Harumph. 

The piece made me start to mull about fashions in covers – from active to passive.  In other words, instead of rip-roaring action scenes, these days we tend to get kick-ass heroines in jeans being pensive; or wizards in hoods, being pensive.  Such covers are often splendid, but I do hanker a little after the old days of bravura SFF art. 

I also wondered about what my my own personal favourite cover would be, if someone asked me that question – which, er, they haven’t.  But that’s not going to stop me answering!

 Brazyl by Ian Mcdonald comes close – I’m thinking of the early cover that looks like like the Rio Carnival in cover form.   But I’ve decided my favourite ever cover is this:

This is a work of art, not just a cover – and it’s ACTIVE.  The artist is Tim Bradstreet.  (For a better and bigger image of it, click here.)

More on covers in a little while…I’m planning to do a wee retrospective of the covers of the great Jim Burns in a few weeks time. In the meantime, a question:

What’s YOUR favourite SFF cover ever?

My director Toby Swift has done a superlative job; and the remarkable cast is led by David Schofield (Daniel Ballantyne) and Hattie Morahan (Jessica Brown.) 

As my research for this piece, I spent much of my free time this year reading books about art and artists and making slideshows of my favourite paintings.  And from time to time I’m going to feature Paintings of the Weeks about some of my favourite artists, including and especially the wicked ones.  As Ballantyne explains in Ep 5: 

 BALLANTYNE: Oh of course.   I love artists who are evil.  Caravaggio was a bastard and a murderer.  Gilbert Reynolds was a shit.  Picasso used people.  Michelangelo crucified a boy then painted him as he died. 

 JESSICA: Did that really happen? 

 BALLANTYNE:  Yes. I have a letter from Michelangelo in which he talks about his feelings as the boy died.  It’s in my Swiss vault. I’ll show you one day. 

 JESSICA: Yeah?  What else do you have in your Swiss vault? 

 BALLANTYNE:  Treasures. Many treasures.  It’s a gallery in miniature, in the basement of a Zurich bank.  It’s an experience. 

 JESSICA: Next month. Take me. I insist. 

 BALLANTYNE:  As always, your wish is my command. But I digress. Bernini, as you know, slashed his lover’s face.   Sickert may or may not have been Jack the Ripper.  But for sheer unrequited evil – Cellini is your man. 

 JESSICA:  Murderer, liar, fraud, cheat. 

 BALLANTYNE:  Altogether a man after my own heart.  

So today I will explore the misdeeds of one of these aforesaid evil bastards . 

Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio 

Like Don Corleone, Caravaggio was named after his home town. He was the master of chiarascuro, and his paintings have an incredible cinematic intensity. He arrived in Rome in 1592 and within a few years had revolutionised the world of art with his realistic scenes of low lifes, and his searing sensual depictions of the sacred.  

He also spent a lot of time in bars, mixing with whores, and getting pissed. Two of his best friends were Fillide Melandroni and Anna Bianchini, both practitioners of the art of the courtesan, with a reputation for getting involved in violent assaults.  Helen Langdon* writes of the ‘raucous life of street battles with the Roman whores, where beating and kicking down doors, throwing stones, yelling rude insults was routine. In one incident, Fillide attacked a woman who was sleeping with her lover; she left a sfregio, a mark on the woman’s face, carved with a knife, as well as stabbing her in the hand.  Fillide became a wealthy woman; and Caravaggio often used her as as a model – she was Mary Magdalene and St Catherine in two of Caravaggio’s most celebrated paintings. 

Like many bravos of the time, Caravaggio lived two lives; he mixed with refined society, attended soirees,and was the protege of a cardinal.  But he also mixed with low lives, carrying a sword and dagger, and had a ferocious temper.  And as his fame grew, his temper worsened.  The Dutch artist Carel Van Mander described how Caravaggio would work in a frenzy for weeks then  sally forth ‘for two months with a rapier at his side…going from one tennis court to another, always ready to argue or fight.’   Caravaggio was also intensely jealous of other painters, including Federico Zucarro; and Caravaggio and his friend Longhi shockingly attacked one of Zuccaro’s pupils (Marco Tullio) in the street. Insults were hurled: ‘Let us fry the balls of scum such as you’, then punches were thrown and stones were hurled.  

The following year, in 1601, Girolamo Spampa, a young pupil at the Accademia di San Luca, was knocked down in the street and beaten with a cudgel – and identified Caravaggio as his attacker, though the motive for the attack is unclear.  But it cannot be denied that the ‘youth of today’ are a mild, moderate and peaceful bunch compared to the youth of yesteryear.  I mean-  Caravaggio and his gang were a bunch of bullying shits! 

In 1605 our man was in trouble again, firstly for carrying a sword without a licence, and then for attacking the home of two women.  Then he got into a dispute with a notary called Mariano Pasqualone.  According to one account (Langdon),  Caravaggio was spurred by jealousy of a model of his called Lena, who was seeing Pasqualone.  According to another account (Schama**) Caravaggio was offended by comments met by Pasqualone about Lena, which cast doubt upon her virtue:  Pasqualone alleged that Lena was known to ‘stand in the Piazza Navona’, a subtle way of  saying she shagged around with little or no discrimination.  Because Pasqualone didn’t carry a sword, Caravaggio was unable to challenge him to a duel. So instead, he attacked him from behind and hit him on the head with a sword.  A witness describes the attacker: ‘a man with an unsheathed weapon in his hand. It looked like a sword or a hunting knife He turned around at once and made three jumps and turned towards the palace of the Cardinal Del Monte…He wore a black cloak on one shoulder.’  The witness added: I only heard the wounded man say it could not be anyone but Michelangelo da Caravaggio.’ 

This wasn’t the end for Caravaggio; he fled to Greece, paid some bribes, and returned to his life of fame and glory.  But then he killed a man.  It’s a miracle, really, that this hadn’t happened earlier; but even in Rome in the early seventeenth century, a murder could not be ignored. 

In fairness to Caravaggio, his act of murder was probably one of the LEAST shabby things he had done in his life – in that the death occurred in a fair fight, a duel – rather than involving, as in the past, the artist sneaking up on an enemy and  clubbing them from behind with a cudgel or sword.  The duel was with Ranuccio Tomassoni, whose family dominated the neighbourhood, and who was also a keen player in the street brawling milieu.   As Caravaggio passed Ranuccino’s house, Ranuccio grabbed a sword and a rumble ensued.  Caravaggio and Ranuccio fought one on one for some time, then Ranuccio fell – and the sword thrust that had been aimed at his thigh caught him in the stomach.  His brother Givoan rushed to protect him and Caravaggio tried to kill HIM too, but was dragged away. 

Ranuccio died and Caravaggio fled, yet again.  But he was never brought to justice; his fame was too great, his talent too important to the Catholic Church – whose power over the people was enhanced by the visceral sensuality of Caravaggio’s sacred paintings. He fled to Naples, and then to Malta, where he sought redemption by applying to become a Knight of St John.  After he painted for them a magnificent version of The Beheading of John the Baptist, the Knights decided to make Caravaggio one of their own. Corruption yes; but at least they had taste. 

Then the darned rascal screwed it up AGAIN by getting into yet another fracas, after which he was interned in a dungeon.  After a daring escape, he fled to Naples, where he was attacked by unknown assailants and left for dead.  No one knows who was responsible; friends of the Tomassoni family, perhaps, or allies of Pasqualone? Or, some suppose, this was revenge by the offended party in the Maltese fracas. 

Frankly, he had a lot of enemies.  Caravaggio died, sad and alone, in suspicious circumstances after being abandoned by ship ship in the port of Palo 

It’s an astonishing life; because in between being a bully, a carouser, and a killer, Caravaggio transformed and enrichened the world of art by creating three-dimensional tableau of astonishing sensuality. You can feel these paintings, as well as seeing him – when Doubting Thomas puts his finger into Christ’s open wound – Yuk! It’s like being there.  And very often the paintings tell a story – you are lured into imagining what happens next… 

* CARAVAGGIO: A Life by Helen Langdon (Pimlico) 

** THE POWER OF ART by Simon Schama (Bodley Head) 

Young Sick Bacchus

Boy Bitten by Lizard

The Crucifixion of Peter

Judith Beheading Holofernes

The Decapitation of John the Baptist

The Stigmatisation of St Francis

David and Goliath

Medusa

Supper at Emmaeus

The Incredulity of St Thomas - yuk!

The Taking of Christ

The Card Sharps

Mary Magdalen, as portrayed by Anna Bianchini, a whore

Fillide Melandroni, notorious brawler and whore, as Judith

Fillide again as St Catherine, whose appalling demise inspired the Catherine Wheel

Mary Magdalene in esctasy; model unknown, but she seems to be enjoying herself

The radio play is a sequel to my art fraud drama The Art of Deception. And (as you may have spotted) I’ve been running a regular series of Paintings of the Week on this blog over the last year, as part of my ongoing research on art-related stuff, including some rather racy material. 

Just now, I’m reading a wonderful book about Pablo Picasso by artist Francoise Gilot, who was his lover. The book is evocative, moving, and brilliantly written – Gilot claims to have near perfect recall. And her book conjures up the spirit of the iconoclastic, manipulative, brilliant, egotistical Picasso with astonishing vividness.

Francoise was clearly a remarkable woman – and a major talent in her own right. For more on her, here’s a link to her website.  And, to give a flavour of her talent, are images of some of her great paintings (which I reproduce here on a non-profit basis under the rules of fair use):

Like the Sound of Oars

Red and Gold

Self Portrait: Figure in the Wind

Eternal Idol by Rodin

Art historians like to make a distinction between the ‘naked’ and the ‘nude’.  The naked is embarrassing and socially taboo; whereas the nude is beautiful, artistic, and morally acceptable.  Kenneth Clark argued:

The English language, with its elaborate generosity, distinguishes between the naked and the nude. To be naked is to be deprived of our clothes, and the word implies some of the embarrassment most of us feel in that condition. The word “nude,” on the other hand, carries, in educated usage, no uncomfortable overtone. The vague image it projects into the mind is not of a huddled and defenseless body, but of a balanced, prosperous, and confident body: the body re-formed. In fact, the word was forced into our vocabulary by critics of the early eighteenth century to persuade the artless islanders [of the UK] that, in countries where painting and sculpture were practiced and valued as they should be, the naked human body was the central subject of art.

While the poet Robert Graves, mockingly wrote:

For me, the naked and the nude
(By lexicographers construed
As synonyms that should express
The same deficiency of dress
Or shelter) stand as wide apart
As love from lies, or truth from art.

Lovers without reproach will gaze
On bodies naked and ablaze;
The Hippocratic eye will see
In nakedness, anatomy;
And naked shines the Goddess when
She mounts her lion among men.

The nude are bold, the nude are sly
To hold each treasonable eye.
While draping by a showman’s trick
Their dishabille in rhetoric,
They grin a mock-religious grin
Of scorn at those of naked skin.

The naked, therefore, who compete
Against the nude may know defeat;
Yet when they both together tread
The briary pastures of the dead,
By Gorgons with long whips pursued,
How naked go the sometime nude!

It’s a fairly bogus distinction really, a way of justifying the fact that most museums and art galleries are AWASH with filthy images of naked men and naked women.  But are they naked or are they nude? Well, they’re both.  More interestingly, I would ask: are they sexy?  All too often nude paintings are far from sexy. Take this one for instance:

This ghastly nude of Cupid and Venus is a) immoral (Cupid is under-age) and b) gross (that’s milk spurting from Venus’s breast) and, in my view, c) utterly unsexy.  That’s not because the lady is larger than a size zero – it’s because she looks HORRIBLE.  And it’s hard to conceive of an age where an image like this was considered erotic. 

Because of course nudes were a form of erotica; rich collectors had special cabinets with sliding doors made in order to conceal their nude artworks.  And pornography and art have always been chummy bedfellows; some of the greatest artists of all time have dabbled in filthy pornography. Take this for instance:

Yikes! Don’t look at this when your mum is in the room. But no – it’s okay. This is not p***; it’s a masterly drawing by Picasso. 

This too is a masterpiece of art, dating from Greek times:

And here’s another Picasso:

Yes this is the site where you can have your mind improved, your opinons challenged, and where also you can look at FIVE FEET HIGH COCKS and still be asssured that it’s ‘artistic’.

It’s often argued that beauty is in the eye of the beholder…and that tastes in nude beauty have changed over the ages.  But it strikes me that – the ghastly example above notwithstanding – there is beauty to be found in the nudes of every era.  And nudes don’t have to be beautiful to be beautiful.  Here’s a selection of extraordinary images of male & female beauty; I’m selecting quite a few sculptures too because that’s the art form in which the nude gets REALLY sexy.

Angelica and the Hermit by Rubens

A creepy, almost pervy one; but there’s something pleasingly sensual about the image of this woman who clearly enjoys her nosh.

A Sleeping Faun, by Barbineri

Yup, this is the non-sexist, full-frontal nudity website.

Greek Marble Sculpture

This is an early example of the extraordinary sensuality of sculpture.

Donatello's David

And this is one of the most beautiful nudes ever created; it makes the Michelangelo sculpture of David look like a farmer’s son.

La Forinara by Raphael

This sweet nude is by the perfect Raphael, who allegedly died of too much sex.

Boreas Abducting Orithyea by Rubens

Paintings then were movies now; the drama in this story is intense. It’s a slasher movie on canvas. But it’s not as graphic as:

The Rabe of the Sabines by Giambologna

Venus and Cupid by Velazquez

A more subtly erotic image of a lady’s back.  Paintings of backs are virtually a subgenre, so here’s a few more:

Le Violon D'Ingres by Man Ray

Nude with Calla Lilies by Diego Rivera

Yoko & John; and yes I KNOW this isn't a painting...

Mercury/Priapus

Just a reminder for the ladies reading this blog; THOSE were the good old days.

I said nudes don’t have to be beautiful to be beautiful; so take a look at this:

Self Portrait with Patrick Preece by Stanley Spencer

And this:

Nude woman by Lucian Freud

A classic nude, perhaps the very definition of sexy, from Rodin:

This adorable image of sensuous woman is by Rembrandt:

Bathsheba at her Bath by Rembrandt

Girlfriends by Gustav Klimt

Something a little more modern from Klimt. 

And last, what I think may be the sexiest painting ever. It’s also by Rembrandt, and depicts the scene in which the beautiful Greek maiden Danaë – imprisoned by her lunatic father in a tower – is visited by Zeus who magically falls upon her body in a golden shower and impregnates her; the resulting child, Perseus, goes on to kill Danaë’s bonkers dad.

So let’s be clear of this; this is a painting of ACTUAL SEX.  And in my view, it is heartstoppingly lovely, even though it’s rather scary (did the poor girl WANT to have sex with a magic haze of gold?)

Danae by Rembrandt

I never recognise myself in photographs; the tall, muscular, heroic man that I know myself to be always get strangely reduced into being a short tubby Welsh bloke.  This just proves that THE CAMERA ALWAYS LIES.

But self portraits by artists always intrigue me. It’s said that to paint a great portrait, you have to see into the soul of your sitter.  To paint yourself, therefore, you have to know yourself; you have to see past the facial features to the essence of the man or woman beneath.

There is (or at least was) a  fabulous juxtaposition in the National Gallery between two portaits of Rembrandt - one as a young man, one as an old man. Because of the ways the eyes look to one side, you can stand and be stared at by both men at the same time. There is no more potent visual expression of how the boy becomes the man.

Caravaggio plays a similar trick in the self portrait below, in which he is both David AND Goliath; the young man and the older man in the same painting.

Here’s a glimpse into the souls of some great artists.

Henri Matisse

Francis Bacon, 1973

Caravaggio as both David and Goliath

Artemisia Gentileschi: Self Portrait as a Lute Player

Lucian Freud

Claude Monet, 1886

Pablo Picasso

Pablo Picasso on a bad day

Gwen John

Raphael

Michelangelo - self portrait?

Tolouse Letrec

J.M.W. Turner

Rembrandt Van Rijn as a young man

Rembrandt Van Rijn in 1660

Houses of Parliament, Sunset, by Claude Monet

This week all the paintings I feature, by various artists, are of the River Thames.

I remember when I first came to London from University, and a gang of us stood at the bank of the Thames, and looked at the light display on the roof of the Hayward Gallery, and it was well…magic.  Venice has the same effect on me; so does Paris; but it’s the combination of water and city that = magic.

Edinburgh is the one exception; there’s  a furrow through the city where the river ought to be, but there isn’t one; and it’s the castle on the hilltop that makes the city magic.   

Years ago I had a conversation with an Indian man living in my street who talked of a region in India which locals believed was haunted; or, more accurately, it was as if the place itself had a soul.  And I certainly feel that often; that’s why I love certain places, which create in me certain particular moods. 

My first radio play Gin and Rum was about a man obsessed with London who could actually hear and see the ghosts of those who had died in the streets of London; he had an extraordinary memory for facts, but he didn’t just remember history, he felt it.

I’m not quite as bonkers as that; but I do believe cities have souls.   And London’s soul is best felt along the river Thames.

Several of the paintings below (and above) are by Turner, Whistler or Monet.  These artists connect in complex ways. When Monet visited London in 1870-1 he visited Whistler in his studio, and saw some of the great works of Turner (who died in 1851) at the National Gallery. 

Like Turner (who once allegedly had himself tied to the mast of a ship at sea in order to paint the effects of wind and water) Monet took pride in braving physical dangers to paint ‘en plein air’.  Ironically, though, it was the London smog which was most injurious to the health of artists; and it was the smog too which helped created the astonishing sunsets which Monet painted. Even taking into account Monet’s impressionist technique, London simply doesn’t look like that now.

Also featured are Canaletto, who loved London almost as much as Venice, and Fauvist Andre Derain.

A View of His Majesty's Dock Yard at Woolwich by John Clevely the Younger

Brown and Silver, Old Battersea Bridge by James McNeill Whistler

Somerset House from the Thames by Edward Dayes

The Burning of the Houses of Parliament by J.M.W. Turner

The Thames Estuary by Philip Wilson Steer

London Seen Through the Arches of Westminster Bridge by Canaletto

Nocturne in Blue and Silver by James McNeill Whistler

Old Battersea Bridge by James McNeill Whistler

Houses of Parliament, Effect of Sunlight in Fog by Claude Monet (subtly different to the top one!)

The Thames and the City of London from Richmond House by Canaletto

The Burning of the House of Lord and Commons by J.M.W. Turner (more flames than the Burning of Parliament, above)

The Pool of London by Andre Derain

And last week, I went to an exhibition at the Royal Academy of the works of Vincent Van Gogh,  whose brief career alternated between bursts of astonishing creativity and bleak periods in a mental asylum.  The exhibition focused around Van Gogh’s life and letters – letters which he wrote to his brother Theo, often accompanied with dazzling sketches of the paintings he was working on.

It was evident from the letters that Vincent was a staggeringly obsessive man – no, ‘How are you? How are the kids?’ chit chat, his letters (or the ones I read) are all about his own artistic processes and challenges and ideas. All creative people tend to be self-obsessed; Vincent was clearly at the far end of that spectrum. 

There have recently been rumours that Van Gogh didn’t, as the legend have it, cut his own ear off – but that he and his friend Paul Gauguin fought a duel and the ear was lopped off by Gauguin’s blade; then a lie had to be told to protect Gauguin from prosecution.  

However, I prefer the time-hallowed story,  which is that Van Gogh in a fit of madness threatened his friend with a razor, then ran off to a brothel, cut off his ear, and handed it to a prostitute with the words, “Keep this object carefully.”

The intensity of Van Gogh’s vision is palpable; you feel that he saw too much, and looked too hard, for his own good. And his death was as tragic as his life was lonely; he tried to kill himself by shooting himself in the chest with a shotgun but failed, walked back to the local tavern, admitted what he had done – then later died of his injuries. 

Personally, I would have been happy for him to be just a bit less talented, if that could have made him happier.  I mean, I know we all love the myth of the tortured artist – but really? Doesn’t it break your heart?

Anyway, here are some drawings and lesser known Van Goghs, followed by a few of the more famous ones.

NOTE: The painting of Gauguin’s empty chair was (I learned at the exhibition) Vincent’s way of showing the absence of the man who used to share his home, but who was forced to flee after the razor incident. In which case – what does the portrait of Vincent’s empty chair symbolise? A harbinger of his own death?

Enclosed Field with a Sower in the Rain

Field with Factory

Quay with Men Unloading Sand Barges

Backyard of Old Houses in Antwerp

Avenue at D'Argenson Park at Asnieres

Coal Barges

Japonaiserie, Bridge in the Rain

Nude Woman Reclining

Paul Gauguin's Armchair

Wheatfield with Crows

Vincent's Chair with his Pipe

Self Portrait, after cutting off his ear

(For last week’s feature – go left across this page to Categories and click Paintings of the Week. It’s there!)

The artist William Blake was also, in his lifetime, considered to be mad. He had visions of angels and other strange creatures all his life, and held heretical views about religion that shocked his contemporaries; though to my mind many of Blake’s religious ideas are no madder than the non-heretical versions.

Blake features in Alan Moore’s graphic novel From Hell, where he is seen having one of his visions just as – well, I shan’t give away the story.

William Wordsworth wrote of Blake: ‘There was no doubt that this poor man was mad, but there is something in the madness of this man which interests me more than the sanity of Lord Byron and Walter Scott.’

Blake was a poet (he wrotes the verses ‘And did these feet in ancient time’ which are now immortalised in the anthem Jersusalem), draughtsman, painter and book illustrator. His techniques for book illustration were revolutionary at the time – blending words and images on a single plate. And many of his greatest images are illustrations of the Book of Job and other Biblical texts.

Lose yourself for a while in a madness that is richer than most sanities:

Beatrice Addressing Dante (illustration for Dante's Inferno)

Marriage of Heaven and Hell

Joseph of Arimathea among the Rocks of Albion

Nebuchadnezzar

Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun

Plate 7 of the Book of Urizen (a deity invented by Blake)

Plate 9 of the Book of Urizen

The Ancient of Days

Art brut is a concept coined by the French artist Jean Dubuffet, and is sometimes called ‘naive art’ or ‘outsider art’. It’s used about artists who are untrained, sometimes uneducated; artists who don’t belong to the mainstream of art but have access to a rare creative vision.

Dubuffet collected many examples of art brut; and he was particularly interested in art created by inmates of psychiatric hospitals. ‘Mad art’, if I can be so politically incorrect.

And that’s where Wolfi comes in.  He was physically and sexually abused as a child and spent his childhood in a variety of foster homes. As an adult, he was convicted of sexual molestation, and was sent to a psychiatric hospital in Switzerland; and spent his entire life behind bars. He was psychotic, and violent, suffered hallucinations; and he created some amazing pieces.

Wolfi reminds me eerily of the Joker in Arkham Asylum; deranged, and evil, but talented.

General View of the Island

Irren Anstalt Band Hain

Hopper painted landscapes and seascapes, but his iconic pieces are cityscapes:  interior and exterior images of the places where we dwell.

Imagine a jazz saxophone in the background, and taste that cherry pie:

Night Hawks

Chop Suey

Hotel Room

Summer Interior

House by the Railroad: This was the inspiration for the house in Psycho.

The beautiful painting above is by Vermeer; and it could only be by Vermeer.  Even if you didn’t recognise the actual painting, there’s no other artist who paints domestic scenes with such care and lyrical attention to detail.  Of course I’m no expert. If I were an expert I might think that this

is by Vermeer.

In fact, it’s a fake painted by Hans Van Meegeren, one of the great forgers of all time, who was an inspiration for me when I wrote my radio thriller The Art of Deception.  It’s an incompetent and annoying piece, which doesn’t look a bit like Vermeer; but that doesn’t mean Van Meegeren was an idiot. Quite the opposite; his early Vermeer forgeries were very skilful, and looked pretty close to the real thing. But ‘experts’ dismissed them as forgeries. And so cunningly he invented a whole new style of paintings which he called early Vermeer; and his forgeries were the only surviving examples of this style.

It worked! Van Meegeren made a fortune, and he even sold a fake Vermeer to Goering.

But nothing can beat the real thing:

The Procuress

Girl with a Pearl Earring

Grand Odalisque by Ingres

 Note: An odalisque is a female slave in a harem – a popular subject with many male painters throughout the centuries.  (Harumph!)

Nude Study of Hector by Jacques Louis David

This is a great opportunity to develop the characters, and work with the same actors. And also a chance to immerse  myself, again, in the wonderful world of great art.  This is by way of contrast to my day job, which means immersing myself in all things science fiction – aliens, parallel dimensions and the like. 

So while I’m doing the research, I thought I’d start up this new regular item on Debatable Spaces. Every Sunday, I’ll look at two paintings that I love.  I might compare and contrast; I might talk about the artist; I might just show the damn things on the grounds that a picture is worth a thousand words.

The first two paintings have always been favourites of mine, and I saw them first when they were hanging side by side in the National Gallery. They are Claude Lorrain’s Seaport with the Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba; and  J.M.W Turner’s Dido Buildilng Carthage.

The two paintings are closely linked; because (as I learned at a recent Tate Britain exhibition) in his youth Turner was an arrogant and absurdly competitive man who set himself the task of emulating and excelling the achievements of all the greats.  In this he had limited success. He painted in the style of Watteau,   extremely badly.  His attempt to paint in the style of Rembrandt was frankly embarrassing.  He took on Poussin at his own game, and emerged with discredit.  But he also created virtual copies of paintings by landscape artists like William Van Der Velde with (in my view) considerable success.

And it was his mimicry of Claude Lorrain (1600-1662),  often just called Claude for reasons I’ve never fathomed, that proved most fruitful. Claude was a great painter of landscape, and a great painter of light; and that proved to be Turner’s genius.  Many of Turner’s paintings are marred by ineptly drawn people (sorry! but they’re crap!) but he was the genius of light. And this comparison between  Claude and Turner showed how Turner emulated, but did not copy. 

Turner loved Dido Building Carthage so much he asked that he be wrapped in the canvas when he was buried – an arrogant and stupid idea that was typical of the man. (Luckily, he was ignored.)  It shows the founding of the Carthaginian Empire by Dido, daughter King of Tyre.  It needs to be seen in its full glory of course; but here’s a glimpse of both paintings.

Seaport with the Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba by Claude Lorrain

Dido Building Carthage by J.M.W.Turner