Winter is upon us. Each adapt in their own manner for better or worse. …
from Jonathan Jones: Bruegel’s paintings are not just prophecies. They are recipes of adaptation, illustrating new ways to live with the cold: how to inhabit it, even enjoy it. Ice and snow turn the world upside-down. In Bruegel’s paintings, the very chill that threatens life provokes vitality. People don’t just shiver in the snow. In his Census at Bethlehem, while adults huddle miserably, children skate and sledge on the ice, as they do in Hunters.
Dutch artists took up Bruegel’s new snow scene genre as winters deepened and hardened and the frosts that seemed novel in 1565 became routine (though still magical). In making everything look new and alien – stopping school and work, severing the chains of rural habit – snow created a wonderland that is celebrated, for example, in the paintings of Hendrick Avercamp, where entire Dutch towns are shown out on the ice while old people sit watching, wrapped up warm.
In Britain, the 17th-century English diarist John Evelyn recorded that when the Thames froze over, from December 1683 to February 1684, people treated it as a “carnival of winter”. A carnival was a mad collective escape from drudgery, and in Abraham Hondius’s painting, A Frost on the Thames, you can see what Evelyn means. Long-haired dandies glide across the solid river, visiting booths and tents, while cannons fire to salute a royal visit and children play ball games.
Yet, Evelyn points out, this midwinter celebration skated over the chilling facts: the poor were perishing from cold and hunger, the next year’s harvest was dead in the ground, and trees were dying. It was a catastrophe. Somehow, the Thames “frost fairs” turned it all into a joyous Bruegelian celebration of life.
The last frost fair on the Thames was in 1814, when Regency fops were just as keen to get on the ice to flirt, as a cartoon by Thomas Rowlandson, of skaters on the Serpentine, shows. But in the 19th century, the communal hilarity Bruegel bequeathed gives way to a terrible solitude. Snow is no longer made homely by winter sports and braziers. It becomes the white shroud of death. Caspar David Friedrich’s painting The Watzmann imagines a snowbound Alp, seen acro
reen foothills, as a smooth, inhuman spectre remote from the fleshy concerns of the everyday. It is extreme, it is desired, and it will kill you. The Alps in Friedrich’s day were still a menace to the economic and political life of Europe. Read More:http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2006/dec/18/art.climatechange a
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