Defend Yourself! - The Art of Power at the National Gallery

I've long felt that art just isn't destructive enough. Why, take the National Gallery of Art as an example. Sure, we can all gaze in awe at Leonardo's Ginevra de' Benci and note his masterful technique and elegant use of light and shadow, but I defy you to muster an element of fear about it. Monet can stand about painting the Rouen Cathedral until the cows come home, but not once would he hear a shriek of terror. The Dutch and Flemish Galleries look promising, after all they're dark and dreary, but even they disappoint. I mean, Daniel in the Lion's Den? Come on, those pansy pussycats couldn't tear apart a block of cheese, much less Daniel. Copley's Watson and the Shark is a good start, but Copley only hints at the destructive power of a shark ripping the flesh off the leg of a 14 year old boy. A nice try, but then it's back to landscapes and portraits, with nary a bloodletting in sight.

Well, fear not! The National Gallery of Art's new exhibit, The Art of Power: Royal Armor and Portraits from Imperial Spain, satisfies even the most bloodthirsty of art devotees. The entrance way, just off the East Garden Court, sets the right tone from the start. Covering the entire north wall is a gigantic photomural of the Hall of Battles from El Escorial, the residence of the king of Spain. Depicting Phillip II's campaigns against the French, as well as medieval battles with the Moors, the mural is a military history junkies dream. No detail is too small, and the mural lovingly replicates obscure details of 16th Century warfare, even down to the cattle of the supply train. I do wonder what the guy being hung in the upper left hand corner did? Oh well, no one expects the Inquisition...

Now, I visited the exhibit this weekend with my daughter and her friend Nate. Before going in, we chatted a bit about the purpose of armor, or "hard clothes" as my daughter called them. We talked about how difficult is was to get on and how hot it must be to wear it. I then asked the kids why folks would choose to wear it. Nate quite correctly mentioned the threat of dragons. Sadly for Nate and I, the exhibit is a bit deficient in this regard. Somehow, not one of the excellent examples of armor throughout the exhibit is shown fighting off, or even concerned with, a dragon. I assume the curators had conservation concerns in bringing actual dragon relics into the National Gallery, but surely a mock up or two wouldn't have been out of line.

The disappointing lack of dragons aside, for the first time ever the exhibit cleverly matches several of these suits of armor with their deception in artwork and tapestries. It is instructive to compare the static display of the armor with contemporary depictions of how they were worn by masters such as Peter Paul Reubens, Anthony van Dyck, and Diego Velazquez. I'd tell you to pay particular attention to the tapestries, but my warning is not needed. They're immense, and you'd have to be particularly obtuse to miss them.

It's easy to be seduced by the exquisite craftsmanship and finery associated by the armor, and look upon them as elaborate and beautiful metal sculptures. But what were looking at is the pinnacle of centuries of armed conflict, with these works of art being the end result of almost a millennium of effort by humanity engaged in an arms race to develop better and more powerful means to destroy each other. Their grace and beauty is is incidental to, and embellishments on, their main purpose of destructive power. The incredible cost of just one of these suits, much less the years of constant training for man and horse, inevitably concentrate power in a select few. But for all that that a knight in shining armor is synonymous with real power in the 16th Century, there is a sense of forbidding here. This world will shortly be swept away by gunpowder weapons, which will allow a reasonably trained peasant to kill a king. The exhibit ends on this note, with the final few items clearly showing this. Armor retains it's pomp and ceremony, but loses it's heavy practical utility, becoming a mere symbol of power. I swear in the painting of Charles III, the last painting of a Spanish monarch in armor, Charles is more amused at his costume, rather than projecting Imperial Power.

The Art of Power will be here until November 1st and, like the rest of the National Gallery, is free, although audio tours are available for $5.