Over these last months, I’ve had the great joy of watching a series of beautiful and stunning images by Michael Galovic, based on The Fall and Expulsion from Paradise, unfold. In watching the images evolve, step by step, I gained an increasingly deep respect for the complexity of the process, from the gessoing of the boards, through the creation of each layer of moulding and gilding, and then the layers of painting where specific features and then the final delicate detail emerge.
This truly gave me a deeper understanding of, and insight into, the sheer complexity and technical skill involved in successfully balancing each layer, with their different components and levels of permeability, to create the works.
Michael’s artistic background is unusual in that he is both an iconographer and an artist. It is these two aspect of his practice that underpin his work across different material and genres. His childhood in Serbia was visually enriched by art in general, his mother being an art historian and his step-father working on the restoration of frescoes that had been whitewashed during the centuries of Ottoman rule. Michael then followed this with five years of training at the Academy of Arts in Belgrade.
This eclectic background gave him an enormous appreciation of the skill, subtlety and sheer brilliance of medieval art, through from Romanesque to the early Renaissance, especially in the religious context. As a painter of icons, he had a wide-ranging technical understanding of the qualities of the media involved as well as a fascination with the imagery and symbolism portrayed in a variety of different forms. This has informed the diversity of directions in his art practice over the last thirty years he has spent in Australia, with many of his works depicting his fascination with concentric circles representing spheres, similar in effect to the almond shaped mandorlas, such as those found in icons of The Transfiguration, where the viewer’s gaze is drawn further and further into the image.
Michael’s current journey began with ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’, inspired by a small segment, often barely noticed, of ‘Madonna della Vittoria’, painted in tempera in 1496 by Andrea Mantegna to commemorate the purported Gonzaga ‘victory’ over the French in the Battle of Fornovo. He has taken up this small image of Adam and Eve, depicting the moment at which Adam is about to bite the apple, which forms part of the dais on which the Madonna is seated and has paid homage to the sculptural quality of Mantegna’s work by creating the scene in bas-relief, embellishing the Tree of Knowledge with delicate gilding. This image has then been placed against a predominantly dark field, evoking the night sky, that extends around and far above the figures, highlighting the momentousness of the act about to be taken. Mantegna’s work, as a whole, places the fall in relation to redemption, immanent in the figure of Christ.
A vivid visual contrast is provided by the second work in this series, based on the Romanesque ‘Fall of Mankind’, a section of the wooden Hildersheim painted ceiling, created c 1230 ce. As in Mantegna’s depiction, the figures of Adam and Eve are captured at the moment of decision, backgrounded by a rain of golden apples, and enclosed in a vivid red circle, highly evocative of the icon images of Elijah’s ascent in a chariot encapsulated in a fiery circle. In both instances, the circle symbolises the ‘otherness’ of the protagonists – in Elijah’s case, a positive movement beyond the earthly plain and, in the Hildersheim ceiling, the imminent loss of paradise. There also seems to be an interplay between the falling apples in the Hildersheim image and the Greek and Norse legends of the golden apples which conferred immortality. However, the Hildersheim image gives a clear message of the potential for redemption, highlighted in Christ’s gesture of blessing.
To the original image, Michael has added a dais made of strongly geometric images. These are an homage to the vivid and startlingly modern geometric nature of much Romanesque tiling, often ignored underfoot! Again, the image of the circle as a representation of a sphere or other realm is highlighted and provides a strong visual link between the two parts of the image.
The third work, “The only Paradise is Paradise Lost: To Gauguin’, is an exploration of Gauguin’s perception of Tahiti in relation to the idea of Paradise and Paradise Lost by someone who is arguably one of his greatest admirers! In the image, Michael references aspects of five of Gauguin’s works – ‘Tahitian man, woman and cat’, ‘Parua na te vaua ino (Words of the Devil)’, ‘Nevermore’, ‘The Meal’ and ‘Where do we come from, what are we, where are we going?’as the basis for creating an enormously vibrant and dynamic image. The Devil’s humanoid presence in the background has been transformed into a serpent that flows to the foreground of the image, confronting the viewer, while the figures representing Adam and Eve are highlighted against an ovoid shape in tones of vermilion and orange, echoing the red disc encapsulating Adam and Eve in the Hildesheim ceiling. Other fascinating elements are the transformation of the man’s cigarette in ‘Tahitian man, woman and cat’, to an apple and that of the man reaching for a fruit in ‘Where do we come from’ into Eve reaching for an apple. Her nakedness is covered by a softer version of the raven of Gauguin’s ‘Nevermore’ while Adam’s is placed behind a hand of bananas from ‘The Meal’.
Through the use of these images, Michael has evoked a sense of the deeply ambivalent nature of Gauguin’s experience of Tahiti, while also creating a new work in which these elements coalesce with an acknowledgement of indigenous Australian dot work techniques to form an intensely vital exploration of The Fall, which complements the ‘frozen in time’ moment of decision captured in the first two works.
Kerrie Magee
This painting might not be an icon but it has a place within the tradition of Eastern iconography. I suspect that one root of Michael’s interest in Gauguin is to be found in the Novgorod School, which has been an inspiration in his iconography and other painting. The main characteristics of Gauguin’s style are precisely those of Novgorod (though this is presumably coincidence): the use of great sweeps of background primary colour, absence of linear perspective and flat depiction of persons, uniformity of light without external sources, conceptualised and moderately abstracted images, etc (‘Vahini with Gardenia’ is a good example). But Michael’s tribute to Gauguin is a double one, besides this highly successful absorption of Gauguin’s style there is also a tribute to the major obsession of Gauguin’s life and work, the quest for Eden. However, here Michael corrects Gauguin. Gaugin’s understanding of Paradise and the Fall was the secularised reworking of the myth in the tradition of (Jean Jacques) Rousseau’s “Noble Savage”. The Fall and loss of innocency weren’t occasioned by Adam and Eve’s rejection of God and dependency on their own autonomy but by humanity’s descent into the cesspool of the evils of civilisation. Free from civilisation, Eden might still persist somewhere on earth, where human beings continue to live happily in a state of pristine innocency. Of course, the whole thing was a sad delusion. Even away from Papeete, already contaminated by civilisation in Gauguin’s time (though not Americanised to the degree that it is today), Tahiti was no Eden, no home of the “Noble Savage”: “the only Paradise is Paradise Lost”, the Fallen world.
Turning to Michael’s painting itself, Adam and Eve are revealed at the pivot of decision, but the choice is depicted in episodic time. In Time 1, Eve reaches up to pluck the fruit, but Adam, in Time 2, holds the fruit Eve has passed to him and contemplates whether he should refrain from eating it, and thereby not disobey God. Adam is still in a state of innocency, but the “figleaves” perhaps look forward to Time 3 when Adam will have munched away and the Fall ensued. Adam and Eve’s decision isn’t an event of history but an eternal choice that confronts humanity at every moment of every day. Eden does not physically exist but Paradise can be restored if humanity turns back to God. This is conveyed in the painting by the fact that Adam and Eve are depicted within a bubble of scintillating flame-like light of the Holy Spirit. As St Paul says in Romans 8, the Creation groans in labour pains awaiting its redemption through a deified humanity. Human beings are called by God to be priests and stewards of the Earth and its creatures under God but at the same time are creatures of the animal kingdom at one with the physical Creation and carrying within their genes, and recapitulating in their embryonic development, their whole evolutionary history.
As to the Serpent, I don’t see Michael’s reptile as a creature of evil but rather symbolic of the energies which mould the Creation. In fact, for me, his serpent recalls the Aboriginal generic “Rainbow Serpent” common (under various forms and names) in Aboriginal mythology. The Rainbow Serpent is not the Creator of primary matter but the moulder of land and sea and engenderer of the plants, animals and human beings that inhabit the Earth. Michael’s Serpent slithers sensuously through unformed primary matter, depicted by great sweeps of Gauguinesque colour, creating the valleys, hills and waterways, and engendering life, which springs forth with tropical luxuriance from the spiritual seeds sown by the Serpent; in truth, the Serpent is the archetypal Earth Mother. Further, that the Galovic Serpent is the Earth Mother is strongly suggested by the human face.
Guy Freeland
St Andrew’s Greek Orthodox Theological College, Sydney
30/07/20
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