Lasting Longings for Harmony

 

It’s quite a paradox, especially for ponderous art lovers: in existential stress situations one apparently does not turn to those art works with the heaviest philosophical credentials or the highest emotional pitch.  One rather seeks refuge in pure aesthetic attention:  following a beautiful bold brush stroke (1) ,  listening intently to a subtly modulating melody (2), savouring the changing luminosities of the sky.

So, for instance, on that early morning end of January, after a sleepless night worrying about the diagnosis I’d just received (3), I could not eat, I could not read, nor could I find solace in Bellini’s heart-felt Gethsemane or in any other pathos-filled paintings.  But leafing distractedly through my art books,  my trembling finally did recede,  my anxiety did get quelled by the soothing sight of an elegant annunciation angel (4).

One can observe the same phenomenon, when, with age, a certain tiredness (5)  and the inescapable experience of the frailty of life (6)  seem to engender an increasing need for sheer beauty & harmony. A craving for disinterested aesthetics as a source of relief from the perils of the world, from one’s own anxieties (7), offering moments of reprieve from chaos and discord (8).

In previous eras, a sense for metaphysics and a belief in transcendence would have given legitimation to this longing for aesthetic bliss – it would have been seen as serious proof of the immanent congruence between cosmic harmony and the human soul (9).

By contrast, in our (post) modern times aesthetics and harmony have often been discredited as being amoral, apolitical. And since the romantic era, pure absolute musical harmonies have become suspect for their alleged lack of individual emotional expressiveness.  In our age, we rather prone political action and technological solutions to put things right, we rather recommend the sharing and expressing of raw emotions without overly formal complexities.

But ah, it is something (10)  to be able to focus only on perceiving, on making sense, on discerning harmonies and significations (11).  And it is something  to believe that this intense aesthetic attention can bring us closer to timeless sublime principles of beauty and signification, surpassing our own frail petty lives, adumbrating a possible human dignity shared across the ages.

 

 

Douze Petites Notes … (12)

(1)   Eg Tiepolo rather than Rembrandt,

(2)   Eg Mozart rather than Beethoven

(3)   A scary medical diagnosis, with uncertain outcome at the time. But effectively treated now, so I can look back with relief to the whole episode (and blog-readers need not to worry)

(4)   Giovanni Bellini,  St Vincent Ferrer Polyptych  - Detail of an annunciation angel

(5)   a growing realisation of how the world is, how life is – and our (or at least, my) utter inadequacy & powerlessness

(6)   as most of us must experience one day: the death of a parent, and prior to that - so shocking, so painful - their decay. 

(7)   A Nietzsche-quote, stumbled upon in an old notebook of mine, well worth to be reproduced again here digitally: « Ma mélancolie peut se reposer dans les cachettes et dans les abîmes de la perfection, c’est pour cela que j’ai besoin de musique »

(8)   This flight into the safe Haven of Harmony, goes back a long way:  “The Pythagoreans […]  cleansed their minds of the noises and perturbations to which they had been exposed during the day by certain odes and hymns, which produced tranquil sleep and few, but good dreams.” (p32 Jamie James: “The Music of the Spheres” see below)

(9)   As elaborated in this wonderful book by Jamie James: “The Music of the Spheres – Music, Science and the natural Order of the Universe” .

(10) “something”? something fervently to look forward to, each and every day: dwelling in beauty in the early still hours of the day, coming home to music after all the sound & fury of a worldly day

(11) Some key elements in the exercise of our aesthetic-cognitive faculties; as noted by Alpers & Baxandall in their study on Tiepolo (“Tiepolo et l’intelligence picturale”) : «  […] Produire du sens, […] Chercher de la lumière […] Le travail de déchiffrement présente un pur plaisir »

(12) Also the  title of the first section of Andre Manoukian’s effortlessly swinging & learned book on music (“Sur les routes de la musique”).  And so we make it to twelve silent notes – hurled  into the world wide web, perhaps to be read only by some voraciously learning chatbot.

“the mobility of lighting”, or : Musings on wandering luminosity

 

“Il sole di Tiepolo”

“We love Tiepolo” - so Alpers and Baxandall state, almost apologetically, almost as a disclaimer, in the first chapter of their wonderful study on “Tiepolo and the Pictorial intelligence”(1) .  Because of course, one might disparage Tiepolo as a frivolous painter of pompous showy scenes at the service of rich local potentates.  But then, one cannot help but falling in love with Tiepolo, at the very first sight, and one keeps coming back to his paintings & frescoes, looking at them with delight.  It’s a pure aesthetic pleasure to try and make sense of his intricate jumbles of forms and figures; it’s pure bliss to savour his intense colours; to plunge into his delightful complexities of luminosity. 

Tiepolo clearly caters to our quest for light, our feeling for luminous patterns. His intense luminosities, often contrasted with dull colors, have rightly inspired rapturous comments : “il sole di Tiepolo”. 

Even mere reproductions still work wonders - when I wake on these dark late autumn  days, I rush to get up, to open the Tiepolo book and bask in its luminosity. Just like during lunch break, in my quest for light, I brave the chilly grey drizzle for a walk to the nearby square, where the garden paths are strewn with intensely gleaming,  yellow leaves.

 

“Negotiations with site lighting“

While the former paragraph evokes the internal lighting linked to the hues and tones of the painting itself (or, mutatis mutandis, linked to the yellowness of the autumnal leaves themselves)  - there is of course also always the question of the ambient light  (direct, reflected and refracted)  and of the changes in lighting according the position of the spectator.  

Alpers & Baxandall brilliantly analyse how a fresco painter, such as Tiepolo,  who paints in situ,  uses all his pictorial intelligence to make his frescoes engage with the ambient light on multiple levels.

 For works in situ, the artist can  to a certain extent control or at least negotiate with the effects of external lighting . To a certain extent only – because it is impossible for the artist to anticipate all possible light scenarios, let alone the idiosyncratic wanderings and viewpoints of the spectators. 

 

Curators’ lighting

As to paintings on panel or canvas,  on their journey in the world they will mostly meet lighting conditions unknown to the painter (unless he or she is also curator of the exhibition).  There’s an element of accidentalness there, which is quite moving, and which for any art lover is an integral part of the unique ephemeral experience of looking at a painting at a certain point in time & in space. 

Thus, in a museum with lots of natural light, one can stand in rapture in front of a painting, watching how the colours light up, glow and then fade away again, as clouds drift by.  

In galleries and museums with mostly artificial light and guided or tempered natural light, the curator may intentionally use lighting to create a sense of drama in the room, or to draw attention to specific paintings or elements of paintings.

In the newly re-opened museum of fine arts in Antwerp (2) , I suspect the lighting is used very intentionally indeed. Heavy purple curtains block the sideways natural light while a steady tempered light comes from above  and each room has its own atmosphere of light, including ample use of dramatic potential of spot lights.

It can turn a walk through museum rooms into an aesthetic experience in its own right, one can appreciate the atmosphere of each room, with the lighting contributing to the “mise-en-scène” of a story which features and contrasts different individual works.

The curators/”stage designers” of the renovated Antwerp museum have built a wonderful experience indeed (and it’s quite uplifting to see how many visitors now re-discover the museum). 

 

Wandering light

But please bear with me, if I still cherish the memory of another visit to the Antwerp museum, a very long time ago. The museum back then was old & stately, but ever so quietly decaying, with creaky floors and dusty corners.  Natural light fell in from above (through grimy glass)  and sideways.  The order of the rooms followed the age-old recipe of historical styles and national schools.

 In the Italian room hung forlornly an early Titian, so quietly glowing with Venetian luminosity, its importance signalled only by an old threadbare carpet in front of it. 

 In an ill-lit  room hung the early Ensor paintings of staid bourgeois interiors – so the spectator’s eye would focus hungrily on each subtly rendered gleam and fraying ray of light, on each refracted luminosity in the painting. 

But  what a magnificent moment indeed, when the variable ambient light in the museum room would suddenly intensify and bring to life the painting’s bourgeois interior, before the light dimmed again and one would feel the full shady oppressiveness of a dusty, cluttered interior.  (3)

the immobility of notes

(1)   Tiepolo et l’intelligence picturale (Gallimard 1996, Translation from "Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence", 1994 Yale University Press . Svetlana Alpers & Michael Baxandall)

(2)   What to see at the finally re-opened  Antwerp museum of fine arts : galleries restored  “to their former glory” and with seducing light effects & stories, great works of art brought back to the public; & much more  - see https://kmska.be/nl 

(3)    Now all the Ensors (the colourful ones in any case – where have the more sombre ones gone? ) hang in a brilliantly white room with glaring light everywhere, bringing out the full anarchy of glaring lights and gaudy colours.  

where to hide in the age of 'surveillance capitalism'

They all prey upon us, poor sitting ducks

Grim-faced under a hoodie (1), tapping nervously on the keyboard while watching intently what’s happening on the screen, I might resemble a hacker. But I ‘m merely a hapless computer user who is on high alert while setting up a new device (2).

One might naively assume that having acquired and duly paid for a new piece of hardware with accompanying software, one can insouciantly click through the standard set-up procedure.

But no, commercial harassment (3) is now hard coded into every device right from the start.  If you don’t pay attention the provider can share your data with X, Y and Z to sell you better services and products and blablabla.  And your device’s default browser comes of course pre-equipped with unwanted gaudy news-sites and commercial links.  Etc Etc

One might also naively assume that buying a premium anti-virus license, means you have a security provider who is henceforth on your side, defending your interests in the digital jungle. But no, also this paid-for anti-virus software does not miss an occasion to send various alarming messages only to persuade you to buy yet another multi-year subscription to yet another module you don’t really need. 

And when we go on-line, then of course we all know that really anything goes and no holds are barred.  From commercial tech firms to digital criminals, they all prey upon us, poor sitting ducks, from the moment we switch on our tech device and connect to the web. (4)  Let’s be clear, it’s not the technology as such which is stressful, it’s the whole commercially exploitative environment around it that is so disheartening.

Looking for safer spaces ... 

 By contrast …. ah, by contrast… Have you ever realised what a precious, disinterested realm you enter when reading a good book? For instance a lovingly researched art history book.  You can sit quietly with this book – leafing through it, reading, looking at pictures, thinking, … Nobody is preying on you! Nobody is tracking or trapping you! Within the covers of the book, nobody is trying to sell anything. The book is yours forever, on your own terms of engagement.  

And the book’s content, ah … the content … It has not been selected or engineered by an algorithm maximising and exploiting your attention for some product placement (5).  No, usually there has been an earnest writer at work, eg an art historian, who has done long and patient research, and then in turn tries to explain her insights to the reader. A writer who may actually love his subject, who may try to convey a genuine passion.  What a blessing indeed, to spend time, slow time, your own time, with a book that is only there to share knowledge and beauty.

Who knows, we may still witness a revival of the paper book, when too many people will have become exhausted and disgusted by the rowdy, always-on, always-being-tracked commercial hell which the digital world alas has become.

 

tracking notes instead of cookies

1.  hoodies are so handy to keep warm in times of energy wars, while sitting still in front of the computer 
2.  Not a new device because the old one failed (it’s running nicely with plenty of memory and remaining hard disk space) but because the near-monopolist Operating System provider keeps pushing menacing messages warning about the end of times (ie end of service cycle with security updates), insisting on the need to buy a new computer with the latest operating system.
3.  a commercial harassment to which one has alas become so accustomed when surfing the web, using social media, consulting on-line information. We all know today’s web services’ business model is one of free services in exchange for our data and for our attention to commercial messages.  But even providers of paid-for goods and services are now joining the race to aggressively squeeze as much as possible economic return from their unlucky captive customers.  “post-purchase monetisation” it is called.   Shoshana Zuboff wrote about it in great detail in “The age of surveillance capitalism”
4.  This is not a techno-phobe complaint  - the technology is impressive, its possibilities are exhilarating. But it’s the business model, or even the entire mind set,   of the on-line world, which reduces us to a bunch of sitting ducks.  Who doesn’t think back with longing to the good old early days of the internet, when disinterested communities and websites sprang up, when you could connect with people, find high quality information and educational resources, … ach.  II’s of course also our own collective fault – there is no such thing as a free lunch, and collectively we have ensured the failure of the earlier business models based on premium subscriptions, donations etc.  But maybe the non-mainstream digital world can still recover this better version of the digital world?
5. Just chronicling the latest harassment: Instagram aping TikTok, so you now have to wade through a heap of unsolicited silly video stuff and you can no longer just follow people you find interesting.  What ìs this obsession of our age with video? Is it a question of a collective horror of stillness, a variant of horror vacui?
6. But thank you Alphabet-Google, for your gracious free offer of Blogger! I wonder which data of mine were suited for monetisation?   

Autumn Greyness & City Colours

 

November has at last turned chilly & grey (for a few days at least). So instead of lounging at sidewalk cafés, reluctantly basking in unseasonably warm sunrays (1),  a flâneur can now again take to the streets for long brisk walks. 

For lack of golden sunlight and in the absence of autumnal luminosities, I point the camera to whatever artificial colour that strikes the eye : red street marks echoed in red graffiti, two intensely blue flaps of a sagging shop awning.

Or the flashy colourful letters on a ground floor window (not of a shop, rather a room possibly used for creative purposes) - speaking directly to the soul of a keenly observing, city-gold-digging  flâneur.

1.         How many years, before we’ll stop calling 25°C  end of October “unseasonably warm” -  how long before the veterans of harsh autumns past have become a minority?   

Autumn Luminosities

 

Always a car driving in or out the frame.  Always the autumnal slanting sunrays, reflecting as always on wet asphalt.  And always the leaves, the yellow autumn leaves. 

While Relishing Random Gifts

 

There are many good reasons to no longer write lengthy blogposts.

For one, they are not 15secs videos, so where’s the fun for the scrolling audience? Two, there’s  a war going on in Europe. Three, there are famines threatening in the world.  Four, this planet needs to be saved from climate change. Five, I’ve more pressing private issues to deal with. 

But then again, there’s no harm either in blogging & meandering melancholy musings.

And, right now, instead of dissecting the many perils of the human condition, I feel the strange need to count my blessings – and to evoke some unexpected gifts of harmony.   

 1) The un-solicited emergence of lovely little purple flowers 

“la vie ne fait pas de cadeaux “ : very true indeed!  And yet, these lovely purple flowers just popped up like that, one morning, spreading  their joyous colour & smell all over the small and not particularly well tended front-garden of our building. 

 2)  Finding essential books one didn’t even know that existed

“Rien sans peine” : definitely!  But I was just absentmindedly browsing the shelves in the music section of my beloved second hand bookshop Pêle-Mêle, when, without any merit,  I stumbled upon two  books – each in their way perfect to deepen the insights of a devout albeit unschooled classical music lover.   A small pocket book in perfect condition by Aaron Copland (indeed, the composer!) :  “What to Listen for in Music”. And a beautifully edited art book about “Flemish Polyphony” by Ignace Bossuyt.      

3 

 

3)  An impromptu cello-concerto in the museum garden – by a future winner of the Queen Elisabeth competition

"There’s no such thing as a free lunch” :  undoubtedly! And yet. It was a sultry Sunday summer afternoon in June last year and we had gone for a stroll in the rose gardens of the Museum van Buuren. A woman asked whether we wanted to attend a cello-recital, for free? It was given by a young German-Korean cellist, who was exploring some of the historical surroundings of this music- loving queen who gave her name to an eminent musical competition.  Hayoung Choi’s playing was dazzling.  And on a Sunday morning one year later, scrolling through the news on my phone, I could nod with smug satisfaction: the rose-garden cellist won the 1^st prize of the Queen Elisabeth competition.      

4.      4)  “Incident at Saint Guidon” and an unforeseen city walk

The plan was to efficiently insert a medical examination in the midst of the day, with a well-timed metro trip up and down to the hospital, all without causing so much as a ripple in my work performance.  Well, that didn’t go according to plan – on the way back, after only 10 minutes, the metro halted and all travellers were kindly requested to leave the train: because of an incident at the St Guidon station all metro- traffic was stopped.  

Above the ground people scurried around in all directions, trying to board overflowing buses or hailing already occupied taxis.  Right.  But, that’s when a Flâneur gets going.   Sunny, sweltering hot streets, a walk of about 1.5hours to get back to work.  It’s an unexpected gift to  just walk and walk, along the busy Chaussée de Mons, alongside an unexpectedly peaceful park with children playing, crossing a pittoresque square with a church, slaloming though groups of boys hanging around in Kureghem, traversing the canal, walking past illegal workers gathering behind the Southstation, dodging frantic shoppers at the Place Louise, overtaking strolling dandy’s with nifty dogs along the Toison d’or, speeding up a little, and yes there’s the office building.      

 

5.      5)  Youthful energy in the metro at 7.10AM

“metro-boulot-dodo” – not an uplifting prospect, now that for 3 weeks I have to join the daily commuters to get my treatment in a hospital at the edge of Brussels.   Most people in the metro are rather subdued at this early hour. Looking around I see rows of people uniformly bent over their smartphones. Others are dozing off, like that young slender man, carefully dressed (with red  shoes, red belt and red shirt) snuggling up ever tighter in his corner.  The school-going youth though, bristles with energy. When a girl spots a friend in the next car, she grins & phones :  “look around you!!” , laughing out loud when the friends turns around , surprised. The friend comes over, and until the final metro-stop they sit side by side, grinning & chatting & beaming & oh so happy about their unexpected encounter. 

6.      6)  Greeted by a friendly face at the Erasmus-metro exit

When Ieaving the metro at the ‘Erasmus’ station, apprehensive about the first of 15 radiotherapy –sessions, there is a familiar face that greets me amidst the crowd of commuters. On a bill-board there is Vivian Maier, intently gazing  in her lens, happily capturing her reflection in a mirroring surface, hair unruly, behind her a non-descript building and dappled summer light through tree-leaves -  a joyous reflected self-portrait.  As un-connected & isolated as she may have been – here she is, so many years later, on another continent – on  bill-boards announcing an exhibition of her photos.