Kissing, although not a universal practice, has long
represented a common first step in the dance of love. While old Hollywood movies used to create
vital interest with often climactic kisses, such shows of passion were once
banned by Italian censors, as in the 
forbidden scenes captured in a nostalgic clip
at the end of Tornatore's "Cinema Paradiso." Kissing in public is still banned in some
places. Yet in the world of art, kisses
have long been recognized as a suitable subject. We have all been electrified at some time or
another by a beautiful vision, be it that of a place, a person, an artwork, or
even a scene in a film. Everyone has a
collection of favorite first impressions.
In view of Valentine's Day, I'd like to mention three artworks which
took my breath away the first time I saw them.
They each had to do with a kiss.
The first was an art poster hanging on a fellow roomer's wall in the
States long ago: a reproduction of "The Kiss" (1907-08) by Gustav
Klimt. I was struck by its almost overwhelming
tenderness. The original hangs in
Vienna, a large, nearly square painting, although we usually see it reproduced as
a tall rectangle containing the oblong figures of two lovers, delicately
crowned with leaves and flowers. He is strong
and swarthy, his lips gently pressed to her face, that of a rosy, sleepy redhead. They are placed together beneath a glowing
golden quilt, reminiscent of the mosaics in Ravenna and Venice that so inspired
the artist. Klimt's "The Kiss"
contains the 
promise of sensual love with a most satisfying outcome, that of caring,
yea, never-ending adoration. The next
artistic kiss that left me amazed I saw in person at the Tate in London: one of three full-scale marble versions of "The Kiss" (1898-1904) by Auguste
Rodin. I have just learned that this
sculpture was inspired by the tale of the adulterous lovers Paolo Malatesta and
Francesca da Rimini in Dante's The Divine
Comedy. Held inconspicuously in
Paolo's left hand is an amorous story book about Lancelot and Guinevere, the shared
study of which caused the two to fall in love.
Knowing their story or not, one cannot help but get involved in this couple's
kiss. His hand on her hip, her arm well crooked
about his neck, the inviting space between their unclad bodies as their lips
meet: these two figures all but breathe. As they melt into each other, they return to
their native state, two lovers carved out of the same block of marble, clearly meant
for each other. The third work that left
its indelible mark on me is a pure white sculpture, "Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss" (1787) by Antonio Canova. As we gaze at Eros hovering with encircled
arms above the awakening Psyche, whose arms rise in return to embrace him, we
are suspended in the ether with both figures as they appear to co-mingle in
space. 
This sculpture is bathed in
joyous silence as it captures the precise instant where heart (Eros) and soul (Psyche)
meet. Psyche yearns towards Eros, also
known as Cupid or Love. She is a rare
case in mythology, a much tried human who has passed Venus' tests and, thus, is
about to become immortal, destined to dwell on Olympus with her Eros. This magnificent work is housed at the
Louvre, but I first viewed it in Venice, an essential part of a show devoted to
Canova, the Neoclassical master who lived and sculpted in a Veneto hilltown not
far from Venice. The sun was shining through
a nearby window at the Correr that day, so that Eros' finely detailed marble wings
were translucent, no less than fine china, and the graceful bows of the lovers'
arms seemed tremulously alive. Truly, the
smooth marble bodies of Eros and Psyche were not half as entwined as their all
but visible spirits. I think I shall
never again see a human artifact as eloquent as Canova's masterpiece. All three of the love-inspired works noted
above depict what I shall dare to call "transcendental kisses." These artistic labors convey the alchemy of
love, and for many years they have led their happily entranced beholders
towards a greater love of beauty. Yet,
as the brilliant Helen Keller once said, herself unable to see, "The best and most beautiful things in
the world cannot be seen or even touched--they must be felt with the
heart." UN’AMERICANA A VENEZIA
forbidden scenes captured in a nostalgic clip
at the end of Tornatore's "Cinema Paradiso." Kissing in public is still banned in some
places. Yet in the world of art, kisses
have long been recognized as a suitable subject. We have all been electrified at some time or
another by a beautiful vision, be it that of a place, a person, an artwork, or
even a scene in a film. Everyone has a
collection of favorite first impressions.
In view of Valentine's Day, I'd like to mention three artworks which
took my breath away the first time I saw them.
They each had to do with a kiss.
The first was an art poster hanging on a fellow roomer's wall in the
States long ago: a reproduction of "The Kiss" (1907-08) by Gustav
Klimt. I was struck by its almost overwhelming
tenderness. The original hangs in
Vienna, a large, nearly square painting, although we usually see it reproduced as
a tall rectangle containing the oblong figures of two lovers, delicately
crowned with leaves and flowers. He is strong
and swarthy, his lips gently pressed to her face, that of a rosy, sleepy redhead. They are placed together beneath a glowing
golden quilt, reminiscent of the mosaics in Ravenna and Venice that so inspired
the artist. Klimt's "The Kiss"
contains the promise of sensual love with a most satisfying outcome, that of caring,
yea, never-ending adoration. The next
artistic kiss that left me amazed I saw in person at the Tate in London: one of three full-scale marble versions of "The Kiss" (1898-1904) by Auguste
Rodin. I have just learned that this
sculpture was inspired by the tale of the adulterous lovers Paolo Malatesta and
Francesca da Rimini in Dante's The Divine
Comedy. Held inconspicuously in
Paolo's left hand is an amorous story book about Lancelot and Guinevere, the shared
study of which caused the two to fall in love.
Knowing their story or not, one cannot help but get involved in this couple's
kiss. His hand on her hip, her arm well crooked
about his neck, the inviting space between their unclad bodies as their lips
meet: these two figures all but breathe. As they melt into each other, they return to
their native state, two lovers carved out of the same block of marble, clearly meant
for each other. The third work that left
its indelible mark on me is a pure white sculpture, "Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss" (1787) by Antonio Canova. As we gaze at Eros hovering with encircled
arms above the awakening Psyche, whose arms rise in return to embrace him, we
are suspended in the ether with both figures as they appear to co-mingle in
space. This sculpture is bathed in
joyous silence as it captures the precise instant where heart (Eros) and soul (Psyche)
meet. Psyche yearns towards Eros, also
known as Cupid or Love. She is a rare
case in mythology, a much tried human who has passed Venus' tests and, thus, is
about to become immortal, destined to dwell on Olympus with her Eros. This magnificent work is housed at the
Louvre, but I first viewed it in Venice, an essential part of a show devoted to
Canova, the Neoclassical master who lived and sculpted in a Veneto hilltown not
far from Venice. The sun was shining through
a nearby window at the Correr that day, so that Eros' finely detailed marble wings
were translucent, no less than fine china, and the graceful bows of the lovers'
arms seemed tremulously alive. Truly, the
smooth marble bodies of Eros and Psyche were not half as entwined as their all
but visible spirits. I think I shall
never again see a human artifact as eloquent as Canova's masterpiece. All three of the love-inspired works noted
above depict what I shall dare to call "transcendental kisses." These artistic labors convey the alchemy of
love, and for many years they have led their happily entranced beholders
towards a greater love of beauty. Yet,
as the brilliant Helen Keller once said, herself unable to see, "The best and most beautiful things in
the world cannot be seen or even touched--they must be felt with the
heart." UN’AMERICANA A VENEZIA
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento