Mark L. Van Name's Blog, page 174

Durer, Vermeer, Rubens, Bruegel, Brueghel, Rembrandt, Van Dyck, oh my!

The Kunsthistorische Museum was closed yesterday, so my second trip to it had to wait until today.  The picture gallery splits the northern painters from the Italians, so for variety today it was northern time.

The entrance is certainly grand and wants you to know that the Habsburg collection rivals anything anywhere. 

Click on an image to see a larger version.
In this gallery as in all the others I've visited, a few painters emerge as far better than the others.  Today's first stand-out was Rubens, whose work is both lovely and more varied than I had realized (which is not saying much, given how weak my knowledge of art is).  Deeper into the galleries, a lot of works by Durer, some by Vermeer, a few Rembrandts, many Van Dycks, and a great deal of both Pieter (the elder) Bruegel's and Jan (the elder) Brueghel's paintings were enough to fill my mind and heart.  I didn't take many pictures--once again, the museum does not allow it--but I did capture this famous Brueghel still life.


I can't explain exactly why, but in person it is simply exquisite.

As is Vermeer's The Art of Painting, an amazing piece of work in its time--and today.


Only two Bosch pieces were on display, but both were memorable, and I'm very glad I got to see them..




One of the great joys of a museum is encountering a piece by someone you do not know and finding yourself in love with it.  I know next to nothing about Hugo van der Goes, but I adore this picture.



Though quite famous and a piece with which I was at least cursorily familiar, in person Pieter (the elder) Bruegel's Tower of Babel blew me away. 


Sorry for the haziness; it's my fault, not Bruegel's. 

An oddity I loved was that the museum had allowed this painter to set up her canvas as she worked on her reproduction of Pieter (the elder) Bruegel's The Peasant Dance. 


Brain full and the museum closing, it was time for a walk to the English cinema where I saw Oblivion.  I enjoyed it well enough, though it's not a great film. 

Along the way, a store window featured this strange latex fetish bunny.  WTF?


On the walk back to the hotel, in a window display across the street and down a bit from the rabbit, this creature perched.


Store windows are different here.

A palace and Spring

Empress Elisabeth of Austria, or "Sisi," was one of the more interesting nobles of the last couple of centuries.  Smart, strong-willed, beautiful, and more than a little whacked, she married at 15 into the huge responsibility of Empress and then fought with that role the rest of her life.  An anarchist killed her with a letter opener. 

Her quarters and those of her husband, Franz Joseph I, are open for viewing (at a fee, of course; nothing once imperial is now free).  I had known little about Sisi, and though I know only somewhat more now, I find her a fascinating character.  Franz Joseph was also quite the character, and touring their quarters today and reading about them, I was glad to have been able to learn a bit more. 

Though not ostentatious by, say, de' Medici standards, this imperial palace was quite impressive, if more clearly designed for function than the ones in Florence or Venice.  The place banned photography, and the guards were more alert than in most, so I took very few pictures.  This chandelier definitely demonstrated the beauty of Austrian crystal.

Click on any image to see a larger version.
The adjoining silver museum, which contains a goodly sampling (though by no means anywhere near all) of the silverware and dishes for the palace was interesting both for the excesses it demonstrated and for the logistics challenges that palace life posed the staff. 

Did I mention excess?


Due to the fact that Franz Joseph frequently preferred to dine alone but also to eat at the same time as his marshalls, cooks often had to finish heating his meals in stairwells using pans and trays they had for just that purpose. 

On another part of the huge grounds that were once part of the imperial turf sits a lovely little park, the Burrgarten.  Spring, which has been slow to arrive everywhere I've been, finally made an appearance today in the form of this tree, which I shot from the ground while leaning against a nearby wall and dozing in the late afternoon sun.


Many locals had the same idea.


I am a huge fan of odd food stands, so it's only natural that this one would catch my eye. 


Tomorrow, more art!

The Habsburgs and the art of collecting

Vienna does a very good job of being both a modern center of global commerce and a city full of historical wonders.  Walk across a busy street, glance to the side, and wonder often greets you.

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On this vacation, I rarely try to go directly anywhere.  I'm in no hurry, I don't have to be anywhere, and I like what I encounter when I wander a bit.  Today was no exception:  a very indirect course led to the happy circumstance of encountering this grand old church.


St. Charles' Church, or Karlskirche, is an early 1700s-era baroque cathedral that features both an ornate interior and two amazing columns literally wrapped in carved stories. 


Though under renovation, the interior is still lovely and well worth a visit. 


The fresco in the dome, while not up to the best of what I've seen this trip, is still beautiful and an incredible piece of work. 


Amazingly,  Johann Michael Rottmayr, the man who did it, began the project at age 70 and finished it five years later.  Don't let anyone tell you ever that your best work is behind you.  It doesn't have to be. 

A lift takes you to a platform from which you have a great view of the interior.  From the platform, 11 sets of 11 steps each (isn't 11 just a great number?  I quite like it) take you up into the top of the dome.  The views of the city from there are great, but what you see on the inside is a sad reminder that people everywhere can't resist marking historical objects. 


Now, I'm a fan of graffiti, but really, folks, couldn't we give the tower of a nearly three-centuries-old church a break?

The church adjoins a park that was full of folks doing what people do everywhere in parks:  having fun, hanging out, playing with friends and kids.  I love this multi-kid teeter-totter.


On the way to a museum, I couldn't help but notice this rat-dog of a purse in a window.  Amazing.


Speaking of amazing, said museum was the Kunsthistorisches Museum, which houses much of the kunstkammer, or collection, of the Habsburgs.  The notion behind building a kunstkammer was to gather objects that covered all of your interests, which should of course be all of creation, and in doing so to demonstrate both how amazingly knowledgeable you were and how very, very rich you were.  Given how much money the Habsburgs had and how much of the world (particularly but not exclusively the European world) they at times ruled, the fraction of their kunstkammer that I could see in several hours today was very impressive indeed. 

I particularly enjoyed the automata, but I have no pictures for you; the museum did not permit photography, and the staff was on the job. 

I did manage to take a quick snap of this amazing, multi-leaved altar decoration, a huge construction that in a way was a giant comic book. 


I also grabbed a quick pic of the famous Cellini salt cellar, but it was so out of focus that you'll do better to look at the image here.  It's the only piece Cellini did in gold, and at the instruction of a cardinal, he did it for the king of France.  (The cardinal said the model was so good that Cellini should do it only for that king, and Cellini, being no fool, got the introduction and the commission.  The king then gave it to the Habsburgs.) 

Okay, I did get another picture in the museum.


So the clockmaker is working away, wondering how to top his creation, and he thinks, "Sure, I'll put on Christ, but everyone does that.  Hmmm.  I know!  I'll stick a skull in a jar."  I love those moments. 

The Habsburgs may have had some of the worst underbites in history, but they sure knew how to collect. 

St. Stefan's, oddities, back to embarrassing basics

Quite some time ago, a bit over two decades back, in fact, I used to wake up almost every day the same way:  instantly alert, ready to go, my body almost trembling with energy and the need to expend it.  Today, for the first time in all those years, I had a small hint of that energy when I finally got out of bed after noon.  I hope to recapture it all before I go home. 

Most of the remaining daylight today went to wandering Vienna without a plan.  The city certainly affords many lovely urban views. 

Click on any image to see a larger version.
Lunch was at a random restaurant down a side street, a place that turned out to specialize in potatoes (mains) and apples (desserts).  This odd little eatery was full of people speaking German, which is a good sign, and featured in two different places the large and strange Ms. and Mr. Potato.


My lunch was also odd:  potatoes with "green cheese and herbs."  The "green cheese" seemed to be a variant of cottage cheese. 


Though it was reasonably tasty, it was also huge, so I did not come anywhere close to eating all of it. 

Down the nearest main street from the restaurant, yarn bombers had struck.


A little farther along, and part of St. Stephan's came into view. 


Directly across from this majestic gothic cathedral stood this modern building, making clear the dual nature of Vienna as both picture city and global city of commerce.


Did I mention gothic?


Not just on the outside, of course.


Five euros buys you a ride on a small lift to the top of the main cathedral (not the tallest tower).  From there, the colored tiles of the roof are clearer--and definitely large.


The view of the side of the cathedral is if anything better from above than from below.


For no good reason, I rather like large bells, and this one, in the tower you get to visit, was quite nifty. 


The views over the city also did not suck.


Outside, the weather had turned a bit brisk, so the working horses were under their blankets and, yes, ear warmers.


Gelato is everywhere!


No, I did not have any; the potato still owned my stomach. 

I would absolutely have gone into the Die Fledermaus Discotheque, had it only been open.


Did I mention lovely churches appearing down streets?


Or a fountain materializing at an intersection?


The sky was lovely today, but somehow very different from the Florentine and Venetian skies I saw. 


Frequent readers of this blog will know that I love movies.  I've watched a few on pay-per-view while here just to scratch that itch, but I decided to indulge myself this weekend with one or two English-language films.  Given how much wonderful art I've been seeing, I felt it only appropriate that I choose something representative of the great art of America, so I found myself in a Viennese theater watching this soon-to-be-classic. 


In 3D, no less!

Yeah, I'm not proud, but I went there.  I also had a grand time with the silliness of it all. 

Exiting the cinema, what should I find to its left but...another lovely old church. 


Of course.  A fitting counterpart indeed.

Tomorrow, I have no clue what I'll do--which is how I wake up almost every day on this trip.  I quite like that.

St. Mark's redux, more Venice, new city

Only in Venice can you witness a gondola traffic jam!

As always, click on an image to see a larger version.
I can't get over how easy it is to encounter yet another old church or a strange piece of solitary art here.  Like this lovely little building.


Or this little alcove.


Of course, sometimes the magic of Venice is modern magic.


Okay, that's not magic; it just cracked me up.  I wonder if this designer offers the equivalent for men.

A bookbinding shop saved me a lot of money by being closed.  Consider this lovely volume.


Or these two.


I would love to have been able to see if the bindings went over the bindings of the first editions, which these were, or replaced the originals. 

The tour of the upper levels and the outer balcony of St. Mark's were closed when I was first there, but today it was open.  Getting to see a few of the mosaics up close was wonderful.


The view of the cathedral's interior from on high also didn't suck.


Nor did the views of the neighboring bell tower or the two squares.




After a bit more exploring and some pretty tasty gelato, the next stop was an expensive but fun ride in a water taxi to the airport.  A fairly short plane flight and a twenty-minute taxi ride later, and I'm now in a new city.

Clues?

Here's a typical view (not of my hotel).


Not enough, you say?  Does this help?


Or this tasty treat from the above?


No?  How about this clear giveaway?


Yes, I'm in Vienna, where I'm staying at another fabulous hotel.  This one comes with an amazing luxury:  the best bandwidth I've encountered in any hotel in years.  It's a wonderful treat.

An even bigger treat, though, now awaits me:  sleep.

The Doges and the art of the home-court advantage

Some spots afford great views no matter where you look.  One is in front of and to the right of the Doge's Palace here in Venice.  These six shots came from me standing in one place, shooting, turning slightly, and shooting again.

As always, click on an image to see a larger version.





A clearer shot of the lovely structure across the water.


The Doge's palace was the seat of government, functionally equivalent to the de' Medici's Palazzo Vecchio and equally as intimidating, though in somewhat different ways.  It's another do-not-miss Venetian attraction.  The structure grew over hundreds of years into the enclosed fortress it is today.  To give you a sense of the different types of construction, here's a shot from the entrance end of the interior courtyard.


The Venetian systems of government and justice were, to put it mildly, complicated and involved multiple groups with somewhat overlapping responsibilities.  One little tidbit I found interesting was that any citizen could report a crime by sliding an accusatory note through the slot for the relevant administrator.  Here you can see two of those slots.


To gain access to the various bodies of government, one would typically ascend the golden staircase.  Here's a shot down it.


Yeah, you could easily be intimidated by the time you reached the top--and then you'd have to climb another one just like it.

The progressively more luxurious halls that would ultimately take you to the various governing bodies are amazing, rooms crowded with wonderful paintings by Veronese and Tintoretto, among others. They did not permit photography, so I tried to minimize the number of shots I took; most visitors didn't even bother.  Here's a sense of one of the rooms.


The main hall, a room more than a hundred feet wide and more than twice that long, definitely stood its ground against anything the de' Medicis produced.


The paintings in this room, including the Il Paradiso huge piece at the far end, were by the next generation of painters, Tintoretto's son and the students of the masters who painted the works in the other rooms.  These guys just were not as strong as the best of the previous generation, but the art is mind-bogglingly complex and impressive nonetheless.

The armory rooms provided a very different kind of treat.  Dave, if you're reading this, I hope you get to visit them, and I offer this one happy snap for your perusal. 


The prison cells, which you access via enclosed walkways over the Bridge of Sighs, were also well worth a visit, cold and damp even on a reasonable early April day.  They must have been brutal in the winter.

As with so many other places I've visited on this trip, by the time I left this museum, my head and heart were full and craving a break.

Gobsmacked by Venice

Today's journeys through the twisty streets of Venice simply gobsmacked me. 

Canals are everywhere, which is easy to say and completely obvious, but until it sinks in, you have no chance of really getting this place.

As always, click on an image to see a larger version.
Art is also all around.  On a random wall in a narrow alley on the way to the Accademia. 


Or in the facade of the grand old buildings that fill the city. 


Or even in the acts of lovers: Paris, of course, had love locks, but so did Florence, and so does Venice.


Today, though, the most compelling, mind-boggling art stood in the galleries of the Accademia.  Tintoretto, Carpaccio, Titian, Veronese--gigantic works by these great masters and many more filled room after room of this wonderful museum.  Carpaccio and Veronese particularly grabbed my heart with technique and emotion that would not let go of my gaze. 

In one room of the Accademia, one very big room, stands the largest known oil painting, a huge piece by Veronese. 


Yes, they forbid photography, but I had to show you.  Ten other huge paintings fill this room, though this piece dominates them all. 

No book can ever prepare you for this room.  Unless you visit it, you cannot fully grasp the scale on which these men were working.  I feel blessed and fortunate to have been able to come here.  I wish I could bring everyone I know here.  Rooms like this are reason enough to justify the expense to create lifelike virtual reality on a gigantic scale. 

If you ever go to Venice, do not miss the Accademia.

On a more mundane note, Venice also offers great gelato at...the Grom!


Ah, the Grom was tasty today.

On the way back from dinner, Venice hit me one last time, as the water literally bubbling up through vents in the Piazza San Marco slowly flooded it and made it viscerally, not just intellectually, clear that this city is fighting a losing battle against the water on which it sits. 


I hope Venice and its citizens keep up the fight for a very long time to come. 

St. Mark's Basilica, oddities

In case I haven't made it clear already, each of the great attractions I visit could repay years and years, in some cases, a whole lifetime, of study.  A few hours gets you the sense of a place and a certain amount of data, but these vast and ancient structures and collections have so very much more to offer than any single tour can reveal. 

So it is with St. Mark's Basilica.  The structure, with its accompanying tower, dominates Piazza San Marco and is at a quick glance merely another amazing Italian church. 

As always, click on an image for a larger version.
As you approach it, though, you see that its Byzantine construction makes it quite different indeed from, say, Firenze's Duomo.


Even an alcove on its side makes clear that the imagery is going to be different indeed from what abounded in Florence.


Once you're inside, however, you realize how completely different and how Byzantine it is. 


It is also simply magnificent. 

I found the ancient Christian imagery and the Byzantine style to be far more moving than I'd expected.  At one point, overcome by emotion and thoughts, I went to a side chapel and sat and stared and thought a great deal about God and the power of belief.

If the bandwidth here were better, I'd upload a ton of photos, but it's not, and midnight fast approaches, and I want to rest.  Even so, I must show you a few more things, such as this amazing reliquary collection.


Note the skull in the dome in the lower right.  As it turns out, the "treasure" exhibit (a three-euro fee to enter) to the right of the front contains a great many reliquary collections, at least some of them supposedly tied to St. Mark. 

"Arms?"  Did someone say "arms?"


By the way, signs did prohibit photography, but guards stood by and watched as people shot all sorts of photos, so I kept my flash off and joined in.  I just couldn't resist. 

The cathedral contains many altars, but on the back side of the one that appears to be at the front of the church, facing a small final altar that seems to have been reserved for the very rich or the very special, was this amazing piece of work.


No photo can do it justice, but magnify this image and marvel at the gilt and the cloisonne and the insanely ornate beauty of it. 

To the left of the cathedral as you face it stands this lovely building. 


Moving from the sacred and near-sacred to the truly profane, the award for the scariest hot dog of the trip goes to...


No, I did not eat one.  Even I have standards, and limits, even with hot dogs. 

Okay, that's a lie.  I would totally eat one of these sick-looking rascals.  I was just still full from lunch. 

Lost in Venice, wandering the streets and working back toward the hotel, at the end of a lane so narrow it was more a corridor than a road, stood this beautiful piece.


Magic really is all around. 

Canals are magic, too, or so they seem to me, popping up around corners and filling the air with the gentle sound of quiet waves.


Not at all magic is the entrance to the hotel's bathrooms, but it is ornate beyond all reason, which is something I've seen a lot this trip.


And now, to read, and then to sleep. 

Travel day, hotel hassles, walking, high tide

Today, I bid farewell to Firenze.  I hope I get to see her again one day, but it was time to move on. 

After a wait at the train station and a little over two hours in the wonderful first-class train car--a bargain and a great way to travel--I left another train station to see this.

As always, click on an image to see a larger version.
Yes, it's Venice, the city of water taxis, the city that is slowly sinking.  I visited here for about six hours in 1985.  My most notable memories are of the smell from the trash-laden canals and the stink of the pigeon shit on my head, a gift I received within five minutes of entering St. Mark's square.  Much has improved here since then, so I am looking forward to a vastly better visit this time. 

The water taxi ride to the hotel was big fun and offered many fine views, even on this chill, damp day.


The hotel, on the other hand, was a bust.  Though it received top marks everywhere I searched, it was over-priced, tatty in the extreme, and, worst of all, utterly deficient in the bandwidth department.  After the third room yielded no happiness, I insisted--to the chagrin of staffers all the way to the manager--on leaving. 

I'm now happily settled into an equally rated but far nicer hotel, one in which I was able to bargain for an amazing room at quite a reduced (though still rather high; this is a luxury tour) room.  The room includes an amazing terrace that wraps around two sides of it.  Here's a shot of the Grand Canal in the distance. 


This one is from the other end of the terrace.


A very helpful clerk made a dinner reservation, but after spending over 70 minutes on what was supposed to be a 15-minute walk, the restaurant's location was still a mystery.  Dinner at a touristy place was completely adequate salad and pasta.

I have never walked anywhere that is even as remotely difficult to navigate as Venice.  At the same time, the tight dark alleys and the twisting, turning lanes invite the fantasist's imagination to run wild.  How could it not, with images like this waiting at the ends of canal-facing alleys? 


On the way back to the hotel, high tide was hitting its peak and leaving water all over the city, as here, around chairs that had, only two hours earlier, sat on dry ground.


The path back included stretches on these platforms, which crews had spread around the city in anticipation of the tide. 


I've never been anywhere that such measures were necessary, but I'm glad to have walked on them here. 

Wandering, skies, Santa Maria Novella, MNAF, Duomo

I started in mid-afternoon today after a late bedtime and a long, restless, but ultimately satisfying sleep.  Each night, I throw off stress dreams like they're blankets holding me down, choking me, and then I find I'm still buried under a stack of stifling covers.  Surely this will end.  I hope so.

Despite that, I am sleeping a lot, resting far more than usual, walking far more than usual, and greatly enjoying my time here.  I don't want at all to sound like I'm not doing well.  I'm simply surprised at how much stress I've been suppressing and how strongly it is affecting me. 

Today was a wandering day, because I've decided to leave Florence tomorrow and head to a new city.  (Yes, I know which one.  No, I won't tell you until I'm there.)  I love Florence deeply, but for whatever reason, it is time to move on. 

The skies here are, as I've observed before, simply amazing.  Standing on the Ponte Santa Trinita and staring back at the Ponte Vecchio, the sky in mid afternoon was nearly clear and washed from horizon to zenith in shades of deepening blue.

As always, click on a picture to see a larger image.  
Turning around and shooting the other direction, the skies changed completely. 


Ah, Firenze! 

I wanted to visit the photography museum, MNAF, the Museo Nazionale Alinari Della Fotografia.  As is my custom in Florence, I did not take a map.  I prefer instead to glance at one briefly, note a few key street names, and then wander until I find it--or decide to give up.  I usually locate my destinations, though rarely by an optimum path.

After a fair amount of walking, a little gelato, and a small sandwich, a turn around a corner revealed this. 


I particularly love the fresh flowers in it. 

Directly opposite it, in a large open square, a group of young folks were holding an informal break-dancing competition.


To the left as I looked at them was Santa Maria Novella, the first great basilica in Florence. 


To the right, amazingly enough, was my destination, MNAF.  (Its entrance is behind all the construction.)


As I've observed in earlier entries, I love Florence, and she repays my love with magic.

The exhibits in MNAF are not large, but they are fascinating and occasionally quite compelling.  The special feature was a collection of photos by Joel-Peter Witkin, a controversial (and, to some, shocking) photographer who lives in New Mexico.  I found his work fascinating. 

The other small rooms focused on everything from the origins of photography, to early cameras, to negatives, to photo albums, and, finally, to objects built from or around photos.  I don't believe the museum allowed photography, but I once again broke the rules one time to capture this intricate memento mori piece. 


Closer to home, I had to stop by the Duomo for a last (for this trip, not forever, I hope!) visit.  The left doors read, "Hail, full of grace". 


The right encourage us to "Behold the handmaid of the Lord".


The center, main wooden doors were locked behind their exterior protectors.


Wow, are they lovely. 

I took multiple pictures of the Duomo on this late afternoon, but uploading here is tedious, so I'll leave you with this one, which focuses on the main cathedral (on which you can see the shadow of the Baptistry), the tower, and the sky above, because the Duomo does encourage you to gaze heavenward.


I was finishing this entry when the sound of singing and marching drifted in the open hotel window.  On a road that feeds into the Piazza Publica, a group of musicians, all dressed in black, were leading an impromptu (I think) parade. 


Did I mention the skies here?



As I said, ah, Firenze!