Skip to main content

Isaac Levitan, 'Above the Eternal Tranquility', 1894

 


Like a bird soaring across the landscape, the viewer's eye surveys a desolate, empty scene by Levitan, painted on the shore of Lake Udomlia. Colouration is blocky and the palette limited, yet the landscape remains expansive and recessional, sublime and awe-inspiring. Nature is monumental and dominates here, with no human in sight. Instead, this is 'eternal tranquility', a frozen moment captured in a blissfully peaceful landscape. 

Levitan was captivated by the potentiality of the Russian landscape throughout his life. Earlier works show the percolation of French Impressionism into Russian art, where a quickness of brushstroke and dappled sunlight produce landscapes including Birch Forest (1885). Equally, Levitan's final painting depicting a lake of 1900 is almost a homage to Monet with its impasto paint application and shimmering, reflective waters, far from the stillness he presents here. The painting in question, however, suggests a move towards the forms of Russian Symbolism, with a mystical and otherworldly quality. Certainly, the work becomes an 'expression of the highly spiritualised Russian landscape' as Louise Hardiman comments. 

Despite the evocation of 'tranquility', the piece is also unsettling. On the lone hilltop of green, partly shielded by the trees that lean wearily over it, is a church, recognisable by its domed structure. More unnerving still is the abandoned graveyard beside it, wonky crosses starkly reflected against the milky grey waters below. There is in fact a human presence here, or there was - no longer is it a living presence. Not only does the churchyard look unkept but the winding path leading up to the structure seems unused and neglected, slowly being reclaimed by the grass that grows over the top of its fading outline. In taking a darker turn more akin to the landscapes of Friedrich, perhaps there is a social comment to be uncovered in Levitan's work. As a member of the Peredvizhniki, mobile art exhibitions in Russia beginning in the 1880s, art historians have often focused on the polemical priorities of these artists and their works, instead of aesthetic choices. Or, perhaps the 'tranquility' that Levitan presents here is the release of death, as the spirit takes off, floats across the expansive waters, and journeys beyond. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Mark Rothko, 'Light Red over Black', 1957

  My eye is not drawn to the painting itself but the title of the painting, 'Light Red Over Black'. We would automatically think that the black is on top of a red background, but Rothko has flipped this around, subverting the title just like he subverting the meaning of what it was to be an artist and what Art actually was. During this time, art was going through rapid changes, with abstract expressionism coming into full force (Rothko, Pollock). But Rothko showed that all this change was for the good, even if for him, it was short lived.  The colour red in this painting is searing and the black struggles to fully cover this velvety border, especially at the bottom of the canvas. Unlike the black squares which have a hazy quality to their edges, the red is clear and impregnable. It is hard to figure out what this represents - the Tate has suggested a window perhaps, but if it is a window then what are we looking out into? Perhaps it is night, or perhaps the viewer is catching ...

Egon Schiele, 'Dead Mother', 1910

  My eye is drawn to the hand. Those long, bony fingers are so characteristic of Schiele but here they are particularly skeletal and deathly – the veins seem to have been injected with poison. And they are a warning right in the foreground of the painting that keeps the viewer at bay as an outsider to this incredibly intimate relationship between mother and child, and sets the tone of death and mortality which hangs over the whole image. The mother cradles her child in a womb-like shroud, alluding to childbirth and the death of the mother explained in the title. She seems desperate to feel that bodily connection with her child, highlighted by the emphasis on her craned neck as she tries to connect to the baby. There is a clear link between the mother’s bent neck and the child’s bent neck, again emphasising their longing to be with each other. However, the darkness around the child is almost like ropes, with flecks of white in the painting making it look as though the darkness is wo...

Artemisia Gentileschi, 'Jael and Sisera', c.1620

  My eye firstly notices the hand wielding the hammer above the unsuspecting man's head. Gentileschi is depicting a new and particularly horrible kind of weapon here instead of the huge sword she gave Judith to slice Holofernes' head off in 1620. The tent peg seems all the more violent, especially as the viewer is looking at the split second before the deed has been committed. Moreover, the gaze of the women (Jael) is focused and calm, making the piece seem unnerving. This is not a moment of hesitation but a snapshot of action - the woman has made up her mind and will commit to this murder. The viewer can only imagine how Gentileschi would have depicted the bloody aftermath, in her usual violent and tenebristic way. The fact that the artist has signed her name in the tomb-like stone above the man is significant - she is signing his life away in this painting, sending him swiftly to the grave.  The body of the man (Sisera) is also interestingly depicted. He lies in a rather eff...