Oil Painting and Art as Commodity

Art Collection of Archduke Leopold Wilhelm, Teniers, 1651

A long, forgive me, but interesting quote from John Berger‘s Ways of Seeing, which I just read for the first time.

Oil painting did to appearances what capital did to social relations. It turned everything into an object. Everything became exchangeable because everything became a commodity. The soul, thanks to the Cartesian system, was saved in a category apart. A painting could speak to the soul –by way of what it referred to, but never by the way it envisaged. Oil painting conveyed a vision of total exteriority. 


Pictures immediately spring to mind to contradict this assertion. Works by Rembrandt, El Greco, Giorgione, Vermeer, Turner, etc. Yet if one studies these works in relation to the tradition as a whole, one discovers that they were exceptions of a very special kind. The tradition consisted of many hundreds of thousands of canvases and easel pictures distributed throughout Europe. A great number have not survived. Of those which have survived only a small fraction are seriously as works of fine art, and of this fraction another small fraction comprises the actual pictures repeatedly reproduced and presented as the works of ‘the masters’. 


Visitors to art museums are often overwhelmed by the number of works on display, and by what they take to be their own culpable inability to concentrate on more than a few of these works. In fact such a reaction is altogether reasonable. Art history has totally failed to come to terms with the problem of the relationship between the outstanding work and the average work of the European tradition. The notion of Genius is not in itself an adequate answer. Consequently the confusion remains on the wall of the galleries. Third-rate works surround an outstanding work without recognition –let alone explanation– of what fundamentally differentiates them. 


The art of any culture will show a wide differential of talent. But in no other culture is the difference between ‘masterpiece’ and average work so large as in the tradition of the oil painting. In this tradition the difference is not just a question of skill or imagination, but also of morale. The average work –an increasingly after the seventeenth century– was a work produced more or less cynically: that is to say the values it was nominally expressing were less meaningful to the painter than the finishing of the commission or the selling of his product. Hack work is not the result of either clumsiness or provincialism; it is the result of the market making more insistent demands than the art. The period of the oil painting corresponds with the rise of the open art market. And it is in this contradiction between art and market that the explanations must be sought for what amounts to the contrast, the antagonism existing between the exceptional work and the average.

– John Berger, Ways of Seeing, pp.87-88. 

Think of all those still lifes. The value of the object being protrayed helped determine the value of the painting itself. It was an argument for the patron’s wealth or beauty or other impressive quality. Today, with an open art market in full swing, such forms of representation  are just  as present, albeit in a questioning manner. The photographic “portraits” of Cindy Sherman and certainly the oil paintings of Julie Heffernan come to mind.

For lack of better, an email chain:

Price of gas in France

 A thief in Paris planned to steal some paintings from the Louvre. 

 

 After careful planning, he got past security, stole the paintings, and made it safely to his van.

 However, he was captured only two blocks away when his van ran out of gas.

 When asked how he could mastermind such a crime and then make such an obvious error, he replied, “Monsieur, that is the reason I stole the paintings.’

 

 I had no Monet

   

to buy Degas

  

  to make the Van Gogh.

 

 See if you have De Gaulle to send this on to someone else

 

 I sent it to you because I figured I had nothing Toulouse.

Watteau at the Met

“Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination.” -Voltaire
Love in the Italian Theater (L’Amour au théâtre italien)
Watteau, Music, and Theater, on view at the Met through November 29, explores, in self-explanatory fashion, the place of music and theater in the work of the Jean-Antoine Watteau (1684–1721). If you’ve seen some of his work, you know theater is his main subject matter. He paints lush and detailed scenes populated by characters who might be part of the drama or watching it. Costumes are elaborate, and artifice abounds. This small exhibition of paintings and drawings is supplemented by musical instruments and other objects relating to opera-ballet and theater early in the 18th century.
Mezzetin
Mezzetin, left, is one of his simpler compositions, and one of my favorite paintings in this exhibition. Mezzetin, whose name means “half-measure,” was one of the stock characters of Italian commedia dell’arte. He could be a deceived or a deceiving husband or servant. Here he appears wistful and lonely.
In a sense, it’s hard to account for the appeal of Watteau, who does charming fantasy scenes unpolluted by anything serious. ‘Charming’ seems too simple and small a word to explain his appeal. While they are charming, they can also be melancholy and ambiguous. Like in Mezzetin, a clown figure often appears isolated and melancholy. The scenes do not follow any known narrative, and we are unsure what the people feel.
Watteau was sickly, self-taught and died at 36 years of age, yet he managed to rise to prominence and further the development of Rococo art in France. Little is know about him, except that he was restless and utterly entranced by theater. Perhaps part of the appeal of Watteau’s paintings is the mystery around the artist as well as the ones he painted.

The Foursome (La Partie quarrée), ca. 1714