Well, as you all know from our meeting today, my "passion point" was finally found after 10 years of book group. I am a fanatic about art - a true art junkie. You would probably never guess that the Baroque is not my real passion. I am most passionate about Michelangelo, Picasso, the Depression-era female documentary photographers that I wrote my master's thesis on, and most female artists, but I can also wax poetic on Greek sculpture; the Early Christian and Byzantine mosaics in Ravenna, Italy; Medieval illuminated manuscripts and Gothic cathedrals; Giotto and Masaccio (Italian Proto- and Early Renaissance); Bernini; Goya; 19th c. French Realism . . . the list goes on. I can speak and show slides of Michelangelo's Sistine Ceiling (and altar wall) and their restoration for 2-3 hours without coming up for breath. (yikes!)
Our book this month (The Lost Painting by Jonathan Harr) introduced everyone to the sublime Caravaggio. I'm so glad that almost 400 years after his death, his particular genius is truly appreciated. I had never really studied Caravaggio before the summer that I lived in Italy in grad school (I had yet to take my grad course on the Baroque period). When my more enlightened roommates suggested spending our only free afternoon in Rome going around to small churches to seek out Caravaggio altarpieces and chapels, I reluctantly agreed, as I was longing for some idle hours spent eating gelato and hanging out in the only air-conditioned hotel we would see for months. What did they know that I didn't? True, they did attend Columbia, Princeton, and Yale, respectively, but why were these undergrads who were not even all art history majors willing to give up drinks and philosophical chat in the hotel bar to traipse around to a dozen small churches, when we already spent 8+ hours a day, 7 days a week, in lectures?
We walked into the small, inconspicuous San Luigi della Francesi near Piazza Navonna in Rome. The church was dark (and blessedly cool) inside, and mostly vacant. We walked down the nave, and stopped at the last chapel on the left before the altar, where a small sign marked it as the "Contarelli Chapel di Caravaggio." We pooled our meager lira coins together to put into the light box, and suddenly the entire chapel was intensely lit. And in front of me, on the left, was The Calling of St. Matthew, in glorious color and the amazing bright lights and intense darks of Caravaggio's characteristic chiaroscuro lighting. I was enthralled with the faces of the figures: the authoritative gesture of Christ on the right, the puzzled expression of Matthew near the left side, the fear of the the younger boys in the middle. And most of all, the warm, golden light pouring in from the top right corner and illuminating the most important aspects of the painting. I was hooked on Caravaggio, and I have loved teaching his work ever since.
There is nothing more exciting for me than seeing the light come on in students' minds when they also get excited about a place, work or artist that they hadn't studied before. I derive great satisfaction from students who come in the next day, full of enthusiasm, to tell me that they went home, opened their textbook, and explained what they had learned to a friend or loved one. It is intensely gratifying, and it is why I was hooked in my first art history class.
Thanks for indulging me today. You all mean so much to me.
Wendi
