'Ribera: Art of Violence' at Dulwich Picture Gallery

The current exhibition at Dulwich Picture Gallery is 'Ribera: Art of Violence' featuring the works of Jusepe de Ribera, an early 17th century Spanish painter who settled in Naples (which was governed by Spain at the time). It was probably in Naples that he saw the works of Caravaggio and that's clearly influenced Ribera's style of painting. I don't know anything about Ribera so this exhibition was an eye-opener and, to be clear, it's just focusing on one aspect of his work. It's a familiar aspect, though, since I've seen his work before, and one painting in particular I actively dislike - but more of that later.

The first room of the exhibition features two large paintings of the 'Martyrdom of Saint Bartholomew' painted almost 20 years apart (1628 and 1644). There are quite a few renditions of St Bartholomew as you wander through the exhibition, along with paintings and drawings of other saints at the moment of their agony, such as St Peter and St Sebastian. That's the theme of this exhibition - the moments of pain and agony felt by the early Christian martyrs and others. The signs tell us that 'Ribera was primarily concerned with exploring  the contorted and restrained male body' and that the Church wanted art to 'inspire piety by arousing strong emotions'. It does that all right.

The later painting of St Bartholomew being flayed alive because he destroyed the images of pagan gods is the one that really captured my attention since the saint looks out of the painting with a piercing direct gaze - would you go through this for your god?

The next room took me back a few years to when I saw the main painting in an exhibition at Musee Jacquemart-Andre in Paris. Titled simply 'Saint Bartholomew' (1612) I wrongly thought the old man was the saint (the labels at the exhibition were in French) but the old man with the knife is holding the flayed skin of the saint. It's quite stark really. I didn't like this painting when I first saw it and I don't like it now. The background is a bit intriguing and 'modern' though.

This is where the drawings take over the exhibition, lots of drawings - and they're really good - where the artist tries out different positions of the subject matter for what will probably become paintings, tries to capture different body shapes for later use and so on. A few of the drawings capture physical illnesses and others capture torture and punishment. Not many are very pleasant viewing, especially when he he depicts the results of torture, such as a drawing of a man strung up by his arms defecating because the pain means he can't control his bowels. Not very pleasant stuff. I can only think that Ribera watched it happening so that we don't have to.

One of the drawings that really caught my eye was the 'Crucifixion of Saint Peter' from the early 1640s in ink (brush and pen). Look at that contorted body of an old man as he's man-handled onto an inverted cross. But also look at the two men handling him, the effort that's going into crucifying him, with a third pulling on a rope. A lot of effort is going into killing and humiliating an old man. There's a similar drawing hing close by of the same scene but with the cross at a more manageable angle.

The labels refer to Riber using real models for his works and I can well believe it. Some of his drawings look as if they're him trying to work out the best composition for a painting and the bodies and faces in the paintings look like real people. That's you and me in those paintings, warts and all.

Ribera also tried his hand at print making to be able to more easily spread his art and skill and, hopefully, get more commissions. There's a very detailed print of the 'Martyrdom of Saint Bartholomew' from 1624 (I told you he kept cropping up as a favourite subject) which shows the skin being flayed from his arm while bound to a tree. Leaving the subject matter to one side, it's a great little print with loads of detail but I have to wonder why anyone would want this in their collection.

So there you have it, flayings, hangings, torture, executions  and all sorts of nastiness going on, all captured on the canvas or on paper by Ribera. One of the labels in the exhibition assumes that Ribera saw someone burned at the stake because of a drawing on that happening and his name prominently saying 'Ribera was here' across the bottom. Um, OK.

 The final, large painting has a room to itself and is kept dark with a curtain drawn across the exit. This is 'Apollo and Marsyas' in which the god flays a satyr alive. There he goes with that flaying thing again. Apparently, Marsyas bragged that he better at music than the god of music, they held a competition and guess what? the god won so he flays his rival alive. Trust Ribera to go with that story rather than any of the other stories of Apollo. As with the painting of Saint Bartholomew above, the satyr looks out at the viewer as he screams in agony.

So there you have it, not the most pleasant of exhibitions. There are only six paintings by Ribera (plus one by a contemporary) and lots of drawings. This was the least busy exhibition at Dulwich I've been to - don't know if Tuesday lunchtimes are traditionally not very busy or if the subject matter is putting people off - and I won't be going back for a second viewing.

Imagine my relief when I left the exhibition, looked to the right and saw two small Raphael paintings almost glowing with colour by comparison. Out of the darkness and into the light.

'Beyond Caravaggio' at the National Gallery

On Monday I went to a preview of the new blockbuster exhibition at the National Gallery about Caravaggio and the artists he influenced, 'Beyond Caravaggio'. It's obviously Caravaggio's year since I saw a similar exhibition in Madrid in September called 'Caravaggio and the Painters of the North' at Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza. That exhibition looked specifically at Caravaggio's influence on painters in northern Europe, most of whom I hadn't heard of before, but had the bonus of including Caravaggio's last painting, 'The Martyrdom of St Ursula'. The National Gallery's exhibition goes broader than just northern Europe and includes some astonishing paintings.

Caravaggio is known for his use of light and shade, for the dramatic poses and for his realism. There aren't any idealised people in his paintings, they're ordinary and we can still see them in the street today, with frayed cuffs, unthinkingly dishevelled and with wrinkles. The poses of his people aren't just dramatic, they were also new at the time, a new take on a very familiar story. In his 'Supper at Emmaus' he shows one of the diners about to jump out of his chair in shock and surprise - have you seen that pose before in any painting before Caravaggio? - and another diner throwing his arms out wide in a challenging angle to get right. The magic is that you could almost reach out and grasp that man's hand since it seems to be pressing out of the painting, and, if you did, you'd be in the presence of the Christ. That brings you closer to God.

It's not just the story-telling, Caravaggio is clearly a great painter of people. Just look in the faces of the people in 'The Taking of Christ'- these are real people. The look of almost acceptance in Christ's face is belied by his hands, the twisting fingers suggesting the fear of what he knows will come next. It's a very powerful painting and painted to a high finish, with the sheen in the guard's armoured arm at the centre of the painting rather than the faces of Jesus and Judas.

This is, justifiably, the poster for the exhibition and there's a giant blow up on the hoarding in Trafalgar Square. The man in the top right of the painting holding the lantern is thought to be a self-portrait of Caravaggio, placing himself at the centre of history.

There are works by a range of other painters on display and one of my favourites was a rather un-Caravaggio painting of 'The Rest on the Flight into Egypt' by Orazio Gentileschi. It's very light and airy and has a feeling of the dryness of the atmosphere. Joseph is asleep (as he often is portrayed), bundled in his voluminous cloak and the too-big baby is suckling, sitting on his mother's knee. What attracted me, though, was the magnificent donkey seen on the other side of the wall with his really thick fur and perky ears. Isn't he lovely?

Another painting that grabbed my attention was 'The Crucifixion of St Peter' by Mattia Preti (Il Calabrese). This shows an aged St Peter upside down and about to be crucified, very off-centre and lit from the left. His position and flailing arm suggests his pain and discomfort in his last moments, a very clever composition that was designed to be hung high so the viewer looks up at it. Peter felt unworthy to be crucified in the same way as his Lord and asked to be crucified upside down and this is what we see. This photo doesn't really show it very well and it's not as dark as this makes it look.  

There is only one Caravaggio painting in the final room and that's 'St John the Baptist in the Wilderness', a painting also part of the Museo Thyssen exhibition. It's obviously John since he holds his trademark symbol of the long thin cross and is wearing animal skins as well as the gorgeous red robe. But what's unusual, and again goes back to Caravaggio's ability to reimagine and re-tell stories we're all familiar with, he paints John as a sullen young man rather than the more mature man he's usually depicted as. The sulky John is sitting there mulling over some thoughts while almost naked and with dirty toe nails. Is he wondering whether he's made the right career choice? Who knows, but it's a very startling painting.

This is an excellent exhibition that shows us Caravaggio and the painters he influenced, enabling us to compare and contrast and think about these marvellous paintings. The exhibition opens today and runs until 15 January 2017 so there's plenty of time to see it. I'll certainly be going back for more.

'From Giotto to Caravaggio' at the Musee Jacquemart-Andre, Paris

When in Paris a visit to the Musee Jacquemart-Andre is almost mandatory. I went there to see the marvellous exhibition about Fra Angelico a few years ago (indeed, that exhibition was the sole reason for going to Paris) and, last year, the exhibition about Peregrino (Rapheal's master).  A visit to the cafe is also mandatory for delicious cakes (my favourite is a raspberry and cream cake with a macaroon base and topping - yum!).

This time it was an early evening visit (since the museum stays open late on Mondays) to see the latest exhibition, 'From Giotto to Caravaggio'. The exhibition is based around the theories and collection of Roberto Longhi, a collector and art historian and many of the exhibits come from his collection. The focus is on Caravaggio and his many followers and imitators who played with the dramatic light and shade and almost theatricality of his subjects that are central features of his work.

As well as the 'Boy Bitten By A Lizard' in the poster for the exhibition, the other main painting by Caravaggio was 'The Crowning with Thorns', a dramatic painting of the thorns being forced onto Christ's head, too thorny for the guards to touch so they ease it on with sticks. This painting was then followed by a room of similar paintings, all with the crown of thorns and sticks, all dramatically lit and all very derivative if you've seen the Caravaggio.

The depiction of the crowning looks painful - as it must have been - but I had difficulty in seeing Christ in that painting. He was 33 when he died and that face is of a man who is definitely in his 50s. The trials of his last days couldn't make him age so quickly so I wonder what the artist was trying to say by making him look so old. And yes, the aged face is also copied in the other paintings.

The essays in light and shade by the followers of Caravaggio were all very well but the highlights of the exhibition for me weren't those of the 16th and 17th Centuries, but rather the beauties of the 14th Century.

As everyone knows, Giotto invented art and it's always a thrill to see his paintings. I've never been to Sienna to see his chapels but I have seen the two small chapels he painted in Santa Croce in Florence and they take the breath away. Such marvels and colour, such simple storytelling yet so powerful. There are two paintings by Giotto in this exhibition, St John the Evangelist and St Laurence and this is St John (which was my favourite). There were angels above both paintings and the one above St John almost looked bored - c'mon, get on with it, he's almost saying. I liked his wings.

Giotto's St John could almost have been a real person, drawn from a model with a baldy head and a great two-pronged beard. There's probably a thesis in there somewhere, but when did artists start depicting saints with bald heads? It's the attention to the 'real' as well as the artistic license. On closer inspection you can see the wrinkles around John's eyes, bringing yet more realism to the painting. By comparison, St Laurence is more theoretical and less based in the reality of what a man looks like, but John is marvellous. Both paintings are dated as 1320.

Another favourite was by Masaccio and painted a few years later, a beautiful small Virgin & Child. It's much smaller than the Giottos, maybe about 12 inches tall and framed and the blue of Mary's shawl is incredibly vivid and attracted me from across the room.  It's a very calming painting and I can well believe it was used to aid quiet contemplation and meditation and it's almost like Mary is playing with the baby in her arms. The gold background with the imprint of haloes is reflected in the hem of Mary's shawl and you can easily see the folds and drapes in the material, an innovation back then. It really is quite lovely.

I've seen Masaccio's great frescoes at Santa Maria del Carmine in Florence and they are magnificent. There's also another version of the Virgin & Child in the National Gallery in London, surrounded by angels, but I think I prefer this version. It's simple and gentle and lovely to look at.

The exhibition ends with three large three-quarter length portraits of saints by Jusepe de Ribera and one of these I actively disliked - Saint Bartholemew wielding a knife and a flayed skin. What's that all about? Clearly I need to read up on the saints but this wizened, cruel old man isn't someone I ever want to know too much about. I don't like this painting despite the expert rendering and realism of the subject. I much prefer the painting of the young St Thomas with his staff, interestingly in profile holding his billowing cape. He looks slightly weather-beaten and unwashed and is very believable.

So there you have it, my latest trip to Jacquemart-Andre and, like the Musee Marmottan Monet, it also has an excellent book and gift-shop to pop into on the way out. Until next time...