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.