Konstantinos Volanakis Paints the Sea

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Grove Koger

June 29 is the anniversary of the death of Greek artist Konstantinos Volanakis, widely regarded as the “Father of Greek Seascapes,” who died on this day in 1907.

Volanakis was born in Iraklion, Crete, in 1837. As a young man, he moved to the Adriatic port of Trieste (at that time part of the Austrian Empire) to work with relatives who were merchants, and they in turn encouraged him to pursue art when they saw the sketches of ships he had made … even though the sketches were in their account books! As a result, he was able to study alongside several other Greek students, including Nikolaos Gyzis, Georgios Jakobides, Nikiphoros Lytras and Polychronis Lembesis, at the Academy of Fine Art in Munich.

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Volanakis’s breakthrough came when he won an Austrian competition in 1869 to memorialize the July 20, 1866, Battle of Lissa (above), in which the ships of the Austrian navy had defeated their Italian counterparts near the island of Lissa, or Vis, off the southern coast of what’s now Croatia. The prize involved a monetary award and free passage on Austrian naval ships for several years, the experience of which firmly encouraged Volanakis’s interest in marine subjects.

Volanakis married in 1874, but since Munich’s cold winters were affecting his wife’s health, the two returned to Greece, where they settled in Piraeus, the port for Athens. The artist accepted a position at the Athens School of Fine Arts and began work on a commission from the Greek Ministry of Shipping to depict the Battle of Salamis of 480 BCE, in which Greek forces defeated those of the First Persian Empire. Subsequently, he was invited to present the canvas (below) at the Greek Court. Poor health forced Volanakis to retire from the Athens School in 1903, but he continued to teach at an “artistic center” he had founded in Piraeus in 1895.

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In 2008, Bonham’s Gallery in London held what it called The Greek Sale, explaining that “ever since his studies at the Munich Academy, Volanakis perceived the seascape as a complex entity, a homogenous whole with unlimited expressive potential, allowing him to seek the ideal balance between nature’s elemental forces and man’s will to master.” The gallery went on to note that, in Piraeus, the artist “had the opportunity to observe and render the atmospheric changes, the delicate nuances of the seascape and the soft gradations of light and shade with great accuracy and finesse.”

Another exhibit followed a decade later, at the B. & M. Theocharakis Foundation in Athens. Writing about Konstantinos Volanakis: The Father of the Greek Seascape, a curator noted that the artist “set his sight on depicting the sea as if he sought to reveal its secrets, the authentic truth resisting time’s relentless flow, and finding eternity.” 

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To me, Volanakis’s recreations of historic naval engagements are not particularly interesting; they look too much like the many other crowded paintings (by many other artists) of similar events. Of greater interest, I think, is his lively depiction of the opening of the Corinth Canal on July 25, 1893, which you see at the top of today’s post. Even better, however, are his more serene paintings, such as The Disembarkation (above) and the lovely Boats in a Port (below). It’s in these works that he reveals the “delicate nuances of the seascape” and the “soft gradations of light and shade” which Bonham’s gallery referred to.

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Greece’s Extraordinary Corinth Canal

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Grove Koger

July 25 is the anniversary of the completion of the Corinth Canal, a narrow waterway cut through the four-mile-wide Isthmus of Corinth and running from the Ionian Sea on the west to the Saronic Gulf on the east.

The idea of digging such a canal is an ancient one, as the isthmus, which connects the large Peloponnese peninsula with mainland Greece, is an obstacle to safe and easy travel between mainland Greece’s west and east coasts. However, the difficulties and expense involved in such an undertaking led instead to the construction in the 6th century BCE of a cobblestone road, the Diolkos, over which ships could be dragged. Teams of men were able to winch ships up a slip, or ramp, at one end of the road, load it onto a wheeled undercarriage, drag it across the narrow isthmus, and then reverse the process in order to slide it into the water at the other end.

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The Diolkos remained in use well into the 1st century CE, and a few fragments are still visible today.

Subsequently, several Roman emperors broached the idea of an actual canal, but it was only in 1830, a few years after mainland Greece won its independence from the Ottoman Empire, that the plan was taken up. However, the anticipated cost proved to be too high. The project was revived again forty years later, but it was only in 1881 that a French concern, the Société Internationale du Canal Maritime de Corinthe, won a concession to dig and operate the canal. The company actually began work in 1882, but within a few years it went bankrupt. Eventually a Greek company won the concession and finally, to great fanfare. completed the project on July 25, 1893.

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My first wife and I sailed through the 4-mile canal one bright morning in the 1970s on a Turkish Maritime Lines ship. We were pulled—very, very slowly—by a tug, so we had ample time to enjoy the experience. The canal is only 80 or so feet wide, and its limestone walls rise precipitously on each side, so the experience was a memorable one. More recently, in 2011, Maggie and I got quick glimpses down its 300-foot walls in 2011 on our visit to Nafplio, modern Greece’s first capital.

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The photograph at the top of today’s post was taken by MannyvonKannen (pixabay.com) and is reproduced courtesy of Needpix.com, while the photograph of the Diolkos was taken by Dan Diffendale and is reproduced courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. The painting of the inauguration of the canal is by Konstantinos Volanakis, and the postcard, which I believe dates from the 1920s, is from my collection.

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