“Ah, so you’re my Raphael,” is
how Pope Benedict XVI greeted the German artist Michael
Triegel when they met at the Vatican this year.
Triegel, 41, had been commissioned by the Bishop of
Regensburg to paint the pope’s portrait for the foyer of the
Institut Papst Benedikt XVI in Regensburg, which studies,
collates and prepares for publication the pope’s written
works.
The pontiff didn’t sit for him exclusively: Triegel
attended a general audience that allowed him to sketch 83-
year-old Benedict.
The realistic yet sympathetic result is on
show for the first time in an exhibition of Triegel’s work at
Leipzig’s Museum der bildenden Kuenste.
The show,
“Verwandlung der Goetter” (Metamorphosis of the Gods),
displays 70 paintings from 1994 to 2010, and runs through Feb.
6, 2011.
The portrait shows Benedict seated in a high-backed red
chair with carved wooden arms, his face turned slightly to the
left, against a plain black background.
The wrinkles, red
veins and shadows under his eyes reveal fatigue and age. His
posture is hunched and elderly, more vulnerable than regal.
His thin lips are a millimeter apart, exposing a chink of
teeth that suggests a hint of wiliness.
Looking up from a
paper held in his left hand, his eyes observe the viewer with
curiosity, intelligence and some mistrust.
Like Raphael’s 1511 portrait of Pope Julius II, in the
National Gallery, London, the trappings of office are absent.
Benedict wears a simple white skullcap that almost merges with
his hair, a plain white cassock and a heavy gold cross.
Patron Saint
It’s a good, if old-fashioned, portrait -- far from the
sinister hysteria of Francis Bacon’s screaming popes.
The
personality of the subject is the focus, making Benedict’s
ironic Raphael comparison appropriate.
Triegel, who calls Raphael his “patron saint,” is an
old-fashioned kind of painter. His work is characterized by
exquisite craftsmanship, biblical and mythological themes and
a strong resemblance to Italian Renaissance masterpieces.
What’s more, he paints altarpieces, sometimes works on
commission, and counts the Catholic Church as an important
client.
Judging from his reviews, Triegel said, “you can’t be
more provocative.”
He has come in for some scathing attacks
from German critics for traditionalism and lack of
originality.
Leipzig School
Born in Erfurt, Triegel lives and works in Leipzig and is
considered a member of the “Neue Leipziger Schule” group of
artists, along with Neo Rauch and Tilo Baumgaertel.
Like them,
he has a studio in the former cotton-spinning factory, the
Leipziger Baumwollspinnerei.
Triegel isn’t christened and has no affiliation to any
church -- not unusual for someone who grew up in communist
East Germany.
Draconian travel restrictions meant that he
didn’t visit Italy until 1990.
Still, the influence of
painters like Raphael, Da Vinci and Bellini on his work is
unmissable.
His “Last Supper” immediately conjures up Leonardo’s,
with its white-clothed table stretching across the canvas and
a triple-paned window behind.
Yet Jesus is the only person
there, and his face is a blank.
A mysterious empty black
screen looms behind him, and a string of fruit is suspended
from above.
Five empty water glasses are scattered along the
table -- the only food is a single cherry and an egg.
‘A Faith’
Triegel says he “would like to have a faith” and his
art reflects “a yearning for something beyond the rational.”
It seems the quest is still on: There’s a disconcerting
emptiness to his work. Figures are often nothing more than
empty swathes of cloth, wooden puppets or marble statues
straining to escape their bonds of stone and string.
His visual language is familiar, yet there’s always
something in Triegel’s paintings that’s new and thought-
provoking.
In his “Annunciation,” Mary isn’t reading as the
angel arrives. She’s lying flat on her back, naked and
exposed, on crisp white cloths stretched across a trestle
table.
It’s as though she’s about to undergo a primitive medical
procedure, or even be served up for dinner.
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