The Lost Painting
Sure, The DaVinci Code may have not have been the gangbuster that was promised. There were some protests, there were some cries of blasphemy ... but really it was just kind of a dud. Money was to be made, however, and it looks like there is at least some residual "Dan Brown"-ish material left lurking in development.
Variety has announced that Miramax has optioned The Lost Painting: The Quest for a Caravaggio Masterpiece by Jonathan Harr. This non-fiction book follows the search for the painting "The Taking of the Christ" a masterpiece assumed to be lost but was found in an Irish monastery. The book alsocovers the career and times of the painter Caravaggio, who was a bit of a bad boy in the art world. Christopher Monger will adapt the screenplay but there is no word on a star or director yet.
The movie plans on taking a more forensic route to art history, as opposed to The Da Vinci Code's conspiracy-mongering. ...
Jonathan Harr's "The Lost Painting" is a deft reworking of factual information associated with the discovery of a painting, long thought to be lost, by the Italian Baroque master Caravaggio. Harr skillfully reconstructs the complex series of events that led to the painting's resurrection. His book reads like a detective story, only his characters aren't driven by greed, lust or revenge, but by their passion for art. This passion takes on an identity of its own in the story and becomes the prime mover behind the search.
Numerous copies of Caravaggio's "The Taking of Christ" ("La Presa di Gieusu Cristo") had surfaced over the centuries, but most scholars believed that the original was lost, as were many of Caravaggio's paintings. The painting depicts the very moment in the Garden of Gethsemane when Judas, accompanied by soldiers, leans in to give Jesus Christ the kiss of betrayal. Caravaggio's trademark use of light leads the viewer's eye to the face of Christ, who looks down in resignation and revulsion, as he offers his cheek for the kiss but seems to pull back as well.
The discovery of "The Taking of Christ" occurs largely by accident. Harr's narrative suggests that in a sense the painting wants to be found. The labyrinthine trail begins when two graduate students in art history at the University of Rome are enlisted to research which of two paintings of St. John the Baptist has the better claim to being the Caravaggio original. During their search, Francesca Cappelletti and Laura Testa receive permission to use a dusty, half-forgotten archive, housed in the basement of a country house belonging to the descendants of the once illustrious Mattei family, well known patrons of Caravaggio.
The young women spend days in the dimly lit basement archive, sifting through the exhaustive account books and inventories kept by the Mattei family. During their research, they discover that in 1802 a Scotsman named Hamilton Nisbet bought from the family a painting corresponding in size and subject to "The Taking of Christ," but in the account books the work is attributed to a Dutch painter named Honthorst. They realize that although the error might have been inadvertent, it's more likely that Hamilton Nisbet's agent wanted the painting to seem less valuable to save his client some money. "The less consequential the paintings, the easier it was to get them out of the country, and the lower the export duties."
Harr's account of this research accurately conveys how unexpected factors can dramatically alter even the most reliable looking evidence. Good researchers must interpret the information they find and always be aware of circumstances that can significantly influence their conclusions. His account also paints a vivid picture of the kind of intimacy that evolves between a researcher and a research subject. Francesca cannot abandon the lead she uncovers. She follows the trail to London and to Edinburgh but eventually reaches a dead end.
At roughly the same time, an Italian-born art restorer named Sergio Benedetti is working at the National Gallery of Ireland in Dublin. Benedetti, a devoted fan of Caravaggio's work, can hold intelligent conversations, even with formally trained scholars, on the topic of his favorite artist. In the late summer of 1990, he accompanies the assistant director of the National Gallery to the St. Ignatius Residence, home to 14 Jesuit priests, a 10-minute walk from the gallery. The rector of St. Ignatius wants to know how much it will cost to have some paintings cleaned and restored.
Benedetti recognizes immediately that one of the paintings in question could be the lost Caravaggio. He becomes the central figure, sometimes admirable, sometimes not, in the unfolding of the remainder of the story. Without his knowledge and keen eye, as well as some pure dumb luck, the painting may never have come to light. The arduous and time-consuming task of restoring the painting falls to Benedetti. He must reline the canvas to compensate for sagging caused by gravity over the years, and he must choose just the right solvent to remove layers of grime and grease. He does not always choose wisely, sometimes falling prey to his own impatience and pride.
The painting is eventually authenticated. With his "nose to the canvas," world-renowned Caravaggio scholar Denis Mahon confirms that Benedetti's guess is correct. The presence of ghostly images, called pentimenti, beneath the paint helps to establish the painting's authenticity. Because they indicate where the artist changed his mind about the placement of some element, a copy does not contain them. In "The Taking of Christ," found at the St. Ignatius Residence, a pentimento of Judas' ear is evident.
The National Gallery does not go public with its find until November of 1993, and only after negotiating an agreement with the Jesuits. In the intervening three years the art community is rife with rumors about the lost painting. Harr creates a vivid picture of the insular world of scholarly endeavor, including the passions, petty jealousies, odd alliances and open conflicts that it often gives birth to.
When Francesca Cappelletti comes to the celebration planned for the unveiling of the painting and sees the actual picture for the first time, she responds emotionally as well as intellectually. "Close up she could see individual brushstrokes and the texture of the canvas, the fragile reality of the painting," but she also "felt herself drawn into the drama of the scene.... She forgot, for a moment, that she was looking at a painting."
The people in Harr's story are all real. However, in his narrative they become puppets, manipulated by an unseen force, a shadowy deity of lost art or painstaking research determined to remind us all that a work of art's worth does not lie in its monetary value, but in the deeper responses it can engender.
