Canaletto, painter of Warsaw

Very early in my Warsaw stay I came across large cubes in Nowy Świat and Krakowskie Przedmieście. Each one contained a reproduction of a painting by Canaletto the younger.

They were angled to show the scene he depicted, relatively unchanged in the present.

I was intrigued by the presence of an Italian painter in Warsaw in the 18th century, although I quickly discovered that he wasn’t the Canaletto, but his nephew. However his influence has stretched into the 20th century. He cruised around royal courts, painting scenes of streets and castles, and his meticulously detailed paintings were used to reconstruct both Warsaw and Dresden after the devastation of World War 2.

The Castle contains a number of these paintings in the Canaletto Room. Only two of the original paintings are missing, which is pretty astonishing given the history of Warsaw over the last two centuries. Napoleon removed four canvases in 1807, and the Emperor Nicholas of Russia absconded with the lot in 1832, as did the Germans in 1939. They were retrieved in the aftermath of WW2 and restored to the reconstructed ante-room to the audience chamber in 1984.

In the Canaletto room they serve almost as wall panelling, and are therefore rather hard to scrutinise individually, especially the ones at ceiling height.

At floor level, there is a mock-up painting on an easel, showing how Canaletto painted: strainer; support; ground (red and light beige, applied with a brush and polished); under-drawing in pencil using a camera obscura, transferred to the canvas and water-coloured; and finally painting with oils (a thin layer to give the overall tone, under painting the basic colour, modelling with impasto, glazes to produce a glow, placing the figures in the landscape, and finally varnish.)

I was particularly interested in the paintings that feature places I know well. These images are from Wikipedia Commons.

Zamkowy Place

Krasińschi Palace

New Town Square

ul Długa

ul Miodowa

Palace at Wilanów

Footnote: I have discovered that Canaletto is buried in the first church I braved in Warsaw, the Church of the Transfiguration.

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Zamek Królewski: tapestries

Even more soothing than the white rooms were the four vast tapestries of the seasons. Their colours were subdued and they took you back outside to show a real world of natural colour and productive labour. They were the work of observers and creators and people expert at their craft.

 

 

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Zamek Królewski: detail

The opulence of the castle is a matter of detail as well as scale and volume, often detail piled on detail.

 

 

 

 

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Zamek Królewski: furniture

 

 

 

 

 

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Zamek Królewski: furniture

 

 

 

 

 

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Zamek Królewski: ceilings

 

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Zamek Królewski: white rooms

After the cloying lavishness of the red and gold rooms, demanding attention like an out-of-sorts two year old, I entered the white rooms with a sigh of relaxation and a sense of peace.

 

 

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Zamek Królewski: white rooms

After the cloying lavishness of the red and gold rooms, demanding attention like an out-of-sorts two year old, I entered the white rooms with a sigh of relaxation and a sense of peace.

 

 

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Zamek Królewski: excessive splendour

When I finally entered the rooms of the palace I was overwhelmed by excessive splendour: gold, crimson, marble, crystal, parquet. Floors, walls, ceilings, doors were all determinedly and overwhelmingly opulent.

 

 

 

 

 

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Zamek Królewski: being herded

My Royal Castle adventures began before I even set out on the royal route through its splendid rooms. Caught up at the entrance with a group of rowdy school kids, I copped a disintegrating snowball in my face. Approaching the entrance cautiously across the slippery path, I was greeted by the first of the herding guardians, who wanted to usher me in when I wanted to photograph the substantial entrance doorway.

Once inside, I stood amongst milling people, looking around trying to figure out what to do next. I decided to walk up an inviting curving staircase with a promising arrow.

At the top, I encountered my second guardian, and a language barrier. I produced my ticket, but that wasn't what she wanted. French finally solved the problem: she wanted me to leave my coat in the garde-robe. Assessing me as incapable of walking back down the stairs, she ushered me to a lift through two large rooms, not open to the public. The lift didn't respond to a button push, so she bustled around, using her mobile to Summon it. When it finally arrived, the door opened ceremoniously and revealed eight men, each carrying part of a suit of armour.

I indicated that I would take the stairs, and found the cloak room. However, I tried to deposit my coat in the section reserved for groups: chattering schoolchildren, not only handing over their coats, but removing their snowy shoes and replacing them with a species of slipper. Finally I succeeded in swapping my coat for a token, large and solid, nothing like the tinny ones I'm familiar with in Australia art galleries and museums.

That wasn't the end of my herding experiences. When I reached the Canaletto room, the main reason for my visit, the guardian decided I belonged with the group in the previous room. She tried twice to make me join them and their incomprehensible-to-me guide. Finally, I said peremptorily “I'm not with a group” and she understood my tone and left me to ramble backwards and forwards unmolested, although she kept a close eye on me.

As I was leaving, I had my last encounter with a guardian herder when I tried to go up the down staircase after I'd retrieved my coat.

 

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