Alberti’s Window

I’ve heard people joke that the Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam scene (Sistine Chapel ceiling, 1508-1512) looks like it displays a cut-away section of the human brain (with the oval-shaped cloth depicting the shape of the brain, and all of the heads and bodies suggesting brain matter). You can imagine how surprised I was to learn that scientists are currently arguing that there is a connection with Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel and depictions of the brain, although not with the Creation of Adam scene.

Instead, Ian Suk and Rafael Tamargo argue that the scene Separation of Light from Darkness contains a depiction of a human spinal cord and brain stem. You can read the Scientific American article about these findings here. And take a look at this image:

I think this is an interesting connection, but I do have some doubts.  Michelangelo often made his figures extremely muscular and bulky (almost overly-idealized, in my opinion), and this detail of God the Father’s neck could just indicate the artist’s penchant for muscles and chiaroscuro/modeling.  But, like I said, this brain theory is still interesting. I’m not familiar with enough scientific or anatomical imagery to make a definite conclusion on this new argument, but it’s fun to consider.

Remember when there was a lot of hype over “La Bella Principessa,” the painting recently attributed to Leonardo? It looks like similar excitement has built over a new painting, which possibly could be attributed to Raphael (shown right). The painting was discovered in a storage room in the ducal palace of Este, located in Saussolo (outside of Modena, Italy). Mario Scalini, state art superintendent for the area, was going through the storage inventory and found the painting tucked away. After noticing the high quality of the painting, he wondered if it could actually be by Raphael (instead of an 18th century painting, as it was previously described). There was no record of a Raphael currently in the estate collection, but Scalini went through the ducal archives and found a 1663 reference that mentions a “portrait of a woman” by Raphael. There is no record that this Raphael painting was ever sold from the collection or loaned, so it could be that this painting was simply forgotten.

It will be interesting to see what results from tests and analysis of this painting. The History Blog points out that recent tests have revealed the painting was restored in the 17th and 19th centuries, which shows that the painting is older than the 18th century. In addition, these restorations also show that artwork was valued, since people made the effort to restore the painting throughout different centuries.

So, what do I think of the possible attribution to Raphael? I think it’s possible, but I’m trying to not get too excited. At this point, I think the most exciting discovery is that a Raphael painting was listed as part of the ducal collection. In regards to the painting itself, I’d recommend that you read this great post from Art History Today, in which the author discusses some reservations about the painting being by Raphael. I agree with the ideas that are presented there; I think it is possible that this painting might be by a student of Raphael (perhaps Giulio Romano?), but not the master himself.

Caravaggio, Medusa, 1598-99

One of my students brought my attention to this recent article in the New York Times. The article highlights a new argument by Philip Sohm, an art historian at the University of Toronto. Sohm believes that people aren’t as interested in the Renaissance artist Michelangelo anymore – instead, people have shifted their interest to Caravaggio. Sohm has charted interest in Caravaggio and Michelangelo through the number of scholarly publications over the past fifty years, and the number of writings about Caravaggio have gradually overtaken those about Michelangelo. Sohm calls this new phenomenon “Caravaggiomania” – and as a Baroque scholar who loves Caravaggio, I think that term is awesome.

Sohm thinks that art history doctoral students are having difficulty finding new and innovative things to say about Michelangelo. I don’t doubt this is the case. Michelangelo and the Renaissance period have been beaten to death for centuries in terms of research – but I do think that new interpretations and fresh scholarship can still rise up in the 21st century. I just wonder where Renaissance scholarship can go for new and fresh ideas. I’ve been thinking about this quite recently, actually, ever since I read heidenkind’s post about her difficulty in finding great publications about Donatello.

Sohm’s Caravaggio argument is timely, particularly since this year celebrates the 400th anniversary of the artist’s death. There are a lot of huge celebrations and events taking place to honor Caravaggio this year, including a major exhibition that is currently on display at the Scuderie del Quirinale in Rome. This exhibition is bringing together Caravaggio paintings from all over the world – you can see a list of the paintings at the bottom of this Italian website. Other events have also taken place in preparation for this show, such as the public restoration of Adoration of the Shepherds. How I wish that I could go to Rome and celebrate this summer!

Anyhow, because of these celebrations, there undoubtedly has been Caravaggiomania over the past couple of months and years. Here’s the question that I would pose to Sohm: How many publications and writings have occurred recently because of the preparations for this celebration? Is it possible that we will see a decline in Caravaggiomania next year, once all of the celebrations have ended?

I was recently asked a question something like, “If you had to choose a favorite god or goddess from ancient Greek/Roman mythology, who would it be?” I quickly answered Bacchus (Dionysus), the god of wine. It’s not because I’m into bacchanalian parties (I don’t even drink!) or Dionysiac cults, but Bacchus just seems like he’d be a really entertaining friend. I bet that guy can be funny-on-command.

Anyhow, I started to think of all of the depictions of Bacchus/Dionysus in art. Since my speciality is in 17th century art, it’s not surprising that I first thought of art created in the Renaissance/Baroque periods: Michelangelo’s Bacchus (1497), Caravaggio’s Bacchus (c. 1596), Caravaggio’s Sick Bacchus (c. 1593), Velazquez’ The Triumph of Bacchus (c. 1629; see detail above), and Titian’s Bacchus and Ariadne (1520-22). While researching for this post, I also came across a fun depiction of a hefty Bacchus (1638-40) by Rubens. I think it might be my new favorite Bacchus painting, partially because the god’s face and girth remind me of a physics teacher from my old high school.

But what about ancient art? What about depictions of Bacchus/Dionysus by the Greeks and Romans themselves? I had a hard time thinking of many examples, which is partially because it’s outside my realm of expertise. I did think of three examples, though. Praxiteles’ Hermes and the Infant Dionysus (marble copy after an original of 340 BC, shown right) would have been fun to see in its pre-damaged state, since Hermes was originally dangling a bunch of grapes to tease the infant god of the vine. I also thought of the Dionysiac Mystery Frieze (Villa of the Mysteries, Pompeii, Italy, ca. 60-50 BC) and figure from the Parthenon which might be Dionysus (ca. 438-432 BC). These depictions are are a little disappointing though, since they are both damaged. (P.S. Can anyone identify the head with the bulging eyeballs on the left of the Dionysiac wall? I can’t figure it out.)

With only those few examples in mind, I began a quest to familiarize myself with depictions of Bacchus/Dionysus in classical art. I ended up finding a couple of fun examples that I thought I’d share:

Dionysus (2nd century AD; Roman copy after Hellenistic model, Louvre, Paris)

Dionysus (460 BCE; Louvre, Paris)
This is thought to be one of the earliest depictions of Dionysus as a young man (see here)

Exekias, Dionysus in a Ship, Sailing among Dolphins (Attic black-figure kylix; ca. 530 BC; Vulci)
I actually remember seeing this vase in a course on ancient Greek art. It’s a good example of how early Christians picked up on the reclining figure of Dionysus and reused that imagery in the figure of Jonah (see bottom scene from the ceiling painting in the Catacomb of Saints Peter and Marcellinus, Rome, Italy, early 4th century)

Bacchus, (3rd century, Roman mosaic, El Jem Museum, Tunisia)

The Birth of Dionysus (ca. 405-385 BC, Greek, National Archeological Museum in Taranto, Italy)
According to mythology, Dionysus was born out of Zeus’ thigh. I love this vase painting – check out Dionysus’ cute lil’ postnatal wreath!

There are a lot more depictions of Bacchus/Dionysus than the few I’ve shown here. Do you have a favorite depiction of the god of wine? If you had to pick a favorite god or goddess from classical mythology, who would it be?

Well faithful readers, I’m sure that you’re tired of hearing about Vasari in my posts. I don’t blame you. I’ve been writing Vasari-inspired posts for the past several weeks, as I’ve slowly worked my way through the Lives of the Artists text. The funny thing is, I never intended on reading the whole book this fall. I checked out Lives so that I could verify a couple of quotes, but then I just kept reading. And reading. And reading. And now, 500+ pages later, I’ve finally finished! So, this review will probably be my last Vasari-centric post, at least for a while. Here are my final thoughts on Vasari’s Lives:

– This book is simultaneously boring and fascinating. It’s difficult to read Vasari’s lengthy passages which describe works of art, especially since there were no reproductions available in my text. (This website, however, promises to display illustrations with each biography, although I don’t know if all extant reproductions will be provided for every description in the text.) However, many of Vasari’s anecdotes and short stories are really fascinating. I especailly found the story of Brunelleschi and Ghiberti’s rivalry to be quite riveting.

– Vasari’s hyperbolic writing style is a little silly. He is over-the-top in his praise for the majority of artists in the book. Likewise, much of art in the book is described as the most beautiful thing in the world – those descriptions become old after a few paragraphs. Vasari also opens many chapters with generalized, broad statements about life, happiness, or art (a type of “Happy is the man who…” statement), and that also gets a little annoying.

– I can see why Vasari is sometimes called “The Father of Art History.” His methodology of verifying multiple sources for information helped set a precedent for the discipline. He also offers critiques for works of art, and it’s easy to see how he helped to set the standard for art criticism. Even though his writing is prolix and dull at times, it’s quite interesting to see his methodology and ideological influences.

– I would recommend this book to a serious art historian. I think anyone with a mild interest in art would get bored quite easily: the interesting anecdotes and stories are embedded deep within Vasari’s text. If you want to know more interesting stories without reading the book, just let me know. I took notes!

* I am counting this book as part of Heidenkind’s Art History Challenge.