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abendgulesSadly, my education didn't include much art history. But I do love learning more about art, particularly in the SCA period.
This week I'm enjoying 'Private life of a Christmas Masterpiece', part of an occasional series called 'Private life of a Masterpiece' that examines a single famous work of art, and explaining why it's special. Last night's subject was Pieter Bruegel's 'Census at Bethlehem'; the night before it was Van Eyck's 'Annunciation' (with Bruges streetscapes I recognise! woot)
The series puts the artwork and the artist in context of time and place; what styles had been common before the work was created, where you can see its influences afterward, and how there are often many layers of meaning 'coded' in the work.
I love love love these art history exposes. It's only by seeing what was 'typical' or 'standard' that I can understand how a given artist distinguished themselves - maybe technically (like Bruegel using a lead white base instead of a more common ochre), or in their choice of subject and their treatment of it (Bruegel fitting Mary and Joseph as tiny bit players into a huge Flemish winter landscape, no more or less important than the rest of the peasant figures).
I was fascinated to learn that Breugel had gone on a sort of Grand Tour to Italy, to see how those shit-hot Italians were painting everything - but he came back via the Alps in winter, and this difficult mountain journey had far more influence on his art than any number of Italian masters. To a guy raised in the flat lands of Flanders, they must have been an amazing revelation.
This is hard to picture for me: I've known about all sorts of landscapes, at least through TV, for as long as I can remember. Imagine never knowing what a mountain was (or even what snow was like!) until you actually had to travel through the Alps on horseback in winter?
Mountainscapes appeared in all his works from then on, rich in detail, dimensions and shading;he paints in Biblical figures as small sideshows to the landscape, when the rest of the painterly world was squeezing landscapes in around the shoulders of their human figures.
I also hadn't realised that his son, Bruegel the Younger, made his name simply by copying his father's works, probably from sketches left behind - a bit like generating a numbered print of a favourite piece. These copies, even though they're not nearly as vibrant, are now as valuable as the originals.
This week I'm enjoying 'Private life of a Christmas Masterpiece', part of an occasional series called 'Private life of a Masterpiece' that examines a single famous work of art, and explaining why it's special. Last night's subject was Pieter Bruegel's 'Census at Bethlehem'; the night before it was Van Eyck's 'Annunciation' (with Bruges streetscapes I recognise! woot)
The series puts the artwork and the artist in context of time and place; what styles had been common before the work was created, where you can see its influences afterward, and how there are often many layers of meaning 'coded' in the work.
I love love love these art history exposes. It's only by seeing what was 'typical' or 'standard' that I can understand how a given artist distinguished themselves - maybe technically (like Bruegel using a lead white base instead of a more common ochre), or in their choice of subject and their treatment of it (Bruegel fitting Mary and Joseph as tiny bit players into a huge Flemish winter landscape, no more or less important than the rest of the peasant figures).
I was fascinated to learn that Breugel had gone on a sort of Grand Tour to Italy, to see how those shit-hot Italians were painting everything - but he came back via the Alps in winter, and this difficult mountain journey had far more influence on his art than any number of Italian masters. To a guy raised in the flat lands of Flanders, they must have been an amazing revelation.
This is hard to picture for me: I've known about all sorts of landscapes, at least through TV, for as long as I can remember. Imagine never knowing what a mountain was (or even what snow was like!) until you actually had to travel through the Alps on horseback in winter?
Mountainscapes appeared in all his works from then on, rich in detail, dimensions and shading;he paints in Biblical figures as small sideshows to the landscape, when the rest of the painterly world was squeezing landscapes in around the shoulders of their human figures.
I also hadn't realised that his son, Bruegel the Younger, made his name simply by copying his father's works, probably from sketches left behind - a bit like generating a numbered print of a favourite piece. These copies, even though they're not nearly as vibrant, are now as valuable as the originals.
