 |
| The Triumph of Death; c. 1445 Palazzo Abatellis |
A bit of a lead up; context let's say:
In Sicily on this my first trip, I expected to find sweetly sour lemons, bleaching hot sun, undaunted blue skies; Greek temples, Roman and Byzantine mosaics, freshly caught fish and superior arancini that big cone of rice stuffed with ragu. Also expected were miles of mountainous unpopulated countryside. I did find all this but on the hoof the island did not look or feel as it had in my years of longing to see it. The neglected palaces of Palermo I'd imagined would have the poetic beauty of Venice, minus the canals, don't.
In April it was often cold. In Palermo it rained in torrents for 48 hours straight. And, like most dreams, mine came without a soundtrack. That was a good thing.
There were memorable silent moments for which I remain grateful: My first sight of a Greek temple for example. High above the sea on a breezy bluff in Agrigento's Valley of the Temples I lost my heart (connected to the loss of Greek temple virginity no doubt) to the Temple of Juno.
I sat on a big, rectangular block of pale stone which was cut more than 2000 years ago and thought of nothing much, I thought also of walking up from the valley to this temple soon after it was built. The sea was the same sea, after all. The stone, ditto. And then I all I felt was tense followed by a desire to flee.
Waves of school groups carrying on not because they were at the site of ancient temples but naturally enough because they were out of the classroom for the day began shouted as their teachers tried to tell them about the early conquest of the island.. They were quickly joined by tourists travelling in packs led by guides whose spiels could be hard even by the nearly deaf. At such popular sites, even so-called independent travellers took up a lot of visual space as they worked at getting images of themselves --or in some cases their offspring--that satisfied their vanity. Remember the spontaneity of kids? It is now as outdated as the dial telephone and the sound of the bell that rang on manual typewriters at the end of every line.
"Did you love Sicily?" I am asked. Obviously and as almost always the answer is yes and know. But among the big yeses were such surprises architectural (Noto for example), gastronomical (fish with a sauce of sweated fennel and raisins), topographical (Ragusa Ibla built up the side of gorge like a 17th century Canyon de Chelly) and then the subject for this long preamble--a huge fresco as beautiful as it is terrible--at least for those of us insufficiently philosophical about impending death.
A great work of art; a masterpiece; an unforgettable creation any and all describe The Triumph of Death (at the top). It was made (creator unknown) in the middle of the 15th century for the wall of a former palace by then a hospital. It stayed there for centuries. Then, towards the end of WWII it was removed and now hangs in the Regional Art Gallery, Palermo;the Palazzo Abatellis. In the century before this fresco was painted, the Black Plague had killed as many as 200 million people. Death had been everywhere and that include works of art. A century later, this huge work was made (it measures a little over 19 by 24), It is both lyrical and cruel. As one scholar has written; the imagery is too cruel to have been created by an Italian. Guesses include a painter from Aragon or Provence.
Death dominates; charging ahead on a skeletal horse. Some say the poor folk at the lower left are pleading for mercy; others that they plead to be delivered them from their misery. Either way they are ignored. The rich and otherwise privileged on the right (so unwittingly contemporary in its political positioning), are enjoying their courtly privileges oblivious to what is heading their way. But standing in front of the fresco there is hiding. The rider is coming for you, too.
On the day of my visit six musicians lined up in a row sat in front of the fresco. They played their stringed instruments nicely.. It was pleasant to hear them. In this case sound was no interference but neither was it a benefit. In silence or wrapped in musical notes death triumphs and the artist of this work unfailing makes his point..
If it were in Florence, or Rome, or Milan, "The Triumph of Death," would be on the "must see" list of every travelling art lover. It would have been seen by more art historians and be in every book about the history of Italian art or late Gothic art or just plain great art. Maybe I had once come across a reproduction of it somewhere. I had no such memory. But in a books or on a screen this work just does not produce the overpowering, exhilarating and chilling impact. To see the Triumph of Death is reason enough to go to Palermo. If you do: Pay better attention that we did to the warning that the city is a haven not only for art lovers but for pick pockets, also.
