Joseph Vernet (1718-1789)–Part III–The French Port Series

05 Tuesday May 2015

Posted by Roger H. Boulet in fine art, painting, Uncategorized, visual art

Tags

18th century painting, French painting, Joseph Vernet, les ports de France, marine painting, ports of france

I suppose my choice of Joseph Vernet as the subject of no less than three posts on this blog might be seen as questionable. It is not my intention to attract hundreds of readers by writing about the Impressionists or Vincent Van Gogh, but to present and discuss artists whose work is significant and provides a context to the work of better known artists. I have never believed in a “greatest hits” approach to my personal research or curatorial endeavours, and have always found great satisfaction in discovering artists lesser known today, but whose work is nonetheless worthy of attention and study. Vernet fits the bill admirably.

He was, by all accounts, a modest man, but witty and well-educated; he functioned well in a society where notable people held “salons” for intelligent discussion on a wide range of subjects such as philosophy and literature. An evening’s entertainment might also include musical and dramatic performances. There is even some evidence that during his stay in Italy, Vernet befriended the young Giovanni Battista Pergolesi (1710-1736) and that Pergolesi performed the opening of his famous Stabat Mater on Vernet’s harpsichord in 1736. The autographed manuscript of its opening bars was one of Vernet’s treasured possessions until the day of his own death in 1789.

This was the Age of Enlightenment in France, and we have to imagine Vernet in this social context, as well as in the more solitary activity of the artist sketching in nature, and working on his large canvases of the ports of France in the studio.

He began work on the French ports of the Atlantic in 1757, as part of a larger royal commission to paint all the ports of France.

Bordeaux

Joseph Vernet: Première vue de Bordeaux : prise du côté des Salinières, 1758, 165 x 263 cm, Musée national de la Marine, Paris

Joseph Vernet: Deuxième vue de Bordeaux : prise du château Trompette, 1759, 165 x 263 cm, Musée national de la Marine, Paris

Vernet arrived in Bordeaux in May of 1757, and he and his family were to stay there for two years. They were well received by Bordeaux society, and Vernet also received small commissions which contributed to the well-being of his family.

By then, the Seven Years War (1756-1763) was in progress, and to us in Canada the War had serious repercussions, as France lost her North American colonies to Great Britain in a series of decisive battles: Louisbourg (1758), Québec (1759) and Montréal (1760). It is during this critical period that Vernet was painting his series on the ports of France. This was no doubt part of the reason he had to obtain all kinds of authorizations to sketch the ports, a source of delays and frustrations. The Seven Years War which ended with the Treaty of Paris in 1763. By then, King Louis XV had apparently uttered that there were more French ships in Vernet’s paintings than in its Navy.

Vernet decided that two views of Bordeaux would best represent the activities of this important port. He suggested that both views would be from the Chateau Trompette, the first featuring the chateau itself, along with a grand view of the city and the port. The other view was on the other side, towards the port for foreign vessels. He was amiably received by the Marquis de Tourny who was in charge of the many changes taking place in the port at the time. While it was decided that the buildings would be painted as could then be seen, by the time the the paintings were finished, Vernet had more or less represented the buildings as if completed, with more vessels in port, and the setting would be in peace time. The official instructions had mentioned that the export of French wines was an important activity in this port.

Both paintings were ready to be sent by special courier to the Marquis de Marigny in Paris by July 1759, who was delighted with the results. They were shown in the Salon of 1759, and attracted favourable comments, including from Denis Diderot who found in the works of Vernet imagination, fire, wisdom, colour, detailing and variety. Apparently there were no less than 14 or 15 works by Vernet at the Salon that year.

Bayonne

Joseph Vernet: Première vue de Bayonne, prise à mi-côte sur le glacis de la Citadelle, 1760, 165 x 263 cm, Musée national de la Marine, Paris

Joseph Vernet: Deuxième vue de Bayonne, prise de l’allée des Boufflers, près de la porte de Mousserole, 1761, 165 x 263 cm, Musée national de la Marine, Paris

Vernet at first intended to leave his family in Bordeaux while painting his intended view of Bayonne, where he arrived in July of 1759, but he was delighted with the city and since the cost of living was cheaper, he decided to bring his wife and two sons to Bayonne. He also decided on two separate views of Bayonne, because once again, a single painting would present a very incomplete view of the port, and Marigny agreed to two paintings. Delays in payment apparently contributed to the delays in completing these works since Vernet once again had no choice but to accept other commissions to make ends meet.

The works were sent to Paris in June of 1761 and were exhibited at the Salon. Diderot, in his critique, regretted that the time of day chosen for these works, sunset, obscured much of the activity and the figures painted in the foreground. While the official instructions had suggested the motif of privateers returning to port with their prizes (as they had been very successful at this during the Seven Years War), Vernet chose to represent local activities and entertainments. Rather than depicting a storm as suggested, Vernet chose the calm of sunset.

La Rochelle

Joseph Vernet: Vue du port de La Rochelle, prise de la petite Rive, 1762, 165 x 263 cm, Musée national de la Marine, Paris

Rochefort

Joseph Vernet: Vue du port de Rochefort, prise du Magasin des Colonies, 1762, 165 x 263 cm, Musée national de la Marine, Paris

By July 7, 1761, Vernet had moved on to La Rochelle. Because of swamps near Rochefort (not too distant from La Rochelle in any case) Vernet was concerned about epidemics and intended on working in Rochefort only during the ‘healthy’ season. He would stay in Rochefort twice—in November of 1761 and in February of 1762. While all the studies for the paintings of La Rochelle and Rochefort were done over the period of less than a year, at long last a studio vacancy in the Louvre occurred and Vernet was authorized and encouraged to move to Paris where he could complete the views from his studies and sketches. This he did in July and the paintings were finished by the time Vernet turned to the painting of Dieppe.

The views of Rochefort (in the morning) and La Rochelle (at sunset) were extremely well received both at court and upon their exhibition at the Salon of 1763.

Dieppe

Joseph Vernet: Vue du Port de Dieppe, 1765, 165 x 263 cm, Musée national de la Marine, Paris

Vernet finally settled in Paris in 1762. The original commission had included many of the ports of the Atlantic, but after Bordeaux, Bayonne, La Rochelle, Rochefort, had been painted, Vernet received permission to do a painting of Dieppe, which was not on the original list. He stayed in Dieppe for six weeks and was back in Paris before the end of October. He was delighted with Dieppe, a fishing port, and he worked on the painting in Paris, completing it in 1765, in time for the Salon of that year. By then, the commission was discontinued for lack of funds. The ports of Brittany and of Normandy would not be painted by Vernet.

Le Havre was only beginning to develop as a port of any significance, but had been on the list as were Calais, Dunkerque, Port Saint-Louis, Brest, Lorient and Saint-Malo.

Thirty years later, after Vernet’s death, the Revolutionary government commissioned the artist Jean-François Hue (1751-1823) in 1791 to complete the series, and so he painted three views of Brest, and views of Lorient, St-Malo, Granville and Boulogne. By all appearances, he lacked Vernet’s abilities, certainly as far as the treatment of water and the painting of figures.

While Hue had also been appointed as the French state’s official marine painter, there would be no marine painters in France achieving the fame and stature of Joseph Vernet.

He ended his days in Paris. He was never short of commissions, and although his work was in decline, his reputation had long been international, and the popularity of his work was only increased by its reproduction through the medium of engraving. He was not forgotten, and some notable biographies of his life were published during the 19th century, as well as appreciative commentaries on his work. No history of marine painting can omit the name of Joseph Vernet.

Works consulted:

— “Works of the Great Masters. Joseph Vernet.” in The Illustrated Magazine of Art, Vol. 1. No. 4, 1853, pp. 192-202.

Delaborde, Henri. Le paysage et les paysagistes en France depuis le XVIIIe siècle: Joseph Vernet. 1852. (Kindle edition – STAReBOOKS edition, 2013.

Demarcq, Marie Pierre. Joseph Vernet (1714-1789) : Les vues des ports de France. Paris: Musée national de la Marine, 2003.

Lagrange, Léon. Joseph Vernet et la peinture au XVIIIe siècle. – Paris : Didier. – 1864.

Miger, Pierre-Auguste. Les Ports de France peints par Joseph Vernet et Jean-François Hue, Paris, Lenormand, 1812, 126 p.

Bibliography:

A bibliography can be found on the website of the Musée national de la Marrine.

Hunting for the Best Chicken Cacciatore

08 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by Roger H. Boulet in food, recipe, Uncategorized

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cacciatore, Italian cuisine, pigeons

Over the many years I have been shuffling around in a kitchen, I have taken considerable delight in perfecting recipes. Many recipes, do not require this treatment, but in my experience in preparing one recipe following different instructions, I inevitably spend an afternoon doing a bit of research, and compiling my own recipe from several sources. It must be the academic in me. I am not good at improvising a recipe… nor am I good at memorizing one either. So it will come as no surprise that I collect recipes on my computer, from my cookbook library and from online sources. I admit that even today when just about everything is available on line, I still like to buy cookbooks.

Take Chicken Cacciatore for instance (or its French derivative Poulet Chasseur). I doubt that hunters in Italy or anywhere else for that matter make sport of shooting chickens in the barnyard, so the Cacciatore recipes were probably intended for rabbit or hare. No doubt the intrepid hunter (think Elmer Fudd) would often come back empty-handed, so a chicken had to do in a pinch.

Of course, you can shoot birds too, and I did find a Renaissance recipe for pigeons. It is in Lorenza de’Medici’s Florentines, a lovely little book I previously mentioned (see Food, Music and Silence – 18 January 2015). Given the recipe, I am inclined to see it as a precursor to Chicken Cacciatore. Read on, and you will see why.

Palombe alla Ghiotta (Wild Pigeons Stewed in Red Wine)

3 wild pigeons or squab
1 litre (1 quart) red wine
3½ fl. oz vinegar
4 garlic cloves
1 sprig of fresh rosemary
1 small bunch of fresh sage, tied together
1 small onion, quartered
100 gr prosciutto
4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
4 anchovy fillets in oil
1 tbsp capers in vinegar, rinsed
1 lemon wedge
1 thin slice of bread
salt and pepper

Clean the pigeons, leaving heads and feet on, if still attached. Place in a flameproof casserole with all the other ingredients and cook over low heat for about 1½ hours. Take the pigeons from the casserole and discards heads and feet, if necessary. Halve the pigeons lengthwise and reserve. Continue to heat the sauce for about another hour until it thickens. Remove the rosemary and sage and purée the sauce in a food mill or food processor. Return the pigeon halves to the casserole with the sauce, reheat for 10 minutes and serve.

I assume this would serve 2 or 3 people partial to pigeon. I also assume Signora de’Medici can get pigeons at the market where she lives. Unfortunately, I have never seen a pigeon at the local supermarket, let alone one with its head and feet still attached. Squab (which she suggests as a substitute) is just as difficult to find. In Canada, I suspect grouse could be used. You would have to know how to cook wild meat (it usually has to cook much longer than domestic meat!) as it is very lean, and might be inclined to be a bit tough if the bird is an older one. The recipe she proposes cooks them for 1½ hours, so that should do for any old bird. Apparently the meat should be falling off the bone.

Back to Chicken Cacciatore. Everyone assumes tomatoes are an essential part of the dish, but since tomatoes (from the Americas) were not commonly used in Italian cooking until the late 18th century, any old and authentic recipe for the dish would not use tomatoes. Knowing this, most sources seem to suggest that the dish is really a hunter’s stew, probably made with hare or rabbit, or some kind of feathered game, using wine or vinegar for a sauce, and herbs one can find in the Italian countryside, such as rosemary, sage and thyme.

In my cookbook collection, there are two notable recipes for Chicken Cacciatore which (almost) eschew tomatoes. The first one, closest in intent is the one provided by Giuliano Bugialli. We have made this one often, and I can vouch that it is delicious. Here it is.

Pollo alla Cacciatore (Tuscan)

1 chicken (3 lbs)
1 Tbs fresh rosemary leaves
10 leaves sage, fresh
2 large cloves of garlic, peeled
½ cup olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
pinch hot pepper flakes
½ cup dry red wine
1 bay leaf
2 Tbs tomato paste (doppo concentrato)
1 ½ cups hot water

1. Cut the chicken into 16 pieces (spezzatini); coarsely chop rosemary, sage and garlic.

2. Heat the olive oil in a large casserole, preferably terra-cotta, and when it is hot, add the chopped ingredients and sauté gently until lightly golden (10 to 12 minutes). Add the chicken pieces and sauté them over moderately high heat until golden all over (about 15 minutes) then add salt, pepper, and hot pepper flakes.

3. Lower the heat and pour in the wine. Let it evaporate very slowly (about 10 minutes), then add the bay leaf, tomato paste, and ½ cup of hot water. Cover and let simmer very slowly for 20 minutes, adding more hot water if needed.

4. At this point, the chicken should be cooked, and there should be a small quantity of thick sauce. Remove the bay leaf and transfer the chicken pieces and sauce to a serving dish. Serve hot. Serves 4.

(It tastes even better reheated!)

Servings: 4

Nutrition Facts
Nutrition (per serving): 2322 calories, 1718 calories from fat, 193.7g total fat, 679.5mg cholesterol, 6063.4mg sodium, 137.8mg potassium, 16.9g carbohydrates, <1g fiber, <1g sugar, 130.5g protein.

Source
Source: Buggiali, The Fine Art of Italian Cooking

The second recipe is from the venerable Time-Life Foods of the World series, The Cooking of Italy. This particular book was authored by Waverley Root (1903-1982). In it, his recipe for Polla alla Cacciatore is from the south of Italy, and surprisingly still has no tomatoes in it. I have been making this at least once of month for decades now, and it is still very satisfying.

Pollo alla Cacciatore

2½ lbs. chicken, cut up
salt
Freshly ground pepper
2 Tbs olive oil
1/4 cup finely chopped onions
1 tsp finely chopped garlic
1/2 cup dry white wine
2 Tbs wine vinegar, preferably white
1/2 cup chicken stock, fresh or canned
1/2 tsp dried oregano, crumbled
1 bay leaf
1 Tbs slivered black olives, preferably Mediterranean style
3 flat anchovy fillets, rinsed in cold water, dried and chopped

1. Wash the chicken quickly under cold running water and pat the pieces dry with paper towels. Season the pieces with salt and a few grindings of pepper.

2. In a heavy 10 – 12 inch skillet, heat the olive oil until a haze forms over it. Brown the chicken a few pieces at a time, starting them skin side down and turning them with tongs. Transfer the browned pieces to a plate.

3. Pour off almost all of the fat from the skillet, leaving just a thin film on the bottom. Add the onions and garlic and cook them over moderate heat, stirring constantly, for 8 to 10 minutes, or until they are lightly coloured.

4. Add the wine and vinegar and boil briskly until the liquid is reduced to about 1/4 cup. Pour in the chicken stock and boil for 1 or 2 minutes, stirring constantly and scraping in any browned bits that cling to the pan. Return the browned chicken to the skillet, add the oregano and bay leaf, and bring to a boil. Cover the skillet, reduce the heat and simmer, basting occasionally. In about 30 minutes, the chicken should be done; its juice will run clear when a thigh is pierced with the tip of a sharp knife.

5. To serve, arrange the pieces of chicken on a heated platter. Discard the bay leaf and boil the stock left in the skillet until it thickens slightly and has the intensity of flavour desired. Stir in the black olives and anchovies and cook the sauce for a minute or so longer. Pour the sauce over the chicken.

Servings: 4

Nutrition Facts
Nutrition (per serving): 147 calories, 78 calories from fat, 8.8g total fat, <1mg cholesterol, 912.7mg sodium, 323.8mg potassium, 4.7g carbohydrates, <1g fibre, 2g sugar, 6.7g protein.

The fact that it uses white wine suggests a northern origin, but then I will not question Mr. Root’s knowledge or authority here. Anchovies and black olives do suggest southern Italian cooking.

I can imagine that even before tomatoes were finally part of everyday cooking in Italy, someone thought of adding that to a Cacciatore dish as well, especially the chicken one. I have tried many, many variations and one day, I just took about half a dozen of the recipes I had tried and concocted a synthesis of them all. It is terrific! Just make sure you have all the ingredients indicated and make no substitutions. Certainly best done in late summer when fresh tomatoes are plentiful, such as Romas or San Marzano.

Pollo alla Cacciatore

1 3 lb chicken, cut up, or chicken pieces
salt and pepper
1/4 cup butter
2 Tbs olive oil
2 slices pancetta (or bacon), cut in squares
2 medium onions, chopped
1 clove garlic, chopped
2 tsp flour
4 to 5 tomatoes, peeled and chopped
3 Tbs tomato purée (doppo concentrato)
1/2 cup dry white wine
2 Tbs brandy
1/2 cup chicken stock
1/2 tsp sugar
1/2 lb mushrooms, whole if small
2 Tbs chopped fresh parsley
2 Tbs chopped fresh basil

1. Season the chicken with salt and pepper. Melt the butter and olive oil in a casserole, and brown the chicken over medium heat. Removed when browned on all sides.

2. Add the bacon to the casserole and cook for a minute or two, then add the onions and garlic, and sauté them for 5 minutes. Scrape the bottom for any browned bits. Add the flour and cook for a couple of minutes, stirring constantly. Add the tomatoes, tomato puree, wine and brandy, chicken stock, bringing to a boil. Simmer covered for 10 minutes. Season with salt, pepper and sugar. Return the chicken to the casserole, and simmer for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally. After 20 minutes or so, add the mushrooms.

3. Remove the chicken to a heated platter, check the sauce for seasoning, bring to a vigorous boil and reduce it to a thick consistency.

4. Off the heat, mix half the parsley and basil into the sauce. Pour the sauce over the chicken and sprinkle the remaining parsley and basil over that.

Servings: 4

Nutrition Facts
Nutrition (per serving): 424 calories, 253 calories from fat, 28.6g total fat, 43.4mg cholesterol, 1247mg sodium, 1397.5mg potassium, 30.5g carbohydrates, 7.2g fibre, 16.1g sugar, 11.9g protein.

Some folks who prefer a more authentic chicken cacciatore suggest that the resulting dish (with tomatoes) is best suited as a pasta sauce. The dish is certainly delicious with pasta, especially large noodles like fettuccine or tagliatelle. A green vegetable, like steamed green beans, add even more colour to the dish.

I am sure I will always read new variations for Chicken Cacciatore with great interest, and they will surely keep coming, many arguing it is the authentic one, but what IS authentic with a dish like this? In the end, it is about flavour, and probably, just as important, good friends to share the meal.

Living with Vivaldi

02 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by Roger H. Boulet in classical music, Uncategorized

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baroque music, bassoon concerto, Vivaldi

The first time I heard some music by Vivaldi was when I was about 15 years old. It was his Concerto for Two Trumpets, Strings and Continuo in C major, RV 537. I remember it was on a 10-inch 33 1/3 rpm record with a blue label. That was 56 years ago! Since then, if there has been one composer who has accompanied me all these years, it was Vivaldi (with Tchaikovsky a close second). All the others came later along the way.

When I first started buying records in my teens, I was a member of the Columbia Record Club, and I recall purchasing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played by Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra. These were a revelation to me, and way back then, Vivaldi was certainly not heard that often. Apparently the recording has been re-issued, but I have moved on since those days, and prefer my baroque music played on instruments true to the period.

I think the second Vivaldi recording I bought was one with Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic. It had a concerto for diverse instruments with two mandolins, one concerto for oboe, one for flute and one for piccolo. The concerto for diverse instruments was particularly appealing, although by hindsight one shudders at Bernstein’s use of a trumpet in the place of the tromba marina (a stringed instrument).

My third Vivaldi purchase was an RCA recording of Vivaldi Bassoon Concerti, which I enjoyed tremendously, especially a concerto in F (RV 485) with its little ritornello in the third movement. This was the beginning of a lifelong love for Vivaldi’s Bassoon Concerti. I own a couple of complete sets on CD, and am avidly collecting a third, performed my Sergio Azzolini and the players of L’Aura Soave on the Naïve label.

Over the past 50 years, Vivaldi has become a household name for classical music lovers, and a great deal of his music has been recorded, including operas, sacred music and many, many, many concerti. It seems that throughout these 50 years, I have bought Vivaldi recordings, especially on CD and especially on instruments authentic to the period. I don’t think a week goes by without some Vivaldi.

As far as the Four Seasons are concerned, I think that the BIS recording with Nils-Erik Sparf and the Drottningholm Baroque Ensemble (BIS CD-275) is one of the best. The playing is delightful, sharp and crisp and the music sounds completely new. Other recordings have since been issued and been critically acclaimed, particularly the recordings by Europa Galante directed by Fabio Biondi, and by Il Giardino Armonico cnducted by Giovanni Antonini.

The Four Seasons are concerti for violin and string orchestra, although you will find them transcribed for almost any instrument now. They were part of the twelve concerti published as Vivaldi’s Il cimento dell’armonia e dell’invenzione, Op. 8. Other published collections were L’estro Armonico (op. 3) La cetra (Op. 9) and La stravaganza (Op. 4). All reward the listener.

But there are other concerti, usually grouped on recordings by the instruments they feature. There are six flute concerti grouped in Op. 10. There are about 25 cello concerti, and 37 bassoon concerti as well. Especially fascinating are the concerti for viola d’amore, for mandolins, and various groupings of instruments. These are best heard played by period instruments.

The best recording of the concerti for viola d’amore is by Fabio Biondi and Europa Galante. It contains seven concerti as well as the Concerto for viola d’amore and lute in D minor, RV 540. The viola d’amore is very attractive. It has six or seven strings and the sound is slightly nasal, as there are sympathetic strings that add a particular resonance. Also included here is a concerto in F major (RV 97) for viola d’amore which strangely includes oboes, bassoons and hunting horns in its third movement. The effect is quite astonishing and evocative of a hunt.

The same forces gives us the concerti for mandolins and concerti ‘con molti stromenti.’ There are two volumes. The first has three concerti for mandolins, and four for various combinations of instruments. The second also has seven concerti, one of them for the strange combination of solo violin, two hunting horns, 2 oboes, 2 violins, alto viola and bass as well as tympani, the latter a most unusual inclusion for Vivaldi. Both these albums are terrific.

Another favourite album is a Warner Bros. Elatus disc which features two trios and five concerti with various instrumental combinations. The players are Il Giardino Armonico, and their interpretations are nuanced and sensitive.

Finally, a word about the bassoon concerti. At least three complete sets are available, but the best by far are those played by Sergio Azzolini and the ensemble L’aura soave of Cremona. I have always been very fond of the bassoon concerti, and certainly look forward to the remaining two albums to complete the collection. You can hear the complete album of the first set on YouTube.

The series (on Naïve label) also has some striking cover art. I can only suppose that the woodsy quality of the images somehow relates to the woodsy timbre of the baroque bassoon.

Vivaldi’s spirited music is perfect in the morning, it is cheerful and sunny. There is a life-affirming quality about it which is sure to lift one’s spirits. As a listener of Stingray Music, part of our cable service, I get to hear quite a bit of Vivaldi on their Baroque channel and I continue to discover the music of his contemporaries too. There was something incredibly positive about the Baroque period, and certainly Vivaldi’s music epitomizes the period. I always bring a CD or two of Vivaldi’s music to play in the car when I am travelling. And they are also on my MP3 player. Perfect for the gym, for walking, or doing just about anything.

Note: The listener will find a lot of Vivaldi’s music on YouTube, and the CD’s are worth purchasing too. The sound is so much better!

Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527-1593)

18 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by Roger H. Boulet in painting, seasons, Uncategorized, visual art

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allegories, arcimboldo, italian art, mannerism, seasons, visual art

When writing anything about the Seasons, one inevitably encounters the work of Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527-2593) and his allegorical cycles.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo fits the definition of Mannerism quite wonderfully when one understands the term generally used to describe the painters who fall between the High Renaissance and the Baroque, that is, the period between the death of Raphael (1520) to the advent of the Baroque with the Caravaggio cycle on St. Matthew of 1599-1600 (Church of San Luigi dei Francese, Rome). Mannerism is characterized by highly intellectual or literary content and complex compositions in contrast to the classical stability to be found in the works of Raphael, and the more dramatic and populist approach ushered in by Caravaggio.

Arcimboldo is one of the more interesting of the Mannerist painters and his work is a curious blend of Italian sophistication and a rather painterly technique within a realistic or mimetic approach, mimesis being the art of imitation of reality or nature. He spent most of his life in Northern Italy, Vienna and Prague where he was patronized by three Holy Roman Emperors in succession, namely Ferdinand I, Maximilian II and Rudolf II. It was for Ferdinand I that Arcimboldo first conceived his first cycle of the Four Seasons in about 1563-66. The popularity of these works led Arcimboldo to repeat the cycles a number of times, with minor variations. Some of the individual works are lost, but one can nevertheless form a good idea of the allegories involved.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, La Primavera, 1563, oil on canvas, 66 x 50 cm, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid.

La Primavera (Spring) sets out the manner in which Arcimboldo will paint his Seasons. Here all the flowers and foliage of spring are used in the format of a formal royal portrait, complete with ruffled collar and crown. But there is more to it than that. Cycles of the Seasons are often allegorical references to the Four Ages of Man, namely Childhood (Spring), Adolescence (Summer), Adulthood (Autumn) and Old Age (Winter).

An interesting little book on Archimboldo by Liana De Girolami Cheney suggests further allegories and associations.(1) She notes that Arcimboldo usually accompanied a Seasons cycle with another depicting the Four Elements, Air (Spring), Fire (Summer), Earth (Autumn) and Water (Winter), and that the cycles were meant to be seen and considered together. Mannerist paintings have complicated allegories and were intended for literate patrons who were familiar with the myths of antiquity, and various classical and symbolic allusions. For instance, as Cheney writes, “Spring and Air are both warm and damp,” while Summer is hot and dry, as is Fire. Autumn and Earth are cold and dry, while Winter is cold and damp, like Water. We would not necessarily make such associations today.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Air, ca. 1566, oil on canvas, 74.4 x 56.6 cm, Private Collection, Basel.

The depiction of Air, therefore, concentrates on various birds “and their ability to fly without being hindered by atmospheric conditions” while Spring represents “the beginning of knowledge, the rebirth of new flowers, plants and vegetation.” Complementing Spring and Air results in a dialogue between the two works.

Next come Summer and Fire.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Summer, 1563, oil on panel, 67 x 50.8 cm, Kunsthistorishes Museum, Vienna.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Fire, 1566, oil on panel, 66.5 x 51 cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

Summer includes a variety of fruits and vegetables associated with the season, while Fire assembles various objects associated with the element. Burning wood, candles, wicks, lamps as well as guns and canons clearly allude also to warfare. The collar is the Order of the Golden Fleece, an exalted Holy Roman Empire honour, itself forged in fire.

Autumn and Earth are next in the cycles.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Autumn, 1573, oil on canvas, 77 x 63 cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Earth, ca. 1570, oil on panel, 70.2 x 48.7 cm, Private Collection, Vienna.

Autumn was often associated with the harvest, as well as the hunt, and it is this association which are immediately apparent in these two works. A splendid decorative border surrounds this version of Autumn in the Louvre. Various grapes, squashes and root vegetables are featured, and the torso consists of staves for a wine barrel. As for Earth, all kinds of animals are represented, and the chest consists of a sheep skin, once again a reference to the Golden Fleece.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Winter, 1563, oil on panel, 66.6 x 50.5 cm, Kunsthistorishes Museum, Vienna.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Water, 1566, oil on panel, 66.5 x 50.5 cm, Kunsthistorishes Museum, Vienna.

The composition for the season of winter is not made up of various elements, but of an old tree trunk, clearly indicating the allegory for old age. The tree is without leaves but the ivy makes up the hair. Some kind of tree fungus seems to form the mouth. Citrus fruit symbolize winter. As for Water, various fish and shellfish are used for the portrait.

A website devoted to the works of Arcimboldo contains many of these works in various versions. There is even a version of the four seasons depicted as four reclining figures, in private collections, in landscape format. Each painting also includes a seasonal landscape in the background. But Cheney’s book does not even mention these intriguing works, and I could find no information on their provenance either.

I will discuss Arcimboldo’s work again, as there are other works that I would like to present here, as they relate to art and food.

Works reproduced are in the public domain, and online publication is covered by Wikimedia Commons licenses.

(1) Cheney, Liana de Girolami. Arcimboldo. New York: Parkstone Press, 2013

Viewing “Mr. Turner”

04 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by Roger H. Boulet in painting, Uncategorized, visual art

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I had the privilege of seeing on the 1st of February “Mr. Turner,” the wonderful film directed by Mike Leigh and featuring Timothy Spall in the title role. It is an extraordinary film, and if you know the artist’s work, you will enjoy it as much as I did. I was totally drawn into it and when it ended, after two and a half hours, I thought the time had gone by very quickly. Others might find it a bit dreary, certainly not action-packed, and with no violence nor explosions. Even the burning of the British Houses of Parliament in 1834, which he witnessed and painted, is not featured at all.

I have always loved Turner’s work. I remember as an art student spending hours at the Tate Gallery in the Turner Rooms. The last time I visited the Tate Britain and its Clore Galery where the Turner collection is now displayed, was on Sunday, 19th May, 2002. I was in Great Britain to do some research on the etcher Ernest Stephen Lumdsen (1883-1948) for an exhibition at the Burnaby Art Gallery and its attendant publication (2003).

I had flown into Manchester that weekend, and having noted that Sunday was the last day to see The American Sublime exhibition at the Tate Britain, I took a train to London from Manchester in the early morning and spent the entire day at the Tate before returning that evening, and then going on to Edinburgh the following day. I did spend several hours in The American Sublime exhibition. It is probably the most I have ever spent to see an exhibition, including train fare and exhibition catalogue, but it was worth every penny. To gild the lily, I spent the couple of hours I had left looking at Turner’s work again in the Clore Gallery. At that time I was also a sessional teacher at Okanagan University College (now University of British Columbia Okanagan) teaching art history, including 19th century art history.

Of course, the idea of the Sublime was an important aspect of 19th century art, and this was an opportunity to see what it was all about, in its American incarnation. Many American artists inspired by the Sublime knew and admired Turner’s work.

Turner’s Sublime is summed up in his early painting, Snowstorm: Hannibal Crossing the Alps (1812).

J.M.W. Turner, Snowstorm: Hannibal and His Army Crossing the Alps, 1812, oil on canvas, 144.7 x 236 cm, Tate Britain.

The work was done during the long period when British artists could not travel to the Continent because of the ongoing war with France (1792-1815). The painting is a veiled allusion to the crossing of the Alps by Napoleon in 1800, and suggests that, like the Carthaginian Empire, his dreams of empire are doomed. The cataclysm depicted here, a stormy vortex, is a powerful expression of the sublime forces of nature, and it is really this depiction of nature that would be the key to Turner’s paintings in the years to come, though many works also alluded to Britain’s own imperial power, especially the power of its Navy.

This painting was not the first nor the last time Turner used the vortex as a dominant compositional device. In 1800, at the age of 24, he submitted his Fifth Plague of Egypt, which inspired the appropriate awe.

J.M.W. Turner, The Fifth Plague of Egypt, 1800, oil on canvas, 120 x 180 cm, Indianapolis Museum of Art.

Turner was not the only painter working in the Sublime manner, but he gained prestige by adapting his primary interests as a landscape painter to some kind of myth, Biblical or poetic, and many of his paintings would include a narrative pretext, but it was always about nature, light and darkness.

The movie focuses on the last three decades of Turner’s life and presumably begins in about 1825 or so when he is seen sketching a sunset in the Netherlands. (His first trip to the Netherlands dates from 1817). He is already famous and his house also contains his own gallery. Typical of Turner’s work at that time was his Dido Building Carthage (1815) and in that painting and many others, he shows the influence of the French painter Claude Lorrain (1600-1682) who was held in such high esteem by British collectors.

Claude Lorrain (1600-1682) The Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba, 1648, oil on canvas, 149 x 194 cm, National Gallery, London.

Turner considered the Lorrain painting his masterpiece and painted his Dido Building Carthage in 1815, as an homage to it. He would eventually bequeath it to the British nation with the proviso that it be exhibited alongside the Lorrain in the National Gallery. And that is where you can see it to this day.

J.M.W. Turner, Dido Building Carthage, 1815, oil on canvas, 155.5 x 230 cm, National Gallery, London.

Turner was not afraid to be compared to Claude Lorrain, which indicates how highly he thought of his own work. He revisited stories from the Carthaginian Empire, with a Decline of the Carthaginian Empire (1817), also in the National Gallery. How well I remember the occasions I stood in that room contemplating these extraordinary works!

Another work is his Regulus. This painting is a key to Turner’s work I think, although certainly not one of his best known. The story is that of the Roman general Regulus, captured by the Carthaginians, and sent to Rome to negotiate a peace treaty. He instead convinces the Romans to reject the terms, and true to his word, he returns to Carthage to face a certain death. Among his tortures was to have his eyelids cut so he would be blinded by the sun.

J.M.W. Turner, Regulus, 1828, reworked in 1837, oil on canvas, 89.5 x 123.8 cm, Tate Gallery.

The painting shows Regulus leaving Rome for Carthage as he had promised. His eventual blinding is foreshadowed in this painting. I was reminded of this painting recently when I visited an ophthalmologist and had some of those pupil dilating eye drops. They make you see light in all its intensity for a few hours. I could not help thinking of Turner!

Gradually, it is the intensity of light that comes to dominate Turner’s work, not to mention an intensity of colour. The subject becomes a pretext for Turner’s abiding interest in the effects of sunlight. The movie, “Mr. Turner” often shows Turner sketching in the landscape with low sun, fog, clouds and even steam belching from steamboats or steam locomotives.

J.M.W. Turner, The Fighting Téméraire tugged to her last berth to be broken up, 1838, 1839, oil on canvas, 90.7 x 121.6 cm, National Gallery, London

An example is the painting of the Téméraire (above), and the movie, “Mr. Turner,” re-enacts the scene where the artist and some of his friends are witnessing the event from the water. It is one example of an event shown in the movie to great effect. The juxtaposition of a sailing man-o-war being towed to be scrapped by a small steam tug is poignant. It is the passing of an era. Apparently Turner, in fact, did not witness the event, but was very eager to make this contemporary event the subject of a painting. The ship had been dismasted at Trafalgar, but Turner depicts her with all her rigging.

J.M.W. Turner, The Slave Ship (Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying, Typhoon Coming On), 1840, oil on canvas, 90.8 x 122.6 cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

The same can be said for his painting of the Slave Ship. In the movie, this painting is owned by the critic John Ruskin’s father, and it is worth reading Ruskin’s description of it in Modern Painters. The characterization of Ruskin in the movie is priceless, and although Ruskin was one of Turner’s great champions, he did not like paintings where Turner included contemporary subject matter, such as steamboats, in his work. The movie also shows Ruskin being very critical of Claude Lorrain, an opinion which Turner certainly did not share.

J.M.W. Turner, Snow Storm – Steam Boat off a Harbour’s Mouth making signals in Shallow Water, and going by the Lead. The Author was in this Storm on the Night the Ariel left Harwich, 1842, oil on canvas, 91.4 x 121.9 cm, Tate Gallery.

Turner’s life-long admiration of Lorrain did not prevent him from depicting contemporary events. In his Snow Storm, he gives heroic treatment to an unnamed steam boat tossed about in a turbulent sea, a scene he observed himself. Once again, the vortex dominates the chilling composition of a steam boat in distress, with lights, clouds and rain drawing in the viewer.

J.M.W. Turner, Rain, Steam and Speed – the Great Western Railway, 1844, oil on canvas, 91 x 121.8 cm, National Gallery, London.

Turner’s use of contemporary subject matter, such as steam locomotives, astonished his viewers. Such subject matter was usually shunned by Turner’s colleagues of the Royal Academy, but Turner who witnessed the transformation of Britain as a result of the Industrial Revolution, was fascinated by the visual effects. This painting too is re-enacted in the film to great effect.

J.M.W. Turner, The Angel Standing in the Sun, 1846, oil on canvas, 78.7 x 78.7 cm, Tate Gallery.

In addition to his fascination with the scenes of modern life, Turner often turned to literature for his inspiration. The Angel Standing in the Sun is inspired by the Apocalypse, and the extraordinary images conjured up by John the Evangelist (Revelation 19:17) must have enthralled Turner, although he was not a religious man. The key to Turner’s beliefs are expressed by his last words, “The sun is God, ha-ha-ha.” Certainly his paintings had expressed these beliefs throughout his life.

Bibliography:

Brown, David B., ed. J.M.W. Turner – Painting Set Free. Los Angeles: The John Paul Getty Museum, 2014.

Venning, Barry. Turner. London: Phaidon Press, 2003.

Works reproduced here are in the public domain.

On the Colours of Vegetables and Fruit…

24 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by Roger H. Boulet in food, produce, recipe, Uncategorized

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salads, spriral slicer, vegetables

Sometimes, especially in the grey winter, I love to go to produce stores and supermarkets just to look at the colours of vegetables of various kinds. Even an interest in textures is rewarded, and the offerings can vary from season to season. As I live in an area of orchards and vineyards, different seasons bring fruits of different colours, from the dark red of the cherries, to the peaches, pears and plums. All of them delight me, as do the light brown walnuts at the end harvest season. Then everything goes dormant, the foliage falls to the earth and we can rest too… The landscape is a bit dreary during these months, and that is why I like to visit stores to see bright colours, and I get a bit of exercise while doing that too.

For various reasons, now retired, we have probably cut down our meat consumption by at least 60%… It helps to live in an area where produce is so abundant, thanks also to local greenhouses that keep us nourished in the winter. While the 100 mile (or 160 km) diet is quiet impractical in Canada, I do try to source things as close to home as I can. Just the other day, I saw at a supermarket some summer fruit or vegetable imported from New Zealand, and it was not a kiwi. I wasn’t even tempted. To the extent that I can, I do like fruits and vegetables in season, and am prepared to wait (with a few exceptions)… When spring is at hand, it is hard to resist those reasonably-priced imported bunches of of asparagus, but when the local asparagus finally arrives, it is so much more flavourful!

At this time of the year as we increase the number of vegetables we eat, winter vegetables take pride of place. Lots of root vegetables are in that category, such as carrots, beets, not to mention potatoes, some turnips, squash, etc.

This passion for the look of vegetables and fruit has made me explore different ways of preparing them, beyond steaming and stir-frying. Preserving that colour is important. By some chance, I happened to come across a marvelous blog called Inspiralized created by Ali Maffucci. This led me to a kitchen gadget called a spiralizer or Spriral Slicer. I’m a sucker for kitchen gadgets, but I tend to be cautious now. Many of them have been relegated to storage. Two weeks of exploring and researching, including reading the recipes on Ms. Malffucci’s blog, and I decided to order a Paderno Spiral Slicer. It arrived yesterday, and I tried it last night for the first time, a simple recipe of spiralized zucchini noodles with garlic and parmesan. Simple and terrific!!

My research has also led me to the idea that I could convert a number of my recipes to incorporate the spiralizing method of cutting vegetables. It means they are more lightly cooked, and presumably retain more of their nutrients. As we tend to have a vegetarian meal in the evening (stir-fry, soup or salad) and the main meal at mid-day, the spiralizer provides lots of new possibilities. I admit that once I picked up my spiralizer from the Post Office, I went shopping and purchased just about every vegetable that can be spiralized. We are now happily eating through the contents of the vegetable crisper.

Tonight, feeling a little ambitious, I decided to convert a wonderful recipe for Roasted Beet Salad with Oranges and Gorgonzola with Truffle Honey Vinaigrette. Now I did not invent this one, but the gift some years ago of a small jar of truffle honey had me searching for recipes calling for it. So I came upon this recipe by Robyn Webb. I have enjoyed it a couple of times, and I still have some truffle honey, so I decided to amend the recipe to take advantage of my new gadget. So I spiralized one yellow beet and one red beet! Visually, that was quite stunning!

The full recipe, as amended, is as follows:

Salad with Greens, Spiralized Beets, Walnuts and Honey Truffle Dressing
Serves 2

2 beets, peeled and spiralized with blade C (smallest)
2 small oranges, peeled, sliced to remove all the pith
steamed green beans (a generous handful)
blue cheese
½ cup walnuts

Dressing:
2 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1 tbsp white wine vinegar
1 tbsp truffle honey
¼ tsp Dijon mustard
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
sea salt and freshly ground pepper

1. Prepare the dressing by combining all the ingredients in a small container. Stir well.
2. Put the spiralized beets on a cooking sheet sprayed with olive oil cooking spray.
2. Cook beets in a 400° oven for 5 minutes. Let cool.
3. In a bowl combine the beets, greens, orange slices. Pour the dressing over the salad and top with crumbled blue cheese and walnuts on top of the salad. Serve.

This was the result. A few comments are in order. First, I had two large oranges. One would have sufficed, but two small navel oranges would also be fine. I substituted steamed green beans, still crunchy, for the mixed greens in Robyn Webb’s original recipe. Very good. If I made this in the summer time, I would use peaches or pears instead of the oranges. And rather than ordinary Danish blue cheese, which I had on hand, Gorgonzola would be my first choice. If using peaches or pears, I would use a milder cheese, such as goat cheese or brie, both of which are great with truffle honey. The dressing recipe above is exactly that suggested by Robyn Webb.

The salad could also be individually plated and the ingredients kept separate, no doubt providing a better aesthetic. There is much to be said for individual flavours linked by a common vinaigrette… I think I will try that next time.

Pollo alle Melograne

03 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by Roger H. Boulet in Uncategorized

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chicken, Italian recipe, pomegranate, pomegrante

I can’t remember when I first had pomegranates. It must have been during one of my student trips to Europe in the late 1960s or early 1970s. I remember thinking they were really good, the seeds that is, as the skin and inner membranes are inedible. But they always seemed to be bothersome to eat (like artichokes) so they were never really part of my grocery list.

Two things happened recently that made me rethink this. One was finding a recipe on the back of an old Christmas card. The other was coming across an ingenious method of seeding them quickly and efficiently. I remember my late friend John Lust once preparing a Persian chicken recipe which had pomegranate seeds in it. It may have been Fesenjan, and I can’t help but think that the recipe I found, Pollo alle Melograne, has its origins in Persia (Iran). (I must try the Fesenjan again, as we have lots of walnuts every year from a tree in our yard).

The Pollo alle Melograne recipe, I found, is also featured in Giovanni Bugialli’s Foods of Tuscany cookbook (1992) pp. 156-157, and is described as an “old Tuscan Renaissance Dish.” The one I found on the back of that old Christmas card is identical, but does not have a copyright warning, so I am providing it here.

Pollo alle Melograne

1 chicken (3 to 3 1/2 pounds), quartered
1 tbsp unsalted butter
salt and freshly ground black pepper
5 tbsp olive oil
1 cup dry white wine
pinch (generous) ground cinnamon
freshly grated nutmeg
1 to 2 cups chicken broth, preferably home-made
2 large pomegranates
large pinch of ground ginger to serve

1. Cut the chicken into quarters. Rub the quarters with the tablespoon of butter and sprinkle them with salt and pepper.

2. Heat the oil in a medium-sized casserole over medium heat and, when the oil is warm, place the chicken in a single layer in the bottom of the casserole. Sauté for 2 minutes, then turn the chicken over and sauté for 2 minutes more. Add the wine and let it evaporate for 10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper, then add the cinnamon and a large pinch of nutmeg. Start adding the broth a little at a time, turning the chicken two or three times and adding more broth as needed.

3. Meanwhile, peel the pomegranates, removing all the seeds and discarding the skins.

4. When the chicken is almost cooked, about 25 minutes from the moment you started adding the broth, add the pomegranate seeds to the casserole, mix very well, cover and cook for 5 minutes more, stirring occasionally to be sure the seeds do not stick to the bottom. Taste for salt and pepper.

5. Just before serving, sprinkle the ginger all over the chicken and pomegranates, mix very well and transfer to a large serving platter. Serve hot.

Servings: 4

Nutrition Facts
Nutrition (per serving): 1008 calories, 659 calories from fat, 73.6g total fat, 251.5mg cholesterol, 233.1mg sodium, 879.3mg potassium, 15.9g carbohydrates, 3.1g fiber, 11.1g sugar, 58.6g protein.

This is what the recipe looks like in a serving dish,

and on the plate.

Some comments are in order. The flavour is surprisingly subtle and well-balanced. I thought one or two of these spices would overpower the chicken, but not at all! I reduced the recipe somewhat (for two people) so one large pomegranate produced plenty of seeds for the dish, and one cup of stock was adequate. I served it with brown rice and maybe it lacks a bit of colour on the plate. Peas, or maybe a sprig of mint would liven up the appearance a bit, and provide a suitable accompaniment.

Another recipe I have uses pomegranate molasses. It is a cherry salad, but I will save that one for the summer when we have picked some cherries off our tree in early July.

On Christmas Carols

30 Tuesday Dec 2014

Posted by Roger H. Boulet in Uncategorized

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Christmas Carols

Every year, by this time, I am inclined to put away the Christmas carol CDs that I have collected over the years. While commercial establishments start playing Christmas music (or Christmas muzak!) right after Halloween, I tend to wait as long as I can, and this is usually about the second or third week of December. Then, I play this music virtually exclusively for a couple of weeks.

As a child, I remember we would start to practice Christmas carols with the coming of Advent, the first being “Venez Divin Messie!” — so full of anticipation, hope and longing. As I was going to grade school in a French Canadian community, most of the carols were French ones, although we learned to sing “Silent Night” in German, and I remember a number of carols were sung in Latin, such as “Adeste Fideles.” We sang a number of these carols during Midnight Mass, which always began with the best tenor of the choir singing “Minuit, Chrétiens.”

Christmas has inspired some of the most beautiful music in the western tradition over the centuries. And although today I am more inclined to celebrate the Winter Solstice than the Christian festival, Christmas carols continue to be part of the seasonal celebration.

About 30 years ago, when I started to collect CDs, among my first Christmas carol purchases were the two albums by Andrew Parrot’s Taverner Consort singers and players. The first is The Carol Album: Seven Centuries of Christmas Music (1989). The second album by these performers came out in 2000. There were others, such as A Renaissance Christmas Celebration with the Waverly Consort, all part of period instrument performance and practice which has had a special place in my musical preferences over the years.

I seem to add one or two CDs of Christmas carols to my collection every year, the most recent being the extraordinary Surrounded by Angels by the Ensemble Galilei. As the gentle reader will have gathered by now, I have no interest in renditions of Christmas carols by popular singers, with the possible exception of “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby. Even the productions of opera singers singing Christmas carols does not find favour with me, with the possible exception of “Minuit, Chrétiens.” The version I remember was sung by Richard Verreau.

There is other Christmas music I play at this time of the year. Certainly Bach’s Christmas Oratorio and various Christmastide cantatas are played, beginning with his Advent Cantatas. The performances by the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists (conducted by John Eliot Gardiner) of this extraordinary music are among the best available.

It is also at about this time that I play Berlioz’ “L’Enfance du Christ” at least once, before putting away all of the Christmas music away for another year.

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On retirement

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classical music, cooking, the arts, visual art

I was fortunate in that I did not retire suddenly, therefore unprepared. Even before my last full five years of employment, I had survived doing contract work for public art galleries and museums in Western Canada. I even did a bit of teaching, which was a learning experience. It probably enriched me more than my students.

Throughout my life, the arts have nourished me, most especially the visual arts, classical music, and the culinary arts. Nature and its proximity have always been important. I have sought its solace and am blessed in that I live in a beautiful valley, with orchards and vineyards. amidst ancient mountains. I have also been blessed with an appreciation of good food, thanks to my parents and perhaps to my French Canadian heritage. My sympathetic partner of many years, Merv, has shared this particular interest, to our mutual delight. All these things are the stuff of daily life to me… and bring me peace and tranquility.

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Vissi d'arte

~ Living retired, and nourished by the arts

Category Archives: Uncategorized

Joseph Vernet (1718-1789)–Part III–The French Port Series

Hunting for the Best Chicken Cacciatore

Living with Vivaldi

Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527-1593)

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, La Primavera, 1563, oil on canvas, 66 x 50 cm, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Air, ca. 1566, oil on canvas, 74.4 x 56.6 cm, Private Collection, Basel.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Summer, 1563, oil on panel, 67 x 50.8 cm, Kunsthistorishes Museum, Vienna.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Fire, 1566, oil on panel, 66.5 x 51 cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Autumn, 1573, oil on canvas, 77 x 63 cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Earth, ca. 1570, oil on panel, 70.2 x 48.7 cm, Private Collection, Vienna.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Winter, 1563, oil on panel, 66.6 x 50.5 cm, Kunsthistorishes Museum, Vienna.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Water, 1566, oil on panel, 66.5 x 50.5 cm, Kunsthistorishes Museum, Vienna.

Viewing “Mr. Turner”

J.M.W. Turner, Snowstorm: Hannibal and His Army Crossing the Alps, 1812, oil on canvas, 144.7 x 236 cm, Tate Britain.

J.M.W. Turner, The Fifth Plague of Egypt, 1800, oil on canvas, 120 x 180 cm, Indianapolis Museum of Art.

Claude Lorrain (1600-1682) The Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba, 1648, oil on canvas, 149 x 194 cm, National Gallery, London.

J.M.W. Turner, Dido Building Carthage, 1815, oil on canvas, 155.5 x 230 cm, National Gallery, London.

J.M.W. Turner, Regulus, 1828, reworked in 1837, oil on canvas, 89.5 x 123.8 cm, Tate Gallery.

J.M.W. Turner, The Fighting Téméraire tugged to her last berth to be broken up, 1838, 1839, oil on canvas, 90.7 x 121.6 cm, National Gallery, London

J.M.W. Turner, The Slave Ship (Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying, Typhoon Coming On), 1840, oil on canvas, 90.8 x 122.6 cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

J.M.W. Turner, Snow Storm – Steam Boat off a Harbour’s Mouth making signals in Shallow Water, and going by the Lead. The Author was in this Storm on the Night the Ariel left Harwich, 1842, oil on canvas, 91.4 x 121.9 cm, Tate Gallery.

J.M.W. Turner, Rain, Steam and Speed – the Great Western Railway, 1844, oil on canvas, 91 x 121.8 cm, National Gallery, London.

J.M.W. Turner, The Angel Standing in the Sun, 1846, oil on canvas, 78.7 x 78.7 cm, Tate Gallery.

On the Colours of Vegetables and Fruit…

Pollo alle Melograne

On Christmas Carols

On retirement

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