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Wednesday 26 May 2010

Et in Arcadia Ego (Pastoral)


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A spiritual January in a material May evaporating into an as yet immaterial June, and I thought of Shakespeare's Sonnet 94 ("They that have power to hurt and will do none"):

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die

And of Empson:

The feeling that life is essentially inadequate to the human spirit, and yet that a good life must avoid saying so, is naturally at home with most versions of pastoral; in pastoral you take a limited life and pretend it is the full and normal one, and a suggestion that one must do this with all life, because the normal is itself limited, is easily put into the trick though not necessary to its power. Conversely any expression of the idea that all life is limited may be regarded as only a trick of pastoral, perhaps chiefly intended to hold all our attention and sympathy for some limited life, though again this is not necessary to it either on grounds of truth or beauty; in fact the suggestion of pastoral may be only a protection for the idea which must at last be taken alone.


File:RobertDuncanson-Valley Pasture 1857.jpg



only a trick of pastoral

According to Pliny, art is (as Empson would later remind us) only a trick of the pastoral. One day in Arcadia a shepherd made out the shadow of another on a tomb. The first shepherd traced the shadow with his finger. Thus was born the pastoral trick of representation. Poussin's Les Bergers d'Arcadie in the Louvre "documents" this moment.


File:Poussin1627.jpg


The first image in the (or anyway this) history of art is also the first application of symbolism. The shadow on the tomb represents a death. (Poussin had underlined this meaning in an earlier version of the motif, now in Chatsworth House, in which a skull can be seen atop the tomb). Death thus enters Arcady, making it the scene of his mortal dominion. Art, however, challenges Death's dominion by producing images representing lost loved ones. In their commemoration the feelings of loss engendered by their absence are in part counteracted. Their memory is kept green in Arcadia. Unexpressed feelings lingering after their departure are articulated and in part resolved. Life goes on, though of course everyone knows this temporary sense of the perpetuation of the loved ones is only a trick. In time they will inevitably be forgotten. Unless more and more art intervenes. But the second temple was not like the first, and the later and later shades of green are less and less rich in hue, until finally they are merely pale imitations. Finally no one can remember any more what true green looked like, or where the early paths through the meadows lay; they were first overgrown, then over-run, and so variously degraded until at last somebody decided to pave paradise, put up a parking structure and subdivide the roof space for luxury condominums.



File:Pastoral-barn.jpg



"The summer's flower...": Shakespeare, Sonnet 94

"The feeling that life...": William Empson: Some Versions of the Pastoral, 1935


Les Bergers d'Arcadie (II) ("Et in Arcadia Ego") (detail): Nicolas Poussin, 1637-1639 (Musée du Louvre, Paris)

Valley Pasture: Robert Duncanson, 1857 (Smithsonian American Art Museum)

Les Bergers d'Arcadie (I) ("Et in Arcadia Ego"): Nicolas Poussin, 1827 (Chatsworth House, Derbyshire)

Pastoral farm scene, Traverse City, Michigan: photo by David Ball, 2005

6 comments:

Curtis Roberts said...

“Only a trick of the pastoral.” My tears vs. laughter conundrum finally resolved itself (after filling a page with notes, doing a little research, remembering things perhaps I once knew and learning some new things, e.g., about Robert Duncanson’s life and work) into semi-bitter laughter. Life goes on. I think this is rich and the questions it raises will certainly take me through material June and into (green Arcadian, I hope) summer.

STEPHEN RATCLIFFE said...

Speaking of "A spiritual January in a material May evaporating into an as yet immaterial June," the heavens have just opened up again, dark grey clouds letting loose a downpour (accompanied by sound of distant thunder). . . .

Curtis Roberts said...

By the way, by my comment I would like to say that I am not "punting". I am not letting this go. Saying "I think this is rich and the questions it raises", etc., isn't "kicking the can down the road" or whatever is the slogan of the day describing the political dilemma of the day. What you’ve written about here IS rich and essential, as evidenced by the subtle (re)title Et In Arcadia Ego (Pastoral).

You might have called further attention to the originality of the work by saying “a collaboration with William Shakespeare, William Empson, Nicolas Poussin, Robert Duncanson and David Ball” but that would be unnecessary. The poem/work clearly speaks for itself and the billing niceties can take care of themselves.

Please excuse the possibly passionate tone, but I’ve been thinking all day about “Unless more and more art intervenes. But the second temple was not like the first “ and “Finally no one can remember any more what true green looked like”.

TC said...

Steve,

Here yesterday was: daytime, heavy rain, with intermittent bursts of hail; night, sharp, wintry cold.

Bringing home to one all over again ("...and pastures new") just how impossible, remote and fictive the very concept of the pastoral is. If not always was.

It's the Iron Age all over again, sitting like a massive dead toad upon a data chip.


Curtis,

I've been meditating a good deal of late upon the origin and history of colours, their role as figure and fate in worldly areas like guilds, political parties, etc.

Came across some interesting sixteenth century texts on the "language of colours".

Fulvo Pellegrino Morato, in Del significato de' colore (Venice, 1535), offers interpretative essays on the various colours, assigning them symbolic values relating to the joys and pains of human behaviour.

Each essay is preceded by a sonnet.

In the one on green we find that this colour stands for hope, even if (as in the case of those unlucky in love) little is left.

STEPHEN RATCLIFFE said...

Tom,
Thanks for this -- "I've been meditating a good deal of late upon the origin and history of colours, their role as figure and fate in worldly areas like guilds, political parties, etc.

Came across some interesting sixteenth century texts on the "language of colours".

Fulvo Pellegrino Morato, in Del significato de' colore (Venice, 1535), offers interpretative essays on the various colours, assigning them symbolic values relating to the joys and pains of human behaviour. "
You must know of Albers' Interaction of Color, and W's Remarks on Color, and the Goethe book on color (what's it called?).

And thanks Curtis too for remembering this: “Finally no one can remember any more what true green looked like”.

TC said...

Steve,

Well, my big blow-out response to your comment climbed Mount Goethe, fell off, landed on its head and -- answering your question in the first attribution, anyway -- became this.