Category Archives: The Tretyakov Gallery

Tretyakov Gallery: Nikolai Petrovich Lomtev

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Wandering through the Tretyakov, I came across a few of Lomtev’s paintings. Even though his name was unfamiliar to me, it was easy to lose myself in his detailed scenes, impressing me with the complication he was able to express in each of his paintings.
The first of Lomtev’s paintings to catch my eye is titled “Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace” from 1858.

Lomtev’s “Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace”


In the gallery, the painting’s English title is “Three Hebrews in the Fiery Furnace” but I had a difficult time finding it online since I had misspelled Lomtev’s name. My search was not in vain, especially since I found a theme. In the Priscilla Catacomb, there is a wall painting with this title from the mid-3rd century AD.

“Three Hebrews in the Fiery Furnace” from the Priscilla Catacomb, Rome, 3rd century. Photo from www.globallightminds.com/.


And another depiction:

From http://themanandthewall.blogspot.ru/.


Initially, I did not know why there were multiple paintings of such similar scenes with such similar titles. What particular scene could be so well known that there have been references to it in different countries? The answer is simple:  these paintings depict a scene from the bible, Daniel 3.
“They saw that the fire had not harmed their bodies, nor was a hair of their heads singed; their robes were not scorched, and there was no smell of fire on them. Daniel 3:27” (From an article Ineffective Flames by Keith White).
Here are a few more of Lomtev’s paintings that I liked from the Tretyakov Gallery (from here):

Lomtev’s “The sermons of Savonarola in Florence”. 1850.


Lomtev’s “Angels proclaim the heavenly punishment Sodom and Gomorrah”. 1845.


Lomtev’s “Daniel the prophet rebukes the priests of the God Vila before Nebuchadnezzar”. 1858.

War for Peace

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Vasily Vereschagin lived through the second half of the 19th Century, a time in Russian characterized by centralization of the tsar’s power in reaction to the “sparks” of revolution and emancipation of serfs.  The “Wanderers” or peredvizhniki  strove to make art accessible to those people, and sometimes shared the sentiments that the government feared.  Vereschagin served in the navy and army as a secretary, witnessing the expansion of the Russian Empire by gruesome bloodshed in Turkestan and the Caucasus.  Disturbed by these experiences, he strove to speak out against violence.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/18/Apotheosis.jpg

Apotheosis of War, 1871


His paintings point out the atrocities of war in graphic scenes that may upset or outrage the viewer.  Through painting, he shared his frustration with the army and its abuse of human rights.  His most famous piece, The Apotheosis of War captures the essence of unbridled destruction that conflict brings. His message is an outstanding early example of pacifism, asking for the halt of violence for the sake of everyone harmed and affected by violence, attracting the attention of censors.
The Defeated Office for the Dead portrays an entire field of fallen soldiers, endless victims of conflict.
His works also show a touching devotion to human creativity in art.  He was deeply impressed by the painstaking work in the details of mosque decorations.  Entire series of his sketches focus solely on these swirling patterns.  And sometimes he brought the two messages together as in They Are Victorious (note how the grand and triumphant scene almost conceals the row of severed heads), showing how humans may turn their backs on the pursuit of beauty in favor of malicious and self-degrading practices.  Vereschagin, tortured by his experiences, asked that we do not succumb to vicious instinct and strive for understanding and beauty.
Information found in [textbook used in RUSS 345; citation not yet found]

Repin and a Day at the Museum

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Music: Pyotr Ilych Tchaikovsky, Melodie No. 3
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While browsing art museums, particularly ones filled with oil paintings, I sometimes can’t help wanting to instead examine high-resolution .jpgs of the pieces online. After all, swapping the glare of the gallery lights for the glare of a computer screen usually gives you all of the detail with none of the awkward neck-craning and repositioning around the room. But as art appreciators know, actually being there and experiencing the piece is an irreplaceable sensation. One piece I particularly felt invited the viewer in:

 Aleksander III receiving rural district elders in the yard of Petrovsky Palace in Moscow by Ilya Repin.

First, a little about the artist. Ilya Repin was a famous Russian painter of the Peredvizhniki school, and he was active from the 1860s until his death in 1930. Repin painted a wide variety of subjects including historical scenes, aristocrats, and fellow members of the intelligentsia, but most notably, common people doing everyday activities. His work’s themes, though quintessentially Russian, found broad appeal across Europe.
Some works you may have seen by Ilya Repin:

Barge Haulers on the Volga Barge Haulers on the Volga, 1873 Continue reading →

Morning of the Execution of the Streltsy: Art in the Tretyakov

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I was sitting in Russian 205 class in January, which regularly took place in Olin (the science building) of all places. It was a bit after noon, and the huge piles of snow were outside, reflecting the light of the sun into the room. We were squinting at a painting by Vasily Surikov, Morning of the Execution of the Streltsy, in black and white on a sheet of paper that had been handed out to us by our professor, Anna Mihailovna (Анна Михайловна). We read about its history, and moved on to other painters who were his descendants. Specifically, the painting is displaying the suppression of the Streltsy uprising by Peter the Great in 1698 at the Red Square. Notably, Храм Василия Блаженного (St. Basil’s Cathedral) is shown in the background, a symbol of old Russia.
ExecutionStreltsy1

Photo Credit: Tretyakov Gallery

Also, check out their description (and larger photo) here.

Честно говоря (Truthfully speaking), this painting didn’t strike me at the time. It must have been because of its presentation, because when I came to the Tretyakov Gallery and saw the painting, my jaw dropped. It’s stupendous:
executionstreltsy2

Photo Credit: Gretchen Fernholz

Suddenly each person’s pain, anger, and sadness in that painting swept through me. I must say the painting is not only imposing, hanging above your head, each person painted with painstaking detail (and large enough to at least wipe a couple people out if it fell off the wall), but distinguished, covering the majority of a wall in the Gallery. Seeing it again, this time in person, has really made me realize the importance of seeing an original in a gallery. Sometimes seeing the painting in person creates an entirely different perspective.
Lastly: Peter the Great (in the right section of the painting on the horse) looks LIVID in person. He ended up ordering the torture and execution of many of the Streltsy following the uprising.

Вихрь – The Whirlwind

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We were nearing the end of the Tretyakov Gallery and I felt that I had seen enough Russian art to last for at least a few days.  And then I saw this painting:

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Whirlwind. Filipp Malyavin.


Sadly, there is no way to do it justice in a blog post. The size of the work itself is massive (about 7 x 13 feet) and the colours are striking. The bold red of the peasant women’s dresses recalls, according to the Tretyakov Gallery’s description, bursting flames while the blue brings to mind calm rivers. What particularly interests me about this painting is the perspective. The women take up the majority of space on the canvas and this creates a sense of movement. At the same time, to me it distances the viewer somewhat from the experience of the women, as standing in front of the painting it is difficult to look into the eyes of the painting’s subjects.
This work is a fusion of modernism and impressionism. It was completed in 1906 and painted during the Russian Revolution of 1905. Naturally, this raises questions about the painting’s message. The official line from the Tretyakov Gallery is that you can see both hope in spiritual revival and the premonition of the destructive forces of power in the painting. There is something foreboding about the painting, although I am not sure that the painting is a prediction of the future.
There are two points I wish to make in connection to this painting. First, a general comment about art itself and the power of seeing paintings in person. I believe this idea has already been brought up on this blog and so I will not linger but to say that looking at a picture of a painting is not the same thing as viewing the painting. For example, Kuindzhi’s “Night on the Dneiper,” a masterpiece of lighting, becomes somewhat garish when photographed.

Night on the Dneiper, Kuindzhi


The second comment is about imagery and the Revolution (or more generally the Soviet period in general), a point I wish to consider in detail but will have to do so in later blog posts. In Moscow, there are many reminders of the Soviet period. The building we live in is a great example. Built in 1953, the building is flanked with socialist realist statues of students actively engaged in studying, murals promoting “peace to all the world,” and the building’s entire design could be considered socialist realist in itself. Students were meant to live in an oasis of learning, never having to leave the university. So my question is: how do Muscovites relate to these symbols today? Or, phrased differently, am I only noticing these symbols because I am from the U.S. and have been trained to see hammers and sickles and immediately think “communism” and perhaps shudder and go buy something?
Note: For more information on “Whirlwind” or to read the Tretyakov’s commentary, visit here for Russian or here  for English.  

Readers of the Newspapers in Naples

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When I visited the Tretyakov Gallery, I recalled my mild aversion to painting people–every art class I’ve taken has that inevitable portrait assignment and I never looked forward to it. I’d like to think that my inner Jackson Pollack is to blame, but, if we’re speaking honestly here, it may be more to do with the fact that I can’t for the life of me get the nose right.
When I walked into the first section of the gallery, it quickly became apparent that Russians did not have this problem–I was greeted by a sea of faces. The portraits were of the old and the young, the important and the meek, the beautiful and the terrible. Somewhere in my head I was reminded of how impossible it is to walk down a street in Moscow without seeing some magnificent monument or statue in commemoration of someone.
I made my way through each room, dodging a group of school children, and finally ended up in front of this painting:

I don’t know why this painting struck me so much. But I stood there a while and just… indulged.
I was familiar with Kiprensky; I’d seen his famous portrait of Pushkin in many textbooks. But there was something about this particular painting. Maybe it was the way the light bounced off the cap; maybe it was the addition of the small dog; or perhaps the grave looks on each man’s face as he processed some piece of news from the newspaper. But at this moment in the gallery, I knew I loved this painting.
I noticed a man had been standing next to me the whole time, examining these readers. We looked at each other and his eyes were alight. Yes, he knew.
By the way, their noses looked fantastic.

Giant Paintings

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I knew the art at the Tretyakov gallery would be beautiful, but I didn’t expect many of the paintings to be so big. Looking at pictures and reproductions of paintings really can’t compare to walking into a room and seeing an entire wall covered with larger-than-life figures. I was especially startled by Vasily Surikov’s Boyarinya Morozova.

Boyarinya Morozova being sent off to exile. Picture from Wikimedia Commons.


You can read about Boyarinya Morozova herself here:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feodosia_Morozova. We talked about Surikov back at Carleton and looked at pictures of this painting, but seeing it at the gallery was amazing. The canvas is over nine by fifteen feet, so the Boyarinya herself is about life-sized. The detail is really astonishing: I stood in front of the painting for several minutes just looking at the facial expressions of the people in the background, and even the snow in the foreground is mesmerizingly textured. Looking at reproductions, I never understood just how much emotion could be shown in a single painting, and seeing Boyarinya Morozova and some of the other massive paintings at the gallery was an awesome experience.

Vrubel at the Tretyakov

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A moment when I felt really proud of myself during these first two weeks in Moscow was when I managed to find the Tretyakov Gallery on my own (with the help of some directions from fellow group-members beforehand). I have a horrible sense of direction, so bad that I actually mix left and right up on a semi-regular basis. Walking from Red Square to the gallery, there were a couple of points when I felt uncertain about where I was going, but I went with my gut, and ended up at 10 Lavrushinsky pereulok without getting lost.
Once inside, I stopped worrying about where I was going and wandered somewhat aimlessly through the gallery’s many rooms. Before my visit to the Tretyakov I knew shamefully little about Russian artists and art movements, and so my first introduction to Mikhail Vrubel was when I stumbled into a large hall with dark walls, lofty ceilings, and gorgeous paintings.
Vrubel was active as a painter and muralist during the late 19th century, and took icons, flowers, princesses, and demons as subject matter. His art is beautiful, dark, and deeply emotional. Each painting is dreamlike, and many recall myths and fairy-tales.
It’s hard for me to choose a favorite work from the Vrubel section of the gallery, but I found Lilacs particularly impressive.

Helplessly swaying at the Tretyakov

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One of my favorite professor’s paintings is by Isaac Levitan, who was a member in a group called the Peredvizhniki. It is a piece called Over Eternal Peace made in 1894. Levitan’s paintings always make me feel strangely calm. In this painting, the expansive sky coupled with looming gray storm clouds make the viewer feel as if the world goes on forever and time has finally slowed down for a brief minute.
When I saw the painting hanging at the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow, I finally could feel the movement that was also present in the painting. You get a sense of silent stillness when you look at the picture on the Internet, but you see energy and the passing of time when you look at the real painting. Levitan’s ability to capture light breeze is intriguing. He painted the trees and grass in such a way that it makes it seem like everything is being lightly swayed, but you could not tell that immediately if your focus was on the water. You end up kind of swaying along with the painting.

“Over Eternal Peace” -Isaac Levitan (1894)


My professor also informed that the point of view of the painting seems to be from a cliff, or a higher vantage point on a mountain of some sort, but the landscape of the area Levitan painted is flat. It seems that Levitan wanted to portray God’s perspective on the world, but I also think that due to the way the painting is composed, Levitan perhaps wanted us to step back from scrutinizing the smaller problems of life and simply enjoy the moments of calm.

Isaac Levitan

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I arrived at the Tretyakov Gallery this morning fully expecting to write about Aleksei Savrasov’s The Rooks have Returned (Грачи Прилетели), 1871.  It is a wonderful, quintessentially Russian piece depicting the coming of spring in a small Russian village, and it was said to have been the favorite of Pavel Tretyakov. Furthermore, the melting snow and budding trees around Moscow over the past week have constantly reminded me of this painting and the coming of spring. However, I was completely and unceremoniously swept away by the universality of the works of Isaac Levitan. Levitan was a Lithuanian born landscape painter who is credited with advancing, if not fathering, the genre of “mood landscapes”. Unlike other landscape artists, Levitan faithfully and brilliantly reproduced, not only the scene itself, but also the emotions inherent in the scene. To take his Above Eternal Peace (Над вечным покоем), 1894, for example, Levitan depicts a melancholy church with scattered crosses sprouting from its graveyard overlooking a grandiose, but muted landscape while a storm brews in the distance. When standing in front of the painting, there is a subtle movement that is undetectable in reproductions. You can hear the rippling waters, feel the growing wind at your back, and sense the energy and power of the coming storm. In person, the painting speaks to the glory of nature or God and, through a foreign scene, manages to replicate an incredibly intimate and intensely familiar feeling.