The Eye: An Insider’s Memoir of Masterpieces, Money, and the Magnetism of Art by Philippe Costamagna
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
Definitely for art history geeks only.
Philippe Costamagna was raised in a cultured household, steeped in art from childhood. It is his passion, his “bliss,” and he follows that road – lucky Philippe. This is the most enjoyable part of his memoir: he wades into the art history profession, finding mentors and projects that lead him through hallowed halls of collections and museums across Europe: studying, looking, examining, analyzing, grouping, categorizing, and – above all – seeing. (An education I dreamed of as a callow youth…) He comes to champion the supremacy of the “Eye”: the connoisseur who can identify and authenticate a painting’s creator simply by what he sees as he stands before it. He is not exactly dismissive of modern techniques like x-rays and spectrography, but feels they serve only to support what the Eye sees; similarly, though he has paid his dues in archives tracing dusty receipts and logs to document an object’s life from creation through sales, storage, and ownership, that too is always subservient to the Eye’s conclusion. I suspect he would subscribe to Malcolm Gladwell’s “Blink” theory: a snap judgement produced in a moment without conscious thought, but actually based on years of learning that coalesce to cry “Bronzino!” based on how a toenail is painted. Costamagna explicitly counts himself among the Eyes, and given the stature of those who have worked with him, he must be pretty damn good. But… there are many examples of those Eyes who have been outrageously wrong, often for pecuniary reasons. He is rather protective of the legendary art historian Bernard Berenson, whose Eye has since been undermined by his eager grasp of the dollars waved by ambitious collectors frantic for his seal of approval. Modris Ekstein’s fascinating Solar Dance: Genius, Forgery and the Crisis of Truth in the Modern Age is a terrific tale of Eyes battling it out in a courtroom, and making fools of themselves.
It’s all a bit too much ego, confidence tipping into arrogance. My usual complaint about the lack of illustrations applies here: almost the only picture in a book about looking at paintings is a poor black and white photo of the Bronzino Crucifixion – this from a man who refuses to authenticate any picture from a photograph. Fire up the iPad, reader, so you can see what he’s talking about. The lengthy section on historical Eyes tried my patience. If I ever find myself in Corsica, I would absolutely visit the museum in Ajaccio that Costamagna currently directs. But this sort-of memoir doesn’t quite fill the plate, and you have to be pretty hungry to sit down to it.
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