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Take a Closer Look
What paintings can teach us--if we can really learn to see them
What happens when we look at a painting? What do we think about? What do we imagine? How can we explain, even to ourselves, what we see or think we see? And how can art historians interpret with any seriousness what they observe? In six engaging, short narrative fictions, each richly illustrated in color, Daniel Arasse, one of the most brilliant art historians of our time, cleverly and gracefully guides readers through a variety of adventures in seeing, from Velazquez to Titian, Bruegel to Tintoretto.
By demonstrating that we don't really see what these paintings are trying to show us, Arasse makes it clear that we need to take a closer look. In chapters that each have a different form, including a letter, an interview, and an animated conversation with a colleague, the book explores how these pictures teach us about ways of seeing across the centuries. In the process, Arasse freshly lays bare the dazzling power of painting. Fast-paced and full of humor as well as insight, this is a book for anyone who cares about really looking at, seeing, and understanding paintings.
What happens when we look at a painting? What do we think about? What do we imagine? How can we explain, even to ourselves, what we see or think we see? And how can art historians interpret with any seriousness what they observe? In six engaging, short narrative fictions, each richly illustrated in color, Daniel Arasse, one of the most brilliant art historians of our time, cleverly and gracefully guides readers through a variety of adventures in seeing, from Velazquez to Titian, Bruegel to Tintoretto.
By demonstrating that we don't really see what these paintings are trying to show us, Arasse makes it clear that we need to take a closer look. In chapters that each have a different form, including a letter, an interview, and an animated conversation with a colleague, the book explores how these pictures teach us about ways of seeing across the centuries. In the process, Arasse freshly lays bare the dazzling power of painting. Fast-paced and full of humor as well as insight, this is a book for anyone who cares about really looking at, seeing, and understanding paintings.
176 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2000
79 people are currently reading
1203 people want to read
About the author
Daniel Arasse
56 books37 followersL'historien de l’art français, spécialiste de la Renaissance et de l'art italien.
http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_A...
http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_A...
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May 8, 2023
Cartea lui Daniel Arasse (1944-2003) frapează în primul rînd prin stilul dezinvolt, chiar frivol pe alocuri (în special în capitolul despre „Blăniţa Magdalenei”), dar nu mai puţin prin umor. În al doilea rînd, prin ingeniozitatea exegetică. Daniel Arasse are ochiul versat al unui detectiv de odinioară, al părintelui Brown, să zicem.
Pentru acest spectator pasionat, niciodată o imagine oarecare nu e întru totul ceea ce pare a fi. Nici măcar celebrul nud al lui Tizian, „Venus din Urbino". Imaginea conţine un amănunt încă neobservat, un gest, o postură, un obiect a căror existenţă rămîne adeseori pur şi simplu inexplicabilă (pentru ochiul profan, firește).
Ce caută, de exemplu, într-o „Bunăvestire” făptura unui melc? De ce este atît de bogat şi de lung părul Mariei Magdalena? Şi, în definitiv, cine este cu adevărat Maria Magdalena? Abia prin schiţarea unui răspuns la aceste întrebări (şi la altele), începem să vedem cu limpezime ceea ce pînă nu de mult era o reprezentare amestecată şi obscură.
Pentru a explica „Venus din Urbino”, Daniel Arasse reconstituie atitudinea față de erotism a unui timp revolut: cel al Renaşterii. În acest scop, el a citit tratatele despre căsătorie ale teologilor scolastici şi consideraţiile filosofilor cu privire la „esenţa” femeii. A verificat istoria sensibilităţilor şi devenirea lor în timp. A văzut legătura dintre tabloul lui Tizian şi replica modernă realizată de Manet, „Olympia”.
În al treilea rînd, Daniel Arasse este un autor care are însuşirea de a transmite bucuria descoperirii. Ceaţa se ridică, vechile culori capătă strălucirea originară, ajungem oare să vedem, în sfîrşit, ceea ce privim? Să ne facem introspecția de seară...
Excelentă traducerea Laurei Albulescu...
Pentru acest spectator pasionat, niciodată o imagine oarecare nu e întru totul ceea ce pare a fi. Nici măcar celebrul nud al lui Tizian, „Venus din Urbino". Imaginea conţine un amănunt încă neobservat, un gest, o postură, un obiect a căror existenţă rămîne adeseori pur şi simplu inexplicabilă (pentru ochiul profan, firește).
Ce caută, de exemplu, într-o „Bunăvestire” făptura unui melc? De ce este atît de bogat şi de lung părul Mariei Magdalena? Şi, în definitiv, cine este cu adevărat Maria Magdalena? Abia prin schiţarea unui răspuns la aceste întrebări (şi la altele), începem să vedem cu limpezime ceea ce pînă nu de mult era o reprezentare amestecată şi obscură.
Pentru a explica „Venus din Urbino”, Daniel Arasse reconstituie atitudinea față de erotism a unui timp revolut: cel al Renaşterii. În acest scop, el a citit tratatele despre căsătorie ale teologilor scolastici şi consideraţiile filosofilor cu privire la „esenţa” femeii. A verificat istoria sensibilităţilor şi devenirea lor în timp. A văzut legătura dintre tabloul lui Tizian şi replica modernă realizată de Manet, „Olympia”.
În al treilea rînd, Daniel Arasse este un autor care are însuşirea de a transmite bucuria descoperirii. Ceaţa se ridică, vechile culori capătă strălucirea originară, ajungem oare să vedem, în sfîrşit, ceea ce privim? Să ne facem introspecția de seară...
Excelentă traducerea Laurei Albulescu...
Read
September 29, 2021The books I read are mostly books I plan to read, but every now and then, I pick up something I hadn’t planned to read at all. Sometimes that comes about because of a friend’s recommendation but often it happens because the book I am currently reading sends me off on a tangent to another book and then another until I lose interest in the original book which remains unfinished on my table sending me mute messages from time to time which I ignore. That brown spine on the edge of my vision? Nope. I can’t see it. I don't see anything..
On n'y voit rien : descriptions. We see nothing : descriptions. The title could also be translated as We don't see anything, but the word 'nothing' is important here so the We see nothing version works better. I dipped into this book of essays as a result of something I came across half way through Ali Smith’s How to be both, the white spine of which sends me mute signals from my bedside table. I really do intend to pick it up again and perhaps finish it.
I originally read these essays by Daniel Arasse quite a few years ago so this is a reread, but the short, playful pieces more than stand the test of time. Arasse writes as if he were speaking to the reader, as if the reader were a student in one of his art history classes, and no ordinary class, but one where the teacher has a quirky detective persona and seeks to entertain as much as teach.
There are six essays in this collection, each one dealing with a significant detail in a particular painting. I’m going to focus on the second essay which deals with a 15th century painting of The Annunciation by Francesco del Cossa, the Italian artist who narrates part of Ali Smith’s book.
This is a fairly typical Annunciation, painted around 1469. There are certain elements traditionally found in Annunciation scenes: an interior space in which Mary sits or stands, another space, semi-outdoor where the angel Gabriel kneels, a vase of lilies or a column standing between the two, a bed in the background plus a book to imply that Mary had been reading holy texts when the angel suddenly appears before her.
In the fifteenth century, great strides had been made in the art of creating perspective in painting. Instead of the flat gold decorative background found in Annunciations from the previous century, here we have a very elaborately designed architectural space; del Cossa had clearly mastered perspective.
Daniel Arasse is impressed by the perspective—but he is mostly interested in the snail which is moving slowly across the foreground of the painting. In an extremely entertaining way, he examines several possibilities for the presence of the snail.
You might be thinking of a few yourself, if this painting is new to you. I found myself wondering if Mary might have been distracted at this critical moment by the sight of the snail, if she might be holding her robe well clear of the ground in order to avoid any contact with it..
But back to Arasse. He says that one explanation that used to be offered was that snails were thought to be fertilised by the morning dew, and the miraculous conception was believed to have come about in a similar way, just as the rains fertilise the earth, so the snail could be a symbol of fertilisation.
But Arasse thinks such an explanation isn’t sufficient because neither he nor his medievalist friend Umberto know of any other Annunciations featuring a snail, or any documentation about such a connection either, though Arasse thinks that Umberto would be more than capable of making one up!
So, back to the snail. Arasse talks of the importance of axes in a painting. Notice how you can trace a diagonal from the angel’s foot via his hand and the pillar (which often stood for the presence of the divinity in the Annunciation scene), towards the figure of Mary. Then there is the axis which goes diagonally from the snail via the angel’s hand towards the sky and...another snail? Ok, not another snail but the figure of God the Father in the clouds with the Holy Spirit fluttering nearby. Arasse is intrigued that del Cossa has made this Father figure snail shaped. The snail, crawling slowly through the scene might therefore symbolise the slow workings of God’s plan for mankind. Why he waited so long to send his son, for instance.
But Arasse, having floated this theory, is not fully satisfied by the connection. He looks further. He travels to Dresden where the painting is housed at present, and he takes his measuring tape with him. Yes, he measures the snail, and the snail turns out to be quite a gastronomic gastropoda. That's right, he’s a bit on the chunky side, almost as long as the angel’s foot, head to tail. Who ever saw a snail the size of an angel’s foot? Ok, who ever saw an angel’s foot? But the fact remains that the snail is not in proportion with the rest of the painting.
But perhaps he is not in the painting, you say, perhaps he is crawling along the frame.
No, says Arasse, I’ve checked, the snail is within the space of the scene although del Cossa was well known for painting pictures where some of the elements protrude beyond the space of the picture.
So why is the snail so big, Arasse asks?
Please, sir, I say, the fact that he is so big supports my theory: the snail might startle Mary at the critical moment and change history. The artist might be trying to say there could have been another outcome.
No, no, says Arasse, the snail is out of proportion because the artist has a different message entirely. The snail’s disproportion serves to underline that the elaborate architectural interior is a trompe l’oeil. It doesn’t stand up. The pillar starts at a distance from the wall behind it but finishes at the point where the wall and ceiling meet. The space behind Mary is impossible, given all the furniture it seems to contain, including a bed. The walls are too thin to bear the load they carry, etc, etc. So the life sized snail in the foreground proves the fictional nature of the space behind it.
But why, I ask, after all the efforts he made to master perspective, would the artist go out of his way to make it false?
Perspective is about measurement, Arasse says, and God is about the unmeasurable. This was a key idea in the 15th century. The moment of the conception was therefore the moment of the unmeasurable entering the measurable, the undefinable becoming defined, the invisible becoming visible, nothing becoming something.
And we remember that in the title of this book, 'On n’y voit rien', rien meaning nothing, is not nothing after all, it is something, it is what we don't see at first, it is what we discover when we take the time to really look.
That's what I learned from these essays: to 'look' at paintings more carefully.
And 'looking' is also a key theme in Ali Smith's How to Be Both—which I eventually finished.
On n'y voit rien : descriptions. We see nothing : descriptions. The title could also be translated as We don't see anything, but the word 'nothing' is important here so the We see nothing version works better. I dipped into this book of essays as a result of something I came across half way through Ali Smith’s How to be both, the white spine of which sends me mute signals from my bedside table. I really do intend to pick it up again and perhaps finish it.
I originally read these essays by Daniel Arasse quite a few years ago so this is a reread, but the short, playful pieces more than stand the test of time. Arasse writes as if he were speaking to the reader, as if the reader were a student in one of his art history classes, and no ordinary class, but one where the teacher has a quirky detective persona and seeks to entertain as much as teach.
There are six essays in this collection, each one dealing with a significant detail in a particular painting. I’m going to focus on the second essay which deals with a 15th century painting of The Annunciation by Francesco del Cossa, the Italian artist who narrates part of Ali Smith’s book.
This is a fairly typical Annunciation, painted around 1469. There are certain elements traditionally found in Annunciation scenes: an interior space in which Mary sits or stands, another space, semi-outdoor where the angel Gabriel kneels, a vase of lilies or a column standing between the two, a bed in the background plus a book to imply that Mary had been reading holy texts when the angel suddenly appears before her.
In the fifteenth century, great strides had been made in the art of creating perspective in painting. Instead of the flat gold decorative background found in Annunciations from the previous century, here we have a very elaborately designed architectural space; del Cossa had clearly mastered perspective.
Daniel Arasse is impressed by the perspective—but he is mostly interested in the snail which is moving slowly across the foreground of the painting. In an extremely entertaining way, he examines several possibilities for the presence of the snail.
You might be thinking of a few yourself, if this painting is new to you. I found myself wondering if Mary might have been distracted at this critical moment by the sight of the snail, if she might be holding her robe well clear of the ground in order to avoid any contact with it..
But back to Arasse. He says that one explanation that used to be offered was that snails were thought to be fertilised by the morning dew, and the miraculous conception was believed to have come about in a similar way, just as the rains fertilise the earth, so the snail could be a symbol of fertilisation.
But Arasse thinks such an explanation isn’t sufficient because neither he nor his medievalist friend Umberto know of any other Annunciations featuring a snail, or any documentation about such a connection either, though Arasse thinks that Umberto would be more than capable of making one up!
So, back to the snail. Arasse talks of the importance of axes in a painting. Notice how you can trace a diagonal from the angel’s foot via his hand and the pillar (which often stood for the presence of the divinity in the Annunciation scene), towards the figure of Mary. Then there is the axis which goes diagonally from the snail via the angel’s hand towards the sky and...another snail? Ok, not another snail but the figure of God the Father in the clouds with the Holy Spirit fluttering nearby. Arasse is intrigued that del Cossa has made this Father figure snail shaped. The snail, crawling slowly through the scene might therefore symbolise the slow workings of God’s plan for mankind. Why he waited so long to send his son, for instance.
But Arasse, having floated this theory, is not fully satisfied by the connection. He looks further. He travels to Dresden where the painting is housed at present, and he takes his measuring tape with him. Yes, he measures the snail, and the snail turns out to be quite a gastronomic gastropoda. That's right, he’s a bit on the chunky side, almost as long as the angel’s foot, head to tail. Who ever saw a snail the size of an angel’s foot? Ok, who ever saw an angel’s foot? But the fact remains that the snail is not in proportion with the rest of the painting.
But perhaps he is not in the painting, you say, perhaps he is crawling along the frame.
No, says Arasse, I’ve checked, the snail is within the space of the scene although del Cossa was well known for painting pictures where some of the elements protrude beyond the space of the picture.
So why is the snail so big, Arasse asks?
Please, sir, I say, the fact that he is so big supports my theory: the snail might startle Mary at the critical moment and change history. The artist might be trying to say there could have been another outcome.
No, no, says Arasse, the snail is out of proportion because the artist has a different message entirely. The snail’s disproportion serves to underline that the elaborate architectural interior is a trompe l’oeil. It doesn’t stand up. The pillar starts at a distance from the wall behind it but finishes at the point where the wall and ceiling meet. The space behind Mary is impossible, given all the furniture it seems to contain, including a bed. The walls are too thin to bear the load they carry, etc, etc. So the life sized snail in the foreground proves the fictional nature of the space behind it.
But why, I ask, after all the efforts he made to master perspective, would the artist go out of his way to make it false?
Perspective is about measurement, Arasse says, and God is about the unmeasurable. This was a key idea in the 15th century. The moment of the conception was therefore the moment of the unmeasurable entering the measurable, the undefinable becoming defined, the invisible becoming visible, nothing becoming something.
And we remember that in the title of this book, 'On n’y voit rien', rien meaning nothing, is not nothing after all, it is something, it is what we don't see at first, it is what we discover when we take the time to really look.
That's what I learned from these essays: to 'look' at paintings more carefully.
And 'looking' is also a key theme in Ali Smith's How to Be Both—which I eventually finished.
January 14, 2018
I ordered this book after reading Fionnuala’s compelling review , and then I encountered other books by Arasse in the shop of the Prado museum. There I also bought Histoires de peintures and L'Homme en jeu: les génies de la Renaissance.
For me the title is mostly an invitation to look, to look closely, when approaching a painting. In six unconnected essays—unconnected except that they all advocate for an attentive observation of the art work at hand—Arasse explores various paintings that range from the Ferrarese Francesco del Cossa, to the Spaniard Velázquez, with the Italians Tintoretto and Titian and the northerners Bruegel and Bosch forming part of the gallery as well.
Arasse has chosen either the epistolary form (Cara Giulia) or the Socratic dialogue (the rest of the chapters) for his very colloquial essays. With the letter to Giulia I found myself trying to work out who this art historian could be. I kept thinking it was not a fictional character. With the dialogues I felt as if Manny had written them, for they are as entertaining as his reviews.
Arasse’s goal--to insist on the close looking and to forget about the abused reliance on texts and fixed and convoluted iconography--is very convincing in his discussion of Tintoretto's Venus and Mars surprised by Vulcan. The image that we see in the mirror at the back of the room is not the mirrored image of the Vulcan we see in the foreground. Arasse makes us realise that it is that reflected image, and not a textual and allegorical interpretation of the story (Ovid), that tells us what is the scene really about. That mirror tells us that this is not so much a ridiculed and deceived Vulcan but rather an explicit sexual scene. -- For which patron, one of the Gonzagas? Or, rather, for one of his courtesans?
The essay on the "Gaze of the Snail" is very appealing, and Fionnuala’s review focuses on this more closely. My only doubt about Arasse’s discussion of the snail in Francesco del Cossa’s "Annunciation" (c. 1470) is that he has forgotten that there is another snail in an albeit later Italian painting, the "Sacra Conversazione" by Carlo Crivelli (c 1490), that could support the iconographic interpretation of the snail associated with Mary’s virginity. Crivelli’s painting is a devotional and not a narrative image and there is no fancy play with the perspective of the scene.
I particularly enjoyed the chapter discussing Bruegel’s "Adoration of the Magi", which I read, appropriately, on Epiphany day. Arasse focuses on the black magi (whom he mistakenly calls Gaspard when the popular tradition is that he is Balthazar), because he sees him, who looks out into the abstract space out of the painting, as a guide for us, the onlookers, on how are we supposed to look at this painting. The Adoration being, after all, a scene of looking.
Arasse’s thesis, although valid, can run into trouble. Dealing with texts cannot supplant the looking but forgetting about them can lead to mistaken interpretations. In Velazquez’s "Las Meninas", one of his arguments is based on the assumption that the painting was called ‘A family portrait’ up to 1843, when its title was changed to the current one. This is not so. The first recorded title, in the 1666 inventory, was ‘Portrait of the Empress and her Ladies and one Dwarf’. Although painted in 1656 the princess had married the Austrian Emperor Leopold I in 1663. The painting acquired the title that Arasse uses in 1734, so it cannot be used as a basis for discussing Velazquez’s intentions.
One additional irritating aspect in these chatty, tongue-in-cheek essays is that he alludes to other authors and their interpretations without including the references. But all in all this is an enjoyable read and it does succeed in reminding us that we have to be more attentive, more careful, more observant, more aware and when we revere and look at paintings.
My next Arasse will be his Histoires de peintures
January 22, 2015
Welcome to the refined world of Fine Art.
This book is a naughty buffet of scrumptious mischief.
In these six pieces, each (but one) focusing mostly on one specific painting by an old master, the tone is not only conversational, but actual conversation, albeit one-sided. Fictional dialog in the form of letters, interviews, light-hearted arguments, and an account of one character's visit to a museum and discovery of a startling surprise, all zero in on one seemingly negligible detail in a painting and move it to the center of wickedly meticulous explication and speculation. This is not like other fine art books: an unheard-of playfulness abounds throughout, which is not to say the author abandons rigor (he was a professor of art history at the Sorbonne, so clearly no slouch in the cred dep't.).
But the obsessive focus on the minor (or minute) features of a painting is never tedious; it's saved from that with interpretations that range from strange to positively unacceptable. Ever see one of the many versions of the Adoration of the Magi nativity scene and think that that one gray pervy-looking wise man was checking out the christ-child's dick? You will after reading the "Paint it Black" address on one of Bruegel the Elder's versions of this scene. It not only supplies ample support for such a Rabelaisian suggestion but ties it to The Council of Trent, contemporary concepts of race, the universality of the Christian message, the myth of Prester John, holy relic madness, Calvin, and the, uh, fleshly incarnation of deity. It's a SHOCKER!
In others: a reflective surface is showing a moment from the future; a snail and God are curious analogs connected across the axis of an angel's x-ray vision; Mary Magdaline was actually a "composite" character, a medial Mary between evil Eve and the perfect Virgin, as evidenced by her hair (public and pubic).
Although it's loaded with historical context and background on painterly conventions of any particular work's time, Arasse does not do a simple semiotic/iconographic "this stands for that" kind of interpretation; most of his observations draw out relationships between different elements within the paintings, revealing all sorts of fascinating interplay through the examination of this axis, that line-of-sight, or some subtle symmetry that leaps out once he points us to it by blocking off some parts of the whole or zooming in on a cropped frame of focus.The eye-opening effect, for me anyway, extended well beyond the subjects of his speculation.
No summary of mine could convey the book's seamless fusion of learnedness and sauciness. I'm certainly not qualified to judge the former, but even at the few points where his case seems to strain I was made aware of things in the painting I would either have not noticed or whose function within the whole would have been lost on me. I was never quite sure whether the author was educating me on little-known truths about these works, or if I was being punked and, in the process, tricked into seeing these works anew with an enlivened sense of their depth and complexity. Either way, it's all good.
My only complaint is that this book should be bigger, one of those serving-tray-sized coffee table books. My copy is a bit too small to appreciate fully all the detail in the paintings, despite the high quality of the reproductions. This also would have saved me some flipping back and forth from text to plate.
To pump up the funness I have a suggestion for your reading: first study the subject painting with an eye out for details you might ordinarily pass over, look for ambiguities, and hypothesize about what is going on. Challenge the writing to surprise you when you get to it.
It will.
This book is a naughty buffet of scrumptious mischief.
In these six pieces, each (but one) focusing mostly on one specific painting by an old master, the tone is not only conversational, but actual conversation, albeit one-sided. Fictional dialog in the form of letters, interviews, light-hearted arguments, and an account of one character's visit to a museum and discovery of a startling surprise, all zero in on one seemingly negligible detail in a painting and move it to the center of wickedly meticulous explication and speculation. This is not like other fine art books: an unheard-of playfulness abounds throughout, which is not to say the author abandons rigor (he was a professor of art history at the Sorbonne, so clearly no slouch in the cred dep't.).
But the obsessive focus on the minor (or minute) features of a painting is never tedious; it's saved from that with interpretations that range from strange to positively unacceptable. Ever see one of the many versions of the Adoration of the Magi nativity scene and think that that one gray pervy-looking wise man was checking out the christ-child's dick? You will after reading the "Paint it Black" address on one of Bruegel the Elder's versions of this scene. It not only supplies ample support for such a Rabelaisian suggestion but ties it to The Council of Trent, contemporary concepts of race, the universality of the Christian message, the myth of Prester John, holy relic madness, Calvin, and the, uh, fleshly incarnation of deity. It's a SHOCKER!
In others: a reflective surface is showing a moment from the future; a snail and God are curious analogs connected across the axis of an angel's x-ray vision; Mary Magdaline was actually a "composite" character, a medial Mary between evil Eve and the perfect Virgin, as evidenced by her hair (public and pubic).
Although it's loaded with historical context and background on painterly conventions of any particular work's time, Arasse does not do a simple semiotic/iconographic "this stands for that" kind of interpretation; most of his observations draw out relationships between different elements within the paintings, revealing all sorts of fascinating interplay through the examination of this axis, that line-of-sight, or some subtle symmetry that leaps out once he points us to it by blocking off some parts of the whole or zooming in on a cropped frame of focus.The eye-opening effect, for me anyway, extended well beyond the subjects of his speculation.
No summary of mine could convey the book's seamless fusion of learnedness and sauciness. I'm certainly not qualified to judge the former, but even at the few points where his case seems to strain I was made aware of things in the painting I would either have not noticed or whose function within the whole would have been lost on me. I was never quite sure whether the author was educating me on little-known truths about these works, or if I was being punked and, in the process, tricked into seeing these works anew with an enlivened sense of their depth and complexity. Either way, it's all good.
My only complaint is that this book should be bigger, one of those serving-tray-sized coffee table books. My copy is a bit too small to appreciate fully all the detail in the paintings, despite the high quality of the reproductions. This also would have saved me some flipping back and forth from text to plate.
To pump up the funness I have a suggestion for your reading: first study the subject painting with an eye out for details you might ordinarily pass over, look for ambiguities, and hypothesize about what is going on. Challenge the writing to surprise you when you get to it.
It will.
February 4, 2015
Encore un livre de vulgarisation délibérément mal écrit, dans un style de langue parlée très relâché, gratuitement grossier, avec une fatigante complaisance pour les inélégances, et malgré tout horriblement pédant, charriant un tombereau de pseudo-références philosophiques balancées sans queue ni tête.
Comme l'ensemble est anti-pédagogique au possible, on apprend presque rien, sinon des futilités oiseuses. Les reproductions des tableaux sont affreuses, en noir et blanc, pas nettes, toutes rassemblées au milieu. Bref, à fuir, sauf si vous ambitionnez de devenir une plaie pour vos commensaux. Seul point positif: il se lit (et s'oublie) très vite.
December 29, 2020
A brilliant epistolary exploration of famous paintings, how they came to be so very known and what are the details that we tend to skip. What do we do with all of this knowledge? How do we notice more than is usual? How do we go about interpreting interesting and a teensy tad tongue in cheek details on the pictures?
November 12, 2019
Uzun zamandır kitap yorumu yazmadığım için aşırı heyecanlıyım ve "Yakın Bakış: Resim Okumaları"nı okurken sürekli nasıl bir yorum yazacağımı düşündüm. Bir sanat tarihçisi olduğum ve dört sene bir üniversitede okuyup "DÖRT SENE" sanat tarihi hakkında her şeyi öğrenmeye çalıştığım, Avrupa sanatı hakkında bir çok şey öğrendiğimi de önbilgilendirme olarak size vermek istedim.
Kitap size sanat dünyasını daha iyi anlayabileceğiniz bir kapı açmak için yazılmış, en azından okurken bu hissiyatı veriyor.
Yakın Bakış: Resim Okumaları benim gibi, benden çok çok daha usta -ve büyük ihtimalle hiç varamayacağım bir noktada olan- sanat tarihçisi Daniel Arasse tarafından 6 bölüme ayrılarak yazılmış. Bu altı bölümde dil o kadar yalın, o kadar sizinle konuşurmuş gibi ki okuduklarınızı hemen anlayabileceğinizden oldukça eminim. Öte yandan dil o kadar laubali, o kadar günlük tarzında ki aralarda sizi de rahatsız edebilir.
Altı bölümde yazılmış dedim. Fakat bu bölümleri söylemedim. Aslında biraz da onlar üzerinden konuşmak istiyorum;
- Cara Giulia (Tintoretto Vulcanus'un Bastığı Mars ile Venüs üzerine yazılmış bir mektup)
- Salyangozum Bakışı (Francesco del Cossa - Meryem'e Müjde sahnesindeki salyangoz)
- Kara Bir Göz (Older Bruegel - Müneccim Kralların Tapınması)
- Mecdelli'nin Etek Kılları (Mecdelli Meryem'in kim olduğuna ve eserlerde nasıl geçtiğine dair bir yazı)
- Sandıktaki Kadın (Tiziano - Urbino Venüsü)
- Ustanın Gözü (Velasquez - Nedimeler)
Her bölümde, her farklı tablonun analizinin yapılışında Daniel Arasse farklı tarzlar benimseyerek kaleme almış. Birinci bölümde bir mektup okurken, beşinci bölümde bir söyleşi okuyoruz. Yazım tarzına hiç bir şey söylemiyorum, gerçekten herkesin anlayabileceği tarzda yazılmış. Fakat bu kitaptan fazlasını bekliyorsanız -fazlasından kastım durun şunu tezimde kullanayım vb bir düşünceniz varsa- beklentinizi sıfıra indirin. Size farklı bakış açıları sunabilir, size sanatı nasıl yorumlayabileceğinizi de öğretebilir. Ama bir noktaya kadar öğretebilir.
Genel hatlarıyla ben "Yakın Bakış: Resim Okumaları"nı sevdim. Herhangi bir Avrupa sanatı dersi alıyormuşum gibi geldi. Eğer benim gibi sanat tarihi okuduysanız büyük ihtimalle size de öyle gelebilir.
Kitap size sanat dünyasını daha iyi anlayabileceğiniz bir kapı açmak için yazılmış, en azından okurken bu hissiyatı veriyor.
Yakın Bakış: Resim Okumaları benim gibi, benden çok çok daha usta -ve büyük ihtimalle hiç varamayacağım bir noktada olan- sanat tarihçisi Daniel Arasse tarafından 6 bölüme ayrılarak yazılmış. Bu altı bölümde dil o kadar yalın, o kadar sizinle konuşurmuş gibi ki okuduklarınızı hemen anlayabileceğinizden oldukça eminim. Öte yandan dil o kadar laubali, o kadar günlük tarzında ki aralarda sizi de rahatsız edebilir.
Altı bölümde yazılmış dedim. Fakat bu bölümleri söylemedim. Aslında biraz da onlar üzerinden konuşmak istiyorum;
- Cara Giulia (Tintoretto Vulcanus'un Bastığı Mars ile Venüs üzerine yazılmış bir mektup)
- Salyangozum Bakışı (Francesco del Cossa - Meryem'e Müjde sahnesindeki salyangoz)
- Kara Bir Göz (Older Bruegel - Müneccim Kralların Tapınması)
- Mecdelli'nin Etek Kılları (Mecdelli Meryem'in kim olduğuna ve eserlerde nasıl geçtiğine dair bir yazı)
- Sandıktaki Kadın (Tiziano - Urbino Venüsü)
- Ustanın Gözü (Velasquez - Nedimeler)
Her bölümde, her farklı tablonun analizinin yapılışında Daniel Arasse farklı tarzlar benimseyerek kaleme almış. Birinci bölümde bir mektup okurken, beşinci bölümde bir söyleşi okuyoruz. Yazım tarzına hiç bir şey söylemiyorum, gerçekten herkesin anlayabileceği tarzda yazılmış. Fakat bu kitaptan fazlasını bekliyorsanız -fazlasından kastım durun şunu tezimde kullanayım vb bir düşünceniz varsa- beklentinizi sıfıra indirin. Size farklı bakış açıları sunabilir, size sanatı nasıl yorumlayabileceğinizi de öğretebilir. Ama bir noktaya kadar öğretebilir.
Genel hatlarıyla ben "Yakın Bakış: Resim Okumaları"nı sevdim. Herhangi bir Avrupa sanatı dersi alıyormuşum gibi geldi. Eğer benim gibi sanat tarihi okuduysanız büyük ihtimalle size de öyle gelebilir.
August 12, 2019
Unfortunately, Daniel Arasse left us some years ago, but he did leave behind some incredible books. On n'y voit rien is an excellent book which takes several paintings such as the splendid Venus d'Urbino of Titian and religious themes such as Mary Magdalene and treats each one using a different narrative technique: conversational, episcopal, argumentative...it is actually hard to categorize because I don't know of any other books like it. I really enjoyed his humor and his insight into the works of art that he analyzed with such amazing penache. I think this one is translated into English and I HIGHLY recommend it for those who have a passing fascination with art, but don't quite know exactly why. Arasse is here at his wittiest and yet still erudite without being condescending, a super feat indeed!
August 23, 2020
6 ayrı metinden oluşuyor, 5 eser incelenmiş. her biri farklı bir türde yazılmış ve dil akışı çok tutucu. 5 ayrı dilden kelimeler, kitabın içinden seslenmelere rastlanıyor sürekli, sohbet eder gibi kolaylıkla okunan bir kitap. bu sohbetlerin de çekici ve/bir ironik havası var. ancak kitapta incelenen eserlerin baskısı çok kalitesiz, eserleri ayrıca internetten açmanız gerekiyor.
sunulduğunun aksine giriş seviyesine yönelik olduğunu düşünmüyorum, en azından belli bir aşinalıktan sonra kitap daha iyi anlaşılabilir.
bu linkte içeriği özetlenmiş: https://twitter.com/CelineSymbioss/st...
sunulduğunun aksine giriş seviyesine yönelik olduğunu düşünmüyorum, en azından belli bir aşinalıktan sonra kitap daha iyi anlaşılabilir.
bu linkte içeriği özetlenmiş: https://twitter.com/CelineSymbioss/st...
November 9, 2024
J’ai absolument adoré lire cet ouvrage - dynamique, captivant, brillant, drôle (même si l’humour est parfois un peu lourd)
Daniel Arasse s’entête à transformer notre représentation de l’histoire de l’art (ainsi que notre manière de regarder les tableaux) et il y réussit franchement bien
Après avoir fini ce bouquin je suis allée au Louvre et au musée d’Orsay en un même week-end pour vous dire comment il m’a convaincue
Daniel Arasse s’entête à transformer notre représentation de l’histoire de l’art (ainsi que notre manière de regarder les tableaux) et il y réussit franchement bien
Après avoir fini ce bouquin je suis allée au Louvre et au musée d’Orsay en un même week-end pour vous dire comment il m’a convaincue
June 14, 2024
En vrai dès qu’il parle pas trop de femmes il est basé
August 21, 2021
Pena que Arasse morreu cedo e não pode escrever mais.
October 9, 2022
The late Daniel Arasse was a French art critic and historian, who specialized in the Italian Renaissance, and became famous outside academia for his vulgarization work. In On n'y voit rien: Descriptions, Arasse continues with his work of vulgarization, though specialists might also learn a thing or two by picking up this book.
Written three years before Arasse`s premature death, in OOn n'y voit rien he analyzes five paintings and one art theme (Mary Magdelene`s and her long hair). Each essay is written in a distinctive style – such as a letter, a dialogue, a monologue, a professor in front of a class – and without academic jargon. Arasse analyzes each work by close looking, observing each oeuvre closely to find meaning where, at first, it can be difficult to see any. Some of his other tools are comparisons made with other paintings, discussions of mores and customs of the XV-XVII centuries and, very sparsely, discussions of other art historians and critics that have written about the subject in hand. In my Brazilian edition, the translators added a reference whenever another author was cited, something that came in very handy.
I found the first four essays, the shorter ones, truly fascinating. It seems to me that Arasse had a lot of fun writing these chapters and truly let his creativity and immense knowledge flow. I mean, he wrote a whole essay pretty much because of the small snail in Francesco del Cossa`s The Annunciation.
His look at the black magus in Brugel`s Adoration of the Kings is intriguing....
...while his unpacking of the creation of Mary Magdalene and her long hair is captivating.
My edition came with a coloured reproduction of each work, along with large-scale reproductions of details mentioned by Arasse. If your edition does not have this perk, you`ll have to read it sitting next to your computer and google each work, after all, if we are to follow Arasse, you must closely look to understand.
October 4, 2017
Occhio curioso, insieme immediato e profondo, Arasse è capace di restituire grande freschezza alla lettura delle opere. Non è storia dell'arte, probabilmente nemmeno critica, è altro. È anche estremamente divertente (anche se a volte si lascia prendere la mano dall'ironia e dal linguaggio "basso").
May 11, 2018
Resim sanatına ilgi duyanlara tavsiye edebileceğim bir kitap, dili çok akıcı, resim çözümlemeleri de oldukça bilgilendirici, keyifle okunuyor.
August 4, 2025
Petit banger en vrai je l'ai trouvé hyper accessible et plutôt complet sur les différents aspects d'analyse franchement je m'attendais pas a le lire aussi facilement
October 27, 2017
Bien que cette lecture soit mieux passée que l'Histoires de peintures, elle ne s'avère pourtant pas être une réussite puisque ma lecture fut longue et même quelques fois lassante. J'ai un problème avec l'écriture de cet auteur, je trouve qu'il tente de vulgariser son propos tout en lâchant des références assez pointues à tout bout de champs, en utilisant des genres et registres variés à souhait, ce qui donne une sorte de recueils assez déroutant à mis chemin entre l'essai historique analytique et le discours comique. Je ne pense pas relire cet auteur de sitôt.
July 30, 2021
I did enjoy the playful and witty manner of the author at first, but with every essay it got more and more cringy until I almost could not stand the way he put his thoughts in the last chapter, his attempts to fratenize with the reader. It was my impression that his tone was more condescending than flirtatious (an impression intensified by the absolute lack of any explanation on intricate references and quotations of various art historicians; some of them I knew, but some - even google was doubtful). I like Arasse's meticulousness to details, but my feeling was that he gets you caught in the mire of his thoughtline and, while you are roaming around trying to crawl your way out, he makes far-fetched statements which are really hard to comprehend, because you are still exhausted after previous mental exercises. Maybe if I read one essay in a month, I would be able to digest it and concentrate only on positives (which are plenty, his experience and high intellect are non-arguable), but reading that many in a row left me more bitter than pleased.
November 9, 2010
Una dintre cele mai interesante cărţi de istoria artei pe care le-am citit. În şase ficţiuni narative relativ scurte, Daniel Arasse ne propune o incursiune prin lumea a şase tablouri celebre (Marte şi Venus surpinşi de Vulcan de Tintoretto, Bunavestire a lui Francesco de la Cosa, Adoraţia magilor a lui Pieter Bruegel cel Bătrân, Venus din Urbino de Tiziano, Olympia lui Edourad Manet şi Meninele sau Familia lui Filip al IV-lea a lui Velázquez), un fel de aventură a privirii, la finalul căreia ne demonstrează că deşi s-a vorbit şi s-a scris mult despre aceste picturi, lumea nu vede nimic din ce ne arată ele de fapt.
October 14, 2021
There some interesting concepts and theories here, especially after today's seminar where they were talked and interpreted. Really intriguing!
March 2, 2024
Intéressant mais je reste dubitative sur certaines explications
June 28, 2024
3,5/5
des fois c’est troooop bien et des fois c’est troooop chiant.
big up à l’adoration des mages c’était vraiment un banger.
c’est bon je suis une vraie histoirenne de l’art à présent !
des fois c’est troooop bien et des fois c’est troooop chiant.
big up à l’adoration des mages c’était vraiment un banger.
c’est bon je suis une vraie histoirenne de l’art à présent !
May 12, 2025
Très drôle cet Arasse
October 1, 2020
One doesn't have to agree to all the theories he evokes, but he does point out interesting questions regarding our way of interpreting artworks.
questions raised :
est-ce que toutes les oeuvres à l'époque (avant le XXe siècle) avaient un but moralisant?
il y a toujours plusieurs façons d'interpréter une oeuvre...
fav quotes :
"comment se fait-il qu'au moment d'interpréter certaines oeuvres, nous puissions être aussi loin l'un de l'autre? Je ne prétends pas que les oeuvres n'auraient qu'un seul sens et qu'il n'y en aurait donc qu'une seule 'bonne' interprétation." (p.11)
"tu sembles à tout prix, à certains moments, vouloir interposer entre toi et l'oeuvre, une sorte de filtre solaire qui te protégerait de l'éclat de l'oeuvre et préserverait les habitudes acquises dans lesquelles se fonde et se reconnaît notre communauté académique." (p.11-12) ; il ne faudrait donc pas regarder une oeuvre en cherchant comment elle explique une théorie / une morale /etc
"Ce n'est pas parce que ces textes existent, ce n'est même pas parce qu'ils auraient été publiés en même temps que le tableau était peint qu'ils contribuent nécessairement à expliquer ce tableau. Ce serait trop simple. Il peut exister, au même moment dans une même société, des points de vue ou des attitudes contradictoires." (p.14)
"Tout ce qui est inhabituel n'est pas nécessairement allégorique. Ça peut être sophistiqué, paradoxal, parodique, je ne sais pas." (p.15)
"je n'ai pas eu besoin de textes pour voir ce qui se passe dans le tableau.[...] On dirait que tu pars des textes, que tu as besoin de textes pour interpréter les tableaux, comme si tu ne faisais confiance ni à ton regard pour voir, ni aux tableaux pour te montrer, d'eux-mêmes, ce que le peintre a voulu exprimer." (p.23) ; il critique ainsi la méthode employé par plusieurs historiens de l'art qui cherchent la représentation X dans les oeuvres à la fois de faire le contraire et observer puis analyser et comparer.
"il n'a laissé aucune trace dans les oeuvres d'artistes contemporains. Autrement dit, à peine peint, il disparaît de la circulation. Étonnant tout de même, pour un tableau d'un tel maître..." (p.25) ; a nouveau il souligne le fait qu'il faudrait penser au contexte de l'oeuvre, sa façon non seulement de création mais aussi son lieu d'exposition
"Je n'ai ni texte ni documents d'archives pour prouver ce que j'avance et, donc, ce n'est pas historiquement sérieux. Mais je crains, moi, que ce sérieux historique ne ressemble de plus en plus au "politiquement correct", et je pense qu'il faut se battre contre cette pensée dominante, prétenduement historienne, qui voudrait nous empêcher de penser et nous faire croire qu'il n'y a jamais eu de peintres "incorrects"." (p.26)
-x-
le regard de l'escargot
"il fallait qu'il pût y trouver un sens acceptable aux yeux de ses commanditaires - et de lui-même. Mais la savante n'a pas expliqué ce qu'il fait là, au tout premier plan du tableau, sous notre nez. Et pour cause : ce n'est pas le rôle de l'iconographie. Elle n'a pas à nous sire pourquoi le peintre l'a mis à cet endroit, ça échappe à ses compétences." (p.34)
"je ne crois pas non plus à la "géométrie secrète" des peintres. L'esprit de géométrie règne plus souvent chez l'interprète que chez l'artiste." (p.38) ; faudrait faire ainsi gaffe à la surinterprétation
"ça leur montrait qu'on peut réfléchir quand on regarde un tableau, et que réfléchir n'est pas nécessairement triste." (p.39)
"Il est sur son bord, à la limite entre son espace fictif et l'espace réel d'où nous le regardons." (p.42) ; il ne faut pas oublier que dans un tableau il y a toujours deux espaces à réfléchir sur car la peinture en soi est une surface plane représentative et qui évoque le geste créatif de l'artiste.
"il signale le lieu d'entrée de ce regard dans le tableau." (p.44) ; toujours penser à l'interaction de l'oeuvre avec le spectateur
"L'escargot de Cossa n'est pas un trompe-l'oeil puisqu'il est peint sur le tableau et ne surgit pas de son espace. [...] Autrement dit, comme le vase de Lippi, comme l'escargot de Cossa, la sauterelle de Lotto fixe le lieu de l'entrée de notre regard dans le tableau. Elle ne nous dit pas ce qu'il faut regarder, mais comment regarder ce que nous voyons." (p.47-8)
"elle [la sauterelle de Lotto] est sortie de l'image pour mieux nous y faire entrer. C'est ce que Mauro Lucco a appelé la "perméabilité" qu'elle suggère entre le monde du tableau et le nôtre." (p.50) ; pourrait je appeler l'emploi de vrais fleurs ainsi?
-x-
l'oeil noir
"Bruegel prenait manifestement et résolument le contre-pied de cette tradition" (p.60) ; l'art c'est toujours soit basé sur le consensus soit sur la dispute
"Mais il a fallu attendre 1460 pour trouver le premier roi noir. Il est surpris d'apprendre la raison de cette nouveauté. Le Noir ayant traditionnellement une valeur négative, diabolique, dans la peinture chrétienne, il y tenait le rôle de l'esclave ou du bourreau. Son accession au rang prestigieux de roi mage a de quoi surprendre, sinon même choquer. [...] On le savait depuis longtemps et, pour les théologiens, la noirceur du troisième roi ne faisait aucun doute - alors même qu'on ne la rencontre jamais en peinture." (p.71-2) ; faut toujours regarder le centre du tableau car c'est cela le point le plus important d'une composition [le plus souvent, attention!]
"chez Gaspard, le luxe de l'habit royal devient ostentatoire, cet éclat étant sans doute à la fois autorisé et renforcé par le caractère exotique de la figure, permettant les fantaisies de formes, de matières et de couleurs les plus inventives [...] Ensuite, Gaspard est le plus jeune. Depuis un certain temps déjà, les Mages correspondaient aux 'trois âges de la vie'" (p.74)
"La circoncision prend dans ce contexte une importance considérable : c'est la première fois que le Dieu incarné verse, pour l'humanité, son 'très précieux sang' et c'est par elle, comme le déclare un prédicateur devant le pape Sixte IV, qu''il se révéla authentiquement incarné'." (p.79)
"Beau paradoxe : la peinture est là pour montrer que la foi n'a pas besoin de preuves, visuelles ou tangibles." (p.83)
"la figure du roi noir est désormais, depuis longtemps, trop courante pour signifier un lieu géographique particulier. Devenue banale, elle n'a plus de signification particulière ; elle se contente d'évoquer, à moindres frais, l'universalité de la révélation chrétienne." (p.89)
-x-
la toison de Madeleine
"pour peindre, il faut un pinceau et, un pinceau, c'est du poil. [...] Donc, on a toujours peint à poils. Et ne dites pas que je joue sur les mots : pinceau, qu'est ce que ça veut dire? Hein? D'où ça vient, pinceau? Ça vient du latin et ça veut dire petit pénis. Oui, monsieur, petit pénis, penicillus en latin, c'est Cicéron qui le dit, pinceau, petite queue, petit pénis." (p.119)
"C'est ce que les psys appellent la prise en considération de la figurabilité : quand vous ne pouvez pas vous représenter quelque chose, quand c'est interdit, vous substitutez autre chose qui y ressemble," (p.120)
-x-
la femme dans le coffre
"Si l'art a eu une histoire et s'il continue à en avoir une, c'est bien grâce au travail des artistes et, entre autres, à leur regard sur les oeuvres du passé, à la façon dont ils se les sont appropriées." (p.136) ; intéressant à comparer avec Kandinsky qui dit que chaque oeuvre est le fils de son temps...
"[Panofsky] dit qu'une description 'purement formelle' devrait ne voir que des éléments de composition 'totalement dénués de sens' ou possédant même une 'pluralité de sens' sur le plan spatial. [...] cette identification immédiate, préalable à toute analyse, d'éléments formels à des objets précis, qu'on se dépêche de nommer, empêche de comprendre le travail du peintre et, finalement, fait passer à côté du tableau." (p.140-1) ; comme le professeur a dit, il faut savoir la méthode de Panofsky mais ne pas l'employer dans sa totalité
"on ne devrait pas dire que la [Vénus d'Urbin] est dans un palais parce que l'unité du tableau n'est pas une unité spatiale. Il y a deux lieux, juxtaposés et tenus ensemble par la seule surface du tableau. [le tableau est incohérent]" (p.146-7) ; l'implication que c'est la surface, le support que fait la liaison de la composition est un thème très récurrent dans l'art contemporain...
"pointe de fuite - qui correspond à la position de notre regard face au tableau - et le pointe de distance - qui indique la distance à laquelle nous sommes, en théorie, situés par rapport au tableau et détermine la rapidité de la diminution apparente des grandeurs dans la profondeur." (p.148)
"Comme disent les Anglais, elle est moins nude que naked, moins nue que dénudée. Elle le sait mais n'en éprouve aucune mauvaise conscience. Elle ne connaît pas ce sentiment de honte qui fait toute la différence entre la nudité d'avant et celle d'après le Péché originel" (p.157) ; cela montre l'importance du vocabulaire employé
"dans les années 1860, Manet travaille sur la 'convention primordiale' de la peinture : un tableau est fait pour être regardé." (p.162)
"construire une surface qui regarde le spectateur. Manet a annulé toute perspective. Le tableau n'a aucune profondeur. Il est toute surface, et ce parti est confirmé par une minuscule transformation." (p.166)
"Narcisse est l'inventeur de la peinture parce qu'il suscite une image qu'il désire et qu'il ne peut ni ne doit toucher. Il est sans cesse pris entre le désir de l'embrasser, cette image, et la nécessité de se tenir à distance pour pouvoir la voir. C'est ça, l'érotique de la peinture qu'invente Alberti, [...] C'est exactement ce déplacement, ce retrait du toucher pour le voir que la Vénus d'Urbin nous impose par sa mise en scène. La servante agenouillée touche mais n'y voit rien, nous voyons mais nous ne pouvons pas toucher et, pourtant, la figure nous voit et se touche." (p.172-3) ; c'est la définition d'une image scoptique (?)
-x-
l'oeil du maître
"plutôt que de prétendre en vain fuir l'anachronisme comme la peste, tu es convaincu qu'il vaut mieux, quand c'est possible, le contrôle pour le faire fructifier." (p.180) ; il faut considérer qu'on porte toujours un jugement de notre époque lors des analyses
questions raised :
est-ce que toutes les oeuvres à l'époque (avant le XXe siècle) avaient un but moralisant?
il y a toujours plusieurs façons d'interpréter une oeuvre...
fav quotes :
"comment se fait-il qu'au moment d'interpréter certaines oeuvres, nous puissions être aussi loin l'un de l'autre? Je ne prétends pas que les oeuvres n'auraient qu'un seul sens et qu'il n'y en aurait donc qu'une seule 'bonne' interprétation." (p.11)
"tu sembles à tout prix, à certains moments, vouloir interposer entre toi et l'oeuvre, une sorte de filtre solaire qui te protégerait de l'éclat de l'oeuvre et préserverait les habitudes acquises dans lesquelles se fonde et se reconnaît notre communauté académique." (p.11-12) ; il ne faudrait donc pas regarder une oeuvre en cherchant comment elle explique une théorie / une morale /etc
"Ce n'est pas parce que ces textes existent, ce n'est même pas parce qu'ils auraient été publiés en même temps que le tableau était peint qu'ils contribuent nécessairement à expliquer ce tableau. Ce serait trop simple. Il peut exister, au même moment dans une même société, des points de vue ou des attitudes contradictoires." (p.14)
"Tout ce qui est inhabituel n'est pas nécessairement allégorique. Ça peut être sophistiqué, paradoxal, parodique, je ne sais pas." (p.15)
"je n'ai pas eu besoin de textes pour voir ce qui se passe dans le tableau.[...] On dirait que tu pars des textes, que tu as besoin de textes pour interpréter les tableaux, comme si tu ne faisais confiance ni à ton regard pour voir, ni aux tableaux pour te montrer, d'eux-mêmes, ce que le peintre a voulu exprimer." (p.23) ; il critique ainsi la méthode employé par plusieurs historiens de l'art qui cherchent la représentation X dans les oeuvres à la fois de faire le contraire et observer puis analyser et comparer.
"il n'a laissé aucune trace dans les oeuvres d'artistes contemporains. Autrement dit, à peine peint, il disparaît de la circulation. Étonnant tout de même, pour un tableau d'un tel maître..." (p.25) ; a nouveau il souligne le fait qu'il faudrait penser au contexte de l'oeuvre, sa façon non seulement de création mais aussi son lieu d'exposition
"Je n'ai ni texte ni documents d'archives pour prouver ce que j'avance et, donc, ce n'est pas historiquement sérieux. Mais je crains, moi, que ce sérieux historique ne ressemble de plus en plus au "politiquement correct", et je pense qu'il faut se battre contre cette pensée dominante, prétenduement historienne, qui voudrait nous empêcher de penser et nous faire croire qu'il n'y a jamais eu de peintres "incorrects"." (p.26)
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le regard de l'escargot
"il fallait qu'il pût y trouver un sens acceptable aux yeux de ses commanditaires - et de lui-même. Mais la savante n'a pas expliqué ce qu'il fait là, au tout premier plan du tableau, sous notre nez. Et pour cause : ce n'est pas le rôle de l'iconographie. Elle n'a pas à nous sire pourquoi le peintre l'a mis à cet endroit, ça échappe à ses compétences." (p.34)
"je ne crois pas non plus à la "géométrie secrète" des peintres. L'esprit de géométrie règne plus souvent chez l'interprète que chez l'artiste." (p.38) ; faudrait faire ainsi gaffe à la surinterprétation
"ça leur montrait qu'on peut réfléchir quand on regarde un tableau, et que réfléchir n'est pas nécessairement triste." (p.39)
"Il est sur son bord, à la limite entre son espace fictif et l'espace réel d'où nous le regardons." (p.42) ; il ne faut pas oublier que dans un tableau il y a toujours deux espaces à réfléchir sur car la peinture en soi est une surface plane représentative et qui évoque le geste créatif de l'artiste.
"il signale le lieu d'entrée de ce regard dans le tableau." (p.44) ; toujours penser à l'interaction de l'oeuvre avec le spectateur
"L'escargot de Cossa n'est pas un trompe-l'oeil puisqu'il est peint sur le tableau et ne surgit pas de son espace. [...] Autrement dit, comme le vase de Lippi, comme l'escargot de Cossa, la sauterelle de Lotto fixe le lieu de l'entrée de notre regard dans le tableau. Elle ne nous dit pas ce qu'il faut regarder, mais comment regarder ce que nous voyons." (p.47-8)
"elle [la sauterelle de Lotto] est sortie de l'image pour mieux nous y faire entrer. C'est ce que Mauro Lucco a appelé la "perméabilité" qu'elle suggère entre le monde du tableau et le nôtre." (p.50) ; pourrait je appeler l'emploi de vrais fleurs ainsi?
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l'oeil noir
"Bruegel prenait manifestement et résolument le contre-pied de cette tradition" (p.60) ; l'art c'est toujours soit basé sur le consensus soit sur la dispute
"Mais il a fallu attendre 1460 pour trouver le premier roi noir. Il est surpris d'apprendre la raison de cette nouveauté. Le Noir ayant traditionnellement une valeur négative, diabolique, dans la peinture chrétienne, il y tenait le rôle de l'esclave ou du bourreau. Son accession au rang prestigieux de roi mage a de quoi surprendre, sinon même choquer. [...] On le savait depuis longtemps et, pour les théologiens, la noirceur du troisième roi ne faisait aucun doute - alors même qu'on ne la rencontre jamais en peinture." (p.71-2) ; faut toujours regarder le centre du tableau car c'est cela le point le plus important d'une composition [le plus souvent, attention!]
"chez Gaspard, le luxe de l'habit royal devient ostentatoire, cet éclat étant sans doute à la fois autorisé et renforcé par le caractère exotique de la figure, permettant les fantaisies de formes, de matières et de couleurs les plus inventives [...] Ensuite, Gaspard est le plus jeune. Depuis un certain temps déjà, les Mages correspondaient aux 'trois âges de la vie'" (p.74)
"La circoncision prend dans ce contexte une importance considérable : c'est la première fois que le Dieu incarné verse, pour l'humanité, son 'très précieux sang' et c'est par elle, comme le déclare un prédicateur devant le pape Sixte IV, qu''il se révéla authentiquement incarné'." (p.79)
"Beau paradoxe : la peinture est là pour montrer que la foi n'a pas besoin de preuves, visuelles ou tangibles." (p.83)
"la figure du roi noir est désormais, depuis longtemps, trop courante pour signifier un lieu géographique particulier. Devenue banale, elle n'a plus de signification particulière ; elle se contente d'évoquer, à moindres frais, l'universalité de la révélation chrétienne." (p.89)
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la toison de Madeleine
"pour peindre, il faut un pinceau et, un pinceau, c'est du poil. [...] Donc, on a toujours peint à poils. Et ne dites pas que je joue sur les mots : pinceau, qu'est ce que ça veut dire? Hein? D'où ça vient, pinceau? Ça vient du latin et ça veut dire petit pénis. Oui, monsieur, petit pénis, penicillus en latin, c'est Cicéron qui le dit, pinceau, petite queue, petit pénis." (p.119)
"C'est ce que les psys appellent la prise en considération de la figurabilité : quand vous ne pouvez pas vous représenter quelque chose, quand c'est interdit, vous substitutez autre chose qui y ressemble," (p.120)
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la femme dans le coffre
"Si l'art a eu une histoire et s'il continue à en avoir une, c'est bien grâce au travail des artistes et, entre autres, à leur regard sur les oeuvres du passé, à la façon dont ils se les sont appropriées." (p.136) ; intéressant à comparer avec Kandinsky qui dit que chaque oeuvre est le fils de son temps...
"[Panofsky] dit qu'une description 'purement formelle' devrait ne voir que des éléments de composition 'totalement dénués de sens' ou possédant même une 'pluralité de sens' sur le plan spatial. [...] cette identification immédiate, préalable à toute analyse, d'éléments formels à des objets précis, qu'on se dépêche de nommer, empêche de comprendre le travail du peintre et, finalement, fait passer à côté du tableau." (p.140-1) ; comme le professeur a dit, il faut savoir la méthode de Panofsky mais ne pas l'employer dans sa totalité
"on ne devrait pas dire que la [Vénus d'Urbin] est dans un palais parce que l'unité du tableau n'est pas une unité spatiale. Il y a deux lieux, juxtaposés et tenus ensemble par la seule surface du tableau. [le tableau est incohérent]" (p.146-7) ; l'implication que c'est la surface, le support que fait la liaison de la composition est un thème très récurrent dans l'art contemporain...
"pointe de fuite - qui correspond à la position de notre regard face au tableau - et le pointe de distance - qui indique la distance à laquelle nous sommes, en théorie, situés par rapport au tableau et détermine la rapidité de la diminution apparente des grandeurs dans la profondeur." (p.148)
"Comme disent les Anglais, elle est moins nude que naked, moins nue que dénudée. Elle le sait mais n'en éprouve aucune mauvaise conscience. Elle ne connaît pas ce sentiment de honte qui fait toute la différence entre la nudité d'avant et celle d'après le Péché originel" (p.157) ; cela montre l'importance du vocabulaire employé
"dans les années 1860, Manet travaille sur la 'convention primordiale' de la peinture : un tableau est fait pour être regardé." (p.162)
"construire une surface qui regarde le spectateur. Manet a annulé toute perspective. Le tableau n'a aucune profondeur. Il est toute surface, et ce parti est confirmé par une minuscule transformation." (p.166)
"Narcisse est l'inventeur de la peinture parce qu'il suscite une image qu'il désire et qu'il ne peut ni ne doit toucher. Il est sans cesse pris entre le désir de l'embrasser, cette image, et la nécessité de se tenir à distance pour pouvoir la voir. C'est ça, l'érotique de la peinture qu'invente Alberti, [...] C'est exactement ce déplacement, ce retrait du toucher pour le voir que la Vénus d'Urbin nous impose par sa mise en scène. La servante agenouillée touche mais n'y voit rien, nous voyons mais nous ne pouvons pas toucher et, pourtant, la figure nous voit et se touche." (p.172-3) ; c'est la définition d'une image scoptique (?)
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l'oeil du maître
"plutôt que de prétendre en vain fuir l'anachronisme comme la peste, tu es convaincu qu'il vaut mieux, quand c'est possible, le contrôle pour le faire fructifier." (p.180) ; il faut considérer qu'on porte toujours un jugement de notre époque lors des analyses
October 16, 2024
Dernier chapitre moins intéressant mais une approche de l'histoire fluide et très accessible tout en gardant beaucoup d'humour. Slay
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January 12, 2014Pentru mine, cartea lui Daniel Arasse nu e neapărat o carte de istoria artei. I-aş spune mai degrabă o carte de eseuri despre istoria artei – 6 eseuri, pornind de la 6 imagini. Şi aş adăuga că, dacă istoria artei s-ar scrie în discursul şi dinamismul acestei cărţi, atunci numai istoria artei ar fi trebuit să citesc până acum şi de acum încolo. Dar nu am făcut-o, pentru că istoria artei, cea pe care o ştiu eu, nu e scrisă colocvial, antrenant, în scrisori, cu întrebări adresate ţie, cu nerv şi ironie – ci academist, scolastic. De aia nu vedeam nimic.
Cartea îşi anunţă de la bun început spectaculosul şi bine face, pentru că oricât de marketing pe faţă se numeşte asta, livrează: nu cred că m-aş fi apropiat la fel de curioasă de ea dacă se numea doar Nu vedeţi nimic, sau Nu vedeţi nimic, o carte de istoria artei. Acel istoria artei fără nimic spectaculos mi-ar fi trezit instant toate prejudecăţile legate de o lectură greoaie, de care, recunosc, chiar nu aveam chef de Crăciun. (continuarea recenziei: http://bookaholic.ro/9415.html)
Cartea îşi anunţă de la bun început spectaculosul şi bine face, pentru că oricât de marketing pe faţă se numeşte asta, livrează: nu cred că m-aş fi apropiat la fel de curioasă de ea dacă se numea doar Nu vedeţi nimic, sau Nu vedeţi nimic, o carte de istoria artei. Acel istoria artei fără nimic spectaculos mi-ar fi trezit instant toate prejudecăţile legate de o lectură greoaie, de care, recunosc, chiar nu aveam chef de Crăciun. (continuarea recenziei: http://bookaholic.ro/9415.html)
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August 26, 2025Toujours un plaisir de lire Daniel Arasse, ça donne l'impression d'y connaître qqch en histoire de l'art, alors que ...
March 28, 2025
„Да гледаш и да виждаш“ – по принцип не чета подобна литература, но тази книга се оказа увлекателно написана. За мен тук важно е заглавието – то е friendly reminder, че човек трябва да си задава въпроси, що се отнася до възприемането на изкуството. Да гледа навън, но да гледа и навътре в себе си.
Книгата съдържа описания на картини от класически художници. На пръв поглед изглежда, че Даниел Арас се опитва да ги анализира и тълкува, но трудът му не е от типа „какво е искал да каже авторът“. Тълкуването винаги е субективно (понякога дори може да навлезе в сферата на спекулациите). Тук Арас по-скоро дава насока на погледа и предлага идеи.
Важното е човек винаги да си задава въпроси, когато възприема изкуство – както картините не бива само да се гледат, така и музиката не трябва просто да се слуша, литературата не само да се чете.
Да провокира мисли, чувства и емоции, следователно да виждаш, мислиш и усещаш – това е целта на изкуството.
Книгата съдържа описания на картини от класически художници. На пръв поглед изглежда, че Даниел Арас се опитва да ги анализира и тълкува, но трудът му не е от типа „какво е искал да каже авторът“. Тълкуването винаги е субективно (понякога дори може да навлезе в сферата на спекулациите). Тук Арас по-скоро дава насока на погледа и предлага идеи.
Важното е човек винаги да си задава въпроси, когато възприема изкуство – както картините не бива само да се гледат, така и музиката не трябва просто да се слуша, литературата не само да се чете.
Да провокира мисли, чувства и емоции, следователно да виждаш, мислиш и усещаш – това е целта на изкуството.
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