Art
Dubliners
David Ekserdjian
Masterpieces from the National Gallery of Ireland (National Gallery till 27 May)
Ei very time a museum lends a work of Lart, a member of the curatorial staff must accompany it out to and back from its destination. In other words, each loan is good for two freebies. No wonder the skies are black with jets ferrying masterpieces and curators — from place to place. Travel may broaden the mind, but it does not do works of art any good, as those spoilsports the restorers have a habit of pointing out. Their dire warnings, however, remain un- heeded, and the public is now faced with a permanent embarras of temporary riches- ses. The consequence of all this competi- tion is that shows have to justify them- selves. Monographic exhibitions (`Bloggs and His School') have more intellectual clout, but anthology exhibitions (`The Bloggs Collection') tend to be more fun. Masterpieces from the National Gallery of Ireland does its damnedest to have the best of both worlds.
The selection was made by Michael Levey and Alastair Smith of the National Gallery, while the catalogue (excellent value at £5.50, with all 35 exhibited paint- ings illustrated in colour) was written by the Dublin director, Homan Potterton, and his staff. The 'Masterpieces' fall into two basic categories: those that comple- ment existing works in the collection, and those that fill gaps in it. There is also a definite and understandable desire to com- memorate recent achievements, with the result that the exhibition opens with a newly cleaned and alarmingly lurid El Greco, and closes with a recently acquired Nolde of equal but less dubious brightness.
In between, the choice is more sober, and includes some exceptionally fine and unusually interesting paintings. Manteg- na's 'Judith' could almost be a pendant to the National Gallery's own castratrix, 'De- lilah', and seeing them so close together confirms the Dublin picture's often- doubted autograph status. The Getty has just spent over £8 million on a Mantegna, but it is still hard to believe that he will ever be the stuff that posters are made of. He is just too difficult, as, in many moods, is Poussin. But even Trafalgar Square might envy Merrion Square his late, great `Lamentation over the Dead Christ'. Its forms are inspired by the High Renais- sance, and Sebastiano del Piombo in par- ticular, but its colours are intensely mod- ern. Hot reds and blues, cool violets, oranges, and greens stand out against an evening landscape still further darkened by age. The figures are strung out across the foreground of the composition, more iso- lated than linked by their grief, the men active, the women contemplative. An ac- quired taste, perhaps, but a taste worth acquiring.
By contrast Caravaggio, once despised, is now flavour of the month and likely to remain it. Among the gap-fillers are paint- ings by two of his followers, which demons- trate what different lessons could be learnt from him. The first is a superb Orazio Gentileschi of David about to sever Goliath's head with an enviably stylish backhand, intricate and balletic where the master would have been bloody and brutal, yet still under his sway. The second is a theatrical 'St Peter denying Christ' by an anonymous painter known as the Pen- sionante del Saraceni, who looks back at Caravaggio but also forward to Georges de la Tour. Other gap-fillers include a pair of immaculate Bellottos of Dresden, an im- pressive Gerard of Julie Bonaparte and her daughters, and a characteristic Frans Post. Post went to Brazil as a young man, but went on painting exotic landscapes for the rest of his life. The idea of him placidly peopling them with armadillos and ant- eaters years after his return to Holland is a slightly spooky one.
Few paintings come down to us without having been tampered with in various ways, and there are three particularly good examples of the tricks of fate in the exhibition. One is the only signed work of an obscure figure called Passeri, an idyllic `Party Feasting in a Garden', which has been transformed by a recent cleaning. Significant background details have emerged, most notable among them a boozing, pissing fountain figure, presum- ably censored by a prudish past owner. Another is Castiglione's grand 'Shepher- dess Finding the Infant Cyrus', which must have been cut down at some time, only for a new strip of canvas to be added at the top later on. You can see the join, as indeed you can in the 'Interior with a Woman' by Jacob Duck, Donald's less gifted elder brother. In this instance it is the artist himself who has added to the panel, substantially at the top, but perfectly vis- ibly at the bottom too, where the addition bears his signature.
The combination of first-class pictures by second-class artists and at least some second-class pictures by first-class artists may suggest that the gap between the two is not all that great. Rembrandt's 'Land-
scape with the Rest on the Flight into Egypt', although by no means his most dazzling achievement, is more than suffi- cient to remind one of the difference between genius and talent. When the catalogue calls Rembrandt 'proficient in all genres' and 'gifted as a draughtsman and an etcher', it takes scholarly caution to extremes, and just goes to show that even Homan nods.
Most of the pictures on loan to the National Gallery are so well-established as to seem part of the place, but there is a genuine temporary visitor who is not to be missed. El Greco's 'View of Toledo', an electric vision of his adopted home (on loan from the Metropolitan Museum, New York, till mid-June), is clearly quite unlike any other landscape. It has to be seen to be believed.
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