There was a time, five hundred years ago, when science was regarded as an art, and art as a science. And in the contest between the senses, the ear, through which we had previously received all knowledge and the word of God, was conquered by the eye, which would henceforth be king. A new breed of painters aimed to reconcile the world of the senses with that of the mind, and their goal was to conceal themselves in the details and vanish away, like God. A new way of perceiving was born.
Anita Albus describes the birth and evolution of trompe-l'oeil painting in oils in the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries, focusing her attention on works by northern European artists—both major and minor. As a scholar, she stands in the tradition of Panofsky; as a painter, she is able to see things others have not yet perceived; as a storyteller, she skillfully describes abstract notions in a vivid and exciting way. Like the multilayered technique of the Old Masters, her method assumes an ability to distinguish between the different levels, as well as a talent for synthesizing them.
The first part of the book is devoted to the visibility of the invisible in the art of Jan van Eyck—his visual effects, perspective, artistic technique, and philosophy. The second and third parts are taken up with descriptions of the genres of "forest landscape," "still life," and "forest floor." In the midst of butterflies, bumblebees, and dragonflies, Vladimir Nabokov emerges as final witness to the survival in literature of all that was condemned to vanish from the fine arts. After a glimpse into the continuing presence of the past and some conjectures as to the future, the book's final part throws fresh light on the colored grains of the hand-ground pigments that were lost when artists' materials began to be commercially manufactured in the nineteenth century.
The Art of Arts is thus both a dazzling cultural history and the story of two explosive the so-called third dimension of space through perspective, and the shockingly vivid colors of revolutionary oil paints. Albus makes abundantly clear how, taken together, these breakthroughs not only created a new art, but altered forever our perception of the world.
"The Art of Arts" is more than just a book about art history, yet it is also not entirely a book about art. Albus' writing style is like an insightful and delightfully meandering conversation which never truly veers off topic, since everything that is said pertains to the original seed from which the discussion began. Her citations and breadth of knowledge demonstrate the kind of painstaking care that went into this book, and it really shows quality-wise - there is much I learned that I would not have come across otherwise. With the exception of the final chapter on the ten lost colours, which quickly became too technical for my understanding, "The Art of Arts" is a fairly accessible work to the curious and patient reader, though not without some Googling at times, perhaps. Although it's not the kind of reference book I hoped it would be, there are nonetheless several chapters which I bookmarked after finding them potentially useful in the future. Now if only Albus chose to write about anything and everything pertaining to art history and European culture/history, her style so engaging I'd gladly keep reading any chapter, however small, she wrote in addition to this book.
A dense slow read, this precisely written book brings together two of my favorite subjects: science and art, at a very basic level. A devotee of Erwin Panofsky, whom I'm not familiar with but would like to be, she gives a strong argument that art, separated from symbol, and, actually representation, is empty. Unfortunately, she has the problem we face in modern times: the ultimate relativity of the symbol in a world in which a work of art can be seen in Portland, Oregon today and in Japan tomorrow. How can these symbols ultimately signify anything universally? Still, I liked the way she discussed symbols, and it made me take another look at the symbols that are important to me. This review doesn't really do the book justice, there's a great deal of sharp insight here, and it was worth the patience it took to draw it out.
A fascinating, strange and brilliant book that starts with a tantalizing description of a lost painting by Van Eyck, and ranges over everything from the recipes and history of traditional pigments to odd bits of trivia pertaining to the symbolism of toads and strawberries. The book itself is beautiful, with Renaissance typefaces and several fold-out full color plates, (that are, unfortunately, like the contents of Pandora's box, difficult to stuff back in once they have been opened).
I didn’t read in detail all of the pigments chapters at the end, but over all, this book was quite sweeping and ingenious, if a bit discordant at times. My favorite parts were on Van Eyck’s methods and the loss of the science of pigments due to modern manufacturing of tube paint and how we can therefore never hope to perfectly achieve what those ancient masters did in density and texture of light. I’m not an art historian obviously but I found this challenging and enlightening nevertheless.