Collaboration and Art:Research Report

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By Tiffany Kimoto
01:20, 1 June 2006 (PDT)


Contents

Abstract

What defines the worth of a piece of art? Its maker? The amount of time it takes to complete? Society's interpretation? Its fragility? Its resilence? For centuries, people have debated whether or not to restore old masterpieces and secure their original appearance. However, the very act of interference with the aging process affects the essence of the work. The writer Timothy Griffin raises an excellent question: "Is it conception or perception that forms the basis of our aesthetic sense? Do the cultural associations and markings of the passage of time heighten, or mar the aesthetic value of art?" In the second half of the twentieth century, restoration projects have embarked on a whole new level; world renowned projects, like Da Vinci's The Last Supper and Antoni Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia have been surrounded by heated controversy.

Description

This research report will examine two of the major collaborative artistic projects in the later twentieth century: Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper, a restoration project that borders on originality and deformation, and Antoni Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia, an ongoing construction site that questions the degree of authorship and authenticity.

Analysis and Evaluation

Restoration projects have noble intentions. However, they are often countered by many critics and skeptics. Many do not want to affect the authenticity of an object. With paintings restoration can require retouching along with wiping away dirt and other debris. To some people, the addition and subtraction of any of the original artwork mars the artist’s authorship. Yet, does restoration necessarily imply renovation? Do efforts of preserving the originality of a piece of antiquated art in some way dissolve the very quality of its timelessness? Moreover, if restoration implies editing the artwork, can it be considered an extension of creating the piece, and thus be considered an act of collaboration?

Da Vinci’s Last Supper

Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece, The Last Supper, has survived centuries of alteration since its completion in 1498. Leonardo’s medium was unique in that the painting was done on a dry wall in the refectory of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan. For that reason, he was unable to paint a fresco, which is done with wet plaster, and instead decided to cover the wall with pitch, a viscous resin; gesso, a brittle mix of powdered calcium carbonate and animal glue; and mastic, a hard, clear resin. After that, he painted with tempera—a mix of egg yolk and dry powdered colors. Unfortunately, this innovative technique’s everlasting quality fell short after a few years. After less than sixty years, some people declared it ruined.

Its first major restoration attempt took place in 1726 by Michelangelo Bellotti, who mistakenly repainted with oil paint. Another artist, Giuseppe Mazza, stripped Bellotti’s additions and repainted it himself in 1770. Unfortunately, many people viewed the restored Last Supper as a work of desecration, not mastery—“Understandably these treatments came under much fire and following restorers intervened by also repainting and trying to recreate Leonardo's original, rather than preserving it” (www.upenn.edu).

It was not until 1903 that someone first realized the painting was done by a tempera medium. The artist, Luigi Cavengahi, took detailed photographs of the painting and spent 1906-1908 cleaning off some of the grime and repainting missing parts. In 1924, more efforts were made to clean up the dirt by Oreste Silvestri. Another stride was made in the Last Supper’s restoration from 1947-1949 by Mauro Pelliccioli, where, after the cleaning and touch-ups, it was coated with shellac, a natural plastic, which helped preserve the painting colors for a longer amount of time than the traditional method using water-soluble glue. His restoration efforts lightened the overall tone of the painting.

However, the most extensive restoration project was completed in 1999, after twenty years of enormously meticulous brain- and hand-work. Pinin Brambilla Barcilon headed the daunting task, which included peeling away centuries of other artist’s paint jobs in order to reveal Leonardo’s original art. This necessitated microscopic pictures of the painting to determine where Leonard’s paint ended and the layers of dirt, glue, mold, smoke, and newer paint began. With the help of modern technology, “small diameter coring surveys also were performed. Samples… were analyzed in laboratories to provide information on colors and materials utilized by Da Vinci. Miniature TV cameras inserted in the boreholes also provided information on the cracks and cavities. Sonar and radar surveys were also taken to provide information about the elastic and structural characteristics of the masonry and base [of the painting]” (www.upenn.edu). Because of the seriousness of the task, Brambilla and her colleagues focused their attention on a small 1 in. by 1 in. portion of the painting per day. The team orchestrated their project with an undeniable amount of precision and care. Their painstakenly tedious collaborative efforts should be respected, if for nothing else, their strong dedication-- the restoration took almost five times the duration that da Vinci himself spent on it.

While many art critics acknowledge the extensive improvements in color and “luminosity” that have been lacking since the painting started deteriorating, others are disappointed with the outcome. In one online article, the writer proclaims Brambilla did a dismal job on the chiaroscuro (light/dark contrast) elements, shading of the lips, and hair dimensions on Jesus. Some assert that the quality of the original has been replaced by a contemporary need to see more vivid colors; Professor James Beck of Colombia University says the restored piece lacks “an echo of the past” (www.bbc.com).

The debate over restoring art objects—moreover, masterpieces—is a delicate subject. In the Last Supper’s case, even with a team of specialists on the job, there still exists room for opposition. It seems that some people have an appreciation for antiquity and da Vinci's primary techniques that they believe even new-fangled modern technology cannot compare (or restore) the beauty of the original. Perhaps the beauty of the painting rests in the fact that it has deteriorated over time. Determining the value of art is a subjective matter; restoration can be an act of heroism or egotism.

Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia

Antoni Gaudi is renowned for his eccentric and remarkably innovative style in architecture. One of his most famous pieces, La Sagrada Familia, in Barcelona, Spain, still remains unfinished since its inception over one hundred years ago. The temple initiated production in 1882, and Gaudi took over as the director of its construction in 1883. He remained in charge of its development up until his untimely death in 1926. After that the temple was met by various forms of opposition. It was hit by rioting in 1936 during the Spanish Civil War and not until four years later was it reconstructed. The main reason for the prolonged construction rests in the fact that its funding is based solely on the donations it receives. This makes for long, slow progress, which can also prove unstable. The Sagrada Familia is known as “the church of the poor” (yet, ironically enough, it is not considered a part of the Catholic Church) and for that, some believe its donations should be redistributed to deserving people. Nonetheless its construction endures, and some hope to see it finished by 2026—in time for the 100th year anniversary of Gaudi’s death, though it will most likely take much longer.

The temple consists of three façades, one for Nativity, Passion, and Glory. On each of the façade are four spires, totaling twelve to represent the twelve apostles, all of which are planned to be over 100 meters tall. The Nativity façade and one of its bell towers, San Barnabas, was the only portion to be completed during Gaudi’s life. The architect had drawn the designs for the Passion façade and begun the outline for the Glory one before his death. Today, eight of the twelve bell towers are completed, along with virtually all of the Nativity and Passion façades. However, Gaudi also modified and reworked some of his plans as the construction took place; with that in mind, it is nearly impossible for his successive architects to continue forth in the exact manner that Gaudi may have wanted. In 1955 there was some debate over the completion of La Sagrada Familia, in which opposers claimed a lack of original plans as a main reason to end the construction. Some visitors and art critics assert that many of the new additions are not congruent with Gaudi’s exceptional style—everything from the design to the materials used. There were four other architects who worked alongside Gaudi on the project and since then there have been at least six more who have collaborated on the temple.

The entire production provokes controversial questioning; is the integrity of Gaudi’s temple being sacrificed? I suppose it depends on one’s perspective. There is one piece of information that should not be disregarded: Antonio Gaudi was not the one who formulated the idea for La Sagrada Familia. That credit belongs to Josep Maria Bocabella i Verdaguer, a cultured bookseller. He originally hired architect Francesc de Paula i Villar to build a unique representation of the Catholic Church. However, due to an ongoing dispute with another architect/Council representative, Gaudi was hired in his place. From that point on, Gaudi devoted much of his life to its development and drew the elaborate plans himself. If ownership is based on the amount of work an artist dedicates to a project, then it is beyond a doubt Gaudi’s creation. Since 1926 80 years has elapsed, and several architects have greatly contributed to the temple’s structure. The ensemble of masterful architects and builders has pursued erecting a monument that Gaudi would have appreciated. Calling this temple a collaborative piece then puts the definition of collaboration (see Collaboration defined) up for debate. Gaudi began the art, and after years of dedication and extreme labor, he realized that the edifice's birth would surpass his lifetime. Thus, he knew he would have to permit others to continue his work, even before his untimely death. Can collaboration (see Collaboration defined) surpass lifetimes? In the case of La Sagrada Familia, yes.

So who qualifies the artistic collaboration in a piece of work? The original artist’s explicit acquiescence? Society’s acceptance of the completed project? Art is not static; it does not always have a definitive beginning and ending. An artist's ownership can be passed on, shared, or kept private. The structure and boundaries of art are constantly under construction, and apparently, the issue of collaboration is matter that will be under debate for a long time to come.

Works Cited

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