Orgaz-mic

Doménicos Theotokópoulos, born October 1, 1541, would proudly sign his paintings with his full Greek name, proud of his Greek heritage despite working in Spain. Today, the owner of that mouthful of a name is better known as El Greco, simply “The Greek” in Spanish. A whole school of art unto himself, El Greco broke all the rules of the Renaissance in creating masterpieces such as The Burial of Count Orgaz (above, from 1586-1588). The Burial is literally “orgaz”-mic in the proliferation of faces surrounding the corpse of the Count beneath the swirling heavens above them full of ethereal beings elongated with ecstacy. El Greco creates a new Last Judgment here, perhaps fulfilling his earlier wish to paint over Michelangelo’s Last Judgment during his days in Rome to “update” the doctrinal aspects of Michelangelo’s art. Thankfully, the Pope at the time denied his request. Equally thankfully, El Greco’s work has improbably survived to be appreciated again in the twentieth century.

Born in Crete, El Greco grew up surrounded by Byzantine art, imbibing the unique look of that ancient time and culture. Studying in Rome in 1570, the young El Greco spent time in the studio of Titian, developing a love-hate relationship with the masters of the Renaissance, unable to escape their influence yet aching to paint in his own style. The Disrobing of Christ (above) shows El Greco at his most Renaissance in some ways, placing a boldly colored Christ at the center of the composition. The figure at Christ’s side wears contemporary Spanish armor, however, disrupting the suspension of disbelief. The cacophony of figures reaching far back into the distance disrupts any sense of harmony as well. Whereas these aspects jarred the sensibilities of El Greco’s contemporaries, they resonated with modern artists searching for their earliest forefathers.

The Romantic era began the rediscovery of El Greco, recognizing a wild abandon in the old master. The Impressionists and Post-Impressionists became aware of El Greco and admired his free brushstrokes and inventiveness. Degas reportedly owned an El Greco. While obsessively collecting Renoir, Dr. Albert C. Barnes found time to purchase an El Greco, too. Spanish artist Ignacio Zuloaga purchased The Opening of the Fifth Seal (above, from 1608) and showed it to his friend Pablo Picasso, who adopted El Greco as a “Spanish” forefather and painted works reinterpreting El Greco in his own unique style. The German Expressionists saw El Greco’s distorted bodies stretched in spiritual exaltation and adopted them for their representations of modern living’s angst. Today, El Greco enjoys a popularity greater than ever before. “The Greek” was born well before his time, yet remains an artist of his own unique time, a combination of influences and vision so unique that it took centuries to be understood.

(BTW, The Opening of the Fifth Seal was part of my favorite art exhibition advertisement ever. While I was in London in 2004, The National Gallery of Art was showing a huge El Greco exhibit. The buses in the city were plastered with an image of The Opening of the Fifth Seal with the words “A Show of Hands… Who’s Going to El Greco?” I’m still waiting for a deodorant company to take advantage of this painting, ala Pataday and Van Gogh.)

Spanish Caravan

Ignacio Zuloaga y Zabaleta, born on this date in 1870, joined the old world of the Old Spanish Masters, such as Velazquez, Goya, and El Greco, and the new world of French Impressionism and Post-Impressionism to create his own unique style. Despite pulling this long caravan of influences behind him, Zuloaga never lost his individuality in his painting. His Self-Portrait from 1931 (above) pays homage to the clarity of Velazquez yet filters that influence through the modernist vision of Manet, himself a lover of Velazquez. By straddling these two different worlds, Zuloaga infused Spanish painting with new life.

Gregor the Dwarf (above) shows Zuloaga’s debt to Goya, who depicted the grotesque as well as the beautiful. Zuloaga paints the misshapen figure of Gregor almost sculpturally, giving depth and personality to what could easily have been simply a freak show exhibit. In addition to sharing Goya’s taste for the unusual, Zuloaga also shared his taste for frank female nudes, paying homage to Goya’s “Maya” paintings with his own modern “Mayas.” Like Goya, Zuloaga depicted the true face of Spanish life, from the pageantry of the bullfight to the crushing poverty of the villages, but from a more modern perspective—years before Picasso himself began to include those subjects in his paintings.

Zuloaga may be credited with helping resurrect the reputation of El Greco, first by encouraging others to purchase El Greco’s works and then by copying much of El Greco’s proto-Expressionist style. The Anchorite (above), could easily slip into a collection of El Greco paintings unnoticed. It’s amazing to think of just how versatile Zuloaga was—shuttling from the clarity of Velazquez to the earthiness of Goya to the swirling spirituality of El Greco. Looking at his works is like taking a quick survey course in the history of Spanish painting.

My favorite Zuloaga painting remains The Portrait of Countess Mathieu de Noailles (above), from 1913. Earning most of his income from commissioned portraits, Zuloaga painted many of the members of Spanish and French high society in his day. Countess Mathieu de Noailles wrote novels and earned a reputation as a strong, liberated woman. The many peach-colored gradations of her dress almost hide the fact that her one shoulder is brazenly bare. Her flesh tones meld with the color of her clothes so closely that she seems almost entirely nude, if not for the drapery. The Countess’ powerful gaze at the viewer clearly places her in a modernist light—not the submissive society patroness of the past but an artist in her own right. Zuloaga, a great artist in his own right, revitalized Spanish art and breathed new life into the Old Masters.