Titian, The Supreme Venetian artist of sixteenth century.
14, Danaë and the Shower of Gold.
Between 1553 and 1556, Titian produced a series of at least five oil paintings based on the
mythological princess Danaë, who, according to Ovid, was isolated in a bronze dungeon,
after a prophecy that her firstborn would eventually kill her father.
Although aware of the consequences, Danaë is later seduced and impregnated by the chief
of the gods, Zeus, who appears to her in the form of a shower of gold.
In medieval times, Danaë was regarded as a symbol of the corrupting effect of wealth,
which could taint even feminine beauty or moral virtue.
In this plate, the 1546 Madrid version, Zeus’ burst of light is represented as a showering
of coins, on which Danaë’s languid gaze falls.
The golden shower is flanked by dark clouds appearing to move towards the centre of the
canvas, spilling heavy rain, which falls parallel to Zeus’ coins.
An old woman, whose ugliness serves as a striking foil to the princess’ beauty, attends Danaë;
though in other versions she is assisted by Eros.
The greenish cast of the old woman’s skin is set against the pale hues of the younger
woman.
Sensuously, Danaë parts her lips in pleasure and the gold spills in a greater quantity
than in other versions of the subject.
Titian’s first interpretation of the popular story, now held in Naples, was painted between
1544-46.
He then completed two later versions on commission from the grand patron, Philip II, the King
of Spain.
Titian and his workshop would go on to produce several more versions, each varying in degrees.
The dog resting at Danaë’s side is absent in some versions, while her companion is sometimes
a god and in other canvasses a haggish nursemaid.
Each version though represents Danaë as a voluptuous figure, with perfectly delineated
flesh.
The provocative image of the princess with her legs open and the left leg arched, has
established the image’s famous status.
Titian’s conception of the tale has influenced the works of many artists, including Rembrandt,
Anthony van Dyck and Gustav Klimt.
According to the art historian Giorgio Vasari, when Michelangelo saw Titian’s original
(Madrid version), he praised the artist’s use of colour, though he was critical of his
draftsmanship.
15, The Death Of Actaeon.
This late mythological painting is now housed in London’s National Gallery and has been
identified as one of the two paintings that Titian recorded as having started and hoped
to finish in a letter to Philip II of Spain, who commissioned it in 1559.
However, most of the surviving work on the canvas has been dated to the mid 1560’s,
suggesting that the artist was never quite satisfied with the piece, which some believe
was left unfinished at the time of Titian’s death in 1576.
The scene presents a sequel to a previous painting of Titian’s, which concerns the
Diana and Actaeon myth — this time narrating the story’s tragic conclusion.
Once again, the source material follows the Roman poet Ovid’s account in his Metamorphoses,
telling how Actaeon surprised the goddess Diana bathing naked in the woods.
When Diana transforms him into a stag, he is attacked and killed by his own hounds.
Both paintings belong to a group of large-scale mythological paintings inspired by the Metamorphoses
and referred to by Titian as his ‘poesie’ works.
Actaeon is presented in mid-transformation, his bottom half still formed of human legs,
while the top half has taken on the form of a stag.
Titian depicts the intensely dramatic moment when the hunter is no longer the master of
the hounds, but is instead their helpless victim, as he stumbles back and they leap
on to him.
The composition is teemed with movement, conveyed through shape and colouring.
The tones of the scene are naturalistic and greatly different from the more garish primary
colours favoured by the artist in his younger years.
Now, the older Titian, advancing from his seventies into his eighties, uses colour itself
to create the semblance of frenzied movement, as the trees, sky, hounds and tragic victim
are all compounded into a patchwork of similar and conflicting colour tones.
The public campaign in 1971 to buy The Death Of Actaeon for the United Kingdom was one
of the great successes of Martin Davies’s directorship of the National Gallery, when
the canvas was eventually purchased in 1972, following a special grant and Art Fund and
Pilgrim Trust contributions, as well as through funds raised by a public appeal.
16, Self-Portrait.
Housed in Madrid’s Museo del Prado, this plate is one of the few self-portraits completed
by the artist.
The canvas reveals a man in his early seventies, realistically portrayed in an unflattering
illustration of old age.
We are presented with the image of a somewhat diffident subject, poised in profile, appearing
in a contemplative, perhaps even dream-like state.
Remote and gaunt, staring into the middle distance, the artist appears lost in thought.
Nevertheless, the portrait projects an air of dignity and authority, clearly indicating
the sitter’s identity as a master painter.
Dressed in simple though expensive clothes, Titian can be seen in the lower left corner
of the canvas holding a paintbrush.
In a previous self-portrait, held in Berlin, Titian gives no indication of his profession;
yet in the latter version, he appears unembarrassed to admit this.
The painting is composed of gloomy shades of black and brown, with small touches of
white around the artist’s face and hair.
Due to the surrounding darkness and flat pictorial plane, we are drawn to the sitter’s sharp
facial features.
17, Allegory of Prudence.
Dated to 1570 and housed in London’s National Gallery, this picture presents an unusual
grouping of three human heads, each facing in different directions, above three animal
heads, illustrating a wolf, lion and dog.
The painting has been interpreted in numerous ways over the years.
On a surface level, the different ages of the three human heads have been said to represent
the ‘Three Ages of Man’ (youth, maturity and old age).
The different directions in which they are facing reflect a second, wider concept of
Time itself as having a past, present and future.
This theme is repeated in the animal heads, which, according to some traditions, are associated
with the categories of time.
Another interpretation is provided from the barely visible inscription, EX PRAETERITO/PRAESENS
PRUDENTER AGIT/NE FUTURA ACTIONẼ DETURPET (From the experience of the past, the present
acts prudently, lest it spoil future actions), indicating that the image could be an allegory
of prudence.
Taking this view, Titian could be commenting on his own failure to act prudently in his
youth and middle age, leading him to a regretful old age.
Nevertheless, the artist enjoyed an immensely successful career, receiving countless commissions
from the nobility of Europe and earning a mass fortune by his art.
Whether this regret is due to events that occurred in the artist’s private life remains
open to discussion.
It has been claimed that the models used for the portraits are members of Titian’s own
family, with the aged artist taking the role of the old man himself, his son Orazio taking
the role of ‘maturity’ and a young cousin, Marco Vecellio, who also lived and worked
with the artist, personifying youth.
18, Tarquinius and Lucretia.
Completed by 1571 and inspired by a fresco by Giulio Romano, Tarquinius and Lucretia
is one of Titian’s last paintings.
The canvas was probably a commission for Philip II of Spain, as it remained in his successors’
collection until 1813, when the painting seems to have been taken to France by Joseph Bonaparte,
after he gave up the Spanish throne.
Following several private ownerships, it is now held at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge.
Part myth, part history, the tale of Sextus Tarquinius and Lucretia is recounted by Ovid,
as well as various other Latin authors.
According to the legend, Tarquin, the last king of Rome, being engaged in the siege of
Ardea, sent his son, Sextus Tarquinius, on a military errand to Collatia.
Sextus was received with great hospitality at the governor’s mansion.
Lucius’ wife, Lucretia, daughter of Spurius Lucretius, prefect of Rome, ensured that the
king’s son was treated as became his rank, although her husband was away at the siege.
One evening, Sextus entered her bedroom by stealth, quietly going around the slaves that
were sleeping at her door.
When she awoke, he identified himself and offered her two choices: she could submit
to his sexual advances and become his wife and future queen, or he would kill her and
one of her slaves and place the bodies together, claiming he had caught her in adultery.
Lucretia is then raped by the king’s son.
According to Titian himself, he invested “more pains and skill in the invention of this picture”
than in many of his other late works.
In spite of certain weaknesses of anatomical form, the technical versatility and brilliant
colouring demonstrate that the artist was still in command of his skills, in spite of
passing his eightieth year.
The composition blatantly confronts the brutality of Tarquin’s act, as the tip of his tightly
gripped dagger conspicuously catches the light.
His sturdy knee breaks free of its breeches and thrusts itself between Lucretia’s splayed
legs, increasing the sexual violence of the image.
He leans into her with his vastly stronger weight, his left foot only just touching the
ground, increasing the sense of frenetic motion in the scene, complemented by the swirling
green curtain in the background and the blurred effect of the brushwork.
The abject look of surprise and terror on Lucretia’s face is unmistakeable, as small
tears glisten on her cheek.
Notwithstanding, her status of victim, Titian’s Lucretia is emphatically voluptuous as well
as vulnerable.
Blonde and bejewelled, her body is pronounced with the artist’s telltale luminosity of
soft and sensuous flesh.