The article below was originally written for a popular calligraphy magazine called The Edge. It is reproduced with thanks to the editor, but without the illustrations that accompanied the original version. When it was written, I was much concerned with the future of the humanities - as it was becoming apparent that few people realised what would be lost if we were to move into the world of soundbytes and computers - the world we live in today,
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The high tradition of western culture deriving from the Renaissance has continued to exalt human creativity: right down to the cliche of the supposedly inspired, egocentric artist. The genius! But today, if you don't believe that media fame and cash are necessarily signs of artistic merit, the creative calling poses a thousand troubling questions everyday. This article takes a last look at the intoxicating culture of the middle of our millennium: a double-edged influence which still inspires us, but leaves us the great conundrum of the place of the arts in society. This is no mere academic question, especially for the many young artists, who are the confused heirs of the Renaissance ethos. Although we can no longer look at 15th century Italy with the smug assurance of 'connoisseurs', we can see how our best-loved period of art came into existence. Perhaps we can even derive some vital clues as to how we might sustain the humanities in the age of the soundbite.
To understand the origins of Renaissance art, it's essential to remember one thing: the patron was seen as the author of the project, and the artist as the worker. The tempting stereotype of the genius artist and the stupid patron is generally false in Renaissance Italy: patrons were educated clergy, able princes or guilds composed of successful tradesman. The artist was, fundamentally, a craftsman. (Calligraphers will grasp this better than most). Of course, most art was religious: churches, altars, ceremonial objects. Apart from religion, civic building was prominent. Last (but not always least) were the private commissions of prominent and wealthy individuals. And the content of these was the responsibility of the patron, not the artisan. As Hollingswoth (see Further Reading) points out, most contracts of the time specify only three things: the subject of the work, how the expensive materials would be used, and the final cost. This situation placed quite different values on the production of art. Rather than style, (which being secondary, gave somewhat more freedom to the artist), the main requirements were functionality and the display of prestige. Expensive materials displayed prestige: gold and ultramarine gave a quite different message to wood; sculptures to frescoes. Irrespective of their aesthetic qualities, frescoes were cheap, and not chosen for prominent statements. Craft was admired. The great architect Brunelleschi was venerated as an engineer rather than a stylist. Aesthetics in the modern sense only emerged slowly with the rise of humanism.
The importance of prestige derived from the particular political influences at play in Italy at the beginning of the 15th century, a convenient starting-point for studying the rise of renaissance art. For much of the Middle Ages, most of Europe had been dominated by the Church, which had basically inherited the old Roman Empire's structure. But Church power had been seriously weakened by the dispute between the Papacy and the Holy Roman Empire (deriving from Charlemagne but moving its base to Germany); the split between the Western and Eastern churches over the creed; and finally the Great Schism in Catholicism which led to the ludicrous position of there being two popes at one time. The separate Italian cities had taken advantage of the troubles of the oppressor to reassert their own identity. By the beginning of the 15th century, this had resulted in a collection of states faced with a constantly serious political situation, menaced from West and East, and in uncertain relationship to each other. Despite the illusion of unity created by her past domination by empires, Italy was a confusing aggregate of five chief courts: Milan, Naples, Ferrara, Mantua and Urbino; a politico-religious state: Venice; a republic: Florence; and Rome the centre of a world-wide religious organisation.
For the patrons, who were invariably the political leaders of their states, this placed an obvious premium on propaganda. It was essential for anyone involved in diplomacy to impress visiting dignitaries with the town cathedral, the main civic building and one's own magnificence. Even an overtly religious city like Venice placed immense value on prestige. It is reported that in 1496 during a financial crisis, the Venetian government began new work on the clock tower in the Piazza San Marco to prove it wasn't bankrupt. And the whole complex of San Marco, the Doge's palaces etc was specifically meant to impress visitors. The aristocratic, courtly nature of Italian rulership, in which even Rome and Florence shared, put an emphasis on the entertainment of dignitaries in the palaces of the rulers. Beautiful wall hangings, a collection of books (very expensive before printing), etc were all essential to assure alliances and dynastic marriages. Moreover, individual patrons made sure that their art proclaimed their own worth, beyond mere civic-diplomatic duty (they weren't just acting for the state)!
Despite the political imperatives of the time, the precarious equilibrium of the time gave a remarkable push to the spreading of the cultural movement of humanism, which spread like 'wildfire' throughout Italian life, in effect defining the Renaissance. The source of this fire, above all, was Florence. The revival of classical sentiment was especially possible here because of the traditions and attitudes of this unique city. In the wake of the weakening of imperial power, Florence had gained independence in 1183, and was at first governed by an aristocracy. But this and the succeeding century saw a great increase in trade, which created a wealthy merchant class. This led to civil strife between the merchant class supporters of the Papacy, the Guelfs, and the aristocratic supporters of the Holy Roman Empire, the Ghibellines. By the 1250s, the Guelfs had won decisively, establishing mercantile wealth as the qualification of power and guild membership. The Florentine education was quite different to the rest of Italy, emphasising reading, writing and arithmetic: essential for international bankers and traders. It's not difficult to see that such a worldy, lively republic would be perfectly suited to the rebirth of classical values: a rebirth that had a knock-on effect on the whole of Italy. Florence's thriving merchant republic bred such figures as Coluccio Salutati and Leonardo Bruni, chief of Florence's several great scholar-politicians. To quote Hollingsworth 'Bruni and his contemporaries eagerly studied the literature of antiquity and its celebration of the virtues of civic liberty, equal opportunity and freedom from oppression'. The revival of interest in the achievements of classical civilisation brought back many attitudes that were lost during the imposed international empire of the Middle Ages.
Initially, this meant that humanists tended to be drawn (perhaps willingly) into the propaganda war, lending their skills as researchers and writers to political ends. But humanism began to assert its own innate effect. Until the 15th century, there was no such thing as the modern architect. The design was specified by the patron, and the work carried out by a vast team of craftsmen supervised by a foreman. By the middle of the century, Alberti, an aristocratic scholar and humanist with no background as a foreman, could establish himself as an architect through his knowledge of the classical architectural text by Vitruvius. By exploiting the cachet of being an 'expert', he could lend himself to the propaganda wars, writing a treatise for prospective patrons, [italics] de re aedificanda, about how his building could enhance their prestige! He developed a working relationship with Ludovico Gonzaga, Duke of Mantua from 1444-1478. Mantua was a relatively insignificant, mosquito-infested town in Northern Italy, whose only claim to fame was as the birth-place of the great Latin poet Virgil. Ludovico was a master strategist and well aware of the political power of humanist rhetoric. Having established himself as a soldier and politician, he decided to emphasise the classical style instead of the gothic/chivalric style typical of the aristocratic courts. He increased his prestige by acquiring Mantegna as a court painter and Alberti as architect. The style of their work was definitely and visibly classical. Through his cultivation of the Roman court, Ludovico had managed to get his son Francesco made a cardinal: a definite diplomatic coup for Mantua, as Roman cardinals were wealthy and influential. (see illustration 3).
Meanwhile one Florentine family became so rich and influential that she almost lost her republican character. Cosimo de Medici was born into one of the wealthiest Florentine banking families. In the 1420s, his obvious aspirations for power and influence were already beginning to make him unpopular. In 1433 this led to his banishment and exile. But his position was safe: banking gave international support, and he had various and influential friends. (Florentines had banking connections in England, in the East, and in Rome). After the 1434 elections left no prominent anti-Medici officials, Cosimo returned, and in effect assumed the status of absolute ruler. Of course, like any patron, prestige and glory was an important concern (the public chapel of San Marco, well known for Fra Angelico's frescoes, was covered in Medici iconography: the coat-of-arms, and especially the prominent depiction of the Medici saints Cosmas and Damien in Fra Angelico's altarpiece).
Cosimo was always ambitious for wealth and power. But he, of all patrons gives the lie to the overly materialistic approach even of an excellent historian like Hollingsworth. No intelligent person is just interested in wealth and the short span of his life. Contemporary attempts to reconcile the Eastern and Western churches had resulted in many remarkable texts arriving in the West for the first time. Cosimo's (patronised) scholar, Marsilio Ficino, was excited enough to be translating hitherto-unknown dialogues of Plato from Greek into Latin. But when the Hermetica arrived, then thought to be ancient, sacred texts deriving from the legendary Egyptian sage Hermes, Cosimo ordered Ficino to translate them immediately. Clearly in those days a great patron could be interested in the deep philosophical questions of life, the various opinions about the soul and so on. The Hermetica support the most radically humanistic idea of all: that humanity is, at least in part, divine and can grow into that divinity. This idea obviously undercuts the dogmatic power-structure of any church, implying instead that we have the sources of truth and value within ourselves.
The mood of jubilant exultation in human potential certainly pervaded the court of Cosimo's son and successor Lorenzo de Medici. A fine poet, politician and ruler, Lorenzo is often held to he the archetypal 'Renaissance man'. Surrounded by scholars such as Ficino, the brilliant young prince, Pico della Mirandola who at the age of 23 wrote the epoch-defining speech
On the Dignity of Man, and painters like Boticelli, Lorenzo set the tone for a period of gloriously excessive humanistic culture. Definitely excessive, or after his death the Dominican monk Savanarola would have had no appeal with his gloomy religious austerities, epitomised in the 'Bonfire of the Vanities'. Tellingly, Pico joined the Savanarola faction: Florence had gone from thriving republic, to a (benevolent) near-dictatorship characterised by hedonistic excess, to religious reaction.
But the momentum of Renaissance humanism continued. The conjunction of the prestige wars and the triumphant progress of 15th century humanism had ushered in the age of the superstar artist. Pope Julius II was able to exploit the situation for a great coup. He managed to get Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel ceiling (apparently, under great duress as Michelangelo rather disliked painting, much preferring sculpture); Raphael to paint the Stanza della Segnatura; and Bramante to lay the plans for the completely renovated St. Peter's. (Typical of the changed patron-artist relation is that Bramante was not a foreman-builder, but had trained as a painter, and was thus valued for his abilities of design). This tour de force of church propaganda was, inevitably, vastly expensive. To raise money for his project, Julius II practised the sale of indulgences on such a massive scale that Martin Luther was challenged and posted his famous 95 theses in response. Ironically, the prestige wars had thus led to a period of increased religious strife and intolerance: the Reformation and the ensuing Counter-reformation-and an end to Renaissance humanism in its earlier form.
It is sadly obvious that the romantic clichŽ of the artist as depressed, self-destructive genius has reached a cul-de-sac, now an image to be sold in the pop-media like any other. Although it is, in its non-caricatured form, an important idea, it only captures one aspect of the artist: the visionary original. But it loses the essential notion of the artist as craftsman, bringing beauty into the world.
However we feel about the dangers of subordinating art to politics, it is clear that many patrons had outstandingly good taste. Such a figure as Federigo de Montefeltro is a classic example of a scholar and a gentleman, who left his beautiful palace at Urbino as a testament to his values. More importantly, the necessary concentration on public art, as something useful and enjoyable to the citizens, speaks to us of something we lack, desperately. Couldn't we do with a little more beauty in our streets, and a few less pieces of art that we're told to like by critics, and which sell for insane prices? We can't return to the 15th century, even if we wanted, but we can learn from Italy's example. When leaders have a true sense of what's good for their culture, and artists have a respected place of society, as educators and enrichers of life, without having to grovel to the rich and influential, something like 15th century Florence can come about. Until then, people that care about the humanities have to cultivate them independent of political or economic coercion. Who knows, an era in which culture inspires money may enter with the new millennium? If not...
James North
James North studied Classics and Philosophy at Oxford, followed by an MA at the Warburg Institute, London, in Combined Historical Studies (Renaissance).
Further Reading
'Patronage in Renaissance Italy' by Mary Hollingsworth (John Murray)
'Civilisation' by Kenneth Clark (Penguin)
'Gombrich on the Renaissance' by E.H. Gombrich (Phaidon)
'Humanism' by John Carroll (Fontana)
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The high tradition of western culture deriving from the Renaissance has continued to exalt human creativity: right down to the cliche of the supposedly inspired, egocentric artist. The genius! But today, if you don't believe that media fame and cash are necessarily signs of artistic merit, the creative calling poses a thousand troubling questions everyday. This article takes a last look at the intoxicating culture of the middle of our millennium: a double-edged influence which still inspires us, but leaves us the great conundrum of the place of the arts in society. This is no mere academic question, especially for the many young artists, who are the confused heirs of the Renaissance ethos. Although we can no longer look at 15th century Italy with the smug assurance of 'connoisseurs', we can see how our best-loved period of art came into existence. Perhaps we can even derive some vital clues as to how we might sustain the humanities in the age of the soundbite.
To understand the origins of Renaissance art, it's essential to remember one thing: the patron was seen as the author of the project, and the artist as the worker. The tempting stereotype of the genius artist and the stupid patron is generally false in Renaissance Italy: patrons were educated clergy, able princes or guilds composed of successful tradesman. The artist was, fundamentally, a craftsman. (Calligraphers will grasp this better than most). Of course, most art was religious: churches, altars, ceremonial objects. Apart from religion, civic building was prominent. Last (but not always least) were the private commissions of prominent and wealthy individuals. And the content of these was the responsibility of the patron, not the artisan. As Hollingswoth (see Further Reading) points out, most contracts of the time specify only three things: the subject of the work, how the expensive materials would be used, and the final cost. This situation placed quite different values on the production of art. Rather than style, (which being secondary, gave somewhat more freedom to the artist), the main requirements were functionality and the display of prestige. Expensive materials displayed prestige: gold and ultramarine gave a quite different message to wood; sculptures to frescoes. Irrespective of their aesthetic qualities, frescoes were cheap, and not chosen for prominent statements. Craft was admired. The great architect Brunelleschi was venerated as an engineer rather than a stylist. Aesthetics in the modern sense only emerged slowly with the rise of humanism.
The importance of prestige derived from the particular political influences at play in Italy at the beginning of the 15th century, a convenient starting-point for studying the rise of renaissance art. For much of the Middle Ages, most of Europe had been dominated by the Church, which had basically inherited the old Roman Empire's structure. But Church power had been seriously weakened by the dispute between the Papacy and the Holy Roman Empire (deriving from Charlemagne but moving its base to Germany); the split between the Western and Eastern churches over the creed; and finally the Great Schism in Catholicism which led to the ludicrous position of there being two popes at one time. The separate Italian cities had taken advantage of the troubles of the oppressor to reassert their own identity. By the beginning of the 15th century, this had resulted in a collection of states faced with a constantly serious political situation, menaced from West and East, and in uncertain relationship to each other. Despite the illusion of unity created by her past domination by empires, Italy was a confusing aggregate of five chief courts: Milan, Naples, Ferrara, Mantua and Urbino; a politico-religious state: Venice; a republic: Florence; and Rome the centre of a world-wide religious organisation.
For the patrons, who were invariably the political leaders of their states, this placed an obvious premium on propaganda. It was essential for anyone involved in diplomacy to impress visiting dignitaries with the town cathedral, the main civic building and one's own magnificence. Even an overtly religious city like Venice placed immense value on prestige. It is reported that in 1496 during a financial crisis, the Venetian government began new work on the clock tower in the Piazza San Marco to prove it wasn't bankrupt. And the whole complex of San Marco, the Doge's palaces etc was specifically meant to impress visitors. The aristocratic, courtly nature of Italian rulership, in which even Rome and Florence shared, put an emphasis on the entertainment of dignitaries in the palaces of the rulers. Beautiful wall hangings, a collection of books (very expensive before printing), etc were all essential to assure alliances and dynastic marriages. Moreover, individual patrons made sure that their art proclaimed their own worth, beyond mere civic-diplomatic duty (they weren't just acting for the state)!
Despite the political imperatives of the time, the precarious equilibrium of the time gave a remarkable push to the spreading of the cultural movement of humanism, which spread like 'wildfire' throughout Italian life, in effect defining the Renaissance. The source of this fire, above all, was Florence. The revival of classical sentiment was especially possible here because of the traditions and attitudes of this unique city. In the wake of the weakening of imperial power, Florence had gained independence in 1183, and was at first governed by an aristocracy. But this and the succeeding century saw a great increase in trade, which created a wealthy merchant class. This led to civil strife between the merchant class supporters of the Papacy, the Guelfs, and the aristocratic supporters of the Holy Roman Empire, the Ghibellines. By the 1250s, the Guelfs had won decisively, establishing mercantile wealth as the qualification of power and guild membership. The Florentine education was quite different to the rest of Italy, emphasising reading, writing and arithmetic: essential for international bankers and traders. It's not difficult to see that such a worldy, lively republic would be perfectly suited to the rebirth of classical values: a rebirth that had a knock-on effect on the whole of Italy. Florence's thriving merchant republic bred such figures as Coluccio Salutati and Leonardo Bruni, chief of Florence's several great scholar-politicians. To quote Hollingsworth 'Bruni and his contemporaries eagerly studied the literature of antiquity and its celebration of the virtues of civic liberty, equal opportunity and freedom from oppression'. The revival of interest in the achievements of classical civilisation brought back many attitudes that were lost during the imposed international empire of the Middle Ages.
Initially, this meant that humanists tended to be drawn (perhaps willingly) into the propaganda war, lending their skills as researchers and writers to political ends. But humanism began to assert its own innate effect. Until the 15th century, there was no such thing as the modern architect. The design was specified by the patron, and the work carried out by a vast team of craftsmen supervised by a foreman. By the middle of the century, Alberti, an aristocratic scholar and humanist with no background as a foreman, could establish himself as an architect through his knowledge of the classical architectural text by Vitruvius. By exploiting the cachet of being an 'expert', he could lend himself to the propaganda wars, writing a treatise for prospective patrons, [italics] de re aedificanda, about how his building could enhance their prestige! He developed a working relationship with Ludovico Gonzaga, Duke of Mantua from 1444-1478. Mantua was a relatively insignificant, mosquito-infested town in Northern Italy, whose only claim to fame was as the birth-place of the great Latin poet Virgil. Ludovico was a master strategist and well aware of the political power of humanist rhetoric. Having established himself as a soldier and politician, he decided to emphasise the classical style instead of the gothic/chivalric style typical of the aristocratic courts. He increased his prestige by acquiring Mantegna as a court painter and Alberti as architect. The style of their work was definitely and visibly classical. Through his cultivation of the Roman court, Ludovico had managed to get his son Francesco made a cardinal: a definite diplomatic coup for Mantua, as Roman cardinals were wealthy and influential. (see illustration 3).
Meanwhile one Florentine family became so rich and influential that she almost lost her republican character. Cosimo de Medici was born into one of the wealthiest Florentine banking families. In the 1420s, his obvious aspirations for power and influence were already beginning to make him unpopular. In 1433 this led to his banishment and exile. But his position was safe: banking gave international support, and he had various and influential friends. (Florentines had banking connections in England, in the East, and in Rome). After the 1434 elections left no prominent anti-Medici officials, Cosimo returned, and in effect assumed the status of absolute ruler. Of course, like any patron, prestige and glory was an important concern (the public chapel of San Marco, well known for Fra Angelico's frescoes, was covered in Medici iconography: the coat-of-arms, and especially the prominent depiction of the Medici saints Cosmas and Damien in Fra Angelico's altarpiece).
Cosimo was always ambitious for wealth and power. But he, of all patrons gives the lie to the overly materialistic approach even of an excellent historian like Hollingsworth. No intelligent person is just interested in wealth and the short span of his life. Contemporary attempts to reconcile the Eastern and Western churches had resulted in many remarkable texts arriving in the West for the first time. Cosimo's (patronised) scholar, Marsilio Ficino, was excited enough to be translating hitherto-unknown dialogues of Plato from Greek into Latin. But when the Hermetica arrived, then thought to be ancient, sacred texts deriving from the legendary Egyptian sage Hermes, Cosimo ordered Ficino to translate them immediately. Clearly in those days a great patron could be interested in the deep philosophical questions of life, the various opinions about the soul and so on. The Hermetica support the most radically humanistic idea of all: that humanity is, at least in part, divine and can grow into that divinity. This idea obviously undercuts the dogmatic power-structure of any church, implying instead that we have the sources of truth and value within ourselves.
The mood of jubilant exultation in human potential certainly pervaded the court of Cosimo's son and successor Lorenzo de Medici. A fine poet, politician and ruler, Lorenzo is often held to he the archetypal 'Renaissance man'. Surrounded by scholars such as Ficino, the brilliant young prince, Pico della Mirandola who at the age of 23 wrote the epoch-defining speech
On the Dignity of Man, and painters like Boticelli, Lorenzo set the tone for a period of gloriously excessive humanistic culture. Definitely excessive, or after his death the Dominican monk Savanarola would have had no appeal with his gloomy religious austerities, epitomised in the 'Bonfire of the Vanities'. Tellingly, Pico joined the Savanarola faction: Florence had gone from thriving republic, to a (benevolent) near-dictatorship characterised by hedonistic excess, to religious reaction.
But the momentum of Renaissance humanism continued. The conjunction of the prestige wars and the triumphant progress of 15th century humanism had ushered in the age of the superstar artist. Pope Julius II was able to exploit the situation for a great coup. He managed to get Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel ceiling (apparently, under great duress as Michelangelo rather disliked painting, much preferring sculpture); Raphael to paint the Stanza della Segnatura; and Bramante to lay the plans for the completely renovated St. Peter's. (Typical of the changed patron-artist relation is that Bramante was not a foreman-builder, but had trained as a painter, and was thus valued for his abilities of design). This tour de force of church propaganda was, inevitably, vastly expensive. To raise money for his project, Julius II practised the sale of indulgences on such a massive scale that Martin Luther was challenged and posted his famous 95 theses in response. Ironically, the prestige wars had thus led to a period of increased religious strife and intolerance: the Reformation and the ensuing Counter-reformation-and an end to Renaissance humanism in its earlier form.
It is sadly obvious that the romantic clichŽ of the artist as depressed, self-destructive genius has reached a cul-de-sac, now an image to be sold in the pop-media like any other. Although it is, in its non-caricatured form, an important idea, it only captures one aspect of the artist: the visionary original. But it loses the essential notion of the artist as craftsman, bringing beauty into the world.
However we feel about the dangers of subordinating art to politics, it is clear that many patrons had outstandingly good taste. Such a figure as Federigo de Montefeltro is a classic example of a scholar and a gentleman, who left his beautiful palace at Urbino as a testament to his values. More importantly, the necessary concentration on public art, as something useful and enjoyable to the citizens, speaks to us of something we lack, desperately. Couldn't we do with a little more beauty in our streets, and a few less pieces of art that we're told to like by critics, and which sell for insane prices? We can't return to the 15th century, even if we wanted, but we can learn from Italy's example. When leaders have a true sense of what's good for their culture, and artists have a respected place of society, as educators and enrichers of life, without having to grovel to the rich and influential, something like 15th century Florence can come about. Until then, people that care about the humanities have to cultivate them independent of political or economic coercion. Who knows, an era in which culture inspires money may enter with the new millennium? If not...
James North
James North studied Classics and Philosophy at Oxford, followed by an MA at the Warburg Institute, London, in Combined Historical Studies (Renaissance).
Further Reading
'Patronage in Renaissance Italy' by Mary Hollingsworth (John Murray)
'Civilisation' by Kenneth Clark (Penguin)
'Gombrich on the Renaissance' by E.H. Gombrich (Phaidon)
'Humanism' by John Carroll (Fontana)