The Art of Passion

I tend to be neglectful when I am in the middle of translating a new document. Whether it is an article or a blog, whether it is journalism or a diary, both are consuming in their own way and one would like to think that what we are reporting or sharing is worth the time of the reader.

This document I am translating is devoted to the nineteen engravings from the Saints and Apostles by Albrecht Durer (which I hope to finish through weekend). I do not know much about the Apostles and I know very little about being a Saint.

With that being said, I am translating the German language, from the catalogue raisonne by Joseph Meder, which I do not pretend to fully understand, for an artist like Albrecht Durer who I pretend I do fully understand.

But let us make no make mistake about it, being a far better enthusiast than a scholar, I am driven more by passion than expertise.

Under normal circumstances that might bother me, but some of the greatest documents in art history were gleaned by individuals like Walter Strauss (Founder of Alibris books), who I was told was at one time a toy manufacturer and became a luminary on Durer; or, Frits Lugt, who became a man of means by marriage and was content documenting collectors’ stamps and evolved into a leading authority on Rembrandt.

In the art world, these are names that are far more than just footnotes in art history; and, I am not saying I am on the same playing field as these individuals. In fact, I do not profess to even be in the same arena. But, I am saying I understand their passion. It is innate. Visceral. Autonomic.

It is no different than breathing (and I love breathing) or my beating heart. Without ever thinking about either, I just breathe it. This is how I feel about sharing this passion.

In short, I simply love it without ever having to think about how much I love art itself or sharing this passion.

It might be because I am not an artist. Or, in a previous life I was a pencil or a copper plate. I don’t know.

In as much, Carl Jung was right! He said, “A great work of art is like a dream; for all its apparent obviousness it does not explain itself and it is never unequivocal.”

I cannot explain myself either, but my passion is undeniable.

Thanks for listening.

Some Of Us Are Doer’s, Some Of Us Are Durer’s

I believe it was Thomas Paine, the great american statesman who said, “I am a far better religionist than a religious person“.

Quite a poetic disclaimer.

It is no different than saying, I could be a politician as long as I did not have to be political; or, I could be a clown as long as I did not have to wear make-up; or, as for myself, I could be an artist as long as I did not have to be artistic.

Dear God, I love art. Yet, I do not have an artistic bone in my body. I might understand the golden section, perspective, foreshortening, disciplines, movements and its beauty, but I will never be able to allow my hands to follow what my eyes see. Like music, I might be able to read the notes, but I will never be able to play the music.

I often marvel at the absolute precision of the engraving by Albrecht Durer of Adam and Eve (1504) with its marvelous mixture of realism and symbolism.

Then, I often give myself indigestion when I think about drawing it myself. In fact, you might consider taking something for your stomach before you look.

Anyway, some of us are meant to be enthusiasts and some of us are meant to be artists. I will always be of the former.

I am a doer by passion and I will never be a Durer by artistic acumen; and, I am content with my position in my appreciation.

 

 

Albrecht Durer: A Legacy Earned

The significance and contribution of Albrecht Durer to the art community is not only amazing but also a source of wonder as to how understated it is. Yet, he was not only collected by enthusiasts but artists, and he was imitated as well.

His woodcuts and engravings were collected from the Mediterranean to the North Sea. They were in the hands of such artists as Italian Renaissance masters as Raphael, Montegna, and Bellini.

Albrecht Durer’s print oeuvre was found in the collections of such dignitaries as Henry VIII of England, King Christian II of Scandinavia, Emperor Maximillian I (of course), Princess Margaret, Regent of the Netherlands, Maximilian’s grandson Charles V, and even the son of Christopher Columbus, Ferdinand.

Raphael’s own masterpiece, Christ Bearing the Cross (c. 1516) borrowed the figure of Christ from Albrecht Durer’s woodcut, Christ Bearing the Cross (1509) from the Small Passion.

Tintoretto, the great Italian Mannerist of the Venetian school, mirrored the Holy Father holding the body of Christ in the Lamentation (c. 1560).

Its source came from Albrecht Durer’s woodcut, Trinity (1511).

El Greco, the Spanish Mannerist also borrowed from Durer’s Trinity, absorbing outlines and content in his work, The Throne of Grace (1577).

Even Rembrandt, the great Dutch painter and printmaker echoed the figure of Christ in his etching, Christ Driving the Money Changers from the Temple (1638).

Its design came from the Albrecht Durer woodcut (of the same name) from the Small Passion (1509-1511).

Impressive enough; however, one of Albrecht Durer’s most incredible legacies involves the Italian Renaissance master, Michelangelo,  who reportedly told Charles V in a conversation that if he were not Michelangelo he would rather be Albrecht Durer than the Emperor.

Quite a tribute to Albrecht Durer: a legacy earned.

Albrecht Durer: Influence or Prodigy?

There is no doubt in my mind that beyond the guidance of Albrecht Durer’s father and the initial tutelage of Michael Wolgemut, Albrecht Durer was a child prodigy. It is as if he was born to give birth himself to the Northern Renaissance.

At the tender age of thirteen, Albrecht Durer rendered his famous self-portrait in silverpoint by looking at himself in a mirror. This drawing is not only young Durer’s earliest known drawing but attributed to be the first self-portrait in German art!

At thirteen, I was barely able to make it through my Haftorah, and looking in a mirror was almost just as awkward. I was thirtween, caught somewhere between being a boy and a man; and, painting a stick figure was tantamount to using calculus with a paint-by-number scheme.

Yet this child prodigy was also surrounded by influences that would serve to kindle his inspiration and sagacity even more. Albrecht was born the same year that the mathematician, Johannes Muller, developed trigonometry and settled in Nuremberg.

By the time Albrecht was four years old, he found himself surrounded by some of the greatest minds and artisans that inhabited his very neighborhood in Nuremberg. The alter painter and printmaker, Michael Wolgemut lived three doors down from his home; his godfather Anton Koberger had his publishing house in the vicinity; Christoph Von Scheurl, the humanist writer, philosopher and diplomat, and Johanne Neudorrfer, the calligrapher, along with  Hartmann Schedel, the physician, scholar  and cartographer all lived in the neighborhood.

Not a bad way to grow up.

For me, at least, it would be no different than coming home to a Sunday barbecue after playing a sandlot baseball game and seeing Walter Kronkite, Thomas Jefferson, George Putnam and Carl Sagan hanging around the pool sipping on a “Stoli” with my father and discussing the world stage.

So,whether Albrecht Durer was a product of prodigy or influence, I will leave to far greater minds than mine. What I can say for sure can only be reflected in Albrecht’s own words. That “in truth, art is implicit in nature and whoever can extract it has it.”

Albrecht Durer has it!

Dissecting Melancholia

Beyond the rhetoric and debate of one of the most allegorical moments in art, or anywhere else, for that matter, is Albrecht Durer’s meaning behind his 16th century engraving, Melancholia 1.

For over ten generations since its creation in 1514, philosophers, adepts, theorists and enthusiasts have been engaged in sophistry concerning the intent of Albrecht Durer.

Some believe Melancholia 1 concerns itself with humankind’s quest to inspirit itself, waiting for a spark no different than Archimedes “eureka” experience. Others believe it addresses our technological disability to solve the age old question “what is the meaning of life.” And that no matter how advanced our technology evolves it will never be able to answer such heady questions.

As for myself, aside from the intrinsic intricacies of the engraving, I believe Albrecht Durer knew exactly what he was doing: to evoke, at the very least, a cerebral debate that would act as the proverbial “revolving door” for future generations to come.

It is the very nature of not knowing that delights us.

Robert Burton said it best in his treatise, Anatomy of Melancholy, when he wrote:

“Tis no disparagement to be a stranger
or so irksome to be an exile,
the rain is a stranger to the earth,
rivers to the sea,
Jupiter in Egypt,
and the sun to us all.
The soul is an alien to the body,
a nightingale to the air,
a swallow
in a house,
and Ganymede in heaven,
an elephant in Rome,
a phoenix in India.
And such things commonly please us best
which are most strange and come from
farthest off.”

That, quite simply, is Melancholia 1: it comes “from farthest off”.

Why the Name Durerpost?

I just finished reading Dan Brown’s latest, The Lost Symbol, and aside from being enthralled with it message, I was also thrilled that he weaved Albrecht Durer’s, Melancholia 1, and his actual monogram into the theme of the book.

Aside from this partiality, he is right, you know. Somewhere along the line of our exponential technological growth we have lost something.

I have been told that there are children who actually cannot read the hands of a wall clock unless it is digital. To be honest, I do not know whether this is urban legend or not. Since I am not the breeding type I am unsure whether to believe this as fiction or fact; however, it would not surprise me.

Aside from the plot of the book, Mr. Brown comments that until the advent of our very recent technology, adepts thoughout the ages used at best, paper, quill, maybe an abacus and most importantly, their minds. Individuals like Newton, Bacon, Copernicus, Galileo, Cavendish, Bohr and even Einstein were able to extrapolate far beyond my comprehension of mathematics and deductive reasoning, theories and abstractions which we hold true today.

One such adept who died over a century before Galileo wrote his treatise on heliocentricity, Dialogo sopra i due massimi sistemi del mondo, changing humankind’s view of our universe forever – was the first in Western art to be artist and publisher of his own work. His name was Albrecht Durer; and, he became the first to take his art to market and free himself from the lucrative but restricting shackles of commission work.

In essence, Albrecht Durer became the first graphic artist and changed the landscape of art for all those who followed in his artistic path. He changed the climate of art forever over five hundred years ago with his print oeuvre of woodcuts and intaglios.

That is how and why Durerpost inherited its name. Quite simply, he earned it.

And this, of course, is the bottom line.