Those looking for an antidote to the Brownian excitement and flux and dynamism of the Cabinet reshuffle might wish to head down to Valletta, where an exhibition of still life paintings by Francesco Noletti is being held.
It all started with a portrait and a piece of detective work.
One morning, art historian Keith Sciberras found himself staring at the set of mostly-mediocre portraits that line the main corridor at the Old University building in Valletta.
One of them showed an artist putting the finishing touches to an elaborate baroque still life. His name as given on the portrait was Francesco Noletti.
Could he have been the ‘Francesco Fieravino’ to which a number of canvases in the Roman baroque manner were loosely attributed?
Many years of research later there is enough stylistic, technical, and historical evidence to show he was.
Art history often adds newly-discovered works to known names, but here was a case of a forgotten name coming back after hundreds of years to reclaim its oeuvre.
And what a legacy to rehabilitate.
Born in Malta, Noletti was working in Rome by 1640. It appears he was highly in demand and many of his works ended up in prestigious collections owned and flaunted by the city’s patrician families. That’s because the work of ‘il maltese’, as Noletti was known in Rome, was of the highest quality.
The label ‘grand baroque’ sets it apart from the minimalist shell still lifes of an Adriaen Coorte or the restrained vegetable groupings of Cotan.
As in many other cases, Maltese collectors are falling over each other to buy newly-attributed works by Noletti and to have them shipped to Malta
Noletti’s canvases pull no punches. The voluptuous bazaars of fruit, armour, carpets, metalware and flesh were intended as a tour de force of the painter’s skill at bringing out the contrasting textures of disparate objects. The carpets and armour in particular are exceptional by any standards.
The Valletta exhibition brings together 20 works by Noletti, none of which are signed, as well as a handful of paintings by contemporaries for the purposes of comparison. All but two come from private collections in Malta, which is where things get intriguing.
Many of those who lent their Nolettis were there on the opening night. I know this because Sciberras told us so in his curator’s speech, and also because of the ill-kept secrets and winks and knowing glances doing the rounds. The whole business of anonymity and privacy lends much depth to such occasions, and to art collecting generally. If knowledge is power, there’s nothing like partial knowledge as a means to exercise that power.
My own fuzzy understanding is that some of the paintings on show in Valletta come from old collections in Malta, where they had gathered dust and mystique for centuries.
Carpet still lifes were popular in Malta even in Noletti’s time, and it is likely that the artist’s agents sought out wealthy Maltese collectors. The rest, probably about half, are recent purchases on the international art market.
As in many other cases, Maltese collectors are falling over each other to buy newly-attributed works by Noletti and to have them shipped to Malta. That probably explains why a still life of fruit on a draped carpet fetched three times the estimate at Sotheby’s last year. It sold for an eye-popping £93,750 (€119,623).
I’m told that another Noletti sold for twice that amount at auction a few weeks ago. As bidders or underbidders, the Maltese are clearly at it.
‘Repatriation’ is not quite the word here. These paintings were produced in Rome and had little to do with Malta. They do not show harbour scenes or knights or peasants in traditional costume. In fact, apart from the place of birth of the painter, there is nothing Maltese about them at all.
Cut to the market for Chinese art, which in recent years boomed and then boomed some more towards a peak madness that saw cups and tiny vases sell for tens of millions a piece. The size of the Chinese economy and the enormous wealth of its captains mean that most of the purchases end up in China.
Granted that hard-nosed investment is at least as important as connoisseurship as a driver. Still, there is a strong sense of buying back and repatriating the heritage of a civilization and a country.
In China’s case, the drift is very much that of a last laugh. Much of that heritage was lost traumatically, through foreign pillage (in the Opium Wars, for example) or pig-headed domestic cultural pogroms.
The case of Maltese collectors buying (or trying to buy – the artist is in demand internationally) Nolettis is very different. Partly it has to do with a national obsession with anything remotely to do with Malta.
I was once told by a top rare books dealer in London that volumes with some connection to the country sell quickly and at surreal prices. I’m sure he wasn’t the only international dealer who knew this.
It also tells us that art and the desire to own it goes well beyond the object itself.
Certainly the work of Noletti is of such astounding quality that one could look at his pictures for hours. But the Maltese biographical connection means that owning it gives one a foothold on the national patrimony.
The carpets were always beautiful but Sciberras’s discovery transformed them into the positively irresistible.
Francesco Noletti: The Grand Roman Baroque Carpet Still-Life runs until June 8 at the University of Malta in Valletta. Admission is free.
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