Pelted with coloured stars
Experiencing the 18th century paintings in the National Gallery of Scotland
Last week I went to the National Gallery of Scotland here in Edinburgh to see ‘Turner in January’; a special collection of Turner watercolours that were bequeathed to the gallery on condition that they would only be shown once a year, for free, in order to preserve their integrity.
But, like going to the British Museum to see ‘Ancient India, Living Traditions’, I had to get there first. I think I’ve only been on that floor of the National Gallery once before, too long ago to remember anything. If I’d been visiting British galleries and museums over the years, if I had spent any time during my life looking at eighteenth century paintings, I don’t suppose I would have had any big surprises. But I haven’t been doing that. I’ve been steeped in Indian temple sculptures and philosophical and historical otherness for decades, until recently quite unable to receive much European art, particularly not the forms of it that are housed in huge gold frames and arranged in tiers on museum and gallery walls.
I stepped into the first room, quite unprepared. Red. Red as far as the eye could see; red broken up by elegant curved arches, receding into the distance; lit from above by soaring glass cupolas, contained by natural wood surrounds. A dark green carpet. Paintings hung high up and low down; hundreds of years of human activity focussed upon giving form to swashbuckling stories of heroes, saints, lords and pretty ladies.
Firecrackers started going off in my brain in every direction that I turned. Bang! Bang! Bang! First of all, there was the scale of them. Many were huge, incredibly detailed, romantic, frilly. No Bauhaus simplicity here. I was looking, I suppose, at everything that gave birth to twentieth century painting, everything those painters were reacting against. Then there was the onslaught of colour; deep, rich blues and golds and reds, dark greens, gloomy blacks, all shining through layers and layers of glazes.
The feel of it all... Fantasy worlds of every kind; stories from the Bible, ancient myths, ruthless reinterpretations of real events, all in the service of the glorification of the ruling classes, the ancient past, the actions and lives of the privileged few.
The first painting I saw was called ‘Alexander III of Scotland Rescued from the Fury of a Stag by the Intrepidity of Colin Fitzgerald’, twelve foot high, seventeen foot wide.
This is by far the largest painting in the collection and admirably represents West's heroic and monumental style. It illustrates a legend in which the first chieftain of the Clan Mackenzie saves the life of the Scottish King. Colin Fitzgerald is shown about to spear a fierce stag who had turned on the Scottish King, Alexander III, during a hunting expedition. West includes other huntsmen, horses and dogs whose dynamic poses and striking gestures enhance the dramatic moment. Francis Humberston Mackenzie became chieftain of the Mackenzie Clan in 1783 and commissioned the painting to commemorate, rather conspicuously, his illustrious ancestor.
National Gallery of Scotland website
I was spellbound by this romaticised, chocolate-box (jigsaw puzzle?) transformation of a near-disaster turned into a tale of victory and salvation. Just look at it!
The mighty stag has had the audacity to attack the human who was hunting it; the whole hunt is swirling around it like a tornado as a dog goes for its jugular, and two spears stand poised to end its life. The hero is a striking figure of perfectly-proportioned manliness, sporting a tam o’shanter topped with a flourishing feather, and wearing a short toga-type dress that leaves his muscular legs exposed for our approval. Above him, another hero with flying red hair and a slightly different kind of beret topped with white and blue feathers, his tartan streaming out behind him, is drawing his sword, as the rest of the pack of dogs swirl around the hooves of his rearing horse. On the right, a troubled-looking groom/servant (no fancy hat) holds the king’s horse, while another muscular hero with flying hair reaches across the horse to pull the king to safety.
The part of the painting that most interests me is what’s going on in the middle. This section is slightly faded out compared to the rest; and both of the two figures above the main scene have their arms extended in a beautifully-composed way. The one in front looks like another servant or groom; the one above seems to be part of the fancy Scottish feather-decked hat brigade, and seems very young. His arm is raised up in a kind of biblical flourish, as if to cheer the whole thing on.
The horse on the left looks like it’s dreaming of a nice bag of oats, but the fear in the eyes of the two in the middle is palpable; nostrils flaring, teeth drawn back, the one on the right twisting away in a spiral of alarm. Its mane seems seems almost unfinished, impressionistic, pale brushstrokes soaring upwards like flames, a mere suggestion compared to the mane of the horse on the ground below it. The animals are terrified, whereas the hunting humans seem to be steadfast in their righteousness.
The men’s faces are amazing, most of them have the same kind of nose, three of them have curly, whispy red hair; caricatures of Scottishness, apart from the rescuer on the right who looks like he just popped over from a Michelangelo painting. I actually love this painting just for its sheer ridiculousness.
The painting was produced on the scale of a royal or state commission, at a price equivalent to West’s annual stipend as official history painter to King George III. It shows an incident which supposedly took place during a royal hunt near Kincardine in the later 13th century, in which Colin Fitzgerald wrestled a furious stag to its knees before dispatching it with his spear. It may be seen as a skilfully stage-managed and politically-driven celebration of the preservation of the monarchy by the legendary ancestor of the Clan Mackenzie.
Benjamin West, the artist, was an American painter, self-taught, who was elected as a founder member of the Royal Academy of Arts five years after his arrival in London in 1768.
There were so many paintings like this in the three rooms on the way to the Turner exhibition. I felt like someone was ramming marzipan-filled sweetmeats decorated with silver and gold balls into my mouth and ignoring my protestations about having had enough.
This luscious Rubens, telling the story of Herod, John the Baptist, and Salome.
Herodias’ daughter, Salome, had danced so beautifully that Herod had promised to grant her any wish. Prompted by Herodias, Salome asked for the head of John the Baptist. This was Herodias’ revenge for the Baptist’s outspoken criticism of her marriage to Herod. Here Salome presents Saint John the Baptist’s head to King Herod. Herod shrinks back in horror. To his left, Herodias prods the Baptist’s tongue with a fork.
The wee boy thinks it’s all a great lark.
Tiepolo telling the story of the finding of Moses, with the story reimagined as if it was an eighteenth century stage play; the Pharaoh’s daughter dressed in a silk dress and contemporary jewels.
Tiepolo treats the Old Testament story of Pharaoh’s daughter rescuing the infant Moses from the bulrushes in a light-hearted, irreverent way. Moses is shown upside down and bawling, while the cast of supporting characters could have been drawn from contemporary popular theatre.
The most depressing Christian painting I have ever seen.
I did get to the Turners eventually.
Worth the wait.
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Haha, I think we're all going to read these in our own way! I think they all look very cluttered... No, I'm not suggesting that the Turner is better, not least because of the apples and oranges, as you say. I'm writing here about my own experience and impressions, not making judgements about who's better or worse - I don't have nearly enough knowledge about European painting to even begin to think about that. But I value your take on them, it's another point of view, which I welcome. Thanks for reading and commenting and helping expand my mind.
I am so curious as to how the curator decides which paintings get hung so high they can’t be directly viewed!
Fun to walk through the shockingly red gallery with you! Also curious what color the Turner walls were… 🤔