FZINE: a place for high school students and teachers to read, interact, and contrbute. LAUNCH
by Britany Salsbury
Upon first hearing about the first- of its-kind exhibition at the Loyola University Museum of Art (LUMA), Caravaggio: una mostra impossibile, containing exclusively, high-quality reproductions of the artist’s work, my reaction was one of disbelief. I was absolutely and unyieldingly against the idea of an exhibition with no actual art. I softened slightly, however, as I read about the democratic aims of the show and the institution—to bring economically and culturally valuable artwork to a population that might not have been able to experience it otherwise. I grudgingly decided to give Caravaggio a chance, to allow the show, if it could, to prove itself both visually and ideologically. While I was dubious about experiencing and viewing what I understood to be backlit posters, I couldn’t help but feel curious about the sociopolitical implications of reproducing art in this way.
Among the first things I viewed upon entering the museum was a disclaimer of sorts, proclaiming that “there is no intention to replace the original physical experience of viewing a work of art or suggest that a reproduction may substitute for that experience.” The significance of the placement of this statement at the exhibition’s beginning, and the fact that it was a disclaimer became increasingly apparent as I explored Caravaggio, an exhibition that I will still admit was a bold ambition but, unfortunately, a disappointing reality.
Caravaggio is the result of ideas and technologies developed by RAI-Radiotelevisione Italiana, the governmental broadcasting agency of Italy. The original aim of such technologies was to secure and protect the nation’s numerous irreplaceable artworks in response to the fragility of such pieces, the expense of insuring art for travel, and the increasing presence of private collectors who are often reluctant to lend pieces to exhibitions. While not typically a problem for a city such as Chicago—with its major institutions—other smaller museums, galleries, and universities often cannot afford the cost of procuring major works for exhibition. It is the ultimate aim of RAI-Radiotelevisione Italiana to create a number of “impossible” exhibitions similar to Caravaggio, exploring various thematic issues and the careers of a number of significant artists.
A work in progress, the exhibition currently on view at LUMA is the third incarnation of Caravaggio. After two years of production, the show debuted in Naples’s Castel Sant’ Elmo in 2003. Development was headed by Dr. Renato Parascandolo, the assistant director of RAI-Radiotelevisione Italiana. A panel of academics specializing in Caravaggio’s work supervised the project, advising such aspects as color accuracy and licensing. Selection of the artist for the first of this sort of project was primarily logistical; the catalog states that the decision was based on the close proximity of many of the selected paintings to RAI headquarters. Paintings by Caravaggio are few in existence; the number is unfortunately and steadily diminishing. Additionally, as the catalog continues, “The many mysteries that made up this artist’s tumultuous life truly make for sensational reading and sensational viewing.”
Realistically, there seems no way that an exhibition with no actual, physical works could be anything but sensational. LUMA attempts to address cynics directly through both the disclaimer and a similar statement in the catalog: “There is no circumstance that replaces having the direct experience of looking at an original work of art.” The essay proceeds to explain: “The human body’s physical response to an object’s tactile qualities and our emotional reaction produce a resonance between the work of art and the individual.” To alleviate any anxiety this passage may have awakened in a viewer, we are reassured that “the photographs in this exhibition are one generation removed from the direct experience, but due to the scale and lighting, the back-illumination of each work, the photographs allow us to see, if not feel, Caravaggio’s hand in the brushwork and the slight indication of the pentimento or under painting.” The viewer then is left to consider for him- or herself where priority and validation in experience lies.
If the essay’s explanation didn’t quite convince a Caravaggio visitor, who may have been left, reasonably enough, skeptical of this new sort of technology and presentation, the show itself did little to resolve any residual cynicism. Fifty-seven reproductions were arranged on two floors of galleries in the museum’s space. Works were arranged chronologically, with viewers entering (inexplicably) at the conclusion of the artist’s career. Each piece consisted of what appeared to be some sort of transparency of the actual work attached to glass, through which light was projected. The works were fitted into thin, matte, dark wood frames which, while likely a logistical decision, served only to enforce the fact that they were not in fact originals. Pieces of an especially large scale were separated into sections and divided by frames, and bore a striking resemblance to the back-lit works of Gilbert and George.
I made the assumption that the pieces were transfers attached to glass due to what I thought to be one of the exhibition’s biggest logistical flaws—many of the works contained what appeared to be air bubbles beneath their surface. The experience of viewing reproductions, no matter how high their quality, is an ambiguous one, as I have stated, and so this technical problem in presentation was a real turn for the worse, as far as assessment of the show went. I was uncomfortably reminded of a sticker that spelled out the name of my alma mater and which my parents affixed to the back of their car; my friend similarly recalled a poorly made Van Gogh night light that she had purchased from a museum gift shop on a recent trip. Interpretations aside, we solidly agreed that the experience of standing before these reproductions was more like viewing slides in a darkened art history classroom and less like the potentially transcendent experience of viewing an actual painting in a museum space.
Unfortunately this was not the only technical problem of Caravaggio. The images in the accompanying catalog were incriminating: a friend and I suspected that an inch or so had been cut off from the bottom of the artist’s “Canestra di Frutta” (1596). Despite claims that the color of the works in the exhibition were the same invigorated tones that Caravaggio originally selected, many works were washed out, a fault that was made particularly evident by the much brighter hues found in the catalog images.
Rather than contributions from the organizers of the exhibition, the wall labels contained excerpts from academic texts on the artist. In a number of cases, the texts were poorly transferred from their original sources. Although I was generous in my forgiveness of typos, I cringed as I read the catalog’s description of “Judith Beheading Holofernes” (1598), which reads, “incised lines are visible in the picture’s surface–around Judith’s left arm and shoulder, around the neck of the elderly email, and around Holofernes’s head.” At the time, I confusedly presumed that email must mean something other than electronic mail; later, in front of my computer, I remembered the mistake and exhaustively searched the internet for alternate meanings–there were none.
For an exhibition so controversial, relatively little critical writing has been done. Most publications simply ran an optimistic Associated Press article containing testimonials describing the exhibition as a “wonderful second-best thing” and a “fantastic teaching tool.” These sentiments contradict significantly with a considerable body of writing to be found online. Alternative news sources have taken especial issue with Caravaggio. Eye Level, a blog produced by the Smithsonian American Art Museum (http://eyelevel.si.edu/), observed that “[t]he exhibit’s creators describe it as an example of the ‘democratization’ of art, but the point…is that there is no actual art being democratized!”
Local blog The Chicagoist (http://www.chicagoist.com/) similarly commented on the loss of actually experiencing the work of art. “We’re reminded of high school friends who, shunning overpriced Def Leppard tickets, stayed at home the night of the concert to listen to the band’s catalog,” writer Justin Sondak assesses. “We weren’t convinced that they were convinced their experience was just as good, but this cheaper, more readily available experience was the best they could do at the time.”
These assessments both highlight and demonstrate the sort of relationship viewers hope to have while in front of a work of art. There is much to be said for an attempt to bring art to a broader public, and this was ultimately the goal of LUMA’s Caravaggio. It remains that certain expectations exist for this experience, however, and perhaps it is this sort of reaction that institutions should attempt to provide to the masses. There is more to be gained from exposure to a work of art than simply seeing and, unfortunately, seeing is really all that one can do with these reproductions.
MARCH 2006