Vice and Virtue at the National Portrait gallery
Entering through a dimly lit grey corridor, one feel as if transported into a chasm of mystery through which ironically one must travel through an immediate antechamber of sweeping powerful oceanic paintings. One’s turbulent feelings heightened both from the strong presence of these pieces (which include a number of Turners), but also from just simply how quiet and empty it is. Aside from myself, this tunnel towards the exhibition is eerily deserted for a famous museum in central London at midday on Saturday, and yet this unnerving silence renders the anticipation for the exhibition all the more intense.
Entering the introductory alcove of a domed ceiling painted black. On the wall, illuminated in swooping painterly cursive script; Sin.
Such a deviation from normal exhibition spaces- one is immediately transported from the soft diffused LEDs of the main halls into a moody crypt of some sort. It feels more like a very expensive bar than a museum- although this is perhaps intentional and on the nose for the content displayed. While luxury is considered a sin in abundance- it is easy to find implied deviancy in the moody atmosphere of deep, rich, brooding darkness of exclusivity that the shadowy room held. It’s immediately engaging.
For such a small exhibit I certainly was enthusiastic to ‘get my moneys worth’ as it were, even though the booking for the museum was free. But there was no greater opportunity to exploit the fact that my theme – vice and virtue- was more or less the star of the show in the National Gallery, and I was in the position to see it. Despite restrictions placed upon us all by Covid 19, I made my way down to London to the National’. I was personally not enthusiastic about the prospect of a ‘virtual experience’, because I may as well Google the pictures as always if that were to be the case. But no- seeing a painting in the flesh is an infinitely more impressive and impactful experience—and I was right in this assertion.
When entering ‘Sin’, An Allegory with Venus and Cupid painted by Bronzino in around 1545 is the immediate centrepiece of the exhibition. Not only does it dwarf all other pieces in scale (being around one and a half metres in height and one meter in length), but provides staggering imagery in and of its own presence.
Unlike the smaller, darker, more dingy and far older or more contemporary paintings adorning the walls of this room, Allegory is mounted upon its own plinth in the centre. Bold and crisp line and colour complemented by the chaotic, sweeping gracefulness of it’s composition, commanding a dream like presence. Of course- these characteristics are key to the Mannerist stylistics that Bronzino and his peer preferred in this period. This is perhaps most clear from the exaggerated appearance of the subjects within the painting and the way in which they contort themselves into almost impossible positions; for instance, Cupids body twists unnaturally in motion with the body of Venus to emphasise the sensuality and intense eroticism charging through their interaction. Such a bold presentation perhaps intentionally illustrated to unnerve, given their physical age gap and the odd exposed voyeuristic composition of the painting.
Mannerism is the name lent to the period more specifically known as the Late Renaissance- following the naturalism, attention of proportion and balance of the High renaissance which sought mainly to re-establish representational skills to the classes. Instead of simply trying to replicate the beauty of reality with as much harmonious realism as possible (consider the mirrored composition of the Sistine chapel, the Last supper etc.), the mannerist artist tries to elevate these ideas into the extremes. If an aspect can be emphasised – a mannerist will try to do it, and then add quite an astonishingly lavish amount of billowing fabric and floating babies. Mannerism is notable for its artificiality, florid style or warping the body and the world- the way in which it prioritises compositional tension and instability- as well as what many have called its ‘intellectual sophistication’. Unlike the more objective high renaissance narrative paintings commissioned predominantly by the church and contrary to popular belief- for the viewing of a higher number of commoners, Mannerist artists painted increasingly for the intellectual elite and educated aristocracy.
Symbolism and references in painting became a key part of the draw for those interested in art – much of the entertainment of a new painting being the intrigue it spurns as the eager viewers try to guess or recall what each symbolic element or personal is trying to convey or suggest.
One must remember that the aristocracy in the past had free time, too. Having a painting like this is the modern equivalent of owning an entire marvel movie that only you can enjoy and obsess over.
Allegory is certainly no stranger to this idea. Its obscure imagery and artificial design are entirely an epitome of the type of sophisticated and self-aware European court ideals.
In person, the painting has been rendered and blended to oblivion with richly pigmented oils- concealing even the most meagre of suggestion of its painterly origins. It renders the pearlescent marble-white of Venus’ and cupid’s skin to appear almost doll-like - these dolls housed in the chaotic and unflinchingly cramped composition sculpted (as it were) into a theatrical symbiotic perpetual performance burgeoning upon camp. Not only this – but the very physical makeup of this image in the pigment of the enormous curtain that father time hoists is created with ultramarine blue, one of the most expensive and sought after pigments of the renaissance and post medieval era. Although I have found no chemical analysis to have been done in this area of the painting, I strongly suspect that the red pillow upon which Cupid kneels is tempura with red lake pigment(*), which is similarly as rare and expensive. Clearly 'restraint' was not amongst the commission guidelines. The luxury very prominent to the context of this painting as a gift to King Francis I of France, very probably from Cosimo I De’Medici. However- there is apparently no record of it ever having been within the French royal collection- although it is entirely possible given the uproarious responses and sexually explicit subject matter that even the notoriously libidinous king may have been advised to be a little more discreet about its possession.
The painting itself houses an abundance of symbolism; a scramble of moral allegory eggs and messages combined like butter. On first viewing of the canvas, the eye is drawn up the leaning, half reclined body of Venus as she engages in a... troublingly incestuous kiss with her son, Cupid. She has robbed him of one of his arrows, but he seems initially indifferent- far too engaged in fondling Venus’ breast. But one may keenly spy that the hand he places so tentatively around her head, is actually grasping to steal her corona. Some have argued that the masks in the corner of the composition imply false emotion; deceit and lies- evidently suggesting that this sexual immorality and exploration of the vice of Lust is simply a mask to deceive one another.
A girl behind the couple extends a honeycomb – innocently framed by Venus and a smiling foolish putto (who is enjoying the scene enormously and preparing to chuck a fistful of rose petals on the couple), the girl has the lower body of a beast (some form of serpent with the legs of a lion, likely a Harpy of some iteration) a testament to deception and duplicity of man and animalism. Some have noted that the discolouration of her cloak may not be the effects of time- but rather- a resemblance to shot silk, which appears different colours depending on the angle and light, mirroring the dual perception we have of her half beautiful, half dangerous body.
Above this scene we have a commotion as two figures franticly struggle or work together to either raise or lower the ultramarine curtain that conceals the image of depravity. The winged elderly man on the right is identified as father time by his hourglass, while the female figure in the left is of a disputed identity. Some say they are oblivion- having no head besides the empty mask that ends abruptly at their ears- and it is a symbol of many deplorable acts being forgotten to all- all but father time that may perhaps be fighting to cast off the curtain and “reveal all”. I personally believe that this figure may in fact be deception- a theme that runs throughout The Allegory. The emptiness of its entire being is substantiated only by a mask- it is not real other than a plastic artifice, much like the nature of deception. Furthermore, the headdress they wear flies off in the commotion- perhaps to reveal the emptiness of its head. Alternatively- it may represent ignorance;- in that the emptiness of its head indicates a lack of intelligence or thought.
While in the late renaissance it was still not well understood where ‘thoughts’ came from, it is not too far of a reach to presume that even if Bronzino did not consider intellect or ethical understanding to emanate from the brain- he may have still believed in ‘humors’ of the blood, which influenced the soul and our passions. This figure is notably empty inside, so would have no blood to carry the humors anyway. Maybe ignorance fights time for power over morality- that ignorance may protect them from judgement- but time’s strength and viscerally (he very clearly has blood in his veins) threatens to inevitably overpower ignorance and reveal truth
In any case- such questions are perhaps the most important part of paintings like this. One is supposed to ponder its ambiguous meaning and consider all routes of consideration.
(*) Notably in paintings of this era where red velvets and silks are concerned, their progress in ageing is idiosyncratic and best seen in the work of Velazquez. Generally the most obvious signs of this pigment in my experience is that the contrast between shadow and mid-tones is quite extreme, with the darkest tones transitioning to a brownish hue, and the very lightest points desaturating and becoming quite pallid.
Written in 2021
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