Alberti’s Window

If I was taught anything about Filarete in school, I don’t remember it. I’ve been reading up on this artist in preparation for an upcoming lecture on self-portraiture. I like that Filarete included portraits of himself and his assistants on one of his best-known works, the bronze doors for St. Peter’s Cathedral in Rome (see door on the right of the facade here). This portrait is located on the lowest part of the right valve of the doors, on the back. Filarete identifies himself and his assistants with Latin inscriptions, includes the date of completion (July 30., 1445) and then the statement: “To other artists satisfaction from payment or from pride, but for me – joyfulness.”¹

Aww, isn’t that cute? Really, Filarete seems like an interesting character. He changed his real name, Antonio di Pietro Averlino, to “Filarete”, which can be translated from Greek as “lover of virtue.”

But I have to say, the more I read about Filarete, the more I question how much he loved virtue. The artist was expelled from Rome in 1448, after being accused of stealing some relics.² And it appears that these weren’t just any relics that Filarete wanted to steal – he tried to steal the head of John the Baptist that used to be located in San Giovanni in Laterano.³ I assume this is the same head that is still in Rome, but is now located in San Silvestro in Capite (shown on the right).

Why anyone want to steal the head of John the Baptist is completely outside my realm of comprehension.

And, by the way, did you know that there are several sites which claim to have the relic of John the Baptist’s head? It’s interesting that John the Baptist was important to multiple religions and groups. Amiens Cathedral (Amiens, France) and the Umayyad Mosque (Damascus, Syria) both claim to have the head, and you can read about a few more places/groups here. There is even a palace/museum, the Munich Residenz, which currently displays the (decorated) heads of John the Baptist and his mother (click here to see a picture of the Baptist display). I don’t know if anyone is counting, but that makes a lot of heads. And I’m pretty sure that John the Baptist only had one head. Maybe the Roman officials should have given Filarete a break; if it is supposed that one of the heads is legitimate, then there is a only a one-in-six chance that Filarete actually stole something valuable.⁴

1 Emma Barker, Nick Webb, and Kim Woods, eds., The Changing Status of the Artist, (London: Yale University Press, 1999), 63.

2 Evelyn S. Welch, “Art and Authority in Milan,” no. 8846 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996), 152 (page can be accessed online here).

3 John Pope-Hennessey, Italian Renaissance Sculpture (London: Phaidon, 1958), 332.

4 It’s interesting to add that Mormons would find that none of the heads could be legitimate. They would say that the Baptist’s head is back on the resurrected man’s shoulders (see here).

I think that the painter Antonio Allegri (better known as Correggio) deserves more study and placement in art history texts. Even though his painting Jupiter and Io graced the cover of my first art history textbook, he didn’t get a whole lot of discussion in that edition of Art Through the Ages. (BTW, I noticed Jupiter’s face and hand in that painting after owning that textbook for a few years – can you spot them in the cloud?) The subsequent editions of Art Through the Ages seem to mention less and less of Correggio.

Correggio was a Late Renaissance painter from Parma, Italy. His illusionistic ceilings like Assumption of the Virgin (1526-1530, Parma Cathedral dome; shown right) were a source of inspiration for many Baroque painters who followed in the 17th century. These 17th century artists revered Correggio and considered him and Raphael to be the great Old Masters. Subsequently, Correggio’s works were widely collected; people went to great lengths (ahem, scandalous lengths) to get a hold of his art.¹ Although Correggio’s influence on Baroque painters has been mentioned before, I am particularly interested in how Correggio influenced my favorite Baroque sculptor, Bernini.

So far, I have read two comparisons between Bernini’s work and that of Corregio.² Bernini’s sculpture Truth Unveiled by Time was influenced by the figure of Minerva in Correggio’s Allegory of Virtue:

Bernini, Truth Unveiled by Time (1645-52), Borghese Gallery

Correggio, Allegory of Virtue (1528-1530), Louvre

In addition, Bernini’s St. Longinus has been compared to the Correggio’s apostles at Parma Cathedral:

Bernini, St. Longinus (1629-38); St. Peter’s Cathedral, Rome

Correggio, detail of apostles (1526-30), Parma Cathedral dome
(You can see how St. Longinus’ outstreched arms mimic that of the apostle in the red robe.)

I’ve always loved Bernini and been intrigued by Correggio. It’s fun to find a connection between these two artists, and it makes me like Correggio all the more.

Do you like Correggio? Do you know of any other connections between Correggio and Baroque artists?

1 David Ekserdjian writes, “The Este family of Modena were exceptionally insatiable and unscrupulous: they secretly replaced [Correggio’s] ‘Notte’ by a copy, the discovery of which caused a riot in Reggio Emilia.” See David Ekserdjian. “Correggio.” In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com.erl.lib.byu.edu/subscriber/article/grove/art/T019595, accessed 19 June 2009.
2 Ibid.

I know that my blog seriously is lacking in posts on medieval art. I keep starting posts on sundry medieval topics, but I always get sidetracked and excited about something else. It’s not that I dislike medieval art – I just keep getting distracted. Such it is with today’s post. I started reading something about one of the portals at Chartres cathedral, which reminded me of something else, and ultimately, I got distracted by these paintings:

Domenico Beccafumi, Saint Lucy, c. 1521

Franceso del Cossa, Saint Lucy (detail), c. 1473-74
(You can see the full image and more details here)

Go ahead and do a double-take. Don’t second guess yourself – Saint Lucy is holding a plate with a pair of eyes in the top image, and in the bottom image the saint’s eyes transposed into some type of lovely flower (!).

I think that the stories of Catholic saints are really interesting, and Saint Lucy is no exception. The Catholic Encyclopedia gives interesting details about Lucy’s life, but doesn’t mention one of the fascinating legends regarding Lucy’s eyes. I imagine that this legend has affected more representations of Lucy than anything else.

Lucy of Syracuse lived in the 4th century, during the time that Diocletian persecuted the early Christians. According to legend, Diocletian gouged out Lucy’s eyeballs but later her eyes were miraculously restored. The miracle must explain why in art she is holding her eyes, while also having eyes in her sockets. Anyhow, I’m sure that patrons and worshipers wouldn’t particularly enjoy looking at a representation of an eyeless woman. Socket-filled saints are more aesthetically pleasing.

It is thought that this legend may account for Saint Lucy being the patron saint of the blind (and those with eye trouble). The name “Lucy” means “light,” and this also might tie into the saint’s connection with sight. Today, Lucy’s remains are housed in the church of San Geremia (Venice).

There are a lot of saints that I find fascinating (you can read about thousands of them on the Patron Saint Index). However, in terms of art, I might have to argue that Saint Lucy is the most interesting and attention-grabbing.

Who are your favorite Catholic saints? Do you know of a saint symbol that is more unusual than a pair of eyeballs?

According to ancient legend, the flesh of the peacock is incapable of decay. Yep, that’s right. It was thought that a peacock’s body would never rot. It would be really cool if this was true, but it isn’t. This myth was propagated by early writers (see here for an interesting example in Augustine’s City of God).¹ As a result of this myth, the peacock has been associated with immortality in Christian art. Furthermore, because male peacocks shed and regrow their plumage each year, the peacock also is associated with resurrection.

Peacocks have appeared in Christian art for centuries. Some of the earthen lamps used by early Christians were decorated with peacocks.² One of the earliest paintings of a”Christian” peacock decorates the ceiling painting in the catacomb of Priscilla* (3rd century AD, Rome, Italy; the peacock is located in the lunette above the “Life of Priscilla” scene). Since catacombs were the tombs for early Christians, it is appropriate that a depiction of a peacock be included here, due to this assocation with resurrection and immortality. I think it is especially interesting that the peacock is located near a depiction of Christ, since Christ is also associated with resurrection and immortality (Christ is shown as the Good Shepherd in the central, circular frame).

Thousands of years later, in the Renaissance, Fra Angelio and Fra Filippo Lippi still included the peacock in their religious art (this is a detail from the Adoration of the Magi, c. 1440/1460). Perched on the stable above the Christ child, the peacock watches the wise men bring gifts to the baby. As a complement to the gold, frankincense, and myrrh, the peacock symbolizes the gift of immortality that is offered by Christianity.³

I know that peacocks have both positive and negative associations in other contexts and cultures. In America, it could be argued that peacocks are most commonly associated with vanity. I think it’s fun to look at peacocks in a different light, as a symbol of immortality.

1 To see some other examples of early writings (and a great image of a peacock from a medieval bestiary, see here).

2 “Roman Catacombs,” in The Catholic Encyclopedia (2009), accessed 18 May 2009. Found online here.

3 A complete view of the painting (and more information about it) can be found here.

*Catacomb of Priscilla image courtesy batigolix on Flickr.

I recently read George MacDonald’s novel Lilith, which caused me to think about the Jewish legend of Lilith, Adam’s first wife. Legend holds that Lilith was God’s first, unsuccessful attempt at creating a female companion for Adam. This dreadful attempt resulted in a female demon who attempts to corrupt the human race through lust.

One of the best sources for the Lilith story is a medieval text called Alphabet of Ben-Sira (c. 10th century AD). According to this text, Lilith was made from the earth at the same time as Adam. Lilith was an independent woman. Since she and Adam were created the same way, Lilith refused to acknowledge Adam’s superiority (was she the first feminist? ha!). Eventually she left Eden to consort with demons that live in the Red Sea. When making a second female companion for Adam, God made Eve out of Adam’s rib so there would be no question of superiority.¹ Some sources also refer to Lilith as a half-woman, half-serpent. Filled with jealousy for Eve, Lilith reportedly took on the form of a serpent in order to provoke the Fall of Man (as recorded in Genesis).² You can read a little more about the Lilith legend and history here.

The story of Lilith has inspired artists for many centuries. In the Middle Ages, many artists included a half-female serpent in depictions of the Temptation of Adam and Eve.³ One Renaissance example of the half-serpent Lilith is by Michelangelo, found on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. In the late 19th century, Dante Gabriel Rossetti wrote a poem about Lilith and also painted a scene of the seductress combing her golden hair (Lady Lilith, painted 1868-69, shown to the left). Scholars agree that this painting was inspired by the description of Lilith in Goethe’s Faust (Walpurgisnacht scene).²

The most interesting article I’ve read about Lilith is by Virginia Tuttle. She argues that Hieronymous Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights (1505-1510, left panel of altarpiece shown below) actually includes a depiction of Adam and Lilith, not Adam and Eve. I have always wondered why there are demonic beasts in the foreground of this Garden of Eden scene (it doesn’t seem too paradisaical, does it? Although, one can’t take Bosch too seriously; this whole altarpiece is a little absurd.). However, if one considers this woman to be Lilith instead of Eve, the presence of demonic beasts makes sense.

Tuttle also convincingly argues that this left panel scene does not conform to the iconography of traditional Creation of Eve scenes. Traditionally, Adam is shown asleep or lying on his side, so that Eve easily can be created out of his rib. In other triptychs, Bosch follows this traditional iconographic format (see details in his Last Judgment triptych and Haywain triptych). However, in the Garden of Earthly Delights, Tuttle argues that it appears Lilith has been “raised up from the earth, as if she were created independently and immediately following Adam’s creation.”² I think this is a convincing argument and I recommend that people read Tuttle’s article (it can be found in JSTOR). My only reservation about this argument is that it doesn’t seem to be widely accepted. This article was written almost twenty years ago, but recent art history texts continue to label this panel as Creation of Eve. Does anyone know of (or have) criticisms for this argument?

What do other people think?

1 To read a synopsis Lilith story in the Alphabet of Ben-Sira, see Virginia Tuttle, “Lilith in Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights,” Simiolus 15, no. 2 (1985): 123.-24.

2 Jeffrey M. Hoffeld, “Adam’s Two Wives,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, New Series 26, no. 10 (June 1968): 434.

3 For Medieval examples, see Ibid., 430-40.
4 Virginia M. Allen, “‘One Strangling Golden Hair’: Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s Lady Lilith,” The Art Bulletin 66, no. 2 (June 1984): 286.

5 Tuttle, 123.