Goya:
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His ever-mounting success as portraitist to the nobility is especially interesting given Goya’s distinctively modern approach to the crafting of likeness; naturalistic, un-idealized, at once objective and deeply involving, with brushstrokes deft as whispers he reveals not only the fold of flesh governing expression but grants thereby a glimpse into the soul inhabiting the visage. Gazing upon the rulers of a bygone era ensconced in Rococo opulence, expertly rendered in tonal ranges that try the limits of human perceptual acuity yet delineated with unflattering precision of near-photographic intensity, a line from the Bards of Midden Hall is brought to mind: “Only skin deep may Beauty be / but Ugly cuts right to the bone.”1 Abandoning the perfected forms of classical ideal, Goya presaged the candor of early Romanticism, initiating the modern phase of art that has shed all mythic, religious, political and commercial concerns in favor of pure unmediated expression, but, as there has never been any money in this, had to sustain himself on such noble accounts as could be safely collected, and filling in at painting churches on weekends. Nevertheless, he was appointed painter to Charles III in 1786, and by the time the corrupt Charles IV (1748-1819) took the throne of Spain from his dead father and revolution was brewing in France, Goya had attained a peak of popularity with his noble patrons.
The price of that popularity, as if turning an aesthetically sensitive gaze so searchingly upon such faces were not enough, was the requirement of enduring whatever unending chatter the subjects being portrayed might produce over the course of a prolonged sitting. For many, simply stating their full name and title entailed a monologue spanning appreciable quantities of daylight. Try though he might, with verbal admonishments, moral exhortations, sweet-meats, metal clamps and wooden braces, the ruling class remained unable to sit still and be quiet for any length of time. Here the story of Goya’s placing of candles on the sturdy brim of an old hat, ostensibly for the purpose of working on his self-portrait at night, finds new interpretation as it may be surmised that the flames offered protection from any observer that might be moved to offer encouragement – or, better still, advice – over the artist’s shoulder. Eventually Merciful Providence saw fit to deliver this great artist from his semiotically oversaturated environment by blessing him with a high fever in 1792 that left him permanently deaf and battling paralysis and blindness for the next five years.
1 Midden Hall, privately circulated.
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Of most relevance to the study of Pickman, however, is Goya’s most famous work of all, found on the left side of the back wall of the first floor of the Quinta del Sordo, known variously as “Devouration” or “Saturno devorando a su hijo” (lit. “Saturn Devouring his Son”). Referencing the Graeco-Roman myth of Saturn, or Kronos, father of Jupiter, or Zeus, and most of the other Olympian Gods, or Goddesses, the title speaks of how Saturn feared the overthrow of himself by his progeny and sought to remove the threat by eating all his children. (Jupiter escaped this fate by hiding in the fleshy folds of a great goat’s thigh, later confronting and eviscerating Kronos, thus liberating his siblings.) This primordial mythic theme has been visited by many other artists throughout the ages, among them Peter Paul Rubens and Gustave Doré. Often viewed by critics and historians as the ultimate statement of the agony and horror that characterized Goya’s era, this image connects directly with the most primal and profound fears in the nethermost depth of the human spirit. And so it is only natural that it should exert such a penetrating influence on Richard Upton Pickman’s final canvas, as will be seen.
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- excerpted from The Pickman Portfolio
