Julia Wolkoff
Jean Lecomte du
Nouÿ, A Eunuch’s Dream, 1874. Courtesy of the Cleveland Museum of Art.
“When we fall
asleep, where do we go?” This was the question looming over the long line of
teenage girls who recently waited impatiently outside the Billie Eilish merch
pop-up in Chinatown. The pop star didn’t invent this question. Philosophers,
poets, and psychoanalysts have rhapsodized about the answer for centuries. It’s
visual artists, though, who have, again and again, sought to show the
impossible—to imagine, in pictures of sleeping subjects, the unseen places we
go when we dream. From Godly visions to fantasies to nightmares, the
representations of dreams in art have drastically changed since the Middle
Ages.
In the Renaissance,
as artists and Humanists turned to the writings and art of antiquity, they
discovered the ancient philosophers like Hippocrates and Aristotle had been
tantalized by the subject of dreams. The 15th-century Florentine philosopher
Marsilio Ficino, in particular, took up the task of interpreting the meaning of
dreams. His concept of vacatio animae posits that while sleeping, the soul can
be freed from the corporeal restraints of the body and achieve a higher,
spiritual state.
In art, this spiritual state often took the
form of a dozing soul caught in a religious moral dilemma. But dreams also
allowed Renaissance artists to heroize the creative imagination and play with
sensual, pagan scenes. The Venetian painter Lorenzo Lotto’s Sleeping Apollo and
the Muses with Fame (ca. 1549) shows the naked deity napping in an idyllic
glade. An angel flying overhead surveys the heaps of discarded clothes and
musical instruments, while in the distance, the Muses—reveric stand-ins for the
creative imagination—perform an uninhibited dance.
Ary de Vois, Jacob’s
Dream, 1660–80. Courtesy of the Rijksmuseum.
Yet it was the Biblical
dream—a communication from God—that artists were most often called upon to
represent. The Old Testament stories of Jacob’s ladder and Joseph’s
interpretation of Pharaoh’s dream were popular subjects. In both narratives, their dreams become important catalysts for change.
The dream of Jacob (ca. 1500), an oil-on-panel
work by Nicolas Dipre, foregrounds Jacob, dressed ethereally in white,
reclining outdoors with his head resting on a rock. His prophetic dream, in
which angels mount a ladder to heaven, appears tangibly in the landscape behind
his enclave. Jacob’s eyes may be closed, but his sight, the painting suggests,
is clear.
Divine visions
remained a popular challenge for centuries of Western artists, who imbued the
well-worn stories with ulterior meanings. Ary de Vois’s version of Jacob’s
dream (1660–80) is pointedly sensual. Jacob, nude save for a strategically
placed bit of cloth, languorously stretches out on a patch of grass, his
idealized body on full display. The ladder and angels appear far in the
background, a decidedly less prominent focus of the picture compared with
Dipre’s work. Here, Jacob’s vision from God is nearly ecstatic, offering
pleasure to the sleeping figure much like Bernini’s famously erotic St. Teresa
in Ecstasy (1647–52)………………..
https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-art-historys-iconic-depictions-dreams-renaissance-surrealism?utm_medium=email&utm_source=17441175-newsletter-editorial-daily-07-09-19&utm_campaign=editorial-rail&utm_content=st-V
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