VisibleLink #2: "Shhh, the moving diorama's starting!"
Cyclorama
Even Monet jumped on the bandwagon, creating a waterlilies panorama that was originally meant to be housed in a specially designed, circular building in Paris.
But really, how are panoramas or cycloramas different from simply big canvases? Large paintings aren't exactly uncommon and anyone who's visited Italy knows that church after church devoted plenty of wall (and floor) space to enormous renditions of Biblical favorites. One major difference is the way in which persepctive is altered in a panorama or cyclorama. Both assume that the visitor remains at one fixed point and the perspective is skewed so that it seems "right" from the viewer's point of view; large canvases and frescoes don't always make a similar assumption (a notable exception being the dome and ceiling of Sant'Ignazio by Andrea Pozzo). A visitor admiring the ceiling frescoes from the door of the Sistine Chapel gets a very different view as he or she walks around. Moreover, as Basilica San Marco in Venice makes clear, wall frescoes, ceiling mosaics and other church decorations were usually meant to inspire awe in the viewer (either for the religious import or the artist's skill). When one looks up to the central dome of the Basilica and sees the Ascension of Christ, one is overwhelmed both by the richness of the mosaics and by the enormity of the message. Not so with panoramas or cycloramas. While awe might be a byproduct of these curved canvases, the main sensation is not a feeling of inferiority but of being present; of feeling as though one is taking place in the action or event depicted. Instead of staring straight up, your mouth hanging open and developing a sore neck, with a panorama you look around, just as you might if you were actually present at the Battle of Gettysburg. Cycloramas and panoramas not only "decorate" a given area but they create space (or, at least, the illusion of it).
Perhaps just as importantly, panoramas and cycloramas were solidly middle-class. The Last Judgement in the Sistine Chapel was available by special invitation only, straight from the Pope, but just about anyone with the right amount of pocket change could go see a Victorian moving diorama. And what's more, he or she could see it over and over again: cycloramas and panoramas were consumable art experiences, meant to be repeated rather than locked away in private collections.
Robert Barker is generally recognized as the inventor of cycloramic paintings--huge canvases in circular rooms that give the illusion of placing the viewer at a specific scene. He may have been the first but he wasn't the last; cycloramas, moving dioramas, and panoramas were popular all over Europe and the US throughout the 19th century, some remaining present-day examples being the Atlanta Cyclorama, the Cyclorama of Jerusalem, and the Gettysburg Cyclorama. Olive Cook claims that for Victorians in London, moving dioramas and panoramas were a bit like the Pixar shorts before the film begins:
The Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, and Drury Lane all included dioramas in their repertoire. Play productions included entre-acte showings of such things as the "Moving Diorama of the Polar Expedition" just as newsreels used to be shown, or previews are, at movie theatres today (Cook 31).
Even Monet jumped on the bandwagon, creating a waterlilies panorama that was originally meant to be housed in a specially designed, circular building in Paris.
But really, how are panoramas or cycloramas different from simply big canvases? Large paintings aren't exactly uncommon and anyone who's visited Italy knows that church after church devoted plenty of wall (and floor) space to enormous renditions of Biblical favorites. One major difference is the way in which persepctive is altered in a panorama or cyclorama. Both assume that the visitor remains at one fixed point and the perspective is skewed so that it seems "right" from the viewer's point of view; large canvases and frescoes don't always make a similar assumption (a notable exception being the dome and ceiling of Sant'Ignazio by Andrea Pozzo). A visitor admiring the ceiling frescoes from the door of the Sistine Chapel gets a very different view as he or she walks around. Moreover, as Basilica San Marco in Venice makes clear, wall frescoes, ceiling mosaics and other church decorations were usually meant to inspire awe in the viewer (either for the religious import or the artist's skill). When one looks up to the central dome of the Basilica and sees the Ascension of Christ, one is overwhelmed both by the richness of the mosaics and by the enormity of the message. Not so with panoramas or cycloramas. While awe might be a byproduct of these curved canvases, the main sensation is not a feeling of inferiority but of being present; of feeling as though one is taking place in the action or event depicted. Instead of staring straight up, your mouth hanging open and developing a sore neck, with a panorama you look around, just as you might if you were actually present at the Battle of Gettysburg. Cycloramas and panoramas not only "decorate" a given area but they create space (or, at least, the illusion of it).
Perhaps just as importantly, panoramas and cycloramas were solidly middle-class. The Last Judgement in the Sistine Chapel was available by special invitation only, straight from the Pope, but just about anyone with the right amount of pocket change could go see a Victorian moving diorama. And what's more, he or she could see it over and over again: cycloramas and panoramas were consumable art experiences, meant to be repeated rather than locked away in private collections.
posted by TheAnchorBend at 8:00 AM
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