life in a style of rendering not seen since before the Dark Age. It would have been a great surprise to Lippi at that early time to know who would finish painting that chapel some 60 years after Masaccio’s death in 1428. That aside, Lippi became the greatest artist in Florence after the death of Fra Angelico in 1455. As such, he had the protection of Cosimo de Medici, who smoothed over this little business of the seduction, the getaway, and the child. Of course Lippi had to produce wonderful things for his patron. One of the most wonderful of which is the painting below, The Adoration in the Forest (1459). Done as the crowning glory of the Medici Chapel which pictures the journey of the Wise Men to adore the holy child as presented in this painting, it is one of the most mystical versions of what is considered a familiar scene in the iconography of Christianity.

The Adoration in the Forest by Fra Filippo Lippi, 1459. Originally done for the Medici Chapel, a copy is now in the chapel. The original is in the Gemaldegalerie in Berlin. Click image to magnify.
Detail from Adoration in the Forest showing the delicate gold work which falls from this point in spirals of golden points of light down to where the enfant lies. Click image to magnify.

This painting is unusual in so many ways. It is not the normal scene of a nativity set in a stable with a cow and a donkey peeking in from a side stall, Joseph holding a lantern, an assortment of shepherds, and a star shining in the distance guiding the caravan bearing the three Magi. Here the setting is a dark rocky outcrop within the density of a forest. John the Baptist as a child stands on the left already wearing his hairshirt. Above him is a praying figure. Some say it is St Romuald a favorite of the Medici family, or perhaps the Archbishop of Florence. Others claim it is St. Bernard de Clairvaux, known for his adoration and devotion to the Virgin Mary. Divine light falls from above in streams of golden sparkles that fall upon the baby lying on a bed of flowers. Mary, dressed in pale blue trimmed in gold, looks on in adoration, as was considered the appropriate way to show the Virgin and the newborn child since the vision of St. Bridget of Sweden in the early 1300s.

The painting was placed in an alcove designed for private prayer and is the culminating point for the grand Procession of the Magi painted by Benozzo Gozzoli in the Medici Chapel, showing the wonderful treasures that the three kings were bringing to give to the child. In a room originally lit only by candlelight, the procession is a giant nocturne, showing all the exotic products that merchants like the Medici were able to procure. All these were not for profit, but to be given in worship.

Of course, this was Cosimo de Medici’s way of trying to buy his way into heaven after having grown rich and powerful through his banking and trading efforts. The Church frowned upon lending money and charging interest, deeming it usury. Usury was a sin and forbidden. Cosimo in his last years was very much worried about not being forgiven for committing this sin, so he prayed fervently at this personal altar piece painted by Lippi, yet another sinner. Perhaps Cosimo felt it wise to show mercy to the notorious Lippi as a sign that he might in turn be granted the same.

Sins aside, the painting, which is sometimes called the Mystical Nativity, captivates the viewer by its odd setting and the wonderful use of gold to capture tiny points of light. (To see more on this painting with excellent photography look at this video on Filippo Lippi youtube.com.) The main benefit for Lippi was that Cosimo was well pleased, and Lippi was able to spend some happy years living in Prato with his family. There he painted the frescoes on either side of the altar in the Church of San Stefano. Not surprisingly, on one side in the story of John the Baptist, there is a version of Herod’s banquet in which dances a Salome with the familiar face of Lucrezia. On the opposite wall in the story of San Stefano, Lippi paints himself casting a side eye in the direction of Salome.

Salome Dancing in Herod’s Banquet and a self-portrait of Lippi in a crowd scene, both from the Church of San Stefano in Prato, Italy.

And what happened to the son, the one who modeled for the beautiful child lying on a bed of delicately painted flowers? Well, here he is. His name was Filippino. He became a painter, and quite a successful one. In fact, it was he who was chosen by the Carmelites to finish the paintings in the Brancacci Chapel nearly 60 years after all work on it had stopped. How that might have surprised his father, who as a boy had seen Masaccio creating those figures so life-like that they shocked the whole of Florence. But Filippino had his own story. (To Be Continued…)

Sources for this article include the Art in Tuscany articles on the Madonna and Child with Two Angels travelingintuscany.com and Adoration in the Forest travelingintuscany.com, as well as Medici Money by Tim Parks. Notes from an art history class and two personal visits to the Medici Chapel were also used.

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

Dessert Wines for the Holidays

Photo Credit to Hanxiao on Unsplash.com

It is rather a matter of sweets to the sweets when it comes to combining dessert wines with actual edible desserts. It requires some subtle balancing of levels of sugar and a happy bit of taste testing in order to get it just right. A few simple rules do apply. One is to match acidity with acidity. When this does not work, things go downhill really quickly. The other is to make sure the wine is sweeter than the dessert so that the wine’s taste is not deadened by the sugar in the dessert. Finally, and this is for aesthetics and to eliminate cognitive dissonance, match the color of the wine to the color of the dessert. Tim Hong, a certified sommelier, provides a quick and easy to remember guide to such matters in his video, “Best Guides for Dessert Wines,” youtube.com.

Sweet wines are developed in a number of ways. Some come from late harvest grapes. In fact one of the types of Riesling is known as spatlese, meaning late havest. These grapes have a greater concentration of sugars. Another way to increase the sugar content of the grape in relation to the water content is to use grapes suffering from “noble rot. ” This term refers to grapes that benefit from a fungus called Botrytis cinerea, which saps the water content, leaving more of the sugar in the grapes. Then there is ice wine, which was a discovery of necessity in 1794 in Franconia, Germany, when a sudden hard freeze came earlier than expected. To salvage something from the hurried harvest, the vinters created a sweet wine. The Canadians are currently the past masters of ice wines, even serving them inside an igloo, should that capture your fancy (see youtube.com).

Photo credit to Antoine Pouligny on Unsplash.com

Generally dessert wines come in three categories: Port and Madeira, Sherry, and Sweet Sticky. Port and Madeira tend to be more expensive but compensate for the higher cost by lasting longer once opened. The colors range from tawny to very dark brown and the taste includes caramel with some nuttiness. Madeira is not so sweet or dense as other ports. Sherry is often oxidized, which brings out the flavors of nuts and dried fruits. It pairs well with blue cheeses and aged Gouda.

Of course one must never forget sparkling wines with desserts. They can be very high in acidity and quite dry which can go well with desserts that are less sugary, like baked apples or apple tarts with shortbread crust. Sparkling Shiraz with its rather silky tannins actually goes well with chocolate desserts, whereas often the cocoa content in chocolate can come into conflict with the tannins in wine. This is especially true with dark chocolate. Aldo Sohm, owner of the Aldo Sohm Wine Bar in his video on pairing wine with desserts shows himself to be quite daring, but even he stays away from wine and dark chocolate. (youtube.com)

He does go on about using wines other than dessert wines to pair with desserts. Cabernets bring a freshness to the palate, while Gewurtztraminer being dry works well with desserts like rich fruit tarts. Though he shys away from dark chocolate and wine, there is a fearless someone who actually goes there. Of course, it is Madeline Puckette of Wine Folly. Madeline dives into three different pairings of wine and dark chocolate desserts in a taste adventure that is as amusing as it is informative. Don’t miss this! youtube.com

You can now spend the rest of the holiday season in comfortable assurance that you have the basics to avoid pitfalls in pairing wines, and dessert wines in particular, with your desserts. Should you want to continue the adventure, Cellars Wine Club has the perfect club for you in its Sweet Wines Club. From Riesling to Moscato any wine with 20g/L of residual sugar is covered. In addition there is a no bad bottle return policy and free shipping. cellarswineclub.com

So enjoy those desserts. It’s that time of year!

Photo credit to Volodymyr Tokar on Unsplash.com

Of Art and Wine affiliates with Bluehost.com  and CellarsWineClub.com and may earn from qualifying purchases.

©marjorie vernelle 2020

Coming Soon: The Lippis, Like Father, Unlike Son, and Vin Santo.

St John the Evangelist resuscitates Drusiana (1487-1502) Strozzi Chapel in Santa Maria Novella in Florence, italy. Click image to magnify.

When your father is a monk and your mother is a nun, there is a lot of drama in the family to say the least. It should be no wonder that one of the hallmarks of the painting of Filippino Lippi, son of Fra Filippo Lippi, would be the rendering of emotion. His early death allowed his work to be overshadowed by Raphael, but Filippino Lippi’s work is well worth consideration for its emotive beauty.