Author: Miles Vasquez (Page 2 of 2)

This class saw us finishing up Mannerism art in Italy, and began to venture northward into the Protestant reformation. The Allegory of Venus by Agnolo Bronzino particularly embodied the decorative and symbolic weirdness of the Mannerist style. At this juncture, art is becoming increasingly subjective and available for viewer analysis. More often than in the past, artists are discarding traditional depictions of things, and leaning into a personal style or a specific motif. Although the north was dealing with much different pressures than Italy, there is a common theme of artists becoming more prominent through their own works–as opposed to only being employed by a ruler.

Albrecht Durer is a fantastic example of an artist finding a niche and becoming successful, both as a talented artist, and as a commonly known print producer. Growing up under the tutelage of this father, a goldsmith, Albrecht was able to later use goldsmith techniques in the creation of engravings that later made him famous. His woodcuts too, were stepping away from the tradition of art serving another purpose, and began to embrace the idea of art existing to be admired and talked about. Through his monogram, and catering to the fears of the day, he became known commonly as an artist who pushed the medium of prints. That idea, of conversation pieces, and pushing the envelope of what art should be is true of the Mannerists as well.

In class, we discussed Michelangelo, the end of the high Renaissance, and the beginnings of Mannerism. So much new happened during the Renaissance, but the idea of the Renaissance man–a person with expertise and interest in many different areas–was not new as a concept, only new as an ideal to admire. At the time, Michelangelo was seen as an ideal artist. He was prolific, he was technically brilliant, and he was a “tortured artist.” Until this time, artists often employed many assistants to run a large studio and to produce more works in a shorter amount of time, but Michelangelo worked alone. His art then, was seen less as a product of his studio, and more as a product from the individual artist. La pieta in particular showcases his singular skill in carving marble. Contrary to the established ideas of La Pieta, Michelangelo portrays the Madonna as a calm young woman, with the full grown body of Jesus draped across her lap. The sculpture is huge and filled with fabric to visually support the body–the structure is triangular and stable. Michelangelo is embodying the balance, harmony, and ideals that define the high Renaissance.

Mannerism, on the other hand, steps away from the ideal, the balanced, and the harmonious by emphasizing individual artistry, disorder, and unbalanced compositions. In one sense, the sistine chapel can be seen as a bridge between high Renaissance ideals, and Mannerist disorder–pieces of the fresco exude stability and harmony, such as the Creation of Adam, while other sections (like the Sybils, and the Ignudi) seem contorted and discordant. Use of strange colors, too, denotes a shift from the primary colors most popular in the high Renaissance. Jacopo da Pontormo was a Mannerist in full, and his Pieta exemplifies the movement, individuality, and the innovation that defines the Mannerist style.

Neo-Platonism is a prevalent theme through all of the artists we discussed in class today. Botticelli, Leonardo, and Raphael all combine the resurgence of Plato’s ideas with the humanism popular at the time. Botticelli’s Birth of Venus sees a very interesting example of female nudity that is neither moral nor erotic–it embodies the ideal of nudity as an aesthetic form. That ideal is precisely what Plato was always harping on–he believed there was literally a perfect, ideal form of anything that existed in the material world in a separate, ephemeral realm. Botticelli doesn’t say all of that with his Venus, but Neo-Platonism leaves behind much of Plato’s peculiars while it adapts itself to Christian thought.

Leonardo da Vinci made a concoction out of Neo-Platonism and Humanism with his relentless focus on systems, patterns, and structures in nature. His problem solving focus reeks of idealism–what is most interesting about the world lies in the idea and structure of it. That said, so much of his work focuses on the humanity of the world, and human virtues.

The 15th Century brought with it a lot of innovation, and to Italy, it brought the printing press. Despite the new medium of woodcuts, we begin to see Donatello, Brunelleschi, and Ghiberti excel with bronze and gold. Brunelleschi’s dome and Ghiberti’s door are also made around this time–commissions earned from their work in bronze. Additionally, linear perspective begins to take hold–they are making art that looks more real than ever without departing from older symbolism. Within this, however, there is still a focus on the ancient, and Donatello’s David is a great example of how old myths and symbols are still extremely relevant.

Donatello’s David steps away from the idea of classical poses, and begins to take on a Gothic look. Still, his nudeness indicates his position as an ancient hero–a political legend. It is this sort of symbolism and technique, tying ancient ideas and virtues to the present that characterizes the Renaissance.

The visual language greatly expanded during the Renaissance, when painters like Jan van Eyke began packing their paintings full of symbols, and expanding the possibilities of oil painting. Now, the language of paintings became covert and subtle, as opposed to the more obvious symbols of prior works. Scrolls indicating relationship the Old Testament and prophecy are prevalent, but now there are small carvings of saints, dogs representing fidelity, and discarded shoes representing holy ground. However, despite all of the innovation during this time, there is nothing being ‘reborn’ or rediscovered. The Renaissance was really more a resurgence in certain aspects of Ancient Rome.

You have to die to be reborn– so it’s much closer to a rejuvenation.

Mary being declared Theotokos by the Council of Ephesus in 431 made way for the types of altarpieces we see in the 13th century. Cimabue’s altarpiece in particular emphasizes the importance of the Madonna to the church–positioning her both as the physical church, and as the representation of the church as an institution. She is so central because she is the queen of heaven, “Our lady,” a woman chosen by god. It is then practical to depict a woman chosen by god to represent the church–also chosen by god (hopefully).

Cimabue is followed by Giotto, who continues the tradition of the Madonna as the focus of the altarpiece. He pulls directly from Cimabue, but elevates his work, turning figures into 3D, realistic people, and bringing the gothic architecture into Mary’s throne. This type of work–realistic, elevating, is an important development of the 13th century. The Lamentation has so much expression, so much feeling tucked within it, that it poses a stark contrast to Cimabue just a generation before.

The introduction to the textbook discussed the significance of art, and its function. Must art be aesthetically pleasing, and is everything around us art? I think the idea of art being a functional thing that exists in our daily life connected strongly to the birth of the altarpiece–that the value of art is also connected to the ideas it conveys and the wit with which it’s delivered. Are altarpieces witty? Maybe not, but they certainly convey a functional idea with aesthetic and technical skill. They connected the physical world with the divine–something that churches at the time were very interested in.

Beyond altarpieces, our book introduces architecture as telling a story. Churches are especially symptomatic of this, as many cathedrals were built with the intent of trying to catch a glimpse of perfect eternity and give it to churchgoers. Also the auxiliary intents of demonstrating wealth, skill, and building a place people are willing to watch a tedious ritual in. Just as different sects’ ideals differ, so too do their religious buildings. The architectural difference between a protestant church in a strip mall and St Paul’s Basilica is partially due to dogma. Each place tells a story of what is valued, the circumstances it ‘lives’ in, and the people telling the story.

In 13th century Italy, we can see the architectural difference between a state at peace and a state at war. Florence’s Palazzo della Signora is a fortress, easily defendable and ready to fight. The Doge’s palace, however, is resplendent with open spaces, arcades, and is characterized by little defensibility in general. Both of these buildings are art, and similarly valuable to history–but they serve unique functions and tell very different stories.