Hey Presto! We Italycised English [Art]

Part Three: Artistic Licence

Art is its own language. It speaks to our shared humanity and educes natural instinct. It does not require articulation or translation to be appreciated. But, when we do want to verbalise our thoughts and feelings about art, Italian loanwords are nonpareil. They add depth to the English lexicon, with a ‘Gentileschi’ touch of chiaroscuro [masterful use of light and shadow].

Art terminology is often criticised for being elitist and confusing. I maintain that art per se, and its lexicon, cannot be elitist. However, gatekeeping practices in the form of devastating funding cuts, marginalisation of the arts in state schools, apathy towards decolonisation, undervaluing of the creative industries, and output-centric governance have kept art firmly in the domain of a privileged minority – and off limits to many.

Fine Tuning

Even the seemingly basic term ‘fine art’ is commonly misunderstood by nonexperts and disputed by lexicographers. It is no wonder, given the etymological complexity of the word ‘fine’. There is a case for ‘fine’ deriving directly from the Latin finis [end/boundary] which can refer to achieving the highest quality or ultimate level of perfection. It is also possible that ‘fine’ took a detour via Old French before reaching English, whereby fin acquired the meaning ‘delicate’ and ‘intricately skilful’. We see it in Middle English describing quality artisanry or handiwork and in collocations such as ‘fine needlework’.

However, many argue that the very definition of ‘fine art’ is art that is autotelic, an end in itself. This exact message is conveyed in the expression ‘art for art’s sake’, the English language rendering of l’art pour l’art. We only have to look as far as the Latin and French translations of ‘an end in itself’ to find support for this stance: finis sui ipsius and une fin en soi, respectively. The French Beaux Arts, and Italian belle arti, also remind us that fine art is about beauty and aesthetics. If you’re thinking that we are fine-ly getting somewhere, I’m afraid that the only real consensus is that ‘fine art’ has nothing to do with being ‘fine’ in the sense of ‘passable’ or ‘acceptable’. One strong gut feeling I do have, however, is that the scope of fine art is nowhere near broad enough to encompass a collection of My Little Pony toys.

Stay Cool

The idiomatic expression al fresco has more to do with Italian art than a love of picnics. Pertaining to open air dining when used in English, it is a good example of a pseudoprestito [pseudoloan]. Semantic change is not uncommon in loanwords. It can even be quite amusing to hear familiar-sounding words taking on a new meaning. I always thought the French le baby-foot [table football] and German ein Handy [mobile phone] were fun words. The Italian pseudo-anglicism beauty-farm usually means ‘spa’ and crack is often used in relation to bancarotta [bankrupty] instead of the blow, opening, or highly-addictive form of purified cocaine you might be expecting.

Back to al fresco, the world-famous song O Sole Mio reminds us that fresco/fresca, from which al fresco derives, often carries the meaning ‘fresh’ or ‘cool’:

Dining al fresco, ‘in the open air’ or ‘in the fresh air’, works well in English. We tend to associate ‘cool’ and ‘fresh’ with the outdoors. It is not uncommon to feel a nip in the air while eating your panini [sic] of choice on the banks of the Tyne in summer. But a much hotter Italian climate renders this use of the phrase somewhat oxymoronic. Relief from stifling temperatures is usually found indoors with the aid of a fan or air conditioning. In Italy, al fresco is used to mean ‘in a cool place’, ‘in the fridge’ or even ‘in the shade’ – certainly not the outdoors. If you would like to bag an outdoor table, all’aperto [in the open air] or fuori [outside] will do the trick.

The noun fresco refers to a type of wall painting such as The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo. It derives from the adjective fresco [fresh]. The buon fresco [true fresh] technique involves the quick laying of alkaline-resistant pigments onto freshly laid plaster. Frescoes date right back to Minoan times in 2000 BCE, and ancient Etruscan and Roman artists also created frescoes on the walls of wealthy patrons’ tombs. Banquet scenes were not uncommon in frescoes, as the deceased were often depicted feasting and generally enjoying the afterlife. So we do have one, albeit exceptionally tenuous, link back to eating.

Copy and Pasteboard

Interestingly, the word ‘cartoon’ also has its origins in fine art. Preparatory drawings for certain artworks including frescoes, mosaics and tapestries were known as cartones. Artists would draw onto a piece of heavyweight paper (known as ‘pasteboard’ in English) before tracing or copying their design onto the surface used for the final work. Some Renaissance artists copied by eye whereas others used the squaring up method, still taught today. The ‘pricking’ and ‘pouncing’ technique involved making pin pricks along the outlines of a drawing, and rubbing dust or powder across the back of the sheet to create a mirror image of the composition.

The word cartone is a simple combination of carta [paper] and the augmentative suffix -one. Cartone became carton in French and then ‘cartoon’ in English. Punch magazine, founded in 1841, has been credited with popularising the word ‘cartoon’ in reference to editorial drawings and humorous illustrations. At first, cartone had connotations of political satire and hyperbole; later, purely comical creations were also known as ‘cartoons’. In the early 1910s, Windsor McCay likely contributed to semantic change when his pioneering works Gertie the Dinosaur and Little Nemo necessitated a further broadening of the scope of the word ‘cartoon’.

What Fresh Hell Is This?

Do employ the phrase al fresco if you would like to cheer up your waiter by requesting a cosy table behind bars. Yes, you guessed it, al fresco is a slang way of saying in prigione [in prison]. The Taylor Swift song Fresh Out The Slammer makes me wonder if Miss Americana herself has made this gaffe. I have struggled to find ‘concrete’ etymological evidence, but it is assumed that this use of the phrase al fresco comes from prisons tending to have been cold, thick-walled places below ground level. As for English language equivalents, take your pick from scores of slang terms including ‘slammer’, ‘nick’, ‘clink’, ‘can’, ‘choky’ and ‘jug’. All those months I spent translating crime drama series from French have finally paid off! Curiously, the English expression ‘in the cooler’ might be the simplest and most honest translation of al fresco.

The introduction of Italian elements into English reflects Italy’s lasting influence on Western art heritage as well as the genial stamp of Italian contributions outside the confines of art.