This program entitled "Renaissances" receives a boost from commentaries of the witty and colorful Simon Schama. Unfortunately, the filmmakers struggle to tie Western and Eastern artistic traditions into a uniform aesthetic from the fifteenth through the seventeenth centuries. By the end of the program, the narrator gives up and admits that so many of the arts in the East eventually came to be labeled as merely "decorative" and there was not even a hiatus or break with the past in the Eastern tradition in the way that the West was cut off from its classical roots.
The episode begins with contrasting analyses of the use of domes in the architecture of the rebuilding of St. Peter's Cathedral in Rome with the mosque designed by the Janissary Nimar Sinan in his Suleymaniye Mosque in Constantinople. The filmmakers go overboard in suggesting a rivalry or competition that was not the case. Bramante and Michelangelo in the West were not in any way competing with Nimar. There was also far too much credit given to Nimar as an innovator, when he was clearly modeling the Suleymaniye Mosque on the existing pendetive supports of Hagia Sophia. By contrast, Michelangelo had to devise completely original engineering and architectural forms that surpassed anything Bramante had ever imagined in his little San Pietro doll-house model in Montorio.
A valid made in the program was the distinction in Western art between the medieval "ars" (or craft, artisan) work versus the Renaissance "invenio" (or genius of the individual artist). But the filmmakers once again drop the ball by not admitting that the personal genius of the artist never really figured in the contemporary developments in the Eastern tradition. In fact, the filmmakers are hard-pressed to even come up with many names of the Eastern artists.
Schama is in top form in describing the Michelangelo wannabe named Benvenuto Cellini, a goldsmith who wanted to be remembered as a genius. But too much is made of Cellini's minor statue of Perseus outfoxing Medusa, a commission he retained from the recently restored Medici family in Florence. Peresus and the head of Medusa may be staring at a copy of Michelangelo's "David," but the two art works and sculptors do not belong in the same league. The best part of this segment was Schama's over-the-top description of Cellini rising from his death bed to salvage his mediocre bronze statue after an accident had occurred in his studio, wherein Cellini later boasted like Mary Shelley's Dr. Frankenstein, "I revived a corpse!"
Like Cellini, the filmmakers try hard to breathe life into Mughal art by exploring the theme of "cultural fusion" as a substitute for the "invenio" of the Western artists. Under the third Mughal emperors, Akbar, the city of Lahore produced a beautiful temple that combined Hindu forms with Persian Islamic architecture in the Lahore Mosque. The craft that goes into the "miniature" book illustrations is also explored. But it is clear that artists in Mughal India were following strict instructions of a single patron, the emperor, as opposed to the Western artists who had much more extensive freedom to experiment.
Under Mirza Nur-ud-din Beig Mohammad Khan Salim, or "Jahingir" (the one who grasps the world), art was used by the Mughals to promote the emperor, relegating other world leaders, such as James I of England, to subsidiary status in the painting. Still, the extensive mosaic tiles on the face of the outer wall of Lhore Fort reveal once again an eclectic, hybrid style, when compared to the personalized artistic interpretations of Caravaggio's paintings in Rome.
Carravagio's Baroque religious paintings were deftly described as depicting "saints who have dirty fingernails." The Madonna of the Loretto reveals Mary and the "Roman Bambino" Jesus as Italians whom one might encounter by chance by opening a door on any Roman alleyway.
Schama and Jerry Brotton offered a pinpoint analysis of the singular artistic expression of the female painter Artemisia Gentileschi, who is remembered for her "Susanna and the Elders," "Cleopatra," and "Corsica and the Satyr." While living in England, Artemisia sold her self-portrait to Charles I. The painting was based on the Cesare Ripa allegorical treatise, wherein Artemisa drew upon the iconic symbols for her artist depicted in the act of painting. But the one allegorical trait that she refused to appropriate was that of the gagged mouth. Artemesia was not to be silenced in her traumatic personal life or in her work as an artist.
The power of art is seen in Velasquez' "cerebral" painting "Las Menias." This "brain teaser" is described as layers of mirrors within mirrors. For Schama, this complex painting raises the postmodern question of "who of what comprises the way we look?" The program effectively conveyed the enormous size of "Las Menias," which is currently housed in the Prado. But the filmmakers do not venture into the territory of exploring how monumental painting in the West says something different about a culture than the miniatures of Mughal book illustraitons.
In the tiny but mighty Dutch Republic, Amsterdam was the richest, most cosmopolitan city in Europe. While the filmmakers reveal that Rembrandt knew of the Eastern miniature tradition, his art was not appreciably affected by it, other than as an act of curiosity. The local militia unit of "The Night Watch" has a uniquely Western sense of the kinetic. All of the figures are in motion, and the painting is suffused with an implied soundtrack in the voice of the Captain Frans Banninck Cocq, the dog barking, the drum beating, and the gun being fired. All of these choices lead to an expression of republican liberty unique to the Dutch Republic.
The program closes with some final images of the Indian Mughal tradition, including the majestic Taj Mahal. The structure was created by Akbar's grandson Shah Jahan in memory his beloved Mumtaz Mahal. The building drew not on Western forms of architecture, but was inspired by the I'timad-ud-Daulah mausoleum in the city of Agra. Intended to memorialize Jahingir's favorite wife, Nur Jahan, the beauty the building lies in the interior with paintings that capture an ebullient sense of eternal springtime. By contrast, the exterior of the Taj Mahal is the breath-taking and iconic component, especially when captured in the reflections of the ponds.
Ultimately, the program's goal of spinning art history as "a shared visual culture" of East and West was flawed and unpersuasive. The individual art works were well presented. But the filmmakers' thesis merits the grade of F.
The episode begins with contrasting analyses of the use of domes in the architecture of the rebuilding of St. Peter's Cathedral in Rome with the mosque designed by the Janissary Nimar Sinan in his Suleymaniye Mosque in Constantinople. The filmmakers go overboard in suggesting a rivalry or competition that was not the case. Bramante and Michelangelo in the West were not in any way competing with Nimar. There was also far too much credit given to Nimar as an innovator, when he was clearly modeling the Suleymaniye Mosque on the existing pendetive supports of Hagia Sophia. By contrast, Michelangelo had to devise completely original engineering and architectural forms that surpassed anything Bramante had ever imagined in his little San Pietro doll-house model in Montorio.
A valid made in the program was the distinction in Western art between the medieval "ars" (or craft, artisan) work versus the Renaissance "invenio" (or genius of the individual artist). But the filmmakers once again drop the ball by not admitting that the personal genius of the artist never really figured in the contemporary developments in the Eastern tradition. In fact, the filmmakers are hard-pressed to even come up with many names of the Eastern artists.
Schama is in top form in describing the Michelangelo wannabe named Benvenuto Cellini, a goldsmith who wanted to be remembered as a genius. But too much is made of Cellini's minor statue of Perseus outfoxing Medusa, a commission he retained from the recently restored Medici family in Florence. Peresus and the head of Medusa may be staring at a copy of Michelangelo's "David," but the two art works and sculptors do not belong in the same league. The best part of this segment was Schama's over-the-top description of Cellini rising from his death bed to salvage his mediocre bronze statue after an accident had occurred in his studio, wherein Cellini later boasted like Mary Shelley's Dr. Frankenstein, "I revived a corpse!"
Like Cellini, the filmmakers try hard to breathe life into Mughal art by exploring the theme of "cultural fusion" as a substitute for the "invenio" of the Western artists. Under the third Mughal emperors, Akbar, the city of Lahore produced a beautiful temple that combined Hindu forms with Persian Islamic architecture in the Lahore Mosque. The craft that goes into the "miniature" book illustrations is also explored. But it is clear that artists in Mughal India were following strict instructions of a single patron, the emperor, as opposed to the Western artists who had much more extensive freedom to experiment.
Under Mirza Nur-ud-din Beig Mohammad Khan Salim, or "Jahingir" (the one who grasps the world), art was used by the Mughals to promote the emperor, relegating other world leaders, such as James I of England, to subsidiary status in the painting. Still, the extensive mosaic tiles on the face of the outer wall of Lhore Fort reveal once again an eclectic, hybrid style, when compared to the personalized artistic interpretations of Caravaggio's paintings in Rome.
Carravagio's Baroque religious paintings were deftly described as depicting "saints who have dirty fingernails." The Madonna of the Loretto reveals Mary and the "Roman Bambino" Jesus as Italians whom one might encounter by chance by opening a door on any Roman alleyway.
Schama and Jerry Brotton offered a pinpoint analysis of the singular artistic expression of the female painter Artemisia Gentileschi, who is remembered for her "Susanna and the Elders," "Cleopatra," and "Corsica and the Satyr." While living in England, Artemisia sold her self-portrait to Charles I. The painting was based on the Cesare Ripa allegorical treatise, wherein Artemisa drew upon the iconic symbols for her artist depicted in the act of painting. But the one allegorical trait that she refused to appropriate was that of the gagged mouth. Artemesia was not to be silenced in her traumatic personal life or in her work as an artist.
The power of art is seen in Velasquez' "cerebral" painting "Las Menias." This "brain teaser" is described as layers of mirrors within mirrors. For Schama, this complex painting raises the postmodern question of "who of what comprises the way we look?" The program effectively conveyed the enormous size of "Las Menias," which is currently housed in the Prado. But the filmmakers do not venture into the territory of exploring how monumental painting in the West says something different about a culture than the miniatures of Mughal book illustraitons.
In the tiny but mighty Dutch Republic, Amsterdam was the richest, most cosmopolitan city in Europe. While the filmmakers reveal that Rembrandt knew of the Eastern miniature tradition, his art was not appreciably affected by it, other than as an act of curiosity. The local militia unit of "The Night Watch" has a uniquely Western sense of the kinetic. All of the figures are in motion, and the painting is suffused with an implied soundtrack in the voice of the Captain Frans Banninck Cocq, the dog barking, the drum beating, and the gun being fired. All of these choices lead to an expression of republican liberty unique to the Dutch Republic.
The program closes with some final images of the Indian Mughal tradition, including the majestic Taj Mahal. The structure was created by Akbar's grandson Shah Jahan in memory his beloved Mumtaz Mahal. The building drew not on Western forms of architecture, but was inspired by the I'timad-ud-Daulah mausoleum in the city of Agra. Intended to memorialize Jahingir's favorite wife, Nur Jahan, the beauty the building lies in the interior with paintings that capture an ebullient sense of eternal springtime. By contrast, the exterior of the Taj Mahal is the breath-taking and iconic component, especially when captured in the reflections of the ponds.
Ultimately, the program's goal of spinning art history as "a shared visual culture" of East and West was flawed and unpersuasive. The individual art works were well presented. But the filmmakers' thesis merits the grade of F.
