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  • Writer: Beyond the Canvas
    Beyond the Canvas
  • Nov 14, 2022
  • 1 min read

"I hope to stay unemployed as a war photographer till the end of my life." - Robert Capa (1913-1954)


Alas, Capa's hopes were destined to be dashed, time and time again. In the course of his extraordinary career, he would cover no less than five conflicts. After fleeing his native Hungary moving to Berlin, he witnessed the horror and destruction of the Spanish Civil War, the Second Sino-Japanese War, WWII across Europe, the 1948 Arab-Israeli War and, lastly, the First Indochina War, where he lost his life stepping on a landmine.


Capa's photos are powerful and poignant, visceral and intimate, historical and personal, often hard to watch as he always seemed to find himself at the heart of the action. It's impossible not to think that he felt something for the subject of his photos, some sort of emotional connection. Be it the last living moment of a Spanish soldier, the lost gaze of a captured invader, the hopeful smile of liberated people, or the arrival of the American troops on the shores of Normandy, Capa's legacy is one of iconic imagery shot through a lens of unparalleled humanity.


A thoughtfully curated show running at MUDEC in Milan until 19/03/2023.



"Death of a Loyalist Soldier", 1936


Sicilian peasant telling an American officer which way the Germans had gone. Near Troina. Italy. August, 1943


Woman gathering a bundle of hay on a collective farm, Ukraine. August, 1947


Crowds celebrating the liberation of Paris. August 25th, 1944.


Moscow, former USSR, 1947


Ukraine, Kiev former USSR, 1947

 
 
 
  • Writer: Beyond the Canvas
    Beyond the Canvas
  • Oct 31, 2022
  • 1 min read

Eclipsed by Ferrara's and crushed between Venice's and Florence's, Bologna's Renaissance art fails to garner the attention and appreciation it deserves. With one of the largest and best-preserved city centres in Europe and its 62 km of porticoes (recognised by UNESCO in 2021), the city has more of a medieval identity. This, however, doesn't mean the Bolognese school did not produce some truly remarkable work.


Take, for example, Francesco Francia. A painter at the court of Giovanni II Bentivoglio, he is little known, but the elegance of his art is second to none. His style combines an interest in impeccable perspective with influences from the typical contemplative harmony of Perugino (Raphael's master). The Felicini Altarpiece is perhaps his most beautiful and intense masterpiece. It is a "sacred conversation", a genre developed in the 15th century where a number of saints are grouped in a unified space around the Virgin (usually enthroned) and Child in a single panel. Although the saints are not really engaged in actual conversation between them, the departure from the more rigorous compositions of the polyptics creates a sense of spiritual connection and intimacy as they huddle around the focal point.


Francesco Francia

Felicini Altarpiece, c. 1490

Pinacoteca di Bologna

 
 
 
  • Writer: Beyond the Canvas
    Beyond the Canvas
  • Sep 7, 2022
  • 2 min read

Updated: Nov 2, 2022

“I, Albrecht Dürer of Nuremberg portrayed myself in appropriate colours aged twenty-eight years”. In painting himself like Christ the Saviour, Dürer is saying that he has created this painting on behalf of God. The direct gaze, the fur coat. This is a bold personal statement about his own God-given creative ability. An iconic self-portrait that needs no introduction, this arresting picture was painted by Dürer when he was only 28. Maybe he did paint himself like Jesus, but so what. Dürer was a supremely confident artist who knew his worth and created a monogram of his initials using it to sign his work. In doing so, he established a crucial and definitive separation between craftsmen and artists. The divino artista was born - not just a maker, a creator.


Self-depiction may be a mass phenomenon and a daily occurrence today, but in the 1500s it was a revolutionary act. And while a selfie on our smartphone takes mere seconds to produce and costs no money at all, Dürer invested time and money (pigments were expensive) to create his own image and make a statement about his importance as both an artist and a human being. So, what is it that we do when we decide to pose in front of our phone? Is it to capture a moment in time, create a memory, or rather to affirm our existence and hope that a mindless, repetitive gesture will somehow allow us to emerge for our uniqueness?


It's my mum's birthday today, she would have turned 87. She loved this painting (and hated selfies), and kept a postcard of it on the desk in her study, where she would sit for hours penning letters in her illegible (for most) handwriting and reading the news. If I close my eyes, I can still see her cutting out articles from the papers with this really long and shiny pair of scissors. She'd then put the cuttings aside for me so I could read them on my next visit. They were mostly of exhibition reviews. "Go and send me photos, then write about it" she'd say.


Albrecht Dürer (1471-1528)

Self-Portrait with Fur-Trimmed Robe, 1500

Alte Pinakothek, Munich

 
 
 

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