Baroque 1620-1800: Style in the Age of Magnificence
V&A, until 19 July
The Baroque is a style of drama, movement and opulence. Until the 19th century it was a term for the grotesque or absurd; then it was taken over by those who sought to categorise the mainstream developments of European culture. As an adjective, Baroque still means florid or overblown, but if the age it adorned was devoted to spectacle, it was also dedicated to unity and balance, unlike the sensationalism of today.
I had misgivings about this exhibition. As the V&A’s director, Mark Jones, proudly points out in the foreword to the catalogue (a vast and lavish doorstop at £40 in hardback), ‘this show rejects the orthodox principle that the art of painting should be privileged in historical accounts of visual culture’. He reminds us of the crucial importance of the applied and decorative arts. Fair enough, provided you can get the exhibits. All too often in the past painting has been made to stand in for other things — like architecture — more difficult to bring to the feast. I’m happy to report that the V&A’s selection exceeds expectations.
In the antechamber are two exhibits only: on the right a large canvas entitled ‘Carousel for Queen Christina of Sweden held in the Courtyard of Palazzo Barberini Rome’, and on the left a small glass case containing a rather ridiculous decoration of Baroque pearls in the form of a camel with ‘blackamoors’. This opening could be interpreted as a warning against pomp, but the main body of the exhibition is so interesting that the caution goes unheeded. The Baroque is the first global style, swiftly permeating Europe and penetrating on to Africa, Asia and the Americas. One of the strengths of this show is the range of objects from all over the Baroque world. For instance, consider the very fine ‘Screen from the Council Room of Batavia Fort’, from Jakarta in Indonesia. It was carved by Chinese craftsmen and depicts Perseus carrying the shield of Medusa: a complex statement indeed.
Also in this first section are a slightly disappointing Gobelins tapestry, a wonderful Rubens ‘Descent from the Cross’ (note the swooping diagonal), and a copy after Rigaud of the famous portrait of Louis XIV. More impressive is the ringletted bust of Charles II in heroic pose by Honore Pelle. Hereabouts is a fabulous ewer made in Florence in 1721 depicting the Triumph of Neptune, but difficult to see in all its detail in the over-subtle lighting pervading the show. There are a couple of designs by Rubens — one a panel painting for a dish, the other an actual tankard made in ivory and mounted in silver. An incredibly ornate sleigh confirms the sense of courtly display here suggested.
The next section is called ‘Architecture and Performance’ and includes a luscious drawing of a barley-twist column by Borromini, all hip-swinging delectability. There’s also a boxwood model of St Mary le Strand which is a touch wormy but highly evocative. I don’t find slide shows of buildings a great excitement or pleasure to look at, and the screened exhibits in this exhibition are generally unimpressive. The dim footage of Baroque operas performed in 2005/6 in the Czech Republic is particularly unappealing, and the section devoted to the theatre is not a high point, despite another fine architectural model, of a public theatre in Bologna. The objects in cabinets are generally more beguiling.
The heart of the exhibition resides in the evocation of Sacred Spaces. There’s a tremendously effective painted wood processional figure of Judas Iscariot from Valladolid, and, as we move into the section given over to Rome and the Papacy, the seriousness intensifies. A soaring dove symbolises the Holy Spirit on a backlit oval canvas above a cabinet of three of Bernini’s exquisite terracotta models. Sacred music lifts us to a decent otherworldly level. Centrally positioned is a marvellous gilded altarpiece from Mexico, and to the right an elegant green and gold font house from Ringsaker in Norway. This splendour is followed by a room of monstrances and reliquaries, vast altar candles and much overwrought gold. I incline more to José de Mora’s painted pine bust of ‘The Virgin of the Sorrows’ from Granada.
The selectors nearly always overdo it with these big style surveys: this exhibition should have ended with the sublime uplift of the church. But it declines through another whole suite of rooms, into rampant secularism. How much more dramatic it would have been to go out on the high note of sacred music, rather than the forced effervescence of filmed fireworks. Recommended nonetheless.
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