<![CDATA[The Artist's Job

<![CDATA[The Artist's Job - ArtMusings]]>Thu, 10 Oct 2024 21:44:42 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[PART II Court Influence: How 18th-Century Vienna Fueled One of Classical Music's Greatest Rivalries]]>Thu, 07 Sep 2017 07:00:00 GMThttps://theartistsjob.weebly.com/artmusings/part-ii-court-influence-how-18th-century-vienna-fueled-one-of-classical-musics-greatest-rivalriesThe previous post featured the first part from one of my earlier journal publications on the nature of Antonio Salieri and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's rivalry and the conditions that bred such an environment. Previously I focused on context and history; today, the conclusion will delve further into analysis on the true nature of their relationship and their contributions to the greater history of Classical music.

In the land of musicians, “the composer of a king had to be politically adroit to retain his position at court,” [i] and Salieri was more than adept. Securing prestigious teaching positions among Vienna’s nobility ensured continued financial security in addition to guaranteeing future patronage. In late 1781, the Duke of Württemberg arrived in Vienna with his daughter the princess Elisabeth Wilhelmine. She was betrothed to Joseph II’s nephew and heir, Franz. Joseph II sought a worthy piano teacher to educate Elisabeth for her future status. [ii] At this time, Salieri was already a well-respected instructor and knew the value of such a position. Although Mozart was aware of the tremendous opportunity such a role would bestow, he was inept in the court politics necessary to land the role of the Princess of Württemberg’s musical instructor. His carefree disposition often led to crass or inappropriate public comments about his peers or the Viennese nobility. While still vying for the instructor position, Mozart was quoted as calling the princess an “eighteen-year-old lout, a regular calf.” [iii] This impropriety cost him the job and favor among the courts. Salieri was awarded the role of piano instructor to the princess. By landing the coveted position, Salieri reasserted himself within the royal courts through aligning himself with the wife of the future Holy Roman Emperor.

Elisabeth Wilhelmine von Württemberg (1767-1790). Archduchess of Austria, Princess Royal of Hungary and Bohemia.

Being superiorly musically gifted compared to Salieri, Mozart grew resentful of what he believed was the Emperor’s continued favoritism towards the court composer. In a letter to his father he wrote, “As for the Princess of Württemberg and me, it is already over. The Emperor has spoiled the thing for me, because the only one who counts for him is Salieri.” [iv] Unaware of the underlying court politics which cost him the position, Mozart’s competitive nature increased. Now, his primary artistic goal was to not only impress the Emperor, but to showcase how his artistic abilities far surpassed those of the court composer.

Mozart was Salieri’s only true rival in the operatic medium. Initially, however, Salieri was unfazed because he and Mozart were composing in different languages. Mozart’s first operatic commission in Vienna was Die Entführung aus dem Serail, a German singspiel for Joseph II’s Nationaltheatre in 1782. German

was not of interest to Salieri, nor did he consider himself competent in the language. [v] Although Mozart’s opera was the only true success of the Nationaltheater experiment, it came all too late. The public’s interest in a national opera was waning. “The Emperor, knowing the restless curiosity of his Viennese subjects, again gave them…an Italian Opera [house].” [vi] With the closing of the Nationaltheater and reopening of the Burgtheatre, all opera was once again to be conducted in Italian. Fortunately for Mozart, he was fluent in Italian in addition to German, French, and Latin. [vii] Once only a peripheral menace to Salieri’s courtly clout and public popularity, Mozart was now an ever present threat with this sudden artistic shift.

Competition for supremacy of court favor took a heightened turn. Upon the switch back to Italian opera, Salieri was named director and Kapellmeister. [viii] He was in an evermore influential role, capable of manipulating particular outcomes within his favor. History has not been favorable to Salieri; Academics continue to speculate on the numerous ways he hindered Mozart’s career and prevented him from attaining patrons or financial success. While this has been grossly exaggerated, Salieri did indeed use his cunning and authority to produce particular desired outcomes. When Mozart started writing Le nozze di Figaro, Salieri was involved with numerous clandestine attempts to cease production. The opera spanned over four hours, requiring a great deal of effort from its cast, crew, as well as audience. Salieri utilized the length as he tried to turn Mozart’s cast and royal spectators against him. Mozart and his father grew outraged at the attempts ranging from complaints on arias, to apparent royal prohibitions found within the opera. Mozart’s father, Leopold, complained in a letter to peers and patrons, “The cowardly alliance of undeserving people devoted its entire energy to hating, denigrating and disparaging the art of this immortal artist.” [ix] Nonetheless, Figaro took the stage in October 1785 and was relatively successful showing nine times until the September of the following year. His masterpiece was overshadowed, however, by Salieri’s more popular Grotta di Trofonio, showing an illustrious seventeen times during the same year as Mozart’s Figaro. [x] Mozart’s Don Giovanni and The Magic Flute were to meet similar unfavorable outcomes. Despite his genius, Mozart did not play to the royal Viennese tastes, nor was he given adequate support by Salieri and the aristocratic Italians in his operatic productions.

While Mozart’s operas are considered masterpieces today, they were relative failures compared to the more popular contemporary works of Salieri. Mozart’s style was unrivaled, it was daring, and it was unconventional. Yet, there was not a strong enough audience in eighteenth-century Vienna to see the value of operas like Figaro or Don Giovanni. With an audience filled primarily by the royalty and its courts, an opera’s value lie in how closely it aligned with their traditional Italianophile tastes and Mozart’s work never catered to the conventional. Furthermore, it was commonly stated that Mozart’s work was simply “too much” for an audience-- royal or civilian--to absorb. They did not have the time or musical ear to fully grasp the rich beauty of his operas. [xi] The 1984 film, Amadeus, discusses this notion in greater detail, that both the royal and civilian audience were simply not ready for Mozart’s musical innovation. Although Amadeus is a historical dramatization of the encounters between the two men, it captures the essence of their rivalry, works and the Viennese courts in a manner that few scholars can dispute. “I think you overestimate our dear Viennese, my friend,” [xii] states Salieri to Mozart in the film. While Mozart sought to outdo Salieri by creating the greatest operas to ever grace the stage, his rival knew how to out do him in a different manner. Although Salieri’s “artistic individuality was not strong… [or] important enough to impress upon the opera a new character,” [xiii] his operas were tuned perfectly to the ears of the nobility as well as the public. Italian opera was traditional and popular. So too, was Salieri:

In other words…Mozart’s operas were less to the taste of the monarch
and the public in Vienna than those of Salieri, and it was the same all
through Germany. Whatever the appreciative few may have thought
of Figaro and Don Giovanni, to the general operatic public, Salieri was
certainly the greatest of the living composers. [xiv]

Mozart was the genius, but Salieri was the composer of the people. Both men strove to gain what the other held and both men were fatally consumed by their envy to do so.

Still Image from 1984 film, "Amadeus"

While both musicians respected the other’s works, Salieri was crippled by his jealousy of Mozart’s musical talents. “Mozart’s superior gifts…made Salieri’s lifelong devotion to music meaningless.” [xv] He knew that Mozart’s abilities greatly surpassed his own. Regardless of all his power, prestige and fame, Salieri knew he could not compare to the child prodigy from Salzburg. The film Amadeus illustrates this beautifully through Mozart’s braying laughter, “directed towards all us common mortals who have been spitefully, maliciously denied the fire of creative genius.” [xvi] Salieri felt it was the mocking laughter of the gods, reminding him he could never attain the artistic brilliance he so greatly envied in Mozart. This further explains Salieri’s ever present desire to continually reassert his court influence in a clever and shrewd manner. His power and success stemmed directly from the Emperor, support Salieri had no intention of losing. When another composer of such genius is one’s contemporary, one must do whatever is necessary not to lose favor with the courts or the public.

Mozart too was driven by envy, envy of Salieri’s power and success, especially among the nobility. In the final days of his life he was mysteriously commissioned to write The Requiem. Believing the work to be the supreme masterpiece of his career, the piece that would finally provide him with the success and recognition from the aristocracy he so desired. Mozart became consumed, his envy pushing him to madness. Driven to complete the composition for both the pecuniary and personal success he felt it would bring, Mozart worked himself into a state of physical and mental decline. He “began to speak of death and declared that he was writing the requiem for himself.” [xvii] Eerily prophetic, Mozart died weeks later on December 5, 1791. He continued to compose The Requiem while on his deathbed. [xviii]

Despite being the bitterest of rivals, Salieri and Mozart were not the bitterest of enemies; nonetheless they let their rivalry consume their lives. Mozart worked himself into a state of deterioration and ultimately death. Salieri was overcome with grief and regret. Both had been driven by their need for success and recognition among royalty. The rivalry had run so deep that shortly after Mozart’s death, rumors began to

circulate that Salieri poisoned the genius in order to maintain his position within the Viennese courts. Near the end of his life Salieri attempted suicide and claimed to have “murdered” Mozart, further perpetuating the myth. He had prevented the world from fully embracing the genius and beauty that was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Mozart’s life was his art and his art had never come to full fruition, all due to Salieri. [xix] In a cruel twist of fate, Salieri realized he was living in a world that was slowly forgetting him, but Mozart was continuing to live on. Vienna and its courts no longer knew their most popular composer.

The rivalry that consumed the latter portion of both Salieri and Mozart’s lives produced an outcome that neither could have foreseen. At the time of Mozart’s death in 1791, Salieri was the most powerful and popular composer in Vienna, while Mozart was buried in a poor, unmarked grave. Yet today, Salieri’s name is all but forgotten as Mozart is remembered as the pioneering musical genius of Vienna’s classical era. “Can you recall no melody of mine? I was the most famous composer in Europe,” [xx] laments Salieri in the beginning of the film Amadeus. The nature of their rivalry led to this unforeseeable conclusion. Salieri’s popularity was a direct result of playing into the contemporary tastes of the Viennese courts and public. Meanwhile, Mozart’s polarizing works fought tradition and introduced new musical styles. Ultimately, the lack of innovation within his traditional works led to Salieri being forgotten, but Mozart’s avant-garde compositions saw to it that he will always be remembered.

Endnotes:
i Borowitz, “‘Murder’ of Mozart,” 284.
ii Weber, “Musical Taste,” 180.
iii Schenk, Mozart, 307.
iv Ibid.
v Ibid., 308.
vi Braunbehrens, Maligned Master, 114.
vii Heartz, “Figaro,” 257.
viii Painter, “Mozart at Work,” 200.
ix Braunbehrens, Maligned Master,114
x Ibid., 122.
xi Braunbehrens, Maligned Master, 124.
xii Thayer, Salieri, 97.
xiii Schenk, Mozart, 368.
xiv Shaffer, Amadeus, Film.
xv Thayer, Salieri, 91.
xvi Thayer, Salieri, 127.
xvii Borowitz, “‘Murder’ of Mozart,” 282.
xviii Marshall, “Film as Musicology,” 177.
xix Borowitz, “‘Murder’ of Mozart,” 264.
xx Ibid., 266

]]><![CDATA[PART I Court Influence: How 18th Century Vienna Fueled One of Classical Music's Greatest Rivalries]]>Fri, 25 Aug 2017 02:03:02 GMThttps://theartistsjob.weebly.com/artmusings/part-i-court-influence-how-18th-century-vienna-fueled-one-of-classical-musics-greatest-rivalriesThe next two weeks will feature writing from one of my earlier journal publications on the nature of Antonio Salieri and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's rivalry and the conditions that bred such an environment. This week will focus on context and history while the conclusion will delve further into analysis on the true nature of their relationship and their contributions to the greater history of Classical music.

Cover from the 1984 film, "Amadeus."

From the baroque glories of the Habsburg courts arose a city that became the world’s musical epicenter, Vienna. Ruled by two great patrons of the arts in the eighteenth-century, Maria Theresia and Joseph II, Vienna gave birth to the artistic genius of numerous musical composers including Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert. Yet, the underlying politics necessary for landing Vienna’s powerful court patrons created an atmosphere of intrigue and fierce competition—a place where mediocrity could rule supreme with proper noble favor and innovative genius overlooked due to royal tastes. For Joseph II’s court composer, Antonio Salieri, and emerging virtuoso, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, this was the world in which they lived. During the ten years of their intense rivalry, success and failure were determined not just by musical ability, but by the power and opinion of Vienna’s royal courts. Despite his comparative lack of musical talent, Salieri was a force in the musical world due to his ability to work within the court systems, while Mozart’s failure to comply led to his lack of success. Thus, it was the musical court politics of eighteenth-century Vienna that cultivated an environment of heightened artistic competition and led to the rivalry between two seemingly disparate composers: Antonio Salieri and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

The emergence of Italian opera in the seventeenth-century was the catalyst responsible for making Vienna the musical capital of the Western world. As opera came to prominence in Naples, it drew the attention of the Austrian monarchy, the wealthy and powerful Habsburgs. The Holy Roman Emperor of Austria and his future successors began to summon Italian court composers to Vienna to start an operatic tradition within the ruling city. [i] Such actions had several powerful consequences that

Teatro San Carlo, Naples, Italy. Established 1731.

greatly influenced the future of music in Vienna, including the Salieri and Mozart rivalry. Firstly, the importation of foreign composers sparked both outrage and fervent competition from native-born Austrian musicians. Secondly, it instilled a deep-rooted Italian tradition in the music performed throughout Vienna. The Italian stronghold would prove so unyielding that even the musical genius of Mozart was unable to shake it nearly one-hundred years later. Indeed, “Vienna had an Italianophile contigent among its nobility" [ii] as a direct result of this influx of

Italian culture. Despite emerging attempts at integrating local German culture into the theaters, the public--and an overwhelming majority of Viennese aristocracy--favored the tradition of Italian operas. Privately, some nobility even promoted Italian culture within their homes. [iii] Not until Emperor Joseph II converted his mother Maria Theresia’s Burgtheatre into the Nationaltheatre in 1776 was there a deliberate and outward embrace of German opera or music.[iv] But thirdly, and most importantly, since the Habsburgs ‘began’ this musical revival, music and opera became the symbol of high society and ultimately a monopoly maintained by the royal courts.

Portrait of Joseph II by Anton von Maron. Joseph II reigned as Holy Roman Emperor from 1764-1790.

Pamphlet for the Critical History of Vienna at the Burgtheater.

Upon the first arrival of Italian composers, the Habsburgs held a court monopoly on all theater production in Vienna. [v] Therefore, nearly all musical creations within the city were dictated by nobility; they were the city’s sole patrons. Musicians could be employed by others as teachers, but their large scale works needed to be commissioned by royalty in order for them to be showcased to the public in Vienna’s theaters. Once again, Emperor Joseph II challenged the norms and lifted the court monopoly in 1776, [vi] opening up the possibility of patronage to other members of Vienna. Nonetheless, Joseph II became the theatre director for the newly minted Nationaltheatre. While there was a new semblance of freedom, there was no escaping the power or control of the Viennese courts. In addition, musical patronage distinguished the wealthy as cultured and worldly among Vienna’s elite. Although music appreciation was now practiced by peasants and the lower middle-class, it was truly the mark of the upper-class bourgeoisie and nobility. The middle-classes still needed time to arise as patrons of prominence following the lift of the court monopoly.

The old Burgtheater, briefly known as the Nationaltheater, prior to its 1888 reconstruction.

Despite the repeal, nobility during the eighteenth-century maintained unofficial control over theatre production. Music “loomed large in the rites and pleasures of the courts” [vii] as royalty continued to use classical music and opera in every aspect of their celebratory events. Aristocrats and ambassadors regularly held private concerts within their homes. [viii] Upper-class civilians hired musical instructors to educate their wives and children. Musicians flocked to the city, and patrons welcomed them with open arms, eager to showcase their status. Thus, Vienna became the “adoptive home of musicians and men of intellect.” [ix] Within an environment flooded with wealthy patrons, classical music, opera, and Italian culture, an aspiring composer arrived to make his indelible mark on the eighteenth-century Viennese Habsburg courts: Antonio Salieri.

As a young boy of sixteen, Salieri arrived in Vienna as a composer perfectly primed to satisfy the musical demands of his patrons. Antonio Salieri was born on August 18, 1750 in the small Italian village of Legnago. His musical studies began with the assistance of his older brother, Francesco, who had studied music in Padua. [x] This education did not continue, however, as Salieri was sadly orphaned at an early age. Upon moving to Venice at this time, though, he caught the attention of the Mocenigos, one of the city’s most prosperous and powerful families. [xi] Rather than send Salieri off to Naples for traditional Italian musical training, Venice’s current doge, Alvise Mocenigo IV, introduced him to one of the most influential people of his life Viennese court Kapellmeister Florian

Antonio Salieri, 1750-1825. Portrait by Joseph Willibrord Mähler.

Leopold Gassmann. Vienna was not yet the musical epicenter it would become, so Salieri’s decision to leave with Gassmann to Vienna over Naples was quite unusual. Nonetheless, Gassmann took in Salieri as his pupil and the two arrived in Vienna on June 15, 1766. [xii] Joseph II, who maintained a strong affinity for Italian opera, immediately set out to meet the young Italian musician whom his court Kappellmeister now called pupil. [xiii]

Thus began Salieri’s swift ascendency within the royal courts of Vienna. He started asserting himself within the royal circles, and a mere ten years after first arriving in Vienna, Salieri was appointed chamber composer and Kapellmeister. Salieri was no longer confined to working within Vienna alone, either. He had over eight operas to his name and showcased them around the world in Munich, Naples and Paris, solidifying his universal reputation. [xiv] In addition to becoming a world-renowned composer, Salieri was a well-respected teacher of singing and composition. His pupils included Austrian soprano Caterina Cavalieri, Beethoven, Schubert, and Liszt. [xv] While Salieri ascended swiftly within Vienna’s musical scene, it was his political favor with the emperor that proved of greater importance. “Because of his favor with Joseph II…and of his successive roles as court composer, director of the Italian Opera, and court conductor, Salieri was able to wield powerful influence over the availability of theaters and patronage.” [xvi] This influence would soon prove beneficial. For it was during this time, nearing the peak of his career, that Salieri was introduced to Mozart, the young musical genius who would challenge him artistically throughout the rest of his career.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was an Austrian born musical genius, renowned for his works by the age of ten. Born in Salzburg on January 27, 1756, he had an extraordinary musical ability from an early age. By the age of three Mozart began playing the clavichord, and at the age of four began writing short compositions. One day when he was six, he was found playing the violin and sight-reading music despite having never received private lessons. [xvii] His father Leopold, who maintained a firm influence over his life, took him on numerous concert tours throughout Germany, England, Italy, and eventually Austria. Mozart made his first appearance in Vienna at the young age of twelve. In 1768, he composed his first opera, the singspiel Bastien und Bastienne, with Joseph II and his then unmarried sister, Marie Antoinette, in the audience. [xviii] These musical feats caught the attention of the Prince Archbishop of Salzburg and Mozart began to work under the controlling patron for several years. Mozart’s carefree nature and behavior bordering on impropriety did not bode well with the archbishop, regardless of the musician’s capabilities. Ultimately, the relationship between musician and patron was a disaster.

The Mozart family on tour: Leopold, Wolfgang, and Nannerl. Watercolor by Carmontelle, ca. 1763.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart 1756-1791. Posthumous Portrait by Barbara Krafft, 1819.

Several years later in 1781, Mozart returned to Vienna to an astounding reception. Believing in his innovative genius and counting on the support of the captivated Viennese nobility, Mozart made a radical and unprecedented decision by severing ties with his patron, the Prince Archbishop of Salzburg. [xix] Typically, such a move meant the certain death of one’s future artistic career. Mozart, however, was more confident. “You are altogether wrong if you imagine that I shall be thought the less of by the nobility and the Emperor,” Mozart wrote to his father. “The Archbishop is hated here, by the Emperor most of all.” [xx] He was correct, as he immediately gained a commission by Joseph II to create a German opera for the Nationaltheatre. Upon this break with his former patron and a new royal commission, “there was no trace of the popular to be found in his compositions, no further concessions.” [xxi] Mozart was a free man. This new transition marked the beginning of Mozart’s Viennese period and the most artistically creative phase of his career.

While his innovative works were indeed polarizing, Mozart’s talent could not be ignored. It was declared by some that, “When the young man of twenty-five, [sic] settled in Vienna, he needed but the opportunity and he would utterly cast all other composers in Vienna into the shade.” [xxii] Therefore, Mozart presented a tremendous threat to existing musical foundations of Vienna, most notably to those who were prospering greatly within the current system. Mozart’s genius was a direct imposition to the success and lifestyle of court composer Salieri. As a result, Salieri cunningly wielded “his adroitness in Viennese opera politics and his prestigious position” within the courts as a weapon against the music of Mozart. [xxiii] And so began one of music’s greatest rivalries.

ENDNOTES
[i] Marboe, Book of Austria, 109.
[ii] Link, “Theatrical and Musical Life,” 223.
[iii] Ibid.
[iv] Heartz, “Figaro,” 256.
[v] Link, “Theatrical and Musical Life,” 230.
[vi] Ibid.
[vii] Weber, “Musical Taste,” 190.
[viii] Link, “Theatrical and Musical Life,” 210
[ix] Marboe, Book of Austria, 359.
[x] Braunbehrens, Maligned Master, 14.
[xi] Ibid., 16.
[xii] Ibid., 17.
[xiii] Ibid., 23.
[xiv] Schenk, Mozart, 311.
[xv] Borowitz, “‘Murder’of Mozart,” 270.
[xvi] Ibid., 272.
[xvii] Marboe, Book of Austria, 113.
[xviii] Ibid.
[xix] Schenk, Mozart, 291.
[xx] Ibid.
[xxi] Heartz, “Figaro,” 256.
[xxii] Marboe, Book of Austria, 113
[xxiii] Thayers, Salieri, 96.

]]><![CDATA[Wozzeck: Opera's Introduction to Expressionism]]>Thu, 24 Aug 2017 19:13:29 GMThttps://theartistsjob.weebly.com/artmusings/wozzeck-operas-introduction-to-expressionism"Barely concealed beneath the surface of Expressionist [opera]…
runs a feeling of horror that sometimes bursts out in an agonized cry."[i]

Schoenberg’s Student: The Artistic Development of Alban Berg

Alban Berg was an Austrian born student of the influential musician, Schoenberg. Born in 1885 to an affluent family, Berg had a tumultuous childhood when the family grew financially destitute following the death of his father. Berg struggled with school, having to repeat several grades and got into serious trouble when he had an affair with a kitchen maid at the age of seventeen that resulted in an illegitimate daughter.[ii] Despite the hardship of these early years, Berg learned how to play piano from his governess—igniting his passion for musical composition. By the time Berg was a teenager, he began composing and performing musical works for friends and family.[iii] Recognizing their brother’s love and talent for music, Berg’s brother and sister responded to a newspaper advertisement posted by a man named Arnold Schoenberg looking for musical pupils. Shortly thereafter, Berg began his formal musical training under Schoenberg in 1904.[iv] The two would develop a highly influential and extremely volatile student-teacher relationship over the next eleven years.

Berg’s musical ability developed rapidly under Schoenberg’s tutelage. He was a constant presence during the creation of Schoenberg’s radically innovative atonal period. This ground-breaking musical style, which lacked a focal tone or key, helped shape the music of Berg’s future work. It was also during this time that Schoenberg created his gesamtkunstwerk, the Expressionist Opera: Die Glückliche Hand. Although the opera was not performed until 1924, it was conceived and written in 1908 when Berg was studying under the musical innovator. The influence of both Schoenberg’s atonal period and Die Glückliche Hand on Berg’s artistic development cannot be overlooked. In fact, early into their relationship Schoenberg openly criticized Berg’s initial lack of imagination. Regarding his student, Schoenberg stated that Berg’s “imagination could not work…he was absolutely incapable of writing an instrumental movement or inventing an instrumental theme.”[v] As a result, Berg was pushed creatively during this period by his mentor who was breaking every established rule found in Classical music. Within a few years, Berg wrote a musical composition that was later developed and used for his Expressionist opera, Wozzeck.[vi] Despite experiencing this artistic growth, Berg saw little work or success in his earlier career (1911-1915). Although he was no longer Schoenberg’s student he devoted much of his time towards the musical endeavors of his mentors rather than his own.[vii] He did earn notoriety, however, during a very controversial performance in March of 1913 when he composed a musical arrangement to the modernist poet Peter Altenberg’s scandalous poems. His mentor Schoenberg conducted the performance, but it resulted in a riot and fisticuffs that led to police action.[viii] From this point on, Berg’s desire to shock the bourgeoisie increased, as did his interest in new artistic styles. He fell in love with the avant-garde and befriended many of its leading artists including fellow Austrian composer Alexander von Zemlinsky (1871-1942) and painter Gustav Klimt (1862-1918).

In 1914, Berg went to Vienna to see the first stage production of Georg Büchner’s (1813-1837) Woyzeck. Immediately upon seeing the play Berg exclaimed, “Someone must set this to music!”[ix] Later that year he began developing the opera that would become Wozzeck. While doing so, “Berg… [was] torn between awareness of his debt to Schoenberg and the need to assert his personal and artistic independence.”[x] He had yet to fully embark on an independent musical pursuit and Berg also knew that his volatile father-like relationship with his mentor was now inhibiting his creativity. By 1915, Berg decided to cease all communications with Schoenberg. His progress on Wozzeck the opera was still to be delayed when he was later called to serve in the Austrian Army the same year.[xi] Nonetheless, following the end of the Great War, Berg returned to his magnum opus, Wozzeck—the masterpiece that introduced Expressionism to the operatic stage.

Alban Berg

Wozzeck

Wozzeck is an opera that personifies the Expressionist social conscious during the Interwar period. Based on Büchner's nineteenth-century play, the story describes the life and tragic fate of simple Wozzeck. Throughout the opera, he hovers on the brink of madness as he is subjected to both his lover’s infidelity and horrific experiments by the Doctor. Wozzeck is a soldier oppressed by poverty, brutally exploited by his superiors and humiliated by his unfaithful lover, Marie. Eventually, Wozzeck is driven insane, murders Marie and, ultimately, commits suicide. Berg's Wozzeck “embodies…the fullness of the torment of the soul that constituted Expressionism as a ‘worldview.’”[xii] The main character is isolated from society as he fails to make connections to those around him; Wozzeck waivers in and out of lucidity as hallucinations and reality become harder to separate. Berg created a “world without normality or humanity and peopled by grotesques, a haunted world of strange hallucinatory voices and visions of natural phenomena indifferent to the human tragedy being played out.”[xiii] German citizens identified with Wozzeck’s pain for they, too, felt the world was indifferent to their suffering—that the deaths of WWI had been rendered meaningless. Although Berg was inspired to write the play prior to the war, he did not finish composing the score or the libretto until 1921.[xiv] Thus, the bleak existence that constituted post-war society in Germany and Austria profoundly influenced the violent and tortured themes found throughout Wozzeck. As a result, it resonated powerfully with Berlin audiences when it premiered in December of 1925.[xv]

Berg's introduction of Schoenberg's atonal and twelve-note system in Wozzeck allows the social commentary found within the opera to come to its full fruition. Berg fully conveys his Expressionistic worldview through the score’s jarring atonal sounds and ritualistic twelve-note progressions. The atonal language of Wozzeck, “constantly hovering on the edge of tonal confirmation, becomes a perfect metaphor for the emotional state of the opera’s chief protagonist” and post-war German society.[xvi] Citizens were still searching for meaning after the war, and many were left in broken emotional states that resembled Wozzeck or Kirchner in his Self-Portrait as an Invalid. The musical dissonance, created by the atonal score’s lack of an over-arching key or tone, symbolized the German people’s existential struggles at this time just as much as it represented Wozzeck’s emotional turmoil. Berg continued his social commentary on German Society in Wozzeck through another innovative musical device: the twelve-tone technique.

As all notes are treated equally in the twelve-tone progression, it creates a sense of repetition, a feeling that the music will continue, but never evolve or reach resolution. The ritualistic nature of this musical style plays into the sense of fatalism that was so prevalent within Expressionism. Berg paints the tale of a society so consumed with moral decay, that the “disease is too far gone to remedy.”[xvii] Wozzeck is a good man, but the corrupt people within his life drive him into sharing their loathsome existence; the depravity is inescapable. Just like the musical notes being continuously repeated, so too will their actions. Society keeps marching on, but never changes, never evolves. During this time, many Germans felt that the new Weimar Republic was no different than the previous Wilhelmine Monarchy. Only a radical change could restore Germany to its former glory, but as Berg highlighted in Wozzeck, perhaps the opportunity for change was too late. All this had happened before, and it was probably going to happen again. “On We Go!”[xviii] Wozzeck declares ominously. Like the Expressionists before him, Berg proved to be eerily prophetic as Germany would continue in the footsteps of the past and march on towards another World War.

Watch a later 20th-century rendition of Bergs masterpiece below

Endnotes:
[i] Padmore, “Expressionist Opera,” 47.
[ii] “Alban Berg,” New Grove Dictionary of Music,” 312
[iii] Ibid.
[iv] Ibid.
[v] Ibid., 313.
[vi] Ibid.
[vii] Ibid., 314
[viii] Ibid., 315.
[ix] Ibid., 316.
[x] Ibid., 314.
[xi] Ibid., 314-16.
[xii] Biel, Total Expressionism, 40.
[xiii] Douglas, “Alban Berg,” New Grove Dictionary, 317.
[xiv] Biel, Total Expressionism, 40.
[xv] Douglas, “Alban Berg.” New Grove Dictionary, 318.
[xvi] Ibid., 317.
[xvii] Padmore, “Expressionist Opera,” 44.
[xviii] Ibid.

]]><![CDATA[Reclamation of Identity: Abanindranath Tagore & the Bengal School of Art]]>Fri, 21 Apr 2017 07:00:00 GMThttps://theartistsjob.weebly.com/artmusings/reclamation-of-identity-abanindranath-tagore-the-bengal-school-of-art

Abanindranath Tagore, "Nishat," c. 1920, Tempura on Paper.

British colonial powers played a very specific role within India, directly affecting Indian identity and the country's deep religious traditions. National resistance to these outside Western forces on Indian Culture has taken many shapes and forms throughout the years, most notably through art and cultural production. Here we will focus on the paintings by Abanindranath Tagore and the Bengal School of Art.

The Bengal School of Art was a nationalist artistic movement that fought against Western conventions and depictions of the Orient. Artists like Tagore renounced all aesthetics that had been used to denigrate or romanticize India and strove to create a new identity that could further their cause for independence. Of primary concern for the school, was how to define a cohesive national identity that would help unify the peoples of India and empower them to fight for independence from the British Empire. Tagore and the Bengal School achieved this through various means, whether it was in aligning their aesthetics with indigenous Asian traditions or focusing the subject of their paintings on the important concerns of early twentieth-century Indians such as religion, history, family, and nationalism. The School depicted how Indians see themselves and most importantly, how they wanted to be seen. Their presented identity was constructed for themselves and a renunciation against the Western perspective forced upon them through the imperialistic lens of Orientalism.

Studying art is a tangible way to examine the issues India and its peoples were grappling with during British rule. Unfortunately, non-Western art and its creators have historically been discussed through the orientalist eyes of Westerners rather than the natives themselves. Therefore, as a white, Western Christian, every attempt has been made to write analysis strictly based upon the presented information from the artists themselves or discussions raised in Indian exhibition catalogues and/or reviews, newspapers, and articles. This is not an examination of an "other," for it is not about the West. It is about India and how they strove to reclaim their identity through art in the midst of their struggle for independence.

"Nasim Bagh," c.1920.

"Asoka's Queen," 1910, Gouache on Paper.

"My Mother," 1912, Gouache on Paper.

"Journey's End," 1913, Gouache on Paper.

"Emporer's March to Kashmir," Early 20th Century, Gouache on Paper.

The personification of India as the mother goddess, Bharat Mata, is a powerful and deeply personal image for most Indians today. She is the mother of their homeland, their religion, and their people. These deep emotional ties to the image stem from the period in which the original image was created, the late nineteenth-century. Bharat Mata was created as an image during this time when the fight for national independence from the British Empire first started gaining steam. Ultimately, the image of Bharat Mata was highly successful, continuing as the national symbol of independent India. As one of the most enduring of the earlier original images, Bharat Mata by Abanindranath Tagore was created as part of the Bengal School of Art, a northern nationalist movement that vocalized its concerns, ideals, and beliefs on national independence through art.

"Bharat Mata," 1905, Gouache on Paper.

Although Bharat Mata in the painting bears four arms and a halo as marks of divinity, this is a deity that is deeply humanistic. Dressed in a traditional sari and featuring the skin tone of an Indian woman, not the trademark blue of a deity, she is a true reflection of her people. In each of her outstretched arms are the necessities for a happy and healthy life in her land. One hand contains the food of the land; another is a strand of religious beads, vastra. She is also holding a piece of clothing to cover her people and a manuscript containing the Vedas, the foundation for India's native religions. Bharat Mata is a true mother to India as she provides for the spiritual and physical needs of all her people. A key message that Tagore is trying to convey within the painting is how closely Indian nationalism is tied to the religion of the land. National independence is both patriotic and religious duty for Indians. In addition, Tagore is not just depicting a goddess or a symbolic image of India. Rather, through this image, he is making a profound political statement that Bharat Mata, the mother goddess of India, not imperial Britain, will provide for her people.

"Asoka, Who by the White Stucco of his Fame Made Spotless the Universe," 1920, Gouache on Paper.

In the third century BCE, the emperor Asoka of the powerful Mauryan Dynasty unified India. In Asoka, Tagore conveys his nationalist ideals by reminding Indians of their historic past. India was once unified from within and was a great power because of its own ability and resources, not due to British (or Western) influences. India can once again reach a golden age, but attaining independence must come from national and religious unity among India's citizens. Yet again, religion is at the forefront of the nationalist message. Asoka is known historically for his conversion to Buddhism and spreading its ideals throughout the land with his pillars. The painting's most important religious message, however, stems from the distant temple in the background. Depicted as the Kashmir landscape, the temple is the Shankaracharya Temple sacred to both Hindus and Buddhists and repaired and restored by Sikhs. The temple is symbolic of religious unity between three of India's indigenous faiths. In the painting Asoka, Tagore highlights two imperative factors necessary for India to attain future independence: political and religious unity.

Ma Yuan,"On a Mountain Path in the Spring," 13th Century, Ink and Color on Silk, Southern Song Dynasty. An example of the referenced Chinese style.

The Bengal School of art and its forefather, Abanindranath Tagore, did not just focus on the pictorial message to convey their nationalist message; they also utilized the more subtle means of aesthetics. Little to no indigenous painting exists within India prior to the Mughal Dynasty and even then, the medium and style were imported from the Persian courts. Indian miniatures find their origins in Persia, not the motherland. Therefore, the Bengal School looked to their Far Eastern neighbors for influence. Having no style to truly call their own, Tagore and other artists of the Bengal School created a Pan-Asian aesthetic. Seeking to remove itself from the opulent materialism of Western Painting, the Bengal School wanted to reflect the spiritual nature so essential to the lives of native Indians. They felt it was best exemplified in the style of early Chinese paintings. Asoka is reminiscent of the paintings of China's Southern Song Dynasty, a period known for depicting spiritual and mystical pictorial landscapes that reflected the country's Neo-Confuscist ideologies. Tagore depicts such an image as Asoka sits atop a high peak gazing upon the land he unified. Asoka is like the wise old men of the Song paintings seeking out knowledge within a mystical landscape. Here Tagore creates a painting that is deeply spiritual and lacks a Western materialist perspective. Despite its exoticism, any trace of Western Orientalism is absent in Asoka's depiction. Although its style may not be indigenous, Asoka is painted in a style that is decisively not Western. It unifies Asia artistically through aesthetics while highlighting the importance of religion and spirituality. Tagore and The Bengal School of Art were keenly aware of the underlying political motives behind seemingly benevolent forces like artistic mediums and styles; thus, they successfully utilized their adroit ability to render a new Pan-Asian style in such a fashion that would only further their nationalistic ideals.

"Ganesh-Janani," 1937, Gouache on Paper.

Religion is inseparable from Indian Culture and the lived experience. In Ganesh-Janani, Tagore depicts a loving Parvati playing with her son Ganesh within the Indian landscape. The deep-rooted connection between indigenous faith and the land of India itself is apparent. These deities dwell within the motherland; India is their home. This a point further emphasized with Mount Kailasa in the distance. This painting does not just depict two deities living within India, but rather expresses that the native religions of India are engrained in the land. India is infused with religious and spiritual meaning that must be harnessed and recognized for the sake of its future independence. Furthermore, Tagore once again does not depict a goddess, Parvati, in the traditional manner of a blue-skinned deity. Rather, she is simply a loving mother playing with her child. Continuing to break away from Western artistic ideals, Parvati may be idealized, but Tagore ensures that she is not exoticized. Parvati, in fact, could be any Indian woman. India: its gods, land, and people are all being depicted through the eyes of Tagore, an Indian, not the Orientalist eyes of a Westerner.

The Bengal School of Art renounced the mediums used within Western forms of art and chose a more indigenous form of painting. Therefore, the artists within the school no longer used oils. Tagore looked to India's oldest surviving paintings, the caves of Ajanta for inspiration. The ancient artists of the caves used a medium called gouache, also a popular medium for Persian miniatures. However, the medium was embraced not out of familiarity, but for its roots to the artists of ancient India. Nearly all of Tagore's paintings, including Ganesh-Janani, are painted in gouache. Just as the artists of The Bengal School of Art returned to its roots for inspiration, so too must Indians return to the historic origins of their homeland to find a path to national independence.

"Twilight," ca. 1930, Tempera on Paper.

Twilight was far less politically motivated for Tagore than other paintings created within The Bengal School of Art. The painting subtly hints at the fading British Empire, that their time will indeed end. Yet, this is not the focus of Twilight. It is an illustration conveying the deep instilled Indian values of family. Here Tagore paints himself in discussion with his aging artistic uncle, Rabindranath Tagore, atop their family home in Calcutta. The two share a bond of mutual respect and love as Rabindranath passes along his knowledge and experience to Abanindranath. Family is a primary foundation to the lives of all Indians, but it must also remain of the utmost important as India navigates through the rough journey of independence. As knowledge continues to be shared from the wise elders to the active youths of India, then Twilight will end, and along with it, the reign of the British Empire. A new dawn for India will begin and the importance of family will continue to endure.

]]><![CDATA[The Lamb of God: Emotional Surrender in Zurbarán's Angus Dei]]>Fri, 14 Apr 2017 07:00:00 GMThttps://theartistsjob.weebly.com/artmusings/the-lamb-of-god-emotional-surrender-in-zurbarans-angus-deiThe Lenten Season is officially upon us, embodied by a spirit of reflection and repentance culminating in the Celebration of Easter on April 16th. As there is an undeniable influence of Christian theology on the history of art, every Sunday of Lent we will explore art with distinctly Christian themes in a methodology known as visual theology.

On this Good Friday, we examine the somber subject of Agnus Dei, the Lamb of God.

Francisco de Zurbarán, "Agnus Dei," 1635-40, Oil on Canvas, 14.5" H x 24" L, Museo del Prado.

"Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!"
- John 1:29 (NIV)

Painted during the heights of the Spanish Catholic Reformation, Francisco de Zurbarán's Agnus Dei is shocking in its simplicity of a lone Christian icon. The religious art of the Baroque period is frequently characterized by the dramatic works of Bernini, Caravaggio, Rembrandt and Rubens. Zurbarán, however, abandons drama for subtle poignancy.

Set against a black backdrop and laying upon a gray table, a live merino lamb is tied and bound in a sacrificial position; its legs are thrust into the foreground and its eyes avert our gaze. There is no other iconography only the heartbreaking sense that the melancholy lamb is resigned to its sad fate. While technically there is no iconography to suggest the allegory of Christ as the 'Lamb of God', the image was widespread throughout Christian imagery, especially in (predominantly) Catholic Spain. In addition, the position of the lamb itself recalls that of Stefano Maderno's haunting Martyrdom of Saint Cecelia sculpted 30 years prior. The direct correlation between the two figural positions serves to reinforce the sacrificial nature of the lamb's existence.

Stefano Maderno, "The Martyrdom of Saint Cecilia," 1600, Marble, Church of Santa Cecilia, Rome.

The subject was well received by the people of Seville, Spain. Once Diego Velazquez left for the royal courts, Zurbarán became the City's official painter by 1629. Between 1631-40 he painted five versions of Agnus Dei for private patrons, with slight iconographic variants. Yet, it is the unadorned version that is considered the finest of the five.[i] Its poignancy highlighted through Zurbarán's ability to "concentrate the viewer's attention on a lamb that seems to meekly accept its fatal destiny." [ii] There is nothing to detract the viewer from the lamb's sacrifice. No halo, no lilies. Only life--a life that will be given to pardon the sins of the world.

One of the five versions of Zurbarán's "Agnus Dei," located in San Diego.

Josefa de Obidos, "The Sacrifical Lamb," ca. 1670-1684. Created by an artistic contemporary of Zurbarán in Portugal and inspired by his "Agnus Dei" series.

Agnus Dei is often treated as a still-life, a genre of painting frequently associated with food or perishables acting as a memento mori. The lamb is indeed edible and its life coming to an end. Unlike most still-lifes, however, the process of death and/or decay is not shown for this is the food of life. The symbolism is two-fold. The unblemished sacrifice refers to the lamb of Passover, whose blood saved the Jews in Egypt and Christ, the Lamb of God, whose blood redeemed the sins all mankind. Zurbarán utilizes his artistic skill in rendering the texture of the lamb's wool with a technical subtlety that further underscores this is a lamb without blemish. This indeed is the Agnus Dei who is acting as the pardon for our sins. It is also his body we are consuming in an act of transubstantiation during the holy rite of Communion, a moment first celebrated at the Last Supper as described in the Book of Matthew:

"While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks,
he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, 'Take and eat; this is my body.'
Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them,
saying, 'Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is
poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.'" [iii]

Zurbarán forces the viewer to confront the paradoxical nature of Christ Biblically and as seen art historically. He is both the Good Shepherd and the lamb, divine and humble, the triumphant and the slain. As a relatively new religion, early Christian imagery favored more Johannine depictions of the Agnus Dei. Their god could not be shown as meek and humble, but rather as a glorious deity who conquered death.

"Cosmic Lamb," dome of San Vitale, 6th Century, Ravenna, Italy.

"Lamb of God," early 7th Century, Rome. Referencing Lamb of Revelation.

By the 13th century, Franciscan theology created a shift in Christian imagery. Gone was the triumphant Lamb of Revelation, now replaced by a meek animal, humbly offering itself to humanity. This is the Lamb of God we encounter in Zurbarán's poignant masterpiece. Agnus Dei enables us to "recognize in this wooly lamb, bound and patiently waiting on a slab for the butcher's knife, the Saviour on the altar, the Son of Man suffering in atonement for our sins."[iv] And it is this recognition of Christ's complete and sorrowful surrender to death so that we shall live that makes Zurbarán's Agnus Dei one of the most moving of all images in Christianity.

"He [Jesus] knelt down and began to pray, saying, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Yours be done.” -Luke 22: 41-42

i The canvas has wax seals bearing Ferdinand VII's coat of arms. The painting originally belonged to the family of Marquis del Socorro. The state acquired it for the Prado in 1986.
ii Museo del Prado
iii Matthew 26:26-28 (NIV)
iv Neil MacGregor, Seeing Salvation, p.73.

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