Small 'formelle' with low-relief sculptures from the 14th and the early 15th century

 

A view of the city of Florence seen from the church of San Miniato; in the centre is the Duomo, the cathedral, with its famous dome and, beside it, the bell-tower or Campanile. The tower further to the left is the one at the Palazzo Vecchio. (Photo: the author)

Although many art historians have studied the smallish sculptural works (the form itself sometimes referred to in Italian as 'formella') that once decorated the Campanile (or Giotto's Tower) of the cathedral of Florence, it is unclear as to how much attention is paid to these wonderful pieces by the average 'art lover'. In this article, we shall be having a look at some of these as well as two other low reliefs made for another nearby structure, the Baptistry. Today, cleaned and restored, all of the former works can be seen in the museum of the Opera del Duomo (Museo dell'Opera del Duomo) situated just behind the Duomo itself (the ones visible today on the Campanile are copies). The final two to be discussed are in the Bargello museum, only a short distance away.

A night-time view of part of the façade and south side of the Duomo at Florence with, to the right, a partial view of the base of the Campanile in which some of the 'formelle' can be seen. (Photo: the author)

The Campanile is sometimes referred to as Giotto's Tower because it is believed that he designed it and supervised the initial construction of the base. In any case, on the two lower levels of this structure were attached several series of small stone carvings in low-relief, each series placed on one face of the square tower and having its own theme; these include, on the second level, the Planets, the Virtues, the Liberal Arts and the Sacraments and, on the first level - the one we will look at - amongst other things, the arts and crafts: that is, representations of creative activities as opposed to the more esoteric or spiritual ones above.1

Andrea Pisano, The Beginnings of Pastoral Life, c.1334-1343, marble; from the west side of the Campanile. Now, like the next three, in the Museo dell'Opera del Duomo (Photo: the author)

Let's begin with this extraordinary example representing a shepherd sitting in his tent from where he surveys his flock, seen, together with their watch-dog, at the base of the image. First, we may notice that the 'format' is a hexagon and that, ingeniously, Andrea has contrived the cone of the tent and the flock of sheep to fit nicely into that shape. The tent itself protrudes into our 'real' space, increasing the 'reality' of the representation; but, the cleverest element of this creation is the placement of the shepherd just on the 'doorstep' so to speak, of his tent, partly within and partly just without; the 'reality' of this image is here, in the shepherd's act of pulling aside the flap of his tent: looking closely, we see that the sculptor has shown not only the folding back of that flap but also the imprint of the shepherd's hand, inside, as he does so! This opening causes us to see the shepherd fully lighted against the darkness of the interior of the tent. 

The basic apparent simplicity of the frontally-viewed scene is in part what makes it seem 'modern' to our eyes. 'Apparent' because in fact, it is a subtly contrived combination of planes and complex forms, symmetrically arranged to present a straightforward message. The top of the tent catches the light as do, in this photo, the sides, thereby establishing the three-dimensional form of the object. At first sight, a quite static representation which, nevertheless, with the movement of the sheep and the action of the shepherd, contains clear indications of movement. Despite the obvious solidity and stability of the figure of the shepherd (partially damaged due to wear and tear), his one simple action of opening the tent flap is as powerful and convincing as if it were suddenly to happen in real life. With four elements - the tent, the shepherd, the sheep and the dog - the artist has conveyed the entire message, no other 'setting' or background was necessary.

Andrea Pisano, Painting, c. 1348-1350, marble; from the north side of the Campanile

(Photo: the author)

Another exquisite image, this time representing the art of Painting, unfortunately somewhat damaged, particularly on the left side, including the painter's nose; I do not know whether or not the right side is a reconstruction (I think so) or whether perhaps it is part of the original sculpture; clearly there is a major (clean) break in the centre of this work but the image of a polyptych on the right side is appropriate; the 'background' texture though is different from that on the left side, a texture common to many of these works. However that may be, let's focus on what remains of the original work. 

Here we see a bearded painter working in exactly the way painters still work, making this representation wholly 'actual' for contemporary painters, both then and today. The artist leans forward, tilting his stool, and resting one hand on the other as a support - exactly as any painter might do - his legs apparently spread around his easel to allow him to get closer to his work. It is unfortunately precisely in this area that a lot of damage has been done; it seems that the easel and the panel on it have been broken off, leaving us somewhat confused about what we are looking at to the left of the painter. 

One thing which is quite different from what happens today is the state of the 'support' the painter is working on, that is, the panel itself; prior to the advent and wide acceptance of canvas as a support for pictures, artists painted on wooden panels and these were often constructed, together with their frame, by a carpenter who then passed on the whole object, complete with attached frame, to the painter to work on 2. In our low-relief sculpture, both the polyptych on the right and, I believe, the panel the painter is busy with, as well as the smaller one on the wall behind him, all have frames attached.

Andrea Pisano, Sculpture, c.1337-41: marble; north side of the Campanile (Photo: the author)

Another beautiful image, slightly more complex than those above. Here we see the sculptor diligently at work, hammer and chisel in hand, leaning over his small statue. Compositionally interesting are the strong horizontals in the lower portion of the 'formella' which form the base, the stool on which he sits, and the bench (with the carving on it); further horizontals occur to the left of the sculptor and behind him, on  the wall. That said, there is also a clear triangle or pyramid formed by a line moving up from the right (the remains of an ancient type of drill), through the carved figure to the artist's head, and then down from the head, along his back and disappearing into the area of the back of the stool. Later, in the 15th century, the triangle would become one of the fundamental compositional devices of Renaissance artists. It is possible however that Andrea, so as to soften to a degree this 'geometric' quality, has stressed the protruding right leg of his sculptor, making the figure quite definitely the focus of our attention. Notable incidentally, are the small 'gothic' decorative devices below the 'floor' and under the stool. As with the two works already discussed, this one has suffered damage, especially in the fine detail of the object on the wall (a centering device perhaps?), next to the square. We should remember though, as far as these objects are concerned (we are talking about an age of roughly 670 years), that their entire lives were spent (until recently) out in the open and subject to all the vicissitudes, both natural and man-made, that fortune could throw at them! By the way, in view of the subject of this work, it is pleasing to consider that here is an image of a sculptor made by a sculptor, showing within that same image the carving of a carving!

Luca della Robbia, Grammatica, c. 1437-1439, marble; from the north side of the Campanile 

(Photo: the author)

This next work dates from more or less 100 years later than those shown already and, in some ways, the differences are obvious. Again, as with the Pastoral Life relief, we have a symmetrical composition but, unlike that image, this one has a partially empty space in its centre, with the 'action' occurring at the sides; the lower part of that 'empty' space is occupied by the teacher's lectern or desk, upon which his right hand rests. The figure of the teacher and particularly those of his two pupils are also different: here we see the Renaissance desire to show things as they really are, to observe and take from Nature; the pupils especially are easily identifiable as what we may describe as 'real' people, they are no longer 'symbolic'.  In fact, each person has his own personality, suggested by facial expression and gesture, and again, particularly the boys: while one writes and has his attention focused on that, the other holds his book upright and directs his open-mouthed gaze towards his teacher. The most important difference though is in the representation of space. 

In the early part of the 15th century, the 'science' of one-point perspective had finally been codified, in fact, in these same years (1435-36) Leon Battista Alberti had 'published' (in manuscript only) a book for the use of artists, outlining the principles of perspective: Della Pittura. A confident control of perspective defines and controls the space in our 'formella' representing Grammar; the wholly-convincing floor recedes due to the receding bases of the benches to right and left; the lateral walls (not actually represented!) recede due to the receding tops of those same benches. That the space continues beyond this small room is suggested by the open door in its rear wall; and above that door we find a classical tympanum derived from Greek and Roman architecture, that is, no longer the Gothic forms as seen in the Sculpture panel. At this point, references to and imitations of classical art, architecture and theory (Vitruvius) abound in art, not to mention in literature and poetry. At last, space, as represented or imitated on a flat surface, was coherent!

A close view of the Duomo and bell tower - the Campanile - of Florence with Brunelleschi's dome in the background; on the left is a part of the Baptistry - the Battistero di San Giovanni - the oldest building in this complex. (Photo: the author)

I mention the Baptistry because this is where one of the next two works was destined - had it won a competition. In the Florence of the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance, various buildings were under the care so to speak, of the various guilds which at certain times were extremely powerful. It happens that at the very beginning of the 15th century, the Baptistry was under the control of the Arte di Calimala (and had been since the twelfth century), that is, the cloth merchants' guild 3. The Baptistry has three doors, only one of which was in place at that time, the beautiful bronze south door made by Andrea Pisano; both the north and east doors - this latter opening onto the front of the Duomo - were yet to be done. And so a competition was organised for the east door (note: approximately 35 years prior to the Luca della Robbia above); for this purpose, the sculptors were each given an amount of bronze with which they were to cast their designs. To maintain visual symmetry with the Pisano door, it was also decided that each of the two 'leaves' making-up the door was to have 14 panels: that is, 28 for the whole door; the contestants were to make a 'life-size' work, that is, equal to the size of the panels which would eventually make-up the exterior of the door. The subject of the panels was the Sacrifice of Isaac and the low-relief image was to fit into an established (Gothic) shape: a lozenge with a quatrefoil superimposed (or vice-versa; see the photos below).

The judges eventually had to decide between two contestants, both Florentines: Filippo Brunelleschi (the architect of the dome on the cathedral) and Lorenzi Ghiberti. Ghiberti won 4. Let's have a look at the two competition entries, both of which have survived and are now kept, as mentioned earlier, in the museum of the Bargello in Florence.

Lorenzo Ghiberti, The Sacrifice of Isaac, 1401-02, gilded bronze; Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence. Note the shape of the field in which the image fits: an alternation of straight and curved lines. (Photo: the author)

Filippo Brunelleschi, The Sacrifice of Isaac, 1401-02, gilded bronze; Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence (Photo: the author)

It is obvious that, given the same subject-matter and one with a long iconographic history, the two artists would arrive at fairly similar solutions. The Ghiberti is an interesting mix of late- Medieval and early-Renaissance elements: the large rocky outcrop which separates the two groups of figures being the most obvious old-fashioned aspect, although the gentle, elegant curve of Abraham's body also belongs to an earlier period. The most up-to-date and, in a way startling part of the composition is the modelling of the figures (including the ass) but, in particular, the figure of the young Isaac, kneeling on the sacrificial altar: this is a fully frontal view, fully modelled - or rather - beautifully modelled, revealing clearly the influence of classical exemplars. The Abraham is also a wonderful, powerful figure notwithstanding the old-fashioned pose. In fact, all the figures, including the angel in the top right, the (unfortunate) lamb in the top left and the two figures of the servants and the ass are all beautiful; of special note are the lamb and the ass, both in interesting poses (also the saddle on the ass!). The fact that Ghiberti has managed to contain his entire narrative within the competition's prescribed borders is however, a major point of difference between these two works.

Starting with that last observation, if we now consider Brunelleschi's piece, one of the most obvious differences is precisely that: Brunelleschi has exceeded the limits of the imposed shape, at least in the lower part of his work. In this he is, to my mind, anticipating what was to develop out of the Renaissance, namely Mannerism and the Baroque. Having said that though, his piece also has some anachronistic elements and they are the two main actors, Abraham and Isaac; both of these figures belong to a previous style and the Isaac especially is weak and poorly conceived, almost Egyptian in its odd mix of two views: the legs in characteristic silhouette and the torso twisted around to show another! These problems aside however, there is much to like in Filippo's work. For a start, despite so to speak, 'colouring outside the lines', he has filled the available space more completely than Ghiberti had done and, in my opinion, in a more interesting way. Apart from the powerful angel intervening from the top left, the entire lower third of the image is much more dynamic and, as far as the influence of Greco-Roman work is concerned, the seated figure on the extreme left is seemingly taken directly, except for being clothed, from a famous ancient statue known as the Spinario, or in English, Boy Removing a Thorn from His Foot (of which there are two known versions, one in Rome, a bronze, and the other in Florence, in marble). 

The figure on the right is a clever and adventurous - and successful - attempt at sculptural foreshortening which also incidentally, occupies its allotted space very nicely. These figures and the device of linking them with the body of the grazing ass - moving, as we read, from left to right - reveals I think, a perhaps more modern (in 15th century terms) conception than Ghiberti had arrived at, his being essentially more attached to an older tradition. The part which lets Brunelleschi's work down, as said earlier, is in fact the subject of the piece, the actual requested sacrifice of Isaac by his father Abraham. To point this up even further, we may notice the 'modern' correct three-quarter view of the altar (present in both works), with, below, a fire burning, as well as a further reference to classical art in the bass-relief on the main face of that altar; for me, the anomalies - the disjunction in style, not to say skill, between the central group and the lower third, including the altar - are curious to say the least.

At first glance, it would seem reasonable to think that the later works, those of Ghiberti and Brunelleschi, are the more modern, are indicative of the change in focus, over the course of nearly a century, from the time of the earlier works discussed at the beginning of this article. Certainly, among the present examples, these later competition pieces are more complex and perhaps, in their anomalies, reveal in fact the transition in progress, from the late-Medieval period to the new style blossoming in Florence in the very early Quattrocento (the '400s), the 15th century. But, if we return to the concept of modernity, present-day modernity, I would have to say that the earlier works from the Campanile are the more 'modern'; I doubt that anyone would today claim that the two works made for the door of the Baptistry look 'modern' in today's terms. The temptation often is to say how 'modern' certain works from the distant past look, including those dating from the 14th century; in fact, on reflection, it would rather seem to be the converse, that is, that many modern works, especially 20th century ones, wittingly or otherwise, were or are recovering the 'modernity' of what was once the ultra-modern!

1 See the previous article, The Burning of a Heretic, on this blog, in which one of the Sacrament reliefs is discussed, albeit in a different context.

2  This custom of having various craftsmen working on various elements of a painting is quite foreign to artists today; in fact, if it does occur, it is made a great fuss of! But, to cite one famous example, Piero della Francesca was, on at least one occasion, obliged to work on a polyptych whose design, and therefore carpentry, had been decided before he was given the job to paint the images. This became a problem for artists working in the most up-to-date aesthetic as it hampered their freedom to develop their image as they needed; as the 15th century went along, the taste was slowly changing from the many-panelled altarpiece (polyptych) to the single large panel.

3 The Arte di Calimala was so-called after the name of the street in which those merchants - wool and fabric merchants -  had their shops.

4 This Ghiberti went on to make the third door, the so-called Gates of Paradise; once they were complete, it was decided to move his first door from the east portal of the Baptistry to the north portal and substitute in its place Ghiberti's newly-finished, and much more modern door, the Gates of Paradise.

* I'll just mention that the dates quoted for the works above can vary quite a bit, depending on where one gets the information. Some of the dates are those from the Museo dell'Opera del Duomo and may in fact be more up-to-date (no pun!) than some others. In short, dates can be approximate, often based on ambiguous documents or on superseded scholarship!