Am I an Art Historian yet?

A month into the PhD process, I thought it might be a good idea to reflect on how it's gone so far. What have I done? What have I achieved? Well. I've done a lot of reading. And I mean a LOT of reading. I've started my Italian for Art Historians course. I've started to audit undergraduate lecture series and attend departmental research seminars and other  events.  I've met some absolutely astounding people with whom I've had challenging and stimulating interactions. This is all amazing, right? Right?

Except it's also really tough. Coming from a historical background and almost falling into History of Art through a series of extremely happy accidents means that I have a lot of catching up to do. Everyone seems to know exactly what their thesis is because they've spent their academic career working up to this point. I wrote my undergraduate and masters dissertations on early modern English witchcraft and have now made a huge leap of faith into Italian domestic interiors because I loved it so much when I chanced upon an MA module on the subject. They're already going on research trips because they have the necessary language skills and knowledge about their source material. I can barely say 'Buongiorno, mi chiamo Hannah' and I'm expecting to be able to go off and get to grips with Florentine archives. Art historical theory is second nature to them because they have been immersed in it from the beginning of their undergraduate degrees and I'm struggling with working out what an object actually is.

So why am I even bothering? How can I even begin to call myself an art historian given all of the above gaps in my knowledge and skills base? These are questions that I've asked myself on numerous occasions over the last couple of weeks, and it turns out that they are not  particularly helpful ones and neither is comparing myself to those around me. I have, however, come up with some tentative answers.

I am bothering because I love it. I fell in  love with Italian cultural history during my undergraduate degree and then with domestic interiors during my MA. I jumped when this project was offered to me and taking the chance to do this PhD was the best choice I ever made. Yes, I might have to work a little harder than others, I might have to attend undergraduate lectures to get my knowledge  base up to scratch and I might have to wait a little while to go on a real research trip. But you know what? That's fine. A little hard graft never killed anybody and this is really making me appreciate the achievements I am making: the other day I looked at some potential source material in Italian and it didn't completely baffle me. I'll take that. The support that the department is providing to get me up to speed is absolutely wonderful and already it's working wonders. I need to stop seeing my interdisciplinary background as a disadvantage - it has given me so many skills that I'm constantly applying and has brought me to this point in my academic career.

As for whether or not I'm an art historian yet... the answer is a resounding no. But that's fine too. I recall that during our first meeting as a cohort of PhD students Amanda Lille, my supervisor and Chair of Graduate Studies for the department said that she didn't feel like she had found her voice as an Art Historian (with capital letters) until well into her academic career. These words fill me with hope and optimism and I will certainly be making more of an effort to carry them with me in future. So in the meantime, I'm happy to say that I am not an art historian... yet. 

SHADY Film Screenings

'It's funny how the colours of the real world only seem really real when you watch them on a screen.'

Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange

Introducing the latest SHADY venture, a bi-weekly film screening in the Berrick Saul Treehouse, founded by yours truly. Kicking off with Derek Jarman's Caravaggio (1986) on November 3 at 6pm, films will be chosen on the basis of cinematographic panache and acting excellence (sadly excluding The Naked Gun 33⅓).

Candidates for future film screenings include:

• Basquiat - starring David Bowie as Andy Warhol. 'War-hol. As in holes'
• Rear Window - Hitchcock's voyeuristic, misanthropic masterpiece
• Manhattan - Woody Allen's neurotic philandering tour de force, of 'marvellous negative capability', co-starring Diane Keaton (well la-di-dah!) and Meryl Streep

We hope to provide wine receptions and the odd introductory lecture by academic staff. So come along next week for a nice relaxed evening of free entertainment and homoerotic stimulation courtesy of Derek Jarman! All welcome, so bring your friends/loved ones/pet fish.

'Flesh': A Challenge

'Flesh'

 (York Art Gallery, running 23 September 2016 – 19 March 2017)
Ranging from aesthetically pleasing, to perfectly mundane, to utterly perturbing, ‘Flesh’ is nothing if not thought-provoking.

 Having heard some very interesting reviews of the exhibition, and given that our very own Dr Jo Applin from the History of Art department is co-curator, I decided to discover ‘Flesh’ for myself. (It was free for me to attend - though I would have gladly paid - because I acquired a York Museums Trust card.) Encompassing 600 years of work, the exhibition begins in 14^th-century Italy with Dead Christ with the Virgin and St John by the Master of the San Lucchese Altarpiece, an exquisite Byzantine-influenced representation of the subject. With this I was more ‘at home’, working in late medieval Italian art myself and being familiar with theological themes such as these saints lamenting over Christ’s corpse. However, what followed was a stimulating journey through centuries and cultures that explored how varying artists from varying cultures respond to this most multifaceted thing to which we, as humans and as animals, are shackled: flesh. The warning on the glass threshold was certainly no empty statement...

'Please not that this exhibition contains nudity and challenging themes' (Photo courtesy of Dr David Burke)

'Challenging' is one way to describe the themes arising; the works themselves, especially in their particular place and circumstance alongside each of the others, challenge one's emotional responses and capacity for objective analysis. Soon after the 14^th-century Dead Christ, one encounters the fascinatingly juxtaposed 2009 work, Youth, by Ron Mueck: The sculpted lad exposes a wound in his side beneath his blood-stained t-shirt and looks upon it with a surprised countenance. Street violence? The almost surprising fragility of the flesh? The identification of Christ in all humanity? I 'challenge' anyone to walk around this exhibition without numerous questions flooding his/her mind.

Master of the San Lucchese Altarpiece, 14th century, Dead Christ with the Virgin and Saint John, tempera on gold ground on wood, 18.4 x 47.6 cm

Ron Mueck, 2009, Youth, mixed media,  65 x 28 x 16 cm

 Combining animal flesh, death, and matters of commodification, is the Circle of Rembrandt's gruesome and brilliant c.1645 The Carcase of an Ox, as well as the enticingly mundane salmon fillets of Chardin's Still Life: The Kitchen Table of around a century later. The mundane manifests itself in humanity too in, for example, Harold Gilman's delightful Nude on a Bed (1911-12), which lifts the spirits as a sort of respite after Gina Pane's shocking, masochistic 1973 Azione Sentimentale, which inspires quite a different reaction. 

Circle of Rembrandt, c.1665, The Carcase of an Ox, oil on panel, 73.3 x 51.7 cm

I must admit that, given my personal sensibilities, there were sections of the exhibition I could scarcely bring myself to look at -- such as the rather gratuitous 2000 Green Tile Work in Live Flesh by Adriana Varejao -- and other works upon seeing which I was close to tears, i.e. the 2001 deer carcass sculpture by Berlinde de Bruyckere. This is not, however, a negative comment, for it was all part of my experience. What is more, I am certain that anyone visiting would have an individual experience while musing over this visual assortment of representations of flesh, with its whole array of connotations. So step on in, I 'challenge' you...

Old Masters, New Exhibits

London, October 2016

The city of London never gets old, especially when it comes to exhibitions.  With every visit, something new is to be seen - the race to 'see everything' never ends in galleries that seem to change their clothes with every passing weekend.  The art-lover can never keep up!  A feast for the eyes, a buffet for the soul, London always excites and never disappoints when it comes to art. 

What other way to spend a Saturday, then, strolling in and between the latest exhibits? My ambitions (and to-do lists) are great, but I usually manage only to get to two in a day.  Last Saturday, I visited Dulwich Picture Gallery for the first time.  I highly recommend, especially on a fine autumnal day such as it was, catching the Overground from Victoria to the captial's little village outpost.  The twelve minute ride sets you off walking down blissfully green tree-lined streets, crossing through wide parks and sports-pitches, to the gallery seemingly nestled away from the world.

 Inside, a fantastic collection of the Dutch master Andriaen van de Velde awaited (sorry, no pictures allowed!).  An impressive series of landscapes opened, and remained the focus, of the show - lovely scenic blue skies, arched billows of cloud and lush greenery set the palette for the rural, frugal abundance that was the main subject of van de Velde's work.  His sense of detail was marvellous.  His devotion to each and every minute figure, a washing woman, a dashing dog, begged for your own devoted viewership.  This became further evidenced by drawings exhibited alongside major works of the master.  As someone whose main primary source is the drawings of the artist, I truly appreciated how they surrounded a major painting with its various stages in pen and ink and chalk. Not only was one continuously impressed with his attention to the most minute figural detail, but also with his concern for the coordination of those figures within the wider compositional harmony of the respective work.  I believe this was a unique aspect of the exhibition that should be repeated in future with other artists.  These final works in paint can then be viewed in light of the creative enterprise behind them, and the drawings, not a stand alone relic for itself, but the intimate manoeuvres of mind and hand as the artist works towards greater and broader concepts.  

After the focused walk through the exhibit, I spent a while wandering the gallery itself.  I loved its size and relative intimacy;  its use of rich, evocative wall colouring and layered hanging arrangement set viewer and artworks in a context where each played off of one another - artwork on artwork, viewer on artwork - in such a way that there was a certain freedom in viewing them as a whole or as a selected favourite.  

There was also a lovely children's art activity event ongoing. As a regular frequenter of such events in my home-schooled days, I really appreciated seeing them all at work on art surrounded by art.  My favourite form of learning - education in situ! 

The best way to finish a full morning at an exhibition - cake at the gallery cafe! The caffeine and sugar is always the best sustenance to help you press on to your next stop. 

Another walk through the Dulwich parks, and a train back to Victoria.  The city was alive, bustling and sunshiney, so a walk to Trafalgar was in order.  I always forget how big the buildings are from below, glassy fronts glinting against the blue sky above (Admittedly, I suddenly felt transported to the city in the new Star Trek movie...wondering if this is where they got their inspiration from...).  

London...in space?

Although the sun was lovely, I was feeling the day slipping away fast so my pace across town was quick.  Fortunately, I managed to slip in to the 4pm viewing slot of the newly-opened Beyond Caravaggio exhibit at the National Gallery that, above all things that, I wanted to see.

The exhibit was, appropriately, full.  In each room, at least one Caravaggio hung, a monument to gasp and gape at among works of contemporaries and followers.  Displayed in such a way (much like the Delacroix exhibit I had seen last year, which I also adored),  his true genius (controversial word - but I am using it!) was something to be worshipped, from his younger to his more mature works.  His Judas Kiss was incredible - the exhausted Christ submitted, enveloped, by the brutal metal arm of the shoulder that crushed into the space of the viewer.  In their beautifully handled tenebrism, the figures illuminated rich black canvases like candles, filling the spaces as they tumbled out of it before you.  My eyes begged to touch the skin of St, John the Baptist in the wilderness, of the grapes and peaches tumbled across tables. He painted as if to tempt, breaking down the third wall of the canvas in a seduction of your senses that was only ever just out of your reach.  Standing before them, I was taken back to the streets and cathedrals of Rome I had wandered and loved years ago; my passion for his altarpieces in situ rekindled and experienced again on the faraway isle of England.   

Unfortunately, the 'temptation' to more fully experience them was heightened by what I felt to be lighting that was too intense, not only on the Caravaggios but on the other darkly beautiful works framing them.  In this instance, the crowds not only had the trouble of negotiating each other, but a spotlight which blurred, distorted and obscured parts of the image, sometimes even the central or focal point.  I found myself slipping to the side or standing to the back of the group (on my tip-toes), trying to look up at the pictures at an angle so view it without that central gold 'splotch' of the spotlight.  I am no gallery or lighting expert, but would not the dimmer lighting, like that of a cathedral, be more suitable for works that themselves were meant to glow forth from the darkness of their canvases, from the shadows of a chapel?  (Please comment...I would be interested in your thoughts on this matter of display...).

Nevertheless, I felt myself more than pleased by National Gallery exhibit - not only did I thoroughly enjoy the Caravaggio's I had seen in Baroque art history books come to life before me, but I loved seeing different work of the period that I had never seen before. The drama of darkness and light, in colour as in the stories of artists and their subjects themselves, will never cease to entice my love of mystery.  It is works like these, though not of my period of specialisation, and the galleries that house them that continue to call me back to London, her exhibits, and my love and study of art.  

Postcards of a few of my favourite now hanging above my desk: (L) Nicolas Regnier, St. Sebastian tended by the Holy Irene and her Servant ; (R) Caravaggio's St. John

An art historian's guide to opera

Could anything sound more poncy than the above title? Am I just peddling the cliche of art history as a posh person's leisure pursuit, sneeringly broadcasted last week by Guardian art critic Jonathan Jones upon the news of art history's decommissioning as an A-Level?

Opera, like art history, is quagmired in misconceptions. Anyone can enjoy it. Why not? Full-length performances are available for free on YouTube. BBC Radio 3 strongly advocates the art form. Supported by Arts Council funding, tickets for almost any performance in the UK can be bought at absolute rock-bottom prices. This summer I stood through four operas at the Proms, at £6 a go, including a magnificent five-hour performance of Rossini's Semiramide, conducted by Sir Mark Elder. The very same is performing Wagner's Das Rheingold in Manchester with the Halle Orchestra, with a £3 student deal for the best seats in the house. Any takers?

Opera is an essentially synthetic art form, combining music with the visual and dramatic arts. Its impact as a Gesamtkunstwerk or "total work of art" as Wagner conceived it (his own operas being the supreme realisation of the art form's potential, if you believe) has drawn legions of ardent opera-lovers among the intelligentsia - Stendhal, Nietzsche, Adorno and Kenneth Clark to name a few. Harnessed to music's irresistible Dionysiac force has been libretti of at best Shakespearean eloquence (though not very often) and a prominent visual component, namely the production.

Operatic productions form an art-historical goldmine whose surface musicologists can only scratch, not least in the twentieth century. Hockney's Die Zauberflote (or Schinkel's, or Chagall's), Dali's Salome, Jarman's Don Giovanni. Filmmakers have also dabbled, with roaring success: John Schlesinger (of Marathon Man fame), Franco Zeffirelli, Luchino Visconti, Patrice Chereau.

Sadly these prodigious forebears are of scant interest to today's generation of Eurotrash nitwits. The bicentennial production of Wagner's Ring at Bayreuth was greeted with a twenty-minute standing boo-vation for its stridently anti-Wagner rhetoric, where Rhine Maidens are prostitutes who hang around gas stations and love duets are accompanied by alligators copulating. Some might say such controversy is what keeps opera alive. Personally I'm staying at home.

My essential point is, give opera a chance. In fact, go the the library now and take out Rigoletto, or Il Barbiere di Siviglia, or Boris Godunov. Because operatic music is among the most exciting and delectable ever written. And what could be better after a full day's Marx, Foucault or Derrida?

Mastering the Art of Student Cooking...(Part I)

If we are not thinking (or talking) about our research topics, I would reckon us postgraduates are instead talking about food - where it is, how much it is, and, sometimes, how to make it.  Food is an important part of student life, particularly for us PhD's; aside from (quite often restless) sleep, it is the sustenance that keeps the cogs of our brains turning.

As an American traveller, there has never been much room to haul along all the goodies and appliances from home.  In my 9-month Masters last year, I rather haphazardly acquired the random plates, pots and pans required to boil noodles and microwave rice (alternating between soy-saucy carb or Italian seasoned carb).  On the occasion, I attempted to gather some of my cohorts for a pot-luck, innovating with what was to be had on hand.  Though at times a tad frustrating and nerve-wracking, I found the challenge quite fun and promised, if I were to start my doctorate in England, I would collect a wider array of kitchen accoutrements and devote myself to not only eating healthier, but also to enjoy cooking for myself as much as I love cooking at home for my family with all my mom's gadgets and spices.  

So, conjuring up images of the magnificent Julia Child in Paris (and the film I very much enjoy), I left my extra pair of heels behind and threw a frying pan in my suitcase last summer. Though I have been eating out more than I would like to admit (and heated one too many Uncle Ben's packs for my liking), that frying pan has already undergone quite a bit of use! I have dared to cook chicken on my own, something I have feared to attempt.

Yes, a small thing - no boeuf bourguignon for sure! - but I will count it as a small early victory on this cooking venture.  And I hope, as a part of this blog, I might add a few installations to diary the humble discoveries and turmoils of my journey so perhaps others may take courage to take up a pan during this long stretch of study.  For now, I shall add a few links to cooks I have found inspiring (first and foremost, my mom - who else!):


Some of my mom's delicious recipes from the farm back home - the best!

Always loved watching Rachel Khoo's Kitchen Notebook show

And the lovely Italian couple, Debi Mazar and Gabriele Corcos, in their show Extra Virgin

Le plat pays

My first research trip of the year brings me the land of Tintin, moules frites, Jacques Brel and Hercule Poirot (naturellement). And more pertinently, Rubens, whose home city, Antwerp, contains the subject of my thesis, the Church of St Paul, formerly the Dominican Church. A quick and painless Eurostar journey brings me to my destination, Antwerp’s grandiose Centraal-Station, and my distinctively less impressive budget hotel round the back.

On Sunday I pack in as many historic churches as the brief window of 2-5pm allows, starting with the Pauluskerk. Its monumental Gothic spire towers over a slightly incongruous basketball court on approach; you can glimpse the River Scheldt just beyond.

Today’s visitor enters through an eighteenth-century courtyard, its operatic Calvary Garden resembling the stage set of Tosca (that is to say, the sequence of angels on the Ponte Sant'Angelo in Rome, which Tosca jumps off).

The interior, a dazzling Rococo white, is festooned with decorative art and an impressive collection of paintings, not least the Fifteen Mysteries of the Rosary cycle with works by Rubens and the young Van Dyck and Jordaens.

A serviceable copy of Caravaggio’s Madonna of the Rosary, the original taken to Vienna by Joseph II of Austria in 1786, is displayed adjacent. Worse was yet to come: its prize Rubens altarpiece was plundered by the French Revolutionary Army (it resides in Lyon – stay tuned for more!); a Dutch gunpowder explosion in the 1830s shattered the original stained glass, and a fire in the 1960s gutted what was once the monastery complex.

Hanging elsewhere is a series commemorating the Battle of Lepanto’s centenary. 1572 was also the year of the current church’s foundation. The iconography of the Rosary, which won the battle and sent the Ottoman Turks into retreat (supposedly), was stamped all over the church from its inception. Not exactly the finest of its genre, but fascinating nonetheless.

Onward to the Cathedral, St Andrew’s Church, St James’s Church and St Carlo Borromeo’s Church. Then time for some well-earned sustenance at the Flemish pub Elfde Gebod. I think all that religious imagery is starting to affect my perception of reality.

It’s Monday and time for an all-day symposium at the Rubenianum, the world’s foremost resource for all things Rubens and a hub of scholarly activity. This one centres around the exhibition Divine Interiors at the Museum Mayer van den Bergh, the theme being early modern Flemish architectural painting, in particular church interiors. Lots of interesting lectures to enjoy and a chance to exercise my Dutch listening skills!

Handy tip: instead of making notes, bring a Dictaphone or otherwise record such lectures in audio, so you don’t miss a word. Unless the Dictaphone decides otherwise.

Next on my agenda: all the museums of Antwerp (or all that I can manage to see), then a good jolly around Brussels before jumping on the Eurostar back.

An American in York

I had anticipated my arrival at York over the long summer months with a degree of anxious enthusiasm - only had I caught brief glimpses of the place in years past as a touring undergraduate.  I remembered little, save the rain and wind when my group climbed Clifford's Tower, or the magnificent size of the Minster, bursting over all the shops like the head of a great sleeping giant. Otherwise, the city and its university remained largely allusive to me, and the thought of making it my home for the next three (to four, to five...) years over the course of my PhD coloured my excitement for adventure with a dose of trepidation.  Questions like, would there be a Tesco near my flat? and where will I buy linens? mixed with, would I make friends? would I, buried in my books and research, ever leave my room?

  On the first day of our departmental orientation at the History of Art Department (two days after my arrival - and yes, there is indeed a Tesco right around the corner!), I was surprised and pleased to find a great number of international students, many of which were American like me.  We had all survived the long and arduous visa process, that 'flight across the pond,' and that first 24 hours in Britain when you nearly get hit by a car looking the wrong way before you cross the road.

Not only did I find a great deal of international students, however, but a large and enthusiastic research department - the largest for the History of Art in the United Kingdom!  I was so thrilled to meet administrators Fiona and Stephanie (after months of anxious summer correspondence over visas and registration and the like), as well as a faculty, diverse in their interests as all the new research students.  We all huddled together in a flurry of name-exchanging (and I admit, name-forgetting) and questions like, 'What is your research interest? Your supervisor?'  I was quick to have any fears of meeting fellow art historians eased and abated.

Since the whirl of first-week inductions and welcome drinks, many have settled into lecture routines and are working out library schedules.  I have found York, both its city centre and university campus, a great size for me.  I have yet to discover all its secrets; it combines the bustle of a city with the comforts of town and has kept me more active than expected.  When I am not hoarding books at the University Library, I wander the Shambles, the Museum gardens - in and out of book shops, cafes and restaurants (there are too many!), meeting new companions for a bite or two.  For PhD students, I think the city provides a great opportunity to strike that much-strived-for 'balance' of our work-life and our 'life-life' over the coming years.  This would, and might, pose a challenge for me.  But I have a good feeling about this place, its people and university thus far.  As summer greens are shed for autumnal golds, that 'dose of trepidation' has given way to sheer and unabated excitement for what is to come.  York may have walls, but its gates are wide open!

The Shambles Market 

A blue-sky morning walk across the river.

An amazing bookshop...heaven! 

This glorious cake...also heaven!!! (The Barbikan Polish restaurant has these incredible lookers...)

A lovely Saturday morning settled into my work. 

Welcome from the PhD Blogging Team!

Whether you are family or friends, a fellow compatriot in research, or simply curious about the life of a PhD student at the university, welcome! We are so glad you are here to join us for our adventures here at York!

Katherine Hinzman 

Beginning this term, I am an American PhD candidate in the History of Art under the supervision of Professor Liz Prettejohn.  Upon completing my Masters at the University of Oxford, I am continuing my work on nineteenth-century British Art, particularly that of the Pre-Raphaelite Edward Burne-Jones.  Using his many drawings and designs as my primary sources, I focus on how his greater artistic project and ultimate vision of beauty 'beyond the threshold' relate to his initial education in theological thought and the exegetical structures presented by Oxford Movement leader John Henry Newman.




Claudia Wardle

Having completed my BA in Modern Languages and Cultures (Spanish and Italian) and an MA by Research at Durham University, I have come to York as a PhD candidate in the History of Art department, working with Prof Amanda Lillie. My research focusses on concepts of nature in sacred painting of fifteenth-century Ferrara. My MA thesis centred around the work of Cosmè Tura, whilst this project will expand into the other painting and illumination of the Ferrarese School, exploring non-human, 'natural' elements in scenes inspired by scriptural and hagiographical sources.

                                                                                                 

Adam Sammut

Born and raised within the M25, I studied History of Art at UCL, followed by an MA in History specialising in the Dutch Golden Age at UCL and the Courtauld Institute. After several years working in museums and archives beginning with The Royal Collection, I decided to resume my studies in the art of the Low Countries at York under the supervision of Dr Cordula van Wyhe. My project looks at the Sint-Pauluskerk in Antwerp, formally the Dominican Church, and the role of Rubens in fashioning its confessional identity in the wake of iconoclasm and Calvinist rule, integral to both Antwerp's sacred topography and the city's Catholic revival.

Hannah Tomlin

With an undergraduate degree in History and a Masters in Renaissance and Early Modern Studies, both from the University of York, I am both a veteran of the university and a fledgling art historian. My research draws on my interdisciplinary background to consider the changes in Italian domestic space, architecture and furnishing over the period 1485-1700, focusing on Palazzo Strozzi in Florence. Under the supervision of Professor Amanda Lillie, I will consider the relationship between domestic space, self-representation and social values.