Bernardo Bellotto (1721–1780)

For an exhibition catalogue, this is extreme overkill. Usually there's an introductory essay, maybe a time-line style mini-biography, possibly a CV (contemporary artists) and the images themselves, accompanied by no more than basic information such as, title, media used, date and size.

This monster has a time-line, a dozen essays on relevant topics, a bibliography of the literature on each painting and each image is accompanied by anything from a couple of paragraphs to several pages of text, often with additional figures of related paintings or details of the main image. Clearly the authors and editors had ambitions way beyond that of your average simple exhibition catalogue - which would have been impressive enough, because these paintings are amazing. Did they succeed?

Yes. There is a gigantic quantity of detailed scholarship behind this book and it presents a remarkable amount of knowledge about Caneletto and his work from many different perspectives (pun intended). How did Canaletto learn his trade? How did his work develop from (still excellent) imitations of his uncle? How did he use perspective? What was his working method? (Highly technical, involving optical and draughtsman's tools.) How much can we rely on the paintings as architectural records? (Handle with care - Canaletto would alter proportions, locations, perspectives, orientations and details to suit his artistic purposes.) How was one of the paintings restored and what does it tell about working methods? - and more.

My only quibble is with the organisation of the book. Why doesn't the time-line bio come first? Why aren't all the essays at the beginning, followed by the catalogue, instead of the catalogue being sandwiched between two groups of essays?

This was an impulse purchase from the Gemaldegalerie in Berlin - it was half-price to clear and I could not resist. The hardships of lugging it around town and internationally back home and the paltry 10 Euros it cost were repaid enormously.… (altro)

First, a shameful metaphor: imagine your favorite food in the whole world. Now imagine a single, perfect, delicious bite of that food, mouth-watering in appearance. You gaze at it; finally you consume it—not too quickly---not too slowly. It tastes better than you even imagined. It
was a mere bite, but it was enough.

It was amazing!

That is exactly what Mark Doty's Essay Seeing Venice: Bellotto's Grand Canal was for me.

This tiny (15.5 x 14 x 1.5 cm) book puts giant coffee-table style formats to shame, making it perfect for apartment living, tucking into your luggage after seeing the real painting at the Getty Museum, and making a 'statement' in favor of a greener planet. The cover of the book, carefully shrouded in a vellum fog, unfolds to reveal Bellottos' masterpiece in its entirety. The pages of the book focus on details of the painting.

Doty's elegant, lean prose is all about the painting and not about showing off his own magnificent talent with words. He manages to evoke rich sensory appreciation of the smells, textures, people's lives, the uniqueness of Venice in the world.

I'll fight an urge to quote many lines in favor of just one about "Water":
" An odd hardness about it, a flat, impermeable look, Glassy, impenetrable, as if it strove to be part of the world of pavement."

In my utterly pedestrian life, prior to reading this book I had no desire to visit Venice, examine Bellotto's Grand Canal, nor read Doty's poetry. Now, however, I hope to do all three! (Well, if I can't make it to Venice, at least I can go to the Getty Museum).

With copious thanks to Getty Publications for this promotional reading copy.

"Reading….it's ALL personal."… (altro)