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!!

 

 

If there were a crystal ball ---

 

If a crystal ball were available for our end-of-year consultation, it would probably resemble this year's December 26 Full Moon through the trees on my block.  Its contents are barely discernible.

 

A year ago, as I held my breath and thought that perhaps we were really beyond COVID, I hopefully "unveiled the Three" for 2023.

 

But the year now ending turned out to be such a stunner, in so many ways, in so many places, for so many people, that I revisited the "Three" with this updated version:--

 

Teetering on today's Eve of Now and Then, I think I'll just invoke Janus.  A key god of the Roman pantheon, he with his two faces can be said to look towards the past and towards the future.  In fact, as the god of beginnings, endings, birth, death, war, peace, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, windows, frames, passages – well, he can play it any way he wants.

 

Here's my copy of an unnamed artist's stunning image of Janus, found on the internet.  (Hmmm….would Artificial Intelligence also be a field for Janus' patronage?)

 

With the skies so dark lately, I made one last 2023 stroll around VanDusen Gardens – feeling the borderline gloom of its grotto in daytime – when its "Festival of Lights" display is disconnected until sunset.

 

 

But then, with memories of times past, I walked through the dark passage and out into springtime of another year.  Janus would have had that all figured out.

 

With hope once again (or at least, acceptance), I can never let the old year go without the words of the poet  Rainer Maria Rilke.  

 

"Come, let us welcome the New Year, 

 full of things that never have been."

A meet-up with The Man on the Street

After the interruption of the Blue-Haired Anime Queen (possibly--), I aimed again to gather some young hopefuls for their Commedia dell'Arte audition.  Alas, my timing was off, and I was elbowed out of the way by a white-garbed figure – my goodness, it was THE king-pin (or so he says) – Pulcinella.

 

As research shows, there must be dozens of variations on his name and many variations on his role and character.  Wikipedia offers this rather sympathetic assessment:

"The quality that best distinguishes Pulcinella is his cunning, with which he manages to solve the disparate problems that arise in front of him—always, however, in favor of the weakest at the expense of the powerful."

He has a bit of the common man about him – he wouldn't have let anyone go without spaghetti (as in the title scene) nor chide them for their manners.  Yet, as he might boast, he's a pretty big deal in the history of Western art and theatre.  The famous Tiepolo father and son artists couldn't resist gathering a whole crowd of Pulcinelli.  Here's Papa Giambattista's take:

 

 

 

 And here's Son Domenico's:--

 

Following the traveling Italian theatre troupes to France, we'll see the white-garbed Pulcinella eventually become a white-garbed Pierrot – invented by the celebrated early 19^th century mime artist Deburau.   

 

The inspiration of Deburau himself lives on, notably in the extraordinary mid-20^th century film, Les Enfants du Paradis, called by some "the best film ever made."

 

And let's not overlook the Commedia's influence in England, where "Polichinelle" was a marketing ploy to draw the crowds for no-cost dentistry – and Punchinella eventually became the male figure in Punch and Judy shows.  If you're intrigued, The Victoria and Albert Museum offers this marvellous long read -- a long skim even, but fascinating.

 

 

We could go touring all around Europe on this saucy guy's shirtsleeves, but it was about this time in my research that a friend suggested we meet up on The Drive,  the historic neighbourhood for  Vancouver's Italian community.

 

 

As I walked from the bus stop to meet her, I noticed the snazzy commemorative crosswalk markings that had gone in since the last time I was there.  Then, we had such a great reunion that it wasn't till later that evening that my plan came together.   Take one Pulcinella:--

 

Add one Commercial Drive crosswalk and backdrop:--

 

And away we go.  Keeping with my plan to model my Commedia figures on some of my neighbours, I tried for the pony-tailed guy across the street.  He's either in I.T. or film production, or both, and surprised us all by becoming the most awesome Cat-Dad to two sibling rescue cats.  How did I slip into the cat topic, when what I needed was a pencilled grid to pin down Pulcinella where I wanted him?

 

 

Here's the scene, early in my process.

 

 

When I wondered about the intense and very round red and green apples, an offstage voice whispered, "Bought from Triple A Market."  Or did it say, "Brought from Triple A"?  Or did tricky Pulcinella just swipe the darned things?

 

Whatever.  This painting breaks the rules, too, all the rules of composition I've heard and tried to follow.  But here it is, "Pulcinella on The Drive (Audition Series)" – copyright 2023.

 

 

And you know what else?  THE most important revelation from all my research so far:-- Pulcinella has a historic association with the city of Naples, Italy.  And what other famous Italian phenomenon originated in Naples?  PIZZA!!  (We thank our boutique café in Upper Manhattan for permission to use this photo.  The chef notes the "product" is a little well-done – but we got to talking.)

 

In another part of the galaxy

 

 

Strange things are happening.  Hallucinatory?  Supernatural? Extraterrestrial?  Too early to tell. 

 

Remember when I did the Beetlemania Series and beetle spin-offs kept cropping up in unexpected places as I went about my daily life?

 

Now as I begin a series based on the Commedia dell'Arte, I'm finding resonances here and there.  How about this sale package of pasta?

 

Okay, it's weird enough that this is Dolce & Gabbana pasta.

 

 

But look what (or WHO) comes dancing along on the side and back of the package:

 

 

It's the Commedia's Pulchinella!  You'll be properly introduced to him before long.  Quite a coincidence, yes?

 

But, really, I need to get an eager gang of would-be actors lined up for their auditions.

 

 

If only I weren't distracted by someone who joined me at the bus stop one morning, with her own fetching head gear.

 

 Who WAS she?  Always pretty far removed from popular culture, I was clueless.  From the 1960s when at least I knew the major celebrities and then their celebrity offspring, I can assert that this was not Princess Leia.  I searched internet images for far too long and came across near-misses  like "Green Elf Queen" and anime characters like Rimuru Tempest.  Definitely another part of the galaxy!!

 

She will be nameless, this gal, until someone out there recognizes her.  And as for the auditions, she's asking, "Did I Come to the Right Place?" (copyright 2023).

 

As I'm writing this, I hear noises outside.  A quick glance out the window reveals…a spaceship lifting off?– or an early start on the Otherworld of end-of-year holiday celebrations?