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Long before wine crept into my life as a "cultural good", it was the noble arts - from the old masters to the avant-garde - that inspired my dreams and desires. I found in art the balance to everyday life, the counterpart to what I call the "expenses of life".

In fact, I also studied art history, stood again and again in reverent amazement before paintings by great masters, tried to describe what could not be put into words. As the culmination of my enthusiasm for art, we then baptised our daughter Saskia, an unusual name at the time. But just: consecrated by art. The most famous Saskia (van Uylenburgh) became Rembrandt's wife 374 years ago. I am particularly fond of Rembrandt's Self-Portrait with Saskia (Gemäldegalerie, Dresden).

Rembrandt% Self-Portrait with Saskia


Today, so many years later, I don't know whether this picture of the carousing artist also once made me drink wine. Maybe! Or was it some other painting from a completely different century, for example one of the many still lifes with grapes, or even Caravaggio's Bacchus with a light murmur?

Probably it wasn't fine art at all, but the art of winemaking, the good product of a good winemaker, that took precedence over art in my cultural encounters. I'm not even angry with wine for that.

But, every now and then, when I am desperately searching for words, for apt descriptions, for language synonyms for sensations and feelings while enjoying a wine, my time with art comes to mind.

Caravaggio: Bacchus


Indeed, wine and art meet again and again, not only in artistic representations, in literature, in architecture. Also where it is a question of hard business, of emphasising the uniqueness of a wine or quite simply when a sensory impression is to be depicted in pictures. On labels, for example. Of course, every wine lover thinks of Mouton Rothschild, the Premier Cru from Pauillac, whose label has been designed by a great artist every year since 1945: Jean Cocteau in 1947, Georges Braque in 1955,
1958 Salvador Dali, 1964 Henry Moore, 1973 Pablo Picasso, to name but a few. The special influence these art decorations have on the collector's value (and ultimately on the price) of a wine is something we Swiss can easily see in the Mouton 1987. A rather weak wine from a weak vintage bears a painting by Hans Erni, one of the most popular contemporary Swiss painters. The vintage fetches prices at auction in Switzerland that are otherwise only paid for good Mouton vintages.

Mouton Rothschild 1987


The depiction on a wine label can also become a political issue. In 1993, the wine of Mouton Rothschild with a nude by Balthus - for moral reasons - was not allowed to be exported to the USA. For the American market, therefore, there was a separate, neutral picture that year. Both versions - coincidentally, it is also a weak Bordeaux year - are now traded as specialities at good prices, around 170 euros per bottle, not too much less than the much better 1990 (ca.220 euros).

But let's leave the widely known connection of Mouton Rothschild with art. It is also documented in the art gallery at the Château in Pauillac, which deals exclusively with representations of wine and wine enjoyment.

Art at Châteaux Mouton Rothschild


Now I am once again in the middle of the dilemma of art or wine myself. Actually, this personal experience would be a good illustration on the subject of art and wine. But - the two don't always get along so well! For 16 years, a bottle of "Marechal Foch" by the organic wine pioneer Guido Lenz from Islisberg (Thurgau, Switzerland) has been stored in my cellar. The bottle is decorated with a hand-painted and signed picture by the artist Luciano Capello. He painted 1020 pictures, making the 1991 harvest of a small winegrower in eastern Switzerland unique. "The colours are waterproof, so the label can be removed and framed," says the accompanying leaflet. I have not yet had the heart to remove the label. The label belongs to the wine, the wine to the label, I thought, and stored the two separately in my wine cellar. Now, however, the wine has long since been "overlaid", hardly at the peak of enjoyment, at best still drinkable. The label is slightly greyed, no longer as freshly shining as it once was, on the new bottle. Above all, the dull smell of the cellar clings to it. What should I do?

"Marechal Foch"% 1991% Guido Lenz Viniculture Islisberg

Drink the wine to satisfy some residue of my wine enthusiasm, because I have never had this grape variety in my glass before? ("Marechal Foch" is a vine variety that has become rare and is preferred above all by organic winegrowers because it is fungus-resistant). If I empty the bottle, the art is deprived of its purpose, of its immediate relation to the wine. So store the empty bottle? That doesn't really make much sense, because the reference point of the wine is gone. Or just detach it, frame it and hang it up? For me, something essential is missing that belongs to this picture, the wine.

Art and wine are not as harmoniously connected as I previously believed. They are two pleasures that can meet for a short time, but then often have to part resolutely.

A daring thought occurs to me: Why do wine descriptions always have to be painstakingly packaged in long standardised phrases? In the case of an old, mature Lafite 1959, like this: "Powerful, warm ruby with a hint of mahogany; alcohol, tannin and acid perfectly interwoven, generous, with strong charisma, calm, sublime aftertaste." Perhaps a picture says more. For example, the "Double Portrait of a Praying Couple" by the Master of the Halepagen Altar (c. 1500, Ludwig Roselius Collection, Bremen). Or - another attempt, for a Riesling by Heyman-Löwenstein: "A bouquet-rich wine with delicate fruit, on the palate full of liveliness, elegance, finesse and - thanks to pleasant acidity - with a typically cool core." Does the Angel Concerto by Werner Gilles (1951, Hamburg Kunsthalle) fit in here, or perhaps even better Ernst Wilhelm Nay, "Mit blauer Dominante" (1951, Hanover)?

Three works of art for two wines


I'm beginning to enjoy the game. I'm sure I'll quickly find a picture for the Château des Estanilles, Cuvée Syrah, 2003 (Languedoc), which I'll probably open tonight. A concrete one, an abstract one, a well-known one or even one I painted myself? There are no limits to your imagination. So many things go better with wine than stale words, for example art.

Sincerely
Yours sincerely
Peter (Züllig)

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