The Fall of the Damned is a painting by Peter Paul Rubens, Rubens painted this piece of

Baroque art in 1620 in Flanders. The painting is a depiction of the fall of the guilty and the
falling angels during Gods final judgment by the archangel Michael. It is said that Rubens was
the founder of the Baroque style of human movement, flesh, and sensuality. The guilty in the
image are painted naked, as is Rubens style, and the mass is being hurled into hell by a twister
grabbing up all those that have fallen. None that have been guilty of sin are sparred as seen
in the side of the twister where humans are being picked up without having fallen into the
twister. You can see that the fallen angels are still in their evil ways as they torment the guilty
humans even as they are being thrown into the pits of hell. The contrast in light from the top
to the bottom shows the fall from he light of heaven to the dark despair of hell.

The painting was primarily drawn in black and red chalk with grey wash(?), and then Rubens
painted over it using oil paint. Due to the controversy and scandal this painting caused, there
was an incident where an art vandal threw acid onto the painting but it didn’t cause the
painting irreparable damage.

Peter Paul Rubens was a very influential artist to the baroque style, and he painted a lot of
landscapes, altar pieces, and portraits based on religious, history and mythological subjects.
Due to a lot of his paintings containing nudes he even has the term ‘Rubenesque’ termed after
him. Rubens was a classically educated scholar and through his success as a painter he was
knighted by Phillip IV, King of Spain and Charles I, king of England, and a large quantity of his
work was painted to be popular with the nobility and collectors of Europe.

Falling into Hell. Peter Paul Rubens at the Alte Pinakothek, Munich.
Look at this.

Image

Many of you will already know it. Its full title is either Descent of the Dammed into Hell, more
simply The Fall of the Dammed; or even the Fall of the Rebel Angels.

Regardless of what you choose to call it, it was painted around by 1620, by Flemish artist
Peter Paul Rubens.

Image

Rubens (1577-1640) who was born and lived as a child in Germany, but essentially came from
Antwerp (in modern day Belgium) and is one of the most iconic artists of any era of art history.
His utter, highly fluid mastery of oil paint, (influenced in particular by his study of Titian in
Venice) his dramatic, flamboyant use of colour; his innovative swirling, dynamic compositions,
all made him simultaneously recognized as pioneer and a highly respected artist in his own
lifetime, constantly in demand by the most powerful and prestigious clients of the time,
including Popes and Kings.

Some of his smaller, more intimate works were painted entirely by Rubens himself. Such as
the lovely, tender portraits of his first wife Isabella Brandt, and their children, or of his equally-
loved second wife, Héléne Fourment (Brandt died in 1626, Rubens married Fourmet four
and half years later)

But demand for his larger, narrative work was such that it could only be met with a highly
evolved studio-system, employing a veritable army of assistant painters.

Some of these assistants were apprentices; while many others were highly skilled specialists
or even masters in their own right, up to and including such luminous names as his friends and
collaborators Jan Brughel the Elder and the animal painter Jan Synders, not to mention
Ruben’s most famous and successful pupil, Anthony Van Dyck.

These larger works were produced using a system of production very like a modern factory
assembly line.

During this process, Ruben would design the overall work and execute preparatory drawings
or sketches , sometimes an oil sketches other times in grisaille; (a monochromatic paining in
shades of grey.)

The sketch for Fall of the Dammed, for example, is in red and black chalks, covered in a grey
wash. This now lives in the British Museum in London.

After these preparatory drawings of the master were complete (and they are themselves
often works of great beauty) another artist, or group of artists then transferred the
composition onto a large canvas, already stretched and prepared with gesso, by more lowly
assistants or junior apprentices.

Then, yet more painters would colour in the lines, others paint in the landscape, yet others
paint the architecture, or the folds of drapery, others flesh and skin tones.

Different artist might even work on human hair, another on the fur of a fox or rough mane of
a lion; the plumage of a bird, the gleam of silver; gold; glass, the dusty skin of a grape and so
on, and of course each of these artist was one who had huge experience and virtuosity in
exactly that area of depiction.

Indeed, if you’ve ever gasped at the sheer, outrageous virtuosity of Dutch or Flemish art from
the 17th century, (and let’s face it, who hasn’t?) and even wondered just how on earth they
achieved it, this level of highly concentrated specialization forms part of your answer. Allied
of course, to an incredibly rigorous apprenticeship, study and training process in the youth of
each artist-painter.

As you’ve gathered, Rubens was, it goes without saying, incredibly successful. Arguably, he’s
the most successful artist of all time, when you valance the different senses of that term
(critically, commercially, even in terms of reputation and prestige) During his lifetime, he
painted for everyone that mattered. For art historians today, he remains synonymous with
Counter-Reformation art and imagery in his era. So his place in the pantheon is assured
forever.
His name has even entered the English language, (the ultimate compliment this, for any artist
or writer) by way of “Rubenesque” to describe the generously- shaped women he personably
delighted in.

As if all that’s not enough, in his own lifetime, Rubens also enjoyed a reputation of an
accomplished diplomat and humanist scholar, of genuine substance. And at a time when
Europe was tearing itself apart, in the most barbaric wars of religion, he was entrusted with
important diplomatic missions, first in Italy, then later between protestant England and
catholic Spain, getting knighted by Charles I of England and Phillip II the king of Spain for his
services. He is Sir Peter Paul Rubens, twice over. At a time when painters did not yet enjoy
the same prestige as, say poets or scholars, (their work suffered the slight “taint” of manual
labour) this was all extraordinary stuff.

I’m not crazy about every Rubens picture. The vast, endless, Marie de Medici cycle (today in
the Louvre) is an unmitigated piece of aggrandizing political propaganda, with a level of
craven, fawning flattery and crawling toadyness surely unmatched elsewhere in the history
of great art.

Some of his hunting pictures (he did many) I also find vaguely sickly. One such painting at the
Alte Pinakoteck features a group of “exotic” horsemen sticking spears into a hippo, while their
giant mastiffs launch themselves at a crocodile. (Another dog chews at its reptile tail)

Image

Apart from the lack of compassion for animals, (which admittedly, was unheard of at that
time) the whole thing is just so daft and silly.

But hey, many of Europe’s wealthiest clients liked nothing more than a dam good hunting
scene, (a symbol and demonstration of masculinity and virility) and some liked it with dash of
“the exotic” too. Rubens, the consummate businessman, was it seems, always happy to
oblige.

This, however, “Descent/Fall into Hell” I mean, is my favourite Rubens, from any museum in
the world.

Image

I love the crowded yet controlled brilliance, the complexity yet simplicity of the composition.

Complex in such an abundance of human form and details, so rich in variety of imagination.
Observe, for example, the sheer variety of devil-types.

Image

Image
But simple in another sense, as all the figures are more or less equally “weighted” – none push
forward or recede into the background. Instead, they all exist more or less in the same level
of the picture plane, a cascade of tumbling humanity.

The three large people seen here in detail are so extraordinary.

Image

They put one in mind of Jenny Savill’s monumental nudes, or Lucien Freud’s portraits of the
performance artist Leigh Bowery. (Both British artists, surely in debt to Rubens?)

One has to presume these three full figures are guilty of the cardinal sin of gluttony (don’t you
reckon?) Now unfortunately they are being cast down into hell for that transgression, which
frankly seems a little harsh.

Yet there’s none of the occasional indifference or brutality one can find elsewhere in Rubens’
work. On the contrary, I find these three large extremely sweet. It’s hard to believe the artist
painted them without some level of affection. He just liked big people, basically, loved skin
and flesh and weight and mass.

There are hundreds of Rubens all around the great museums of Europe, not least in the Alte
Pinakothek.

But the great Fleming’s touch of humanity, allied to the difficult, complex, and dynamic
composition, his dazzling yet subtle use of colour and play of light across bodies that fall
through space, make this particular work a true, unmitigated masterpiece.

Image

I have to say here now, that everything I know about Rubens, indeed about Art History in
general, comes, firstly, from my old teacher at St Gerrard school, the late Mrs Deverauux, and
then from the amazing department of Art History at Oxford Brooks, where I was lucky enough
to study, many years ago. It was an extraordinary department. One of our tutors was Jeremy
Woods, a Rubens scholar, and editor and author on the Corpus Rubenianum Ludwig Burchard,
(29 volume set) catalogue raisonné: essentially, the definitive work on Rubens. The same
department included Charles Robertson, who advised the Vatican on the Sistine Chapel
restoration, and the Head of department when I started there was the late, great Irish Art
Historian, Jeanne Sheehy. This post is dedicated to them, to Dr Clare Tilbury and to everyone
else in the Art History Department of Oxford Brooks. I thank you and I salute you.

I plan to start posting soon a short series of pieces on terrific paintings here in Ireland. I hope
you’ll join me then. Or if you’d like to simply join one of our unique, sociable and highly
informative Dublin City History and Art tours, go to Dublin Decoded to see the tour menu and
then hit an individual “tile:” to see more information. Rave reviews and new testimonials, of
both our Dublin History walking tours, and our famous How to Read a Painting workshop
(twice a month at the National Gallery of Ireland) appear regularly on TripAdvisor. Reviews
can be seen here.
Screen shot 2014-04-26 at 17.03.14

It if also possible to book a private tours, on any agreed date, of any of the Dublin Decoded
tours. Simply send an email anytime, with your preferred dates and choice of tour/tours
please: to dublindecoded@gmail.com It is of great help if preferred dates and prefered tours
are in a subject header, to ease further correspondence.

If you would like to receive notice of scheduled tours, to which all and everyone is welcome,
the best strategy is to join the mailing list for our monthly newsletter, where we announce all
up-coming walks and tours.

Thank you for reading.

How are we supposed to begin exploring this overelaborated master piece? The eye goes from
left to right, trapped into a bath of light and then drawn into obscurity and melancholia.

A twirl of flesh dives into abysmal depths. Nothing seems to be stopping this massacre. As the
bodies plunge into the shadows, we can hear all the voices , the screams, the very last cry for
help. Desperation is the underlying tone behind the naked bodies and the demons hanging on
to their feet as if they were hanging on to their last thread of hope. They will die. They are
expelling their last implorations, asking for mercy and redemption. This is The Fall of the
Damned. And no one will be graced.

The chiaroscuro (use of strong contrast of colors to create an even more intense effect)
bewitches our eyes from the top to the bottom of the painting.
From a heavenly bright light to a macabre heap of corpses and barbarians from hell. All the
characters are mingled in their struggle, the nakedness of their bodies translates their
vulnerable state.
We feel nothing but empathy.
The horrifying beasts, cruel, heartless, and excited by the pleasure of dragging the offenders
into their doom.

We know the surface is flat yet we are tempted to come closer to the canvas. The irregular
bodies, the flaws of the characters and the unwanted sins create a texture only visible to the
viewer watching the scene with emotion and soul.
We are witnesses of a never-ending carnage.

Guilty or not, we are drawn into our shame and unforgivable disgrace.

This large sketch is one of a series of five drawings related to the painting, The Fall of the
Damned (1621; Alte Pinakothek, Munich), made by the Flemish painter Rubens (1577-1640).
At the moment of God's final judgement, those found guilty and sent to Hell plunge towards
their doom in a tornado of whirling bodies. At the lower edges, a monk is pulled down, gnawed
by demons. Above him, a huge woman is carried on the back of another devil, his tail wrapped
around her legs. At all angles, twisting and turning, these unfortunate souls stare up in terror
at their terrible fates, or cover their heads in shame.
The initial underdrawing is in black and red chalks with a grey wash and is probably the work
of a studio assistant. Rubens then improved the drawing with brush and oil colour. The
dramatic chiaroscuro (light and shade) of the forms and clouds reinforces the darkness into
which these figures fall, far from the light of Heaven above.
Changes to the composition suggest that the group of five drawings were executed after the
painting was completed. Perhaps Rubens intended to have engravings made of the
composition, a practice which he carried out for a number of his major works, but no such
engravings of the present composition have survived.