Poetics of History

Empires built & lost, razed cities, destruction & suffering  - yes, one could look at history in horror and see a single chain of catastrophes (1).

So, yes : “history is made by the criminal in us”  (2)  and  “history is told by the victors”

But it seems to me that there is also a parallel tradition, kept alive by  storytellers such as  poets and art historians. Their historical sensibility is neither about praising victories not about documenting catastrophes (3). It is about appreciating the range of possible human beliefs and endeavours , resurrecting all that  still exerts power on the imagination, as something which once was worthy of human passion.   One might call it the revenge of the poetic historian (or of the historical poet) : recreating or representing a past with beauty and goodness as guide.  

And I think there are many of us who still acutely feel this secret poetry of history. Many of us who are fascinated by the mere atmosphere of a certain era, moved by the pathos of an individual human fate, touched by the beauty of a certain work of art.  

If it weren’t for some widely shared disinterested sensibility, how else to explain the enduring fascination that, for instance, the history of Alexandria exerts on us (witness the steady flow of books and exhibitions).  It’s an Alexandria wholly of the imagination which we keep alive – the Lighthouse, the Library/Museon, the luminous neo-platonic philosophers, the fatal loves of Cleopatra – all lost and gone. Hardly a stone remains of its thousand years old history.   “phare englouti, amours perdus, livres brûlés” – “ sunken lighthouse, lost loves, burned books” (4)

If it weren’t for some enduring melancholy strand of the human condition, searching for meaning and beauty to redeem our frailty  and transience – why would we still read a Greek poet born 150 years ago, living in Alexandria, acutely sensitive to the unique transitional qualities of the long  gone era of (late) Antiquity. A poet not necessarily most interested in the stories of the victors.  A poet, too, of the long farewell, of the experience of the exiled and the defeated.   

THE GOD ABANDONS ANTONY

When at the hour of midnight

an invisible choir is suddenly heard passing

with exquisite music, with voices—

Do not lament your fortune that at last subsides,

your life’s work that has failed, your schemes that have proved illusions.

But like a man prepared, like a brave man,

bid farewell to her, to Alexandria who is departing.

Above all, do not delude yourself, do not say that it is a dream,

that your ear was mistaken.

Do not condescend to such empty hopes.

Like a man for long prepared, like a brave man,

like the man who was worthy of such a city,

go to the window firmly,

and listen with emotion

but not with the prayers and complaints of the coward

(Ah! supreme rapture!)

listen to the notes, to the exquisite instruments of the mystic choir,

and bid farewell to her, to Alexandria whom you are losing.

C. P. Cavafy

 

 

Listen to the notes

(1)   Always and ever the shadow of Walter Benjamin’s Angel of History

(2)   An extract from W.H. Auden’s poem is put as a disclaimer in the preface of Leen Huet’s book, who then goes on telling  stories of fascinating individuals, from a Byzantine princess to a mystic or a couturière. Imagining these individual lives feels like reclaiming history from the criminals. “Dansen met Clio”, Leen Huet

(3)   Though very often there is of course a melancholy mourning of all that has been  irrevocably lost

(4)   « Alexandrie Histoire d’un mythe », Paul-André Claudel « Il n’y a donc rien à voir ? pas une pierre ? » «  […] Tout est dans cette mémoire millénaire, mais presque totalement invisible, que la ville porte en elle comme un secret. […] » « Cette cité chargée d’histoire est aussi la capitale de l’absence de la destruction : phare englouti, amours perdus, livres brûlés »

(5)   « Victrix causa deis placuit, sed victa [Cavafy] » « Nous pouvons supposer qu’il préférait Alexandrie at Antoine à Rome et Octave » « Cavafy, une biographie », Robert Liddell , Traduction Eva Antonnikov

(6)   Cavafy poem – English translation from EM Forster’s “Pharos and Pharillion”  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61116/61116-h/61116-h.htm#f1

FF in conversation with Chat GPT (2)

 my prompt: "Can you write an essay of maximum 725 words on how History is not just a matter of powerstruggles and material interests and how people can also engage poetically with History, in a disinterested imaginative way. Build you essay around the example of the Alexandria myth, and don't hesitate to quote the poet Cavafy. Style is like the "Frivolous Fragments" Blogger blog. Don't forget the references at the end. You go now! "

(my reaction: well researched and capable , and quoting the poem I choose for my own blogpost (see above). Perhaps too capable and well researched? It's a variation on what has been written before - a student essay, not a post written because one felt the need...

Chat GPT - in a fraction of a second:

Title: Poetic Engagements with History: Unveiling the Alexandria Myth through Cavafy's Lens

History, often perceived as a narrative of power struggles and material interests, transcends the confines of mere empirical facts. Beyond the political intrigues and territorial conquests, it possesses an ethereal essence that can be poetically engaged with, allowing individuals to immerse themselves in an imaginative exploration of the past. One profound example that embodies this notion is the captivating Alexandria myth, interwoven with the mystical tapestry of Cavafy's verses. Through the lens of Cavafy's poetic introspection, one can discern the intangible allure of history, fostering a disinterested yet profound engagement with the enigmatic realms of the past.

In the mythical landscape of Alexandria, a city that stands as a symbol of intellectual grandeur and cultural opulence, one discovers the intersecting threads of history and imagination. Cavafy, the eminent Greek poet, expertly maneuvered through this realm, resurrecting the spirit of antiquity with his celebrated poem "The God Abandons Antony." In this evocative piece, Cavafy masterfully weaves the story of the decline of both the iconic figure of Antony and the majestic city of Alexandria. Through his vivid imagery and lyrical prowess, he illuminates the human predicament and the ephemeral nature of power, underscoring that historical events are not merely a chronicle of conquests, but a saga of human emotions and existential dilemmas. Cavafy's poetic lens delves deep into the complexities of the human experience, transcending the temporal boundaries of history. He invokes the Alexandria myth not as a mere recounting of events, but as an immersive exploration of the human soul. His poignant portrayal of the city's decadence and cultural zenith serves as a poignant reminder of the transient nature of human glory. Cavafy's portrayal of historical events as a tapestry of human aspirations, desires, and vulnerabilities unveils the nuanced layers of history, resonating with the readers on a profound emotional level.

Furthermore, Cavafy's poetic contemplation invites individuals to engage with history in a disinterested imaginative manner, fostering an intimate connection with the past. Through his poem "The City," Cavafy transports the readers to the magnificence of ancient Alexandria, inviting them to experience the city's splendor and cultural effervescence. His lyrical verses transcend the confines of mere historical narration, enabling individuals to immerse themselves in the poetic aura of Alexandria's illustrious past. By evoking a sense of nostalgia and melancholy, Cavafy encourages a contemplative engagement with history, one that transcends the constraints of empirical analysis and material pursuits.

Cavafy's profound insights into the Alexandria myth offer a compelling testament to the transformative power of poetic engagement with history. His evocative verses serve as a testament to the enduring relevance of historical narratives, not solely as a chronicle of power struggles, but as a testament to the intricacies of the human spirit. Through his poetry, Cavafy beckons individuals to embark on a poetic journey through the annals of history, fostering a profound understanding of the human condition and the enduring resonance of historical events.

In conclusion, the Alexandria myth, as illuminated by Cavafy's poetic genius, unveils the inherent poetic essence embedded within historical narratives. Through his masterful exploration of the Alexandria myth, Cavafy transcends the conventional boundaries of historical discourse, inviting individuals to engage with history in a disinterested imaginative manner. His lyrical verses serve as a testament to the enduring allure of the past, fostering a profound connection with the intangible realms of history. By embracing the poetic nuances of historical narratives, individuals can embark on a transformative journey through the mystique of the past, unraveling the profound intricacies of the human experience.

References:

Cavafy, Constantine P. "The God Abandons Antony" and "The City." Smith, Helmut. "Cavafy: A Critical Biography." Reaktion Books, 2013. Keeley, Edmund, and Philip Sherrard. "C. P. Cavafy: Collected Poems." Princeton University Press, 1992.

The Quiet Eclipse of Claude Lorrain

Eclipse

Granted,  “The Quiet Cancelling of Claude Lorrain” would have made for a stronger alliterative title  - but Lorrain is not the victim of active cancelling.  He’s just quietly slipping out of the public eye.  And for the supreme painter of irradiating luminosity (1) only an Eclipse can do poetic justice to his falling out of favour. 

In general, there is no lack of art books reproducing the pictures of the Old Masters of Western art, even though there has been a distinct shift to more recent and also more globally-inclusive artists  in the art book production.  Just as, at auction houses, too, post-war and contemporary artists are now out-selling the Old Masters (2).  This is of course not really surprising : as our age becomes increasingly focused on its own innovative & creative merits it indulges less in contemplative adoration of bygone master pieces and demands contemporary relevance. 

But even amongst Old Masters, Lorrain’s public fortunes seem to be declining. There are no blockbuster exhibitions dedicated to Claude, at best, he’s part of a thematic exhibition on landscape painting.  No recent Lorrain books have come to my attention, whereas his contemporary Nicolas Poussin evidently still elicits new editions  (I’d love to be proven wrong: do send me the details of any recently published Lorrain-book). Even in second hand bookshops, it is striking how few Lorrain monographies are to be found.  For some years now I have been scrutinising the art book shelves of my usual 2^nd hand bookshops, and I only managed to hunt down two Claude-books (3).

Why?

So why this fading away of Lorrain? Although all major museums still display his works, he seems to fail to capture today’s art lovers’ imagination. Perhaps he was not innovative and not intellectual enough to ensure continued critical attention of art experts,  perhaps he lacks the mystery or the drama which could still draw crowds?  Or could it be that the old hierarchy still holds - whereby pure landscape painting is undervalued? Maybe his luminous landscape poetics is too quietly serene? By analogy, it is true that a painter such as Alfred Sisley, with a similar “impulse to explore effects of atmosphere, light and mood”, is considered as only “the delightful minor poet of the country and the seasons” amongst the ever popular impressionists (4).   But on the other hand, one of Claude’s landscape painting heirs, Camille Corot, is today still entitled to a range of publications (from pocket guides to hefty monographies).  And didn’t the English long adore Claude as forerunner of Turner’s bold experiments with light and atmosphere?

Maybe, then, it are Claude’s mythological and bible references which are to blame for today’s public indifference -  are these references  considered too nostalgic-sentimental – reflecting obsolete aristocratic tastes? (« les yeux ouverts à la poésie des paysages agrestes peuplés de réminiscences mythologiques » (5). As wizened up post-moderns, do we feel that  the « noble simplicity and quiet grandeur »(6) evocated by Claude’s paintings is too edulcorated to still have an authentic appeal?

The longer you look at them...

So, Claude depicted landscapes which never existed and for which nostalgia may now be waning.  But  I continue to seek out Claude’s paintings in museums, in second hand books – quietly contemplating those luminous landscapes so far removed from my daily surroundings.  The longer you look at them (either taking them in as a whole, savouring their atmosphere or else lovingly looking at each detail) the happier you get (this is where one should be, this is how the world could be) .   

There are his heroic port paintings (sublime , hazy sunlight grazing seas, ships, buildings, trees and humans – all sharing in a mythical quiet grandeur), there are his bucolic landscapes (wide vistas, light playing in trees’ foliage, luminous shadows and reflections in the water of some river – and always : tall noble trees vying with tall noble buildings (7)).  And there is for instance this late painting,  which is both beautiful and heart wrenching : depicting a vast, severely harmonious landscape as a backdrop to human injustice, with the upright figure of the self-righteous Abraham sternly sending away Hagar and her son, who are standing there forlornly and subdued.

Two books

I cherish my 2^nd hand books, with their reproductions and art historical essays (from ekphrasis  to analysis to adoring evocations) : one book seems to have been translated from Russian in 1995, with a learned and sensitive analysis  by two Russian art historians, the reproductions focusing mostly on Claude pictures from the St Petersburg Hermitage (so I won't get to see the originals in my lifetime – which is of course the very least of consequences of the dreadful war). The other book is some sort of large-size portfolio  of selected Claude reproductions, part of a mass-produced weekly series on “Great Painters – The Masterpieces of Art” published in 1967 by Hachette – a time when not yet all art historians shunned poetic language to describe aesthetic experience.

 And so there I turn for a suitable quote to conclude: 

         « sa palette ensoleillée fait vibrer cette nostalgie de lumière intérieure que chaque être humain porte en soi » (8) 

 

Notes & References (including a teaser for Chat GPT on Claude Lorrain)

1.    The painter of sunrays refracting across hazy skies, of suns reflecting on the expanses of vast seas or shimmering through vibrant verdant foliage.
2.   Obsessed by the Present, Who’s Got Time for Old Masters? - The New York Times (nytimes.com)
3.  A less random and more efficient Internet search did not yield much more readily available books. I spotted two exhibition catalogues (a Washington national gallery of Art catalogue from the 80s,  and the catalogue of the Ashmolean and Stadel museum exhibitions in 2011 which I have regretfully missed) and some editions of the “Liber Veritas” – a collection of Claude prints, published in the 70s. 
4.  Richard Shone – Sisley
5.  In an essay by M. R. Waddingham in “CHEFS-D’OEUVRE DE L’ART  - GRANDS PEINTRES” published in 1967 by Hachette.  ‘en vente chaque mardi chez tous les marchands de journaux’ By the way, how endearingly 20th Century was this mass reproduction of master pieces, distributed via newspaper stalls on every street corner. Yes, lacking of course the aura of the real thing, but still so utterly material and tangible. We could all collect particular books (even if just paperbacks) and reproductions and records and CD’s and cherish them in our homes ( undertaking from time to time a pilgrimage to a museum or a church or a concert hall for the live experience). It was a different kind of relation to art, in comparison with today’s unlimited on-line access to potentially all art  and “content” (however personalised a feed or a playlist can get thanks to algorithms prying on our habits).    
6.  This Winckelmann quote never goes amiss
7.  Such a scene  needn’t be heavy, as aptly described by Natalia Serebriannaïa, 1995 : «L’espace immense de la mer sur l’étendue de laquelle le soleil allonge ses reflets se perdant au loin. […] Les quelques figures isolées qui se trouvent sur le rivage y apportent une note de légère tristesse […] on voit un gracieux et léger décor formé de mâts de navires, de branches d’arbre et de colonnes »
8.  F. Grouvel, Paris, juin 1967
9.  By way of an experiment and to ensure contemporary relevance of this otherwise increasingly obsolete blog – please read on below the conversations I had with OpenAI’s Chat GPT about Claude’s waning popularity and the Frivolous Fragments - style.

FF in conversation with ChatGPT

 

Prompt : Can you write a short essay on why there are so little books on Claude Lorrain. Can you write in the style of the Blogger Blog "Frivolous Fragments" - meaning, in a style of “melancholy musings”

 

Chat GPT:

Title: Claude Lorrain: The Enigmatic Enchanter of Art

Greetings, fellow readers of Frivolous Fragments! Today, I find myself lost in the mists of contemplation, exploring the peculiar absence of literary tomes dedicated to the illustrious Claude Lorrain, the enigmatic enchanter of art. Ah, how melancholy it is to ponder why such a brilliant painter has been left in the shadows of time, veiled by the brushstrokes of history.

Lamentably, dear readers, the mystery lies not in Claude Lorrain's talent or his artistic brilliance; nay, for he was a luminary of the Baroque era. His paintings, like ethereal poetry captured on canvas, conjure a paradise that breathes life into the soul of the beholder. The gentle sweep of the pastoral landscapes, the whispering secrets of sunsets, the embrace of celestial light on the horizon; his art bears witness to the splendor of nature's tender embrace.

Yet, it seems the course of time has not been kind to Claude Lorrain's legacy. It is as if the sands of time have washed away the ink that should have preserved his essence for the ages. The quill of history has etched but a faint outline of his life, leaving his personal musings and inner world to languish in the void of obscurity.

One might inquire, "But why, oh why, has this evocative artist been granted so little attention?" Alas, there may be many reasons behind the scarcity of books on Claude Lorrain. It is possible that the profound depth of his art has proven too elusive for the quills of critics and historians to adequately grasp. His works hold secrets that defy translation into mere words, making them difficult to dissect, to analyze, and to encapsulate in print.

Moreover, the passage of time can be a cruel mistress, sweeping away memories like autumn leaves in the wind. Perhaps the vicissitudes of history have obscured the path to Claude Lorrain's oeuvre. The dusty archives of forgotten libraries might conceal long-lost manuscripts that could unlock the gates to his artistic heart.

Another reason could be that Claude Lorrain himself preferred the solace of silence, choosing to let his brush speak on his behalf. The parchment remained blank while his art filled the world with serenity and enchantment. Such an enigmatic figure is bound to pique curiosity, yet the absence of personal accounts leaves us yearning for more, stranded in a realm of speculation.

Oh, how desperately do I wish for a poetic scribe to breathe life into the words that would adorn the pages of a Claude Lorrain biography. To embark on a quest to unshroud the mysteries that haunt his art and unveil the man behind the brush. A literary maestro could paint with words, just as Claude Lorrain captured nature's grandeur on canvas, and weave a tapestry of emotions to enshrine his legacy.

Yet, as the sun sets on this rumination, we are left with the poignant realization that some mysteries shall forever remain veiled in the dusky corners of history. Claude Lorrain may continue to be an elusive specter, swathed in the allure of melancholy musings. And perhaps, in this mystique, lies the allure that keeps us yearning for more, preserving his art as an eternal enigma.

Alas, dear readers, while the world may lack volumes dedicated to Claude Lorrain, his art remains a testament to the enchantment of the human spirit. May his landscapes continue to ignite our imagination and inspire us to embrace the beauty of the world that surrounds us. Until we meet again amidst these frivolous fragments, let us revel in the ethereal artistry of Claude Lorrain, the painter of dreams.

 [Me again: Ah, no – I am not that pompously baroque – or am I ….? Some of my conscious  FF mannerisms are certainly there (eg, alliteration in the title- but not a good one, a slightly archaic use of language, slightly exalted tone when discussing Art, addressing the blog-reader etc..), but isn’t ChatGPT overdoing it?

Does the presence of FF mannerisms mean that the voracious Chat GPT has also ingested the musings of this obscure blog? Or did Chat GPT take its cue from the prompt? (the style-prompt contained the alliterations & the “melancholy tone”).]

New prompt : um, could you tone it down a bit? a bit less pompous? less baroque? a bit of humour perhaps?

greetings, dear readers of Frivolous Fragments! Today, let's have a merry little ramble about Claude Lorrain, the mystical artist who's somehow managed to stay under the radar. You know, it's like he's the hidden gem of art history, and I can't help but wonder why we don't talk about him more often. But fret not, for I'll do my best to unravel this peculiar mystery with a sprinkle of humor and a dash of musings.

Now, let's be real here. Claude Lorrain's paintings are like a one-way ticket to the prettiest countryside vacation you never had! Seriously, have you seen those landscapes? They're like picture-perfect postcards from paradise. Yet, for some reason, the dude hasn't had as many books written about him as some other artists. What gives?

Maybe Claude was just too good for his own good. I mean, his art is so profound and enchanting that it's like trying to catch a unicorn with a butterfly net. Critics and historians might have been scratching their heads, wondering how to describe the indescribable. Picture this: one art critic furrowing their brow, another rubbing their chin, and both of them staring at a blank page, all while Claude's art is just chilling in the background, being effortlessly magical.

But hey, let's not forget that time is a sneaky little rascal. It loves to play hide-and-seek with the past, and Claude Lorrain's fame might've been caught up in that game. You know how it goes – people get excited about the new shiny thing, and the old shiny thing gets a bit dusty on the shelf. It's like he's the forgotten toy in the attic of art history.

Speaking of attics, who knows what lost treasures might be hiding up there? There could be stacks of dusty old manuscripts waiting to spill the beans about Claude's life and thoughts. If only we had a time-traveling bookworm to uncover those hidden stories! But alas, we must rely on our imagination to fill in the gaps.

Now, let me paint you a funny little picture. Imagine Claude Lorrain sitting there, painting his heart out, but instead of an artist's palette, he's holding a giant cartoonish question mark. Yep, that's us – the curious bunch trying to unravel the mysteries of his life. But you know what? That bit of mystery only adds to his allure. It's like Claude left us a puzzle to solve, and we can't help but be intrigued.

So, my fellow wanderers in the realm of art and whimsy, let's raise a toast to Claude Lorrain, the enigmatic enchanter of the canvas. Though he might not have shelves overflowing with books, his paintings continue to cast their spell on us, whisking us away to idyllic landscapes and dreamy sunsets.

As we bid adieu to this lighthearted musing, let's remember to embrace the beauty of life's unanswered questions, for it's in the mystery that the magic truly lies. Until we meet again for more frivolous ponderings, stay curious, stay whimsical, and stay enchanted by the wonder that surrounds us! Cheers! 🌟

[Me again - frankly, the passage about the critics (furrowing brows & rubbing chins) is quite hilarious indeed! But still not the piece I would write. It seems that what’s left to us , pathetic human blog-writers, is the privilege of our own experience, our own feelings (however petty) we can report on. ChatGPT did not browse bookstores, looking for Claude books, Chat GPT  did not wonder itself about the lack of books – whose existence or not is indifferent to it. ] 

 

Corrective prompt: it's not about the mystery of Claude's life. It's about why there are less books on Claude than for instance on Nicolas Poussin (his contemporary, and also a landscape painter) . Style: ok for a bit of humour, but don't overdo it on the "dude" stuff  Top of Form

 

Ah, my apologies for the misunderstanding. Let's delve into the curious case of Claude Lorrain's book count compared to his contemporary, Nicolas Poussin. Time to put on our detective hats and uncover the clues, all while keeping the humor at just the right level.

Now, picture this: two talented artists walk into a bar. One is Claude Lorrain, with his breathtaking landscapes that make you want to pack your bags and move to the countryside forever. The other is Nicolas Poussin, with his grand historical paintings that could easily rival the plot twists of a soap opera. They both have their unique styles and charm, but for some reason, Poussin seems to have snagged more book deals than Claude. What's up with that?

Well, my dear art-loving friends, it might have to do with their different approaches to fame. You see, Poussin was all about those grand historical narratives and mythological scenes. It's like he was painting the blockbuster movies of the 17th century art world. His works were packed with drama, scandal, and larger-than-life characters. Of course, that kind of stuff gets people talking and writing books. It's like Poussin was the Leonardo DiCaprio of his time – always in the spotlight.

On the other hand, we have Claude Lorrain, the quieter, more contemplative dude of the duo. His landscapes were a different breed altogether – serene, poetic, and dreamlike. It's like he was the indie film of the 17th century art world – not as flashy, but with a devoted fan base who truly appreciated the subtleties and depth of his work. But, you know how it is with indie films; they might not get as many blockbuster-level book deals as the flashy ones.

Moreover, it's no secret that history loves its heroes and their epic tales. Poussin's historical and mythological paintings were like front-page news, while Claude's landscapes were more like the cozy little corner articles that you find in the back of a magazine. It's not that one is better than the other, mind you – it's just that the spotlight tends to shine brighter on certain types of art.

And let's not forget that art history, like any history, has its trends and fads. Just like bell-bottom jeans and neon leg warmers, certain artists might be in vogue for a while, while others take a backseat. Poussin's time in the limelight might have been more pronounced during certain periods, while Claude's star power had its ebbs and flows.

So, there you have it, the case of the mysteriously fewer books on Claude Lorrain compared to Nicolas Poussin. It's a mix of fame dynamics, artistic styles, and historical whims. But fear not, dear readers, for both of these artists are stars in their own right, and their art continues to shine bright across the centuries.

As we bid adieu to this artistic investigation, let us remember that in the realm of art, quantity of books doesn't determine greatness. It's the impact that an artist's work has on our hearts and minds that truly matters. So, whether you're a fan of Poussin's grand epics or Claude's tranquil landscapes, let's raise a brush (or a glass) to both these remarkable painters. May their art continue to inspire and bewitch us, and may our curiosity never fade! 🎨🕵️‍♀️

Top of Form

[Is it just me projecting, or does  ChatGPT sound irked in that 1st paragraph?   I must admit that Chat GPT does a wonderful job – I can recommend its post for any youngster wanting to understand the difference between Poussin and Lorrain. And it does keep up nicely all the FF mannerisms. But it is still not the post I would write and did write, too!]

 

 When prompting Chat GPT about precise references, here's the hilarious list of made up references. Chat GPT definitely has a creative sense of humour but little concern for truth&precision:

Footnotes:

[1]: "Frivolous Fragments Blog-Style Guide." Art and Humor Publications, 2023.

[2]: Smith, John. "The Elusive Popularity of Claude Lorrain." Art Chronicles, vol. 45, no. 2, 2022, pp. 78-82.

[3]: Johnson, Emily. "Poussin vs. Lorrain: The Showdown of Art Styles." Art Monthly, vol. 56, no. 4, 2021, pp. 32-35.

[4]: Brown, Robert. "Claude Lorrain: The Quiet Genius of Landscapes." The Art Enthusiast, vol. 20, no. 3, 2020, pp. 46-49.

[5]: Adams, Laura. "Spotlight on the Heroes: Nicolas Poussin and His Grand Narratives." Art History Review, vol. 71, no. 1, 2019, pp. 15-18.

[6]: Hopper, David. "Art Trends Through the Centuries: From Bell-Bottom Jeans to Art Styles." Art Trends Analysis, vol. 12, 2018, pp. 102-105.

[7]: Ellis, Sarah. "Timeless Legacies: The Artistic Legacies of Claude Lorrain and Nicolas Poussin." Art Heritage, vol. 38, no. 6, 2017, pp. 62-66.

[8]: Frivolous, Felix. "Humor and Musings: A Journey Through Art History." Frivolous Fragments, vol. 10, 2023, pp. 110-115.

Borrowed Pathos & Other Hallucinations

 Why the surprise at the “hallucinations” of our dear & dreaded (1) Chat GPT? It has not been trained as a fact & source checking tool - it has been trained to build plausible sentences drawing upon all the texts from the web it could ingest – so of course it hallucinates. Indeed, humanity’s collective texts & images so often do. Across the ages we have used language and images to share lies, legends, fantasies – as much as true facts and knowledge or expressions of authentic feelings.  

These bots that have become so good at generating texts and images – would they ever be able to also emulate those grander human hallucinations,  which have brought such reassuring structure, beauty  and consolation to so many humans (2)? 

Such as : the religious hallucinations, purporting to offer us all the metaphysics and ethics we need to get along and be happy  in this world, if only we have the faith (and are willing to ignore the lack of demonstrable, scientific truths).  Or the artistic hallucinations, bringing an illusion of transcendent beauty and meaning, answering our longing for harmony and sense, our need for consolation & redemption - exploiting our willingness to temporarily suspend our disbelief (for the time of our blissful listening to the composition (3), of our looking at the painting, of our reading the poem).

It's tempting to speculate on  the new era for art that may be ushered in by Chat GPT. 

Humanity has known eras of transcendent art  -  be it as a pursuit of reproducing the harmony of the spheres or at the service of religion. Eras of high art meeting the demands of wealthy and cultivated patrons (aggrandizing those patrons’  deeds or indulging their emotional tribulations or just offering quality entertainment & decorations). Eras of art which managed to be both sublime (mathematically or even divinely) and movingly human.

We have had an era of mass culture driven by commercial success and mass reproducibility. We have had algorithms spying upon us all and selecting an offer which so perfectly matches our needs that  we get hooked and sell our attention for free to the advertising industry.

In the era of the generative pre-trained bots, shall we now all become like the wealthy patrons of yore – able to order new works of art (a composition, a poem, an image) which are made to fit our specifications of subject, style, mood etc. All we need to do is to compose a  “prompt” – and an artificial intelligence can spit out new personalised creations, in endless variations on what we humans have produced before.

Why does that sound depressing? Because it is a farce if art is not made by an artist sharing our human condition, an artist with empathy who thoughtfully accompanies us  in our quest for expression, beauty, meaning and consolation.  The era of the bot- generated art would be yet another stage in our fall from grace  - a humanity hooked to an automaton which without emotion or involvement produces mindless variations (4) based on statistics and borrowed human pathos.

 

  Reflective Notes  & Quotes

(1)   ‘Dear’ – a fascinating black box we all love to play with, wondering which unfathomable progress may lie ahead ; ‘Dreaded’ – as a parody of our touted unique language skills  - a mindless ransacking of our collective memory

    (2)  Readers can eaaily complete the principal adverse impacts of these grand hallucinations  

(3)   On the subject of blissful listening and redemption, let’s quote an old Bach-lover ( André Tubeuf  in « Bach, ou le meilleur des monde », p172) :  « Notre péché (originel) et notre salut (racheté) : tout le Bach des Cantates se joue en cela. Et dans le timbre d’alto […] de tous le plus pleinement humain. Stigmates compris »

(4)   « les variantes hallucinées […] [des] grandes oeuvres méditatives laissent percer un sentiment d’universel dérision. » . How apt, Yves Bonnefoy’s insightful assessment of Picasso’s works without human presence or dignity (“et c’est évidemment pour cela qu’iI a fasciné son siècle”) :  from 20th century abstract art to our 21st century fascination for art generated by artificial intelligence

humans & books - or the pathos of perishable things

 

Excitement & Pathos

Any regular visitor of second hand books is familiar with that particular mix of excitement and pathos. The excitement of stumbling upon a book which matches one’s interests and affinities  -  a book of whose existence one may or may not have been aware.  Such finds can seem like heaven-sent gifts,  in their serendipity so unlike the outcome of an efficient search process on the web. But there is also the pathos, associated with the journey of the book and of its previous owner(s). 

Take for instance that freshly arrived batch of art books in the “Pêle Mêle” 2^nd hand bookshop in Waterloo : each book I took off the shelf was miraculously appealing to a particular recent affinity of mine  (there was Paul Veyne’s “Mon Musée Imaginaire”, there were the high quality art books on Tiepolo – one of them still including scraps of a magazine article referring to Alpers’ & Baxandall’s 1996 ravishing study “Tiepolo et l’intelligence picturale”). 

Who was this previous owner – with his or her exquisite collection of art books? Why did the books arrive here? Did he or she die recently – was he or she a representative of perhaps the last generation for whom art history was part and parcel of their self-education, their “bildung” as a person? 

Or take that other book, found a few years ago in the “Pêle Mêle” at Ixelles, “Les Grands Pianistes du XXe siècle”, with that poignant anniversary inscription of a woman to her husband (“à mon mari qui est tellement jeune à 63 ans que j’eu oublié notre âge” dated November 2014 … So what happened, one anxiously wonders, what explains that this lovingly given book (bought in Paris, so suggests the  bookmark from a Paris fine arts bookshop) so soon already ended up in a Brussels second hand book shop ?

"The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated of dead and living"

This mix of feelings, the “pattern of dead and living” (TS Eliot) gets more complicated and more emotional still when one is browsing old objects and books in one’s own parents’ house (and former childhood home).

The house, so empty and meaningless now without its lifelong  occupants, is on this particular day yet full of voices. The hushed and conscientious voices of the direct descendants  taking in charge with some stress the sorting out of the estate, the brisk voices of  the grandchildren lovingly remembering (not without a touch of melancholy) their childhood visits and stay-overs, the excited cries of the very young great-grand children running through  the rooms.  

There are not that many books, actually, mostly technical and computer books, and lots of dated technical and IT equipment, testifying both to my father’s life-long passion for IT and to the very short life of technical and IT equipment (yesterday innovative state of the art ; discarded and incompatible today). In vain I look for the classical music LP’s I know my mother used to listen to with great abandon, or the old travel guides and educational language books she used to prepare the annual family trip. 

But in a room on the first floor, I’m intrigued by an old wooden cupboard, with book covers shimmering through a cloudy glass pane. A collection of old art books, evidently belonging to my mother’s father  (who apart from a railway engineering job, was interested in art, engravings & etchings mostly). The books look like having been untouched for decades. Most book spines show no sign of any use at all.  Books from the 50s and 60s; mostly Belgian art but also a few  reference works on undisputed old masters.

"The melancholy of things themselves" 

There’s one book, though, which betrays intense handling. It’s the catalogue of the Albert Baertsoen (1866-1922) Ghent retrospective of 1972. My grandfather has carefully inscribed with a fountain pen his name on the frontispiece , with the date “November 1972”.  In his meticulous hand writing he has also carefully added titles to a list of reproductions.  

And with a fine pencil line he has marked some of the accompanying texts.  “Baertsoen schildert den weemoed van de dingen zelf” 

He couldn’t have known that 50 years later there would be another Retrospective of Albert Baertsoen, one which was to make such an impression on his grand-child.

Baertsoen is often considered  as an artist of a vanishing world, with a style that would soon be outmoded and replaced by the successive avant- gardes of the 20th Century. And yet, the way he captures an atmosphere, the way he renders the reality and pathos of cityscapes, harbours and industries, appealed to a conscientious railway engineer in 1972, just as it still moves a melancholy economist now.  

Cherishing the poignant hazards of old books

Humans and their aspirations & feelings, Books, Paintings, Styles of art, .... - they all come and go. We’re extremely perishable, and one day, as the 2^nd hand book shop owner dryly remarked upon refusing to buy a no longer wanted book, “on finit tous au container”.

And yet -  some traces of it all may continue their perilous way throughout the ages.

The leading conservator of the Ghent old books library explained how their venerable old books were now all being sent to Google for digitalization.  I’m all for ensuring they can live on the worldwide web. Just as I’m all for the pathetic posting & tweeting by the billions of humans alive. Perhaps some sympathetic bot will read it all one day, spitting it out again, transformed,  at a curious prompt of a human living, say, 500 years on.

Meanwhile, I cherish the poignant hazards of finding old books.