The real thing: does imitation harm art?
ATRAVELLER to Italy in the 19th century could buy, as either an oval brooch or a circular table top, souvenirs made of Florentine or Roman mosaic. The former might depict flowers, with each petal or leaf made of hardstone set into black marble; the latter might be a view of the Colosseum made of minute tesserae.
Mosaics of all kinds had been made by the ancient Romans, but the modern Roman craftsman excelled in micromosaic because the Vatican had developed a workshop in the late 16th century for the purpose of producing accurate and durable copies of the altarpieces in St Peter’s. This meant that the originals could be transferred to the Vatican Museum.
Such mosaic paintings are, indeed, marvellous and it’s only when you look very closely that you can see the tessellation—an experience akin to that of seeing the image in a colour reproduction break up into pixels.
When most Italian cities began to establish their own museums in the 19th century, there was much discussion of the advantages of removing famous paintings from the churches for which they were made. Copies were sometimes commissioned to replace the altarpieces, providing local artists with valuable training and preventing art-loving heretics from disturbing the devotions of local parishioners. These copies were often accomplished, but they have lasted less well than the Vatican mosaics.
All sorts of ways to reproduce works of art had been devised by 1900: these included electrotypes of ancient coins and facsimiles of Old Master drawings that deceived (albeit only briefly) the expert eye. However, even a century later, mechanical attempts to reproduce oil paintings were not very impressive by comparison.
This is no longer the case. The recent ‘Michelangelo & Sebastiano’ exhibition at the National Gallery, for example, included a reproduction of a frescoed chapel in the Roman Church of San Pietro in Montorio made by Factum Arte of Madrid that is not only astonishingly accurate, but can be lit in ways that would be impossible in the church, however many coins you pump into the box.
Athena is confident that the consequences of this revolution will be increasingly manifested in loan exhibitions. Some reluctant owners will agree to lend if they have a replica. Others will say that a replica should suffice for the relevant show.
There are many other consequences besides. The separated parts of medieval altarpieces, for instance, can now be convincingly reassembled.
Most importantly, however, the nature of the original work of art will also be altered. Some will claim that its prestige will never recover, yet, despite predictions to the contrary, live performance was made more exciting as a result of the gramophone, just as daylight was made more precious by electric lighting.
Athena is intrigued and excited to see how perceptions may change.
‘Some owners will lend if they have a replica and others will say a replica should suffice