In the beginning, it was beautiful

Sculpture is an ancient tradition that has been used for millennia as a way of pushing the artistic boundaries of a solid material. Whether it’s celebrating an individual’s achievements or philanthropy, or crafting an expression of an abstract form, sculpture has always been first and foremost, an art form.

And it is an art form that has grown from ancient and humble beginnings. Thousands of years ago we began using carving and modelling as a way of creating a likeness of deities in wood or clay. Across the globe, tools and techniques slowly evolved to allow the exploration of harder materials, allowing artisans to chisel into stone and marble. We can look to the sculptures of ancient empires in Greece and Rome, who brought new artistry to these materials. Fast forward to the Renaissance, and Italian masters had elevated sculpture to entirely new levels. Think of the water-like fabric of Giuseppe Sanmartino’s Veiled Christ. Or the outstanding craftsmanship of Bernini’s Rape of Proserpina that makes you question how the sensuality and passion of what you’re seeing could possibly be cold, hard marble. All over the world, artists were challenging the limitations of materials to innovate new ways of capturing form in the third dimension.

Admittedly, sculpture is not everyone’s bag. Artful fragments of white marble can get a little overwhelming in classical museums, and not many people can tell a Bernini from a Michelangelo. But there’s been a few news articles recently which have made me stop and wonder: what happened to sculpture? 

Missing the goal

I’ll start off with a bit of old news: Emmanuele Santos’s cringe worthy attempt at capturing world famous footballer, Cristiano Ronaldo. I actually feel really bad for Santos, who was a fervent defender of his sculpture and seemed genuinely really proud of it. Jose Antonio Navarro Arteaga gave it another go, and the likeness of the second version was praised. But if all we wanted from sculpture was likeness, then why not just take a photo? 

A right royal mess

A little earlier this year, Antrim Castle Gardens in Northern Ireland unveiled a new sculpture by Anto Brennan of Queen Elizabeth II. To be fair, headlines did acknowledge the fact that it looks absolutely nothing like her. But likeness aside (and I really do believe there is more to a good sculpture than just likeness), the bronze is clumsy, clunky, and dull. There is no finesse to the craftsmanship, and while I don’t claim that I could do any better, I point you back to the standard of sculpture we were dealing with 600 years ago. And don’t forget, this is the late Queen of England, from a family who has seldom been short on excellent sculptors to capture their likeness (whether we like it or not). 

Sculpture vs. Statue

I think what it comes down to in the end is statue vs. sculpture. Towns and cities across the world showcase historic sculptures, commissioned from renowned artists, and placed on pedestals (even when they’d be better off at the bottom of the Bristol harbour), but the standard of work being produced today is a world away. The difference is: sculptures are artworks, considered for their form, composition, and iconography; their choice of material, the patina, the positioning, and everything else that requires years of study, preparation, and meticulous planning. Whereas the public statues we see today are just that; lifeless, 3D renderings of an approximate likeness, made for nothing more than to to tick a council-funded box.

I think overall it likely comes down to budget, too. It’s a little harsh to say that there are no contemporary public statues worthy of our great sculpting past, because there definitely are. But it’s usually the bad ones that make the headlines. And if an artwork is being commissioned by a cash-strapped local council, it is likely to cut a few corners artistically, leaving the very public it was created for wondering: what happened to sculpture?

Glasgow-based artist Ross Muir uses his paintings to recreate traditional and iconic artworks with a contemporary twist. Born in 1981, Ross Muir grew up in Alexandria in the Vale of Leven, Scotland before moving to Glasgow in 2009; he was 30 when he started painting. His practice evolved from a sort of escapism, and his technical ability went from strength to strength. From Adidas tracksuits to witty slogans, Muir coaxes art history into the modern world, making paintings more relatable (and more fun) for viewers today. He has reimagined masterpieces by the likes of van Gogh, Mattise, and Picasso, but it was his reinterpretation of Sir Henry Raeburn’s ‘Skating Minister’ that caught my eye. 

‘The Skating Minister’ is the affectionate nickname for ‘The Reverend Robert Walker Skating on Duddingston Loch’, painted by Raeburn* in the 1790s. The painting was never intended to be a finished work for public display – we know this because the subject and composition are so unusual for late eighteenth century portraiture. It was likely a study completed as an exercise, or just for fun. 

Surprisingly, it took 200 years for the painting to reach the spotlight. It was included in the National Portrait Gallery’s 1997 exhibition of Raeburn’s work and featured on the exhibition advertisements all over London. The playful subject, appealing colours, and unusual composition quickly won the nation’s hearts, and the artwork has been a symbol of Scottish painting ever since. 

*A debate surfaced recently that asserted the painting was actually by a French artist, Henri-Pierre Danloux.

But, as Ross Muir noticed, famous paintings from art history don’t speak to everyone. Even as an artist, he would see traditional, renowned, and celebrated paintings in museums and galleries, but could never really engage with them. They lacked relevance to his own life, and he struggled to bridge the gap between art history and the world we live in. He has likened his experience to kids nowadays watching black and white movies – they just don’t connect. 

Muir decided to reinterpret the Skating Minister for the modern age. He even renamed it after Avril Lavigne’s 2000s classic, ‘Skater Boi’. He made just enough witty tweaks – a smoking cigarette firm between the minister’s lips, white wired earphones (yes, like the ones you used to get before AirPods were a thing), and Adidas branding on the skates that looks surprisingly eighteenth-century, to bring the painting into the context of today (or, at least the 2010s). It is a wonderfully warm and witty way to encourage new audiences (and younger people in particular) to engage with art history. Muir’s technical ability doesn’t quite rival Raeburn, but that is not the point of the artwork. The landscape, the colours, the minister’s facial features – although these blur together slightly, perhaps frustrating the technique of one of Soctland’s greats, the work has its intended effect. It is not a work to be taken too seriously or overanalysed. It’s a bit of fun, and it breaks down the barriers that can make art seem dry and fusty. I think it’s brilliant. 

You can hear Muir discussing his inspiration for the painting on the National Gallery of Scotland’s free audio tour on Smartify.

The ‘Arnolfini Portrait’ by Jan van Eyck not exactly the kind of painting you’d hang on your wall at home… frankly, it’s creepy. But this makes it even more intriguing! There is so much to learn about this work, and once you know, you’ll enjoy it so much more.

The first interesting point about this painting is the date. If you know a little bit about the Renaissance, you’ll know that 1434 was very early in this period, and van Eyck painted this masterpiece even before Botticelli was born! The painting is incredibly detailed, and the paint quality still has a rich lustre – this is because this is one of the first, and best examples, of oil painting, and the colour and vibrancy of the paint often lasts in pristine condition for hundreds of years.

Giorgio Vasari (if you don’t know who he is, don’t worry; once you start learning about the Renaissance, you won’t be able to get rid of him) upheld Jan van Eyck as the inventor of oil paint, but it is more likely that he just pioneered the use of the medium.

However, there are certain flaws in this argument. In the fifteenth century, typical betrothal ceremonies would not have depicted the bride, but instead, just the men of the family. In the case of a wedding portrait, the bride’s hair would have traditionally been worn down to symbolise virginity. This style can be seen in paintings such as van Eyck’s ‘Virgin of Canon van der Paele’, 1436.

Additionally, the room in which the ‘ceremony’ takes place would have been an unusual choice for members of the Arnolfini family. The room is not a nuptial chamber or a bedroom, as can be seen from the lack of a fireplace, and so would hint towards this being a clandestine marriage, otherwise known as a shotgun wedding. The church would have condemned this, and although legal, a couple of such high social status wouldn’t have needed to perform a ceremony of this kind. So, it’s unlikely that this painting shows a wedding… so what is it?

This would make it a posthumous representation which captured Arnolfini in life, standing with his deceased wife… creepy. It was common for van Eyck to paint women with rounded abdomens to emphasise fertility, but in this case it’s likely that Mrs Arnolfini actually was pregnant and died during childbirth. We know this because the artist has left subtle clues all over the painting.

One of these clues is the symbolism of the dog, which can be found in the bottom centre of the composition. Dogs were a symbol which was often see on women’s tombs. These tombs would have included a full-length portrait of the woman with a dog at her feet. This link to imagery on a tomb effigy strongly enhances the idea that Costanza is deceased in the painting. Van Eyck may have meant for the dog to symbolise her being accompanied into the afterlife, much like angels in religious imagery.

The reflectograms show that there was no under-drawing of the chandelier or the dog, two areas of the painting which seem to have links to the theme of death. Therefore, it is likely that Costanza died after van Eyck had begun painting the portrait, and so he decided to add in symbolic imagery in her honour.

But wait! There’s more… the chair in the background behind Costanza’s head has a wooden carving featuring St Margaret who is the patron saint of pregnancy and childbirth – the reflectograms have shown that this was not part of the original composition and so it seems likely that the artist added these aspects to try and enhance the theme of Costanza’s death, likely in childbirth. Another point to note is the chandelier – the candles are lit above Arnolfini’s head, whereas the flames are extinguished above Costanza’s head.

If you’re ever lucky enough to go and see this painting in London’s National Gallery, you will probably be surprised at how small it is. There is a huge amount of intricate detail, and you’ll have to look hard to see it all, but this painting is testament to the extraordinary skill of Jan van Eyck.

The incredibly advanced painting technique of northern European artists is something I will be discussing more in Art in Depth – there is much to find out! So hopefully you have learnt something new about this mysterious artwork, and can enjoy it even more next time.

This blog post was last updated on 03/02/2022.

The Harlem Renaissance was a cultural movement, active throughout the 1920s and 30s, specifically between the end of the First World War and the onset of the Great Depression. The movement is best known for its literary and performing arts, but painting, sculpture, and photography also played a role in the generation-defining period. 

This movement encouraged the migration of black communities from the southern states who were fleeing racism imposed by Jim Crow laws. Northern cities such as New York, Chicago, Detroit, Columbus, and Cleveland also promised better housing, education, and employment for black communities. 

In 1919, the movement was sparked by race riots known as the Red Summer. Based in Harlem, New York, the movement represented black pride through art and culture, and strived to draw attention to racial injustice and inequality. The movement cannot be defined by a style, but by the concept of African American expression through the arts. Common influences include slavery and abolition, modern art genres such as Dada, and West African art (which was considered closely related to black American heritage). 

Aaron Douglas (1899 – 1979)

Douglas was an artist and graphic illustrator who is often referred to as the father of African American art. As one of the most famous and recogisable artists of the movement, his work focused on the African American experience, and was heavily influenced by themes of slavery. His paintings are visually influenced by the African mask tradition of Benin, Senegal, and the Congo, as well as Egyptian figures, and European Cubism. 

James Van Der Zee (1886 – 1983)

Van Der Zee was a photographer of African American life in Harlem. He primarily photographed Harlem’s flourishing middle class through a mixture of formal studio photography and candid street scenes, with locations such as churches, barbershops, cabarets, and restaurants. His black and white photographic style went on to gain international recognition; his influence can be seen across the world, including in the work of Malick Sidibé, a photographer from Mali who was active throughout the 1960s. 

The significant contribution of women to the Harlem Renaissance is only just being considered: sculptors Augusta Savage and Meta Vaux Warrick Fuller defied boundaries as black, female sculptors, and advocated for equal rights within the arts. Find out more about these ground-breaking women of the Harlem Renaissance.

The artistic energy of the Harlem Renaissance dwindled with the onset of the Great Depression. Nevertheless, the movement was a defining period in twentieth-century black art and black history. The period can be considered as a creative outlet for the anger and inequalities of a generation, whose legacy is still as strong as ever; the message and advocacy of the Harlem Renaissance was bold, unapologetic, and powerful, and as pertinent today as it was then.

Shin-hanga was a twentieth-century movement of Japanese woodblock prints, and translates literally as ‘new prints’. The movement can be seen as a revival of the earlier ukiyo-e movement, which declined in popularity following the deaths of its most significant artists; contemporary tastes also began to reject the genre, as it was seen to represent an obsolete era.

The subject matter of ukiyo-e was highly influenced by imperialism and the military; shin-hanga took the traditional methods and styles of the earlier movement and combined it with western influence.

The driving force behind the scenes was not an artist, but a publisher called Watanabe Shozaburo (1885-1962). Shozaburo was responsible for publishing all of the shin-hanga prints, the majority of which were sent to the USA and Europe where Japanese art played a key role in defining artistic trends. 

Shin-hanga is significant because it created a fusion of Western art and Japanese values, including the traditional method of woodblock printing. Common subjects of shin-hanga prints included birds, animals, and flowers, actors, and beautiful women, but the movement is most synonymous with landscapes.

What is woodblock printing and how does it work? 

• Japanese woodblock printing is a tradition that has been practiced by artists in Japan since the seventeenth century
• The process begins by designing a scene or an image, and transferring it onto a block of wood 
• The artist then uses a range of knives and sharp tools to cut the design into the wood – this process can be extremely detailed, but the most effective prints often focus on minimal detail and flat plains of colour
• The image is carved so that the details are raised, and the background is lowered
• Sumi ink is then applied evenly to the block. Paper is laid over the block, and then rubbed onto the ink using a tool called a baren
• Layers of colour are added by carving new blocks, which are then printed over the top to create layers of colour. Complex colour prints often used up to 20 individually carved blocks

Hiroshi Yoshida

Yoshida is regarded as one of the greatest artists of the shin-hanga style, and is noted for his excellent landscape prints. Born in 1876, he studied art in Kyoto where he was trained in the Western oil painting tradition. Following a solo exhibition in Detroit in 1899, Yoshida returned to Japan to work with Watanabe Shozaburo, and gained international recognition. Interestingly, the artist often reused wood blocks with different colours of ink to create different moods and atmospheres.

Ohara Koson

Koson was a master of kachō-è, a genre of shin-hanga that specialised in images of nature with a particular focus on animals and flowers. Koson started working with Shozaburo from 1926, and his prints became very desirable in the USA. throughout his life, he exhibited all over the world, including the USA, The Netherlands, the UK, Canada, and New Zealand.

Shin-hanga is a demonstration of modernising Japanese art; most of the artists involved attended art school and trained in painting, and lacked the workshop training in block printing of earlier artists. Their awareness of western influences in subject and style, particularly French Impressionism, combined with traditional Japanese imagery and symbolism created a modern fusion of cultures and movements.

The twentieth century was a radical new era in Japan, and was defined by industrial modernisation, air travel, urbanisation, and popular media: these are all defining influences on Shin-hanga.

Der Blaue Reiter translates as ‘The Blue Rider’, and is a sub-movement of German Expressionism. Founded in Munich in 1909 by Wassily Kandinsky and Franz Marc, the first official Der Blaue Reiter exhibition was held in December 1911. The movement takes its name from an early Kandinsky painting. 

Many other artists were involved in the Der Blaue Reiter movement including Paul Klee, August Macke, Gabriele Münter and Marianne von Werefkin. In order to keep this post short and sweet, I will be focussing on Kandinsky who was the movement’s greatest influence.

Kandinsky published a pseudo-manifesto for Der Blaue Reiter in 1912 called ‘Der Blaue Reiter Almanac’. The striking cover is a watercolour and Indian ink and pencil on paper by Kandinsky himself, which is a visual manifestation of the key concepts of the movement. These were as follows: the promotion of modern art, the relationship between art and music, the spirituality and symbolism of colour, and painting in a spontaneous and intuitive manner. 

The whole point of Der Blaue Reiter was to pursue the spiritual meaning of art, using  abstraction to express avant-garde ideas – that is, that colours and forms have unique spiritual meanings. Abstraction came about by separating colours and forms, and can be seen clearly in paintings such as ‘Lyrisches’, 1911 and ‘Blue Horse I’, 1911.

Der Blaue Reiter artworks often have titles linking art and music, such as ‘composition’ or ‘etude’ – the artists drew parallels between the inability of music to take up physical space in the world, and the spirituality of art. These themes paved the way for later, well-known movements including Cubism and Fauvism (think: George Braque’s ‘Pitcher with Violin’). The name of the movement summarizes some of its most important points: the colour blue was considered the most spiritual colour, and the rider was meant to signify the ability to move ‘beyond’, spiritually. 

Wassily Kandinsky

Almost everyone has heard of Kandinsky. Lots of people could probably point out a Kandinsky painting, too. His ‘composition’ paintings are extremely recognisable, comprising basic shapes, sharp lines, primary colours, and to the close observer, musical influences. But not many people know about Kandinsky, his painting, and how his influence on Der Blaue Reiter would go on to change the course of abstract Modernism. 

Wassily Kandinsky was born in Moscow, Russia in 1886, and aged thirty, he moved to Munich to study painting. His early painting entitled ‘Der Blaue Reiter’ is somewhat unimpressive, and the style and subject matter are little-related to the later movement: it is extremely flat, the colours are over-combined, and it demonstrates his trying (and in my opinion, failing) to fit in with the popular Post-Impressionist style of the time. Nonetheless, the artist quickly found his feet and embarked on a movement that would change the course of abstraction. 

His Der Blaue Reiter paintings can be summarised by works such as ‘Romantic Landscape’, which uses a rainbow of colours and expressive brush strokes to embody the spiritual meaning of colour and form. The composition appears random and spontaneous, highlighting the Der Blaue Reiter belief that painting should be executed intuitively.

After the movement came to an end following the deaths of Franz Marc and Paul Klee in WWI, Kandinsky’s style evolved into his more refined ‘compositions’, which sustained many of the founding principles of Der Blaue Reiter. 

Regionalism is a subgenre of American Scene Painting, and was the defining artistic style of the American Midwest from the late 1920s through until the 1940s (the other genre of American Scene Painting was Social Realism, inspired by the French Barbizon School).

Coinciding with the Great Depression, the movement is often saturated by political undertones, highlighting the problems of a crumbling economy and crippling unemployment. It idealised the rural work ethic, and rejected the incessant urbanisation taking place across the country.

The movement encompassed many artists but was defined by three: Grant Wood, Thomas Hart Benton, and John Steuart Curry. Some art historians would include Edward Hopper, whose work has many of the same motives as Regionalism, but he is more often associated with Realism. 

The movement depicted humble American towns, rural landscapes, and toiling labourers as a reaction against European artists defining taste and trends in the artworld, which were rapidly moving towards Abstractionism. Regionalist artists felt that realistic depictions of the American landscape were the only way to make art accessible to everyday Americans. 

Regionalism is not defined by its style, but rather its subject. All of the defining artists of the period had vastly different artistic techniques, but were united in their approach to depicting the humble and working-class Midwest. Their approach to landscape painting was inspired by earlier North American movements such as The Hudson River School,  who championed the American landscape through a Romantic, European lens. 

Grant Wood

You may not know his name, but you will definitely know his most famous painting: ‘American Gothic’ is a portrait of a two rather stern-looking Americans located outside a Gothic-inspired wooden building; the man is holding a pitchfork whilst the woman (who is actually his daughter), stands behind him. Wood painted the family he imaged would live in such a house, with both the people and the architecture typifying 20th-century rural Americana. 

This painting, amongst others, sums up the contradicting title for this blog post. Everyone knows this artwork, however few people are aware of Regionalims as a movement, or what it stands for. 

Thomas Hart Benton

Benton’s work is fluid and sculptural, with strong visual links to the work of Surrealists and Metaphysical painters, despite their foreign influence. Having studied in Paris and New York, Benton became a self-declared “enemy of modernism”. He was born in Missouri, and as an artist he strived to depict the Midwest, but his most successful works feature the east-coast island of Martha’s Vineyard, and the small town of Chilmark.

John Steuart Curry

Curry was born in Kansas in 1897, and frequently painted his home state, depicting farm life, prairie fires, tornadoes, and the violent Bleeding Kansas period.  In the 1930s, he painted the mural ‘Tragic Prelude’ in the Kansas State Capitol building, which featured the Abolitionist John Brown between Unionist and Confederate soldiers, standing in front of tornadoes and prairie fires.

Across Kansas, Curry’s work was received with disgust; his paintings portrayed a backwards, out-of-date State troubled by lingering resentment from the Civil War, poor agricultural management that caused the Dust Bowl of the 1930s, and backbreaking rural labour. Curry simply painted what he saw. 

Regionalism is an interesting movement: it is simultaneously world-famous and obscure. Clearly, Grant Wood’s ‘American Gothic’ is to thank for the movement’s fame, but what is it about that painting that has inspired a generation of studies, exhibitions, and parodies (which happen to have their own dedicated website…)?

It is certainly not a beautiful painting. Nor is it a controversial one. Wood himself said that it is somehow satirical, but he didn’t really elaborate.

And maybe it’s the ambiguity that makes the painting so successful: its adaptable meaning for different people in different places, be it satire, or humor, or just a celebration of good ol’ Midwestern farm folk. Every single person takes something different from it, and that is what makes Regionalism great.  

For this miniseries, I have been scouring the internet to look for non-European art movements. It’s important to offer a non-Western narrative, but it’s also surprisingly difficult: this is because grouping artists and artworks into movements is an very westernised process.

This ‘movements’ miniseries will still include European art (like the Macchiaioli), but I wanted to include lesser-known, equally fascinating movements from further afield. So after some extensive research, today I will be introducing: The Baghdad Modern Art Group.

A number of different art movements emerged in Iraq following the colonial period. ‘The Pioneers’ founded the first twentieth-century movement, closely followed by the ‘Primitive Group’. By 1951, two prominent Iraqi artists had come together to form one of the country’s most well-known movements, The Baghdad Modern Art Group. Founded by Jawad Saleem and Shakir Hassan Al Said, their aim was to reinterpret Western Modern Art to incorporate Iraqi heritage, culture, and tradition.

The movement promoted the concept of stilham al-turath, meaning “seeking inspiration from tradition”.

Jawad Saleem (or Jewad Selim)

Born in Turkey to Iraqi parents, and returning to the country as a young child, Saleem is regarded as one of Iraq’s greatest artists, specialising in both painting and sculpture. In 1938, he was awarded a scholarship to study in Paris where he was inspired by themes of western Modern Art, in particular, Henry Moore  and Pablo Picasso. The Nazi invasion of Paris forced Saleem to return to Iraq, where he was inspired to combine western Modern Art techniques with his Iraqi heritage. Towards the end of his life, he specialised in sculpture and produced a number of national monuments in Baghdad, including ‘Mother’ and the Freedom Monument.  

Even if you have never seen Saleem’s work before, his paintings feel somehow familiar. His Cubist forms are a blend of western Modernism and Arab influence. Arabian-inspired subjects sit in abstracted tiled rooms that contain expressive palm trees and traditional ceramics. It is undoubtedly inspired by Modern Art, yet it is original, unique, and intriguing. His work is an excellent demonstration of combined movements, and the perfect visual reference of how art can transcend and entwine cultures.

Shakir Hassan Al Said

Born in rural Iraq in 1925, Al Said was an artist, teacher, philosopher, art critic, and art historian, whose name is synonymous with Iraqi post-colonial art. The majority of his work is inspired by traditional, thirteenth-century calligraphy and the illustrations of Yahya ibn Mahmud al-Wasiti, who was active in the 1230s. Like Saleem, his work can also be considered a fusion of movements such as Cubism and Expressionism with Iraqi culture and heritage. 

Al Said was responsible for writing The Baghdad Modern Art Group manifesto which was read at the group’s first public exhibition in 1951 – some scholars consider this the start of the first Iraqi Modern Art movement. By the early 1960s, and following the untimely death of Jawad Saleem, the movement came to a gradual end after almost a decade. The Baghdad Modern Art Group paved the way for later Iraqi movements including ‘The Impressionists’, ‘The New Vision’, and ‘The One Dimension Group’, and was pivotal to future Modernist movements across the Arab world. 

The impact and innovation that can be seen in Iraqi Modernism is clear. It’s a shame that The Baghdad Modern Art Group, which is a perfect example of how art movements react to one another to progress and evolve throughout time, is so little-known outside the Arab world.

Nonetheless, Arabian Modern Art is widely celebrated in Arabian countries; in 2018, the Misk Art Institute in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, held the exhibition ‘That Feverish Leap into the Fierceness of Life‘, which explored Modernism in Saudi Arabia, Morocco, Egypt, Iraq, and Sudan from 1940 – 1980, and included many works by Saleem and Al Said.

It would be wonderful to see exhibitions like this held in Europe and North America, to share this fascinating fusionist movement with a Western audience that has been denied an education in non-Western art for so long.

Pronunciation: [mack-ee-eye-oh-lee]

Active throughout the second half of the nineteenth century, and working mainly in Florence and Naples, the Macchiaioli were a group of non-conformist painters who wanted to break away from the stuffy, academic traditions of the Italian academies. Many of the artists involved in the movement were active rebels in the 1848 uprisings. The key painters of the movements include Telemaco Signorini, Giuseppe Abbati, Giovanni Fattori, and Silvestro Lega. This blog post will be concentrating on Signorini and Abbati, who’s work offers the best examples of the movement’s themes and styles. 

The paintings of Macchiaioli artists may look familiar. Using patches (or macchie) of light, the fragmented painting style blends together when observed from a distance to form dreamy, hazy, vibrant scenes. The technique of painting outdoors and using dabbled brush strokes to form an overall impression was a totally new concept that was pioneered by the Macchiaioli. Today, they are considered precursors to Impressionism, having paved the way for the modern French mastery of Monet,  Degas, Seurat, Morisot, Sisley, and many more. Importantly, however, the Macchiaioli were much less focused on their artistic capabilities, and more on the message of their work. 

In the mid-nineteenth century, the Macchiaioli were active at the same time as the Barbizon School. Importantly, the Barbizon focused on social realism, using art as a platform to incite social change: the soft landscapes and striking portraits of Corot and Courbet are about far more than artistic technique, touching on peasant life, social injustice, poverty, and labour. This was an important influence for the radical Macchiaioli, who used their work to visually express support for Giuseppe Garibaldi and the Italian Risorgimento (need to brush up on your Italian history? Find out about the unification of Italy). In Italy, the Macchiaioli were fighting to bring attention to Jewish emancipation, prisons, hospitals, women’s rights, and post-war conditions. 

Giuseppe Abbati

Abbati was a Neapolitan artist who moved to Florence in 1860. He soon became acquainted with other like-minded artists in the Caffè Michelangiolo where they discussed politics, art, trends, and influences including the Barbizon School. His experience fighting for Garibaldi’s Risorgimento meant Abbati lived between war and art. His often-solitary landscape paintings force the viewer to consider scenes of everyday life a suitable subject for fine art, breaking down long-standing traditions of exclusivity and academia. 

Telemaco Signorini

Signorini was born in Florence, and was trained in history painting. After visiting Paris and seeing the work of the Barbizon school, Signiorini returned to Florence with a new approach to painting. Discussing his findings with his fellow artists in Florence, the Macchiaioli was born. 

Signironi’s most significant works detail unmistakably radical scenes, intentionally provoking the traditions of classical painting. ‘The Ward of the Madwomen at S. Bonifazio in Florence’, 1865 is arguably his most famous work, and draws attention to the treatment of women, the result of war, and the conditions of the Italian health system. Signorini completed several paintings using this provocative subject matter, but I find his more simplistic paintings much more impactful. He also captured the humble elements of everyday life, depicting narrow city streets, winding markets, and labouring peasants with a technique that encouraged the viewer to take notice – to me, that is what makes Signorini’s paintings so successful.  

The Macchiaioli are well-known across Italy, with major exhibitions feautring thier work in Genoa in 2019, Paudua in 2016, and even in Paris in 2013. The exhibition, ‘The Macchiaioli: Masters of Realism in Tuscany’ was shown at Manchester Art Gallery and in 1982 and ‘The Macchiaioli: painters of Italian life, 1850-1900’ was on display at the Frederick S. Wight Art Gallery in L.A. in 1986.

So, the Macchiaioli have not had a major exhibition in the UK or the USA since the 1980s. It’s no wonder no one has heard of them. Much of their work is located in private collections across the world, which may explain why museums have trouble loaning enough works to fill a Macchiaioli exhibition.

Nevertheless, I have my fingers crossed that we can see this fascinating movement return to the spotlight very soon.

For the final instalment of landscape Artist Introductions, I was looking for something different: together, we have covered Welsh modernism, British travel painting, 1930s expressionism, Scandinavian symbolism, and American romanticism. After scrolling through thousands of paintings on Art UK, I came across Marianne North (I was keen to write about John Northcote Nash, but having already covered two white British men, I thought I’d keep looking). She is a bit of a diversion from traditional landscape, as she is most well-known as a botanist and botanical artist, but her work is unusual, tropical, and vivacious. 

Born in 1830, she began painting flowers after the death of her mother in 1855. She travelled in Europe with her father, and after his death in 1869, she made it her mission to record the flora and fauna of distant lands. It is said that North’s interest in botany came from her father’s friendship with Sir Joseph Dalton Hooker, who was the director of Kew Botanical Gardens.

Her enormous oeuvre was inspired by her extensive travels – from England, she travelled to Switzerland, Syria, Italy, Canada, the United States, Jamaica, Brazil, Tenerife, Japan, Borneo, Java, Ceylon, India, the Seychelles, and Chile. It was amazing for an independent Victoria woman to be so well-travelled; however, she was descended from a land-owning family, and was therefore afforded a luxurious life of studying, travelling, and learning. 

Overall, North’s work is observational. She set out to record exotic plants and flowers, which are now on display in The Marianne North Gallery of Botanic Art in Kew Gardens, which opened in 1882. But her work is so much more than a scientific record – her subjects are captured with an unparalleled use of colour and form, intricately detailed yet expressive and bold.

I also love how she uses the situation of a plant or flower to create a landscape – as a scientific observation, it is also more valuable to see the dense rainforest, rocky crags, or winding rivers of the wider landscape. It was common for botanical drawings to focus purely on the form, which can be seen in the work of Georg Dionysius Ehret  and Maria Sibylla Merian, to name but a few. And that is what makes her work so interesting – she paints botany in the landscape.