Most of the extracurriculars in which I've participated in my adult life have been things that old people do. Since my early twenties, I have been in and out of various groups and programs that are geared almost exclusively towards retired people. Hell, I even work for one for actual American dollars. It's one of the reasons why I get spammed so much by the AARP.
A little over a decade ago, I completed a docent training program at my local art museum. It was moderately intense and lasted about two years. With art history as one of my minor areas of study during college, this was a little slice of post-graduate nerd heaven for me and I settled in easily with the other grandmas. During my time in this program, my list of suggested books to read expanded significantly, but it was only this year that I actually was able to get around to checking some of those off, starting with The Passion of Artemisia by Susan Vreeland.
For those of you who aren't familiar with Italian Baroque painting, who are you even? Do the names Annibale Carracci, Michelangelo da Caravaggio, and Gian Lorenzo Bernini mean nothing to you? Why are we even friends? If the name Artemisia Gentileschi doesn't seem to fit in with that group, then you are correct. Points to you for being more observant than most; extra credit if you can tell me why. (Answer: Artemisia Gentileschi was A GIRL!!!)
Surprising as it may be, 16th and 17th century Europe was basically a sausage fest for professions beyond careers in prostitution or nunning. This machismo certainly extended to the arts with men dominating the sector almost exclusively. For this reason, Artemisia Gentileschi -arguably the first woman to make significant known contributions to art history- is all the more impressive. In her novel, Susan Vreeland takes what is known about Gentileschi and marries it to a fictional narrative, imagining the events and people who may have inspired her at different points throughout her life and career.
So what is known about Artemisia Gentileschi? As the daughter of painter Orazio Gentileschi, Artemisia would have been surrounded by art contemporary to her time and place. (This was the Italian Baroque movement, dominated by the bosses I listed above.) We know that, at a young age, she was repeatedly raped by her teacher, Agostino Tassi, who was also her father's acquaintance and co-worker, for lack of a better term. This jackass (Tassi) also had plans to murder his own wife, so he was pretty rad. For publicly accusing him, Artemisia was subsequently subjected to torturous and humiliating trials at the hands of the papal court. (From my understanding, this would not have been uncommon in a situation like this.) She eventually married another artist, Pierantonio Stiattesi, and the couple moved about Italy as work was available. Together, they had several children. As far as I know, only one of them survived childhood (infancy?) - a daughter named Prudenzia "Palmira" Stiattesi.
Professionally, Artemisia began an impressive portfolio at a young age. I mean, when I was 17, I was watching emergent web cartoons (Strong Bad, anyone?) and finding weird ways to do my hair. Artemisia was doing this:
Susanna and the Elders, circa 1610 (one of the earliest surviving pieces of Artemisia Gentileschi's works) |
After producing a number of revolutionary works from a new (read: alien's woman's) perspective, Artemisia earned the attention of the House of Medici, garnering the patronage of this noble family. Her success in the Florentine court would have, undoubtedly, influenced the illustrious Accademia delle Arti del Disegno to accept her as its first female member. The networking, work, education, and exposure afforded to her by such a membership would have been unheard of for a woman at that time. She became acquainted with nobility, other respected artists, and even with Galileo Galilei.
While things appeared to go well for a time in Florence, Artemisia Gentileschi's life was certainly not free of drama. Is an artist's life ever not turbulent? Reconciling her past with her future in a misogynist society bent on victim blaming would have been nearly impossible under the best of circumstances, especially for a young mother (who has mourned and buried at least four of her children) trying to make a name for herself as an artist. Nevertheless, Artemisia's talent has certainly earned her the posterity she deserves.
Judith Slaying Holofernes, circa 1614-1620 Gentileschi painted six iterations of this story throughout her career. I believe that this is the second one, perhaps the best known. |
In her novel The Passion of Artemisia, author Susan Vreeland explores the moments of Artemisia Gentileschi's life, beginning with her trial at the papal court. While Vreeland tries to remain true to the timeline of Gentileschi's work, she admittedly fictionalizes the events surrounding the works. Furthermore, she explains in the novel's introduction that she has rolled some characters together into a single one for the sake of the book (i.e. Artemisia's only daughter, but no mention of her other children). Vreeland makes clear early on that hers is a work of fiction, based on how she imagines things could have transpired in Artemisia Gentileschi's life. Certainly, with few details beyond the artist's movements about Italy (and Europe), we can only speculate.
[NOTE: Since the time of the book's publication in 2001, historians have learned more about Gentileschi's life, including a love affair with Francesco Maria Maringhi, a wealthy Florentine nobleman.]
So, while Vreeland's novel may not be historically accurate, it does deliver a spirit of humanity to a cast of characters about whom we know so very little beyond their remaining written correspondence. After all, each name mentioned in the historical documents represents a real, flesh and blood person. Is it so far-fetched to imagine that this person had feelings or aspirations?
The Passion of Artemisia must first and foremost be taken as a novel. The fact that it is based on real people has -in my case- only whetted my curiosity to want to learn more about Artemisia herself as a woman whom I find to be inspiring, talented, and fully human.
Self-Portait as the Allegory of Painting, circa 1638-1639 |