Berenson's Life-Enhancing Art

This is Bernard Berenson's swan B.B. died in I Tatti, the Florence villa which he willed to Harvard, after correcting the book's proofs. Composed of his diaries during summer journeys from to 1956, this work is suffused by the astoundingly fresh response to the and masterworks on his

Though he was 85 when he began these tours around Italy the North Coast of Africa, his age none of his enthusiasm for As the first man to devote his to connoisseurship, to authenticate paintings and drawings, B.B. approached his work and his life with and brilliance of intellect.

These trips were, for him, pilgrimages to the shrines he had worshipped in his life. During his last years, he to Ravenna, to Leptis the Greek runins in Agrigentum, the treasures of Florence's Uffiz and Borghese Gallery in Rome. He saw the works that he claimed had balanced his life and could others.

The crux of his philosophy rests on this concept of the life-enhancing work of art. These objects were the noblest achievements of mankind and of the utmost importanced for the attainment of the Good Life. In "Duveen," S.N. Behrman quotes B.B. referring to a painting of Il Salvatore Benedicente owned by the Louvre. It gives an especially arresting example of B.B.'s application of his philosophy to works of art:

"Its significance is cosmic. If people looked at it with sympathy and understanding--if everyone did--they would find salvation in it It would be the salvation of all of us."

It is pure idol worship, with a Platonic ring to it. In Aesthetics and History, B.B. further explains that an art object is life-enhancing because it shows us a visual, but also, more profoundly, a spiritual ideal towards which we cannot fail to strive. That is, if we can train ourselves to view such art "with sympathy and understanding."

In The Passionate Sightseer, B.B., who came from a Lithuanian rabbinical family, again refers to this philosophy, interestingly enough once again in reference to a work of Christian religious art. This time, he says of the churches of Rome, "People cannot move around in these churches without its influencing their outlook on the universe and without furnishing them with standards and values."

Within this philosophy of the function of art. B.B. proved himself extraordinarily receptive to works other than those of the Italian Renaissance. Classic architecture, both Greek and Roman, Byzantine mosaic and Medieval sculpture all provide him with "life-enhancing" works, works which he could return again and agin--with, it seems, unending pleasure.

Perhaps the best thing about Berenson is that he communicates his pleasure so vividly. As a prose stylist, he approaches the great aestheticians of the past--Burke, Reynolds, Ruskin. He has the perfect control of a balanced sentence and a splendidly colorful use of words; in short, he is a master of rhythmic evocative prose.

As a sample of his prose at its best, I quote a section from this book where B.B. describes the idyllic beauty of his trips in and around Bergamo when he was gathering material at the turn of the century for his superb book on Lorenze Lotto:

"In the remotest villages of the Marches there was often nothing to eat but hard bread, onions and anchovies, but every morning I awoke to a glamorous adventure, tasted the freshness of a spring or autumn morning in the Bergamesque valley as if it were a deliciously inviting draught. Each alterpiece in its place in the cool or warm but penumbral light of a church I enjoyed like the satisfaction of a vow, and it remained fixed in memory as a crystalline individuality... Its overtones lingered in recollection and its taste on the palate."

B.B., like many elderly men, tended to romanticize his youthful trips. His quest for Lotto's altarpice in a rural, unmechanized Italy was undeniably pleasing. It seems even more so in contrast to his trips in modern Italy, when B.B. at times seems slightly dry, and ever so slightly disgusted and disillusioned.

Benson resents crowds of any sort, noise of any sort--with the irascibility of a crabby old man. At his age, of course, one shouldn't expect other than this, but somehow one does wish he were kinder to tourists, to modern arrangement of pictures in the Uffiizi, to the motorcycles in Ravenna. These, after all, are the facts of life for modern Italy. Berenson seems to resent them for purely egocentric reasons: because they distract his own concentration, or in some way jibe with his memories of the past.

But, fortunately, he devoted only a little space in this book to scolding of modern times merely because they are not the good old days. Mainly, he discusses monuments of art as only a true art lover could--with conviction and originality. After all, B.B. always considered himself an "art lover" not "art expert," and rightly. His response is immediate regardless of the style of the work in question.

He did not believe art lurked only in crannies of museums and churches. B.B., even in his old age, went through difficult Sicilian roads to get to a Greek temple. He travelled in Calbria, to North Africa, to minor Sicilian villages.

Like the Romantics, he loved the poetic landscape. He describes with glee many cold mornings spent waiting for sunrise in some scenic spot. He tells of the melancholy overtones of classic ruins with a genuine excitement. He did not merely repeat the noble sentiment of the Romantics, he definitely experienced it himself. With his stirring prose, he makes the enjoyment of a grand vista a thrilling event and a worthy ideal.

Italy, his chosen home, held more than merely visual delights for him. Despite his occasional arch references to Italy's modernization, he makes clear how much he understands and admires the Italian character, especially its Sicilian variant.

The Passionate Sightseer, though a slim volume, gives us sharp insight into all these aspects of this fascinating wit, scholar and sightseer. To make all his visual reference perfectly clear, the publishers have included extensive photographs of the master-works and places discussed.

Because The Passionate Sightseer offers so clear an image of Berenson's personality, one finds it hard not to fall under his spell. His way of life immediately communicates itself as a particularly rewarding one. His approach to life, his careful cultivation of the good and the beautiful (especially the beautiful) becomes intensely attractive.

Without probably even intending to, Bernard Berenson has created in his last book, a life-enhancing work of art

Though he was 85 when he began these tours around Italy the North Coast of Africa, his age none of his enthusiasm for As the first man to devote his to connoisseurship, to authenticate paintings and drawings, B.B. approached his work and his life with and brilliance of intellect.

These trips were, for him, pilgrimages to the shrines he had worshipped in his life. During his last years, he to Ravenna, to Leptis the Greek runins in Agrigentum, the treasures of Florence's Uffiz and Borghese Gallery in Rome. He saw the works that he claimed had balanced his life and could others.

The crux of his philosophy rests on this concept of the life-enhancing work of art. These objects were the noblest achievements of mankind and of the utmost importanced for the attainment of the Good Life. In "Duveen," S.N. Behrman quotes B.B. referring to a painting of Il Salvatore Benedicente owned by the Louvre. It gives an especially arresting example of B.B.'s application of his philosophy to works of art:

"Its significance is cosmic. If people looked at it with sympathy and understanding--if everyone did--they would find salvation in it It would be the salvation of all of us."

It is pure idol worship, with a Platonic ring to it. In Aesthetics and History, B.B. further explains that an art object is life-enhancing because it shows us a visual, but also, more profoundly, a spiritual ideal towards which we cannot fail to strive. That is, if we can train ourselves to view such art "with sympathy and understanding."

In The Passionate Sightseer, B.B., who came from a Lithuanian rabbinical family, again refers to this philosophy, interestingly enough once again in reference to a work of Christian religious art. This time, he says of the churches of Rome, "People cannot move around in these churches without its influencing their outlook on the universe and without furnishing them with standards and values."

Within this philosophy of the function of art. B.B. proved himself extraordinarily receptive to works other than those of the Italian Renaissance. Classic architecture, both Greek and Roman, Byzantine mosaic and Medieval sculpture all provide him with "life-enhancing" works, works which he could return again and agin--with, it seems, unending pleasure.

Perhaps the best thing about Berenson is that he communicates his pleasure so vividly. As a prose stylist, he approaches the great aestheticians of the past--Burke, Reynolds, Ruskin. He has the perfect control of a balanced sentence and a splendidly colorful use of words; in short, he is a master of rhythmic evocative prose.

As a sample of his prose at its best, I quote a section from this book where B.B. describes the idyllic beauty of his trips in and around Bergamo when he was gathering material at the turn of the century for his superb book on Lorenze Lotto:

"In the remotest villages of the Marches there was often nothing to eat but hard bread, onions and anchovies, but every morning I awoke to a glamorous adventure, tasted the freshness of a spring or autumn morning in the Bergamesque valley as if it were a deliciously inviting draught. Each alterpiece in its place in the cool or warm but penumbral light of a church I enjoyed like the satisfaction of a vow, and it remained fixed in memory as a crystalline individuality... Its overtones lingered in recollection and its taste on the palate."

B.B., like many elderly men, tended to romanticize his youthful trips. His quest for Lotto's altarpice in a rural, unmechanized Italy was undeniably pleasing. It seems even more so in contrast to his trips in modern Italy, when B.B. at times seems slightly dry, and ever so slightly disgusted and disillusioned.

Benson resents crowds of any sort, noise of any sort--with the irascibility of a crabby old man. At his age, of course, one shouldn't expect other than this, but somehow one does wish he were kinder to tourists, to modern arrangement of pictures in the Uffiizi, to the motorcycles in Ravenna. These, after all, are the facts of life for modern Italy. Berenson seems to resent them for purely egocentric reasons: because they distract his own concentration, or in some way jibe with his memories of the past.

But, fortunately, he devoted only a little space in this book to scolding of modern times merely because they are not the good old days. Mainly, he discusses monuments of art as only a true art lover could--with conviction and originality. After all, B.B. always considered himself an "art lover" not "art expert," and rightly. His response is immediate regardless of the style of the work in question.

He did not believe art lurked only in crannies of museums and churches. B.B., even in his old age, went through difficult Sicilian roads to get to a Greek temple. He travelled in Calbria, to North Africa, to minor Sicilian villages.

Like the Romantics, he loved the poetic landscape. He describes with glee many cold mornings spent waiting for sunrise in some scenic spot. He tells of the melancholy overtones of classic ruins with a genuine excitement. He did not merely repeat the noble sentiment of the Romantics, he definitely experienced it himself. With his stirring prose, he makes the enjoyment of a grand vista a thrilling event and a worthy ideal.

Italy, his chosen home, held more than merely visual delights for him. Despite his occasional arch references to Italy's modernization, he makes clear how much he understands and admires the Italian character, especially its Sicilian variant.

The Passionate Sightseer, though a slim volume, gives us sharp insight into all these aspects of this fascinating wit, scholar and sightseer. To make all his visual reference perfectly clear, the publishers have included extensive photographs of the master-works and places discussed.

Because The Passionate Sightseer offers so clear an image of Berenson's personality, one finds it hard not to fall under his spell. His way of life immediately communicates itself as a particularly rewarding one. His approach to life, his careful cultivation of the good and the beautiful (especially the beautiful) becomes intensely attractive.

Without probably even intending to, Bernard Berenson has created in his last book, a life-enhancing work of art

These trips were, for him, pilgrimages to the shrines he had worshipped in his life. During his last years, he to Ravenna, to Leptis the Greek runins in Agrigentum, the treasures of Florence's Uffiz and Borghese Gallery in Rome. He saw the works that he claimed had balanced his life and could others.

The crux of his philosophy rests on this concept of the life-enhancing work of art. These objects were the noblest achievements of mankind and of the utmost importanced for the attainment of the Good Life. In "Duveen," S.N. Behrman quotes B.B. referring to a painting of Il Salvatore Benedicente owned by the Louvre. It gives an especially arresting example of B.B.'s application of his philosophy to works of art:

"Its significance is cosmic. If people looked at it with sympathy and understanding--if everyone did--they would find salvation in it It would be the salvation of all of us."

It is pure idol worship, with a Platonic ring to it. In Aesthetics and History, B.B. further explains that an art object is life-enhancing because it shows us a visual, but also, more profoundly, a spiritual ideal towards which we cannot fail to strive. That is, if we can train ourselves to view such art "with sympathy and understanding."

In The Passionate Sightseer, B.B., who came from a Lithuanian rabbinical family, again refers to this philosophy, interestingly enough once again in reference to a work of Christian religious art. This time, he says of the churches of Rome, "People cannot move around in these churches without its influencing their outlook on the universe and without furnishing them with standards and values."

Within this philosophy of the function of art. B.B. proved himself extraordinarily receptive to works other than those of the Italian Renaissance. Classic architecture, both Greek and Roman, Byzantine mosaic and Medieval sculpture all provide him with "life-enhancing" works, works which he could return again and agin--with, it seems, unending pleasure.

Perhaps the best thing about Berenson is that he communicates his pleasure so vividly. As a prose stylist, he approaches the great aestheticians of the past--Burke, Reynolds, Ruskin. He has the perfect control of a balanced sentence and a splendidly colorful use of words; in short, he is a master of rhythmic evocative prose.

As a sample of his prose at its best, I quote a section from this book where B.B. describes the idyllic beauty of his trips in and around Bergamo when he was gathering material at the turn of the century for his superb book on Lorenze Lotto:

"In the remotest villages of the Marches there was often nothing to eat but hard bread, onions and anchovies, but every morning I awoke to a glamorous adventure, tasted the freshness of a spring or autumn morning in the Bergamesque valley as if it were a deliciously inviting draught. Each alterpiece in its place in the cool or warm but penumbral light of a church I enjoyed like the satisfaction of a vow, and it remained fixed in memory as a crystalline individuality... Its overtones lingered in recollection and its taste on the palate."

B.B., like many elderly men, tended to romanticize his youthful trips. His quest for Lotto's altarpice in a rural, unmechanized Italy was undeniably pleasing. It seems even more so in contrast to his trips in modern Italy, when B.B. at times seems slightly dry, and ever so slightly disgusted and disillusioned.

Benson resents crowds of any sort, noise of any sort--with the irascibility of a crabby old man. At his age, of course, one shouldn't expect other than this, but somehow one does wish he were kinder to tourists, to modern arrangement of pictures in the Uffiizi, to the motorcycles in Ravenna. These, after all, are the facts of life for modern Italy. Berenson seems to resent them for purely egocentric reasons: because they distract his own concentration, or in some way jibe with his memories of the past.

But, fortunately, he devoted only a little space in this book to scolding of modern times merely because they are not the good old days. Mainly, he discusses monuments of art as only a true art lover could--with conviction and originality. After all, B.B. always considered himself an "art lover" not "art expert," and rightly. His response is immediate regardless of the style of the work in question.

He did not believe art lurked only in crannies of museums and churches. B.B., even in his old age, went through difficult Sicilian roads to get to a Greek temple. He travelled in Calbria, to North Africa, to minor Sicilian villages.

Like the Romantics, he loved the poetic landscape. He describes with glee many cold mornings spent waiting for sunrise in some scenic spot. He tells of the melancholy overtones of classic ruins with a genuine excitement. He did not merely repeat the noble sentiment of the Romantics, he definitely experienced it himself. With his stirring prose, he makes the enjoyment of a grand vista a thrilling event and a worthy ideal.

Italy, his chosen home, held more than merely visual delights for him. Despite his occasional arch references to Italy's modernization, he makes clear how much he understands and admires the Italian character, especially its Sicilian variant.

The Passionate Sightseer, though a slim volume, gives us sharp insight into all these aspects of this fascinating wit, scholar and sightseer. To make all his visual reference perfectly clear, the publishers have included extensive photographs of the master-works and places discussed.

Because The Passionate Sightseer offers so clear an image of Berenson's personality, one finds it hard not to fall under his spell. His way of life immediately communicates itself as a particularly rewarding one. His approach to life, his careful cultivation of the good and the beautiful (especially the beautiful) becomes intensely attractive.

Without probably even intending to, Bernard Berenson has created in his last book, a life-enhancing work of art

The crux of his philosophy rests on this concept of the life-enhancing work of art. These objects were the noblest achievements of mankind and of the utmost importanced for the attainment of the Good Life. In "Duveen," S.N. Behrman quotes B.B. referring to a painting of Il Salvatore Benedicente owned by the Louvre. It gives an especially arresting example of B.B.'s application of his philosophy to works of art:

"Its significance is cosmic. If people looked at it with sympathy and understanding--if everyone did--they would find salvation in it It would be the salvation of all of us."

It is pure idol worship, with a Platonic ring to it. In Aesthetics and History, B.B. further explains that an art object is life-enhancing because it shows us a visual, but also, more profoundly, a spiritual ideal towards which we cannot fail to strive. That is, if we can train ourselves to view such art "with sympathy and understanding."

In The Passionate Sightseer, B.B., who came from a Lithuanian rabbinical family, again refers to this philosophy, interestingly enough once again in reference to a work of Christian religious art. This time, he says of the churches of Rome, "People cannot move around in these churches without its influencing their outlook on the universe and without furnishing them with standards and values."

Within this philosophy of the function of art. B.B. proved himself extraordinarily receptive to works other than those of the Italian Renaissance. Classic architecture, both Greek and Roman, Byzantine mosaic and Medieval sculpture all provide him with "life-enhancing" works, works which he could return again and agin--with, it seems, unending pleasure.

Perhaps the best thing about Berenson is that he communicates his pleasure so vividly. As a prose stylist, he approaches the great aestheticians of the past--Burke, Reynolds, Ruskin. He has the perfect control of a balanced sentence and a splendidly colorful use of words; in short, he is a master of rhythmic evocative prose.

As a sample of his prose at its best, I quote a section from this book where B.B. describes the idyllic beauty of his trips in and around Bergamo when he was gathering material at the turn of the century for his superb book on Lorenze Lotto:

"In the remotest villages of the Marches there was often nothing to eat but hard bread, onions and anchovies, but every morning I awoke to a glamorous adventure, tasted the freshness of a spring or autumn morning in the Bergamesque valley as if it were a deliciously inviting draught. Each alterpiece in its place in the cool or warm but penumbral light of a church I enjoyed like the satisfaction of a vow, and it remained fixed in memory as a crystalline individuality... Its overtones lingered in recollection and its taste on the palate."

B.B., like many elderly men, tended to romanticize his youthful trips. His quest for Lotto's altarpice in a rural, unmechanized Italy was undeniably pleasing. It seems even more so in contrast to his trips in modern Italy, when B.B. at times seems slightly dry, and ever so slightly disgusted and disillusioned.

Benson resents crowds of any sort, noise of any sort--with the irascibility of a crabby old man. At his age, of course, one shouldn't expect other than this, but somehow one does wish he were kinder to tourists, to modern arrangement of pictures in the Uffiizi, to the motorcycles in Ravenna. These, after all, are the facts of life for modern Italy. Berenson seems to resent them for purely egocentric reasons: because they distract his own concentration, or in some way jibe with his memories of the past.

But, fortunately, he devoted only a little space in this book to scolding of modern times merely because they are not the good old days. Mainly, he discusses monuments of art as only a true art lover could--with conviction and originality. After all, B.B. always considered himself an "art lover" not "art expert," and rightly. His response is immediate regardless of the style of the work in question.

He did not believe art lurked only in crannies of museums and churches. B.B., even in his old age, went through difficult Sicilian roads to get to a Greek temple. He travelled in Calbria, to North Africa, to minor Sicilian villages.

Like the Romantics, he loved the poetic landscape. He describes with glee many cold mornings spent waiting for sunrise in some scenic spot. He tells of the melancholy overtones of classic ruins with a genuine excitement. He did not merely repeat the noble sentiment of the Romantics, he definitely experienced it himself. With his stirring prose, he makes the enjoyment of a grand vista a thrilling event and a worthy ideal.

Italy, his chosen home, held more than merely visual delights for him. Despite his occasional arch references to Italy's modernization, he makes clear how much he understands and admires the Italian character, especially its Sicilian variant.

The Passionate Sightseer, though a slim volume, gives us sharp insight into all these aspects of this fascinating wit, scholar and sightseer. To make all his visual reference perfectly clear, the publishers have included extensive photographs of the master-works and places discussed.

Because The Passionate Sightseer offers so clear an image of Berenson's personality, one finds it hard not to fall under his spell. His way of life immediately communicates itself as a particularly rewarding one. His approach to life, his careful cultivation of the good and the beautiful (especially the beautiful) becomes intensely attractive.

Without probably even intending to, Bernard Berenson has created in his last book, a life-enhancing work of art