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Early Autumn Evening in Lucca

I went out, getting a bit of a late start, to paint around the south edge of the walls of Lucca in early October. By the time I got to the subject, which I had seen brilliantly lit at this time of day over the last couple of days, I really had only about an hour until I would lose the sun. The sky was spectacular, the subject of the Baluardo (Bastion) di S. Regolo appealing for its dense clusters of varied trees, with three isolated trees below silhouetted against the walls. I started painting; then a rainbow arrived, and I though, “Come on! A rainbow?” I mean, how much more beautiful could it get—although painting a rainbow, unless you’re Rubens, can easily slip into kitsch. I reserved the ground for the rainbow, but started by tackling the fugitive sky. I managed to finish, more or less, in just an hour, on a roughly 25x45cm prepared paper with a light siena/ochre ground. I won’t say more, the pictures tell a better story. I’ll post the painting itself when it’s dry.

Cecilia Metella and the Picturesque Landscape

From the Circus of Maxentius

Just off the via Appia, more or less behind the tomb of Cecilia Metella, is the villa of the emperor Maxentius and its enormous Circus. Open to the public—and free of charge—the Villa’s Circus is an evocative place in and of itself, but perhaps the best place from which to see Cecilia in a context that evokes the eighteenth century landscape we know from artists who were enamored of her.

On September 10 at 14:30 I’ll be presenting a talk at the conference Reconsidering Archaeology and Architecture at the Ex Cartiera Latina on the via Appia. I’ll be speaking about what was once a fertile, creative relationship between archaeology and architecture (as it certainly was for Piranesi), about the archaeological landscape as a place of inspiration, and the idea of excavating as a metaphor for the creative process. I tend to consider my plein air work a kind of research, and in this case especially it’s a pleasure to be able to share the fruits of that research with colleagues and friends.

The images below show both my drawing done earlier in the summer, and the process of executing the painting on site. The attendants at the Villa were very accommodating (within limits, of course) of my work, and the magic of the place—arid as it may be in the heat of summer—rewards a visit, but especially rewards the act of careful observation with pencil and brush.

Cecilia Metella and the via Appia

Looking north on the via Appia Antica
in the afternoon

THE CLASSICAL LANDSCAPE IS A REAL PLACE

Spending two months this summer in Rome just outside the Aurelianic walls afforded relatively easy access to both those magical ancient roads leading into the city from the Porta S. Sebastiano and Porta Latina, and the via Appia Antica which led out from the Porta S. Sebastiano (so-called because it led to the pilgrimage church of S. Sebastiano). The via Appia has been a destination for plein air artists for centuries, and despite way too much (and two-way!) traffic in the first stretch outside the walls, it becomes quiet, and profoundly evocative, for miles on. One of the essential sites along the road is the tomb of Cecilia Metella, incorporated in the Middle Ages into a Caetani family stronghold. Despite the prominent inscription to the Roman matron for whom it was built, the building was known as the Capo di Bove through the eighteenth century because of the bull skulls, or bucrania (capo head bove bull) that ornament the frieze.

18th century French view

Artists have been drawing and painting the tomb of Cecilia Metella for centuries, but perhaps most compellingly in the eighteenth. And she then shows up in a variety of capricious landscapes, a recognizable landmark transposed to very different contexts, including seasides. What was the appeal, given there were so many suggestive remains along the via Appia? Part of it, I would argue, is the round form, albeit fragmented. Like a kind of sundial, the tomb’s shadows track the sun’s path across the arc of the day, its varied aspects (owing to differing states of ruin or infill) and orientations to context—the Appia on one side, the overgrown remains of the Circus of Maxentius on the opposite side—made it a rewarding subject to depict from different angles at different times of day.

Since I had the luxury of returning to the site several times, I took a more deliberate tack than I usually do, starting first with pencil drawings on toned Magnani™ Annigoni paper highlighted with white gouache (and occasionally black, as I did for the Arco di Druso). For the first version I couldn’t resist introducing the blue sky, and warm brick color; but I subsequently resisted introducing color, and for some studies elsewhere relied on black mixed with white for the sky, the cool grey functioning as an effective blue. Only after several drawings did I start in oil, the first on prepared paper, the second on canvas board. The images shown here are all from the via Appia side; I did both draw and paint from the Circus of Maxentius (part of the emperor’s villa complex, now visitable), but I’ll save those for a subsequent post.

For the oils I’m showing some of the steps in the process. My technique is almost always to start with the sky; working on a toned ground I often then move to the lights, modeling the form in shade and dealing with the materials, and generally dealing with the shadows proper near the end. The last touches are really calibrations, pushing and pulling the lights and darks. Again, working within Valenciennes’ two hour window, there’s no small amount of editing necessary, and light is a transient phenomenon whose principal effect is shadows. As an architect as well as painter, I prefer the shadows to be consistent with a more or less single light orientation, which means they need to be done within a short period of time.