Alexander Nikolaevich Benois

There are pinholes in the lower right corner of the sheet. There is a layer of light surface dirt. Otherwise in overall good condition. Unframed.
"In response to your inquiry, we are pleased to provide you with a general report of the condition of the property described above. Since we are not professional conservators or restorers, we urge you to consult with a restorer or conservator of your choice who will be better able to provide a detailed, professional report. Prospective buyers should inspect each lot to satisfy themselves as to condition and must understand that any statement made by Sotheby's is merely a subjective, qualified opinion. Prospective buyers should also refer to any Important Notices regarding this sale, which are printed in the Sale Catalogue.
NOTWITHSTANDING THIS REPORT OR ANY DISCUSSIONS CONCERNING A LOT, ALL LOTS ARE OFFERED AND SOLD AS IS" IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE CONDITIONS OF BUSINESS PRINTED IN THE SALE CATALOGUE."

Painted after a sketch made from the Hotel Regina in 1938.

Benois travelled to Italy throughout his life, but was drawn in particular to Venice. His maternal ancestors, the Cavos family, were originally Venetians, and the antique treasures that had filled his grandfather's large house on the Grand Canal were divided between the heirs on his death, many sent to St Petersburg, and 'through these family souvenirs the magic of Venice was always familiar and close to me'.

 

'One is immediately struck by the famous noiselessness of the town,' he notes in his memoirs. 'There is nothing to compare with the feeling one has when, having left the smoky train and passed through the station, one gets for the first time into a gondola, with the long green cupola of San Simeone Piccolo in front of one'.

 

The offered lots reveal Benois' love for the magnificent effects of the Italian evening light, which he describes memorably on first arriving in Venice on honeymoon in 1894: 'The November sun had set and its reflection alone still lingered on the tracery of the rounded tympana, and sparks sprang up on the mosaics. The lower part of the basilica was already drowned in the bluish half-light; beside it loomed the dark form of the very straight, very massive campanile, its spire reaching towards the sky. In a few minutes all of this disappeared on the darkness, but the lights under the arcades and in shops and cafes went on, and the place itself was lit up by innumerable lanterns. The Piazza was filled with people, with the sound of their talk and the scraping of shoes on the stone flags'.