Some considerations of Piero della Francesca's 'Baptism'

One of the interesting physical facts of Piero della Francesca's Baptism panel, now in London's National Gallery, is its shape and, specifically, the semi-circular arch shape at its top. In itself this shape is not particularly unusual for a Renaissance picture but, it becomes unusual, or at least, problematic, when the image to which it belongs is originally situated, as it nearly always is in art criticism, in a large Gothic-style polyptych, painted as is obvious, by another artist altogether (thought to be Matteo di Giovanni). There is no question that the side panels - pictures - said to be part of the original collocation of the Baptism have nothing whatsoever to do with that central image and, in fact, argue against it in every way. Art historians have long sought to explain the Baptism's presence in that Gothic environment, however, as I have attempted to show in another article, such a collocation is, at best, highly improbable. I stress the word 'original' as there is some evidence that when the painting was bought in 1859 from the cathedral in Sansepolcro, Piero's birthplace, it was in, or had been fitted into, that Gothic frame; that fact does not mean that the Baptism had been painted with that frame in mind.1 

This photo of the Baptism by Piero della Francesca (London, National Gallery), taken by the author, unfortunately does not show the very top of the arch, however, the general shape is clear. 

A detail of the polyptych, whose pictures were painted by Matteo di Giovanni in about 1455 and in the centre of which the Baptism was supposed to fit. It is clear using even an image of the Baptism that the two works have nothing to do with each other: note especially the shape of the tops of the two main panels (Saints Peter and Paul) and their gold backgrounds.

Given that brief introduction, one of the parts of the puzzle, so to speak, which simply did not fit, was in fact that rounded arch-shaped top of Piero's panel. If we look closely at the Gothic frame of the large altar-piece (above), with its irrelevantly over-sized Saints Peter and Paul, it is immediately obvious that the tops of the frames enclosing those saints are ovoid and not semi-circular, as is Piero's; why then we might ask, did Piero go to so much trouble to paint a (substantial) part of his picture, knowing that quite a bit of it was eventually to be covered by an ovoid frame? The answer as far as I can see is that he didn't! In fact, although many photos of the Baptism have been trimmed to show only the painted area, some do show the entire panel: in these photos can be seen the unpainted edge around the inside of the semi-circular area at the top, left unpainted by the artist precisely because he was aware of the shape of the frame (round, not pointed) in which his work would be installed.

A detail of Piero della Francesca's Baptism showing the unpainted area around the inside edge of the semi-circular top of the panel. Note the cloud on the right which exceeds the limit of the painted image but which, incidentally, is only half visible when framed.

Although many of Piero della Francesca's paintings are rectangular in shape, a few of his pictures, both panel paintings (that is, painted on wood) and frescos, also have a semi-circular top; these include his Misericordia Polyptych (containing five rounded-arch panels in the main register), the Magdalen fresco in Arezzo and, most notably, his Sant'Agostino Polyptych (pre-1469; the known major panels of which are in London, Milan, New York and Lisbon). Some images do indeed have an ovoid shape at the top, particularly the two highest frescos in his Legend of the True Cross cycle at Arezzo, and another altarpiece known as the Sant'Antonio Polyptych in Perugia. This last-mentioned is interesting because, in terms of the present discussion, the panels on which Piero has painted conform to a Gothic sensibility not only in the ovoid shape of their tops, but also in the pronounced use of a gold background, something which as I understand it, Piero was obliged to agree to - his aesthetic being already a Renaissance one and therefore quite at odds with such anachronisms (anachronistic because the Renaissance, inspired as it was by Humanism, did away with the 'ethereal' gold backgrounds and asserted the natural world as the setting for Biblical events). It has been suggested (Paolucci, 1990) that the frame and its gilding were done prior to Piero's intervention and that this explains a number of curious circumstances concerning this work, not relevant however to the present discussion.

To the Baptism - whose original collocation is it seems, still unknown - the Sant'Agostino panels appear to have more than a passing connection. In the first place, each of the four panels has a semi-circular top, that is, a rounded-arch shape; each has a pale blue sky as the background (as does the Baptism); and the general style of the figures, with some reservations concerning the so-called San Nicola da Tolentino panel2 (in Milan), is similar in formal qualities to the Baptism. That noted, two of the panels (San Michele [London] and San Giovanni Evangelista [Frick Collection, NY]) from the Sant'Agostino Polyptych have, in their lower medial corners the remains of an apparent overlap from the missing central panel, thought as is most likely, to have been a Madonna and Child. These elements, and their evidence in the actual panels, argue strongly in favour of an image of the Madonna as the central panel of the San Agostino altarpiece (and against the possibility that the Baptism was once the central image3). As usual, historians disagree on the dates but it would seem that this work was completed - probably, as with many of Piero's commissions - over a period of several years (helping to explain some differences in style between the four panels incidentally), but certainly after the Baptism (if, as is the opinion of many, the Baptism is a work of his early maturity). In addition, the continuous balustrade running behind the four saints of the San Agostino would seem to have no relevance to the image of the Baptism (just as Matteo di Giovanni's entire machine also has no relevance!).

In this photo - not the best I'm afraid - we can see the entire image of San Michele (London, National Gallery) in its 'modern' frame; nevertheless, the rounded arch at the top is clearly visible. (Photo: the author)

This photo is a detail of the medial lower corner of the San Michele above: in this image, we can see what is possibly the corner of a kind of dais on which the throne of the supposed Madonna would have been - in the lost central panel - together with, draped across that, one part of perhaps a garment, and, a little higher, the blue of her cloak. (Photo: the author)

To my mind, the question of the original destination of Piero's Baptism is very much an open one (see also Lavin, op. cit., in the Historical Context chapter). It clearly has nothing to do with where it apparently ended up, that is, as the central panel in the polyptych painted by Matteo di Giovanni. A 19th century romantic narrative painting by Angiolo Tricca (1817-84) - a native of Sansepolcro who had seen the Baptism prior to its sale in 1859 - showing Piero in old age, at home with the Baptism (with different side panels) hanging on the wall behind him, has been used to deduce that the real painting had been framed quite differently, with two side panels much more sympathetic to Piero's style, that is, not in the Gothic frame and style of Matteo di Giovanni. The Baptism was sold by the Bishop and chapter of the Cathedral of Sansepolcro where it apparently had been for some time. The story of this hapless painting in fact, is still a mystery but, given what we do know, it is patently obvious that the side panels and the entire frame produced by Matteo di Giovanni are at best, expedients, adopted either to find a place for Piero's painting, or to fill a void left by the possible removal of Matteo's own central panel. It rather seems that the Baptism, incomplete in the sense that its surrounding panels were (seemingly) never painted by Piero, somehow found its way into the cathedral, perhaps due to the deconsecration of its purported (by some) original destination: the church of San Giovanni Battista in Val d'Afra (the church of Saint John the Baptist, just outside the city walls at that time [c.1440s]).

Some final points: that the subject of Piero's picture, that is, the Baptism of Christ, is an appropriate one for the area of a church where baptisms are performed, or for a separate building for that purpose, known in Italian as a 'battistero'; could it be that the original collocation of this painting was in fact near a baptismal font and not on a high altar? Most unusually, in this context, and precisely at Sansepolcro, we now have three works, all of them originally large polyptych altarpieces, which are missing substantial parts: first, the Baptism, missing its lateral (and other) parts; the altarpiece painted by Matteo di Giovanni, missing its central image; and thirdly, the San Agostino altarpiece, also missing - amongst other things - its central image. An intrigue therefore, of unfinished works, works moved about from one place to another, large multi-element works dismembered and missing critical parts, and works lost, stolen or sold at various points in their history!






1 In Marilyn Aronberg Lavin's thorough analysis of the Baptism (Piero della Francesca's Baptism of Christ, 1981, Yale University) she quotes on page 114, Note 4 a comment written by the purchaser, Sir Charles Robinson, in 1860, which states: "In its [i.e. the Baptism's] original locality it formed the center [sic] division of a large altarpiece in three compartments; the original side divisions, however, and predella, had disappeared and had been replaced by similar portions of another altarpiece by a later and far inferior hand; these latter therefore, were not removed [i.e. bought ]". From this quotation it is plain that, right from the beginning of the Baptism's life outside Sansepolcro, in fact, from its purchase, the frame in which it was then mounted (in 1859) was considered to be a completely alien addition.

More generally, it was apparently a perfectly normal condition in the Renaissance and earlier in particular, that often enough, the frame and its picture panels were already made prior to the commission of the painting work itself; in other words, quite the opposite of the way things work today. Matteo di Giovanni's frame, or carpentry, later supposedly to house in its centre the Baptism, was actually made long before Piero was given the commission to  paint it, and for that matter, before Matteo (apparently) was commissioned to paint his parts, which came post-Piero's involvement. According to the website of the Museo Civico at Sansepolcro which houses the polyptych painted by Matteo, the frame was originally commissioned in 1433; in the early 1440s a commission was given to Piero della Francesca to paint the panels, the pictures, in the frame: as we understand it, he painted only the Baptism panel; subsequently, in 1455, Matteo di Giovanni was commissioned to complete the parts of the polyptych left unfinished by Piero. The point here is that, while it may be possible that Piero was indeed commissioned to paint the panels in the frame constructed in 1433, and therefore would have been working within the constraints imposed ante litteram by the frame itself, his Baptism panel, in shape and in style, has nothing to do with the carpentry of the frame as it would originally have existed. This suggests strongly that in fact, Piero was painting his Baptism for another situation altogether, despite the commission which we know about.

Piero's Misericordia Polyptych is interesting in that the frame (that is, the actual framing elements and the wooden panels on which the painting was done), in addition to the paintings themselves, was entrusted to Piero. His commission in this case dates to 1445 but, typically, the work was not finished (judging from the date of the final payment) until 1462. The fact that Piero was able to organize the frame himself may explain why the principal panels all have rounded-arch tops, even if he was obliged to use the old-fashioned gold backgrounds for the paintings (see James R. Banker's Piero della Francesca. Artist and Man. 2014, Oxford University Press, pp 68-78).


2 The figure of San Nicola da Tolentino is interesting on several counts. First, compared with the 'normal' faces of Piero, based on 'types' developed by him, San Nicola seems much more like a portrait of a real person (various names have been suggested for the subject); secondly, the somewhat corpulent body of the saint is also unusual as a type in Piero's work; and finally, the habit worn by San Nicola as well seems based on a study from life, especially when compared with the way in which the clothing of the other three saints has been done. Although there exist still today some exquisite Renaissance studies of drapery clearly done from life (several by Leonardo for instance), it was not uncommon for artists, once they had mastered the fall of different fabrics, the light on them and so on, to develop a personal repertoire of more or less standard depictions; Piero della Francesca was one such, as can be seen in the clothing of various angels and saints. In fact, one of this group of four, the San Giovanni Evangelista in the Frick Collection in New York, is a typical example, the heavy folds of his red cloak being very similar to those in other images by Piero, such as the San Giovanni Battista in the Misericordia Polyptych.

3 Banker (op. cit.), on page 133, in discussing this altarpiece, says that: "However, while every other piece of the main tier and predella came to be mentioned in seventeenth-century records of Sansepolcro, the elusive center (sic) panel seems inexplicably to have disappeared without trace". Banker does not say that there definitely was a centre Madonna and Child ("It was most likely an enthroned Madonna and Child") and the absence of any mention of such a centre panel could suggest at least two things: that it had been lost, or perhaps sold, at a time when the altarpiece is known to have been moved (in 1555) from its original church to another.

A Comparison of Two Images of the Resurrection

On looking through my collection of digital photos, I came across one I hadn't seen or thought about for a long while. It is of a version of the Resurrection painted on the wall of a small chapel (Cappella di Santa Caterina d'Alessandria) which itself is attached to a small church (the Collegiata di Santa Maria Assunta [1122]) in a tiny Medieval hill-top town called Borgo Castell'Arquato, in Emilia-Romagna. As far as I'm aware, the painter of this fresco is unknown and the painting itself is quite unremarkable except for one fact, viz. that the image clearly derives from that of the same subject, the Resurrection, painted by Piero della Francesca in about 1459-62 (Banker)1. That date, and the general style of some of the other frescos, tell us that the much smaller version in Castell'Arquato was painted post 1462. And what is interesting about that is that the anonymous artist, while taking quite a lot from the Tuscan master's supreme image, seems to have learnt very little. This circumstance is the reason for this article: to try to explain why one image, picture, representation 'works' and another doesn't.

Below are photographs of the two works in question, the first taken in 2018 after its recent restoration, and the second taken in 2017 during a visit to that magical Castell'Arquato. The first, a stand-alone work by Piero is quite large, 225 x 220 cm, while the second is of the anonymous artist's painting in the Collegiata church; it is relatively small and part of a cycle of narrative pictures in the (small) chapel. In this article, I do not wish to criticise the anonymous painter of this latter image, nor am I attempting to indicate what may be enjoyed and what may not. Like many 'minor' works, it still has a certain charm, especially in the faces of the soldiers, the central one having almost a late-19th century feel about it.

Piero della Francesca (c.1412-1492), The Resurrection (c.1459-62?), fresco
Museo Civico, Sansepolcro. Photo: the author

Anonymous, The Resurrection (post 1462?), fresco. Photo: the author.
Cappella di Santa Caterina d'Alessandria in the Collegiata di Santa Maria Assunta, Castell'Arquato.

When I first came across the Collegiata fresco, I was immediately struck by its clear indebtedness to Piero della Francesca's famous Resurrection2 and, notwithstanding this, by its seeming naïveté: a naïveté which has led this artist to 'borrow' certain elements of a great master's work and to then render those elements in a more or less amateurish fashion. Let's have a look in detail at what has happened. The principal borrowing is that from the lower half of Piero della Francesca's painting; even a cursory glance at the two photos above will reveal that the figures of the four guards in front of the tomb in the Collegiata fresco are based on those in Piero's picture. But there are notable and telling differences.

Piero's soldiers have mutated from fully-grown armed men - potentially powerful, albeit apparently sleeping - into soft puppets! In Piero's image, these four soldiers fill the lower portion of the fresco and occupy a roughly circular space in front of the tomb but, being as large as they are, they also connect absolutely convincingly that lower portion with the upper part of the image. In the Collegiata picture however, those same soldiers, now quite feminine-looking, especially the central one resting his (her?) head on his hand, seem more like a group of tired, randomly-placed picnickers taking a nap after lunch!

But, of even more significance is the almost inept treatment of the Collegiata figures. To take as an example the figure (in both paintings) of the soldier on the extreme left; in the original picture, that figure is a kind of study in miniature of a typical Renaissance compositional structure, that is, the triangle. Piero's soldier is drawn in such a way as to form a triangle, itself part of the larger triangle formed by the guards at the base, with various indicators, including the back of the soldier in question, leading our eyes upwards towards the figure of Christ, whose head is the apex of the compositional structure.

 

A detail of Piero della Francesca's Resurrection showing the 'triangular' soldier on the extreme lower left of the fresco; this photo was taken by the author when the fresco was in the process of being restored, hence the white marks and other areas obviously undergoing restoration. Museo Civico, Sansepolcro.

In the photo above, the triangular 'shape' of the figure of the soldier is obvious, the base being formed by his backside and his feet; the left side of the triangle formed by his back, and the right side being suggested by an imaginary line from his feet to the front of his helmet. Apart from the beautiful abstract composition itself, the pose of this particular soldier has an ambiguous emotional charge: is he merely rubbing his eyes as he perhaps begins to wake-up from sleep, or is he covering his eyes because crying or going through a moral awakening? Whatever the case may be, our soldier is a figure of mass, weight and internal physical structure: he has bones and muscles inside his green cloak, his brown leather armour and his lovely red boots! Although an abstract shape, this figure also has 'space': the depth of the shadows in his cloak as they pass around his body and particularly under his bent legs; the position of his elbow in relation to both his knee and his head; even the choice of colours, the red of the boots stronger and closer to us, the pale pink of his helmet, less forceful and optically further away (or, deeper in space).

If we now turn our attention to the same figure in the Collegiata fresco, the difference is astounding. In fact, for me, the differences in these four soldiers, in the ways they have been handled by the two artists, and in particular by the anonymous one, suggest that possibly that painter had never actually seen the original upon which he has based his figures; might it be possible that what he had seen was perhaps only a drawing or sketch made by some other artist, and that seemingly not very accurate. The Collegiata artist's reworking of Piero's masterpiece is, in terms of formal quality, so far removed from his inspiration as to argue quite strongly for such a possibility.

The soldier in question has in the Collegiata become a kind of soft hermit crab, with its head protruding from its ochre shell! This figure no longer forms a triangle, and because of its almost circular profile, no longer forms the left-hand bottom angle of a larger compositional one either. He is perhaps contemplative - or maybe just bored! What internal physical structure his body may have is barely suggested, particularly in his 'shell'.

While the central guard is clearly modelled more or less directly on the pose in Piero della Francesca's painting, the remaining two seem to have gone very badly awry! As mentioned earlier, the other central 'soldier' has metamorphosed into what could be a young woman, completely different from Piero's figure in the same place and obviously not based on it at all, except for its position. The final soldier however, on the extreme right side, leaning, as said, on a rock (see Note 2), seems to have lost nearly all his physical structure, even apparently somewhat contorting his body, and ending-up distractingly facing away from us, playing little or no part in the 'drama', such as it is in this image. This clumsy movement incidentally contradicts the desired triangular structure, with little or no contribution from this figure, a situation made even worse by the highlighted spear in the hand of the 'feminine' guard in the centre. Both frescos have a spear in the hand of the 'third' soldier; Piero's however, painted in a neutral grey (it appears now), long as it is, takes our eye upward, into the 'sacred' part of the image; the anonymous painter's spear directs our eye to the back right corner of the tomb!3 This point alone indicates a lack of comprehension of pictorial structure, of how different elements in an image contribute to the way it is subsequently 'read' by its viewers.  

A further clue that this composition is based on that in Sansepolcro is the position of the head of the central, pink-clothed guard, that is, resting on the edge of the sepulchre; this is exactly the same as in the original. The sepulchre itself on the other hand, has also undergone significant alteration; in Piero's painting, the sepulchre is viewed from slightly below, thereby obscuring our view into it. Our Collegiata painter, while maintaining our direct, frontal viewpoint of the guards, has shown the tomb as though we were looking down into it; this unsuccessful mix of viewpoints helps to make the Christ figure look flat, as he is shown again, as if from directly in front (that is, we are looking neither up nor down at him). Although the painter has attempted some perspective rendering of the scene - note the base of the columns framing the image and the large open sepulchre itself (not altogether successful) - the parts which really don't 'work' in this painting are the figures, that is, the main parts! The risen Christ looks like a paper cut-out, quite flat against the illusion of depth in the tomb he is rising from; and the 'guards' as alluded to earlier, are little more than, no, are no more than collapsed puppets, mere decoration and definitely no threat - as was their purpose - to anyone wishing to steal that (paper cut-out) body!

What does all this tell us? It suggests at least, that the author of the Resurrection in the Collegiata church at Castell'Arquato was, at best, confused about his or her source image. A good portion of the composition is derived from that of Piero della Francesca, even if certain elements of that composition were not the original conception of Piero and were to be seen in numerous works predating the version by him (Christ's stance for instance). Nevertheless, to give this artist his or her due, the drawing of the chest and raised arm of the Christ is original I think, being much thinner and bonier than certainly the Christ in Piero's Resurrection; the area of the shoulder and the raised forearm could have been drawn from a live model but, a decidedly un-Classical one. The wrapping cloth draped around Christ is also quite successful; but the very large billowing (and basically decorative) banner held in his left hand however, hints at illustration rather than at public mural work of, let's say, the late 15th or early 16th century. 

This may indicate that the artist was more accustomed to producing small illustrations, such as for manuscripts, rather than the decoration of an entire mural surface; or, that he or she was basically a provincial painter, of modest formal capabilities. Here however, it may be noted that Piero della Francesca was also a provincial artist, but one of an entirely different calibre. His knowledge and love of geometry and perspective helped him produce the solid, active figures which populate all his known works; there is no 'fat' in his paintings, no redundant 'fillers', nothing not thoroughly contemplated and analysed. His paintings 'speak' as if they had always been there, the product almost of a 'prime mover', as Aristotle or Aquinas might have said.

1 Banker, James R., Piero della Francesca, Artist & Man, Oxford University Press, 2014, p108. Banker's date has been used in this article as a possibility, but various historians have suggested others, a point I raise elsewhere.

2 One unequivocal clue as to the source of the anonymous artist's image is the rock, placed near the lower right corner of the tomb, on which the guard on that side is resting his right arm: this rock also exists, uniquely up to this point, in Piero's version and is thought to be a reference to the legend of the founding of his home town, the place where his Resurrection still is, namely, Sansepolcro. Sansepolcro means "Holy Sepulchre" and, according to the legend, the town has its name from the arrival of some pilgrims carrying with them stones from the supposed Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem; after receiving a sign from Heaven, they duly founded the town, originally known as Borgo San Sepolcro. In other words, that rock near the tomb in the fresco in the Collegiata at Castell'Arquato has no relationship at all to that place and was copied, willy-nilly, from Piero's original, with apparently no idea of its local (at Sansepolcro) cultural significance! It is noted however, that the Collegiata fresco contains no reference to Piero's landscape background, one of his most original developments.

3 As has been observed elsewhere by me and others, Renaissance paintings often have what might be termed a 'surface' geometry as well as an 'internal' geometry, i.e. they can be analysed on their surface as a combination of flat geometrical figures (composed of circles, squares, triangles, etc.), and, their fictive space, the 'space' created by the artist 'within' the image, can be analysed using perspective drawing (vanishing points, horizon line, etc.). Piero's images have been analysed extensively in these terms (see for instance, Marilyn Aronberg Lavin's Piero della Francesca. The Flagellation or her Piero della Francesca. The Baptism), and, as mentioned above, the Resurrection is principally based on a large triangle, formed by the soldiers at its base, and continuing along actual or implied lines also formed by them, towards Christ's head, the apex of the triangle. However, there is another implied triangle, this time an inverted one, formed by the long spear of the 'third' soldier, which reaches at its point roughly the level of Christ's forehead, and at its base, a position somewhere in the centre of the image but situated in the lower 'frame' area. A line drawn from the point of the spear through Christ's head and extending to about the top of the little hill in the background landscape to Christ's right, if then protracted along an implied line which passes again through the front of the helmet of the 'first' soldier on the left, finishes by meeting the line created by the spear in the lower frame: the apex of an inverted triangle. This subtle underlying structure seems to have been altogether missed, or misunderstood, by the anonymous Collegiata painter.

Some doubts about a painting: 'St Jerome in the Desert' by Piero della Francesca

This article, unlike I think all my others, concerns a picture I have never seen, except in reproduction. Thus far, I have attempted to comment only on works I have actually experienced in person, however, I was prompted to write something about this smallish painting while recently re-reading James R. Banker's excellent book entitled Piero della Francesca. Artist and Man (published 2014)1. The picture in question, Saint Jerome in the Desert, by Piero della Francesca, is always included in the formal list of works given to Piero and, indeed, at least one slim volume is basically devoted to it and a similar small work called Saint Jerome and a Supplicant (Keith Christiansen et al)2.

Saint Jerome in the Desert (1450?) by Piero della Francesca, tempera (and oil?) on wood panel, 51 x 38 cm
Gemäldegalerie, Berlin (Image: Wiki Commons, Public Domain)

Saint Jerome in the Desert (or Wilderness), at 51 x 38 cm, is one of Piero della Francesca's smaller works and is painted in tempera (and oil?) on wood. It is signed and dated 1450 on a small painted folio in the lower right-hand corner (PETRI DE BURGO OPUS MCCCCL) and as such is discussed in relation to the much-debated dating of Piero's paintings, and his peregrinations in central Italy. As stated previously in other articles, I am a painter and my reason for starting to write this blog was to offer opinions about artworks from the standpoint of a practising painter. It is here that we, or I, run into difficulties with erudite art historians because, from the point of view of a trained painter, the date on this small picture has little or nothing to do with the date of its actual execution (otherwise unknown)!3 

Let's consider some of the visible facts of this small, recently cleaned work. First, almost three quarters of the image is taken up with the representation of a landscape, a landscape which is neither desert nor wilderness (being basically green, that is, fertile, and containing a small forest of sometimes harvested trees; the point is moot to some extent as this picture is also known as Saint Jerome in the Wilderness or in a Landscape, or simply, The Penitent Saint Jerome); secondly, to the left of the Saint and below him are two of his usual attributes, respectively a lion and a cardinal's hat (despite the fact that he was never a cardinal, a title which didn't exist in his time!): even to the naked eye, it is clear that these two features were added at some point later, that is, after the landscape had been painted (and very probably, by another hand, see Note 3, second item); thirdly, the central part of the image is occupied by a large and imposing tree situated in the mid-ground of the fictive visual field, and, occupying at least a third of the sky, creating thereby a distracting secondary focus; fourthly, the putative subject of the painting, Saint Jerome, is tucked into the remaining fourth quarter of the field, off-centre and dwarfed by the aforementioned tree; and finally, the winding river or creek, which snakes its way through the landscape background and into the foreground on the lower left side, effectively turning the Saint's area into an island!

Why is any of these things a problem? To begin, the overall composition is confused and unresolved; for instance, as just noted, the large central tree tugs our attention away from the Saint who is supposedly the subject! Composition was one of the basic elements in the structuring of a typical Renaissance image4 and plainly stated as such by two of its most important art theorists, namely Leon Battista Alberti (15th century) and Giorgio Vasari (16th century). The somewhat oddly-drawn river, a recurring motif in Piero's work (see his Baptism of Christ, London and the Battle of Constantine and Maxentius, Arezzo), as mentioned, spills clumsily into the lower left corner of the image, creating a green island for the 'desert' home of the ascetic Saint; this is the kind of compositional error a master painter would probably not have made at all, but certainly would not have allowed to remain, once it had been recognized. The author of this faux pas, while practising his developing skill in rendering reflections on water and refraction of light, and revealing his obvious pleasure in portraying landscape, has allowed his juvenile pleasure to interfere with his judgement of the overall composition. As Piero della Francesca is an acknowledged master of composition, we might consider one of his great masterpieces, his Resurrection in Sansepolcro; in this work, we see the ubiquitous Renaissance structure of the (implied) triangle, a structure which provides stability and focus for both the image itself and the viewer. The 'errors' just described could not have been made by that same master in 1450, some ten or so years after the Baptism (but see Note 5) referred to earlier - an image in which composition is already clearly mastered.

The Baptism of Christ, 1439 (?) by Piero della Francesca, tempera on wood,  167 x 116 cm
National Gallery, London (Photo: the author)
Note the modelling of Saint John's garment and the clear recession of the clouds, as well as the coherent development of the river within the landscape. 

Turning our attention now to Jerome's lion and cardinal's hat, we can see that both were added at some point after the landscape had been painted: this because those landscape parts, 'behind' the lion and hat, are again visible due to the quality of some paint mediums, especially oil, to become transparent with time. This can occur for several reasons but one is that the additions were painted on quite thinly, possibly in oil, and have with time become translucent, allowing the original composition to become partially visible. In itself, this is not unusual in pictures of this period and later, but often what we are dealing with is what are known as 'pentimenti' in Italian, meaning basically, the artist has changed his or her mind and has altered some part or parts of a picture - not that something alien to the original idea has been 'tacked on'. But, returning to the subject of composition, the position of the cardinal's hat is clearly an afterthought given that it appears to be slotted in, so to speak, at the very bottom of the image: another indication of a crude expedient rather than the sure sense of a master.

If the subject of this picture is indeed Saint Jerome, there are other problems associated with his figure. The drawing of the body and especially the modelling of his clothing suggest the skill one might expect of a student, albeit one not without some talent. To my eyes, Jerome's head has been quite well drawn; his ragged clothing, significantly, is similar in handling to the garment worn by Saint John, in the London Baptism, which, according to Banker5 and others, is Piero della Francesca's earliest extant commission and first masterpiece (painted for a church in his hometown of Sansepolcro); and, more importantly for our purposes, reveals the lack of any strong direct influence of contemporary Florentine art, at that time the centre of artistic developments (although says Banker, it is possible that Piero had already worked with Domenico Veneziano (1410-1461) who later, in Florence, contributed to important formal aspects such as modelling with light). This fact is demonstrated in part by the handling of the garments worn by the actors in the Baptism; they lack the bulky weightiness and deep shadows to be seen in Piero's work after his documented brief sojourn in Florence, in 1439.

Madonna and Child with Saints Francis, John the Baptist, Zanobi and Lucia, c.1445- 47,  by Domenico Veneziano;
tempera on wood. The Uffizi Gallery, Florence (Photo: the author)
Note the pronounced and masterful use of perspective as well as the use of light, particularly on the cloak of Santa Lucia on the extreme right, a hallmark also of Piero.

Scholars have noted that the Saint Jerome has undergone cleaning and restoration at various times and to such an extent that the finer, subtler finishing touches seem to have been removed - another not uncommon circumstance in the history of pictures. Nevertheless, if we turn our attention to the trunks of the trees on the left side, it is quite possible that they were never much more than what we can see now: in other words, rather simple and predictable quasi-symbols of standard trees! Not the close studies which became more the norm for Piero as his art developed6. On the subject of trees however, one of the two or three smaller ones, in the middle-ground in front of the very basic building (almost, isolated in its landscape, a Morandi avant la lettre!), is apparently the source of the reflection in that part of the river immediately in front of them. That reflection seems to have no relation to its source, being for a start more conical in shape. The bank of the river just 'above' that reflection is amateurish in its handling, as are all similar parts.

Finally, a word about the clouds in the sky behind Saint Jerome: there is a randomness about their placement and a uniformity of size. Piero della Francesca was an acknowledged master of perspective drawing and even wrote books on its theory and on geometry. In other pictures of his where similar clouds appear, they are made to contribute to the sense of depth in the image, seeming to get smaller as they recede in space, this a kind of loose, ad hoc adaptation of his knowledge of perspective. Other masters, such as Leonardo da Vinci for instance, may have used what is technically known as 'atmospheric perspective', which is to say, a gradual reduction in the strength of the colours used, together with an increasing 'fuzziness' as things get further away. Piero on the other hand, tended to keep his colours clean and crisp and so relied on diminution to create a sense of distance in his cloud-scapes (see again his Battle of Constantine and Maxentius and other frescos in the Legend of the True Cross cycle at Arezzo). Incidentally, in the last-named painting, the treatment of the river, clean and sharp, is altogether coherent in its movement and its gradient in relation to the surrounding landscape.

What is our conclusion then? I have not attempted to discredit the Saint Jerome in the Desert as being a genuine work by Piero della Francesca but, I have attempted to show that most of what may be considered the original painting was much more likely the juvenile work of a future great master. He, like Leonardo carrying the Mona Lisa around with him from court to court, may have kept this little early piece with him, perhaps for some sentimental reason as yet undiscovered. I, like many other painters, still have several of my juvenile works kept, in my case, to remind me of my first experiences of oil painting! A possible explanation for its being, as described by various critics, a personal devotional piece for Girolamo d'Antonio Ferretti (Banker, p 27), its once-owner - which it may very well have been - is that it already possessed the main requirement for such a purpose, viz. a representation of his namesake, Saint Jerome or, in Italian, San Girolamo. As discussed previously, the little folio and its date, 1450, containing as well a supposed signature by Piero, could easily have been added at any time (by Piero, or someone else), including when the picture was delivered to its purchaser. Compared with what Piero had already done years before, it seems to me most improbable that the original parts of this picture were painted in 1450, or at any time near that date. The comment made by various critics that aspects of this small picture remind them of the Baptism in London, should give the clue that it pertains probably to that same period, if not an earlier one.

1 James R. Banker, Piero della Francesca. Artist and Man, 2014, Oxford University Press.

2 Keith Christiansen et al, Piero della Francesca. Personal Encounters, 2013, The Met, NY and Yale University Press.

3 Painters, including myself, will occasionally alter dates or add them - sometimes pure guesswork - to works begun or completed many years earlier, to satisfy a patron, or a dealer; occasionally, even dealers have been known to add dates when the artist him- or herself is dead!

Having said that, it is of some comfort to me to have discovered partial support for my opinion from exactly one of those 'erudite art historians', namely, Roberto Longhi (1890-1970), one of the most important Italian art historians of the previous century, as well as the author of one of the fundamental texts on Piero (Piero della Francesca, 1927, with additions to 1962. Editori Sansoni, 1963). On pages 219, 220, Longhi - who refers to this painting as San Gerolamo Penitente in un Paesaggio (The Penitent Saint Jerome in a Landscape) - first maintains that at least two 'hands' (artists) are discernible in various parts of the picture; he then goes on to say: "In my opinion, the first layout of the composition and some parts of the execution are due to Piero, to others [artists]... the continuation and the finishing, ... ." And later: "Therefore a painting that would be worth the trouble to bring back to its original state even if it turns out from this to be an 'unfinished work';". This last remark is interesting as, in fact, the picture has since then been thoroughly cleaned ((in 1968 and 1973: Banker, p26; Christiansen et al, p29 and Notes, 41); this is doubly important as the reproduction of this painting in Longhi's book, apart from being in black and white, shows a very different image: parts of the river seem to have been turned into a winding road, the reflections obliterated; the foliage of the trees had been heavily retouched to appear more decorative; the clouds had been overpainted and were no longer visible; and finally, it seems that extra hills were added in the central background! The picture had, in other words, become almost unrecognizable as that which Piero might have originally produced. Longhi sees the hand of another artist - or artists - in various parts of the picture as it was in his day, however, studying it closely - I repeat, in reproduction - I would still assert that the greater part of the present painting is now the original work of Piero della Francesca, only that it seems to me the work of a young painter and not that of a master in his prime. In his comment on the Saint Jerome, Longhi also says that another critic, Raimond Van Marle (1888-1936), described this picture as 'debolissima', i.e. very weak! To finish, another author, Alessandro Angelini in Piero della Francesca (2013, Scala) remarks on p31: "Può apparire strano che questa pittura ... apparentemente così poco rinnovata rispetto alle prime prove dell'artista, rechi la data avanzata del 1450." i.e. "It may appear strange that this picture ... apparently so little developed in respect of the first attempts, carries the late date of 1450." I note here that this same author has the date 1452, i.e. two years after the Saint Jerome, for one of Piero's greatest pictures, his Flagellation in Urbino: a staggering development if 1450 is the correct date for our painting.
Despite my claiming that I run into difficulties with art historians, it would seem that not only Roberto Longhi but also, to some extent, Van Marle, Christiansen and Angelini support some of my observations - although, with the possible exception of Angelini, not my thesis!

This condition of art history, that is, that so many important texts were written prior to the later part of the twentieth century - and the early part of this one - when a very large number of significant works of art were cleaned and restored (e.g. the Sistine Ceiling by Michelangelo, the Doubting Thomas, a wonderful sculptural group by Verrocchio, the Depostion, a large altar-piece by Pontormo, both in Florence, not to mention nearly all of Piero's paintings), means that a substantial number of their authors' observations are, to some extent at least, redundant, particularly in reference to colour: during my youth, Michelangelo's use of colour (in the Sistine Chapel for instance) was not especially highly regarded; since the cleaning of the Sistine however, the influence of his colour on the Mannerists particularly, has been notably reassessed. The build-up, over literally centuries, of dirt and grime on pictures, and on both external sculpture and important buildings, has also led to a reappraisal of the significance and the formal qualities of their creators. In the 1990s, a number of important Baroque churches in Rome were cleaned, revealing a play of light virtually impossible to appreciate previously. Even today in fact, when we now have so many restored and cleaned works to see, probably in a condition much more like they were when the artist actually finished them, we must still consider that colours change and, where artworks are in museums, that many were made for particular places (i.e. not museums), with the fall of light, the point of view, etc. contrived to co-ordinate with their proposed settings.

4 See Marilyn Aronberg Lavin's Piero della Francesca's Baptism of Christ, (1981, 2014, Yale University Press) for an extended discussion of the Baptism, especially for the comments relating to its composition and, in particular, Appendix 1 (B.A.R. Carter).

5 Banker puts the date of the London Baptism at 1436-39, Christiansen in the 1440s. Typically with the works of Piero della Francesca, scholars disagree about his dates; for this reason, the supposed autograph date of the Saint Jerome, 1450, should not be taken at face value. As stated elsewhere, the date could have been added at any time, thereby throwing further inferences based on it into serious doubt. Importantly however, if Christiansen and others are correct, and the Baptism was painted in the 1440s, i.e. after Piero's experience in Florence, obviously that major picture would have been painted with that city's influence 'under his belt', so to speak. Longhi, p18, in his discussion of the Baptism, claims that its closest relative is the large panel by Domenico Veneziano, a photo of which is seen above. This panel, also known as The Saint Lucy Altarpiece, is dated as 1445-47; if this is correct, agreeing as it does with Christiansen's vague dating, then clearly the Baptism was painted well after Piero's stay in Florence. Longhi also says explicitly that: " ... ciò che materialmente si traduce in una probabile prossimità cronologica fra le due opere." i.e. " ... practically, this translates into a probable chronological proximity between the two works". To note here is the wise use of the word 'probable' by Longhi, indicating that even he was not prepared to define absolutely a date. Bruce Cole in Piero della Francesca. Tradition and Innovation in Renaissance Art (1991. Harper Collins), says on p50 that the supposed 'wings' (i.e. the side panels) painted by Matteo di Giovani to accompany Piero's Baptism panel, "... date about 1460s or early 1470s; ...in other words, quite close in time to Piero's Baptism". This date places the painting of the Baptism nearly 30 years later than Banker's date! Another great historian, John Pope-Hennessy, in his The Piero della Francesca Trail (1991, Thames and Hudson), p 50, gives us yet another date for Matteo di Giovanni's 'wings', 1455! If, as seems likely, the Baptism was painted before the wings of the supposed altarpiece, we at least have a date post quam it could not have been painted; but whose dates are correct?
Having seen Matteo's 'wings', i.e. the completed altarpiece minus its central panel, in the Museo Civico in Sansepolcro, I find it extremely difficult to believe that this obviously Gothic-style work has anything whatsoever to do with Piero's Baptism. Apparently, when the Baptism was bought in the 19th century, it was or had been the centre-panel in Matteo's altarpiece; but even a cursory glance at the two works should be enough to raise doubts as to their putative relationship. One glaring clue is that the Baptism has a semi-circular or rounded-arch shape at its top, an echo of rounded Roman arches (see Aronberg Lavin, 1981); the shapes of Matteo's carpentry, and the entire style, are Gothic, utterly out of keeping with both Piero's painting and with contemporary interests, viz. Humanism! One historian who seems to agree fully (and vehemently) with my point of view here is Roberto Manescalchi, in Studi e Documenti Pierfrancescani 1: Questioni intorno al Battesimo di Cristo di Piero della Francesca (Edizioni Grafica European Center of Fine Arts) 2013.

6 Christiansen, p29, in speaking about the Saint Jerome, says: "It is now easy to see that the two attributes, the hat and the lion, were added by Piero (this I disagree with, clearly [Auth.]) after he had first painted the landscape, which is the part of the picture that seems to have really interested him." The quality of the painting of both the hat and the lion is so poor as to negate, in my opinion, any possibility that they were added by Piero himself, particularly in 1450!

Doubting Thomas, (L'Incredulità di San Tommaso), 1483 by Andea del Verrocchio (1435-1488), bronze;
once in a niche on the exterior of Orsanmichele in Florence, now in the museum in the same building after the sculpture's cleaning, completed in 1993. (Photo: the author)