Impressions of Classical Art

When you are happy, or sad, or just generally pissed off, you have a lot to write about. But when you feel numb, you don't have a lot to work with. In fact, even picking up the computer to try to write something, anything, feels daunting. For at least the past month, I have had an overpowering feeling of "What the fuck is the point?" Other than occasionally going out and getting hammered, I haven't done much of anything, and the weeks have seemingly blurred into one long stretch of disillusioning not-much-of-anythingness. At some point I realised that getting drunk and sleeping until midday was making it worse, so I stopped drinking. And a few days ago I got bored of sitting in the apartment doing absolutely fuck all, so yesterday I decided to take a very long walk into the West End, and ended up in the National Gallery for the second time this week. I spent over 2 hours in the 1250-1500 section, and finally found something to write about.

A rather shaming confession of mine is that, up until this week, I'd never actually stepped inside the National Gallery. Even though it is right there in Trafalgar Square, and I have passed it more times than I can count, I've just never had the urge to go in. This is probably because my opinion of art is almost the exact opposite of my opinion of literature: namely, that modern art is far more interesting than classic or archaic art. And this was somewhat perpetuated by my long perusal of the pre-16th Century section of the gallery. Essentially, this is what I saw:

Jacopo Di Cione - The Crucifixion

Countless depictions of the Virgin and Child or Christ crucified, many of which were altarpieces like this one. Whilst walking around I had a distinctive sense of deja vu. It seemed as if every one of the 16 rooms contained at least 2 Virgins and at least 1 Crucified Jesus. 32 virgin portraits and 16 dead men nailed to crosses. Simply put, too many. It seems to me that life in these times was an extremely depressing ordeal indeed. Spending most days looking at graphic portrayals of a man dying on a cross, and being shamed if you've lost your virginity? I'll take sinful modern culture any day. It did get me questioning the idea that religion has been a huge comfort to people in centuries past however. Notice the little angels collecting the blood that pours from Christ's wounds in that picture above? Yeah, comforting, okay...

Religious criticism aside, it seems that my opinion of literature and art are not that dissimilar after all. It is hard to deny that classical art, like classical literature, required a lot more skill than the stuff around nowadays. For one thing, it's not even imperative that you use a brush to paint anymore. Hell, just throw the paint at the canvas and call it an abstract self-portrait. I certainly do not agree that modern art requires no skill (for the most part). But I do agree that when it comes to classical or traditional art, for want of a less cliched phrase, "they don't paint like that anymore". One example of this is the Arnolfini Portrait (1434), which caught my attention for quite some time. And no, not because it is featured in the intro sequence to Desperate Housewives.

The Arnolfini Portrait - Jan van Eyck

Admittedly, that is where I recognised it from. But that is not what kept me stood there looking at it. Like many of the paintings I saw yesterday (despite the depressingly repetitive themes), the skill of the artist and the minuscule details in the painting are awe-inspiring. Whether it be this, or that it stood out as unique amongst the majority of overt religious paintings and altarpieces, this is one of the paintings that I remember, and which I will go back to see again.

Probably one of the reasons I have put off going to the National Gallery for so long was because I wasn't really expecting to like anything in there very much. Van Gogh? Overrated. Cezanne? Crap. Or so my conception was before actually going inside. The majesty of traditional art galleries can be discouraging to people like me, who are used to the cold white rooms and industrial spaces of galleries like the Tate Modern. But once you realise that you are not the youngest, or the most uncultured person in there (by a long way), the feeling that you are out of place wears off, and you can actually enjoy the art. Okay, so pictures of ugly virgins holding wrinkled little goblin Jesus babies aren't really my cup of tea, but there's definitely enough variety to work around those unfortunates.

I'm often accused of being a traditionalist, albeit jokingly. And I find this rather laughable because I always considered myself one of the least traditional people I know. When I decided to finally visit the National Gallery, it was with a mixture of apprehension that I would hate everything, and with curiosity regarding whether I would prove to have more traditional tastes than I first thought. Well, since I have only explored one section of the National gallery (and this being the section that I will probably appreciate the least), that is still up for debate. For now, I would say yes, some of the paintings I saw in the National Gallery were absolutely brilliant. But I still think Van Gogh is overrated crap.