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| Borromini, Palazzo Spada, 1652
By MISSY ROSENTHAL
Borromini's Palazzo Spada excellently displays optical illusion as well as elegant design. The palazzo was originally purchased by Cardinal Bernardino Spada in 1632 to house his extensive art collection. Spada commissioned Borromini to design a sculpture Garden attached to the original palace. The garden or Galleria was completed over the year long period between 1652 and 1653. Borromini was allotted 8.82 meters for the project, however through optical illusion he created a design that seemed much more spacious.
The architect designed short columns in the front of the corridor that progressively lengthened with a vanishing point at a sculpture. The arched roof and patterned floor in addition to the columns added to the perceived spaciousness. Borromini employed mathematicians to assist in the construction. The optical illusions in this work inspired Bernini later in his career. In conclusion, the Palazzo Spada masterfully employed the use of the optical illusion while staying true to Baroque Roman architecture.
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| Bernini, David, 1624 |
Bernini’s David was made for Scipione Borghese’s villa and completed in 1624. For unknown reasons, Bernini stopped working on Apollo and Daphne to make David in only seven months. David is about to throw the stone and which will allow him to behead Goliath. David did not wear armor, it lays at his feet, because he fought better without it. There is also a harp by his feet which shows that he was a talented musician.
A statue of David was never made like this before. The figure is in the middle of the action and life-like. His face is scrunched in concentration and his body is tense. He is in the middle of fighting, so he does not have a perfect, sublime face or display Goliath's head like other statues. He steps forward towards the viewer and twists his body in anticipation of throwing the stone.
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| The Rokeby Venus, 1651, Diego Velazquez |
By REID GUEMMER
In 1905 The National Gallery in London purchased Velazquez's The Rokeby Venus for 45,000 pounds. The painting was publicly displayed until March 11th, 1942 when the gallery
held a typical public viewing day. One of the many attendants, Mary Richardson, stowed a meat chopper in her fur hand muff that she would later use in her attempt to destroy the painting. After using the chopper to break the glass, guards ran into the room after hearing the shatter although Richardson had already slashed the painting seven times. Thankfully, the painting has since been restored to where it almost appears as if the accident had never happened.
Velazquez generally excels at any genre of painting he takes his hand at, although especially in portraiture. In the Case of The Rokeby Venus, Velazquez most likely painted the piece in Rome since it provided a more liberal audience in the art scene. As one of Velazquez's three remaining nudes, it is an admirably unique piece. There is some stipulation on whether the painting was commissioned by notorious womanizer, Gaspar Medez de Haro Bio, or whether it was Velazquez's own mistress. Either way, the painting shines a light on the road leading to artistic advancement and developing a more liberal, modern style.
The especially captivating part of this painting is Velazquez's work with reflection. Venus lays admiring the view of herself in the mirror while Cupid holds it and admires as well. Although while Venus reflects on her own beauty, she makes simultaneous eye contact with the viewer.
The especially captivating part of this painting is Velazquez's work with reflection. Venus lays admiring the view of herself in the mirror while Cupid holds it and admires as well. Although while Venus reflects on her own beauty, she makes simultaneous eye contact with the viewer.
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| Francisco de Zurbarán, Saint Agatha, 1633 |
by CHARNAI ANDERSON
If you could not tell...there on that platter Saint Agatha of Sicily holds her severed breasts. Just like most ancient anecdotes there are multiple versions of Saint Agatha's story. Saint Agatha is one of the most highly-venerated virgin martyrs of the Catholic Church. She notably fully dedicated her life to God. She had a very flattering appearance, and decided to remain celibate and devote her life entirely to Jesus and the Church in a life of prayer and service. Though she had made such a decision that did not stop men from wanting and desiring her.
One in particular was Quintianus. He was a very well respected male of high diplomatic ranking, and he thought he could force Saint Agatha to go against her vow to God. Upon many rejections he decided to have her arrested and tried before a judge. The judge was no other than Quintianus himself. He anticipated her giving in to his demands when he explained she would be tortured and and be faced with possible death. Instead she reassured her faith in God praying for courage and strength. To once again attempt to change her mind, the determinated Quintianus imprisoned her in a brothel. Through such undeserved conditions she still never lost faith. She was interrogated and during her interrogation she told him that to be a servant of Jesus Christ was her true freedom. In retaliation of her undesireable reactions, the infuriated Quintianus sent Saint Agatha to prison instead of the brothel hoping to instill more fear in her - though it possibly brought a bit of relief.
Bothered by her joy Quintianus ordered that Saint Agatha be tortured and in some versions as he noticed her endure these different forms of torture, such as being whipped or burned with torches, with a sense of cheer. He ordered that her breasts be cut off. In other versions she cut them off herself. Since Saint Agatha is the patron for breast cancer patients, rape victims, and wet nurses, I'm pretty sure all would agree that it would make the most sense for her to have severed her own breast simply showing her own power and agency as a women and also it's simpluy more badass, but we as receivers and readers are not the ones who make the story, we are just the ones who may tell it.
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| Luis de Morales, La Pietá, 1565
BY: BHux
Morales’s style of art attracted commissioners who wanted to strike grief into people's hearts, and even bring them to tears. Morales’s dramatic compositions, with few figures and dark backgrounds, aim to evoke anguish over the tragedies Christ experiences during his life. Mary cradles her lifeless son helplessly in her arms. In her face, Morales beautifully details the the pain a mother experiences from losing a child. A single, nearly translucent tear can be seen slowly dripping down her cheek. Sharp, harsh shadows not only add depth and dimension to the subjects, but highlights the intensity and seriousness in the scene. The darkness of the shadows adds weight to the characters; the viewer sees the severity of the emotional burden that weighs Mary down now that her son has died. The dark background highlights the characters in the stark light of the foreground and emphasizes their roles as the subjects of this work. In the background, miscellaneous rubble litters the ground as Mary kneels in front of the cross used in her son’s crucifixion. Even the grass she kneels on looks lifeless and defeated. Morales’s technique creates drama and intensity that makes the viewer feel they are suffering in the same dark, defeated world void of hope as Mary. The title, La Pietá, refers to the subject of the Virgin Mary holding the dead body of Jesus. Pietás began in Germany in the 14th century and quickly spread to other parts of Europe. Typically, artists use sculpture for their Pietás, but Morales chose to paint the scene. Morales was known as “El Divino,” as most of his work was religious and included a range of Madonna and Childs, Passions, and other Pietás. As was common at the time, Morales chooses to have Mary’s hands in a fairly upright position with Christ’s body slumped on the floor. Morales's decision to exclusively include Mary and Christ as subjects as the painting defines this piece as a Pieta. If he had included any other New Testament figures, it would be considered a Lamentation. Painters took artistic liberties when painting Pietás because of the broad requirements needed. In Morales’s La Pietá, he chooses to beautifully but morbidly depict Mary’s anguish over her son’s death with his dramatic, surreal style of art. |
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| Francisco de Zurbaran, St. Francis in Meditation, 1635 |
At the time Zurbaran painted this, the Counter-Reformation movement was well alive in Seville. During this religious transformation, St. Francis was adopted as an icon of the movement. St. Francis preached to the poor after he had a vision where he was instructed to save the church. St. Francis helps the movement grow, but artists like Zurbaran, Murillo, and Ribalta sometimes struggled with this transforming religion in their work.
Zurbaran was known for his still lifes and deeply moving portraits. His depiction of St. Francis is a portrait rather than a religious piece. That’s not to say the subject does not have religious meaning, but this work lacks the mystical magic of El Greco’s Burial of the Count of Orgaz or The Vision of St. Anthony by Murillo. This realistic portrait of St. Francis makes the religious ideas more acceptable to people. Rather than created a grand, overwhelming altarpiece, Zurbaran painted this understated religious portrait, which commands the same emotional attention as any work, but lacks the theatrical aspects in the work. Zurbaran appears to cut away the religious fluff, such as cherubs and heavenly clouds, to get at the real story of St. Francis and the Counter-Reformation movement.
St. Francis kneels on the ground wearing a tattered and patched robe. The worn-in parts of his robe show his religious dedication and repeated position of prayer. He firmly holds his hands together around the top of the skull. He is a dark room, but light shines from the left side, possibly from a window. The light casts shadows that add even more drama to the piece. St. Francis looks up in prayer as if he is looking for G-d, and his mouth is agape in awe as if he found G-d.
The skull rests in the hands of St. Francis and stares up at him. St. Francis also looks up, away from the memento mori, or reminder of death, and instead looks towards the heavens. Rather than stare death in the face as Zurbaran did in other depictions of St. Francis in meditation, he has him longingly look towards heaven. In this moment, St. Francis appears to be asking if G-d is present just as death is present in the work. Another way to view it is that as St. Francis comes to terms with death, but his soul also ascends to heaven and solidifies his spot as a religious icon.
Zurbaran’s attention to detail makes St. Francis appear alive. This religious portrait is better than most family portraits at the time, but St. Francis does not appear physically different from your average man. Zurbaran appears to send the message that St. Francis is not any different from himself or yourself. While St. Francis’ soul could ascend to heaven, Zurbaran that his body will die as any mortal man. To emphasize this, St. Francis is weighed down by his large robe. Any viewer at the time would be able to relate to this image and its ideas. In the time of religious transition, people searched for new understandings and connections to G-d. St. Francis’ search for G-d in the painting was accessible to the viewers, who at that time, were searching for the same thing.
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| El Greco, The Burial of the Count of Orgaz, 1586-88 |
As we learned about Spanish artists in renaissance period in class, I came across some comparisons between the art styles from Spain and Italy. I believe that Italian artists painting style is more soft and delicate, while Spanish art styles are more elaborate and bold. Especially on delicate details the Spanish artists seem to be better at it. El Greco's The Burial of the Count of Orgaz can be a great example of bold color schemes and elaborate style in Spanish paintings. Although the color choices that El Greco chose aren't bright or colorful, the combinations of gold, and yellow gray makes the painting seem alive, but also mourning.
I love that El Greco uses toned-down colors because not only it creates emotion, but also it seems modern. Its interesting that everything on this painting seems to some what mirror each other for example, the position of God is symmetric to the position of the Pope and Count if someone drew a line. The composition of this painting seem crowded, but the way each individual is laid out is pleasing to the eyes.
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| Juan Sanchez Cotan, Still Life with Game Fowl, Vegetables, and Fruit, 1602 |
In the 1600s Spanish art began to shift from the idealistic El Greco to a more naturalistic style. El Greco began the effort to emulate nature in his religious paintings, but apprentices and observing artists took naturalism to the next level. Juan Sanchez Cotan painted several still lifes of assortments of game, vegetables, and fruit, contrasted against a black background. He sets the objects in the same space, aiming to separate them as individuals. Although they lie within the same plane, Sanchez Cotan's pattern of naming his paintings puts an emphasis on individual objects. Sanchez Cotan entitled one of his most famous paintings Quince, Cabbage, Melon, and Cabbage, as it portrays one of each. Still Life with Game Fowl, Vegetables, and Fruit contains items from all three of these categories, but Sanchez Cotan fails to specify. Sanchez Cotan's careful emulation of everyday objects force the viewer to contemplate unreligious items and identify the individuality of each form. Paintings like such characterize his work and call for his recognition as the creator of the prototype for Spanish still-lifes.
A horizontal light brightens the surface of the objects and creates a shadow behind each one. Sanchez Cotan's realistically deep shadowing creates for an intimate yet separated, intense work. Sanchez Cotan's portrayal of simple and slightly unattractive everyday objects beautifies them. His ability to do so emphasizes the superiority of simple things over riches. During the period when Sanchez Cotan worked, society continued to glorify the wealthy and ruling class, and the richness of religion, in most paintings. Sanchez Cotan abandoned the usual subject matter to bring the vitality of conventional objects to life.
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| Francisco Ribalta, Christ Embracing St. Bernard, 1625-27 |
By LIBBY ROHR
As we have learned time and time again in with art history, we are skewed in favor of chance when it comes to the study of art. What paintings happen to survive define how we look at entire periods and how we bring art together in the groups we so love. Well, Ribalta bucks the system: in terms of a lack of records, in terms of the style of his painting, and most of all in terms of his religious interpretation. Francisco Ribalta existed at a time of transition for Spanish art, wedged in between the drama of early counter reformation and the brashness of up-and-coming naturalism. In his first years as a serious painter under the church patriarch, Juan de Ribera, well within the norms of late 16th century Spanish painting. His early works had all the color and intensity of an el Greco with the authenticity to the bible that church leaders so valued at this time. But when Ribera dies, so does record of Ribalta's work and when we catch sight of him again, everything is different.
As you can see in Christ Embracing St. Bernard, Caravaggio's influence has hit Spain with full force. With the intense chiaroscuro, the emphasis on earth tones, the intimacy of the scene, and the circular composition between the figures, Ribalta has given into the same fascination with Caravaggio that still haunts everyone who studies him. There's more though. Between the wrinkles, Jesus's wounds, and the more accurate proportions, we can see the emerging influences of naturalism taking hold in his work. This is the painting of a changed man.
The real reason I chose this painting, however, has little to do with the fact that Ribalta changed his own style and has more to do with what I see emerging in the Spanish art world. This momentum ends up producing some of my favorite works. The coming movement brings Christ and the saints to life and provides the first realistic exemplifications of what it is to be a holy man in a human body. "But no!" you say. "That's what all of renaissance art history has been about! Libby, we've been looking at nothing but holy men for the whole year! Surely you can't have missed all of that." To that I say, yes and no. Yes we have definitely seen a LOT of Jesus, but the image of their holiness has always been conveyed with a demure -- borderline sleepy -- expression and a halo. Caravaggio is the first one who comes close to creating depictions of these folks that look like actual people, but where his figures have gained realistic talent and emotion, they have lost the tenderness and the essence of God. Ribalta is the first to bring together both aspects. He creates figures that are lifelike and still deeply graceful. Although we're not exactly sure what brought about this shift or what his art looked like as it evolved, I'm just glad we got here. In this work Ribalta shows relatable human expression and struggle with the presence of godly people inside of their godly nature as they might look in the flesh. To me, that is an extraordinarily valuable thing.
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| Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, Christ After the Flagellation, 1665 |
By MEGAN GANNON
A rare moment, a solitary moment. Christ alone. He is not risen above his followers, or even in a powerful position. Christ appears as any other man bending down to pick up his garments.
Bartolomé Esteban Murillo worked during the Spanish Counter Reformation as a painter primarily commissioned to paint religious works, yet throughout his life he holds on to a love of still-lifes. On one hand you have the religious Murillo, set with the task of demonstrating to the Spanish people how their individual pain does not compare to the sacrifices made by celebrated religious martyrs. Although on the other, you have the Murillo who cherished the common folk, with an exposed butt cheek or a few crushed egg shells.
Although Murillo’s Christ After the Flagellation lacks a subtle apple or dwindling candle, one still feels the still-life vibes. We know Titian for his beautiful colors and flawless skies, Caravaggio for bringing blood and lust into a painting without a single fleck of red, and now for Murillo we can not think of his paintings without pausing on his innate ability to effortlessly combine the light and dark.
With his Christ, Murillo casts a light that extends down from Christ’s torso to his illuminated thigh. Murillo parallels the light on Christ’s forward thigh in Christ’s front arm. By playing a game of peek a boo with the light, Murillo makes the viewer search for the points of reflection. For Murillo the casting of light is not a task simple added to illuminate shading, but to bring another dimension into the work.
Murillo’s approach to the distribution of the light is much like his approach to Christ. Contrary to artists who favored the spiritual aspects of Christ, Murillo settles in on the human. Christ’s posture demonstrates his vulnerability, his slightly sloped shoulders accompanied by his rigid back indicate that although he appears defeated... his back, his mind, his body are not broken.
Although Christ’s head is tilted downward, his eyelids float upwards towards the top of the canvas, in a bright light of ecstasy, a more subtle type of devotion. For if he extended his head he would lose sight of the clothes that lie before him. His garments ground him to the earth, to his suffering.
Murillo casts the white cloth that surrounds Christ as the center of the painting, yet due to Christ’s extended arms and hands the viewer’s eye drifts to the slightly, dirtier, rougher version of the white cloth. Indicating that although Christ may seem content with the brightly lit cloth he would rather wear the dirtier one. With the cloths bright and dull hues, Murillo references how Christ lives life in the bright light, and how all those consuming hues have led to him on his knees in this very moment.
Within the ripples of light, one sees the bruises starting to form around Christ’s forearm, upper back, and abdomen. Murillo does not hide the pain or make it the focus. He hints at the multiple lashings it would take to accumulate the bruising, building up the pain with each and every brushstroke.
Murillo’s Christ captures the intimacy of a Caravaggio, and the darkness of a Tintoretto. Besides the lighting and intimate shading I cannot get the posture out of my head. Christ bends slightly off center, off kilter. Off in his own space. Anchored only by his hands clutching the cloth before him.
By any comparison this painting is beautiful, but more than that it’s an artist’s work. You see Murillo. Yes, you see the church that commissioned it due to the subject matter, but Murillo makes it his own. Murillo proves that power does not reside in standing over others, but in the private moments that make us we are. He makes the statement that although you might not see the bruises at first glance, it does mean that they do not exist. He charges you to take the soiled cloth and your bruises and stand up with that rigid back of yours.