Can spring be far behind -- ?

 

 

No, this is not a flowering spring bulb – but the last magnificent gasp of an indoor amaryllis  bulb that's been part of my support system to beat the winter doldrums.  Another bright spot in the dark days has been my neighbours' Christmas gift – a stunning bromeliad.

 

It's not as if I could really settle into winter torpor with my Commedia pals always offering up a new element in their ever-evolving plot.  Among many things I've learned is that "masks" in the Commedia world mean both the elaborate face coverings and what in English usage we'd call "stock characters" – the subject of this tidy little book I found in the public library.

From this, I first learned that one of the famous "masks" (characters) of the Commedia is Il Capitano.  As Wikipedia describes him:

"He is often a braggart and a swaggerer who can maintain his claims only by benefit of the fact that none of the locals knows him. He is usually a Spaniard…Il Capitano often talks at length about made-up conquests of both the militaristic and the carnal variety in an attempt to impress others, but often ends up impressing only himself. He gets easily carried away in his tales and doesn't realise when those around him don't buy his act. He would be the first to run away from any and all battles."

Il Capitano, as above, was called Captain Spavento.  In another locale with different associates, he became Captain Spezzaferro as shown here:   

 

Partly due to name variations, partly due to rich collective imaginations, there are literally dozens of characters in the Commedia tradition.  

 

For several weeks, I'd been jotting down notes about the characters I might choose, who they might partner with, and how I might portray them.  Reviewing this list early one morning, I thought I'd truly gone bonkers when I read:-- "Il Capitano and Bromeliad."  Well – my own bromeliad was developing handsomely so it was certainly on my mind.

 

Then I remembered that, yes, I'd thought of putting these patterns in near proximity:-- the diagonals and bright yellows and reds of both Il Capitano and ….the bromeliad plant!  All I needed was a neighbourhood subject as model.  Who won the prize for most hooked nose?  A retired high school history and theatre arts teacher whose sweet aging rescue dog seems to be a cross between a German shepherd and a basset hound.  (I've been told the pet reports here are of special interest)

 

So we're off with this early layout.

 

 And moving right along...

I really should have planned the background from the beginning, but I didn't.  And as I neared the finish, I considered again a theatre setting.  Remember that Il Capitano is often portrayed as Spanish – and indeed, there's a tradition of Commedia dell'Arte in Spanish theatre.

 

Briefly I considered adding Salvador Dali to the mix, with his own Dali Theatre and Museum.  But giant eggs as a rooftop architectural element? I don't think so.

 

 

What's more, the route of the travelling Italian players led most directly to Madrid.  There, almost unbelievably, two of the famous "masks" – Il Dottore and Harlequin – are performing on-stage at the Prado, one of the world's most great museums. 

 

This painting, by 18^th century painter Luis Paret – aged 20! – is the first thing you'll see on the Museo's own website. Play around with the plus-minus box on the screen's right and work your way to the lower left corner.  Enlarge the scene and you'll see Il Dottore and Harlequin doing their thing.

 

I had the grandiose idea that I'd add the theatre balconies to my background but achieved only some blotches. I decided to call it a wrap, letting the two colourful acquaintances stand on their own.  Here's the final version of "Hey, Bro' – Il Capitano and Bromeliad" (copyright 2024).

 

What next?  Oh, there's plenty more to come – even if we missed this performance.

 

 

It wasn't Cupid's greatest day

 

 

Oh, dear.  Cupid was about to feature in a commemorative painting when the artist, Commedia wise-guy Mezzetin, slashed his own canvas to release that wiser guy – Harlequin!  It makes you wonder about the originator of this piece, Johann Jacob Schübler, an 18th century architect, draftsman and artist.

 

At least he put me on to the character of Mezzetin or Mezzetino who is described as:

"… an adept schemer and trouble-maker…much more gentle and cultivated, especially in his later life. He is often very musically inclined, and can sing and dance with skill. His character can vary greatly: he can be a loyal servant or simply scheming for his master's downfall…"

My research notes helped me realize that geographically Mezzetin is associated with one of the major Commedia characters – Il Dottore, the doctor.

 

He's a tricky character, too.  (Aren't they all?)

"He is comically inept. He is usually extremely rich, though the needs of the scenario might have things otherwise, and extremely pompous, loving the sound of his own voice and spouting ersatz Latin and Greek."

Both Mezzetin and Il Dottore are associated with the Italian city of Bologna – which of course would have its theatres, just as Venice had the Teatre Italia.  As I searched for a scenic place where they might perform together, I was reminded of a rather silly story brought back from a conference by a medical specialist I once worked for:--  It seemed an eminent surgeon had been flown into a major city to perform a rare and delicate operation.  The hospital sent a driver to meet him at the airport, and the arriving physician called out, "Quick! Quick!  Get me to the theatre!"  -- and he was delivered at top speed, not to the operating theatre, but to the city's famous opera house! 

 

Lucky for Il Dottore, the most beautiful theatre I found offered a more familiar setting.  Here is the city's reconstructed anatomical theatre, originally built for hands-on medical studies.

 

 

This theatre, in fact, was much too beautiful for any high jinks.  I determined to put my actors on their best behaviour – with Mezzetin wielding a paint brush instead of the customary guitar that Watteau placed in his hands.

 

And Il Dottore would stand benevolently by, approving the young man's work, speaking Latin that was erudite rather than ersatz.

 

As I began to develop the scene, I again borrowed a neighbour and a once-weekly shopping pal as models.  Il Dottore is the guy across the street, a sound technician in the film industry, a fond uncle to Pulcinella's rescue cats, and himself the father of……a chinchilla and a boa constrictor.  I am not kidding.  Mezzetin is my favourite young employee at the nearby grocery store.  His claim to unusual fame is that his grandparents live on the Isle of Man – and he was mightily impressed when, after his summer vacation there, I asked if all the island cats were tailless.

 

Things got a little overloaded in this painting – I could perhaps have used J.J. Schubler's help with the architecture.   Here's the final version:  "Their Best Behaviour – Il Dottore and Mezzetin" (copyright 2024).

 

Il Dottore critiqued it helpfully, with the Latin expression  "Ars est celare artem," – "It is art to conceal art" – representing an aesthetic ideal that good art should appear natural rather than contrived. Of medieval origin, but often incorrectly attributed to Ovid.

 

For the last words, though, here's what Mezzetin has to say, via Marjorie Bowen in her play, "Homage to the Unknown."

"...We give to the old memories, to the young hopes, to all another illusion either in the past or the future, and if our benefits are not very substantial we never destroy anything, not even the tenderest, sweetest falsehood. Perhaps you want to know who we are? We do not know ourselves. We have a thousand shapes, a thousand names."