Among the first world problems of a time in which measures intended to prevent the spread of a virus are in place, possibly the most first world (in the meaning of over-privileged) one to complain about is the inability to visit museums and art galleries.
Well, having checked my privilege, (ugh), let me break my new year's resolution about moaning. My resolution-breaking moan today is that life at the moment deprives us all (by which I primarily mean me, but I'd like to create the impression that I am being altruistic) of the opportunity to browse through collections of extraordinary things created by human hands.
Normally at this time of year when in Budapest I would have visited the room at the Budapest Fine Arts Museum that houses some of the works of Franz Messerschmidt. He was born on 6 February 1736 and so I would have wished him a happy birthday by admiring what he made.
Messerschmidt is usually remembered for the works he made at the end of his short life. He is said to have gone off his rocker in later life, although the things he made seem to me not so much strange as merely strangely observant. I suppose it is possible to argue that if he did go mad, his madness was born of looking at his fellow humans too closely. Whatever his state of mind, he certainly lost none of his extraordinary skill as a sculptor, as one can see by looking at Messerschmidt's Yawner in the Budapest Fine Arts Museum (here's a picture I made earlier):
This bust is also on display and also made by Messerschmidt but I'm fairly certain it is not part of his series made in alleged madness and attempting to portray all the moods of man. Unfortunately, I neglected to write down anything about it so I will have to leave it uncaptioned until I'm allowed to go back to the museum
This lithograph reproduces Messerschmidt's 49 character heads, which I think now are scattered across the world in various collections. This lithograph appeared in the Viennese journal Der Adler in 1839
While Messerschmidt is renowned for these somewhat disturbed - or at least disturbing - works, (when he may have been under the influence of the strange person called Mesmer, from whom we get the word "mesmerise"), the Fine Arts Museum in Budapest also displays some things he made in what appears to have been a more cheerful frame of mind. As the museum's caption says:
"Messerschmidt's small-scale alabaster medallions, dating from the 1780s, tend to be overlooked. Twelve of them are still in existence, and seven of those are kept at the Museum of Fine Arts Budapest. Though small, they present a faithful reflection of the artist's style. Unlike the character heads, the medallions are lighter in spirit and playfully depict the artist's changing moods."
In addition, further comments from the museum can be found in a Google Arts and Culture file, as follows (thank you, Dave Lull, for supplying the link:
"Franz Xaver Messerschmidt was fond of recording his friends and patrons for posterity on alabaster medallions. The German writer of the Enlightenment period, Friedrich Nicolai - a great enemy of Goethe - recounts that while he was chatting with the sculptor in his house in Pozsony/Pressburg/Bratislava - (I noticed at Christmas, by the way, that the Viennese have finally given up on having signs only to Pressburg, as they used to, making it virtually impossible to get to Bratislava, unless you were in the know) - Messerschmidt had carved a medallion portrait of him in a couple of hours. This story illustrates the artist's brilliant craftsmanship and skill, also apparent in his character heads. Alabaster was also favoured for his portrait heads: although it gives the same effect as marble, it is much softer and can be scratched even with a fingernail, making it an ideal medium for the swiftly and brilliantly carved medallions.
Messerschmidt's link to the aristocracy remained unbroken in Bratislava (et cetera) too. They frequently commissioned works from him after he withdrew to that city, retreating from Vienna, after having his hopes dashed of becoming a professor. One of the most important patrons of those years of self-imposed exile was Duke Albert of Saxe-Teschen, the newly appointed Habsburg governor, who moved to Pozsony (et cetera), which was then the capital of Hungary, (it was moved there during the Turkish occupation and remained long after) at the same time as Messerschmidt. The duke is best known to posterity because his enormous collection of prints and drawings laid the foundation for the superlative graphic holdings at the Albertina in Vienna, which is also named after him. As well as making his portrait, Messerschmidt fashioned busts of him in marble and lead, which can be found in the Albertina and in the Bayerisches Nationalmuseum in Munich."
I had thought that the medallion above might be a Messerschmidt self-portrait in a wig, also circa 1780. but, thanks to Dave Lull, I now know that it is the Albert of Saxony, Duke of Teschen mentioned above He was married to the woman in the medallion below. She was the Archduchess Maria Christina, the favourite daughter of Maria Theresa, ruler of the Habsburg Empire. Contrary to the custom of the ruling houses of the time, the marriage of the Archduchess to the Duke of Teschen was made not for diplomatic reasons but for love. Much later, after Maria Christina's death, Albert had a tomb made to the memory of his beloved by Canova. It can be found in the Augustinerkirche in Vienna, (which has beautiful sung masses each Sunday at 11 am)].
This one is a self portrait Messerschmidt made of himself laughing.
This one is a self-portrait Messerschmidt made of himself being serious
This is Joseph Kiss, to whom the medallions originally belonged (I get the slight sense that he may have been relieved of them by the Communists). Joseph Kiss was an engineer who managed to make a channel that linked the Danube and the Tisza. He was also part of a circle of reformers called the Josephinist group and also a great friend of Messerschmidt.
This one is a portrait of Emperor Joseph II as King of Hungary, circa 1780.
The detail of these tiny things is exquisite. Whenever I get the chance to look at them, it seems to me that some wisp of the spirits of their subjects - all of them of course now long dead - has been caught forever by a very skilful hand.
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