Obligatory Pilgrimages


The art in Tuscany is unique and spectacular. As an artist visiting the region, there are certain things you just have to do. The list of requirements includes traveling to towns that would be unknown if not for their one masterpiece, visiting countless works of art and architecture, and standing in admission lines for hours to pay homage to the contents of the Ufizzi gallery. You don't have much choice in the matter; if you're one who appreciates art, you simply must do your aesthetic duty.

And I certainly did mine. I dutifully read all the guidebooks, which set the Renaissance masters on their well-deserved pedestals. I plotted where the masterpieces were, which ones I could see in a given day, and ranked the works as well as the artists themselves in proper hierarchical order. I reacquainted myself with the Sienese School of painting (which I had barely studied in art school), and checked off favorite sites and excursions remembered from a previous visit. In the course of the three months that I prepared for this trip, I must have accumulated a collection of 8 or 10 guidebooks on the region, and amassed a list of dozens of Internet bookmarks. They all contained 80% of the same material but each one had a slightly different perspective, or included a few different listings that were worth adding to my list.

Copyright © 2005 by Dan Giordan

All this notoriety, combined with the general guidebook consensus of what was worth seeing, set my expectations pretty high. I think that anyone who travels to Tuscany and has even casually thumbed through a single guidebook would have elevated expectations. This really was the Art Mecca. You can imagine tourists disembarking from plane after plane, clutching their guidebooks and looking around expectantly: "We're in Florence now, and we're going to see the greatest art in the world."

And so they stand like cattle in all the admission lines, and they shuffle past the art, taking it in as best they can. I'm sure some are disappointed by the inevitable letdown that can only follow such aesthetic anticipation. I mean, after all, it's just a piece of marble, or a bunch of colors on a panel. Others may react effusively, as though they had just met a movie star or some other famous celebrity. "Oh my, doesn't David look thinner in person? Well, they say the guidebook does add 10 pounds…."

A small minority is reported to have physical symptoms in response to these sublime works of art, feeling dizziness or nausea as a result of their confrontation with such beauty. The supposed malady is known as the Stendhal Syndrome, named for the famous novelist who reported nervous exhaustion, agitation, and heart palpitations in response to Florence's church of Santa Croce in January 1817. Others have reported hallucinations, fevers, tears, and convulsions (although some suspect this was in response to the high prices at the museum restaurants).

Although most of these symptoms can be chalked up to traveling stress and anxiety, the fact that these symptoms are ascribed to works of art in the first place indicates that we are bestowing great power on these objects. Our high expectations are either affirmed or refuted, and some people are sure to react strongly in either case.

As I walked into Santa Croce, which was on my "favorites from my last visit" list, I was happy to see that my admiration was not just a distorted memory blown out of proportion by the guidebooks. The cathedral was filled with amazing examples of art and history, and as I took it all in, I confess that I was beginning to feel a little Stendhal-ish myself. The frescoes and sculptures were amazing, and the list of historic figures entombed there is awe inspiring. Dante and Michelangelo's tombs are right next to each other, making you wonder if they bought the adjoining plots early in life to ensure that they got the best spots.

Copyright © 2005 by Dan Giordan

And then there's the architecture itself, which is so high and perfectly proportioned. Inspiration is everywhere, and the place has the buzz of significance. As I sat in a pew and took in the vast interior, I couldn't help but think about the artists and dignitaries represented here, and how they must have been revered in their own time, even as they are now. I asked myself the typical questions: How did they build the ceiling so high? How long did it take to build? And who decided on the final aesthetic look and feel?

At that point, I stopped in mid-thought and reminded myself that I was in a house of worship. This place was supposed to point me and all the other visitors towards God, and instead I was sitting there thinking about all the guys who built it, decorated it, or were buried in it. It felt wrong, as though in my zealousness I had overshot the mark and missed the entire point.

Now I'm sure that some would argue that the art, architecture, and this place as a whole, was transcendent (or perhaps even "transplendent" as Woody's date from Annie Hall would say). They would probably assert that the absolute genius represented here gave a glimpse of God's divine nature, and perhaps even of God's general grace towards mankind. And I might consider that to be a valid justificationif it weren't for those pesky guidebooks.

Today's guidebooks mythologize the artists, shifting the focus in many cases from the significance of the work to the celebrity of its creator. In their time, these artists were pretty famous as well; if not like rock stars, then at least like the designers from Trading Spaces. Everyone knew who they were, and they were probably the headline attractions at all the Home Improvement conventions around Tuscany, Umbria, and the Veneto.

As I thought about it, I realized that there were similarities between the Renaissance artists and the digital photographers and artists of today. Both seem to work magic and do the impossible; one with pixels and Photoshop, the other with perspective, camera obscura, and a new style that seemed to replicate life itself.

The perspective and realism of the Renaissance created an art that looked "real," even as today's Photoshop artists create fabricated images that look so "real" that the very concept of photographic reality has been obliterated. Both groups of artists were on the leading edge of technology for their day. They were visionaries that threw the doors wide open and created a dazzling array of artistic opportunities for those who would come after them. It makes me curious about what today's Raphael might look like, and leaves me wondering where I put my guidebook to the digital landscape.

Copyright © 2005 by Dan Giordan




The Art of Photoshop for Digital Photographers
The Art of Photoshop for Digital Photographers
ISBN: 0672327139
EAN: 2147483647
Year: 2006
Pages: 141

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