Venice Restored

After in 1902 the Campanile in Piazza San Marco, Venice collapsed, it was famously restored, ‘as it was, where it was’, in a display of the deeply conservative spirit of that city. When we visit Venice, we want that the city remain unchanged, insofar as that’s possible. That’s the desire of historians, art historians, and also of tourists. We all know that the lighting and plumbing has to be modernized, and the internet added. That said, we desire to see Venice just as it was in the past, as best we can. This is a familiar idea, which because it applies to most art, can be usefully generalized.

We want artworks preserved, as changeless as possible. With paintings, however, there are two opposed views of how to achieve this goal. We desire to physically preserve the original object. Or, alternatively, we seek to preserve the original appearance. The problem for restorers, then, is that obviously these two demands can come in conflict. And so, when the picture is worn, some restorers aim to show that wear-and-tear of the original object, while other restorers would rather reconstruct the original appearance. As we shall see, the preservation of the historical city of Venice raises some related, more complex issues.

It has long been known that the classic Greek and Roman sculptures from antiquity were originally painted bright colors. Those pigments have almost all disappeared. But traditionally these artworks are displayed pure white, without any trace of those now vanished colors. Indeed, some commentators turn this historical accident into a claim of principle, arguing that these sculptures were essentially not-colored. Any color, that is, is merely contingent. So strong is this prejudice that it was claimed by Clement Greenberg, the greatest modernist critic, that David Smith’s steel sculptures are better colorless, even when that artist himself put paint on them. In some cases, then, Greenberg had the original pigment removed. Needless to say, that practice was highly controversial. Sculpture, it is argued, is an essentially colorless art form. Needless to say, many recent sculptors reject this idea, and use color. And some adventuresome curators of classic sculpture have presented displays in which colors are added to these artworks. If modern viewers are disconcerted by colored sculpture, it’s been argued, that’s only because long experience has always been of colorless sculpture. Adding color to classical sculpture looks wrong, it has been said, just because we are accustomed to sculpture being white.

Here, then, the earlier view I presented about the general goals of preservation of art is modified. It would be more authentic to have color added to white sculptures, but against that desire we have to balance the fact that long experience means that color looks wrong. And, while it is possible that with enough time, we might get accustomed to color on sculptures, there’s too much public resistance to make that experiment possible. Here it’s relevant to cite a related example, the cleaning of Leonardo’s Mona Lisa. It’s often noted that although this picture should have the discolored varnish removed, were that to be done, the public would be very disappointed. Less famous old paintings can be cleaned, but Mona Lisa cannot. That’s the power of prejudice.

Taking this analysis as given, and keeping in mind the obvious differences between a marble sculpture and an entire city, consider what it tells about the restoration of Venice. We know for certain that circa 1500 the facades of the palaces on the Grand Canal were painted. We have written descriptions, and in the cityscapes of contemporary painters we see that paint is on these facades. As a modern historian writes: “The chromatic richness and natural forms of the figured facades tended to provide transition between the architectural character of the built environment and a physical setting of sky and water in constant motion.” Then, of course, these paints faded in the humid Venetian environment. In 1506, Giorgione and Titian were commissioned to do frescoes by the Grand Canal. And the remains of their artworks were removed and preserved. Early in the twentieth-century, Johannes Wilde, who was a famous curator, was allowed to splash water on them, which brought out temporarily the original bright colors. And the ruined remains of these frescoes have been exhibited recently. What made possible lasting ambitious painting in Venice was oil paint, which arrived there, perhaps in part due to Antonello da Messina, in the late fifteenth-century. Otherwise only mosaics would have survived.

It would certainly be possible to repaint the Venetian facades. But just as I very much doubt that the Metropolitan Museum of Art would permit the repainting of their Greek sculptures, so I do not think that the Venetian authorities would allow this repainting. Venice with bright color on the facades would simply seen too shocking. Recently, in fact, when enormous bill boards were temporarily installed in Venice, there was an outcry of protest by architects and art historians. But while these posters were more obtrusive than the Renaissance fresco paintings on facades, this response reveals the same problem: because everyone who visits is familiar with the present Venetian architecture, any drastic changes would be judged harshly.

Here, however, is one analogy worth considering. Musicologists have devoted discussion to changing styles of performance. Some Rossini operas were composed for castrati, and the instruments used in eighteenth-century performances sound very different from those in the contemporary orchestra. So there is debate: should be prefer authentic older instruments, or the familiar, more practical modern string and wood instruments? (No one, I think, wants to bring back castrati.) There are recordings of some (aged) castrati, so it is possible to have some idea of what their performances sounded like.

Note:

On the survival of the Venetian frescoes see my “Tiziano 1508. Agli esordi di una luminosa carriera,” Brooklyn Rail (November 2023). On color on Venetian facades, my quotation comes from Patricia Fortini Brown, Private Lives in Renaissance Venice (2004), pp. 44-7. On music, my “Interpreting Musical Performance,” Monist, 66,2 (l983):202-12.” On restoration, see my “Restoration as Interpretation: A Philosopher’s Viewpoint,” Altered States . Conservation, Analysis, and the Interpretation of Works of Art (Mount Holyoke College Art Museum, 1994): 19-27. There is a large literature on color in Greek sculpture.

The post Venice Restored appeared first on CounterPunch.org.