Giorgione’s Adoration Of The Shepherds (1510)

Well, it’s that time of year when we look for the sea­son­al­ly sub­lime, and this year let’s vis­it a nativ­i­ty scene by one Gior­gio Bar­barel­li da Castel­fran­co (1470s-1510) – bet­ter known sim­ply as Gior­gione. Gior­gione was the Ital­ian painter who found­ed the Venet­ian school of Ital­ian Renais­sance paint­ing along with his younger con­tem­po­rary Tit­ian. He is one of the more mys­te­ri­ous char­ac­ters in Euro­pean art; lit­tle is known about him oth­er than the brief bio­graph­i­cal sketch in Gior­gio Vasar­i’s Lives of the Most Excel­lent Painters, Sculp­tors, and Archi­tects. His work seems to elude crit­ics too, and in fact there are only six sur­viv­ing paint­ings that are firm­ly attrib­uted to him.

Take his Ado­ra­tion of the Shep­herds, for instance. Art his­to­ri­an and Renais­sance spe­cial­ist Bernard Beren­son was firm­ly of the belief that this was by Tit­ian, though ear­li­er had attrib­uted it to Vin­cen­zo Cate­na, and lat­er hedged his bets some­what by attribut­ing it part­ly to Gior­gione but fin­ished off by Tit­ian. Roger Fry, mean­while, had it down as a Gio­van­ni Car­i­ani (“the land­scape and the foliage in the fore­ground leaves lit­tle doubt”). These things mat­ter when you’re sell­ing a paint­ing, of course, and this one has an inter­est­ing prove­nance. The paint­ing had come up for sale, as a Gior­gione, in 1847 at Christie’s in Lon­don and was pur­chased for £1544 by Thomas Went­worth Beau­mont of one of my local state­ly homes, Bret­ton Hall in West York­shire.

The paint­ing got passed down through sev­er­al gen­er­a­tions of Vis­counts Allen­dale (hence the painting’s alter­na­tive name the Allen­dale Nativ­i­ty) ulti­mate­ly to Beaumont’s great grand­son, Went­worth Beau­mont, who then sold the paint­ing to leg­endary art col­lec­tor Lord Duveen in 1937. Duveen’s res­i­dent expert was none oth­er than the afore­men­tioned Bernard Beren­son. Sad­ly, the men fell out over the attri­bu­tion and their long-term part­ner­ship rup­tured, all because Beren­son insist­ed it was a Tit­ian and Duveen thought it a Gior­gione. Duveen sold it on – as a Gior­gione (if he’d have seen Titian’s sell­ing pow­er today, per­haps he would have gone along with Beren­son) — to depart­ment store mag­nate Samuel Hen­ry Kress who dis­played it in the win­dow of his store on Fifth Avenue over the Christ­mas peri­od 1938. It’s now in the Nation­al Gallery of Art in Wash­ing­ton DC.

Gior­gione – or Tit­ian, or who­ev­er (though cer­tain­ly some­one Venet­ian) – places his Nativ­i­ty in front of a dark grot­to rather than a sta­ble, while on the left a bright Venet­ian land­scape recedes into the dis­tance. Joseph and Mary are opu­lent­ly dressed, and the baby Jesus lies on a white cloth on the ground rather than in a manger – even in the six­teenth cen­tu­ry artists sought to be dif­fer­ent. You would be for­giv­en for miss­ing the put­ti (winged heads) who hov­er ethe­re­al­ly above the entrance, or the angel sur­rep­ti­tious­ly float­ing amid the tree­tops top-left. Mer­ry Christ­mas!

Gior­gione, Ado­ra­tion of the Shep­herds

Ella Fitzgerald’s Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye (1956)

The rich her­itage of African-Amer­i­can music has been writ­ten about in this blog sev­er­al times; we’ve looked var­i­ous­ly at The Ink Spots, Sam & Dave, Bil­lie Hol­l­i­day, Miles Davis, Paul Robe­son, Nina Simone and Louis Jor­dan. Of course, there are many nota­bles miss­ing from that list but there is only so much time and space, and we’re a blog not an ency­clopae­dia. Nonethe­less, there is one notable name for whom omis­sion would con­sti­tute a crime and that is the Queen of Jazz her­self, Ella Fitzger­ald.

Born in New­port News, Vir­ginia, in 1917, Ella Jane Fitzgerald’s ear­ly life was a tumul­tuous one: her moth­er died from injuries sus­tained in a car acci­dent in 1932, leav­ing the fif­teen-year old Ella in the care of her step-father, who was rumoured to have abused her. Ella began skip­ping school and run­ning around with the wrong sorts of peo­ple, and when the author­i­ties caught up with her she was sent to the Col­ored Orphan Asy­lum in the Bronx. But through­out this time, of course, Ella sang, and on a Novem­ber night in 1934, she got her­self onto the bill of one of the Ama­teur Nights at the Apol­lo The­ater in Harlem. She took first prize and her life changed.

Ella was soon to meet band­leader Chick Webb who tried her out with his band at a dance at Yale Uni­ver­si­ty. Met with approval by audi­ence and musi­cians alike, Webb signed her up and she became a pop­u­lar fix­ture at the band’s reg­u­lar per­for­mances at leg­endary Harlem venue, the Savoy Ball­room. When Webb died, Ella took over as band­leader and they became Ella Fitzger­ald and her Famous Orches­tra. Thus began a long career span­ning six­ty years, in which she made music as a solo artist but also col­lab­o­ra­tive­ly with such greats as Ben­ny Good­man, Duke Elling­ton, Louis Arm­strong, Dizzy Gille­spie and Count Basie (not to men­tion the already-men­tioned Inkspots and Louis Jor­dan).

In 1993, she gave her last pub­lic per­for­mance, and three years lat­er she died at age 79 after years of declin­ing health. Whilst I might have picked a well-known song from so many she record­ed such as Dream a Lit­tle Dream of Me, Cheek to Cheek, Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall, and It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing), today let’s lis­ten to her exquis­ite ren­der­ing of Cole Porter’s mas­ter­piece, Ev’ry Time We Say Good­bye.

Ella Fitzger­ald