Feasting on Art

The colour blue – reserved for the robes of the holiest of mothers – was one of the rarest and most expensive pigments in use during the Renaissance. For the depiction of Virgin Mary, only ultramarine was used due to its price and elusiveness as it is was found only in Asia and is presently mined in only a handful of places around the world. The name ultramarine was derived from the Italian oltramarion meaning ‘from beyond the sea’ because it was imported from Asia. Made from ground lapis lazuli, the pigment yielded a brilliant hue verging on the violet side rather than the greenish tint commonly found in the substitute colour, azurite.

Pablo Picasso, Still-Life with Cheese, 1944
oil on canvas, Private collection

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When considering the colour green, there are a number of connotations that are promptly conjured; green is the colour of money and wealth, through which one can become ‘green with jealously.’ Likewise, it is the colour of nature, growth, and life and one can have a ‘green thumb.’ It is within the secret green porcelain of China, called mi se meaning ‘mysterious colour’, that the two connotations of the colour intersect. Mi se was produced in the 9th and 10th centuries in China and was reserved for only the Emperor to see – let alone use – and the porcelain was so secretive that first verified example was not discovered until 1987. The porcelain was more valuable than gold and silver although its popularity ‘stemmed partly from the Chinese tendency to mythologise art, in order to appreciate it better (1).’ The green colour of mi se was derived from a small amount of iron in the glaze and the porcelain itself was obtained from nature. Mi se ‘comes from the mountains – from their earth and their forests. The wood was used for firing…and the clay was used for the body of the porcelain. But the two together – as wood ash and kaolin – were also used for the glaze that makes up its delicate skin and jade-like colour (2).’ This green porcelain of the earth represented the pureness of nature yet was an elusive commodity that embodied the wealth and power of the Chinese elite.

Lin Fengmian, Still Life, 1988
ink and colour on paper, 68.3 x 68.3 cm, Private collection

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In the last few weeks of September and the first few of October, the city of Munich holds a festival called Oktoberfest. The calendar is adjusted each year so that the festival will end on the first Sunday of October and this year is the 200th jubilee of the event. Revellers gather and enjoy hearty dishes ranging from sausages to sauerkraut and copious amounts of bier. The event is so popular that cities around the world hold celebrations to mark the occasion. I find that this recipe is best suited for any type of beer and would recommend using your favourite drop, as you are predisposed to already prefer the taste of the soup. I made the version depicted below with a light beer, Pure Blonde to be exact, and instantly wish I had used a stout to capitalise upon it’s sweet caramely flavours. It is also possible to swap the lemon juice with one of your preferred white wines. I have read other recipes that suggest this is a good way to achieve the light touch from the acidity.

Heinrich Kühn, Still Life with Steins, c.1900
gum-bichromate pigment print, 29.8 x 39.7 cm

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The reduction of the genre of still life to its title produces a problem between languages.  In English, the name ‘still life’ carries certain connotations.  The word ‘life’ produces the idea of movement; the subject is living and has been captured or stilled within the painting.  The title creates the idea that ‘still life’ is a captured moment, perhaps a ‘snapshot’ of one’s Sunday dinner.  This name is entirely misleading, the still life genre often depicts fish, animals, plants, and commodities – all of which are dead.  The name still life is ironic, because life that has been stilled is death.  As French artist, Manet would have used the French title nature morte, which literally translates to dead nature.  The genre was previously known as vie coye, which roughly translates to ‘silent life.’ (1) The distinction between still life and dead nature is important.  Manet was certainly aware of the English title ‘still life,’ and this becomes apparent in the strange dichotomy in the painting between life and death.  The central image of the fish with its tail suspended in time embodies the living/dead aspect.  The fish looks like it is dead with its mouth gaping and eye bulging, yet the broad sweeping brushstrokes and tail flipped into the air, mentioned earlier, suggests movement and thus life.  This embodiment of the tension within the title of the genre is an aspect of painting unique to Manet.

Édouard Manet, Fish (Still Life), 1864
oil on canvas, 32.1 x 73.4 cm, The Art Institute of Chicago

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My big writing project is almost over and I am very happy to be able to spend a bit more time on this space. I have an exciting series of posts lined up in conjunction with the writing project because there are so many fantastic artists here in Australia. I want to devote a bit of time and space on this blog highlighting a few of my favourites besides Heysen, Hawkins, Olsen and Drew who have already made an appearance on this blog. I am also working on a series with my very talented friend Cassie so keep your eye on this space for lots of new things. In anticipation for an upcoming degustation trip to the Blue Mountains with some friends I have been testing out a few soup recipes. This is one of my favorites and is perfect for the cold weather we have been having.

Paul Cézanne, Still Life with Onions and a Bottle, 1895-1900
oil on canvas, 66 x 81 cm, The Louvre, Paris

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