Google Art Project – Page 2

More Art Nouveau

The Poetry of József Kiss (1897), design by Nándor Gottermayer.

There’s always more Art Nouveau. Searching for term at the Google Art Project turns up a surprising number of paintings, drawings and other objects which are nothing of the sort, as well as many things which are, of course. These are a selection of the latter (mostly), and a reminder that it’s worth returning to the site every so often to look for new additions. Nándor Gottermayer’s book cover is a gorgeous design I’ve never seen before.

Vase (before 1890) by Émile Gallé.

Flower of Death (1895) by Akseli Gallen-Kallela.

The Offering of Mephistopheles (c.1930) by Roland Paris.

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Proverbial details

More Google Art Project details from the amazing Pieter Bruegel the Elder. The Netherlandish Proverbs (1559) is one of Bruegel’s many paintings which are crammed with curious incident; it’s also one of the more bizarre examples. In a crowded scene the artist depicts in a literal manner one hundred different proverbs or figures of speech. Wikipedia has a guide to the details but if you ignore that you can treat the whole thing as another example of Surrealism before its time. In addition to the usual complement of medieval grotesques there’s a fair amount of earthy humour of a kind which pretty much vanished from painting until the 20th century.

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Transformations

The Transformation of Actaeon (no date) by Jean Mignon.

More gleanings from one of the better provinces of the Google Empire (unless and until they abandon it…), these being recent additions to the Google Art Project from the Museum Kunstpalast in Düsseldorf.

Jean Mignon’s etching shows Diana’s transformation of Actaeon into a stag as punishment for his catching her bathing. This is one of those scenes where subsequent developments are shown in the background of the same picture, in this case poor Actaeon’s pursuit and death at the jaws of his own dogs. Off to the side there’s the curious detail of a pissing-boy statue like the famous Manneken Pis in Brussels.

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Babel details

The Tower of Babel (c. 1563) by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

Seeing as how I have a fetish for Towers of Babel I ought to have examined this one sooner, the copy at the Google Art Project being one which allows you to explore the surface of the picture in greater detail than the artist himself would have seen unless he was using a magnifying glass. I still find the Art Project interface awkward so the grabs here were taken from a massive jpeg at Wikipedia: 30,000 pixels across, or 243 MB, scaling up to around 1.84 GB in Photoshop which means it’ll make older machines grind in complaint.

The detail is astonishing even by Bruegel’s standards. I’d never realised before how much care is given to the individual actions of every single worker on the tower, however small. Bruegel’s close observation of the working habits of the people around him is here reflected in the myriad figures, all of whom are doing something purposeful. At this resolution you’re able to see that the workers have taken their wives and children up the tower with them—there’s the familiar line of washing hung out to dry—while various beasts of burden haul building materials up the spiral roadway. You could spend a long time exploring the details of the tower before even looking at the background where tiny boats are sailing the sea and the rivers, and more fortunate animals have been left to graze in fields.

Wikipedia has several more of these enormous images. It’s a shame there aren’t many more of Bruegel’s works available at this size, his other crowded paintings deserve equal scrutiny.

One of the builders on his lunch break.

A jug on a window sill.

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Fabulous harbours

The Annunciation (c. 1472).

One pleasure of seeing paintings in an art gallery is the ability to scrutinise details. I like to be able to see that, yes, Picasso did indeed use a single stroke of the brush beginning here and ending here. Backgrounds are a recurrent source of interest if you’ve ever tried any kind of pictorial painting yourself. I always have a greater sense of the artist’s presence in the background details since that’s the area of a picture which few viewers will pay any attention to. In the foreground the artist is always aware of the viewer’s gaze; in the background the artist has a sense of being left alone. It’s there that the mind is most liable to wander when you’re at work.

The trouble with very famous paintings is that they’re almost always preserved from this kind of close scrutiny either because they’re too popular—so you have a few seconds to stand there before having to make room for others—or they’re being monitored by gallery staff who don’t want you getting too close, or—as in the case of Leonardo da Vinci’s few paintings—they’re imprisoned behind sheets of glass. Few art books outside the weighty monographs ever show you actual brushstrokes or give you a close view of the background details, so once again it’s thanks to the Google Art Project that we can examine two of Leonardo’s paintings in a manner that wouldn’t be allowed unless you were an art historian.

The Annunciation originated in Andrea del Verrocchio’s studio where Leonardo was apprenticed. Leonardo is believed to have painted the angel—which certainly looks like his work—and the background which includes a fantastic harbour and, in the vaporous distance, some colossal mountain peaks. I’ve always liked this painting for the composition and sense of stillness, those trees standing outside the garden like vertical plumes of smoke. We’re told that a later hand extended the angel’s wings which I can easily believe since their termination clashes with the disposition of the trees; you’d never do that deliberately when everything else in the picture is so carefully arranged.

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