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Time flies like an arrow.
Fruit flies like a banana.
And a long time ago,
Albrecht Dürer drew flies.
Tradition, going back to the Greeks, tells us that
fooling birds or simpletons is a fine measure of
a great artist. If a bird pecks at an illustration
of fruit, or if a birdbrain swats at the depiction
of a fly, the artists talent is validated. Illusional
representation so realistic that a two-dimensional
picture of a three or four dimensional object might
be confused with an actual object, is a fine practical
joke.
Albrecht Dürer placed the trompe l’oeil
fly on the Virgin Mary’s left knee in his
painting “Feast of the Garlands”, completed
in 1506. He used the little trick over and over
in other works, to the amusement of generations
of viewers. The insect became almost signature-like.
In “Feast of the Garlands”, Dürer
entertains us with an added detail, the bug that
has landed on the knee of the virgin; a practical
and insolent joke. Who would be caught off guard,
and try in vain, to shoo away the insect? Over five
hundred years, how many viewers actually took a
swipe at the fake fly? The painting was badly repaired
during the Nineteenth century, at which time the
fly was obliterated. We have documentation of the
fly in numerous etchings and copies of Dürer’s
painting, made before the bungled repair. Many other
artists have played this little game, which is self-limiting.
Once the fly is discovered to be an illusion, the
victim of the joke will not be tricked again, but
will watch in quiet glee while others fall prey
to the visual trap.
Some artists have built entire careers on variations
of this painted trickery, such as the American still-life
painters Harnett and Peto who did not follow the
tradition of painting flowers, but small, life size
objects, such as pieces of mail attached to a board.
Unsuspecting viewers might perceive these to be
actual letters. Harnett painted a realistic five
dollar on a background that simulated a floor board.
Think of a crumpled dollar lying on a city sidewalk.
An unsuspecting victim reaches for it, only to see
it yanked away by a practical joker who has teathered
the dollar to a fishing line. Then there is the
anecdote about painter Raphaelle Peale’s jealous
wife. Fearful and suspicious that her husband had
a naked woman in his studio, she snuck into his
studio while he was out and snooped around. She
discovered a partially covered canvas on his easel.
Beneath a white towel, strung over a string, she
could make out a bare foot and arm. She grabbed
at the towel, to remove it, expecting to reveal
the identity of the nude female. Her efforts resulted
in a permanent scratch across the painting. The
freshly painted illusion of drapery tricked her.
There was neither drapery nor nude, only paint on
canvas. Peale’s jealous wife had been set
up. Interestingly, her scratch did not destroy the
painting, “After The Bath”, but merely
increased its value.
My own grandfather, who was far from a birdbrain,
was fooled again and again by my aunt Mary’s
drawings of flies. While still a little girl she
had made a life size pencil drawing of a fly on
a sheet of notebook paper. After she drew it she
wanted to give it to her father who was not home
at the time, so she put the drawing on top of a
pile of paper on his writing desk. She was very
pleased with her drawing.
Her father was a busy metallurgist. His foundry
cast engine blocks for Detroit automakers. He owned
the company, so put in long hours at work. Mary
was practicing the piano when he came home from
work. He went into his study to look at his mail
before preparing for dinner. As he reached for the
stack of letters and bills, his eyes froze upon
a resting fly. He reached across the desk and slowly
picked up and quietly rolled a newspaper into a
flyswatter.
After whacking it with the rolled up newspaper
six or seven times, he realized he was powerless
to squash this pest. He had met his match. He was
a serious man not prone to humor. But this time
he laughed as he walked out his study, dangling
the flypaper by a corner.
“Who is responsible for this”? He asked,
a wide grin on his face.
Little Mary smiled. Her father smiled back. May
I keep this?, he asked.
“ I made it for you!” she replied.
Encouraged by her father’s response, she
drew another fly, in a different location. The number
of times he swatted at these drawn flies is lost
to history. Mary began illustrating spiders and
other bugs when he no longer swatted at her drawn
flies. Real flies benefitted from this armistice.
Eventually, he decided to put a stop to the appearance
of these immortal insects by arranging real art
classes for Mary. She had been drawing and painting
all along, but it took the flies to catch his attention.
She was given art lessons locally until she was
accepted at Cranbrook Academy.
I do not know if my grandfather returned to flailing
at real flies, but once she joined the academy,
the false flies vanished.
Having seen Dürer’s painting which,
once but no longer, features an impertinent fly,
I think I will ask my aunt Mary if she’ll
draw a life-size fly to illustrate this little story.
It’s equally likely she will whack me with
a rolled up newspaper, for being a pest.
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