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."

 

Madcap maneuvers

 

What a hero!  Four days after mid-month's record-breaking snowfall, here's my botanical hero and birthday pal Linnaeus (same date, different year), toughing it out as he gamely wears a Canadian toque. (Pronounced "toook" – yes, three e's).

 

In once balmy Vancouver, it was like a science fiction novel —not just the overnight snowfall, but the three days afterwards when snow remained in our neighbourhood.

 

All I could think was THIS IS SURREAL !  -- and that led to thoughts of my favourite Surrealist artist, Georgio deChirico who I've previously introduced.  Ah, such memories of his sunny plazas!

 

 

I wanted to make good use of those weatherbound days, but I just couldn't settle down.  The usual suspects were outside playing in the snow, totally distracting me from my Commedia dell'Arte research.

 

In fact, "distraction" doesn't begin to describe it.  Every new lead I found led me down a larger rabbit hole.  "Rabbit hole" doesn't begin to describe it, either.

 

As befits the Alice analogy, another young Englishwoman rose to the surface – Marjorie Bowen.   I'd found her as I looked for background on the Commedia character Mezzetin who, I promise, you will meet in time for Valentine's Day.

 

She was a late 19^th-early 20^th century author, writing dozens of books for the popular press – primarily novels of history, romance, and the supernatural.  One of her "twilight tales" had referred to Mezzetin.

 

What was a nice girl like her doing in a place like this?   What was I doing??  Okay. I reviewed  my key personal objectives – to keep trying to create plausible (if not strictly speaking "realistic") faces and figures.  With that, I altered the production schedule to settle, simply, for a portrait of Marjorie Bowen.

 

Well, that started off rather eerily, didn't it?  Here's the final version, "Marjorie Unmasked" copyright 2024.

 

Then, as I closed my sketchbook, my preliminary notes about Venice suddenly caught my eye.  Out of nowhere (as if hit by a snowball!) I remembered that Venice was home to the famous 20^th century eccentric and art collector, Peggy Guggenheim.  Hmmm…. I think I'll take a wander through her Peggy Guggenheim Collection, now a museum established in her long-time home along the Grand Canal.

 

 

It wasn't improbable to think that here in Italy, Ms. Guggenheim might have been drawn to the Commedia.  At the Museum site's Collection tab, I plugged in "Harlequin" and there it was – "Harlequin and Pierrot," the famous painting by Andre Derain.

With that, some of my veil of confusion lifted.  Before leaving the site, I started to "Browse the Collection" and before I'd viewed a dozen examples, up came an imposing deChirico palazza, with night turning to day, proving that I was on the right track!

 

Well.  Their number is legion:--  the artists, writers, actors, eccentrics, enthusiasts who have fallen in with the Commedia gang.  Every week, I discover another one.  How about the once renowned, now unknown, Lodovico Ottavio Burnacini, a 17^th-century Italian architect and theatrical designer?

 

Let's hop on his clown wagon and trust the process, knowing that some day we'll get through intermission and eventually on to the closing act?

 

This whole thing is totally pants!

 

My timing is so off.  How did I manage to be virtually snowbound with a house full of wacky characters from the Commedia dell'Arte?   Featured this month – at his own connivance – is one of the Commedia's Big Four characters, Pantalon (with or without the final -e).

 

 As Wikipedia describes him:  

Pantalone, as he was called, was a greedy, lecherous, scheming old man who often ended up being duped and humiliated…   With little else to occupy his thoughts after a life as a tradesman or merchant, Pantalone is the metaphorical representation of money in the commedia world…, the intent for Pantalone was to ensure that he had the status that allowed him to meddle in the affairs of others.

Not at all a Mr. Nice Guy – but even so, he attracted Rembrandt's notice with this drawing.

 

 

Switching from the classy heights of Rembrandt, you can read here about the name "Pantalon" itself.  Yes, the word "pantaloon" is a derivative – as is a contemporary British expression like today's title:  "This is just pants!" means – it's totally ridiculous.

 

Thinking of my neighbours as models, I'd planned to match Pantalone with this Nice Young Man (who I've masked in Vancouver pandemic style vs. Commedia style).  An I.T. guy in a Provincial department, he's married to a fabric artist and is the loving dad of this little pug. (We once had two pugs on the block; now sadly, there's only one).  In any case, I thought Young Man could definitely handle Pantalon's typical red tights.

 

But how to paint him?  Pulcinella's link with Naples gave me the cue to look for a city connected with Pantalon.  Venice!!  Omigosh, yes – historically, the wealthy mercantile centre of East-West trade across the Mediterranean.   Famously, the big civic feast here is not workingman's pizza but plenty of oysters and other seafood.

 

And then:  Head-smack, as friend A would say. (Have I been doing that a lot lately?)  Of course!  Venice is known for Carnival.

 

 

I've tried to minimize mask visuals since I have a few friends who really do not like them.  But Pantalon was not so circumspect.  Once among his familiars, he let loose – leading me a merry chase through those medieval streets and canals – until I pinned him down in the perfect place – the Teatro Italia.

 

I was utterly enchanted with the juxtaposition of this Commedia bad boy with a classic theatre – until I read further.  No -- beautiful as it is, it's scarcely an oldie at all, having been built in 1915 and having gone through several  incarnations as Not-a-Theatre-At-All.

 

Despite its gorgeous Art Nouveau decorations, it was going to wrack and ruin  -- before being reclaimed and renovated by the huge Italian grocery chain, "Despar."  That suggests "desperate", doesn't it?  But take a look:

 

Hmmm.  Better than abandonment, I guess – here's a video to help you judge for yourself.  And what better environment for our scheming merchant Pantalon? 

 

Okay – rather than focusing on those red tights, I decided on a close-up – partly modeled on Young Man with Pug and partly on Harold Weston's self-portrait, which I copied for my summertime "Empty Frame" series.

 

Here's the final of "Pantalon Checks the Competition (copyright 2024)".  Here he is, outside the Teatro Italia, clocking in with that indispensable tool of the modern-day businessman – his cell phone.

 

 

Closer to home, in this frigidly cold snowy week, the morning's footprints show that another band of masked revelers is twirling their ringed tails in the dark of night.  Totally pants!!