Wandering around space and time
For me at least, one of the literally wonderful things about the study of art history - which implies as well as looking at pictures, reading about them - is the consequent ability to travel through space and time. Let's begin our trip in Italy at Assisi, a small and beautiful town sitting on top of a hill - like many other medieval, and older, cities in Europe - and famous for the advent of Saint Francis of Assisi as much as for the extraordinary cycle of frescos decorating both the upper and lower levels of the large church, the Basilica of Saint Francis.
The spectacular Basilica of Saint Francis of Assisi - constructed initially very quickly as a Romanesque building with later additions in the Gothic style - has been the subject of numerous attempts to stabilise the structure, in part due to its having been the victim of damaging earthquakes.
The lower church has work by people such as Pietro Lorenzetti (? - 1345) and Cimabue (c.1240-1332), who, according to the Renaissance historian Giorgio Vasari (1511-74), was the master of Giotto (c.1267-1337); in this marvellous place there are many paintings about the authors of which historians continue to debate. Perhaps the sorer point however is the question of the authorship of the various fresco cycles in the upper church; some hold the view that the main cycle, the Legend of Saint Francis - the very large images along the lower part of the nave walls - is mostly by Giotto himself (c.1290-96?); others maintain that all or most of that group, as with some in the lower church, were painted by Giotto's followers or students, based on his designs. There are as well sections of both the lower and upper nave walls in the upper church which were clearly painted by other masters, including possibly one or two from Rome: possibly Pietro Cavallini and Jacopo Torriti, both responsible for various important works in late medieval Rome (Torriti for the apse mosaic in Santa Maria Maggiore, in which there is incidentally, on the extreme left, an image of Saint Francis); as well as Tuscans such as Cimabue in the transept and the so-called 'Master of Saint Cecilia' for some panels of the Legend.
Three panels in the nave of the upper Basilica, the higher image attributed to a painter from Rome, possibly Cavallini, or possibly to early Giotto (di Bondone); the two lower ones are attributed to Giotto and/or his school (assistants, followers).
Vasari said that 'modern' painting began in Italy with Cimabue's move away from the dominant style at the time, known to us as Byzantine; Vasari himself referred to that style as the 'goffa maniera greca', that is, the clumsy Greek manner. Naturally he wasn't referring to ancient Greek art which, then as now, was seen as a completely different form - and by him as superior; one in fact to be emulated, as indeed it was for the next two or three hundred years, in fact, at least up to Picasso.
Saint Francis Preaching before Pope Honorius III by Giotto (?) and assistants. All of these scenes, known as The Legend of Saint Francis Cycle, are very large and, because of recent restoration, very beautiful and bright. (The paintings are of course rectangular, not slanted upwards as here, distorted by the camera.) To note here is the, so to say, proto-Renaissance grappling with a quasi-accurate perspective rendering of the building, despite the odd drawing of the Pope's throne!
Relevant to our theme is particularly one of the frescos called The Homage of a Simple Man, a scene set in then-contemporary Assisi in front of a 1st century BC Roman temple dedicated to the goddess Minerva; Assisi is apparently of Etruscan foundation and like many such, was eventually taken over by the Romans. As is obvious from the photo below, that temple is the largest single 'object' in the whole composition and it and the building to the viewer's left still exist in the centre of Assisi; the temple today is largely intact apart from the interior having been converted into a small Catholic church although, at one time, Giotto's time I think, it also served as the town jail. So, not only did Giotto - or those for him - make a clear and obvious reference to a previous era of that city, but today we too can visit Assisi and see (and touch) that same temple, a building once worshipped at by people enjoying the protection and rights of Roman citizens; the same temple obviously observed by Giotto and considered a suitable backdrop for a scene in one of Western art's most important fresco cycles. When reading about that fresco cycle, not to mention actually visiting it, but even just reading about it, we encounter different and sometimes unexpected spaces in time: an ancient Roman temple in a medieval city - but at that time a contemporary city - transposed onto the flat walls of a Christian basilica: the one - Roman - a people knowing nothing of, and unable to even dream of the other; and the other - medieval Assisi - knowing of but, as part of Christendom, studiously ignoring for several hundred years the former; at the same time however when precisely that late medieval culture, in central Italy at least, was beginning to appreciate once more that very same rejected one, the classical Roman.
The Homage of a Simple Man (detail) by Giotto and/or assistants set before the Assisi Temple of Minerva.
Upper Basilica, Basilica of Saint Francis, Assisi.
Note that, although the Temple existed in the very place where Giotto was painting these frescos, he did not hold himself to a literal description of that building as can be demonstrated by the fact that, in the fresco, it has five columns whereas in reality it has six; nor does it have a rose window!
The Temple of Minerva, 1st century BC Roman, Assisi
As can be seen from a comparison between the real building and its painted image, the Temple now has a door opening in the centre of the area of the 'cella' whereas in the painting there is no doorway at all and instead there are two small grated openings, suggesting that at that time, circa 1296, it was indeed being used as a prison. Archeologists think that, in fact, originally the 'cella' did have a central large rectangular opening and that the whole building was a free-standing structure.
Reading about, or, better still, visiting the sites of the activity of different Renaissance masters will lead us to other parts of Italy: to Sansepolcro if we are looking at Piero della Francesca for instance; then to Rome, Urbino, Rimini, Florence, Arezzo - birthplace of our friend Giorgio Vasari - Perugia and Milano; but to see more of Piero's work we may also need to visit London and Lisbon as well as one or two places in the USA (New York, Boston and Williamstown). If then we want to know why there are works by this great master in certain collections in the USA for example, we will find ourselves dealing with the sometimes shady world of late 19th and early 20th century art collecting by American millionaires. Their necessary engagement with occasionally unscrupulous Italian art dealers might lead us into various libraries and archives to examine the correspondence between such wealthy people, their agents and the art dealers; such correspondence might then take us back to, apart from different cities in Italy itself, other European centres such as Paris and, again, London.
An interesting instance of this type of peregrination, that is, wandering around in space-time, is the Banquet of Cleopatra, a large canvas by the Italian Rococo master Tiepolo (1696 Venice -1770 Spain). It seems that Tiepolo was working on this picture as a commission from the English consul to Venice (1744) - Joseph Smith - when another visitor to his studio, and friend, Francesco Algarotti (born in Venice, 1712, died Pisa 1764), saw the painting and purchased it for his employer, Augustus II, Elector of Saxony (in Germany) and King of Poland. Some time later, this same painting was acquired by Catherine the Great of Russia and was hung, I understand, on the ceiling of a palace in Saint Petersburg by her son, Paul I. Some time later still, in the first part of the twentieth century, Stalin and the USSR were in such dire need of funds that the picture was put up for sale in London and bought (1932) by its British representative for the National Gallery of Victoria (Australia), where it now resides. Thus we begin in Rococo Venice in an artist's studio, that of Giambattista Tiepolo, a famous man with important friends, receiving commissions from high-ranking foreigners as well as from similar local patrons; our picture, whose theme takes us back to Ptolemaic Egypt, then moves to Germany, at the time still a collection of small principalities. Next, we and the picture move to even colder climes in Czarist Russia, to Saint Petersburg, and one of the most famous of its sovereigns, Catherine the Great. Already, contemplating the pomp and wealth of both Venice and the court of Saint Petersburg, we have much to work with; nevertheless, our painting keeps moving, this time, via a London sale, the Banquet arrives in a country not even known to Europeans in Tiepolo's time, to take up residence in the southern-most state of mainland Australia, that is Victoria, that is to say, literally at the antipodes relative to both Italy and especially Saint Petersburg.
The Banquet of Cleopatra, c.1744 by Giambattista Tiepolo
Oil on canvas. The National Gallery of Victoria, Australia.
Photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons.
Let us now take the fast train from somewhere in central Italy south to Naples, below Rome. The same art historical periods occurred in Naples as occurred elsewhere in Italy although, in a general sense, perhaps more as provincial imitation rather than owing to her as genetrix! Having said that though, both Giotto and Vasari are known to have worked there. Naples - or better, Napoli, or Parthenope - did eventually come into its own as a powerful centre of 'modern' painting: this was during the period known as the Baroque. Partly self-generated, partly as the result of 'foreign' Italian painters, from Rome or elsewhere, going to work there, Naples under Spanish dominion became, with Rome itself, a hub of the new style; a style with two faces however, as, beside the robust, let's say liberal sensuality of a Bernini or Pietro da Cortona, there was contemporaneously the Carracci-inspired 'classicism', evolving perhaps in a more direct line from the Renaissance itself. The former though, in painting, had taken its lead, as a reaction against Mannerism, in part from the anti- or non-classical Milanese Caravaggio, himself travelling along a winding road leading back as well to the Renaissance but without its 'classical' composition or way of seeing - or its light.
As is clear, we are now once again, while enjoying the warm noise and hurly-burly of Napoli, occasionally nipping across the water to Spain (Velazquez, Ribera, etc.) with a long detour, before or after, to Milan. Having mentioned Caravaggio, it's worth pointing out as it pertains to our discussion, that he was himself a notable traveller, although as much forced as chosen. Caravaggio was born in Milan, perhaps visited Venice but definitely moved to Rome; having committed various crimes there due to his hot-headedness, he escaped to Napoli, whence to Sicily after which to Malta. Again, seemingly because of his temper, he returned - or escaped - to Sicily once more and from there a final brief period in Napoli; hoping for a Papal pardon of his earlier crime (murder) he died on his way from Napoli to Rome. In all of these places, excluding Milan and Venice, he left paintings; even while fleeing both Rome and Malta, he continued to paint and to receive commissions from important clients.
The Flagellation of Christ (1607, detail) by Caravaggio (Michelangelo Merisi), 1571-1610
Oil on canvas, Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte, Napoli
This photo was taken however in 2024 in a church (Donnaregina) in the centre of Napoli where the painting was temporarily (?) exhibited. For us, being aware of his travails, it is permitted to hypothesise that Caravaggio saw in this tragic image perhaps a reflection of his own life, that is, a kind of psychological self-portrait.
Caravaggio's pictures, like those of many other Italian artists, have travelled not only within Italy but also abroad, finishing up in such far-flung places as Australia - although there are no Caravaggios in Oz! Having noted that he was born in Milan, his family coming from the nearby Caravaggio, he left no known works there; that said, there is, in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana in Milan, founded in 1609 by Cardinal Federico Borromeo (1564 - 1631), arch-bishop of Milan, his independent still-life masterpiece, the Basket of Fruit. This exquisite picture found its way to Milan due to being part of the collection of Cardinal Borromeo; the Cardinal presented the Ambrosiana with a collection of pictures in 1618 as part of a gift to found the Quadreria Ambrosiana (now the Pinacoteca Ambrosiana).
Moving from one city to another, or even to another country, was not unusual for Italian artists in this general period. As far back as the mid-fifteenth century Piero della Francesca was moving from court to court, painting pictures for the local lords as well as for churches and convents; early sixteenth century painters of the calibre of Rosso Fiorentino - a Mannerist - had packed-up and transferred their activity to the French court, in his case to Fontainebleau, as had, perhaps the most famous of all, Leonardo da Vinci, in 1516 (a guest of Francis I); and as already mentioned, both Giotto and later Vasari had visited and worked in Napoli. In the Baroque period, both Rome - as the seat of Papal power and consequently full of wealthy patrons for paintings, sculpture and churches - and Napoli - seat of the Viceroy of Spain in its southern Italian kingdom and similarly conspicuous for the wealth of its nobility - were 'meccas' for Italian, Spanish and Netherlandish artists, amongst others, all attracted, and sometimes actually called to these centres of wealth and power, and therefore of lucrative commissions for all manner of both fine and decorative arts. Giovanni Lanfranco (d.1647) and Domenico Zampieri (called il Domenichino, d.1641) were two such who moved from Rome to Napoli as Caravaggio had done some years before; Ribera from Spain to Napoli and, also from Spain, Velazquez to Rome, albeit only briefly.
Saint Jerome and the Angel of Judgement, by Jusepe de Ribera (1591-1652)
Oil on canvas. Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte, Napoli
The study of pictures (read: artwork generally) produces mental journeys, whether done objectively, that is, analytically, or so to say emotionally. The contemplation of a painting, allowing oneself to identify with or participate in whatever is going on in the painting, particularly if one knows the narrative of or the stimulus behind the image, inevitably leads to transitions of or in space-time. Taking the painting by Ribera (above) as an example, to begin we are assumed by the painter to be acquainted with this early Doctor of the Church, a man who translated the Bible into Latin and is therefore normally shown with books, and a lion, two of his attributes or symbols. Ribera has set the saint in his desert retirement at the moment when he is visited by an angel; Jerome by now is an aged sage and, due to his ascetic life, very thin. His age and weighty human body contrast with the ageless youthful spirit incarnated as the trumpet-blowing angel; in the distance is what appears to be a cloud-filled mobile sky, the dramatic blue-grey light supporting the intensity of this meeting of the earthly and the divine. The one colour accent is the powerful red of the saint's garment, possibly fallen from his shoulders because of the cruciform arm-gesture of surprise, this most forcefully conveyed by his facial expression.
Each one of the details just indicated in Ribera's picture is a stimulus to thought and therefore to movement, albeit that it occurs in our minds; but that movement involves two aspects of thought: thought about space - or place if you prefer - and thought about when things were or are happening. In looking at this photograph now, thinking about what was happening in my physical life, I am transported back to my visit to Napoli and that wonderful museum of Capodimonte and my pleasure at meeting Signor Ribera, by chance, in one of the galleries. I can speak of meeting the man Ribera in this way because, when engrossed in his work, I feel almost as though I were involved in a more-or-less direct communication with the painter himself - in much the same way that one is able to 'relate to' the author of a book. This of course, is a different meditation from the 'historical' one of thoughts about Jerome, about dessert fathers, about the importance of the written word for Christianity, and so on and so on, considerations regarding the transmission of thought via translation, etc.
The object in both cases, that is, a work of art or a work of literature (including history), is in a way also the creator of that work him- or herself; the physical object is so imbued with the spirit or, if preferred, the character of its creator, that one sometimes feels as though one were actually in dialogue, mentally and visually, with that artist. This clearly is a wholly cerebral and personal activity but one nevertheless 'real' in so far as it is experienced by us as lookers and readers. It is perhaps obvious that here there is a major difference of experience, a discrepancy of depth and breadth, between those who can look at pictures and those who merely glance at them as they abstractedly walk past in an art gallery. Not all people respond to visual stimuli in the same way nor to the same degree, and factors such as cultural differences, personal beliefs - and prejudices - previous experience, education and open- or closed-mindedness all contribute to, or inhibit, these experiences. Negativity naturally will inhibit and limit substantially any form of space-time movement which an artwork, of any kind, might induce.
This exquisite detail of a Roman fresco I have included merely as an illustration of despite how things have changed they remain the same: time as illusion.
Fresco of Ares and Aphrodite, detail, artist unknown; from Pompeii, the House of Love Punished,
1-25AD. Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli (MANN)
Personally, I often find that leaving an art gallery can provoke a feeling of regret or disappointment, particularly if I have been fortunate enough to have come into 'sentimental' contact with one or two of the artists whose works are housed in that place. We may suppose that the extent or 'flux' of that contact depends in part upon how each individual author speaks to us, and that occurring while keeping in mind all the various preoccupations we might have in our thoughts even as we enter the gallery: as we enter the gallery or museum we naturally bring with us the whole world of our selves and our immediate concerns. And, as just suggested, not so immediate ones as well, as seeing again an already familiar painting can cause us to move very quickly through space-time back to our original encounter. So, following these mental meetings in an art gallery - or in a museum or when reading a book - stepping into the open air of physical reality, after having spent quite some time occupying our own cerebral space-time, is occasionally, as said earlier, a decidedly disorientating experience. It may be argued however that the life passed in our cerebral space-time - an experience possible in other circumstances of course - is in fact a place where 'in reality' we indeed spend most of our time.
Notes:
Except for the image of the Banquet of Cleopatra and that of the Homage of a Simple Man, all other images (photos) were taken by the author of this article who reserves copyright.
Saint Francis of Assisi, 1181/2 - 1226.
Rosso Fiorentino (Giovanni Battista di Jacopo), a Mannerist painter, was born in 1494 in Florence and died in 1540 in Fontainebleau, France.
Giambattista Passeri, painter and poet, wrote a book called Vite de pittori scultori ed architetti che anno lavorato in Roma morti dal 1641 fino al 1673 (Lives of painters sculptors and architects who have worked in Rome and died between 1641 and 1673). It was published in 1772.
Passeri was born in Rome in 1610 and died there in 1679.
Giovanni Lanfranco was born in Parma in 1580 and died in Rome in 1647 (according to Giambattista Passeri).
Domenico Zampieri, known as Domenichino, was born in 1581 in Bologna and died in Napoli in 1641 (again according to Giambattista Passeri).
Jusepe de Ribera was born in Xàtiva in Spain in 1591 and died in 1652 in Naples.
Diego de Velazquez was born in Seville in Spain in 1599 and died in Madrid in 1660.
Quadreria
} mean 'picture gallery'
Pinacoteca
Caravaggio's Basket of Fruit is known in Italian as La canestra di frutta, and was probably painted between 1597 and 1600.
In relation to Australia, Dutch explorers had actually landed on the west coast in the 17th century but there was no resulting settlement or colonisation. Captain James Cook claimed Australia for Britain in 1770.
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