With all exhibitions and art fairs in London (and worldwide) now cancelled for the foreseeable future, access to art is understandably limited. As it is not possible for you to come to me, I have decided to come to you and present a series of short pieces highlighting selected pictures from my collection. This is the second in the series.
I hope that by providing extended information about certain works, you can become acquainted with artists you may not know, or if you are already familiar with them, develop a further understanding of particular works. In the very least, it will hopefully distract you from the news for 5 mins!
It goes without saying, that we wish everyone the best of health..
Michael Murfin (Britsh b.1954), After "The Triumph of Bacchus" by Velazquez', 2020, oil on canvas, 61 x 78cm, Henry Miller Fine Art
It is very easy to think of a copy of a painting, as nothing more than a poor imitation of the original. Nothing could be further from the truth. Copying from the old masters, seeking inspiration from those who have long since passed, is a practice that artists, including the old masters themselves, have engaged in for generations.
In 1879, John Singer Sargent (1856-1925) set out for Madrid to study and copy Diego Velázquez (1599-1660). He was following in the footsteps of Édouard Manet (1832-1883) and many others, who had made the journey to the Museo del Prado in Madrid to study and copy, not only Velázquez, but the other Spanish masters, such as Zurbaran and El Greco. Eugène Delacroix (1798-1863), himself a prolific copier of Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640), observed in his journal how most great masters had copied throughout their lives:
Rubens was more than fifty years old when he was sent on a mission to the king of Spain, yet he spent his free time in copying the superb Italian originals that can still be seen in Madrid. In his youth he did an enormous amount of copying. This practice of copying, entirely neglected by modern schools, was the source of his immense knowledge…Herein lay the education of most great masters.
Such was the tradition of copying that two hundred years after Rubens had copied the Italian old masters, Delacroix was copying Rubens. By the late nineteenth century, Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890) had copied Delacroix. All copied to learn and understand the secrets of the masters they admired and to use what they had learnt to stimulate creativeness in their own work.
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Images below left to right:
Raphael, Portrait of Count Baldassare Castiglione, 1514-15, Musée du Louvre; Peter Paul Rubens, Portrait of Count Baldassare Castiglione after Raphael, 1630, The Courtauld Gallery.
Eugène Delacroix, The Good Samaritan, 1849, Private collection; Vincent van Gogh, The Good Samaritan, after Delacroix, 1890, Kröller-Müller Museum.
The list of famous artists who copied is too numerous to mention. Sargent himself is recorded as having copied ten paintings after Velázquez, four after Frans Hals, a copy after El Greco, two watercolours after Raphael, and one after Alessandro Olivero, one after Titian, another after Giandomenico Tiepolo (1727-1804) and a study after Francisco Goya (1746-1828).
It goes without saying however, that copying an old master picture can be fraught with danger for an artist. A copy, if too literal or repetitive, will simply hide the style of the copier within the style of the original artist, and forever be unfavourably compared to the original. However, if the artist uses the secrets of the masters they admire to stimulate creativeness in their own work, something new can be created, despite its obvious reference to the original picture.
Sargent’s copy after Hals focuses on a detail of two figures from a much larger composition, to create a wonderfully composed double portrait, full of his vibrant brushstrokes. His painting Dwarf with a Dog, is another tour de force in its own right. In both pictures, Sargent’s extraordinary talent at capturing a lifelike essence in his subjects, even those long since dead, gives a vibrancy and intimacy to pictures, something which is slightly lacking in the originals.
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Images below left to right:
Frans Hals, The Banquet of the Officers of the St George Militia Company, 1627, Frans Hals Museum; John Singer Sargent, Two Heads from ‘The Banquet of the Officers of the St George Civic Guard’, after Frans Hals, c.1880, Private collection.
In the manner of Diego Velázquez, Dwarf with a Dog, c.17th Century, Museo del Prado; John Singer Sargent, Dwarf with a Dog, after Velázquez, 1879, The Hispanic Society of America.
Continuing this tradition of borrowing and copying from the old masters is the British artist, Michael Murfin, a figurative artist of extraordinary talents. In an ongoing series of pictures, Michael seeks to explore and focus on the homoeroticism contained within works, which may be familiar to us all. To date, there are three works in the series:
In Exploring Géricault, 2011, Michael has taken a fragment of The Raft of Medusa, 1818-19, by the French romantic painter, Théodore Géricault. By changing the emphasis, he has entirely changed the mood and feeling of the original painting which described the aftermath of the wreck of the French naval frigate Méduse. At least 147 people were set adrift on a hurriedly constructed raft; all but 15 died in the 13 days before their rescue, and those who survived endured starvation and dehydration and practiced cannibalism. Michael’s painting focuses only on the survivors and the imminent rescue, and in doing so, places the figure of the Haitian model Joseph centre stage, bare-chested, in all his glory. Géricault, as a supporter of the abolition of slavery, deliberately positioned the model, scarf in hand, as a symbol of support for the cause.
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Théodore Géricault, The Raft of Medusa, 1818-19, Musée du Louvre;
Michael Murfin, Exploring Géricault, 2011, Henry Miller Fine Art.
Hippolyte Flandrin’s (1805-1864), Jeune Homme nu Assis sur le Bord de la Mer, 1836, became an icon of gay culture in the 20th century. The composition has been borrowed repeatedly, particularly by photographers, including F. Holland Day and Wilhelm von Gloeden, and later by Robert Mapplethorpe, but reproduced less in paint, probably due to the complexity of the figure’s positioning. Murfin’s painting, After Flandrin, 2019, embraced this complexity, expertly rendering the lifelike quality of the picture. It is a masterclass in how to paint the human body.
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Hippolyte Flandrin’s (1805-1864), Jeune Homme nu Assis sur le Bord de la Mer, 1836, Louvre Museum.
Michael Murfin, After Flandrin, 2019, Private Collection, previously sold by Henry Miller Fine Art.
Michael’s latest painting after an old master picture, explores Diego Velázquez’s The Triumph of Bacchus. Popularly known as the Drinkers, or the Drunks, the original work places Bacchus centre stage, surrounded by local peasantry in period 17th century costume. The work represents Bacchus as the god who rewards men with wine, temporarily releasing them from their problems of everyday life. In Michael’s picture he focuses solely on the relationship between Bacchus and the only other mythical figure in the painting, someone who in the original plays a secondary role. This figure looks fondly, or perhaps longingly, upon Bacchus, who himself seems aware that he is being gazed upon, the focus creating an erotic context not present in the original.
Diego Velázquez, The Triumph of Bacchus, 1628-29, Museo del Prado.
Should you have any questions about any of Michael Murfin’s pictures, do not hesitate to get in contact, by email or phone. We look forward to seeing you, as soon as we emerge from the other side; whenever that may be!