The da Vinci code

Develop your senses, 

especially learn how to see.....

Per sviluppare una mente completa studia la scienza dell'arte, studia l'arte della scienza. Sviluppa i tuoi sensi, impara soprattutto a vedere. Comprendi che tutto è connesso.

[Principles for the Development of a Complete Mind: Study the science of art. Study the art of science. Develop your senses - especially learn how to see. Realise that everything connects to everything else.]

Leonardo da Vinci

Principles for the Development of a Complete Mind

This was not my first visit to Dedham Vale, the Stour Valley, and Flatford Mill. I have photographed these places, and written about them (please see below) before, and have endeavoured to follow the instruction of Leonardo.....  Basic questions arise:  what does it matter if a painting of a Haywain is an effective, accurate, realistic representation in two dimensions of something seen by the artist?  Or, what if it is a composite made from various seeings?  Or what if it is an imaginary recreation of something similar witnessed elsewhere?

Flatford Mill, 1930 - Frances Hodgkins (1869-1947)

I have just got back from a brief trip that encompassed something of Essex and Suffolk, and then parts of London and London galleries and exhibitions, and my mind is ablaze with glorious art and autumn colour, while also being  confused and disturbed by personal and emotional vortices that include differences between my daughters, memories of my late wife, and hopes for the future.....  Realise that everything connects to everything else (Leonardo da Vinci).

So, if I photograph Willy Lott's cottage, whether in sunshine or in overcast cloudy light, whether with a swan in the foreground or with a friend on the wall, what does that mean?  What does it tell us about the price of fish?  Does it help anyone?  Did it help anyone that John Constable painted it, and that it is still there?

We walk along the Stour, from Flatford to Dedham, and back, in sunshine one day and under grey skies the next..... The pollarded willows reach back into the past, and yearn for an untroubled future:

Some are broken by wind and weight, living alone and un cared for:

A kingfisher eludes my lens, splashing into the water then winging to a hiding place amongst the falling leaves:

Is this art?  Or is it life?  It changes by the moment, and it slips through our fingers, much as we might try to clutch it to our hearts:

We visit the house where Gainsborough lived, in Sudbury. It is an extraordinary mixture of ancient and new, without seeming rhyme or reason. There is no sense of the artist's presence, but I do learn that he was a landscape artist who, along with Jacob van Ruisdael, would have been a considerable influence on the young Constable:

Then we drive to Kenwood House, frustrated by traffic and a lack of parking, to see two paintings by Vermeer, or not.  Two versions of the same picture, The Guitar Player, are remarkably similar, thought the girl's hairstyle differs.  It is thought that the later version could be a copy by Vermeer himself, though others think it could have been painted by his daughter.  Whatever the truth, the nature of art again makes us think, though what we think may remain a mystery.....

Also in Kenwood House is a picture by Constable, of one of the ponds on Hampstead Heath, the sky rich in coloured airs and water vapour.  

Every day ends with the dying of the sun, and yet every day is different. Sometimes it is beautiful; other times we regret the coming of the dark:

The next morning the trees in Kensington Gardens are glorious:

And Peter Doig blows Yusef Lateef softly at us from 1950s wooden Klangfilm Euronor speakers in the Serpentine Gallery.....

His exhibition, House of Music, lets the Lion of Judah roam free in imaginary landscapes, dancing to the music of time.....

Outside, London confuses and baffles. Part rustic idyll, not so unlike Flatford:

Part individual loneliness amongst the crowds:

And part urban jungle, a labyrinth beneath the towering constructions that shelter so many closed windows:

In Tate Britain I find Peter Doig again, though this time without the soundtrack:

Echo Lake, 1998 - Peter Doig (1959 - )

And then we immerse ourselves in the starry world of Lee Miller, whose extraordinary career spanned fifty or so years and several continents, and whose work stretched from Vogue and glamour:

To the violence and horror of the Second World War, but which took in artistic experimentation on the way:

Model with Lightbulb, 1943 - Lee Miller

It has been a busy few days, and I am tired now, my mind filled with images and confusing thoughts. I recently read that Dr Tony Woods, researcher at Kings College London, said: The research clearly shows the stress-reducing properties of viewing original art and its ability to simultaneously excite, engage and arouse us.

Interesting....

But it can also be exhausting.....

I also read recently that: exposure to nature activates the parasympathetic nervous system – the branch of the nervous system related to a “resting” state. This instils feelings of calm and wellbeing that enable us to think more clearly and positively, (Sam Pyrah, The Guardian)....

The falling leaves drift by the window

The autumn leaves of red and gold

I see your lips, the summer kisses

The sun-burned hands I used to hold

Autumn Leaves

Johnny Mercer, Jacques Prevert

Why does the eye see a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination when awake? 

Leonardo da Vinci

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Please also see:

https://www.richardpgibbs.org/2014/11/mr-constable.html

https://www.richardpgibbs.org/2019/06/putting-suffolk-on-map.html

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[For November 2nd]

******

Mr Constable

Good afterble Constanoon.....

Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows, 1831
 

I have done wonders with my great Salisbury....  I have no doubt of this picture being my best now....  John Constable, 1834.

Willy Lott's House, on the Stour by Flatford Mill
Just the place for a Hay-wain

With the release of Mike Leigh's new film, Mr Turner, starring Timothy Spall in full phlegm, and with the recent exhibitions Late Turner: Painting Set Free, at Tate Britain until January 25th, and Constable: The Making of a Master, at the V & A until January 11th, I found myself in The Sun Inn, Dedham, and wandering by the Stour.  How did these two great artists, born only a year apart, get on?  They knew each other well and were both Royal Academicians, but they were as alike as spit and sawdust.  I turned to Constable himself for his views, as expressed in letters and diaries, and, with only a minute sprinkling of poetic licence, I have extracted some of his thoughts on art, landscape, and the comparative greatness of these two men....

It is pleasantly situated in the most cultivated part of Suffolk, on a spot which overlooks the fertile valley of the Stour, which river separates that county on the south from Essex. The beauty of the surrounding scenery, its gentle declivities, its luxuriant meadow flats sprinkled with flocks and herds, its well cultivated uplands, its woods and rivers, with numerous scattered villages and churches, farms and picturesque cottages, all impart to this particular spot an amenity and elegance hardly anywhere else to be found; and which has always caused it to be admired by all persons of taste, who have been lovers of painting, and who can feel a pleasure in its pursuit when united with a contemplation of Nature.  

There is a river flowing through my life.  A beautiful stream of pure water.  I am not like Him from Maiden Lane, whose mind is full of spit and impurity.  I associate my careless boyhood to all that lies on the banks of the Stour.  They made me a painter (and I am gratefull) that is I had often thought of pictures of them before I had ever touched a pencil.

I believe we can do nothing worse than indulge in an useless sensibility.  He may prowl about the continent imagining cities in his mind, but I can hardly tell you what I feel at the sight from the window where I am now writing of the fields….  A beautiful calm autumnal setting sun is glowing upon the gardens…..  No violent blobs here as if He had fired a gun!

I take my inspiration from the Masters – Titian, Poussin (gifted with a peculiarly sound judgement), Rubens (the freshness and dewy light), Gainsborough (soothing, tender and affecting…. He painted with exquisite refinement, yet not a refinement beyond nature,) Cuyp (chiaroscuro is by no means confined to dark pictures; the works of Cuyp, though generally light, are full of it…..)

You see I am convinced there is no easy way of becoming a good painter.  He may dash and scrub and whirl, playing the magician, but I endeavour to get a pure and unaffected representation of the scenes that may employ me.  The great vice of the present day is bravura, an attempt at something beyond the truth.  In endeavouring to do something better than well He does what in reality is good for nothing.  For example, Salisbury Cathedral;  were he to paint this it might as well be Ipswich!

Salisbury Cathedral (1823)

I sat next to Turner at the Royal Academy in the Council Room.  I always expected to find him what I did – he is uncouth (but has a wonderfull range of mind).  Another time Lord Byron was pointed out to me – his poetry is of the most melancholy kind, but there is great ability…..

I do not consider myself at work without I am before a six foot canvas – I have done a good deal of skying – I am determined to conquer all difficulties, and that the most arduous one among the rest.  And now, talking of skies….  That Landscape painter who does not make his skies a very material part of his composition – neglects to avail himself of his greatest aids…..  I have often been advised to consider my Sky as a White sheet thrown behind the Objects.  Certainly, if the Sky is obtrusive (as mine are) it is bad, but if it is evaded (as mine are not and His may be) it is worse…..

Dedham Church

My French-man has sent his agent with the money for the pictures destined for the French metropolis, thus again are honors thrust upon me (and not on Him!)  I think they cannot fail of melting the stony hearts of the French painters.  Think of the lovely valleys mid the peaceful farmhouses of Suffolk, forming a scene of exhibition to amuse the gay and frivolous Parisians.

Turner had some golden visions – glorious and beautifull but they are only visions and the Exhibition is poor.  I have a letter this morning from Paris – informing me that on the King’s visit to the Louvre he was pleased to award me a Gold Medal, for the merit of my landscapes.  He has no such honor!  Even if he is a member of the Royal Academy.

Boatbuilding (1815)

Even though I am now (finally) a member, I took a farewell look at the Academy with Evans on Thursday.  He is impressed with my Castle, and is horrified at the violence done to all natural feeling in Turner – one of whose pictures has been compared to a ‘spitting box’ at an hospital….

The Mill Stream (1814)

The world is wide; no two days are alike not even two hours….  And the genuine productions of art, like those of nature, are all distinct from each other.  My pictures will never be popular for they have no handling (unlike his).  But I do not see handling in nature.

He paints with tinted steam, so evanescent, and so airy.  But he is so boorish himself.  Only the other day, at the new academy in Trafalgar Square, he greeted me drunkenly, half gruntingly.  Good afterble Constanoon, he said......  One day the truth will be clear to all....

Hampstead
Constable: A Turner in His Grave