Some comments on a supposed Pontormo: Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap

 

The following article, admittedly unlikely to be of general interest, attempts to analyse two pictures which I have not seen 'in the flesh'; even so, I have seen many works by both of the principal painters referred to, and especially those of Pontormo. This is important because the present article attempts to compare a supposed Pontormo portrait with his critically attested works. Further, for copyright reasons, I have been unable to reproduce many of the images referred to and so I'm afraid the reader, should he or she so wish, will have to search them out online.

This article was prompted by my recent reading of the excellent catalogue for the exhibition entitled Miraculous Encounters: Pontormo from Drawing to Painting, held in various places in the US in 2018-19 (an exhibition which unfortunately I didn't see). The catalogue is beautifully illustrated with some exceptional close-ups of Pontormo's paintings, including 'before' and 'after' photographs of the main picture in the exhibition, the Carmignano Visitation, that is, before and after its restoration; such photographs demonstrate very clearly the difference between what time and life had done with an artist's intentions (the finished art work) and, after cleaning, what those intentions had originally been - at least, so far as we can tell.

My curiosity was piqued in any case by a close-up of a painting called Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap (c. 1530), possibly a lost portrait of one Carlo Neroni1 according to the catalogue discussion. At this point I would reiterate that, although I have seen in person many of Pontormo's pictures, and especially those in the great exhibition held at the Palazzo Strozzi in Florence in 2014: Pontormo e Rosso Fiorentino, Divergenti Vie della "Maniera" (not to mention his frescos at Galluzzo and his sublime Cappella Capponi paintings), I have not seen the Young Man in a Red Cap (c.1530), nor have I seen the one with which it is compared, the so-called Portrait of a Halberdier (c.1529-30). That said however, as previously stated in these articles, I look at pictures with the eye of a painter and, from that point of view, the Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap, as reproduced in the catalogue, is problematical as a supposed work of Pontormo.

Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap, attributed to Pontormo, c1530, oil on wood

Private Collection, UK 

(Image: Public Domain Wikimedia Commons)

The Halberdier (L'Alabardiere), by Pontormo, c1530, oil on canvas transferred from wood. 

The J. Paul Getty Museum, L.A.

(Image: Public Domain Wikimedia Commons)

What alerted me to this was in fact the brilliant close-up photographs of both the Young Man in a Red Cap and the Halberdier. In another image (Fig. 9.1 in the catalogue) the once-lost painting (Young Man in a Red Cap) is shown in an engraving of circa 1759 in which the portrait is given to "Alessandro Allori, ...", (1535-1607), student of his adoptive 'uncle' who is known to art history more generally as Bronzino (born Agnolo di Cosimo di Mariano Torri, 1503-72) - a student and then intimate friend of Pontormo. Subsequently, according to this catalogue, the now rediscovered painting (in 2008) was ascribed by various historians (but not all) to Pontormo. With the aid of the aforementioned close-ups, it is possible to easily compare the heads and other features of both the (painted) Young Man in a Red Cap and the Halberdier. 

From a painter's viewpoint, there is an immediate and obvious problem in that the painting technique, the way the paint has been applied, is quite different in both pictures. The Portrait of a Halberdier is painted, as is usual in Pontormo, with relatively vigorous and free brush-strokes, the paint (here) comparatively thickly applied, and most importantly, the brush-strokes model, so to speak, in the manner of a sculptor, the plastic forms of the facial structure (and that of the hands), the brush being dragged along and around the features. Other examples of the same characteristic handling of paint (by Pontormo) can be seen in  close-ups on various pages of the catalogue: for example, profile and full-face views of the women in the Visitation. The painter of the Young Man in a Red Cap on the other hand, has used a technique more appropriate to both traditional tempera and fresco painting; the artist has used a pointed brush to model with innumerable fine lines the chiaroscuro of the face and hands, much in the way that many contemporary artists made drawings: denser and more numerous in the shadow areas, sparser and less numerous in the lighter ones, giving way to open space where the light is strongest. Here, the brush is nowhere dragged along the forms but rather, applies those fine lines, almost independently of the specific forms, aiming instead to render volume wherever it may occur. It should also be noticed that in the face of the Halberdier, there is a variety of colours - pinks, creams, browns, etc. - whereas, the face of the Young Man in a Red Cap is nearly monochrome, using a very narrow range of browns progressively mixed with white (occasionally pinkish, as in the lower lip). To return nevertheless to the handling of the paint, again in the Halberdier it is relatively thick, being dragged along the forms of the cream jerkin he is wearing, following the billowing and receding of the folds and crevices of the material as they convey the physique and stance of the young man holding his halberd. Pontormo's rendering of the incidental folds, their shadows and highlights, suggests that he had observed these things in that particular case, that he had copied what he saw on his model; this point is important as, prior to and during the Renaissance, artists very commonly had their personal drawn repertoire of garment studies which they tended to reuse time and again (in altarpieces for example). In portraits this was normally not the case as each sitter (and his or her clothes) was unique; this suggests that the rendering of the Halberdier's clothing is particular to this portrait.

The handling of the elegant black vest and the metallic-grey sleeves in the Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap is clearly different from Pontormo's manner. Here, the sleeves especially are treated much more generically and with the incidental accidents of shape and light homogenised somewhat, giving overall a less-specific effect. It can also be seen in the catalogue that the artist favours a smooth, almost-polished surface treatment which would seem to conform more to Bronzino's (later) manner, than to Pontormo's; to encapsulate the differences between the two artists' finished results, we might say, using a sculptural analogy, that whereas Pontormo's works are like cast bronze, Bronzino's are like polished ivory. 

A small detail, that of the fine cord at the collars in both portraits, also calls attention to a divergent approach: in the Halberdier, the little cord - a mere two strokes of the brush - is just that, a fine line drawn quickly with the brush; that of the Young Man in a Red Cap is actually modelled in fictive three dimensions, complete with a dark shadow along one side. The technique, and the focus, in each case is different and points to - without confirming - a different author, in keeping that is with the other elements in each picture. I must admit just the same, that the small red laces attaching various parts of the Halberdier's red trousers are also painted in much more detail than is his collar cord.

A far more significant 'tell-tale' sign would seem to be the 'hard-edge' treatment of certain details in the Young Man in a Red Cap, especially along the external contours of his black jerkin and his hands: this manner of clear, precise delineation of the edges contrasts, obviously I would say - and keeping in mind that these two paintings are believed to be coeval - with the manner of the handling of those same details in the Halberdier. Pontormo treats all his edges as somewhat 'smudged' so to say, that is, he has softened the external contours of his forms; in relation to the hands in particular, the handling (!) is again quite different in both cases. 

The Halberdier's hands are modelled by first 'drawing', with a brush, the main outlines and basic forms in a thin, reddish base colour; upon this is applied some thicker paint in some areas, and in others, translucent paint (glazes); these three basic techniques or treatments model the forms, often blending one technique with another, or as in the shadows, sometimes leaving the underpainting untouched, so as to arrive at the final effect. The Halberdier's right hand, the one holding the halberd, is a clear and classic example of this technique. The Young Man in a Red Cap's hands (on the other hand!) are possibly begun in a similar way but the subsequent application of paint is very different. Onto a thin, basic skin colour (it seems) is applied a network of very small 'crosshatching' strokes using a fine brush, in this case describing the volumes in a very generalised way; these are the hands of 'everyman', not the hands (nor the underlying bones or even the muscles) of any particular hands. The Halberdier's are his hands, seen and recorded at the moment of portraying them: they have his creases, his bones, his muscles, and importantly, the particular light which was on them at that time.

One perhaps subtler discrepancy between the style of the Young Man in a Red Cap and Pontormo's usual manner is in the mouth. The young man portrayed here has a fully-modelled mouth, as if copied from life; Pontormo's faces typically have a notably small but full mouth - virtually a hall-mark of his - and this is the case with the Halberdier, also supposedly a portrait (possibly of a certain Francesco Guardi). If we look at Pontormo's so-called Deposition in the Cappella Capponi in Florence, composed as it is of beautiful emotional figures, we see that nearly all of them have this typical full but small mouth (in fact, the presumed self-portrait of the artist on the extreme right is the only figure with a 'personal' mouth!) It is not however always the case, as for instance, in his Supper at Emmaus in the Uffizi where the known portraits (of monks) amongst the biblical figures in this image have particularised mouths. That said, the typical 'Pontormo mouth' of the Halberdier (for which reason the word supposedly earlier) is quite different from the mouth of the Young Man in a Red Cap. 

It might be recalled as well that it was not uncommon for artists to give to their especial colleagues their own drawings and cartoons to be used by them in their works 2. It has been suggested that Pontormo may in fact have used a presumed cartoon for the Halberdier as a model for the Man in a Red Cap; to me it seems much more likely that Pontormo himself may have made the drawing - not a cartoon - for this latter portrait and that it was then painted by Bronzino, or someone else. The suggestion remains in any case at the margins of credibility; in the first place, the pose itself is hardly unusual even in real life, and the (obvious) differences in the poses of the Halberdier and the Man in a Red Cap would seem to exclude this a priori. But, more importantly, cartoons per se were normally used for large works such as frescos, where the medium and technique require a great deal of specific preparation; the painting of a portrait (on a wooden panel or a canvas) is an entirely different type of work, and given that both the portraits under discussion were painted in oils, the artist had a great deal more freedom as far as execution is concerned. Preparatory sketches were usual at that time, and, as reproduced in the catalogue, there exists at least one such preparatory drawing for the Halberdier - a drawing it might be pointed out, quite different in pose (that is, frontal) from the finished painting (the model seen from his left). The use of modern high-tech methods to analyse paintings, allowing us to 'see' behind the surface of the paint film, predictably reveals the use of drawings prior to the application of paint (a method not necessarily used by artists today for instance); this is not the same as the use of a cartoon nor does it indicate the use of one! Also in the catalogue is reproduced Pontormo's preparatory drawing for the Visitation; this drawing has been 'squared-up', that is, a grid has been drawn in red chalk on top of the original drawing. Such a technique, squaring-up, allows the artist to reliably transfer the contents of each grid square, one by one, to another surface of any size, provided the proportions are the same as in the drawing. It is plainly obvious that squaring-up (from a preparatory drawing) would have been used for a portrait of the size we are discussing here (92 x 73 cm), far more likely in fact than the use of a cartoon. We note in relation to this, that the Visitation painting, for which, as just mentioned, there is a squared-up preparatory drawing, measures 207 x 159 cm, considerably larger than either of the paintings being compared here. Whether or not a cartoon was used however, does not prove Pontormo's authorship of the Young Man in a Red Cap: it could possibly suggest that some kind of drawing by Pontormo was used as the basis for that painting.

Finally, some remarks concerning the hands in the Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap. While it is clear that the hands of this young man are posed differently from those in the Halberdier picture (the left hands of both models are related however, see discussion below), the treatment of the flesh in the Young Man in a Red Cap - the folds of the skin (practically absent) and the light on both his hands (minimally indicated) - is quite different. This treatment is 'generic' whereas the treatment of the hands of the Halberdier is specific - both visually and technically: here, his right hand, for instance, has first been 'drawn' in a reddish-brown under-colour;3 later, the final flesh colours, with their highlights, have been added, allowing the under-colour to play, so to speak, a passive role as the shadows. The hands of the Young Man in a Red Cap are done, as said, more generically, with no particular focus on them as specific hands caught in a particular set of physical and ambient conditions. In fact, close-up photos on pages 88-89 in our catalogue, comparing one hand from each protagonist, show yet again in the Young Man in a Red Cap portrait the use of the fine brush hatching technique - as noted on his face - while the hand of the Halberdier is modelled to indicate not only the accidental fall of the light, but also the bony structure under the skin - again, something only vaguely hinted at in the other portrait. This problem of the hands, to my mind, is yet another important indicator that the two works under discussion were painted by different people, perhaps collaborating to some degree but not necessarily. 

The hands though are an interesting study on their own: if we look at the Portrait of a Youth (Ritratto di giovane [Carlo Neroni?]) reproduced with notes by Elizabeth Cropper in the catalogue L'Officina della maniera (see Note 1), it may be supposed that both the left and right hands could be transposed, with some minor alterations, onto the Young Man in a Red Cap: while the right hand of the former work is holding an open book and the one in the latter picture is holding a letter, the splay of the fingers is the same; more similarly, the sitter's left hand (Portrait of a Youth) could easily become that of the Halberdier. In all three pictures the left hands are splayed in the same way, with the index and little fingers separated from the middle two which are closely touching; what this suggests is the possibility of studio studies of hands in various positions (such studies we know to exist by other artists), studies which have been used in these three paintings, with minor modifications. The one main difference however, is the conspicuously alternative rendition in the painting Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap; Pontormo's drawings (or exemplars) seem to have been used by an artist other than Pontormo.

For further comparison, the reader may be interested to look at photos of the following acknowledged portraits by Pontormo:

 

- the Portrait of Cosimo il Vecchio, about 1518, in the Uffizi - note the careful modelling of both the face and hands which, incidentally, are executed very similarly to the Halberdier's left hand;

- Double Portrait of Friends of about 1525, in Venice: to note, the very particularised treatment of especially the faces but also the hands;

- Portrait of a Youth of about 1526, in Lucca - note the treatment of the face, hair, hands and especially the orange-red 'cloak' worn by the sitter: a loose, free-flowing handling, including the softened edges, quite at odds with the manner of the Young Man in a Red Cap;

-  Portrait of a Bishop (Monsignor Niccolò Ardinghelli ?) of about 1541, in Washington - again, the treatment of the face and clothes, especially the white sleeves;

- Portrait of a Gentleman with a Book of about 1542 (private collection), perhaps the most somatically enquiring and colouristically profound of all Pontormo's portraits - and clearly very different from the generalised rendering of the sitter in the Young Man in a Red Cap. 

In none of these five pictures by the way, does there appear to be any trace of the fine hatching technique observed in the last-mentioned painting.

1 In the catalogue discussed here, the identification of the Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap is clearly with the documented but unidentified portrait of Carlo Neroni; however, in another exhibition catalogue of some years earlier (1997, also referred to in our catalogue), L'Officina della maniera, on page 380, Elizabeth Cropper has in brackets and with a question mark suggested, along with others, that a portrait called Ritratto di Giovane of 1529-30 (Portrait of a Young Man, p 381) could also be that of Carlo Neroni. In fact, the position of the body, the turn of the head, and in particular, the splay of the fingers of the sitter's left hand are much closer to the pose of the Halberdier than are those same elements in the Young Man in a Red Cap. Even so, although the Officina Portrait of a Young Man does have these similarities, and is given as a Pontormo in that catalogue, there are some things which suggest to me at least that this portrait may also have been painted by Bronzino, with the pose resembling generally Pontormo's Halberdier. Although Bronzino began his relationship with Pontormo as his student, it later developed into a very close personal friendship and therefore the free exchange of ideas and drawings would not have been at all unusual. By the way, the earlier attribution to Alessandro Allori (mentioned above) is incorrect if the date given to the Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap is accurate (c1530) as Allori was not born until 1535!

2 A well-known example of this 'largesse' is that of Michelangelo in either giving drawings to Sebastiano del Piombo or actually making them specifically for him. By the way, 'cartoon' in English is the translation of the Italian word "cartone" which means 'heavy or big paper'. Cartoons were usually, although not always, large sheets of paper, sometimes several pieces glued together to form an even larger surface, on which a full-scale preparatory drawing had been made, a drawing to serve as a guide for an exact replication in paint on a (normally large) wall, that is, to be painted in fresco on a wall. Occasionally, smaller cartoons were used also on wooden panels. There were two methods for the 'transfer' of the design or drawing: one involved the pricking of holes, with a sharp pointed tool, along the lines of the drawing, the placing of the drawing (cartoon) onto the desired place - on the wall - and then the 'pouncing' over the holes with a small bag filled with charcoal dust; the dust would pass through the holes leaving a 'join-the-dots' image of the drawing on the wall surface. The artist then had a clear model to follow. The second method of transfer involved cutting along the lines of the drawing, with a sharp knife-like tool, sometimes into the still-soft plaster of the wall to be frescoed, leaving thereby an incised image of the drawing from the now-shredded cartoon. Close examination of old pictures, both on panels and on walls (frescos) has revealed traces of both techniques: of 'pouncing' in Piero della Francesca's frescos, the Legend of the True Cross, in Arezzo; and of incising in Michelangelo's Sistine Ceiling frescos.

3 This technique, as used for oil painting, was common at that time and continued to be so for centuries. It consisted in the use of an 'undercoat' in normally a reddish-brown earth colour, applied relatively thinly, as a preliminary drawing of an entire figure. When that was dry, the 'skin' colours would be applied on top, in varying thicknesses, often allowing the 'undercoat' to remain visible in the final effect, especially as shadows or reflected light. These could be further modified with the use of glazes - thin veils of colour, on top. The overall effect of a painting could also be influenced right from the very beginning, that is, by the colour of its 'priming': the base coat of white paint (or, earlier, gesso) could be given a coat of some other darker colour before the image proper was sketched onto the canvas (or panel). This base colour or primer, depending on how the artist applied his or her colours, could influence the final effect, making it warmer or cooler as the artist chose. In the nineteenth and (particularly) the twentieth centuries, many artists preferred a basic white primer and, in the case of the Impressionists (19th century) for example, a white ground helped to give brightness to their landscape images. The technique was not the same for fresco and there was far less flexibility once the plaster began to dry; however, under-painting in a reddish-brown colour (the 'sinopia') still constituted the first stage of the painting. 

The Procession of the Most Holy Miracle, fresco by Cosimo Rosselli, 1486: detail of the 'sinopia' - the reddish brown underdrawing - discovered under the finished fresco during restoration (see next photo), in the church of St Ambrogio in Florence. Note as well the initial perspective lines visible in the foreground. 

The complete fresco by Cosimo Rosselli, restored

Artists often made changes during the application-of-colour phase and, in this case for instance, it can be seen that Rosselli altered the position of the left hand of the central figure of the group of three young men in the centre-left foreground; incidentally, historically interesting is that amongst the figures on the  left is represented the famous Humanist, Pico della Mirandola, and the one with the black cap is apparently Rosselli himself.

Line: Donatello and Alberti

 

In drawing, theoretically, a line is a series of points placed so closely together as to form a continuous mark; this mark may be short or long, thick or thin, curved or straight. For those who study the history of art, a line can be an indicator of all sorts of things: from the authenticity of an individual piece and therefore its attribution to one master or another, through to the psychological state - either while producing a particular work or more generally - of the artist concerned. Lines are some of the first marks made by children, even when they are using paint (as opposed to a pencil or crayon for instance). It would seem that the inclination to make lines is an innate one, not one which needs to be taught. Notwithstanding that however, the adult use of line, that is, its controlled and deliberate use, does need to be taught and this because, once a would-be artist attempts to render an idea with lines, it is at that point much more than the initially, so to speak, 'inarticulate' gestures made by small children; the line has become a conscious means of communication and as such, may be more or less successful. To make the communication more or optimally successful, the artist needs training, developing skill, awareness and visual (not to say psychological) acumen. For this reason, art students, for centuries, were set to copy normally, plaster casts of antique Greek and Roman sculpture, if not the real thing: heads, hands, feet and torsos. As times have changed, so too has the emphasis on drawing as a requisite skill for artists; indeed, at certain points in the 20th century, the teaching (or learning) of drawing was actively frowned upon; attempts were made to 'unlearn' drawing skills in the belief that that type of formal training inhibited the more genuine or 'authentic' expression of what it was the artist was trying to communicate.

That said, the line is one of the most basic, most fundamental of the various formal and technical elements of the visual arts; it is critical to drawing, painting, sculpture, architecture, printmaking, and design, both graphic and industrial. The importance of line has been recognised since ancient times (for example, by Vitruvius) and, although obviously essential to all artistic output since the Egyptians (and before), it in fact received renewed and especial attention in the Renaissance. The Renaissance is usually said to have begun in Florence although, nowadays, the story is a bit more complex and it might be more accurate to say that it 'developed' in Florence more quickly and thoroughly than perhaps in other centres, such as Pisa or Siena. The Renaissance (a French term; Rinascimento in Italian) involved not only the visual arts (including architecture) but also literature, poetry, history writing, certain sciences, design and so on. In this article, I would like to consider two of the preeminent personalities of the Rinascimento, as it happens, both of them Florentines (not the biscuit!), even if one was born - because his family had been exiled - in Genoa: Donatello (Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi, 1386? - 1466) and Alberti (born in Genoa to a Florentine father; Leon Battista Alberti, 1404 - 1472).

Both men were artists although Alberti was a polymath, being not only an architect and painter but also a prolific writer and theorist, a poet, a philosopher and a cleric (even if, in his theoretical writings on painting and architecture, he rarely used the word 'church', preferring 'temple', and 'the gods' to 'God'!). The reason both of them are of interest here is that, from what I can see, they had a special relationship with the line. Although Donatello was principally a sculptor, much of his work, and particularly his low or bas relief sculpture - the 'schiacciati' or 'stiacciati' (meaning 'squashed' or 'flattened') - are heavily, and obviously, dependent on line, and that most notably in an oddly 'painterly' way 1.

The Feast (or Banquet) of Herod (detail) by Donatello, bronze, c1427

Baptistry, Siena

(Photo from the Net: unable to identify the photographer)

The image above is a detail of the background of one of Donatello's most well-known works, a bronze panel for the baptismal font in the Baptistry of the cathedral at Siena; it shows at least three distinct events in the story of the death of John the Baptist: on the right (not visible here) is the dancing Salome, on the left, the presentation of the decapitated head of the Baptist to the now-horrified Herod (partially visible); and in one of the background rooms, on the left, the presentation of John's head to someone else, apparently also Salome and/or her mother (?), the instigator of the execution; the combination of several events in the one representation was a long-established custom preceding Donatello by centuries. What is of interest for our purposes however is his use of two things: the recently developed single-point or linear perspective and his related but almost entirely 'pictorial' or drawn line: that is, not 'sculptural' in the usual sense.

If we study carefully this upper section of the panel, we see that it shows several spaces separated by  walls which are parallel with the 'picture plane'; for the sake of reading the narrative, the figures which occupy these rooms are out of scale but otherwise the spaces themselves are completely coherent with each other, and with the (here mostly not visible) foreground space. The perspective lines recede generally to a single 'vanishing point' and the middle and background spaces diminish in size as they get further and further back. So far, this is what could now be called 'normal' perspective but what isn't so normal is Donatello's almost extravagant use of line, and line which is 'drawn' on the surface in exactly the way one would do it in an actual drawing. So much detail has been included that we are able to count the small stone blocks which make up each of the walls, for example, as well as those used in the arches; the columns in the right background and left middle-ground, and the protruding and receding stone beams are all dependent on lines. The illusion of depth and solidity in the entire upper portion of this panel is due to line, not to modelled forms; a partial exception to this could be one or two elements on the extreme left, such as the column there, and this because these minor elements are approaching the 'front' of the image - that is, illusorily closer to us - in which we find the main action.            

Except for the classically-influenced figures, which are modelled human forms, the entire scene is dependent on lines, but lines as opposed to what? As opposed to physical form; sculpture is, if nothing else, about 'real' form in three dimensions; but even painters, who work in two dimensions, do not usually portray backgrounds as a tight network of lines; an artist making a drawing might do that, but colour, tone and relative size would be used by a painter to indicate - together with perspective at this point - depth in a painting. Donatello has here included in the lower portion the narratively thematic and obligatory figures (not visible in our image), but it is hard to escape the impression that what he really wanted to do was to make a perspectively convincing line drawing in the clay or wax (from which the bronze cast was made): a drawing which coherently suggested a 'real' space, or a series of real spaces, receding into the distance. Donatello's seeming love of line may be contrasted with the work of his later fellow citizen, Michelangelo (1475 - 1564). If we were to put an early - and clearly indicative - work of his, for instance, the Battle of the Centaurs, side by side with the Feast of Herod, Donatello's fascination with line would be immediately obvious: Michelangelo, by contrast, loved form and we could say, exclusively the human form; whereas Donatello maintained his use of architectural settings and backgrounds throughout his life, establishing a 'realistic' environment in which his actors could play, Michelangelo very, very rarely included any kind of ambience whatsoever (some suggestion may be seen in the Doni Tondo and some of the principal scenes on the Sistine Ceiling); normally, the figures were themselves the ambience!

The Battle of the Centaurs by Michelangelo, marble, c1490-92

Casa Buonarroti, Florence (Photo: the author)

Let's have a look at another work (below) by Donatello: this one is a part of what are known as his 'pulpits' although, despite their being exhibited as such in the church of San Lorenzo in Florence, there is some doubt that the panels were originally made with that intention. These panels, again low reliefs in bronze, were made at the very end of Donatello's life and some were actually completed or made by assistants. The one we shall consider is from the so-called Passion pulpit and it shows again, brilliantly composed in two parts of the same great hall, two distinct events: Christ before Pilate (on the left) and Christ before Caiaphas (on the right).

(L) Christ before Pilate and (R) Christ before Caiaphas, Donatello (and assistants?), bronze, c1466

The church of San Lorenzo, Florence (Photo: the author)

Although the photo is not very good, I think the salient aspects are legible. In these two scenes, the role of the figures is to some extent more important (more convincing ?) than it was in the Feast of Herod. In what is in effect a single great hall with two very large Roman basilica-style barrel vaults, the lower areas are completely occupied by several key actors (Christ obviously, Pilate, Caiaphas and Pilate's wife [according to Pope-Hennessy]) as well as many subsidiary figures; these are arranged so that they contribute to the perspective illusion, something which also happened in the Feast of Herod, especially in the area where Herod is seated, but here more successfully I believe. But, in spite of the greater number of figures, and their high relief, particularly in the foreground, this panel, like its predecessor of roughly 40 years earlier (the Feast), is highly dependent on line. And, as in the earlier panel, the lines contribute strongly to the sense of space, indicating the perspective but also independently of it. The present panel has also in common with the Feast the clearly defined stonework, both on the sides of the hall and in the furthest background wall, visible beyond the balcony containing disinterested observers of the scenes below. The horizontal 'direction' of the grilles in those side walls, the lines of the barrel vaults, the latticework separating the hall proper from other spaces beyond, and the linear decoration of the three large columns embellishing the most forward parts of the principal walls, are all products of line. In this late image, modelled form does indeed play a larger part, both in the figures as already mentioned, but also in the columns and the pilasters in front of the lattice walls.

However, line was of such importance to Donatello that ultimately he used it - as opposed to modelled form - even in his figures. Below is a detail from the Mourning over the Dead Christ panel in the pulpits, a detail showing an anonymous figure standing behind the central group. Note here how simple lines, no more than gashes, have been used to indicate the folds in this person's clothes, and to some extent in his headdress, even if at times the transition from line to form is indistinct. This ambiguity between line and modelled form is visible also in the face of this figure where line, especially around the eye, contributes as much to the expression as does modelling.

The Mourning over the Dead Christ (detail), Donatello (and assistants ?), bronze, c1466

San Lorenzo, Florence 

Leon Battista Alberti was, as mentioned earlier, an architect and a theorist of architecture; among his several books, including a very important one called On Painting (Della Pittura: 1436, originally in Italian and later in Latin) in which he produced the written theory of linear perspective, is one in Latin called De re aedificatoria. Various translations of the word 'aedificatoria' have been made including very early on where the word 'architecture' was used; more modern scholarship seems to favour 'building' or 'construction' so that an English title might be something like: 'Concerning Building'. In any case, in the original Latin, much is made by Alberti of the importance of line. Alberti had apparently been stimulated and influenced by a much earlier treatise called De architectura, written by the Roman architect, engineer and theorist Vitruvius (Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, 80 - 15 BC). In this work, Vitruvius uses the Latin word 'lineamenta', from the noun 'lineamentum', meaning a line drawn with a pen or pencil, a geometrical line.

Leon Battista Alberti, self-portrait bronze medal, 1435?

Note Alberti's personal device, a winged eye (under his chin) whose symbolic meaning is unclear.

National Gallery of Art, Washington DC (Photo: the author)

In her book Prologo al De re aedificatoria 2, Elisabetta di Stefano discusses the introduction, or prologue, of Alberti's book and draws attention to his emphasis on the importance of line. Of course, one might say, line is obviously important in architecture, how else is an architect to draw his or her plans, etc.? Clearly this is correct but when we consider Alberti's actual structures, things he designed himself as an architect, it becomes plain that line was more to him than simply a visual sign with which to communicate his ideas. Let's have a look at one of his most famous pieces of 'domestic' architecture, the Palazzo Rucellai in Florence. In this relation, at the end of the Prologo, Alberti says that (in his research) he had "observed the very great importance of the connection between lines and their reciprocal relationships" which he remarks, "is the principal factor in beauty"!

The Palazzo Rucellai designed by Alberti, first five bays from the left c1455-58 (?), Florence

It seems that Giovanni Rucellai, the owner of the palace, initially possessed the first five houses onto which Alberti's 'screen façade' was built; he later acquired the next two properties (bays six and seven) but was unable to acquire the eighth, causing the façade to come to a staggered end, just visible on the right in the photo!

(Photo from the Net: unable to identify the photographer) 

Even a casual glance at the photo, not to say at the building itself, reveals the important and powerful effect of line in this façade. All the shapes, the arches, the pilasters, the pseudo blocks of stone, are 'defined' by line. Although the pilasters and the horizontal linear courses, or 'marcapiani', marking the various levels of the structure, are actually modelled, not to mention the massive 'cornicione' - the great eaves typical of rinascimento palaces - the dominating features, that is, the flat 'stones' of the walls and those forming the arches, are defined with and, in a certain sense, as lines. Alberti designed several other major structures in Florence (as well as elsewhere in Italy)3 but I chose the Palazzo Rucellai because of this highly-refined, austere yet abundant linear work which of course, is similar to that discussed in relation to Donatello.

Like Vitruvius's De architectura, Alberti's treatise is divided into ten books the very first of which is titled (in Latin) Lineamenta: this word can be used to refer to design as well as to lines specifically 4. In only the second paragraph of Valeria Giontella's Italian translation of Book 1, Alberti uses all of the following words: lineamenti (noun plural x 5), disegno (noun), lineamento (noun), linee (noun plural), disegnando (verb). In English, these words mean, in one form or another, and with one or more overlapping meanings, line and design; in this, Alberti differs not much from his slightly later and very similar (in terms of literary and artistic contribution) fellow Florentine, Giorgio Vasari (1511 - 1574) 5 who goes into much detail concerning the importance of line (disegno). Naturally, Alberti's Della Pittura, his book about 'modern' painting addressed to painters, contains many references to line, and clearly, especially so when discussing perspective itself. Of interest by the way, is that, although Alberti is better known as an architect than as a painter, in Della Pittura he describes himself, several times, as a painter: in Book 1 (of three this time), in the second paragraph, he asks his readers (other painters) to consider him not as a mathematician but as a painter (whence the motto of this blog in fact); elsewhere he refers to his readers and himself jointly as 'we'; later, also in Book 1, he says "Let's talk like painters.", and so on. 

Let us in any case conclude with a modernist piece which reflects the interests, amongst others, of Alberti and especially of Donatello. It is the work of a Sicilian sculptor, Emilio Greco (1913 [Catania] - 1995): Dormitio Virginis (1983) was made for an altar in the cathedral at Prato in Tuscany.

Dormitio Virginis by Emilio Greco, plaster model for bronze altarpiece, 1983

The Museum of the Cathedral of Prato (Photo: the author)

In the image above we see a crowded, tightly-packed composition, reminiscent of the lower portions of Donatello's Paduan and San Lorenzo reliefs, and the obvious use of line as the principal formal and expressive medium. The absence of any 'environment' for the action and indeed the crowded space (space defined as and by human activity), bring to mind as well Michelangelo, and Pontormo's so-called Deposition in Florence.

1 Frederick Hartt in his excellent A History of Italian Renaissance Art, in the 1980 revised and enlarged edition published by Thames and Hudson, also remarks, in speaking of Alberti's Della Pittura, " ... the four painters whose art sums up this Golden Age of the Quattrocento, not to speak of the pictorial sculpture of the mature Ghiberti and Donatello." (p  232; italics my own). Incidentally, it was Alberti in Book 3 of Della Pittura who recommended that student painters might rather copy sculpture as opposed to copying paintings; unfortunately this advice became dogma in the academies of later times. Alberti actually preferred artists to work from nature!

2 Leon Battista Alberti: Prologo al De re aedificatoria, edited by Elisabetta Di Stefano, published by Edizioni ETS, Pisa, 2012.

This small book publishes, together with the erudite Introduction of Elisabetta Di Stefano, the Latin text of Alberti's Prologo to his book De re aedificatoria with, on the facing pages, the editor's contemporary Italian translation.

3 In Florence, Alberti also designed the 'modern' façade of Santa Maria Novella and the so-called Holy Sepulchre (il Santo Sepolcro) including its chapel (la Cappella Rucellai), in the now much-modified church of San Pancrazio (today, the church but not the chapel, is the Museo Marino Marini). In Mantova he designed the very important Basilica di Sant'Andrea (constructed post mortem) and San Sebastiano, and in Rimini, the splendid Tempio Malatestiano in which, as in Sant'Andrea, he explored ideas derived from the Roman triumphal arch. Some of his buildings, such as the Tempio, were left unfinished and about others there is some debate as to authorship or the degree of Alberti's involvement; it seems that what interested him most was the design phase and he often left the actual construction to others.

4 Leon Battista Alberti: L'arte di costruire, edited by Valeria Giontella, published by Bollati Boringhieri, Torino, 2010; a full Italian translation of the Latin with commentary.

5 Giorgio Vasari, author of Le vite de' più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori: two editions, the later published in 1568 but the earlier, in 1550, was printed by the same publisher, Lorenzo Torrentino, who, also in 1550, published the Cosimo Bartoli edition (first Italian translation) of Alberti's De re aedificatoria!

A note to the reader: some readers may wonder why I constantly refer to Italian books and authors; the reason is simple: most of my articles are about Italian art and it seems reasonable to refer to scholars who not only study and write about the same things, but whose cultural remove (not least linguistically) from the originals (be they visual art or literary) is somewhat less than that of scholars writing in other languages. Quite often I do in fact refer to English language historians, sometimes French ones, whose writings I have found to be stimulating in one way or another: John Pope-Hennessy for instance, who actually lived in Italy, James Banker who still does I believe, John White and, in the present article, Frederick Hartt.