A rose by any other name

This week I managed to tick off a long-held dream from my wishlist by not only visiting Verona for the first time but also seeing an opera performed in the world-famous Arena.

The Romans built the amphitheatre in Piazza Bra in 30 AD, which was then outside the city walls. It was first used as an opera venue during the Renaissance, due to its outstanding acoustics, but it was only in the 20th century that regular seasons were undertaken, and now up to 20,000 people a night can watch a performance.

In a trio of firsts, we saw Rossini’s Barber of Seville, which I had somehow managed not to catch over the years, despite it being one of the most well-known and often-played of the mainstream operas. The show itself was excellent and both singers and orchestra were in fine form, but there is no doubt that the splendour and uniqueness of the Arena adds to the magic of the occasion.

Of course there is much more to Verona than its opera house, and it is status as a UNESCO world heritage city is richly deserved. The sense of history stretching back through the centuries from the modern day, via the Renaissance and mediaeval periods, all the way to the ancients is palpable everywhere you go.

The particular charm of the extremely well preserved old town, however, is that it is largely free of traffic, so the flâneur can take in the ageless beauty of the streets at their own pace and stop for a café or gelato in a breathtaking piazza or cosy side street at their leisure. And this being Italy, we found some excellent restaurants, particularly towards the river.

Given also that there are fewer tourists than one has to endure in, say, Florence, and it is a few degrees cooler, I have to confess that I found it a nicer experience to spend a long weekend there, although I hate to admit it, as Florence remains one of my all-time favourite destinations.

The discoveries didn’t end there, as on our penultimate day I stumbled across a relatively newly opened art museum housed in the imposing Palazzo Maffei, which I was able to visit for an hour or two on our last morning.

Apparently the collection, for which the word ‘eclectic’ could have been coined, was started over 50 years ago by Veronese businessman Luigi Carlon and now numbers more than 600 works, comprising paintings, sculptures, engravings, drawings, miniatures, and books, alongside pottery, bronzes, ivories, furniture and decorative objects, from antiquity up to the present day.

The galleries are adapted to the layout of the Renaissance palazzo, which dominates one end of Piazza delle Erbe, and so have a sense of the domestic that brings the viewer into surprisingly close intimacy with the objects.

They are also laid out by theme rather than strict date order (although the upper floors are dedicated principally to modern art). This brings works from different centuries into intriguing contrast and creates gentle clashes that lend a freshness to each piece, rather like a palette cleanser between the courses of a meal.

The other fascinating aspect of the collection is that it does not only focus on Italian artists, who of course are responsible for many of the masterpieces from the late mediaeval period through to Futurism and beyond, but also includes such international luminaries as Pablo Picasso, René Magritte, Max Ernst, Georges Braque, Joan Miro and Cy Twombly.

As a result, there are some big hits, alongside some very impressive but less well-known pieces, and an endless supply of really enjoyable works by artists who may in some cases be hardly known at all, but who’s creations sit often quite comfortably with the masterpieces.

There are occasions when the sheer eclecticism of the collection works against it, and it is possible to detect a rather indiscriminating eye from time to time, but I suppose that is only to be expected when the reach is so broad.

All in all, the handsome Palazzo Maffei, which even without the art collection is a pleasure to visit, should be a stop on the northern Italian tour of any art lover, and I hope to be able to go back soon to give the collection more time.

In a whistle-stop art tour of the region, I was next in Nice and able to visit one of my favourites of the many art spaces in the city: Musée de la Photographie Charles Nègre. It is relatively small, but regularly puts on well-curated shows of internationally renowned photographers over it’s two floors.

The current exhibition is Pourquoi m’as-tu abandonnée ? (Why did you abandon me?) by portraitist and fashion photographer Bettina Rheims.

In my terrible ignorance, I had not come across Rheims before and was entirely unaware of her oeuvre. Within a second of walking into the first display room, however, I realised the fault lay entirely with me, as is she clearly an excellent photographer. Her impressive array of sitters also tells its own story, and includes, in this show, Madonna, Monica Bellucci, Kristin Scott Thomas, Naomi Campbell, Kylie Minogue, and Rose McGowan, among others.

Rheims’ images are beautifully and impressively rendered, and her colourful, staged and arch informality reminds me a little of David LaChapelle, who of course draws on myriad inspirations for his often quasi-religious pictures.

However, the more I looked, the more I realised there seemed to be something missing. Perhaps it’s me, but I did not really detect a sense of meaning behind the works. What are those gorgeously saturated images trying to tell us? What have we learned about the sitter or the artist? Nothing, I fear, other than the artist is extremely good at getting her subjects to be at ease with going beyond the typically narrow palette of most modern imagery.

There is another aspect to Rheims’ pictures that left me a little perturbed. The notes say her art is in “revealing the personality and emotions of those she photographs,” in “suggestive, disturbing and touching images.”

Moreover, “her photographs reflect the ambivalence between the fragility of the female body, sometimes photographed from a low angle, lying down, naked, thin, and its power embodied by sexual desire,” and she photographs women “who are both strong and fragile, but in control of themselves.”

Her aim, it states, is to challenge the male gaze, and “put an end to voyeurism and fetishization.”

The reason I am quoting all of this is because it seemed to me that the female gaze, in the hands of Rheims at least, is not all that dissimilar to the male gaze, as there was an abundance of suggestive flesh but very little sensuality on display in her brightly lit pictures. (Although it has to be said there was a tad less objectification and slightly more rose petals than in the images of most of her male contemporaries.)

It struck me that, if a man had taken the exact same pictures, the reactions and interpretations would be entirely different, and if her name was taken off the displays, I suspect most visitors to the exhibition would not assume that the photographer was female.

Of course, much of what we ‘see’ in a work of art is dictated by our own cultural experiences and the framework within which we see the world, and gender labels are sometimes used either to accept or dismiss, almost without thinking.

As such, it is relatively easy to perform linguistic pirouettes to explain something as forward thinking and challenging simply because it was created by a woman, when it is my strongly held belief that the viewer should not need to know anything about an artist to be able to understand and appreciate the work before them.

Such biographical information should therefore be unnecessary, and that it was in this case raises more questions than it answers.

Questions of self and identity were ever-present in the current exhibition in the tiny Galerie next door (entry to which is included in the ticket for the main museum) by Marine Foissey, entitled: You were not chosen.

The show aims to challenge our modern sense of aesthetics by transforming “the illusions of self-love into various alter egos,” in which the artist herself is often the subject. The aims are lofty, and some of the images are finely wrought, with a watered down palette that is pretty much the opposite of that used by Bettina Rheims.

As a contrast to the strident excesses of the larger exhibition, it works very well, and there are images that are compelling and thought-provoking. Cosa mentale, for example, is a particularly noteworthy photograph that cleverly recalls the bird motifs used in many of the other pieces.

However, as a whole the show doesn’t add up to all that much, especially as the underlying message is so well understood in modern culture as to be straying towards cliché.

As she is her own subject, one is left wondering where Foissey can go next with her art. Perhaps she needs to venture into photographing others and concentrate less on herself. After all, one can take self-love only so far, as Narcissus found out to his cost.

Read the next part of my summer cultural odyssey here.

Alongside all the art, I was delighted to receive a review of Escape, The Hunter Cut, for The BookLife Prize, which described the book as “a well observed psychological thriller,” with an “author's keen eye for detail."

It continues: “Interspersed with captivating dream sequences, Davenport masterfully transports the reader into the tortured psyche of [the] self-destructive protagonist,” with a text that is “tense, involving, and well orchestrated with short, sharp chapters that pack a hefty punch.”

As for John Hunter, the review says he is “a well rounded and convincing protagonist, with Davenport providing an intense, psychological character study,” adding: “Hunter's descent into madness is coupled with believable, naturalistic dialogue to create a compelling and commendable read.”

“A powerful psychological thriller with well realized characters and a gripping plot, Escape is an absorbing and enthralling read.”

Learn more about Escape, The Hunter Cut.