di Keith CHRISTIANSEN
In 2004, at Capodimonte, there was the landmark exhibition, L’Ultimo Caravaggio. It was the first time one had the opportunity of studying together most of the works Caravaggio had painted following his flight from Rome. For me it was revelatory, and confirmed my belief that Caravaggio painted his most profound pictures—those in which he probes most disturbingly and most compellingly the dark side of life—in Naples, Malta and Sicily. In Rome, he found himself constantly staking out positions against one or another critical assumption or the achievements of one or another esteemed painter. In the Cerasi Chapel in Santa Maria del Popolo, Caravaggio was obliged to work through the basis of a confrontation with Annibale Carracci—the artist whose achievement on the Farnese ceiling eclipsed all else. The result was two canvases evincing a more considered, more focused and psychologically more meaningful exploration of the biblical themes. The rejection of the Death of the Virgin on the part of the Discalsed Carmelites and of the Madonna dei Palafrenieri must have been a bitter reminder that fame and notoriety were not the same and did not necessarily bring the kind of success and approval Caravaggio aspired to. By contrast, in Naples, Caravaggio found himself without competition. The demand for his work was such as to allow him greater freedom in experimenting with compositions and in taking to its logical conclusion a tendency that had already emerged in Rome: to express himself in works that, superficially, appeared merely abbozzato and, to all intents and purposes, non finito. The great examples are the very damaged Salome with the Head of John the Baptist in the National Gallery London and the Denial of Saint Peter in The Metropolitan Museum, both of which much date from his second, and last, stay in Naples. What role the art market played in encouraging this exploration remains an open issue, but one of crucial importance. In a work such as the Rouen Flagellation one sees Caravaggio willfully contrasting the marvelously painted Christ, who has the noble presence of a piece of ancient sculpture, to the almost crudely and rapidly painted face of one of the tormenters. To see the early copy displayed in the same room was a lesson in market dynamics. On the other hand, in a work such as the Palacio Real Salome Caravaggio explored the expressive power of the void, which he was to make such a memorable aspect of the Decollation of John the Baptist in Malta. Both have been conceived less as “actions”—the conventional measure of critical evaluation—than as meditations on death, and it is the haunting placement of the faces of the figures, each receiving a different degree of illumination, against this black emptiness that is so disturbing. I am reminded of Pascal’s pensée: “Le silence éternel de ces espaces infinis m’effraie.”
The 2004 exhibition was installed in the main galleries, placed at that chronological point in the normal itinerary of Neapolitan painting when the Lombard arrived in Naples. The current exhibition takes up the implications of that exhibition—which were not explored–by devoting the special exhibition space at Capodimonte to the exploration of what Neapolitan painters made of Merisi’s great inventions. I found the sequence of galleries, each of which was anchored by a work by Caravaggio, absolutely fascinating. Visitors encountered works which, I imagine, were as unfamiliar to them as to me. The juxtapostions were almost always revealing. To take one example, to see Battistello’s Salome in the same gallery as Caravaggio’s picture from the National Gallery, London underscored both the debt of the Neapolitan to the Lombard artist’s example, but the ways in which he asserted his own identity and his wonderful sense of elegance and rhythmically articulated composition. The early Stanzione was a revelation. Of course there were absences. One would have liked to have seen the Cleveland Crucifixion of Saint Andrew alongside Battistello’s Crucifixion. But it is the nature of exhibitions that not everything is possible. The important thing is the intelligence behind the project, and Sylvain Belanger and Cristina Terzaghi did an outstanding job. I have not yet had the occasion to read the catalogue, but knowing Prof. Terzaghi and having had the privilege of going around the exhibition with her, I am confident it contains all kinds of new material and observations. I especially look forward to her thoughts on the relationship between Finson and Caravaggio and what increasingly seems to have been a partnership for exploiting the art market.
Keith CHRISTIANSEN New York June 2019
Nel 2004, a Capodimonte, si è tenuta la storica la mostra L’Ultimo Caravaggio. Era la prima volta che si aveva l’opportunità di studiare insieme la maggior parte delle opere che Caravaggio aveva dipinto dopo la sua fuga da Roma. Per me è stata una rivelazione e ho confermato la mia convinzione che Caravaggio avesse dipinto i suoi quadri più profondi – quelli in cui sondava in modo più inquietante e avvincente il lato oscuro della vita – a Napoli, a Malta e in Sicilia. A Roma, egli si trovò costantemente impegnato a scontrarsi contro l’una o l’altra critica o ad occuparsi dell’uno o dell’altro pittore di successo. Nella Cappella Cerasi di Santa Maria del Popolo, dovette lavorare confrontandosi con Annibale Carracci, l’artista la cui realizzazione del soffitto Farnese eclissava tutto il resto. Ne scaturirono due tele che mostrano un’esplorazione più ponderata, più mirata e psicologicamente più significativa dei temi biblici. Il rifiuto della Morte della Vergine da parte dei Carmelitani scalzi e della Madonna dei Palafrenieri deve essere stato un amaro richiamo al fatto che fama e notorietà non erano la stessa cosa e non comportavano necessariamente il tipo di successo e di approvazione a cui aspirava.
Al contrario, a Napoli Caravaggio si ritrovò senza concorrenza. La richiesta del suo lavoro era tale da consentirgli maggiore libertà nello sperimentare le composizioni e nel portare alla sua logica conclusione una tendenza che era già emersa a Roma: esprimersi in opere che, superficialmente, apparivano semplicemente abbozzate e, a tutti gli effetti e scopi, non proprio. I grandi esempi sono la Salomè, molto danneggiata, con il Capo di Giovanni Battista nella National Gallery di Londra e la Negazione di San Pietro del Metropolitan Museum, entrambi datati al periodo della sua seconda e ultima permanenza a Napoli. Quale ruolo abbia giocato il mercato dell’arte nel favorire questa esplorazione rimane un problema aperto, ma di importanza cruciale. In un’opera come la Flagellazione di Rouen si vede Caravaggio che mette volontariamente in contrasto il Cristo meravigliosamente dipinto -che ha la nobile presenza di un pezzo di scultura antica- con il volto quasi crudamente e rapidamente dipinto di uno dei tormentatori. Vedere la prima copia visualizzata nella stessa stanza era una lezione sulle dinamiche del mercato.
D’altra parte, in un lavoro come la Salomè del Palacio Real di Madrid Caravaggio ha esplorato la forza espressiva del vuoto, con cui ha impresso un aspetto veramente memorabile alla Decollazione di Giovanni Battista di Malta. Entrambe queste opere sono state concepite non tanto come “azioni” – la misura convenzionale della valutazione critica – quanto invece come meditazioni sulla morte, ed è il posizionamento inquietante dei volti delle figure -ciascuna riceve un diverso grado di illuminazione- contro questo vuoto nero che è così angosciante. Mi viene in mente il pensiero di Pascal: “Le silence éternel de ces espaces infinis m’effraie”.
La mostra del 2004 è stata inserita tra le principali esposizioni, e si colloca cronologicamente nel normale itinerario della pittura napoletana nel periodo in cui il lombardo arrivò a Napoli. La mostra attuale riprende le implicazioni di quella mostra – che non è stata esplorata – dedicando lo speciale spazio espositivo di Capodimonte all’analisi di come i grandi pittori napoletani reagirono rispetto alle grandi invenzioni del Merisi. Ho trovato la sequenza di immagini, ognuna delle quali era ancorata da un’opera di Caravaggio, assolutamente affascinante. I visitatori hanno potuto osservare opere che, immagino, non erano familiari sia a loro che a me. Le giustapposizioni erano quasi sempre rivelatrici. Per fare un esempio, vedere la Salome di Battistello nella stessa sala del dipinto di Caravaggio della National Gallery di Londra, ha messo in evidenza sia il debito dell’artista napoletano rispetto all’esempio del lombardo, ma anche i modi in cui egli ha affermato la propria identità e il suo meraviglioso senso di eleganza e composizione ritmicamente articolata. Il primo Stanzione ne ebbe una rivelazione.
Ovviamente ci sono delle assenze, ad esempio avremmo voluto vedere la Crocifissione di San Andrea di Cleveland a fianco della Crocifissione di Battistello. Ma è nella logica delle mostre il fatto che non tutto sia possibile. L’importante è l’intelligenza che sta alla base del progetto, e Sylvain Belanger e Cristina Terzaghi hanno fatto un lavoro eccezionale. Non ho ancora avuto l’occasione di leggere il catalogo, ma conoscendo la Prof.sa Terzaghi e avendo avuto il privilegio di visitare la mostra con lei, sono sicuro che contenga ogni sorta di nuovo materiale e osservazioni. Attendo con impazienza le sue riflessioni sul rapporto tra Finson e Caravaggio in quella che sembra sempre più essere una partnership per sfruttare il mercato dell’arte.
In 2004, at Capodimonte, there was the landmark exhibition, L’Ultimo Caravaggio. It was the first time one had the opportunity of studying together most of the works Caravaggio had painted following his flight from Rome. For me it was revelatory, and confirmed my belief that Caravaggio painted his most profound pictures—those in which he probes most disturbingly and most compellingly the dark side of life—in Naples, Malta and Sicily. In Rome, he found himself constantly staking out positions against one or another critical assumption or the achievements of one or another esteemed painter. In the Cerasi Chapel in Santa Maria del Popolo, Caravaggio was obliged to work through the basis of a confrontation with Annibale Carracci—the artist whose achievement on the Farnese ceiling eclipsed all else. The result was two canvases evincing a more considered, more focused and psychologically more meaningful exploration of the biblical themes. The rejection of the Death of the Virgin on the part of the Discalsed Carmelites and of the Madonna dei Palafrenieri must have been a bitter reminder that fame and notoriety were not the same and did not necessarily bring the kind of success and approval Caravaggio aspired to. By contrast, in Naples, Caravaggio found himself without competition. The demand for his work was such as to allow him greater freedom in experimenting with compositions and in taking to its logical conclusion a tendency that had already emerged in Rome: to express himself in works that, superficially, appeared merely abbozzato and, to all intents and purposes, non finito. The great examples are the very damaged Salome with the Head of John the Baptist in the National Gallery London and the Denial of Saint Peter in The Metropolitan Museum, both of which much date from his second, and last, stay in Naples. What role the art market played in encouraging this exploration remains an open issue, but one of crucial importance. In a work such as the Rouen Flagellation one sees Caravaggio willfully contrasting the marvelously painted Christ, who has the noble presence of a piece of ancient sculpture, to the almost crudely and rapidly painted face of one of the tormenters. To see the early copy displayed in the same room was a lesson in market dynamics. On the other hand, in a work such as the Palacio Real Salome Caravaggio explored the expressive power of the void, which he was to make such a memorable aspect of the Decollation of John the Baptist in Malta. Both have been conceived less as “actions”—the conventional measure of critical evaluation—than as meditations on death, and it is the haunting placement of the faces of the figures, each receiving a different degree of illumination, against this black emptiness that is so disturbing. I am reminded of Pascal’s pensée: “Le silence éternel de ces espaces infinis m’effraie.”