After W.H. Auden had visited the Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique in Brussels, and seen Pieter Brueghel the Elder’s c.1558 work, Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, he went away and penned the following cynical words:

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

William Willimon recalls Brueghel’s painting, and Auden’s poem, in his book On a Wild and Windy Mountain, wherein he observes that we trudge past bleeding crosses with a shrug of the shoulders, that Good Fridays are so commonplace among us as to be unnoteworthy, and that tragedy achieves nobility only in the theater. ‘Everydayness and ordinariness’, he writes, ‘become our best defenses, the most effective relativizers of the tragic in our midst. Some young Icarus falls from the sky every day, so one had best get on with the business at hand until the extraordinary comes. For now, go to work, eat, make friends, make money, make love, mind your business – that’s the best way to cope, for the time being, with the expectedness of the tragic. The old masters knew best’ (p. 15).

Willimon proceeds to compare Landscape with the Fall of Icarus with another of the Dutch masters’ works: Numbering at Bethlehem. He notes the ordinariness of the depiction, a day mundane and unpromising – in its highlights at least – and nothing beyond the expected.

But then … they appear.

They appear. ‘An inconspicuous, thoroughly ordinary young woman on a little donkey led by a stoop-shouldered, bearded peasant who carries a saw. Here is Mary, with Joseph the carpenter, come to town to be counted. They are so easily overlooked in the midst of ordinariness. Old masters like Brueghel’, Willimon rightly suggests (and we might add Rembrandt), ‘were never wrong’. Rather, they understood, and bore witness to in their work, the truth of Emmanuel, the scandal of the unostentatious God living – and dying – with us, of God stained with the sweat of human bondage and soaked – baptised – in the blood of human violence, of God incognito. ‘They understood our blindness not only to the tragic but also to the triumphant in our midst … In life, the Presence goes unnoted as we thumb through the evening paper. And so we wait, sitting in the darkness of the everyday until something extraordinary breaks in. Someday God may break into this world, we say. But for the time being, it is best to work, eat, make love, pay taxes, fill out government forms, and mind our business. The old masters knew it best’ (p. 16).

I have posted elsewhere on the pseudonymous activity of God, suggesting that ‘in the economy of holy love, the locus of greatest clarity equates to the point of greatest incongruity and surprise’. It is precisely that we may ‘see’ what Willimon so beautifully refers to as ‘the triumphant in our midst’ that we are graced, and that that we might witness to the day when good will triumph over all, certain that the grace of holy love will win at last because it did not fail to win at its most decisive time. In the meantime, such seeing typically requires what is another great advent theme: waiting, or what R.S. Thomas, in his poem ‘Kneeling’, called ‘moments of great calm’:

Moments of great calm,
Kneeling before an altar
Of wood in a stone church
In summer, waiting for the God
To speak; the air a staircase
For silence; the sun’s light
Ringing me, as though I acted
A great role. And the audiences
Still; all that close throng
Of spirits waiting, as I,
For the message.
Prompt me, God;
But not yet. When I speak,
Though it be you who speak
Through me, something is lost.
The meaning is in the waiting.

[This meditation was first written for the Advent series over at Hopeful Imagination, and I have posted other Advent reflections here.]

descarga

På bibeln.se ser jag en bild av “Babels torn” ca 1563 av Pieter Brueghel d.ä.”, och läser till min förvåning att den ska finnas på Kunsthistorisches Museum, Wien. Men jag har ju själv sett den på ett museum i Rotterdam? Den var liten, mindre än jag trott, men omisskännlig. Gjorde han flera varianter eller vad?
*googla*
Jo, minsann. Han målade två. Den vi såg är dystrare.
———————
Läs även andra bloggares åsikter om Pieter Bueghel, the tower of Babel, konst, Rotterdam

Ściągnij siedemdziesiąty odcinek

Marcin wrócił z Ringu. O malarzach flamandzkich i hokeju na lodzie. Podwójna radość w Pittsburghu. O zawiłościach przepisów w koszykówce. Pamiątkowe zdjęcie z prezydentem. Barcelona zdobywa kolejne mistrzostwo. Casus sędziego bez włosów. W jakim kierunku kłaniają się piłkarze Egiptu? Dyplomacja a la Grzegorz Lato. Nieustający kącik lingwistyczny. Kibicowanie w RPA. Perez się nie uczy. Valdes z nowym kontraktem, czyli zmiany w Barcelonie. Transfery i Ribéry. Miasto Warszawa i Polonia. Baraże odwołane. Obiecanki pana Kuchara. Aspiracje Tarasiewicza. Oresta Lenczyka w Zagłębiu przypadki. Kariera Błażeja Augustyna. Sprzedajemy Rogera. Polska gromi Czarnogórę. Paweł Abramow uczy się po polsku. Warszawa – Odessa. Belgrad i Final Six. Formuła nie wiadomo która, czyli o niewidzialnej ręce rynku. Przed Wimbledonem. Komórki PZPN walka o polonusów. Podolski w Kolonii. O Copa Libertadores rozmawiać nie będziemy.

(Copyright © 2009)

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

Shakespeare got that right. But he goes on to develop the theme of seven acts or ages as if that were the essence of life’s drama. From my point of view in writing this blog on consciousness, the acting out of personal scripts in each scene (situation) by the players themselves is the heart of the metaphor. That’s where the moment-to-moment drama takes place. The overall intent may be to impress the audience, but interactive relationships between characters are the means for revealing the inner tensions that drive the plot. It is the rise and fall of those tensions which support the drama. Underneath it all is the interplay of personal consciousness acted out in full public view.

In an earlier post (Reflection 87: A Mind of My Own) I wrote:

Consciousness is an integrated synthesis of many parts . . . . Our left-brain interpreter takes all those parts and weaves them into a story that binds them together into a coherent narrative. Whether factual or fanciful, it is that internal story of which we are conscious. All of which may or may not shed light on any so-called real world.

That is, internal stories concocted by our respective left-brain interpreters provide the script each of us plays out on the world stage in the company of our fellow players—all following scripts of their own.

Which sounds like it may produce a very confusing drama with each player scripting her own actions. And looking around, that is exactly what we find. Bernie Madoff reading from his own script, Rush Limbaugh his, Rod Blagojevich his, Jimmy Carter his, Palestinians and Israelis respectively their own, Democrats and Republicans theirs, and so on. There is no master scripter; each of us is privileged (or condemned) to follow the cadence of her own inner voice.

Whether looking into various crises such as that of credit, energy, health care, climate change, world trade, wealth distribution, overpopulation, or any of the rest, we find individual players acting out their personal narratives as if in each case they were delivering a monologue with the stage to themselves .

Storytelling is the name of the game we are playing. In the belief that what’s good theater for me is good theater for all, a gross distortion of Adam Smith’s invisible hand has become the doctrine of free enterprise in our nation and now around the world. This applies not only to the wealth of individuals and nations, but to any sort of human enterprise. What following the dictates of self-interest produces is chaos, period. The heralded state of harmony never arrives.

The problem being that in denying any sensible checks on the stories we tell ourselves, they wander on endlessly without feedback from other points of view. Research on split-brain subjects reveals just how strained and bizarre such stories become without input from even the other side of our own brains, much less other people. As Pieter Brueghel has shown, when the blind lead the blind, all are deceived and end in the ditch.

Tales spun by consciousness need impartial editing before being played out in life. As you like it—or laissez-faire—is not a sufficient check on personal action. Behavior based on monologues leads consciousness to gallop unbridled through public affairs, causing the tumult of these days. Signing statements, for example, which excuse the executive from having to observe legislation passed by Congress, distort the law of the land into a parody of itself. Having two laws, one for the executive, another for everyone else, is wily chaos attempting to pass as good order.

All due to letting our left-brain interpreters of events have their way with us and the world. Can it be that simple? I believe it can. Michael Gazzaniga locates our personal interpreters in the left frontal cortex of our brains. As The Brain from Top to Bottom (http://www.thebrain.mcgill.ca) puts it:

When a person with a split brain is placed in a situation where the two hemispheres come into conflict, she may use her left hemisphere’s language capabilities to talk to herself, sometimes even going so far as to force the right hemisphere to obey the left hemisphere’s verbal commands. If that proves impossible, the left hemisphere will often rationalize or reinterpret the sequence of events so as to re-establish the impression that the person’s behaviour makes sense. It was this phenomenon that led Gazzaniga to propose that there is an “interpreter,” or “narrative self,” in the left frontal cortex not only of split-brain patients but also of all human beings (Can States of Consciousness Be Mapped in the Brain? Advanced level.)

I believe Gazzaniga is on the right track because I can observe my own interpreter at work when it goes beyond the evidence to produce an explanation for things it doesn’t truly understand: to wit, this blog. I can produce a theory to explain any phenomenon that catches my attention. Usually, I realize I am transcending my own limitations, so don’t force my opinions on others. But when I sacrifice good sense to vanity or self-deception, then I can watch myself spinning a yarn for the impression it makes. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. Making up bedtime stories can be both fun and entertaining. Where does fiction come from if not our left-brain interpreters? But in the service of fraudulent or self-deceptive motives, the interpreter can quickly take us out beyond our depth.

When I am unsure of myself, I fall back on trial and error. “See if this might work or suggests a different approach,” I tell myself. Most of what I have learned in life has come from making mistakes and correcting them. If my interpreter isn’t up to a situation because it lacks the necessary data, then it makes a stab at understanding what’s going on and—right or wrong—always learns something that can be useful next time around.

What gets us into trouble is pretending we know more than we can know—about the market, terrorists, Iran, creation, the will of God, or even ourselves. Actions based on insufficient understanding for the sake of self-importance, illusions, power, wealth, or personal advantage are sure to get us in trouble. Which is why the human world is in the sorry state that it is from too much pretense and self-righteousness.

My approach in writing this blog is to come at consciousness every way I can think of based on my personal experience. Yes, I am spinning a yarn. But at the same time I am gathering evidence from my own life that bolsters my understanding. Writing every post has taught me something about myself. If I never made the effort, I’d still be as dumb as I was at the start. All knowledge is self-knowledge, and if we are not perpetual learners, then we risk passing ourselves off as smarter than we actually are. There’s a lot of that going around these days.

Which is why I pay special attention to the care and handling of my personal interpreter. Even the FBI and CIA don’t know what thoughts are passing through my head. I am the only one who can pay attention to my inner processes. If I don’t, I miss the opportunity of a lifetime, because I am not privy to the workings of anyone’s consciousness but my own. If I don’t live up to my own self-set standards, no one else will do it for me. So here I am, having the adventure of my life in full public view. That way lies transparency, light and understanding. We know what lies the other way: been there, done that. Just look around at the mess we have made for ourselves and our home planet.

It is time to take a new direction. Namely, to heed the oracle and finally get to know ourselves inside-out. That way lies hope, eventual mastery, and true understanding. To get there, we have to develop prototypes for the new man and new woman. In my own small way, that’s what I’m working on. I’m trying as hard as I can to put Gandhi’s wisdom into practice by becoming the change that I seek.

¦

CURITIBA EXPOSIÇÕES
Museu Soumaya exibe obras de Monet, Van Gogh, Renoir, Degas e entre outros

SORTIMENTOS.COM :: TÁ LINKADO !
MATERIAL PRODUZIDO POR SORTIMENTOS.COM

A few words about coincidences. The first time I listened to White Winter Hymnal on my to work, it was a cold scandinavian winter day, blue sky, a thin layer of snow and Fleet Foxes on my iPod. It was perfect. Then a few weeks later I read an article about the Little Ice Age written by Peter Englund and it was illustrated and narrated around a Pieter Brueghel painting called the “Hunters in The Snow”.  A perfect illustration of White Winter Hymnal. A few months later I saw the final cover for the album, and Fleet Foxes had put a Brueghel painting on the front, a different one though, but still…

Hunters in The Snow

.

Le dernier supplément dominical de El País nous montre comment un peintre espagnol, José Manuel BALLESTER, s’est inspiré de célèbres tableaux exposés au Musée du Prado pour sa prochaine exposition intitulée Espacios ocultos.

Il a retravaillé des toiles comme le Repos lors de l’exode d’Egypte de Joachim PATINIR (ci-dessus et ci-contre),  Le Jardin des délices, de Jérôme BOSCH ou encore le Paysage d’hiver de Pieter BRUEGHEL (ci-dessous) pour en effacer tous les personnages: seuls subsistent les paysages et les éléments de la mise en scène.

.

.

.

Devant ces toiles à la beauté inquiétante, vidée de toute présence humaine, comment ne pas penser à cette phrase de Claude LÉVI-STRAUSS:

« Le monde a commencé sans l’homme et il s’achèvera sans lui. Les institutions, les moeurs et les coutumes, que j’aurai passé ma vie à inventorier et à comprendre, sont une efflorescence passagère d’une création par rapport à laquelle elles ne possèdent aucun sens, sinon peut-être de permettre à l’humanité d’y jouer son rôle. »

LÉVI-STRAUSS Claude. Tristes tropiques, Paris, Plon, 1955, 504 pages.

THE WEDDING DANCE IN THE OPEN AIR
Disciplined by the artist
to go round
& round

in holiday gear
a riotously gay rabble of
peasants and their

ample-bottomed doxies
fills
the market square

featured by the women in
their starched
white headgear

they prance or go openly
toward the wood’s
edges

round and around in
rough shoes and
farm breeches

mouths agape
Oya!
kicking up their heels

–William Carlos Williams

BRUEGHEL’S TWO MONKEYS

This is what I see in my dreams about final exams:
two monkeys, chained to the floor, sit on the windowsill,
the sky behind them flutters,
the sea is taking its bath.

The exam is History of Mankind.
I stammer and hedge.

One monkey stares and listens with mocking disdain,
the other seems to be dreaming away–
but when it’s clear I don’t know what to say
he prompts me with a gentle
clinking of his chain.

–Wisława Szymborska

Translation by Stanisław Barańczak & Clare Cavanagh

Nazi associations of collection “not relevant” says founder of new museum

The art on show includes works by artists collected by Hitler and displayed in exhibitions sponsored by the Third Reich

In praise of workers: the Grohmann Museum with its nine-foot sculptures of labourers on the roof and the “Kaiserdom” inspired by Sir Norman Foster’s addition to the Reichstag in Berlin

NEW YORK. The new Grohmann Museum, which is dedicated to art showing “the evolution of human work”, has been called to account for failing to display any information about the art’s association with the Nazi regime. The institution opened in October at the Milwaukee School of Engineering (MSOE).

While the school celebrated the opening of its first cultural asset, the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel asked why works of

art produced under the Third Reich are displayed without texts explaining their historical background.

The museum houses more than 700 paintings and sculptures, most by little known 20th-century German and Northern European artists, but includes works attributed to Pieter Brueghel the Younger, Jan van Goyen, Max Liebermann and Frederic Remington. Subjects include farming, mining, glassblowing, construction, iron and steel production and heavy industry.

[ SS-Wache (SS Guards) - Ferdinand Staeger. Oil painting. Year unknown

The museum’s founding benefactor is MSOE regent and Milwaukee industrialist Eckhart G. Grohmann, 71, who was born in Silesia, Germany (today part of Poland) and emigrated to the US in 1962 where he bought a small foundry that he built into Aluminum Casting & Engineering Co.

He joined the board of MSOE in 1974 and donated his “Men at Work” collection in 2001, stipulating that none of the works ever be exchanged or sold. He also provided funds to purchase and renovate the museum that bears his name, and acquired an adjacent building providing rental income that will support the museum. Mr Grohmann named John Kopmeier, an engineer whom he knew socially, to serve as director.

The three-storey brick building, originally an automobile dealership, has a new glass turret inspired by architect Sir Norman Foster’s addition to the Reichstag in Berlin. Mr Groh­mann says this “Kaiserdom” was his idea, as was the rooftop phalanx of a dozen nine-foot bronzes that he commissioned based on statues of muscular workers in the collection, and the ceiling paintings of inventors and a stained-glass window depicting workers commissioned for the atrium. The Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel’s verdict is that: “the effect is rather like Old World Berlin as reinterpreted by Walt Disney”.

Mr Grohmann amassed his collection over four decades, buying from auction houses in Germany and Switzerland, as well as various other sources. “I have very little competition because [the paintings] are not the sort of things you hang over your sofa,” he says.

The most heavily represented artist, with 81 works, is Erich Mercker (1891-1973) whose images of German industry were endorsed by the Third Reich and exhibited in the annual Nazi-sanctioned “Great German Art Exhibition” in 1937. The museum labels cite only his name, dates and titles and the museum website does not refer to his Nazi ties either. Other artists in the Grohmann collection known to have worked with the Nazis are Ferdinand Staeger—whose work was collected by Hitler—Ria Picco-Rückert, and Otto Hamel. All of them participated in the annual Nazi exhibitions. The collection also includes work by Magnus Zeller, a German who opposed the Nazis.

The art on display includes a Mercker painting of a U-boat building facility (left) and a 1942 Picco-Rückert picture of Nazi steel manufacturing, but Mr Grohmann denies that any of his paintings glorify the Third Reich. “Propaganda pictures would show flags and swastikas,” he contends, apparently ignoring scholarship that suggests otherwise. Art historian Mark Antliff, for example, has written that “the Nazis propagated a ‘myth-image’ [through] imagery devoted to ‘the sanctification of creative work’,” and cites Staeger and Picco-Rückert as portraying workers engaged in their “‘sacred’ effort to create ‘the eternal Germany.’” Others have noted that labourers depicted in Nazi paintings are likely conscripts from concentration camps.

Mr Grohmann and Mr Kopmeier say that historical context is irrelevant to the museum. “The mission is to educate MSOE students primarily about art, what industry was like years ago, why we are where we are right now,” says Mr Kopmeier, adding that Mr Grohmann is responsible for the institution’s content. “He’s the one that collects the art, and what goes on the wall is a decision he would make,” he told The Art Newspaper. “We don’t know that any was actually commissioned by the Third Reich,” says Mr Grohmann, “and to be honest I wouldn’t care. It is a totally subject-oriented collection for the purpose of teaching at the technical university. I don’t politicise pictures.”

US Jewish organisations have not voiced strong objections to the museum, but some have asked for disclosure of provenance and historical context. University president Hermann Viets says he is not concerned with the allegations of whitewashing the artists’ Nazi pasts. “We are perfectly open about it,” he says, citing a catalogue that includes more information than appears on the museum walls. Asked if he personally condemns the Nazi regime, Mr Grohmann replied: “I do not make any political statements. I just don’t do it.”

Musée des Beaux Arts

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

W. H. Auden 1940

Landscape with the Fall of Icarus

According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring

a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry

of the year was
awake tingling
near

the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself

sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings’ wax

unsignificantly
off the coast
there was

a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning

William Carlos Williams
(part II of Pictures from Brueghel)

http://

Image:   De Val van Icarus by Pieter Brueghel  de Oude (oil, 1558)

¿Alguien calificaría esta obra de Renacentista?

Pues así debe considerarse, ya que pertenece al pintor Pieter Brueghel, prcedente de los Países Bajos en el siglo XVI. Efectivamente, esto no es Leonardo ni Miguel Ángel, pero a éstos ya sé que los conocéis de sobra. Me parecía interesante ampliar un poco los puntos de vista sobre ese arte tan reducido que estudiamos todos en el instituto. Pues bien, este es un cuadro renacentista porque se cnetra en las preocupaciones del hombre (antropocentrismo) y no es un cuadro de difusión de ideas religiossas, que sería lo más propio de la Edad media. El cuadro del que hablamos se llama El Triunfo de la muerte y está pintado con temple y óleo sobre tabla. Además se puede visitar en el Museo del Prado.

Se trata de una composición en cruz de San Andrés lo que da gran dinamismo a la obra. En primer plano tenemos un montón de cadáveres hacinados y junto a ellos la mesa redonda con manteles blancos de un banquete inacabado. Parece como si la muerte llegara en las ocasiones más inoportunas. Tras ellos aguarda un gran ejército de esqueletos, que usan como escudos las tapas de los ataudes. El otro eje inferior lo forma un carruaje conducido por dos esqueletos, un montado en el carro y otro sobre el caballo. Entre ambos ejes queda un vació en el que destaca un ataud abierto con una persona momificada y otra de blanco con medio cuerpo aplastado por éste.

Al fondo abundan los fuegos humeantes, las peñas secas y los árboles muerto. No hay nada vivo en este paraje. Se aprecian algunas escenas aisladas como un esqueleto ejecutando a un hombre de rodillas, arriba a la derecha.

En cuanto al cromatismo podemos decir que hay un claro predominioo de ocres, marrones y algún gris azulado. Ninguno de los colores evocan a los azules de Leonardo o los rojos vivos de Tizziano. Todo es muerte.

Este artista tiene más obras, y en ellas predomina un sentido sarcástico excelente así como una natural inclinación hacia temas populares y cercanos, lejos de los grandes temas mitológicos o religiosos que priman en estos momentos.

JUEGO DE NIÑOS

LA COSECHA o LA SIESTA

EL SACRIFICIO DE LOS INOCENTES

El preciosismo del detalle es otra de las características de este pintor del siglo XVI que ha pasado a la posteridad en un segundo plano. No fue así para algunas generaciones posteriores pues su estilo personal influyó a muchos pintores barrocos de los Países Bajos como Jordaens, Teniers y Vermeer de Delft (a los cuales veremos entre otros, quizá, en un próximo post sobre ” los otros barrocos”).

Peter Brueghel (1525-1569)

La chute d’Icare de Brueghel est une toile étonnante. Outre la pathétique épopée de Dédale et Icare, elle traduit l’indifférence qui isole les hommes. Pendant qu’Icare se casse la figure et coule en agitant les jambes, un laboureur continue à labourer son champ, un berger continue à regarder le ciel, un pêcheur de dos continue à pêcher… On aimerait bien qu’ils abandonnent un moment leur charrue, leurs moutons, leurs poissons pour venir donner un petit coup de main, ou mieux un peu de leur temps…
Mais bon, c’est comme ça : il faut que le grain soit semé, que la vie continue pendant que d’autres disparaissent… Je regardais cette toile en pensant à la maladie d’alzheimer et à l’attitude des gens de ma famille : certains font comme si ils ne voyaient rien, d’autres ignorent délibérément et s’occupent d’autre chose, d’autres se rassurent en assurant qu’ils “pensent à nous”…. C’est sympa, ça de penser et ça ne prend pas trop de temps. Heureusement il y en a qui aident vraiment. Ceux-là savent que je leur en suis infiniment reconnaissant. Je sais maintenant ce que vaut le temps passé, le temps qu’on donne.

La chute d’Icare, 1555 – Pieter Brueghel l’Ancien, (1525/30-1569).
Musée Boymans-van Beuningen, Rotterdam.

Icare voulait voler. J’aurais l’air de quoi si j’étais un oiseau ?