Vitruvian Man, Renaissance Man, Action Man
A layman review of
Leonardo da Vinci: Experience, Experiment, Design
Tickets are for timed entry and no large bags are allowed in, but there are lockers right next to the door of the exhibition room.
500 years on, we look at Leonardo from a unique vantagepoint, and there is the danger of underestimating his genius. Inundated by brash multimedia and reproductions of art from the Renaissance and all periods, we've lost admiration for the physical process of creating art. Every TV viewer has seen film played in slow-motion, and a photograph too easily catches the ephemeral. We do not appreciate the exceptional eye that can capture a horse in mid-gallop, the turbulent curl of flowing water. Every child knows the heart's position and even its rudimentary functions - how our anatomical knowledge was accumulated seldom enters his or her head. We've lost sight of how difficult it is to generate original ideas, to discover the universe for ourselves.
The V&A museum, aware of our modern sensibilities, focuses on Leonardo's thought processes rather than on his artistic proficiency. Taking pages from the museum's own collection of notebooks (the Codex Forster), along with borrowed sketches from the Royal collection, the emphasis is on themes. Two static displays, parallel-facing, carry us between the flow of rivers and the analogous flow of blood, the microcosm of the body and the macrocosmic universe, the human penchant for war and the animal instinct for violence. Linking a tree in a gale with the folds of a man's cloak seems to be a throwaway flight of fancy. But we soon see that this is Leonardo's first approach to rationalising Nature, science and aesthetic at the same time.
Unrestricted by the rotes of a classical education, Leonardo had premiums on freedom of thought. The lack of discipline would have been detrimental to anyone less talented, less curious. And as documents of his intellect, the notebooks are amazing. Along with painstakingly constructed geometrical shapes are wonky schemata; charcoal is inked over, sentences sprawl, Leonardo leaves little admonitions for himself. And as a sweeping statement (I am by no means an art historian), the great thing is that Leonardo does not seem to suffer from Michelangelo's fetishistic sense of Adonean beauty, in that Leonardo does not appear to idolise one particular ideal. While we have heard a lot recently about Leonardo's apparent liking for pretty youths, it's come mostly as rebuttal to the is-she-isn't-she Dan Brown cult. Everything is beautiful, everything is worthy of interest. Leonardo's notebooks thrill in the loose wattle of an old man, the ventricle of the brain, the frustration of an unsolved mathematical puzzle, the carnage of a battlefield (elephants included).
To dynamicise the exhibition, the V&A has commissioned computer animators to bring many of the drawings to life. This could have been cheesy (and some work better than others), but on the whole they are very good. In fact, they are almost necessary to the experience: Leonardo made various sequential, storyboard-like sketches which were perfect for rendering. Plus, the codex pages are only about 3 x 3 inches in size, and Leonardo's cramped, sepia-inked mirror writing becomes progressively abstruse under dim lighting and the constant push of the crowd. I think the best way to experience the exhibition is to hire the multimedia unit; it has a touchscreen and plays filmed interviews, animations, and commentaries (avoid the equally-priced, inferior audioguides). Rather than stay in the queue of increasingly bored, varicose-veined tourists, you can then hop ahead to displays which no-one happens to be looking at and enjoy the proximity of the notebooks in relative peace. After you've marvelled sufficiently at the real thing, sit down on the bench to listen to / watch the accompanying material. It has been lovingly prepared by the curators and is worth your time.
After the closeted atmosphere of the display room, the Leonardo shop is a panoply of bright lights and kitsch. Along with garish T-shirts dubiously exclaiming the genius of the wearer, you have Leonardo-themed music CDs, Leonardo button badges, rubber models of brains and eyeballs, and the usual repository of print repros. The worst offender is the posable LdV action figure, complete with miniature easel and canvas, and great for parents who will attempt - and fail - to wean their kids off Bratz dolls and The Two Towers Battle-Ready Legolas. I suspect poor old Leo will spend most of his short plastic life as a torture victim for more butch toys. Best merchandise: the catalogue of the exhibition, with the drawings magnified and annotated.
I was in South Ken to see the old stomping ground, and to catch up with a friend and mentor. So the Leonardo excursion was incidental. Perhaps to karmically balance this, I ended up next to an unlikely stranger on the journey back. Fitness instructors going through mid-life crises make for bizarre entertainment on boring bus rides. Too much information, some eliciting sympathy, some dodgy; I think I've changed my mind about growing old disgracefully, it reeks too much of pathos.
Leonardo da Vinci: Experience, Experiment, Design
Tickets are for timed entry and no large bags are allowed in, but there are lockers right next to the door of the exhibition room.
500 years on, we look at Leonardo from a unique vantagepoint, and there is the danger of underestimating his genius. Inundated by brash multimedia and reproductions of art from the Renaissance and all periods, we've lost admiration for the physical process of creating art. Every TV viewer has seen film played in slow-motion, and a photograph too easily catches the ephemeral. We do not appreciate the exceptional eye that can capture a horse in mid-gallop, the turbulent curl of flowing water. Every child knows the heart's position and even its rudimentary functions - how our anatomical knowledge was accumulated seldom enters his or her head. We've lost sight of how difficult it is to generate original ideas, to discover the universe for ourselves.
The V&A museum, aware of our modern sensibilities, focuses on Leonardo's thought processes rather than on his artistic proficiency. Taking pages from the museum's own collection of notebooks (the Codex Forster), along with borrowed sketches from the Royal collection, the emphasis is on themes. Two static displays, parallel-facing, carry us between the flow of rivers and the analogous flow of blood, the microcosm of the body and the macrocosmic universe, the human penchant for war and the animal instinct for violence. Linking a tree in a gale with the folds of a man's cloak seems to be a throwaway flight of fancy. But we soon see that this is Leonardo's first approach to rationalising Nature, science and aesthetic at the same time.
Unrestricted by the rotes of a classical education, Leonardo had premiums on freedom of thought. The lack of discipline would have been detrimental to anyone less talented, less curious. And as documents of his intellect, the notebooks are amazing. Along with painstakingly constructed geometrical shapes are wonky schemata; charcoal is inked over, sentences sprawl, Leonardo leaves little admonitions for himself. And as a sweeping statement (I am by no means an art historian), the great thing is that Leonardo does not seem to suffer from Michelangelo's fetishistic sense of Adonean beauty, in that Leonardo does not appear to idolise one particular ideal. While we have heard a lot recently about Leonardo's apparent liking for pretty youths, it's come mostly as rebuttal to the is-she-isn't-she Dan Brown cult. Everything is beautiful, everything is worthy of interest. Leonardo's notebooks thrill in the loose wattle of an old man, the ventricle of the brain, the frustration of an unsolved mathematical puzzle, the carnage of a battlefield (elephants included).
To dynamicise the exhibition, the V&A has commissioned computer animators to bring many of the drawings to life. This could have been cheesy (and some work better than others), but on the whole they are very good. In fact, they are almost necessary to the experience: Leonardo made various sequential, storyboard-like sketches which were perfect for rendering. Plus, the codex pages are only about 3 x 3 inches in size, and Leonardo's cramped, sepia-inked mirror writing becomes progressively abstruse under dim lighting and the constant push of the crowd. I think the best way to experience the exhibition is to hire the multimedia unit; it has a touchscreen and plays filmed interviews, animations, and commentaries (avoid the equally-priced, inferior audioguides). Rather than stay in the queue of increasingly bored, varicose-veined tourists, you can then hop ahead to displays which no-one happens to be looking at and enjoy the proximity of the notebooks in relative peace. After you've marvelled sufficiently at the real thing, sit down on the bench to listen to / watch the accompanying material. It has been lovingly prepared by the curators and is worth your time.
After the closeted atmosphere of the display room, the Leonardo shop is a panoply of bright lights and kitsch. Along with garish T-shirts dubiously exclaiming the genius of the wearer, you have Leonardo-themed music CDs, Leonardo button badges, rubber models of brains and eyeballs, and the usual repository of print repros. The worst offender is the posable LdV action figure, complete with miniature easel and canvas, and great for parents who will attempt - and fail - to wean their kids off Bratz dolls and The Two Towers Battle-Ready Legolas. I suspect poor old Leo will spend most of his short plastic life as a torture victim for more butch toys. Best merchandise: the catalogue of the exhibition, with the drawings magnified and annotated.
I was in South Ken to see the old stomping ground, and to catch up with a friend and mentor. So the Leonardo excursion was incidental. Perhaps to karmically balance this, I ended up next to an unlikely stranger on the journey back. Fitness instructors going through mid-life crises make for bizarre entertainment on boring bus rides. Too much information, some eliciting sympathy, some dodgy; I think I've changed my mind about growing old disgracefully, it reeks too much of pathos.