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256 pages, Hardcover
First published February 3, 1999
In Clark's title, landscape was the raw material waiting to be processed by the artist. I began by implying that land rather than landscape is the raw material, and that in the conversion of land into landscape a perceptual process has already begun whereby that material is prepared as an appropriate subject for the painter or photographer, or simply for absorption as a gratifying aesthetic experience. The process might, therefore, be formulated as twofold: land into landscape; landscape into art.Indeed, Andrews calls his first chapter "Land into Landscape." He brings a dizzying amount of erudition and reference to the question, calling on poets, photographers, philosophers, and even anthropologists to answer it. The heart of the matter, he suggests, is man's changing relationship to nature. "Landscape in art tells us, or asks us to think about, where we belong." Recently, though, that relationship has changed:
We don't have to imagine, with the aid of alluring images of Arcadian natural simplicity, what it must have been like to live in Nature; we are all too aware of our dependency on Nature now. More crucially still, we feel Nature's dependency on us. Landscape as a way of seeing from a distance is incompatible with this heightened sense of out relationship to Nature as a living (or dying) environment. As a phase in the cultural life of the West, landscape may already be over.Although there is a rough chronological flow to Andrews' subsequent chapters, his book makes no attempt to offer a history of landscape painting; rather, it tackles similar philosophical questions in roughly the order in which they became relevant. His chapter on the Renaissance, for instance, "Subject or Setting?", considers the emergence of landscape backgrounds by examining a series of mostly unfamiliar paintings of St. Jerome, delving into everything from Catholic hagiography to contemporary hermeneutics. He marshals a fascinating set of examples, from Antonello da Messina to Magritte, in "Framing the View," about the interplay between inside and outside. He is brilliant in "Astonished beyond Expression," about mountain scenery and the sublime in art. And, striking off from Turner's astonishing Snowstorm in his chapter "Nature as Picture or Process?", he revisits many of the arguments from his opening chapter, but in a more dynamic way, more closely tied to actual examples.