Concerning Borrowings

The Resurrection, by Giorgio Vasari and Raffaellino del Colle, c.1545, oil on panel

Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte, Naples (Photo: the author)

In the previous article, I pointed out the (supposed) origin of the Christ figure in a painting made by Giorgio Vasari and Raffaellino del Colle, the Resurrection (c.1545, above), now in the museum of Capodimonte in Naples. Since the publication of that article I have, by chance, come across another 'borrowing' in the same work, this discussed in a very interesting article published in 2021 1. Although the author, Allison Kim, is developing a particular theory concerning Vasari's (stated) aim of keeping alive the memory of artists who had gone before him, as well as those of his own time - himself included -  she points out as an example - precisely in the painting I had discussed - Vasari's adaptation of two of the principal figures in a picture by Rosso Fiorentino, his Moses Defending the Daughters of Jethro (1523? or later?), now in the Uffizi. The two foreground figures in Rosso's picture (below) have provided the authors of the Naples Resurrection with two of their main actors; the poses of those latter figures, although substantially the same as Rosso's, have nevertheless been modified, but not to such a point that their origin is obscured: that is, they are openly based on Rosso Fiorentino's painting.

Moses Defending the Daughters of Jethro, c.1523, by Rosso Fiorentino, oil on canvas

Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence. (Image: WikiArt, Public Domain)

The Resurrection by Raffaellino del Colle,  c.1525, oil? on panel

The Cathedral of Sansepolcro. (Image: by Sailko, Wikipedia Public Domain)

So far as the observations made in my article are concerned, it is clear that the figure of the soldier in the right foreground of Raffaellino del Colle's own Resurrection of c.1525 (above), in the cathedral of Sansepolcro, was modelled on Raphael's very similar figure of Heliodorus (below), in the fresco entitled The Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple, in the Vatican Stanze. That figure, the one apparently composed by Raphael and utilised by Raffaellino, seems to have had an influence on someone of greater stature than Raffaellino and that is on Michelangelo himself; a difficult thesis given the fact that Michelangelo made so many drawings of male figures, in numberless different poses, and one wonders why he might have felt the need to adapt such a figure by Raphael. Between the years 1542 and 1550, Michelangelo was engaged in the painting of two frescos in the Cappella Paolina (the Pauline Chapel) and it is there that I detect this possible influence of Raphael; this is especially intriguing, if true, since he and Raphael are generally considered to have been rivals. However, given the time lapsed between the death of the latter (1520) and the painting of the Paoline Chapel, perhaps Michelangelo had wished to do him some honour - as in fact Raphael had done by incorporating the figure of Michelangelo himself (in the guise of Heraclitus the philosopher) into the Vatican Stanze fresco known as the The School of Athens.

Detail of The Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple, c.1511, by Raphael, fresco

Le Stanze di Raffaelo, The Vatican (Image: Public Domain)

There, in the Pope's private chapel, Michelangelo painted two large frescos, one the Conversion of Saul (later, Saint Paul) and the other, the Crucifixion of Saint Peter. In the former work (detail below), Saul is shown knocked off his horse and with his arm raised to shield him from the divine light coming from above; this pose seems to me to be based on Raphael's Heliodorus - reversed and with some modification (of the arms in particular): note the position of the legs and the angle or view of the chest.

Detail of The Conversion of Saul (showing the figure of Saul) c.1542, by Michelangelo, fresco

Cappella Paolina, The Vatican (Image: Public Domain)

Also of interest in this same fresco is the figure on the right, in the pink trousers in the detail above; as I understand it, this fresco was the first of the two to be painted and, from what I can see, this particular figure, clearly ascending a kind of rough stairway, is used again - but reversed - in the second fresco, that is, The Crucifixion of Saint Peter. My attention was drawn to this figure because, in Naples, again in the museum of Capodimonte, there is one of Michelangelo's cartoons (an extremely rare object) made for the Crucifixion fresco. In it we see three men ascending some steps, a group that was used in the lower left corner of that fresco; one of the figures, the one on the lower left of the group, would seem to be very similar to the figure in the pink trousers in the Saul fresco - but reversed. There are however differences in the musculature of the two figures, not to mention that the angles of their heads are quite different; it may simply have been that Michelangelo liked the first example and decided to reuse the basic pose in the second fresco, making changes as needed.

Group of Men-at-arms, 1546 -1550, by Michelangelo, cartoon: charcoal on 19 sheets of paper glued together. 

Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte, Naples (Photo: the author)

Unfortunately, I have, as yet, never seen these two frescos and therefore cannot say whether or not the figures being discussed here are of the same size. If they are not, then obviously Michelangelo did not use the same cartoon 2 but he may have used the same original drawing! Many of Michelangelo's drawings - as opposed to cartoons - are quite small, no larger than an A4 sheet of paper; cartoons however were made to be the actual size required in a given fresco and were often, like the one above, very large. The artist would use a process known as 'squaring' whereby an original small drawing would have a grid of equal sized squares drawn over it; these squares, proportionally enlarged on a much bigger sheet (or sheets) of heavy paper - if not directly onto a panel painting - would then serve as a guide for the artist to copy whatever was drawn in each original square into the corresponding larger one. Then, in the case of fresco, as in this case, the cartoon drawing would have small holes put in it along all the major lines; these holes were then 'pounced' - that is, tapped - with a small bag full of charcoal dust. The dust would pass through the myriad holes and the artist would then have an 'enlarged' version of his or her original small drawing, now transferred onto the wall to be painted: an early form of 'join-the-dots'! In fact, in the cartoon shown in the photo, the 'pouncing' holes are clearly visible!

'Borrowing' or quoting from - not to say copying - the work of other painters and sculptors at this time was not regarded in the same way in which similar actions can be viewed today. In many cases this was seen as an indicator of an artist's visual culture or sophistication, and as a sign of respect towards earlier or even contemporary artists, as in the pictures presently under discussion. Vasari also saw 'borrowing' as a method of diffusion of 'advances' 3 in art and, not least, as an assertion of the pride which various Italian city-states had in their artists. Vasari, originally from Arezzo but a champion of Florentine artists, painted his 1545 Resurrection in Naples (he painted others elsewhere), a city he apparently regarded as an artistic backwater. By including 'borrowings' from Rosso Fiorentino ('Fiorentino' means 'the Florentine') and perhaps other Florentine artists (such as Michelangelo), he saw himself as spreading the 'good word' of the latest 'advances' in art; indeed, he actually says in his Descrizione dell'opere di Giorgio Vasari (Description of the works of Giorgio Vasari) 4 that he hoped his work would act as a spur to local Neapolitan artists to begin to 'modernise' the art of their city.

In another article on this blog entitled Domes: the inside story, I briefly discussed a dome which was designed and erected by Giorgio, quite late in his life, over Santa Maria dell'Umiltà in the Tuscan city of Pistoia. In that article I showed a photo of the dome over the vestibule but below is an image of the inside of the principal dome, the external aspect of which is visible for miles around.

Detail of the interior of the main dome of the church of Santa Maria dell'Umiltà, by Giorgio Vasari, completed 1569 

 Pistoia in Tuscany (Image: Wikimedia Commons Public Domain)

The exterior of this dome is noteworthy because it openly copies Brunelleschi's dome on the cathedral at Florence; the interior of Vasari's dome also honours Brunelleschi in another way and that is, in the decoration of the interior drums: there he has used what is known as pietra serena, a type of grey stone, much favoured by Brunelleschi in nearly all his Florentine buildings. This pietra serena is emphasised by a contrast with white walls, that is, plain white with no other decoration; in other words, a sort of 'abstract' minimalism! Vasari has used this approach in the interior of the drum and, it seems, added his own 'abstraction' in the cupola proper; in the context of this article however, this decoration is an example of Vasari quoting himself, or at least, 'evolving' himself. Some time earlier, in 1546, Vasari had been called upon to decorate with frescos an enormous room in a palazzo in Rome, at that time controlled by the Cardinal Alessandro Farnese; Vasari had been instructed to get the work done as quickly as possible and this he did! It took his assistants and himself, working feverishly, about 100 days to complete and hence the name of the now-famous room, La Sala dei Cento Giorni! Although containing all the usual qualities and attributes of Vasari-style decoration, it does also feature an innovation: Giorgio decided that instead of having the lower metre or so of the wall (lo zoccolo) as a flat pattern, or perhaps a faux-curtain, as was customary, he would contrive an illusion of fictive staircases leading up to each of the 'istorie' or historical episodes concerning the life of Pope Paul III Farnese.

One of the frescos in La Sala dei Cento Giorni by Giorgio Vasari and Assistants, 1546, fresco

Palazzo della Cancelleria, Rome

(Image: by Gradiva from Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain)

In the image shown here we can see the painted semi-circular staircase which serves not only to make use of a 'wasted' part of the wall, but also to lead the viewer into the depicted scene, a psychological device aided by the presence of reclining figures on the 'staircases', further directing our attention into the story. But what I would like us to observe is the flat geometrical designs around the staircase: although not the same design as in the cupola at Pistoia, the style, the concept is the same, is already there! In Santa Maria dell'Umiltà, Vasari develops this design idea and adapts it to a real circular architecture; in Pistoia, the design is inserted into each of the eight sections of the cupola, starting with a rectangle (or square?) near the drum, then passing to an oval - a shape which became extremely popular in Baroque decoration - and finishing, near the oculus, with a small triangle; three geometric shapes joined by a line one to the other, and each to the larger triangle enclosing them. Thus, although not exactly 'borrowing', Vasari is taking a motif used previously by him, in a different place, and adapting it to a new purpose.

Just to conclude, in reference to La Sala dei Cento Giorni, it was not a great success, even when it was first unveiled. Vasari, admitting this, lamented the fact of having made so much use of assistants and promised himself not to rely so heavily on them in the future 5. In spite of this however, that work is an example of one of Giorgio's most prized qualities in an artist and that is 'prestezza': in essence, speed! Vasari regarded getting the work done in a reasonable time as a highly valued quality, and this may stem from a tendency in some artists to drag out the execution of their commissions, Michelangelo and Piero della Francesca being two important examples of this. In reading Vasari's own biography it is, to the modern reader, literally amazing just how much work he got done in his not-overlong life (he died at 63): even in his final decade, he was overwhelmed with commissions, not only for pictures, but also for large-scale fresco campaigns (the fresco decoration of the walls of the Salone dei Cinquecento [1567-71]) and large-scale architecture (the restructuring of apartments in Palazzo Vecchio and the Salone itself, as well as the 'Vasari Corridor' 6); to say he was a prolific artist would be a wild understatement! In addition, in that same period, he was putting the finishing touches to the second - enlarged and corrected - edition of his Lives (1568)!

1 Today as history: Vasari's Naples Resurrection and visual memory, by Allison Kim in the Journal of Art Historiography, Number 25, December 2021 (available on-line).

2 Cartoon is the English version of the Italian cartone; the Italian word for 'paper' is carta and the suffix -one added to Italian nouns means 'big' or 'heavy': so, cartone means 'heavy paper'. In the same way that the Italian sala means 'room', salone - from where English gets saloon - means 'big room'. Cartone refers not only to the heavy paper, but as well to the drawing itself, used in the way described. We might note that sometimes, and especially with Michelangelo, instead of 'pouncing', artists would incise with a sharp tool the main lines (of a cartoon drawing) directly into the wet plaster of a fresco, thereby, in the process, destroying the cartoon itself; such incised lines are visible in the Sistine Ceiling frescos.

3 I use the word 'advances' only to indicate Vasari's own evolutionary attitude in what he described in the Lives as the constant development of Italian art, from the dark days of Byzantine influence ("la maniera goffa greca" [Proemio, Parte Seconda]) to the 'divine' levels, the apex, the 'perfection' reached by Michelangelo. Vasari used this phrase, or versions of it, ('the clumsy Greek [Byzantine] manner'), on several occasions, not only to distinguish Byzantine art from the greatness of ancient Greek art, but also from the 'modern manner' which had been initiated by Giotto. Vasari uses words such as 'perfect', 'perfection' and 'progress' often and saw art as aiming for, or, progressing towards, perfection. This perfection was related to, but not necessarily the same as, the art of the ancients: Greeks, Etruscans and Romans. Michelangelo - whom Vasari thought of as superior to them - and Vasari himself, went beyond the ancients, moving from the Renaissance, influenced by classical art, to Mannerism.

4 In Le vite de' più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori by Giorgio Vasari (Giuntina edition of 1568), Edizioni dell'Orso, 2021, p 427:

 

"Ma è gran cosa che, dopo Giotto, non era stato insino allora in sì nobile e gran città maestri che in pittura avessino fatto alcuna cosa d'importanza, ...; per lo che m'ingegnai fare di maniera, per quanto si estendeva il mio poco sapere, che si avessero a svegliare gl'ingegni di quel paese a cose grandi e onorevoli operare."

 

('But it's a remarkable thing that, after Giotto [who had worked in Naples], there had not been until then [1544-45] in such a noble and big city [any] masters that in painting had done anything of importance, ...; for which reason I busied myself in such a way, in so far as my meagre knowledge permitted, that they might have something which would stir the clever minds [of artists] of that area to [doing] important and honourable things.')

5 Le Vite (Lives), idem, p 431. Incidentally, mention might be made here of two other texts written by Vasari: one, a kind of account book, known as the Ricordanze, in which he records all his various commissions and how much he was paid for them; and the other, an imagined dialogue between himself and a Medici prince, the Ragionamenti (published posthumously by his son in 1588), in which, while acting as a guide to the prince, he explains all the work he did in the Palazzo Vecchio.

6 The Vasari Corridor (il Corridoio vasariano), begun in 1565, was designed to link, through the Uffizi, the 'old palace' (Palazzo Vecchio) with Palazzo Pitti (by then, a Medici palace), constructed by an 'opposition' banking family, the Pitti. The corridor had to span the Arno river, from the north side to the south side, and Vasari did this by constructing it on top of the existing shops on the Ponte Vecchio and passing it in front of the church of Santa Felicita, on the south side. Today, the Vasari Corridor is the Uffizi's portrait gallery.

Vasari and a Neapolitan Resurrection

 

This article is about a painting which hangs in the Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte in Naples, the principal picture gallery of that city. As readers of my recent articles will have understood by now, I have a little one-man crusade going, aimed at stirring-up interest in the painting of Giorgio Vasari, or, perhaps I should say, revitalising that interest since, during his lifetime, he was extremely busy and much sought-after. Although receiving a lot of criticism from later scholars because of perceived inaccuracies in the biographies of various artists, his monumental literary work, the Lives 1, remains a fundamental text for anyone studying the Renaissance; his own pictorial works however are generally not so well regarded.

My own 'discovery' of Giorgio's painted work, that is to say, of its particular quality, was the result of a slow, gradual exposure to more and more of it, and a concomitant letting go of received prejudice (from my reading of art history). This exposure occurred while looking at some of his smaller works and particularly during a visit to his house in his native Arezzo, the so-called Casa Vasari. There he was responsible for almost the entire decoration of the rooms, including the ceilings, with his own paintings, many of which are relatively small; 'relatively' because he is also responsible for the massive - and I mean 'massive' - murals (c. 1570) in the enormous room known as the Salone dei Cinquecento in the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence.

Shortly before commencing the mural decoration, Vasari had been commissioned, as architect and engineer, to redesign the huge room itself (the Italian word 'salone' simply means 'big room'), in the process of which, amongst other things, he raised the ceiling height by seven metres! For these public and very large frescos Vasari naturally had a team of assistants to help him. I say 'naturally' because nearly all professional artists maintained a workshop which functioned also as a school for young artists; as these young apprentices (garzoni) worked their way through the various levels of their craft, some gradually became assistants as opposed to students. Very large campaigns, such as that in the Salone dei Cinquecento, and even smaller individual works, were quite normally carried out by the 'workshop', under the supervision of the master of course; in fact, this being so often the case, contemporary contracts for artworks sometimes specified that the work was to be done entirely by the master of the shop, and not with the aid of assistants.

The Siege of Pisa by Giorgio Vasari and Assistants, c.1570, fresco

Il Salone dei Cinquecento, Palazzo Vecchio, Florence (Photo: the author)

These huge frescos are rhetorical, to say the least, intended and indeed functioning as self-congratulatory propaganda, both for Duke Cosimo I (Medici) and for Florence itself. It is possibly this rhetorical aspect which bothers some historians about Giorgio as he did quite a lot of this kind of thing, and was very much attached to the courts of the Medici in Florence and the Papacy in Rome. But in fact, standing in front of this fresco particularly (photo above), his ability as a painter, as an artist, is what struck me. This amazing scene is set at night and the 'choreography' of the composition, the idea itself of using the lanterns so as to lead us deeper and deeper into the depth of the scene, are examples of Giorgio's brilliance. Oddly though, the lanterns add a sort of whimsical quality to the drama, recalling Japanese prints in which lanterns play a similar, lighthearted role. Actually, the two central horsemen in the foreground with their apparently white armour, the battle-ready dwarf carrying a lantern, the strange shifts in proportion (the gunner in the left foreground for instance), as well as the lanterns themselves, tend to turn what is ostensibly a battle scene into a kind of fairy story. Further back in the picture however, on the walls, we do see some of the more gruesome aspects of real war, not to mention the burning city in the background!

In any case, paintings such as this were Vasari's 'stock-in-trade' but he also did smaller allegorical scenes (in his house for example) and many works for churches up and down central Italy, some of which have been remarked upon in previous articles. Here I would like to discuss one of his works, as said, in the museum of Capodimonte in Naples: it is a Resurrection and, to all intents and purposes, looks like a 'typical' Vasari although - and here is the clue - on the label beside the painting it gives the work to Vasari and to Raffaellino del Colle, with the date 1545. Raffaellino is mentioned a number of times in Vasari's Lives and he would have been at this time a fully-fledged 'master' possibly working as an assistant to Vasari, certainly not as an apprentice; that is, they were more or less on an equal footing professionally, even if Vasari was the younger artist (the commissions were Vasari's after all).

The Resurrection by Giorgio Vasari and Raffaellino del Colle, c.1545, oil on panel

Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte, Naples (Photo: the author)

Although I don't actually like this painting, it has many elements which can be described as typical of Vasari's Mannerist style: a scene more-or-less crowded with large muscular figures in, often, odd poses, a certain 'unrealistic' spatial composition, as well as what might seem to modern viewers, a highly-contrived main protagonist (the Christ): that is, despite the 'realistic' nude study, the action of the figure is almost bizarre. These characteristics, it should be remembered, are also typical of Mannerism itself, where a high degree of Renaissance-derived 'realism' was mixed with a rejection of substantial elements of that same 'realism'. Renaissance space, especially its dependence on mathematical perspective, was basically thrown out or ignored, as was relative proportion or size: figures could appear almost gigantic and not only in the foregrounds 2; emotional drama, crowding of figures and spatial ambiguity were to the fore, as opposed to Renaissance order, poise and stability (in other words, a rejection of certain 'classical' elements).

The Resurrection by Piero della Francesca, 1455 -1460 (?), fresco

Museo Civico, Sansepolcro (Photo: the author)

Vasari's painting is full of energy, with the guards falling almost out of the painting, and the Christ striding across the middle of the scene; compare this with the same subject (above) by Piero della Francesca for instance! In the middle of the Capodimonte scene however are two quite unusual things, both seemingly being crushed by the fallen stone of the risen Christ's tomb: one is the screaming figure, clearly not a soldier, looking directly at us; the other - and certainly the strangest thing (an anticipation of Henry Fuseli!) - is the figure beside that one, clothed in whites and greys. To me, it appears that Vasari has included, under that fallen stone, first the devil (in the centre) and to our left, Death itself, both things conquered by Christ's victory! Note that the 'devil' figure is not dressed as a soldier and is, as said, 'screaming', while the other figure, also not dressed as a soldier and clothed in greys (that is, no colour), seems to hide its face: one diabolical figure which screams at its defeat, the other which ruled until this moment, also defeated, clasps its head. Brilliant conceptions added to the iconography of this, by now, standard composition.

So what is the problem? The problem is that the drawing of all the figures, including the Christ, is weak, so weak and so lacking in detail as to make one question its authorship; some parts of the composition are almost certainly by Vasari, but the execution raises some doubts. And this execution is problematical in many parts of the drawing of the figures, especially so in the fallen guards. For example, the doll-like right arm and hand of the soldier on the viewer's left of the foreground group of three; the arms and hands of the foremost figure in that group; the extremely weak arm of the helmeted figure in the right middle-ground; and finally, the figure of Christ; all these lack the muscle insertions typical of the drawing style of Vasari, and the hands and feet are too generalised to be by the master. Vasari's anatomy is typically, yes, exaggerated, but also detailed; his idol was Michelangelo, one of the greatest draughtsmen alive, and Giorgio, who often solicited his opinion, was not about to let the side down with sloppy drawing (Giorgio Vasari actively collected drawings, many of which are now kept at the Uffizi).

The Assumption and Coronation of the Virgin, 1567 by Giorgio Vasari, detail, oil on panel

The Church of the Badia of Sante Flora e Lucilla, Arezzo (Photo: the author)

The photo above demonstrates quite clearly the drawing of the human figure typical of Giorgio Vasari; in this detail, in the forearm of the standing figure in the right foreground (thought to be a self-portrait), the insertions of the muscles at the elbow are detailed and precise, they are not generalised; the arm itself is fully and strongly formed, it is not that of a doll; the figures in this panel all show the typical hands of Vasari, in which he delights in showing the knuckles and the tendons; the soles of the feet of the foreground figure (in yellow) also demonstrate his eye for detailed realistic representation. These qualities are absent from the Capodimonte Resurrection.

It would therefore seem that, although Vasari may have been the designer of the Capodimonte picture, the execution was, at least in great part, by Raffaellino del Colle. Vasari himself, in his Lives, while discussing his own work, describes the Badia panel (above) explicitly but - pardon the pun - brushes over his Resurrection with just one line; in fact, he returned to Rome to finish his Neapolitan commissions, having run into a bit of trouble when in Naples 3.

To conclude, below is a photo of another Resurrection, this one attributed solely to Raffaellino del Colle (1490 - 1566); it is in the cathedral of Sansepolcro, the town where Raffaellino (and incidentally, Piero della Francesca) was born. Although painted almost twenty years prior to his working with Vasari in Naples (1544 - 45), there are clear similarities between the two versions (Capodimonte and Sansepolcro), particularly in the figure of Christ, notably in the pose itself, but also in the face; if we put photos of the two Resurrections side by side, it is immediately apparent that the two Christs, with minor changes, are from the same cartoon (preparatory drawing), only reversed! This fact suggests that the attribution of the Capodimonte picture to both Vasari and Rafaellino is, how to put it, overstated! Perhaps this is based on the claim made by Vasari himself, that he had painted a Resurrection while in Naples (see Note 3); and perhaps the inclusion of the name of Rafaellino del Colle is based on the clear resemblance just described between the two Christ figures.

As with Vasari, the influence of the work of Raphael - and Michelangelo - is obvious and not surprising, as Raffaellino had worked with Raphael when he, Raphael, was painting the celebrated Vatican (or, Raphael) Stanze frescos (from 1508-09 onwards) which of course meant that he experienced Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel being painted at the same time (1508 -1512). Raphael died very young (at 37 in 1520) and in fact, the Stanze frescos were completed after his death by his assistants, including Raffaellino. The influence of Raphael on Rafaellino may be seen in the figure of the soldier-guard in the right foreground of the Sansepolcro Resurrection (below), for this figure is a very close adaptation  - not to say direct transcription - of the figure of Heliodorus in Raphael's fresco, The Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple in the Stanza di Eliodoro at the Vatican; it is such a thorough borrowing that, quite apart from the pose of the figure, even elements of the costume of the Stanze Heliodorus survive in the Resurrection (the leather straps of the 'skirt' of the Roman-style armour, for instance).

The Resurrection by Raffaellino del Colle, 1525, oil ? on panel

The Cathedral of Sansepolcro 

(Image: by Sailko via Wikipedia Public Domain)

The Expulsion of Heliodorus (detail) by Raphael Sanzio (or, Santi), c1511, fresco

La Stanza di Eliodoro, The Vatican (Image: Wikipedia Public Domain)

Although not a good photo, this detail of the very large fresco by Raphael shows the figure of Heliodorus used later by Rafaellino in the Sansepolcro Resurrection.

1 Giorgio Vasari (1511 - 1574): painter, architect (of the Uffizi in Florence amongst other things), engineer and author of the first 'modern' work of art history: the so-called Lives (for short), that is, The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, the title of the revised and enlarged 1568 edition.

2 See for example, Michelangelo's two large frescos in the Cappella Paolina in the Vatican: the Crucifixion of Saint Peter for instance, contains numerous changes of scale amongst the many figures.

3 In the chapter of the Lives entitled Descrizione dell'Opere di Giorgio Vasari (Description of the Works of Giorgio Vasari), Vasari gives a long summary of his own artistic life, his own biography; at one point, discussing a rather brief stay in Naples, he says this: "Et in un altro quadro per l'abate Capeccio feci la Resurrezione" ('And in another picture for the Abbot Capeccio I did the Resurrection'). In exactly the same paragraph, in discussing the fact that he left Naples for Rome because compromised by a street brawl, he says: " ... aiutati da circa 15 giovani, che meco di stucchi e pitture lavoravano, ..." [speaking of certain monks under attack who were] (' .... helped by about 15 youths, who were working with me on plasters [statues, mouldings] and pictures, ...'). Here Vasari states explicitly that he works with assistants, be they apprentices or more skilled craftsmen; these particular young men had apparently scattered after the brawl and Giorgio returned to Rome with only one or two of them.

Le vite de' più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori, Vol V, p 428, Edizioni dell'Orso, 2021

Domes: the inside story!

 

A view of Brunelleschi's massive dome for Santa Maria del Fiore, the cathedral of Florence, with Giotto's Tower (which doesn't lean!), the cathedral's bell-tower, on the left.  The body of the cathedral is obscured by the parapet of a terrace in the Uffizi, from where the photo was taken. The exterior decoration of the drum of the dome was completed on only one side, visible here as the white section on the right side of the structure. Note the very large 'lantern' on the top. (Photo: the author)

 

In this article, I'd like to have a look at some domes, or to be more precise, the inside of domes. The word itself derives from the Latin domus which means 'house' and seems to have come into English via the Italian word duomo which can also mean 'house of God'. In Italy, duomo is the name commonly given to cathedrals such as the well-known Duomo at Florence, the cathedral of Florence. And like many cathedrals, it happens to have a dome (or, cupola) on top, a particularly famous one. Domes are often shaped like part of a sphere or one end of an egg, and have a circular base but, actually, there are many variations in shape, as we shall see. However, many of the structures which are crowned by a dome are not themselves circular so how does a circular 'roof' sit on a non-circular structure? If the structure is itself circular, such as the Pantheon in Rome (see below), then there's no problem (leaving aside 'statics' of course*); otherwise, a system of 'joins', or morphologically independent supports, is necessary and these are, below the dome: a drum - a round or polygonal structure like a drum - which sits on (normally) four large arches which, in turn, rest on very large and robust piers (or, massive columns). So let's begin.

In fact, there are domes on important buildings all over the word but here we will be concentrating on some in Italy. I would suppose that most people are familiar with the magnificent dome on Saint Peter's basilica in Rome, the principal church of Christendom, and as well, probably the one already mentioned in Florence; but the oldest dome in Rome is the one on top of what was in fact a pagan structure, the Pantheon - a Greek word (πανθειον) meaning '(temple of) all the gods'. That dome is regarded as an engineering marvel (to use a cliché), apparently being made entirely of concrete; the building itself is also interesting because it is circular. To some, it may seem obvious that the main structure beneath a circular 'roof', such as a dome, would also be circular, but, as we shall see, this is not necessarily the most usual situation; indeed, neither Saint Peter's nor the Duomo of Florence is a circular building. The inside of the Pantheon dome is modelled (in concrete) so that it looks like superimposed rings of squares which become gradually smaller and smaller as they approach the opening in the centre.

The Pantheon or Rotunda with its Corinthian columns and triangular pediment; the top of its dome is just visible in this photo but the main circular structure is quite clear. (Photo: the author)

The original temple - if that is what it actually was - is believed to have been built by Agrippa in c.25BC and then rebuilt by the emperor Hadrian between 118 and 128AD. More recent studies however suggest that the emperor Trajan may be, in fact, primarily responsible for what we see today. That said, what we see today is what remains after quite a lot of authorised pillaging (of bronze, columns, statues, marble, etc.), especially from the interior and the dome. The original structure, whether temple or a sanctuary for the gens Julia (of which Julius Caesar was a member), was in any case higher (in relation to street level) than it appears today, as witnessed by the remaining staircase now hidden under the present piazza.

Staying in Roma since we're already there, the next one, a small one, is from one of the churches in the Piazza del Popolo called Santa Maria del Popolo! This small Baroque church is most famous for its two Caravaggio pictures: the Crucifixion of Saint Peter and the Conversion of Saint Paul. Our little dome is an example, of which there are many, where the inside is frescoed with pictures.

Dome on Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome (Photo: the author)

In this image we may note, apart from the fresco decoration, the structure supporting the rather shallow dome: the 'drum' of the dome is actually a polygon made up of walls with large light-carrying windows; as is common, the drum is supported by arches resting on heavy piers.

Also in Rome, in Sant'Andrea al Quirinale, is the next dome, a very elaborate one, both in terms of its decoration and in terms of its structure: it is elliptical in plan and is formed of ten segments, like slices of an orange, and each segment is enlivened with the popular 'honeycomb' pattern of the coffering. The windows at its base are surmounted by 'in-the-round' plaster sculptures of saints and cherubs. Like the church itself, the dome's main axis is parallel to the street. The present beautiful small church and its façade were re-designed by Gian Lorenzo Bernini with construction beginning in 1658 and finishing in 1678. 

The dome of Sant'Andrea al Quirinale; the church was consecrated in 1568 (Photo: the author)

Continuing in much the same direction, still in Rome, we arrive at the marvellous basilica of Sant'Andrea della Valle where those in charge have had the clever idea of mounting large mirrors in the central nave so that visitors can admire the ceiling frescos - without damaging their necks at the same time! This church is what might be described as a 'typical' Baroque enterprise, at least as far as its ceiling decoration goes: the entire surface, including the dome, is frescoed. As with other such domes, this one rests on a fairly high fenestrated drum which in turn sits on four very large arches, visible in the photo, supported by four very large piers; in fact, standing in the crossing, one is reminded of Saint Peter's basilica, though on a smaller scale.

The dome and crossing of Sant'Andrea della Valle in Rome. As can be seen from my iPhone and hands on the right, I was looking into one of the large mirrors situated along the nave.

Continuing in the direction of the Stazione Termini - Rome's main railway station - and passing, because not open, the wonderful church of San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, a masterpiece by Francesco Borromini, and the comparatively restrained architecture of the church of Santa Susanna alle Terme (still closed after many years), designed by Carlo Maderno in 1603, we find, directly opposite across the piazza, another church masterpiece, this one called San Bernardo alle Terme, whose modern construction commenced in 1598. (And looking back across the piazza, to the right, is the home of one of Bernini's masterpieces, The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, in the small Baroque church of Santa Maria della Vittoria; Rome supposedly has around 900 churches!).

The dome and oculus of the church of San Bernardo alle Terme, apparently an original Roman structure, a smaller version of the Pantheon type. (Photo: the author)

This smallish church, and its dome, are especially interesting as it occupies one of the two remaining giant towers which were originally situated in the long-gone perimeter walls of the nearby Baths of Diocletian (terme), those remains now a church and museum; this particular tower was apparently a place used for playing ball games (a spheristerium) and its dome is, from what I can discover, part of the original Roman structure. The present church preserves the circular form of the tower and its only source of light, the oculus (the eye, in Latin) in the centre of the dome, exactly the same as occurs in the Pantheon! Apart from the dome with its 'honeycomb' pattern, this church is relatively simple inside but does contain eight gigantic plaster statues of saints, all very good.

Finally, as far as Rome is concerned, I want to include another masterpiece by Francesco Borromini, the church of Sant'Ivo alla Sapienza. Again, after two visits and a long wait for the scheduled opening time, disappointment: I wasn't able to see inside! However, the exterior of the church is fantastic (literally) and the four-sided, two-storey courtyard is wonderful. The first architect whose name I can find was Pirro Ligorio (1565), followed by Giacomo della Porta (1579) - responsible for the courtyard buildings - who in turn was followed by Borromini in 1632 (although the complex dates back to the foundation of the University of Rome in 1303).

The courtyard and façade of Sant'Ivo alla Sapienza in Rome. (Photo: the author)

From what I have read, the design of Saint Ivo is unique in church architecture as it is based on the triangle! Each of the corners (of the triangles) is cut by a semi-circular shape - creating chapels - turning the floor-plan into a six-sided figure; the segmented 'dome' has a lantern with a spiralling top on it. The photo above gives at least some idea of what may be inside but, to know for sure ... well, that's another trip, isn't it?

Now we move north to Tuscany and begin in an ancient hill-top city called San Miniato. At certain times in its history it was quite a rich place and this can be seen in the wonderful interior of one of its churches, the Santuario del Santissimo Crocifisso (the Sanctuary of the Most Holy Cross).

The Santuario del Santissimo Crocifisso (built 1705 - 1718) in San Miniato: photo (by the author) showing the frescoed dome above the crossing, supported by a drum, arches and massive piers. 

Recently restored and looking wonderful in the early-summer sunlight, this smallish Baroque structure is situated on a steep hill in the centre of San Miniato. Although quite restrained externally, once inside, all stops are out and the eye feasts on a mini version of some of the great Roman churches: everywhere is painted, and decorated with statues, especially the main and two lesser altars, the latter being adorned with wonderful trompe l'œil columns and angels. This time we have a circular dome resting on a circular fenestrated drum.

Closer to Florence, in the church of the Badia delle Sante Flora e Lucilla in Arezzo, is our next example: the dome is not large and, in reality, is not a dome at all! It is a painting of the interior of a dome, an oil painting on a large circular canvas, a brilliantly contrived perspective exercise, designed to do duty for the more expensive real thing! The illusion is so convincing that, if you weren't really paying attention, you could easily walk out of that church convinced that it had a largish, dark dome. The canvas, which includes a painted oculus, sits exactly where a physical dome would sit, thereby increasing the sense of its 'reality'. The illusion is of a segmented circular structure supported by a drum composed of columns and windows.

Fictive dome of the Badia church in Arezzo, oil (?) on a circular canvas imitating an earlier one (1685) by Andrea Pozzo in Rome in the church of Sant'Ignazio di Loyola (Photo: the author)

Having arrived in Florence itself, rather than going off to visit the incredible dome of the Duomo, designed by Filippo Brunelleschi (1377 - 1446), let's cross the Arno and, on the south side of the river, visit the lively Piazza Santo Spirito and its homonymously-named church of ... Santo Spirito! This is one of my favourite churches in Florence, not only because it too was designed by Brunelleschi (from1434) but also because it is, as are so many churches, a sort of art history lesson, or a museum - without actually being one! Its many side-altars are decorated with altarpieces painted by important artists, it has a vestibule designed by Andrea Sansovino and a sacristy designed by Giuliano da Sangallo, as well as a beautiful garden in the centre of its cloister.

The dome of Santo Spirito in Florence, designed by Filippo Brunelleschi (Photo: the author)

Again, a small dome above a crossing (where the nave meets the transepts of a church), unlike the massive one over Santa Maria del Fiore - the Duomo of Florence - but very similar to those in his Cappella Pazzi at Santa Croce and Sagrestia Vecchia at San Lorenzo, both churches in Florence. In the photo we can also see the coffered ceilings as well as the huge arches which support the dome and its small, elegant drum. This dome (note the round windows), like others, is made-up of segments but, as is typical of Brunelleschi - and interestingly, of his anticipation of one of Modernism's dicta, 'truth to materials' - it is unadorned, like the arches and in fact, like all the structural elements of this building. Brunelleschi, unlike later Baroque masters, wanted us to see what was in fact there, he didn't want to conceal the architectural 'members' under layers of stucco (plaster) and paint; he didn't want his elegant, refined lines and curves muddled and distorted by accumulations of decorative illusion.

Before leaving Florence, we must have a brief look at another structure which, although not strictly a dome from the outside, is a related architectural construction: this is the baptistry of Florence,  the Battistero di San Giovanni Battista, directly opposite the main entrance to the Duomo. Referred to even by Dante, a very old building whose history is still a matter of some dispute, the baptistry would seem to be one of the oldest Christian religious structures in the city (possibly IV-V century AD). It is an octagon having three entrances and a centrally raised roof constructed in sections to coincide with the eight walls. The exterior of this temple-like building is remarkable enough (with 'Mondrian-like' geometric patterning in white and green marble) but the interior decoration, and especially that of the ceiling, is literally wonderful.

A view of the interior of the dome or cupola of the recently restored Baptistry of Saint John the Baptist showing a part of the extraordinary mosaic decoration, some at least believed to be by Cimabue

A short distance from Florence is the beautiful small city of Pistoia, our next destination. Here, the large exterior dome of the smallish octagonal basilica of Santa Maria dell'Umiltà, designed by Giorgio Vasari (completed 1569), is clearly modelled on that of Brunelleschi's dome for Florence cathedral. But the interior of the dome is very interesting as it seems to contain no overt religious symbolism at all; and the same can be said for the smaller dome pictured here, decorated with concentric rows of small squares in each of which is a flower; the four pendentives, painted red, are further decorated with a large shell: both shells and flowers have a long history of symbolic meanings, Christian yes, but also pagan (for instance, the shell which carries the goddess in Botticelli's Birth of Venus). I don't know whether or not Vasari is responsible for this dome over the vestibule of the church, but it is an extremely elegant and virtually secular solution!

One of the domes in the Basilica of Santa Maria dell'Umiltà in Pistoia, this one over the vestibule (Photo: the author)

To conclude, we hop on a train and head south, to the wonderful island of Sicily where we get off at Catania, on the east coast. Catania is a beautiful city, full of Baroque churches, many lovely black-and-white palazzi, incredible views (not least of its neighbour Etna) and .... food! As everyone knows, Sicily has been occupied by people from all over the place, from the Greeks to the Romans, from the Arabs to the Normans to the Spanish; all have left their mark and the first dome we are to have a look at was in fact part of a Roman baths. 

A view of the Terme alla Rotonda in Catania, taken from outside (Photo: the author).

In the photo, we are standing among the remains of various rooms which were once part of the baths (terme); clearly, the dome has been strengthened since ancient times. It has changed uses over the centuries and was at one time a church (Santa Maria della Rotonda); it contains medieval frescos as well as much later, painted decoration and inscriptions, and is still an active archeological site.

 

An interior view of La Rotonda: large niches open in the thick and heavy walls supporting the dome and the floor level was, at the time of the photo, still open for excavation. (Photo: the author)

Still in Catania, and a little further up the hill, in fact, on what is locally known as l'acropoli (the acropolis: remembering that Catania was once Greek!), that is, the highest point of the city, we arrive at the spectacular, if unfinished, church of San Nicolò l'Arena, with its impressive monastic complex behind (now a university). The interior of this very big church is surprisingly, almost alarmingly, sedate, quite unlike many of the Baroque - and Norman - churches which are to be found all over the island. Above the crossing however is a quite plane, unadorned dome resting on a fenestrated drum.

The interior, showing the light-giving dome, of San Nicolò l'Arena in Catania. Note the lovely marble floor; the church is dedicated to the fallen soldiers of various conflicts. (Photo:the author)

The photo above shows the relatively small but elegant dome, and largish drum, of San Nicolò l'Arena from the outside, in fact, from the roof, as it is possible to access that area by way of one of the unfinished towers at the front of the building; up there, we have a 360 degree view of Catania, of the sea and of Etna - which is still quite active. In my opinion, the exterior of this dome is the more impressive aspect, together with its refined colour!

Travelling now to the north-west coast of Sicily, we reach Palermo, the site of several important and wonderful Norman churches: but today, we are going to have a look at one more Baroque example: Santa Caterina d'Alessandria, built between 1566 and 1596.

The church of Santa Caterina d'Alessandria, Palermo (Photo: the author)

The almost overwhelming, extraordinary interior - even by Baroque standards - of this church turns into a kind of 'architectural cassata' what is essentially the basic basilica model: a long nave with arched side-chapels leading to a crossing beyond which is an apse. Over the crossing is the dome resting on large arches supported by very large piers; in this case, the dome is on top of a circular fenestrated drum which allows light to enter. The somewhat unusual feature here is the trompe l'œil frescos whose figures actually seem to tumble out of the dome proper and into the drum; this theatricality continues into the pendentives, further contributing to the Baroque habit of so confusing the eye that, at a certain point, we are no longer quite sure about which parts are 'real' and which are artifice! Like many important buildings in Italy, this one was damaged by bombing during the Allied invasion of WWII and the missing parts of the frescos just mentioned may be a result of that bombardment. Thankfully, much restoration - and some discovery - has brought many of these buildings back to their original glory.

* In the first paragraph, I mentioned the word 'statics'; statics is that branch of engineering which considers the implications of weight on the vertical and lateral equilibrium (stability) of buildings. A good example is the so-called 'flying buttress' of Gothic cathedrals: those buttresses 'push' against the walls of the building, walls which are receiving downward and outward pressure (or thrust) from the heavy structure resting on them, namely, the roof. It has been discovered that in the construction of the Pantheon, the exterior walls are actually higher than the inside view of the dome would suggest; this extra exterior height provides a kind of hidden buttressing against the weight of the dome. The concrete dome itself was constructed using a variable recipe for the concrete, allowing the dome to be ever lighter as it reached up towards the oculus. A similar 'hidden' buttressing system is used in the walls of the Baptistry of San Giovanni in Florence.

 

Bits and Pieces

 

In this article I aim to 'keep it short' by combining brief comments on several works of art seen in Italy recently. Let's see if that's possible!

I'll start with a supposed Giotto discovered - so far as I am concerned - in the Pinacoteca Comunale, a small museum run by the city of Assisi.

Madonna Enthroned with the Christ Child by Giotto (1267 - 1337), detached fresco

Pinacoteca Comunale, Assisi (Photo: the author)

This image is included because my last article was concerned with Giotto's construction of buildings and here we have a very highly developed example. The entire kiosk or tabernacle in which the figures are placed is extremely convincing in terms of its representation of space; the planes of the throne, the walls and the ribbed ceiling all function without any disharmony between the parts. In other words, the perspective looks right! As well, the external surfaces of the tabernacle, decorated with cosmatesque inlay, all conform to the interior space; frequently in this period, the exterior surfaces of a structure do not wholly conform to the 'inside' parts. Here on the other hand, we have clear evidence of the comprehension of how we really see things (or, how things really look). In fact, from that point of view, the figures - sadly much damaged - are the weak part of this painting.

***

Next is another detached fresco in the same museum: this one is by a slightly later artist called Puccio Capanna (notices from 1341 to 1347), or Pace di Bartolo. The attribution is uncertain as the label beside this work in the Pinacoteca Comunale clearly states that the author is Puccio whereas other sources give it to Pace!

The Annunciation by Puccio Capanna (or Pace di Bartolo), detail of a fresco fragment

Pinacoteca Comunale, Assisi (Photo: the author)

To me, this is a very beautiful image albeit much afflicted! It appears to be a sinopia, the drawing under the finished fresco, a sepia-coloured painted line-drawing, normally fairly well-developed, made by the painter on the rough plaster before the finer top layer is applied, and which functions as a guide for the finished, coloured stratum. These preliminary 'drawings' are only visible when a finished fresco - that is, the final paint layer - is detached from a wall, thus revealing the initial stage on the plaster beneath. In the photo we can also see the results of the hammer or pick blows made by later artisans; when times and tastes changed, it was not uncommon for older, out-of-fashion pictures to be chipped away at, as in this example, so as to give some purchase for a new layer of plaster, for a new painting! When again tastes changed and that later image was removed, often there are the traces of the earlier, original fresco and that is what I think we see here. Also very interesting are the 'test' strokes - something I have not seen elsewhere -, the clearly nonchalant brush marks across the right side of our figure; who made those strokes, the original artist, knowing that they would be concealed by his top layer of plaster (very unlikely), or some later artisan as he prepared for a new work? In addition we might notice the raised halo surrounding the Virgin's head: this was also done in plaster and, in the finished piece, would have been decorated in gold leaf - now long gone of course.

The Annunciation by Puccio Capanna (or Pace di Bartolo), entire fresco fragment

Pinacoteca Comunale, Assisi (Photo: the author)

Although I am discussing this image as if it were a sinopia, there is something very unusual about the other part of what remains of this fresco (the 'room', above) in that it seems to be finished, that is, it has the top layer of paint: a combination within the self-same 'relic' of two distinct stages of work - part sinopia and part final layer! This layer of colour is obvious on the right exterior 'wall' and the columns of the structure in which the Virgin is placed; interestingly, there are no hammer marks in those parts. In the vicinity of the Virgin, to the right of her halo, there are traces of coloured paint, and in the arch above her, the cosmatesque decoration has also suffered in some way. In my experience, the co-existence in the one image of two stages of the process of fresco painting is extremely rare.

***

Now we've moved to Arezzo and in a church there, on the inside of the façade wall, is this next work, a fresco by an artist known as Bartolomeo della Gatta (1448 - 1502).

San Lorenzo by Bartolomeo della Gatta , 1476, fresco

The Church of the Badia, Arezzo (Photo: the author)

This particular work is another instance of a fresco having been rediscovered: in this case in 1933 by the canon priest who, having read Giorgio Vasari's Life of Bartolomeo 1, began scraping away the covering plaster in the area he believed Vasari had mentioned as the site of this Saint Lawrence. The lower part has suffered quite a lot but the upper part is still in excellent condition. But what is particularly remarkable is the painting of the face of this saint or, to be more precise, this exquisite portrait! It was in fact the representation of this face which stopped me in my tracks as I was on my way out of the church: its 'modernity' is extraordinary. Its quality of life-likeness, its being clearly a portrait, its consummate treatment of light and shadow, the off-centre turned head, the questioning gaze of the sitter, all are wholly remarkable ... and this in 1476, not 1976!

Bartolomeo is interesting in other ways as well: in addition to being a painter, he was also an architect, a musician, a designer of organs, a manuscript illuminator and ... a monk. As it happens, quite a few of the most notable artists of the Renaissance were members of the clergy in one way or another. Bartolomeo, whose real name was Piero di Antonio Dei, had joined a monastery in Florence while still very young and eventually became the abbot of two of them in Arezzo. Below is another example of his work.

The Penitent Saint Jerome by Bartolomeo della Gatta,  c.1492 -93, fresco

Museo Diocesano, Arezzo (Photo: the author)

The work shown above is a very large detached fresco (with parts missing from all sides) under which was found the quite simple sinopia drawing (kept in the same museum). Apart from the figure of the saint - recognisable from his 'attributes': the lion, the cardinal's red hat (although Jerome was never a cardinal) and the Crucifix - the obvious other 'star' of this wonderful image is the extraordinary representation of the rocks, realistically indicating Jerome's hermit desert retreat. In spite of being a Renaissance painting, the artist has continued the more traditional practice of including several smaller scenes from the saint's life, across the top right corner.

***

Still in Arezzo and still in the Badia church, let's look at an enormous altar-piece painted by the author of the Lives - and the architect of the Uffizi in Florence - Giorgio Vasari (1511 - 1574) 1. Vasari was born in Arezzo and was a painter, an architect and, perhaps most famously, an art historian; in fact, he is recognised as the first modern historian of art. Many of the people he wrote about are, as artists, far more famous than he, however, his literary magnum opus, the Lives, despite being constantly criticised, is still a basic text for anyone studying Western art history.

But personally, I have begun to feel that Giorgio's work as a painter has suffered over-much from a kind of off-handed disrespect and so, more recently, I have started to try to 'see' his painted work with un-prejudiced eyes. Here is one example.

The Ascension and Coronation of the Virgin (Pala Albergotti), 1567, by Giorgio Vasari, oil on panel

The Church of the Badia, Arezzo (Photo: the author)

This recently restored altar-piece is very large, five metres high and four metres wide, and has, as well as its central theme, two largish panels both showing a standing saint, one on either side, as well as eight smaller panels surrounding the arch of the principal image. The figures in the lower part display the surprise and wonder of the Apostles as they witness the ascension of Mary's body into heaven and I think it is that kind of rhetorical gesture and pose which is disapproved of by many historians; the upper half on the other hand, exemplifies what I consider to be Giorgio's strengths.

Detail of the previous photo showing the Coronation of the Virgin (Giorgio Vasari)

As said, this painting is enormous and so it was difficult to get a good photo of the top portion, nevertheless, to my mind, there is almost a net difference between the upper and the lower portions of this double image. As with many of Vasari's paintings, this one too is influenced by Michelangelo's Sistine Ceiling work, notably the Creation scenes, a kind of amalgamation of the Creation of the Planets and the Creation of Adam. Vasari has here adjusted the pose of Michelangelo's great figure of God the Creator - note the positions of the arms and legs 2 - while also keeping the accompanying angels. Mary's hand movement, directed towards Christ the King, is reminiscent of the gesture of Adam as he languorously reaches towards God, his creator. However, the influence or not of Michelangelo (Vasari's art evolution 'hero') is not the main point; what I see here and in other similar works (for instance, his Immaculate Conception of 1540 in the church of Santi Apostoli in Florence) is Vasari's beautiful (Mannerist) Madonna, the wonderful way the clothes cover the forms and at the same time reveal them, the gentleness of his imaginings of the Mother and Son (see for example, also in the Badia, above the main altar, the beautiful figure of Christ as he converses by the lake with the fishermen Apostles).

***

Now something a little different, an example of Baroque architecture: this is the inside of the dome of a not-large circular - or, more precisely, octagonal - church in the historical centre of Naples. I was initially attracted into this little gem by the advertisement of the existence within of a painting by Caravaggio! On entering the small building, two things strike the unprepared visitor: first, the awe-inducing Caravaggio canvas facing you as you enter; I could have said silence-inducing as no-one speaks while studying this magnificently obvious masterwork, The Seven Works of Mercy (1606-07). The other striking thing is that, like a number of Baroque churches, it is polygonal in plan (as opposed to basilican) and as well, on looking up, one sees the dome pictured here.

The interior of the dome of the church of Pio Monte della Misericordia, Naples, 

 (Photo: the author)

I have included this photo because I was struck (third strike!) by the simple, almost modernist restraint and the elegant refinement of the design (and the colour) -  quite different from many of the domes in both Naples and Rome, lovely as they are. Note the clear blue visible through the lantern (a sort of raised mini-temple set on the top of large domes to allow light to enter: see those on the cathedral of Florence and on St Peter's in Rome).

***

We'll finish these short stories with an altogether different type of image, this time what's known as a 'history painting'. This impressive picture by Michele Cammarano (born in Naples) is in essence an example of 'academic' painting, an official style sanctioned by art academies all over 19th century Europe (and even further afield). The basic idea was excellent draughtsmanship, especially of the human body (based on Renaissance models, in particular Raphael), skilled colouring and historical accuracy; there was a type of hierarchy in which 'history painting' - the depiction of historical and mythological subjects - was at the top, and the closer to known facts of costume, arms and armour, setting and so on the artist could come, the better the work. That said, Cammarano's affinity with a native Florentine school known as the Macchiaioli, which he encountered while briefly in Florence, is also important.

Bersaglieri in the Assault on Porta Pia, 1871, by Michele Cammarano (1835 - 1920), oil on canvas

Museo di Capodimonte, Naples (Photo: the author)

This again is a very large painting (nearly 6 by 4.5 metres) and, although showing signs of academicism is enlivened with certain traits of the Macchiaioli 3. Importantly and oddly, the image looks like a 'still' from a movie, a technology which didn't exist at the time (1871); today we could easily imagine the 'shooting' (no pun intended) of such a scene, with a movie camera mounted on tracks and being pulled backwards as the actors rush towards it.

The Bersaglieri are one of the oldest regiments in the present Italian army and are famous for their plumed hats and their ability to run while playing bugles! In the painting above, they are shown charging - and dying - as they attack one of the gates of Rome (Porta Pia) during the final battles for Italian unification. The artist had himself served in the armed forces, an experience which had a decisive influence on his art. As mentioned, this work is also very large and, 'in person', as might be imagined, has a powerful dramatic effect; its combination of highly skilful execution, historical accuracy (uniforms, weapons) and unusual and large composition results in a memorable if somewhat rhetorical image. 

 

1 The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, by Giorgio Vasari, published (in two editions in Florence, 1550 and) 1568.

2 In both of these amazing scenes, that is, God Creating the Planets and The Creation of Adam, the positions of God's arms and legs are very similar - not the same, but similar: in both, the arms are spread very wide although directed differently, and the legs (both of them in the Planets scene and the right one in the Adam scene) are bent. The different points of view explain the variations in position: in the Planets scene, God is represented somewhat foreshortened as He seems to come towards us whereas, in the Creation of Adam, God is shown as though we can see Him stretched out full-length.

3 The Macchiaioli were members of a 'school' of painting which developed in and around Florence in the mid-19th century. In some ways they resemble the Impressionists of France working at about the same time (for Australian readers interestingly, they have much in common with the local so-called Heidelberg School).  Their interests were the normal, the everyday, the routine of life in a soon-to-be-gone world, the world of the near-by small-holding farmers, the fishermen on the banks of the Arno under the hot Tuscan sun, the interiors of the petit bourgeois. The name derives from the Italian word 'macchia' which can mean  a bush, a mark or stain (as in caffè macchiato), but also a painting method consisting in the use of areas of broken colour applied as small dabs (macchie: that is, marks).