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The overwhelming dominance of Artemisia Gentileschi's personal narrative over her worth as an artist has always bothered me. The rape, the trial, the struggles of being a female artist in the XVII century - of course it's all relevant, but I never thought it needed to define her work. I also took exception to the sensationalisation of her life story and the overly sexualised reading of part of her oeuvre at the expense of her artistic legacy. Until today.


This dazzling show at the National Gallery makes an important statement about Artemisia Gentileschi the artist. And despite certain inevitable and relevant personal references, it finally does away with the idea that she used painting to seek revenge or handle her trauma. Now that half her creative output has been reunited in the Sainsbury Wing, we can focus our attention on her artistic achievements. Her paintings are confident and theatrical, full of both graceful sensuality and gruesome violence. Artemisia injects the usual biblical themes with passion and sensitivity, turning the narrative on its head. In her female-dominated stories, of which she is sometimes the protagonist, her masterful use of chiaroscuro creates such drama that we can almost hear the gentle rustling of the silk and the gasping of the characters.


Standing ovation for Letizia Treves and her team for gifting us with this long overdue survey of one of the most accomplished artists of the Italian Baroque. Artemisia is finally celebrated as the brilliant, edgy, ambitious, empowered and unapologetic painter that she was.


Esther before Ahasuerus (detail) (c.1626-29)


Judith and her Maidservant with the Head of Holofernes (c. 1618-19)


Susannah and the Elders (1610)


Judith and her Maidservant with the Head of Holofernes (c. 1623-25)


Allegory of Painting (c.1638-39)


Judith Beheading Holofernes (c. 1613-14)


Mary Magdalene in Ecstasy (1623)

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  • Writer's pictureBeyond the Canvas

Updated: Sep 24, 2020

Venice is, among many other wonderful things, synonymous with glass. The work of the Murano glassblowers has inspired countless artists to explore the possibilities of this fascinating medium and break the barriers of functionality to land into full-fledged artistic territory. Le Stanze del Vetro and the Fondazione Giorgio Cini on the Island of San Giorgio Maggiore present a superb show of 155 pieces and installations that trace the history of the American Studiio Glass through the creative output of artists who have studied glasswork in Venice.


Founded in 1962 by Harvey K. Littleton, this movement created an artistic roadmap that was sometimes based on American themes (e.g. the American flag), but always aligned with the Venetian tradition for both aesthetics and technical execution.

My photo skills have not improved, for which I apologise, but the results of these collaborations are truly outstanding. Some of the works defy and redefine the idea of what glass can do, a medium that is here celebrated for its potential to take a seemingly infinite number of shapes, colours and textures. Sublime.


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"This Christ will never be forgotten. Was it made from earth? Was it rotting flesh? I didn’t know what the medium was […] The three Marys enraged by suffering, demented by the suffering […]. Can you imagine the petrified scream?’ - Gabriele d’Annunzio (1924)


Remember the last time you saw an enraged, demented Mary? No, me neither. And that's because, with the Compianto sul Cristo Morto, Nicolò dell'Arca did the unthinkable. He took a sacred subject and then proceeded to treat its protagonists like human beings. I believe this is, quite simply, a thoroughly revolutionary representation of universal pain in the way we all know it.


While the men (Joseph of Arimathea and John the Baptist) are numb and don't seem to know quite what to do, the Marys take centre stage by displaying the wildest array of emotions. The mother of Christ (2nd left) is bent by sorrow, leaning to one side as if she's about to break. Her hands are not clasped in prayer, they are firmly squeezed against each other in agony. And what of Mary of Salonne (1st left) who's digging her fingernails in her thighs to contain an even bigger outburst? Mary of Cleophas (2nd right) is stretching her arms forwards not wanting to see the corpse of Christ. Look at Mary Magdalene (1st right), eyes swollen with tears, whose gaping mouth emits perhaps the most piercing scream. She seems ready to throw herself on top of the dead body. So. Much. Pathos.


As it's often the case, dall'Arca's revolution came too soon and couldn't be fully appreciated. The hospital this was made for rejected the work on the grounds that it scared the patients (maybe they had a point), so the statues ended up in an niche before eventually being relegated to a place near the food market. Worth remembering that this powerful and groundbreaking (originally polychrome) terracotta masterpiece was created 200 years before Gian Lorenzo Bernini showed the world how marble could be used to capture emotions in motion.








Church of Santa Maria della Vita, Bologna

Photos all mine.

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