Either Gemäldegalerie rotate some of their collection (the smaller works it seems) or I magically have seen this work before on their walls. Or it’s from the room that’s currently holding Jean Fouquet’s Das Diptychon von Melun, ’cos one of my faves was definitely missing. Hans Springinklee, a student of Albrecht Dürer (notably worked on Durer’s Triumphal Arch, Ehrenpforte Maximilians I.), more known for woodcuts and illustrations, but occasionally he painted, and here’s his Allegorie auf die Binde- und Lösegewalt des Papsttums, (Allegory on the Binding and Loosening of the Papacy), a riot of saints and martyrs floating on clouds, waving palm fronds (Saint Christóforos is up the back; you could play Name that Saint all day), St. Peter offering the pope a chalice full of crowned black snakes, and St. Michael busy heaving a sword and weighing souls on his scales.
Two more Adoration of the Magi from Gemäldegalerie’s In Neuem Licht exhibition. The first, a copy after Hugo van der Goes’ Die Anbetung der Könige vor dem Stall im Hügel from around 1500 (or maybe more like a copy of Gerard David’s early-1500s copy of van der Goes’ now lost original, though this one’s narrower and missing a couple of figues on the left — either way, done around the same time). The second, the Meister der Crispinus-Legende’s Die Anbetung der Heiligen Drei Könige panel from the Straußfurter Marienaltar, from around 1520. Van der Goes did one of my favourite works in the Gemäldegalerie, Die Anbetung der Hirten, as well, the gallery has another of his, the Monforte altarpiece Der Anbetung der Könige. Meister der Crispinus-Legende I’ve never heard of, but does remind me of some pieces in Magyar Nemzeti Galéria in Budapest, I saw on my eastern Europe jaunt a couple of winters ago.
(These photos were taken when I’ve been not so inclined to spend days editing scores of images, nor to agonise over photographing under crap light — and the lighting in In Neuem Licht is on the crap end — so they’re both not really up to my usual standard, but on the off-chance I don’t go back to photograph these pieces properly, they seem to be the only easily findable images of these on the internet.)
An afternoon at the Gemäldegalerie with one of my favourite museum partners, Robert. We spent a lot of time in front of Jean Fouquet’s Das Diptychon von Melun — which I will photograph, ’cos I have to go back for In Neuem Licht. I don’t think I can imagine the extent of their stockrooms. They’ve got 70 works on display in the central atrium, all deep blue walls and the gentle murmur of the long fountain, and any of them could easily win a fight for a hanging spot on in permanent collection (where I’m pretty sure some of them occasionally reside).
I’m fighting my urge to photograph everything in a museum at the moment. I wasn’t going to point camera at anything, but then I saw a trio of northern European mediæval Die Anbetung der Könige, and … especially when one of them is a copy of the very famous Hieronymus Bosch one, which hangs in Museo del Prado. It’s like I’ve already seen it, I know it so well. So I’m going to try blogging individually some of the pieces I like, and I have to go back anyway, ’cos it was all kinda rushed with the camera. This one, then, is a copy of Bosch’s Adoration of the Magi or The Epiphany, from around 1550, on oak, Kat.-Nr. 1223. It’s been in the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin’s collection since it was acquired in 1837 from General Otto August Rühle von Lilienstern. I’d love to go to Madrid and see the original, it’s one of my favourites, along with Pieter Bruegel de Oude’s unfinished De Aanbiddung der Wijzen.
I didn’t plan on taking photographs. I bought my camera anyway. Art from the Gemäldegalerie’s storerooms.
I saw this. It’s mad brilliant. Like it should have the grimiest beat vibrating the walls and NoLay spitting for 500 years.
Wednesday in Linz. I had to pick up some requirements for S.J Norman’s Rest Area and pick up Kali Rose from the train station, all the way from Amsterdam to be the person in the bed in the van of Rest Area. I had an hour to kill, and had planned Sunday for mediæval art (did not happen), so went to Ars Electronica.
I’m rethinking my museum-ing, or at least for the moment not taking hundreds of photos, editing and blogging scores. These are simply things I liked and felt motivated enough to photograph. There’s so much in the museum, and much of it is temporal, interactive, and 3-dimensional; photography doesn’t serve these well.
I sent “Your unreadable text message to +43 664 1788374” for Stefan Tiefengraber’s your unerasable text. My phone autocorrected. It was pushed to the shredder then sat there, unshredded. The pink of the Biolab was so, so, very hot, florescent, candy, neon pink, rendered as something less than all those and fuchsia by my camera. Markus Reibe’s Protected Areas 2 is the closest thing to recognisable, non-interactive, 2-dimensional art I saw, on a wall documenting the history of what was digital / new media / computer art, and what I just call art these days. The atrium of Ars Electronica was bus yellow and grey cement. If I had time, I would have spent hours here with hundreds of photos.
One more from Brussels’ Koninklijke Musea voor Schone Kunsten van België / Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique in my lazy-blogging of single paintings.
I’d already blogged this museum heavily back in 2015 (Musée Oldmasters Museum, Musée Fin-de-Siècle Museum, and the very popular Peter Paul Rubens’ Vier Studies van het Hoofd van een Moor, among others), so I wasn’t really committed this visit to much more than staring at a few Bruegels, namely De val der opstandige engelen, along with Pieter Aertsen’s De Keukenmeid, and Gustaf Wappers’ Tafereel van de Septemberdagen 1830. And seeing I just mentioned almost all my posts on this museum, I can’t not mention the sublime Pieter Bruegel de Oude’s De Aanbiddung der Wijze, which is alone worth visiting the museum for.
Another De Aanbidding der Wijzen then. This one from Peter Paul Rubens and Atelier around early-1600s — no date on the caption and it seems to be one of his lesser known Adoration of the Magis. It’s in the Rubens Room, a massive, high-ceilinged chamber with natural light pouring in from above. Really one of the few rooms in the museum capable of the dimensions to display his epic works. I always have trouble remembering how large a piece was, but the figures are larger than life, and I dredged up 384 × 280 cm from the internet. And this room had walls of the stuff.
I blame the light. When it hits the top of a painting 2 metres above me and bounces down, I don’t know what to do. Yes, post-processing, but you can still see the upper half is blown out, and has an awkward blue colour cast. So my editing skills also suck. It’s the main reason I only photographed a couple of works this time. Sure I can take hundreds of photos, but the editing takes multiples of the time I spent actually in the museum, and it’s gotten a little out of hand — one of the main reasons I didn’t go to Ghent. These photos, then, don’t do the painting any favours, but it’s Rubens and it’s the Adoration of the Magi, and it makes me smile.
Continuing my blogging of single paintings from Brussels’ Koninklijke Musea voor Schone Kunsten van België / Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Gustaf Wappers’ massive Tafereel van de Septemberdagen 1830, op de Grote Markt te Brussel takes up one-third of a wall in the main atrium. It’s very Eugène Delacroix in size, composition, and themes, Romantic nationalism meets unnatural, formal arrangement.
I had thought MedievalPOC had Twitted/tumbled this recently, but it was rather John Singleton Copley’s The Death of Major Peirson at the Battle of Jersey (here on Twit, and tumblr) with the Black Scottish auctioneer’s assistant to James Christie front-and-centre doing the business with the flintlock. When I last visited the museum, I blogged Wappers’ painting, but — as is my tendency — it’s kinda under-exposed and dim, and the photos I took last week are far more detailed. As for whether under- or over-exposed or -contrasted, I dunno, this museum has some fucking abysmal lighting, both natural and artificial, and I’m only slightly competent at point-and-click.
So, seeing Twit is shite to search, and it doesn’t seem that MPOC tumbled it, I thought I’d throw this one up, for the shoeless Drummer Boy who’s at the centre of history, keeping one foot dainty on a woman’s dress. Very compositional.
One last thing. The dickwad bro with his shirt open, last person on the right in the foreground light, is totally pushing over a woman carrying a baby with a hearty face shove. No idea what this is supposed to represent or signify, but guy’s spreading all over where the women are, and the third woman (the one lending her dress to Drummer Boy) in this triangle around the other shirtless guy, who’s busy dying, is giving Mr. ’Scuse Me, Bitch, Must Spread a nasty stink eye. So obvs means something, perhaps that the women here are around a hundred years off getting the vote, slightly before Blacks in the Belgian Congo could.
Woop-woop! That’s the sound of da police.
Woop-woop! That’s the sound of da beast.
Yes, that’s a 1976 Porsche 911 SC Targa with its blues bolted to the b-pillar (twos are up the front, inboard from the low-slung fog lamps), plus a rough as guts wingnut for fine adjustment. Where its racing number should be, there’s a ‘SOS 901’, and it’s got a huge hazard orange stripe on its bonnet, which (I think) marks it as federal police, along with the white exterior.
Yes, the Belgian — and Dutch, and German — police ran Porsches from the ’60s to the ’90s, because … something something air-cooled, rear engines don’t overheat when reversing at speed in the emergency lane? Fuck I love Europe.
I was pretty blasted after a couple of hours Ferrari-ing, and really didn’t do this glorious work of art justice in my photos, but because I’m in Mode: Hoonage! lately, here are some stats: It’s a rear-wheel drive (duh!) 3-litre flat 6, putting down a not-unimpressive for what it was 231 bhp, to mow down classy international thieves on the Belgian equivalent of the Autobahn at 242 km/h. The back seat (and I’m using that term loosely) was mostly replaced by a crate of emergency gear. As for why a Targa over, say, a normal 911, this was so the passenger cop could stand up, turn around, grab the massive b-pillar, and wave instructions at the following cars. Seriously. That’s why Targa.
After a couple of hours of Autoworld Brussels’ Ferrari 70 Years madness — where I spent an unholy amount of lust on the F40 (yes, Frances, yes, ‘Brutal’) — I was looking for a quick digestif in the form of a GT40. Who’d’a known Autoworld … Rotates. Its autos.
No GT40 for you, Mme Frances. How about a Porsche 906? In the exact same spot? How about fuck, yeah?
’60s sci-fi dreaming of a future they got and we didn’t. My, this is a pretty set of wheels. And it’s road legal. Yay to FIA’s homologation rules giving us something this bonkers you could drive to the shop in for morning milk. How about some stats to go with the smell of victory?
This is chassis-number 906-128, with the racing number 148, under which it won the Targa Florio on May 8, 1966, driven by Willy Mairesse (Belgium) and Herbert Müller (Switzerland). It’s a rear-wheel drive, 2 litre, flat-6, putting down 210 bhp at 8000 rpm for a top speed of 280 km/h, and weighs a mere 580kg. It looks like something from the Jetsons, if the Jetsons were brawlers and Jane ditched George. I like very much how the two times I’ve been to Autoworld, they’ve populated this one spot with automotive mayhem. Porsche 906, for when my other car is a GT40.