Alberti’s Window

Vasari writes that Fra Filippo Lippi made a conscious decision to stop including a lot of hands in his paintings. Apparently, Lippi had been criticized for including too many hands in his compositions, and someone advised him to be aware of that fact.¹ Lippi received this sound advice around 1445, and Vasari writes that in later paintings Lippi “covered [the hands] up with draperies or some other invention in order to avoid such criticism.”²

In some ways, you really can see a switch from the “hand” to “hand-free” Lippi. (Okay, in truth, his later paintings aren’t “hand-free,” but often there aren’t as many hands.) Here are some earlier, “handy” paintings:

St. Fredianus Diverts the River Serchio, c. 1438
There are way too many hands in the group on the right. And look at the man who is standing on the left side of that group – his hands are awkwardly included in the composition to the point of distraction. It almost looks like that man is going to box the ears of the pious man who is kneeling down.

Madonna of Humility (Trivulzio Madonna), c. 1430
(with red circles added – click here to see a reproduction without circles)
I think this painting is pretty ugly, and the plethora of hands doesn’t help the composition one bit. I circled sixteen different hands. Granted, there are a lot of figures in this painting, but sixteen hands seems a little extreme and unnecessary. Hands pop out in some of the strangest places, too. Check out some of the hands on the left-side of the Virgin.

Lippi’s post-1445 (ahem, post-“handy”) works still include hands, although he often (but not always!) toned down the number of hands and was a little more tactful.

Detail of Disputation in the Synagogue, 1452-65
Notice how Lippi covered up the figure on the left’s hands with drapery? Smart move. There aren’t any miscellaneous fingers or palms sticking out anywhere, either, which is an improvement.

Detail of St. Stephen is Born and Replaced with Another Child, 1452-65
Lippi toned down the hands a bit in here – Stephen’s mother covers up one hand with her head, and the seated woman covers up a hand with her knee (although I think her other hand is awkward in its position and placement). And you don’t even see the hands of the figure behind the bed. I think, though, that the woman on the left’s hand is poking out from behind her cloak – it’s a little awkward since its the only part of the woman that we can see, but hey, this is an improvement for Lippi.

Do you know of a “handy” or “hand-free” work by Lippi? What do you think – did Lippi improve by toning down his inclusion of hands? I certainly think so.

1 Giorgio Vasari, The Lives of the Artists, translation by Julia Conway Bondanella and Peter Bondanella (London: Oxford University Press, 1991), 194.
2 Ibid.

It’s always interesting to see how an artist depicts an animal that he/she has never seen. Vasari writes that Paolo Uccello wanted to depict a chameleon his Four Seasons, but since the artist had never seen a chameleon, he opted to draw a camel instead.¹ I guess you can kind of see Uccello’s logic in picking a camel, since camaleonte and camello are similar words in Italian (the two words are a little similar in English, too). I wish that Uccello’s Four Seasons still existed; I’d love to see what that chameleon/camel looked like.

Durer attempted to depict a rhinoceros, even though he had never seen one. He really didn’t do too bad of a job (see woodcut print The Rhinoceros (1515) on the right), although the armor-like plates are a little funny. Durer became interested in the rhino after seeing a sketch and reading descriptions in a letter from Lisbon.² The year that Durer made this print, 1515, was a big year for rhinoceroses in Europe. Both the king of Spain and king of Portugal were trying to win the favor of the pope by giving him rhinoceroses. The pope apparently liked the West African rhino (the gift from Spain) best, which allegedly answers why the pope gave more New World territory to Spain.³ I bet that Durer was trying to maximize on the interest in rhinoceroses during this year, since woodcut prints can be widely distributed, popularized, etc.

There are other animal depictions which I think are amusing. When writing my thesis, I would often chuckle at Aleijadinho’s depiction of a lion. Since the Brazilian artist had never seen a lion before, he sculpted this one with the face of a monkey:

Aleijadinho, detail of lion next to the prophet Daniel, 1800-1805

And you have to love Aleijadinho’s great attempt at a whale. I especially love the whale’s two spouts (kind of like nostrils, I guess) and fins:

Aleijadinho, detail of whale next to the prophet Jonah, 1800-1805

Aleijadinho, side-view of Jonah’s whale, 1800-1805

If you were/are an artist, what would induce you to destroy some of your completed art?

A change in taste?
Embarrassment?
Anger?

I am continually surprised and saddened when I think of the Early Renaissance artist Sandro Botticelli and his decision to burn some of his paintings.

Sandro Botticelli is arguably the most famous painter of the Early Renaissance. Today, he is probably best known for his mythological paintings The Birth of Venus (c. 1485, shown to the right) and Primavera (c. 1478). These paintings were influenced by International Style, as shown by the ornamental patterns (e.g. Flora’s dress on the right) and unrealistic stylization (e.g. the flat sea waves). Both paintings were completed during the beginning of Botticelli’s career, when he was highly successful and enjoyed the patronage of important families such as the Medici and Vespucci.

However, it appears that Botticelli’s career took an interesting turn with the rise of Girolamo Savonarola, an Italian friar and preacher. Savonarola’s fundamentalist ideas regarding politics and religious art had considerable influence on Florence. In fact, many people in Florence considered Savonarola to be a prophet and type of savior for the city.¹ In regards to art, Savonarola condemned the worldly character of religious paintings and criticized artists for using identifiable people as models for holy figures. Savonarola “complained that the images in the churches of the Virgin, St Elizabeth and the Magdalene were painted like nymphs in the likenesses of the young women of Florence, thundering: ‘You have made the Virgin appear dressed as a whore’. In his sermons he upbraided the young women of Florence for wearing such dress and castigated painters for representing them in sacred guise, urging everyone to burn their copies of the Decameron and all lascivious images.”² There is no doubt that Botticelli’s mythological paintings would have been viewed as “lascivious” by Savonarola, particularly The Birth of Venus, which was the first painting of a Classical female nude since antiquity.

Savonarola convinced many people to burn their worldly items. He is particularly associated with two public burnings took place on 7 February 1497 and and 27 February 1498. These fires are known as the bruciamenti delle vanità (bonfires of the vanities). At these public bonfires, cosmetics, false hair, playing cards, profane books and paintings were destroyed. It’s shocking to think of what precious works of art were destroyed at this time – especially works by the talented Botticelli. According to the biographer Vasari, Botticelli was affected by the teachings of Savonarola and reportedly threw some of his own paintings on pagan themes into the flames. How tragic! I have often wondered what those paintings were like and what type of contribution they might have made to the field of art history.

Of course, Savonarola did not condemn all types of art. He felt that art could be utilized as a type of moral instruction and encouraged his illiterate followers to ponder the life of Christ by looking at paintings (no doubt, paintings which met his level of standard). At this same time, and probably not coincidentally, Botticelli’s artistic style began to change. He began to reject the courtly, ornamental style of his earlier paintings and turned to a more somber, simplistic style which mimicked the sentiment and style of earlier religious paintings. One such somber painting is Botticelli’s Lamentation over the Dead Christ with St. Jerome, St. Paul and St. Peter (c. 1490). Not only is the extense grief and mourning observed in the faces of the figures, but the sweeping lines of the dead corpse and kneeling figures suggest to me an added level of heaviness, weight, and grief.³ I cannot help but conclude that this shift in style was influenced by Savonarola’s apocalyptic preaching.⁴

Unfortunately, Botticelli’s career faltered near the end of his life, which is especially disappointing since the artist was originally one of the influential painters in developing the new Renaissance style. I find the demise of Botticelli’s career partially linked to Savonarola and the artist’s subsequent change in style.

I wonder if Botticelli held any regrets about burning his paintings or his change in artistic taste. Savonarola’s followers were often referred to as piagnoni (“snivellers” or “weepers”) because “they were given to loud and weepy repentence for their sins.”⁵ It is known that Botticelli’s brother was a piagnone and there is other evidence that Botticelli was also associated with this mournful group.⁶ If I were Botticelli and had burned some of my beautiful art, it seems like I’d have an additional reason to weep.

₁“Savonarola, Girolamo.” In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com.erl.lib.byu.edu/subscriber/article/grove/art/T076215 (accessed February 5, 2009).

₂ Charles Dempsey. “Botticelli, Sandro.” In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com.erl.lib.byu.edu/subscriber/article/grove/art/T010385 (accessed February 5, 2009).

₃ For more analysis of this painting and Savonarola’s influence on Botticelli, see Barbara Deimling, Botticelli, (New York: Taschen, 2000), 69-72. These pages can also be read online here.

₄ Not all historians agree on Savonarola’s influence on Botticelli. For some discussion on the art historical debate between Savonarola’s influence on Botticelli, see Ingrid Drake Rowland, From Heaten to Arcadia: The Sacred and the Profane in the Renaissance, (New York: New York Review of Books, 2005), 80-81.

₅ Ibid, 80.

₆ Vasari records that Botticelli was “extremely partisan to [Savonarola’s] sect.” See Dempsey, “Botticelli, Sandro.”