“If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you” seems to be
the underlying principle of the doorstop-weight tome 1881 A Short History of
Art by Julie B. De Forest. Ms. De Forest’s credentials are actually never
introduced, but her terse judgements (and dismissals) of several schools and
regional species of art are delivered with a crisp, no-nonsense tone that
leaves no room for discussion. I kind of like it and it’s pretty interesting to
see just how far we’ve come as a culture from this sort of super-authoritative
approach to teaching.
I could fill pages (she certainly did!) with her epigrammatic
condemnations—here are a few characteristic pronouncements:
“Indeed, we may detect even in sculpture the incipient signs
of a decaying empire, which in less than fifty years crumbles to pieces.” (p
34)
“Whether art in Asia Minor would have developed any originality
of not, it is difficult to say; for, when Greek colonies established themselves
there, Greek ideas extinguished whatever life there may have been in the
indigenous art of the country.” (p44)
“Above all, Greek architecture was an organic whole, and not
an amalgamation of borrowed elements. All its forms were simple and easily
understood, and appealed, therefor, not only to the man born and bred a Greek
in the days of Pericles, but to all nations and all time.” (p 61)
“The oriental love of splendor and of symbolism was clearly
shown and fully gratified by intricate ceremonies, gorgeous vestments, and
beautiful decorative details.” (p121)
“We have treated Byzantine art as a whole, because there is
so little variety about it, that it is not worth while to return to it.” (p128)
“The barbarism of the North, from the earliest dawn of
history, form a ‘dim background to the warmth and light of the Mediterranean coast.’
It was on this far-off horizon that the mist gathered, and the clouds thickened,
unperceived. The Romans sank deeper and deeper into the enervating grasp of
luxury, and when the storm burst over their heads they were helpless before it.”
(p135)
Oh, and let’s not forget this one: “If we fail today to see
the innermost hidden meaning in every detail (of Gothic Architecture), we are unconsciously
impressed by the faithful and lavish completeness of the whole, as we can never
be impressed by the wise economy of later productions of ecclesiastical architecture.”
(p159)
There are gems like this on every page and what it tells me
of the 19th century is that experts believed in the totality of
their judgments and that there must have been an awful lot of journalistic
spats conducted over these Jovian statements, particularly as they came from a
woman.
Art here is reduced to a science, as were so many other academic
disciples in this era—formulae and detailed examination of cause-and-effect are
de riguer and there’s a deep distrust
and dislike for emotionalism. The author’s curled lip and the rolled eye
surface when reviewing florid forms and over-emoting sculptures (she’s not a
fan of Michelangelo AT ALL…too much DRAMA). “Human nature,” she declares, “cannot
long endure that finer air which blows on the summits of idealism, and soon
longs again for the thicker atmosphere of earthly lowlands.” (p200) This to explain
the fall of the high renaissance in Italy, of all things.
There’s a fine mist of withering, barely disguised scorn for
artistic emotional outbursts whether in marble, paint or timber; they’re pegged
“exaggerated sentiment, violent action, and mannerism…they (Da Vinci wannabees)
sought to create ideals, but only succeeded in producing far-fetched effects.
They had no thoughts to express; and their soulless forms are mere mannerisms,
that are neither attractive nor interesting.” (p213) "Soulless" is her highest
insult, reserved for artists who fail to rise to her often-baffling criteria.
Her overt disgust for these talentless hacks is balanced by
a delicate but distinct fawning rapture over the perplexing dignity of religious
figures in famed works. Our author breathes a dainty sigh of relief when noting
how Saint Sebastian, bristling with arrows, meekly lifts his curly head without
a grimace or furrow to mar his beauty in one Renaissance depiction. Restraint,
she indicates repeatedly, is the hallmark of a truly cultured artistic expression.
Our author finds the freedom that our modern culture lionizes crude, disturbing,
and vulgar.
The coolest thing I found in these pages (which are jam-packed
with etched copies of many of the works she covers as such a violent clip) was a
snipped chart from an 1880 Chautauquan newspaper. This tattered scrap details
the Chautauqua Literary and Science Circle Class of 1882 Third Year Studies, and
on it the previous owner of this book penciled faint Xs on those books he/she’d
already tackled: Church History by Dr. Hurst; The Tongue of Fire by Arthur; Cyrus to Alexander by Jacob Abbott (stay tuned for a review of that one on this blog…I’ve got it, too!). This weary piece of paper, obviously carried about in a pocket
or purse, tells me the reader was serious about walking under the golden
arches up to the Hall in the Grove on Commencement Day. Seeing this much-creased, faithful witness to the
unknown student’s fervor inspires me to be as faithful to my self-imposed
discipline.
“Be not weary in well-doing.” Galatians 6:9
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