Astonishing

“The day following (26 November) was the day of days, the most wonderful I have ever lived through, and certainly one whose like I can never hope to see again.  Throughout the morning the work of clearing continued, slowly perforce, on account of the delicate objects that were mixed with the filling.  Then, in the middle of the afternoon, thirty feet down from the outer door, we came upon a second sealed doorway, almost an exact replica of the first.  The seal impressions in this case were less distinct, but still recognizable as those of Tutankhamen and of the royal necropolis.  Here again the signs of opening and re-closing were clearly marked upon the plaster.  We were firmly convinced by this time that it was a cache that we were about to open, and not a tomb.  The arrangement of stairway, entrance passage and doors reminded us very forcibly of the cache of Akhenaten and Tyi material found in the very near vicinity of the present excavation by Davis, and the fact that Tutankhamen’s seals occurred there likewise seemed almost certain proof that we were right in our conjecture.  We were soon to know.  There lay the sealed doorway, and behind it was the answer to our question.

    Slowly, desperately slowly it seemed to us as we watched, the remains of passage debris that encumbered the lower part of the doorway was removed, until at last we had the whole door clear before us.  The decisive moment had arrived.  With trembling hands I made a tiny breach in the upper left-hand corner.  Darkness and blank space, as far as an iron testing-rod could reach, showed us whatever lay beyond was empty, and not filled like the passage we had just cleared.  Candle tests were applied as a caution against possible foul gases, and then, widening the hole a little, I inserted a candle and peered in,  Lord Carnavon, Lady Evelyn and Callender standing anxiously beside me to hear the verdict.  At first I could see nothing, the hot air escaping from the chamber causing the candle flame to flicker, but presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, details of the room within emerged from the mist, strange animals, statues, and gold – everywhere the glint of gold.  For the moment – an eternity it must have seemed to the others standing by – I was struck dumb with amazement, and when Lord Carnavon, unable to stand the suspense any longer, inquired anxiously, “Can you see anything?” it was all I could do to get out the words, “Yes, wonderful things.”  Then, widening the hole a little further, so that we both could see, we inserted an electric torch.”


Howard Carter, The Tomb of Tutankhamen.  New York, E.P. Dutton, 1972.

 

NOTE:  


Pretty amazing, isn’t it?  


My interest in Howard Carter’s 1922 discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb was rekindled by Jane’s recent history project concerning the changes in ancient Egyptian religion that occurred during the reigns of Tutankhamen and his predecessor pharaoh, Akhenaten. Sliding Carter’s papyrus from its assigned shelf locus (we follow the Library of Alexandria system here) after 20 years' dust-gathering revealed this word-and-picture treasure.

Re-reading Carter also revived dormant childhood memories of visiting a crypt-like space in the Metropolitan Museum’s Egypt gallery and watching a scratchy black-and-white film with a muffled soundtrack detailing Carter’s discovery.  The room itself was supposed to simulate a crypt and contained at least a few sarcophagi whose staring empty eyes seemed fixed on you as and after you left the chamber.

Mummies and Egyptian things used to disturb me a great deal growing up.  This was largely because I was compelled by a friend's older brother to watch Karl Freund's The Mummy featuring Boris Karloff on television one evening when our respective parents were having dinner at a local restaurant.  He was a tall, scary kid who literally shut his sister and me in a crypt-like den and refused to let us leave. The experience terrified and horrified me and left a scar.  In today’s world, I expect we would have reported him to the police. 

A lthough I’m doing better today, I still would not watch The Mummy again if my life depended on it.  Karloff’s sad creature returns to haunt me in waking dreams all the time, but my actual night dreams are much more acutely adult and painful.  Last night in one of them my car (the old sports car that’s been costing us so much money, causing arguments) was stolen in a Manhattan neighborhood I didn’t recognize and struggled hopelessly to identify.  My dream devastation and breakdown preceded  a cinema “dissolve” cueing an extended forlorn city-wandering sequence.  It reminded me of Edvard Munch’s The Scream, silent and terrifying.

Eventually, in art history graduate school, I reconciled to Egypt. My discipline, Islamic Art, shared a library and study space with the school’s Egyptologists, a pleasant and hermetic group of bearded men who were only interested in their field and nothing else. Browsing through their enormous, heavy hieroglyphic dictionaries was an exceptional way to pass the time.  My car is doing fine, by the way.  It's in the garage where it’s meant to be.   I just checked.

Whistler Print Exhibition At Tel Aviv Museum of Art (Opens August 1 And Slated To Run Indefinitely)

Note:  This exhibition does look terrific.  I've never wanted to visit Tel Aviv (or for that matter Israel) because of the degree of danger I associate with travel to the Middle East.  But right now -- on this Sunday morning watching the morning news/pundit programs -- I'm terrified sitting in my own house, so perhaps I'll revise my views.  I spent part of yesterday perusing Zondervan's Pictorial Bible Dictionary with great pleasure and interest.  I sparked a memory of the time I studied at the Institute of Fine Arts at New York University and, to a one, my professors told me that Jerusalem was the most beautiful city in the world because of the quality of light there.  My teachers included historians of the Italian and Northern Renaissance, Asian Art, Classical Antiquity and Modern Art. And Tel Aviv has a beach and, I am told, tremendous falafel.

      
        This display at the Tel Aviv Museum features a selection of the etchings created by James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834, Lowell, Massachusetts − 1903, London) − an American-born painter and etcher who worked in England and France in the mid-19th century. Whistler set off for Europe in 1855, when he was 21 years old − arriving in London and then moving on to Paris, where he enrolled at the École Impériale et Spéciale de Dessin. The following year, he studied at the atelier of the Swiss artist Charles Gleyre. Like his fellow artists Honoré Daumier, Jean-François Millet, and Édouard Manet, and like French Realists such as Gustave Courbet (whose art influenced him at the onset of his career), Whistler exploited the unique qualities of the etching medium to describe modern life from a socially and politically critical perspective.

          The etchings included in this display feature modern cityscapes transformed by industrialization and related economic and social changes, as well as everyday scenes from the lives of the lower classes in Paris and London. These prints include nostalgic and poetic images of city life, views of the Thames enveloped in fog, and views of dilapidated rural houses of the kind included in the two series "Twelve Prints from Nature" ("The French Set") and "Sixteen Etchings of Scenes on the Thames and Other Subjects" ("The Thames Set").

        "The French Set" was published in Paris in November 1858, and captured scenes from the trip taken by Whistler and his friend Ernst Delannoy to Alsace-Lorraine and to the Rhine region in October 1858.

        During his years in Paris, Whistler returned several times to England (he settled there permanently in 1860), where he became deeply interested in the medium of etching. Upon his return to Paris, he began to create etchings himself. In 1857, he visited an exhibition in Manchester that featured works by Diego Velázquez, Rembrandt, and other 17th-century artists. Following this encounter with Rembrandt, Whistler planned a trip to Amsterdam to see the works of this Dutch master; a lack of funds, however, led him to change his plans and to travel instead to northern France, Luxembourg, and the Rhine region. In the course of this journey, he created drawings and even some etchings of simple rural views that appear in this set alongside his images of everyday life in Paris; like Honoré Daumier's caricatures, these works were created in reaction to the social reality of his time. 

 

The etchings included in this display feature modern cityscapes transformed by industrialization and related economic and social changes, as well as everyday scenes from the lives of the lower classes in Paris and London.

        Following his return to Paris, he created several trial prints in the workshop of the city's leading printmaker, August Delâtre, and then chose the twelve etchings and title page) another etching created in the course of this journey (that were published as "Twelve Etchings from Nature." Although these etchings were not all concerned with French themes, Whistler chose to call them "The French Set." His thematic and stylistic choices reflect his affiliation with the modern, Realist sensibility prevalent at that time among many French artists, as well as the influence of 17th-century Spanish and Dutch art.

       The etchings in this set are the first to reveal Whistler's artistic maturity and boldness; they feature domestic and genre scenes, portraits of children and friends, various figures seen in alleyways, silhouettes, anonymous interiors, and rural scenes.

     Among the portraits of personal acquaintances included in this display are portraits of Annie (Ann Harriet Haden, the oldest daughter of Whistler's half-sister and of the etcher, collector, and physicist Sir Francis Seymour Haden) and Fumette (Whistler's term of endearment for his companion and model during his student years in Paris). Among the other figures represented by the artist are The Old Rag-Woman, The Mustard Seller, the eccentric flower seller La Mère Gérard (a bourgeois woman who had lost her money and made a living selling flowers at the entrance to a popular dance hall), and the figures depicted in the etchings In Full Sun, The Tinker, and other images of workmen, and especially of working-class women. These characters represented various aspects of urban life − a subject popular among French Realist artists, who portrayed such types in a direct, un-idealized manner. Several of these prints) including La Mère Gérard, In Full Sun, The Tinker and Fumette (were created in Paris in the summer of 1858, before Whistler set off on his journey. These etchings are characterized by delicate lines and atmospheric effects, which were enhanced by the use of brown-toned ink.

       As Whistler's style continued to evolve over time, the Realist, earthy quality of his images gave way to a more ethereal and spiritual character. The print In Full Sun, for instance, is suffused by an airy, sunlit quality that is related to the plein-air tradition embraced by numerous French painters during those years.

        The prints Street at Saverne and The Unsafe Tenement were both created in Alsace. The Unsafe Tenement bespeaks the influence of the Barbizon-School artist Charles Jacques, who frequently depicted dilapidated farms and was influenced by 17th-century Dutch art. Whistler traveled to Saverne to visit a friend who had studied with him in Paris, and created the plate for this etching in the course of his visit. This print is considered to be Whistler's earliest surviving Nocturne (a subject that would later be developed in both his paintings and prints, and which was inspired by musical harmonies and Japanese prints). The drypoint The Mustard Seller depicts a young woman standing in the doorway of a mustard store, while another woman is preparing an order on the interior. In the course of his journey, Whistler created several preparatory drawings for this print and for The Kitchen (one of the most ambitious images in this set, due to the use of dramatic chiaroscuro). When he returned to Paris, he used these drawings as the basis for the etchings 

      The Old Rag-Woman, the first of Whistler's female profiles, inspired numerous artists, and was one of Whistler's own favorites. This etching is concerned with a subject that was also of interest to the Barbizon artists. Although the plate was burned only after Whistler returned to Paris, it was probably created directly from observation.

       The title page for this set, which represents an artist drawing outdoors, may be based on a drawing of Ernst Delaunay, Whistler's travelling companion, sketching in the streets of Cologne. At the same time, this figure appears to be wearing Whistler's clothes and hat, and bears a close resemblance to Whistler himself.

        In early November 1858, "The French Set" (the title page and 12 etchings) was first printed in Paris in an edition of 20. The inscription on the title page of this set reads: "Twelve Etchings from Nature (The French Set), by James Whistler, printed by Delâtre, 17 Rue Saint-Jacques, Paris, November 1858." The bottom of the page bears the dedication: "To my old friend, Seymour Haden."

The First Mogul

      

Babur:  Detail from unidentified Mogul miniature painting.

        Judged by human standards, it was humanism within limits.  The Timurid Renaescence, like ours, took place in the fifteenth century, owed its course to the patronage of princes, and preceded the emergence of nationalist states.  But in some respect the two movements differed.  While the European was largely a reaction against faith in favour of reason, the Timurid coincided with a new consolidation of the power of faith.  The Turks of Central Asia had already lost contact with Chinese materialism; and it was Timur who led them to the acceptance of Islam, not merely as a religion, for that was already accomplished, but as a basis of social institutions.  Turks, in any case, are not much given to intellectual speculation.   

       Timur’s descendants, in diverting the flow of Persian culture to their own enjoyment, were concerned with the pleasures of this world, not of the next.  The purpose of life they left to the saints and theologians, whom they endowed in life and commemorated in death. But the practice of it, inside the Mohammedan framework, they conducted according to their own common sense without prejudice or sentiment except in favour of rational intelligence.

 

Rear view of Babri Mosque, Ayodhya, India.  Built by Babur in 1527 and destroyed in a riot in 1992.

        The quality of mind thus fostered is preserved in the Memoirs of Babur, which were written in Turki at the beginning of the sixteenth century and have been twice translated into English.  They show a man concerned with day-to-day amenities, conversation, clothes, faces, parties, music, houses and gardens, as with the loss of a princedom in Oxiana and the acquisition of an empire in India; as interested in the natural world as the political, and so remarking such facts as the distance swum by Indian frogs; and as honest about himself as others, so that in this picture of himself – so real that even in translation one can almost hear him speak – he has left a picture of his whole line.  Born in the sixth generation after Timur, it was not until the end of his life that he conquered India and became the first Mogul.  Even that was only second-best, after he had spent thirty years trying to re-establish himself in Oxiana.   

A miniature painting from the Babur-nama (The Memoirs of Babur)

        But as a man of taste he did what he could to make life possible in so odious a country, and his comments on it show the standards he aspired to.  He thought the Indians ugly, their conversation a bore, their fruit tasteless and their animals ill-bred; “in handicraft and work there is no form or symmetry, method or quality . . . for their buildings they study neither elegance nor climate, appearance nor regularity.”  He denounces their habits as Macaulay denounced their learning, or as Gibbon denounced the Byzantines, by the light of a classical tradition.  

       And since that tradition, after the Uzbeg conquest of Oxiana and Heart, was extinguished elsewhere, he set about planting it anew.  He and his successors changed the face of India.  They gave it a lingua franca, a new school of painting and a new architecture. They revived again that theory of Indian unity which was to become the basis of British rule.  Their last emperor died in exile at Rangoon in 1862, to make way for Queen Victoria. And the posterity of Timur survives to this day, in poverty and pride, among the labyrinths of Delhi.

Farrukh Beg, A drunken Babur returns to camp at night, 1589


Reader Note:   Recent re-reading of Robert Byron's The Road To Oxiana (London, Jonathan Cape Ltd., 1937), the source of the preceding text, has prompted all sorts of memories of my original exploration of Islamic art, which began in high school after learning about Sufi mystical traditions and continued through college and graduate school, finally culminating in writing a Qualifying Paper concerning the Mughal painter Manohar that was accepted toward the awarding of an M.A. degree at the Institute of Fine Arts at New York University, where I was fortunate enough to study under Dr. Richard Ettinghausen near the end of his long, illustrious career.  One can only sketch a fragment and open up a small glimpse into Mughal genius here, but for those living near big cities with fine museums, consulting primary sources -- the paintings themselves -- first always provides the best introduction, which can then be supplemented by reading history, viewing photographs, and possibly even researching the opinions of bloggers.

Babur, the first Mogul, was born in 1483 and died in 1531.  As Byron notes, we know a great deal about the remarkable events of his life from his autobiography, The Baburnama or Memoirs of Babur, which are considered the first true autobiography in Islamic literature.  

From Wikipedia: "Babur is said to have been extremely strong and physically fit. He could allegedly carry two men, one on each of his shoulders, and then climb slopes on the run, just for exercise. Legend holds that Babur swam across every major river he encountered, including twice across the Ganges River in North India. His passions could be equally strong. In his first marriage he was "bashful" towards ʿĀʾisha Ṣultān Begum, later losing his affection for her.  Babur also had a great passion to kill people, cut heads of people and create pillars out of cut head. He claimed to have created several such pillars in his autobiography. 

He gave up drinking alcohol only two years before his death for health reasons, and demanded that his court do the same. But he did not stop chewing narcotic preparations, and did not lose his sense of irony. He wrote:

 

Everyone regrets drinking and swears an oath [of abstinence]; I swore the oath and regret that."

Miniature painting showing First Battle of Panipat, 1598