Two Trecento Works *

Walking into the first rooms of the Uffizi galleries, which are arranged chronologically, one of the earliest works one meets - apart from some classical sculpture in the corridors - is a wonderful polyptych known as the Saint Cecilia Altarpiece; since we don't know who actually painted this picture, the anonymous artist is known as the 'Saint Cecilia Master' (d.1330 circa). This is not so unusual as many works of the past were unsigned; often, to remedy this problem of authorship, incorrect names, later shown to have been such, have been attached to such pieces. Indeed, important scholars of the 19th and 20th centuries (Cavalcaselle, Morelli, Berenson, Longhi, Zeri, etc.) have occupied themselves with attempting to discover the real names of these anonymous masters, either through exhaustive research of contemporary documents or through connoisseurship, which leans heavily on stylistic analysis; in any case, the two methods are obviously interdependent. In the case of the Saint Cecilia Master, although several names have been suggested, he is still known by that, so to speak, nom de plume.

Scenes from the Life of Saint Cecilia, detail from the Saint Cecilia Altarpiece, c. 1300 by the Saint Cecilia Master, 

 tempera on panel.  Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence (Photo: the author)

Above is a photo of the left part of this polyptych which actually consists of a large central panel, showing an enthroned Madonna, and eight small panels, four on either side of the central one. The reason we are looking at these smaller scenes in particular is because of their space, or to put it another way, their architecture; and it is because of his description of architecture that this master has been credited with four of the (very large) scenes from the Life of Saint Francis fresco cycle in the upper church of the Basilica of Saint Francis in Assisi: the very first scene and the final three (in narrative order) are thought by some scholars to have been painted, not by Giotto, but by the Saint Cecilia Master.

Although the figures in these little stories, and the splendid ones in the frescos at Assisi, are beautiful in themselves and help, in the latter case - because of their particular qualities - to distinguish the Saint Cecilia Master's work from that of Giotto, it is his representation of architecture - and therefore space - that is so interesting. In other articles, I have focussed on these two formal elements in relation to the oeuvre of several artists, most recently in a discussion of the work of Giotto at Assisi, and we have seen that, in the case of Giotto, important advances were made in the 'realistic' description of buildings and other structures. The Saint Cecilia Master would seem to have been at a similar stage of development as Giotto in this aspect, if not in fact further ahead. Let's look in detail at his work in the Saint Cecilia Altarpiece.

In the first image (above), which is of the two panels on the extreme left side of the altarpiece, what we see are two scenes, or stories, from the life of the Saint. Both episodes are set within a highly articulated architectural space, each with an apparently central 'vanishing point' 1. The artist's interest in 'setting the scene' has focused on his wonderful architectural inventions and his understanding of the way things really look from a given single point of view. In the top picture, with its marvellously contrived tri-partite, heavy wooden ceiling, its receding walls and floor, we are presented with a visually convincing description of a plausible space; like-wise the lower story. In all four stories, the artist has broken with medieval tradition and shown his protagonists in an appropriate scale relative to the size of his buildings. But there are problems!

On closer inspection of the top painting, we see that the wedding-feast table is tilted at a very strange angle and is completely at odds - also in its shape - with the wonderfully rendered space in which it sits. Unless we are to assume that this anonymous master was in fact a precursor of Cézanne, in his tilting forward of such table-tops so as to be almost parallel with the picture plane, it would appear that something is very wrong!  It is a contradiction that we are observing a 'real' event in a 'real' space in which however, a misshapen table is tipping over!

Even more oddly, the painter has drawn the legs of that same table in a way which is generally coherent with the main perspective scheme; but, in relation to the table-top, he seems to have ignored all his marvellous observations and again reverted to a medieval tradition, that of showing tables in such a way that what was on them could be seen by viewers of those works, no matter how illogical that might be. Accepting this lapsus, on the left of this banqueting room there is a doorway - with its own independent vanishing point (see the lintel) - leading us out of that space and into another, implied by the opening in the wall, and by the servant stepping through it; although he is already passing through the doorway, his visible foot is in the same floor space as the waiter in green attending to the table: logically, this is impossible because the size of the table, and the position of the waiter's feet, suggest a certain distance from the doorway. And speaking of feet, despite this confusion, the painter has arranged his standing figures, on the left and right sides, or rather their feet, in such a way that they contribute to the illusion of perspective recession!

These incompatible details 'argue' with the space he is attempting to get us to understand and be psychologically convinced by; psychologically because, in fact, the 'vanishing point' as such is really several and, with the use of a ruler, it becomes obvious that the 'perspective' is intuitive, not mathematical. It seems that each separate compartment of the ceiling has its own vanishing point, although several of the lines tend to converge at the head of the Saint sitting at the table. Although the lines, especially of the elaborate ceiling, appear to converge more or less in the centre of the composition ... they don't!

Similarly, the space of the lower picture is beautifully contrived to convince us that we are looking into a 'real' environment, made more convincing by the figure, and angel, entering through a doorway, and by the use of light and shade to 'substantiate' the forms of the architecture. Tracing the directions of the main receding lines - the orthogonals - we see just how 'approximate' were the painter's judgements; without the later formulation of mathematical or linear perspective - at the beginning of the 15th century - late-medieval artists, those who cared to study what was in front of them rather than repeat traditional schemes, relied on observation and their experienced judgement to represent what they could see. As in this case, and with the curiosity required, some were certainly able to reach convincing results. 

Scenes from the Life of Saint Cecilia, detail from the Saint Cecilia Altarpiece, Uffizi (Photo: the author)

The photo above shows the other two panels on the left side of the Saint Cecilia Altarpiece, again with the stories set within plausibly 'realistic' architectural spaces. The top scene takes place in the matrimonial bedroom of the Saint, a large room also with an impressive tri-partite ceiling, this time with two lateral vaulted arches - the central supporting corbels of which actually partially conceal those vaults. Because it is a bedroom of the period, it is screened-off from the rest of the room by a curtain, at present open so that we can observe what's going on; this curtain helps to further define the space, increasing the illusion of reality. The two figures of the Saint and her new husband are also of the appropriate scale. Apart from the arched vaults, there is no indication of the historical period of the Saint (2nd to 3rd century AD) and the remaining architecture and the clothing are of the period of the altarpiece itself, that is, late medieval.

What is also remarkable about our master's images is his control of light. His careful architectural constructions are forcefully augmented by his use of colour and light, and by the consequent variation of tones; the direction of the light however, the light source, is not consistent and seems not to have been a major concern, except perhaps for the figures; the architectural light is both descriptive and decorative, not especially 'realistic'. This can give a kind of 'story-book' quality to such pictures but, if we look at the lower panel above, we see that again, the Saint Cecilia Master has used colour and light exquisitely in this episode, Cecilia instructing her husband and brother-in-law (in Christian teachings). The light falls on the two seated men behind whom is the recurring pink of the suspended wall curtain, modelling the shape of the space; behind that, the walls are quite dark, as is the standing figure of the Saint herself (her halo has lost its sheen). This combination provides the scene with a convincing deep space aided in turn by the two golden columns supporting the upper verandah of what looks to be a courtyard. While the scene of the room above is all bright light and even colour, the one below is dramatised by strong contrast.

To finish with this great painter, we might remark some other of his peculiarities: the small hands and feet; the elongated bodies; the importance of gesture in his narratives and his wonderful ability to establish dialogue between the actors, particularly in the two right-hand panels; the absence of cast shadows - especially noticeable because of the importance given to light and shade in the architecture; the depiction of the clothing and headdress of the period, especially that of the men; the correct scale of the figures in relation to the buildings.

The Lamentation over the Dead Christ, c. 1360-65 by Giottino (Giotto di Stefano), tempera on panel.  

Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence  (Photo: the author) 

The photo above is of a smallish panel painted by a follower of Giotto known as Giottino, about whom very little is known. From my point of view, Giottino is a prime example of the sort of artist who, had he painted only one picture - of this quality - in his life, would still be regarded, as a consequence of that one picture, as an essential master! The work is a sublime masterpiece, if for no other reason, because of its depiction of the desperate tragic melancholy of the figure of Mary Magdalen, in the lower right corner.

Detail from The Lamentation over the Dead Christ by Giottino showing Mary Magdalen. 

Uffizi (Photo: the author)

To appreciate works such as this, depicting one of the most deeply human and important episodes in the Passion of Christ, it is not necessary to be a Christian of any sort, nor even a Westerner; in fact, even without knowing the history of the event or of the iconography, it is surely enough to look at the complete desolation on the face of the Magdalen to be aware that a most awful, tragic event had taken place - at least for her. Notice the blushed cheeks of her face, red from long weeping, her hand raised to support her head, isolating her physically (and psychologically) from both the other participants, and from the sight of the man she loved, still with the wounds of the Crown of Thorns clearly visible on His forehead. This deep psychological penetration of the lonely anguish of Magdalen makes of Giottino - in my opinion - something of a forerunner of certain artists of the first half of the 20th century. In formal terms, as noted with other figures and artists, the figure of Mary Magdalen forms a triangle which fits, in this case, neatly into the corner of the image; her head, although isolated by its halo, is one of a group of three - perhaps the most important three in this desolate scene - of Mary, Christ and Magdalen herself, all forming a subtle curve, part of a larger one which separates itself from the other figures in the scene. 

The structure of this image is complex while appearing simple. The Cross is the dominant 'architectural' device, 'sheltering' so to speak the various protagonists as it also divides the scene in two; on the left side are five individuals, four of whom were not present at the Crucifixion. They are two standing saints 2, both with a hand on the head of one of the kneeling female 'donors' - the people who commissioned and paid for the work - seemingly two sisters, one a nun (both proportionally smaller than the holy figures). The haloed kneeling woman with them is possibly another Mary Magdalen 3 (that is, she is represented twice in the one image). On the right of the tree of the Cross are the participants, or better, witnesses of that event: two other 'Marys' or holy women, one portrayed with her back to us, the other kissing the hand of Christ; then His mother and, in the corner, the Magdalen. Behind them and standing are, immediately in front of the Cross, Saint John the Evangelist and, to the right but slightly further back, the two older witnesses, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus (?). Except for the group of women in the right corner, mourning the death, the other figures are placed more or less - but not exactly - in a line, in the manner of a frieze; the left group is looking from the left (as we read a book) towards the body of Jesus, on the other side of the image; Saint John continues with his gaze this downward direction and focus, and of course all the women - except Magdalen - are also concentrating their gazes on the dead Christ. The two standing figures in the right rear of the image are strangely occupied with other matters - one holding the nails used in the execution and a jar of oil: perhaps discussing the imminent burial as one of them, Joseph, in green, has given up his own tomb to be used by Jesus.

This exquisite work, a mixture of traditional iconography and invention, adheres to that tradition with its gold background; for me at least, this is something I have to be reminded of, as the actual dramatic scene is so involving, so full of profound observation, so beautifully coloured, that the gold backdrop - occupying a good third or more of the picture surface - is just  that, a sort of nondescript abstract space! 

Incidentally, the mantle of the figure of the bishop - wearing the mitre and holding the crozier - seems to have suffered some loss of colour. The right side of his cloak is a sort of olive-green but the left side is a yellow ochre colour: what might explain this difference? There are at least two possible answers; first, the original colour was fugitive and has simply disappeared over time, leaving the ochre underpainting behind: a blue known as 'smaltino' 4 is an example of this kind of colour - blue applied on top of a yellow would produce a green; or, it is not a loss of colour at all but a condition known as 'cangiante': this is where an artist imitates a characteristic of certain silk fabrics (shot silk), which is their ability to change colour (hence, 'cangiante') depending on the angle of the light. Michelangelo was an exponent of 'cangiante' in the Sistine Ceiling frescos. The rather dull yellow or ochre colour that we see today may not have been the artist's original final colour; or, it may have been!

Art historians have noted the similarities between this painting and the same subject as treated by Giotto in his important cycle of frescos in Padua (the Arena or Scrovegni Chapel) which ante-date our painting; some elements, such as one or two of the female figures around Christ, are similar but many others are not! It's possible that Giottino was influenced by Giotto's work but, in general, this Lamentation is an independent interpretation of the theme. In terms of the management of space, although the background is simply a flat field of gold (leaf), the 'horizon line' is very subtly curved; the suggestion is that the Cross is in front of that horizon. And, starting at the lower edge of the image, the recession into the depth of the picture begins with the holy women closest to us, followed by the body of Christ, then His mother with another of the holy women and, slightly further back, Saint John; behind him, the Cross; the two figures on the extreme right seem to me to be slightly further back again but they could be on the same plane as Saint John. This group under the right arm of the Cross is the 'eye-witness' group whereas, the left-side group is composed of later 'Christians', none of them a direct witness to the Biblical events but believers nonetheless (see Note 3 concerning the blonde woman with them). Due to the gold background, the haloes of all the standing figures are difficult to see but they are there!

1 The 'vanishing point' is a crucial feature of modern perspective drawing: it is the chosen position on the horizon to which all the receding straight lines (sometimes called the orthogonal lines) are joined, or, where they intersect with the horizon. The simplest analogy is that of standing on a straight stretch of a railway line and looking towards the horizon: the tracks or rails appear to converge at an imaginary point, off in the distance, on the horizon. In a simple single-point perspective drawing, all the receding lines of buildings, paths, stairways, tram tracks, electricity poles, etc. converge at the vanishing point.

2 In white, Saint Benedict and with the crozier, Saint Remigio, early bishop of Reims (France). Each saint has his hand on one of the two kneeling figures, one a nun, as mentioned, the other dressed very much a la mode; this figure in particular would seem to be a portrait, contrasting notably with the more generic 'types' of the holy actors - with the exception of the psychological study of Magdalen.

3 It occurs to me that the haloed female figure on the left is another Magdalen, possibly there because a patron of the women donors or of their family; if this is not the case, it is curious since her attributes - long gold hair and a rose-coloured cloak - are certainly close to those of the usual Magdalen iconography. If true however, it also means that the one saint has been represented in two 'realms': on the left, the earthly one of submission to and reverence for the divine, and, on the right, the mystical one of the necessary death of the Divine on earth. She could also be simply another, as yet unidentified patron saint of the two donors.

4 Smaltino in Italian refers to a blue pigment derived from pulverised blue glass and containing cobalt, unfortunately often impermanent (fugitive). It was sometimes substituted for the very costly ultramarine blue (lapis lazuli).

*Il Trecento (lit. the three-hundred) is an Italian expression which refers to the 1300s, that is, the 14th century.