The curator even hinted that art collection bargains might still be found in the world of tapestries -- although his example of a "find" ($32,000 in 1992 for a mislabeled and faded tapestry that is now heralded as an important masterpiece) does not make me optimistic that I personally will be able to identify and acquire worthwhile investments in this area.
One of the earlier tapestries on display shows a very detailed formal garden - fairly static (like the earlier periods), and with small figures (small figures are apparently easier to weave in than larger ones, and thus suggest a commercial item rather than a royally commissioned one). A fountain to the right of the greenery features a "bronze" statue (apparently of Diana's transformation of the unfortunate mortal Actaeon into a stag that will be ripped apart by his own hunting hounds) flanked by "bronze" statues of dogs. The weavers then put in a "real" dog to the right of the fountain, crouching/squatting and facing away from the fountain. You can't see the detail here (in fact, you will probably have trouble recognizing the dog, a gray blur between the person and the flowerpot), but that's just as well, because he is doing something that cannot be described in detail in a family-friendly blog. Let's just say if he were a cat, Miss Manners would prescribe a litterbox for this situation.
Somewhat later, after people rejected Rubens as a tapestry stylist (more on that shortly), more delicate, refined and aristocratic styles became fashionable. Here are Leander and Hero, the star-crossed lovers fatally separated by the Hellespont. You gotta love the buckling columns of Venus's temple in the background.
What I really liked about the Hero & Leander tapestry was the realistic 3-D portrayal of draped fabric (the lovers' clothing) on the flat fabric of the tapestry itself. Here's a somewhat color-imbalanced closeup of the folds of fabric falling near Hero's dainty foot:
The curator pointed out some intriguing similarities between Baroque tapestry and film. Partly this is due to the intense detail and sense of movement - it's somewhat cinematographic in scope and intent. But from what he said, I get the sense that the actual "production" experience is also similar. In a sprawling epic film such as Lord of the Rings, for instance, I would expect that most of the artisans/craftspersons and actors had access to some or all of the script. Many had probably read the book. But I would imagine most of them worked on their specific portion(s) with only a hazy idea of what the final product would look like -- it would be probably Peter Jackson and his closest writers/co-directors who had the clearest vision of the film and how all the parts would be woven together. Similarly, for tapestry production, there would be an artist who would create the design (known as a "cartoon", though it might be a very large and detailed oil painting), perhaps a few others who would translate that cartoon into specific amounts, types and colors of thread and specific patterns, and then the myriad laboring weavers who would see perhaps no more than 2' of the fabric at any one time, and might even be weaving from the back.The purposes of tapestry (besides spiffing up a castle and keeping out the drafts) were many - ranging from shameless propaganda and self-promotion to mere decoration to perhaps an attempt at zoological instruction. This tapestry apparently included a number of Brazilian plants and animals, along with some random out-of-place interlopers from other continents:
(I like that the jungle cat has not bothered to go after the weakest of the herd, but is instead just taking a bite out of the back of a nice, strong, juicy horse/zebra.) But let's get back to Rubens, shall we? Apparently, the critics didn't like his round, full-bodied tapestry style for some reason. Here's a detail from his scene showing one of the Emperor Constantine's most famous battles, one where the bad guys are on a bridge when it collapses sending them to their doom. This was actually one of my favorite items in the exhibit, but there was something a bit surreal about it:
And I found it subtly echoed in one of my favorite Dali works, Crucifixion (Corpus Hypercubus), which I ran into on my way to the Arts of Africa/Oceana/etc. exhibit:
I liked this full body mask, perfect for those days when you find all of your clothes terribly unflattering.
This "whale transformation mask" dates from 1890 in British Columbia. All of its parts are hinged and movable - there are strings to control the flippers, the tail, the mouth, etc. And it is a "transformation" mask because you can open up the whale head (like three flower petals) to reveal a humanoid mask inside (visible only from the front).
I liked this aboriginal painting (Australian), athough I do not know why it is called "The Two Women of Pinarinya":
So it wasn't an all-Baroque event. I have to say it is hard to get excited about the more faded tapestries, though I try to imagine their original vibrant colors. And I don't agree with the curator's suggestion that tapestries necessarily offer more to the close observer than paintings. He claimed that you can just take a look at a painting from a distance and it offers up its secrets. In my experience, that is false except in the case of very simple works - a red circle on a white background, for instance - or poorly crafted ones. But many paintings (independent of their size) are intensely detailed and reward repeated scrutiny from multiple angles and even different distances. And some tapestries are a bit cartoonish -- particularly in the nuances of a face. There are painted portraits that can provoke intense debate over the meaning of a facial expression, but I have never seen the equivalent in the world of tapestry.
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