anne varick l auder is Curator of the Katrin Bellinger collection. Previously, she held curatorial positions in the Drawings Department, Morgan Library & Museum, the Drawings Department, J. Paul Getty Museum, the Print Department, New York Public Library, and the Photographs Department, National Portrait Gallery. She completed a monograph and catalogue raisonné on the Venetian artist, Battista Franco, for her PhD at the University of Cambridge in 2004, and has authored numerous articles and exhibition catalogue entries on the artist. Her book, Dessins italiens du Musée du Louvre: Battista Franco, was published in 2009 to accompany the first ever exhibition devoted to the artist, held at the Louvre in 2009–10. Front cover: Hubert Robert, The Artist Seated at a Table, Drawing a Bust of a Woman (detail), c. 1763–65, cat. 17 (p. 160) Back cover: Federico Zuccaro, Taddeo in the Belvedere Court in the Vatican Drawing the Laocoön, c. 1595, cat. 5 (p. 100) Drawing after the Antique has been a central practice of Western European artists for half a millennium. This exhibition explores the principles and practices that underlay this phenomenon through a selection of drawings, prints and paintings spanning the 16th to the 19th century, including iconic images and others that have rarely been seen. DRAWN FROM THE ANTIQUE Artists & the Classical Ideal adriano aymonino is Lecturer and Coordinator of Undergraduate Programmes in the Department of Art History at the University of Buckingham. He obtained his PhD at the University of Venice with a dissertation on the patronage and collecting of the 1st Duke and Duchess of Northumberland in eighteenth-century England, which will be published by Yale University Press. His main interest is the reception of the classical tradition in the Early Modern period, with a particular focus on eighteenth-century Britain. He organised an exhibition on the Topham Collection at Eton in 2013 and is currently preparing with Eloisa Dodero a revised edition of Francis Haskell and Nicholas Penny’s Taste and the Antique. drawn from the antique Artists & the Classical Ideal This catalogue examines one of the most important educational tools and sources of inspiration for Western artists for over five hundred years: drawing after the Antique. From the Renaissance to the 19th century, classical statues offered young artists idealised models from which they could learn to represent the volumes, poses and expressions of the human figure and which, simultaneously, provided perfected examples of anatomy and proportion that they could apply in their own creations. For established artists, antique statues and reliefs presented an immense repertory of forms that they could use as inspiration for their own creations. Through a selection of thirty-nine drawings, prints and paintings, covering more than four hundred years and by artists as different as Federico Zuccaro, Hendrick Goltzius, Peter Paul Rubens, Charles-Joseph Natoire, Henry Fuseli and Joseph Mallord William Turner, this catalogue provides the first overview of a phenomenon crucial for the understanding and appreciation of European art. drawn from the antique Artists & the Classical Ideal drawn from the antique Artists & the Classical Ideal Adriano Aymonino and Anne Varick Lauder with contributions from Eloisa Dodero, Rachel Hapoienu, Ian Jenkins, Jerzy Kierkuć-Bieliński, Michiel C. Plomp and Jonathan Yarker sir john soane’s museum 2015 Drawn from the Antique: Artists & the Classical Ideal An exhibition at Teylers Museum, Haarlem 11 March – 31 May 2015 Sir John Soane’s Museum, London 25 June –26 September 2015 This catalogue has been generously supported by the Tavolozza Foundation and the Wolfgang Ratjen Stiftung, Vaduz This exhibition has been made possible through the support of the Government Indemnity Scheme Sir John Soane’s Museum is a non-departmental body and is funded by the Department for Culture, Media and Sport Contents Preface Abraham Thomas 6 Introduction Adriano Aymonino and Anne Varick Lauder 7 Acknowledgements 9 Ideal Beauty and the Canon in Classical Antiquity Ian Jenkins and Adriano Aymonino 11 ‘Nature Perfected’: The Theory & Practice of Drawing after the Antique Adriano Aymonino 15 Catalogue 79 Bibliography 232 Photo credits 254 Published in Great Britain 2015 Sir John Soane’s Museum, 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London, wc2a 3bp Tel: 020 7405 2107 www.soane.org - Reg. Charity No. 313609 Text © the listed authors All photographs © as listed on pages 254–56 authors of catalogue entries AA: Adriano Aymonino: cats 12, 15, 16, 20, 21, 22, 25, 26, 27 ISBN (paperback): 978-0-9573398-9-7 ISBN (hardback): 978-0-9932041-0-4 AVL: Anne Varick Lauder: cats 3, 5, 10, 12, 13, 14, 17, 18, 19, 23, 30, 34, 35 ED: Eloisa Dodero: cats 9, 22 Designed and typeset in Albertina and Requiem by Libanus Press Ltd, Marlborough Printed by Hampton Printing (Bristol) Ltd JK-B: Jerzy Kierkuć-Bieliński: cat. 29 JY: Jonathan Yarker: cats 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 Frontispiece: Michael Sweerts, A Painter’s Studio (detail), c. 1648–50, cat. 12 (p. 134) Page 10: Hendrick Goltzius, The Apollo Belvedere (detail), 1591, cat. 6 (p. 107) Page 78: William Pether, An Academy (detail), 1772, cat. 24 (p. 189) MP: Michiel C. Plomp: cats 6, 7, 8, 11, 31, 32 RH: Rachel Hapoienu: cats 1, 2, 4, 33 Preface Introduction a b ra ha m thoma s, dir ec tor , s ir joh n s oa ne ’s mu s e um adri ano aymonino and anne varic k l auder This exhibition examines the crucial role played by antique sculpture in artistic education and practice, a theme which lies at the heart of the conception of Sir John Soane’s Museum. As a young man studying at the Royal Academy, Soane had won a travelling scholarship to embark on a Grand Tour. This formed the basis of a classical education which would prove to be an enduring influence on his subsequent career as one of the most important architects of the Regency period. The drawings, paintings and prints selected for this exhibition offer a glimpse into an intriguing world of academies, artists’ workshops and private studios, each populated with carefully chosen examples of sculpture which provide compelling snapshots of the classical world. Similarly, within his house and museum at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Soane created his own bespoke arrangements of classical sculpture and architectural fragments, providing educational tools which defined an informal curriculum for both his Royal Academy students and the apprenticed pupils working within his on-site architectural office. In fact, one could consider much of Soane’s museum as an extended series of studio spaces, intended for academic improvement and personal inspiration. The concept of this exhibition evolved from a series of conversations between my predecessor, Tim Knox, and the collector, Katrin Bellinger, to see if there might be some way to showcase Katrin’s extraordinary, and unique, collection of artworks depicting artists’ studios. I would like to extend a special thanks to Katrin, not only for her generosity in allowing us to reveal these wonderful pieces to a wider audience, but also for all her hard work in securing some stunning loans from international collections. We are 6 grateful for the loans from the J. Paul Getty Museum, the Rijksmuseum, the Kunsthaus Zürich, the Kunstbibliothek in Berlin; and for the UK loans we would like to thank our colleagues from the British Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Royal Academy of Arts and the Courtauld Gallery. Drawn From The Antique marks the first ever collaboration between Sir John Soane’s Museum and the Teylers Museum, and I am grateful to the Director, Marjan Scharloo, for agreeing to host the first leg of this exhibition, and also to her colleague, Michiel Plomp, Chief Curator of the Art Collection, for facilitating the exhibition in Haarlem. It feels rather appropriate that the founders of our two institutions, Pieter Teyler and John Soane, were both collectors with singular visions of how their museums should provide a resource for academic study and creative practice. This exhibition would not have been possible without the fantastic curatorial team that Katrin assembled, consisting of Curators Adriano Aymonino and Anne Varick Lauder, and Curatorial Assistant Rachel Hapoienu. I would like to express my gratitude to them for bringing the project to fruition. I would also like to thank Professor Paul Joannides for his editing work on the catalogue and all of my colleagues at the Soane who worked to make this exhibition a reality, especially Sue Palmer, Dominique Jenkins and Jerzy Kierkuć-Bieliński, as well as Susan Wightman at Libanus Press for designing such a beautiful catalogue. Finally, I would like to extend a special thanks to the Tavolozza Foundation and the Wolfgang Ratjen Stiftung, Vaduz, for their generous support of the exhibition and the catalogue. This exhibition explores one of the central practices of Western European artists for over five hundred years: drawing after the Antique. From the Renaissance to the 19th century, classical sculpture provided young artists with models from which they could learn how to represent the volumes, poses and expressions of the human figure and which, simultaneously, offered perfected examples of anatomy and proportion. For established artists, antique statues and reliefs offered an immense repertory of forms that served as inspiration for their own work. Because the imitation of Nature was the principal aim of artists during this time, education in workshops and academies revolved around the study of geometry and perspective – to learn how to represent space – and anatomy, the Antique and the live model – to learn how to deploy the human body convincingly in painting and sculpture. This practical approach to the Antique – as a convenient model for depicting the human form – was accompanied by a more theoretical one, for classical statues were increasingly perceived as benchmarks of perfection and ideal beauty, the physical result of a careful selection of the best parts of Nature. Classical authors, such as Vitruvius, Cicero or Pliny, revealed to Renaissance artists and theoreticians that antique sculpture was based on a system of harmonic proportions resting on the mathematical relationships between the parts of the body and the whole: some of the most famous statues therefore were believed to embody the same rational principles on which the harmony of the cosmos was based. It is the powerful combination of the rational and universal principles that the Antique expressed, together with its extreme versatility as a model of forms, that guaranteed its ubiquitous success in the Early Modern period – that is from the 15th to the 19th century. Young students in the early stages of their training were encouraged to assimilate fully the idealised beauty of classical statues through the constant copying of plaster casts, before being exposed to the ‘imperfections of Nature’ as embodied by the live model. This was intended to provide them with standards of perfection that could then be infused into their own artistic creations. For more mature artists, it was considered essential to travel to Rome, where they could confront the venerated antique originals and assemble their own drawn collections of models, a ritual that started in the 16th century and reached its peak in the 18th. As drawing was considered the most intellectual part of art – the first visual manifestation of the artistic idea – drawing after the Antique, as a union of intellectual medium and intellectual subject, became an integral part of the learning process and the activity of artists. It proved crucial for legitimising the ambitions of artists who increasingly fashioned themselves as practitioners of a liberal and intellectual activity. So widespread was it, that representing the practice itself developed into an artistic genre. Through a selection of thirty-nine drawings, prints and paintings exemplifying this fascinating category of images, by artists as diverse as Federico Zuccaro, Hendrick Goltzius, Peter Paul Rubens, CharlesJoseph Natoire, Henry Fuseli and Joseph Mallord William Turner, the present catalogue attempts to analyse this enduring phenomenon. We begin with the first images relating to early Italian academies and with portraits, in which the Antique starts to appear in the form of statuettes or sculptural fragments (cats 1–4). We then proceed to the first surviving image of artists drawing after celebrated statues – the Apollo Belvedere and the Laocoön – in the Belvedere Courtyard of the Vatican (cat. 5), works that served as models for almost four hundred years. The next group of exhibits explores the varied approaches of Northern artists to canonical sculptures in Rome and the ways in which the Italian academic curriculum – with the Antique as one of its cornerstones – was exported to Northern Europe in the 17th century (cats 6–9, 11–14). Two of the most influential Italian and Dutch drawing-books for students on display here (cats 10–11), were powerful vehicles for the dissemination of the classical ideal in the North. Significantly, they illustrate the practice of copying after the Antique in their frontispieces. Next follow two of the most relevant images embodying the classicist credos of the Roman and Parisian academies of art, which, in the 17th century, finally codified a structured teaching curriculum that would be exported to the rest of Europe (cats 15–16). First-hand experience of the Antique in Rome during the 18th century is the subject of the next section (cats 17–22), concluding with Fuseli’s magnificent drawing of the colossal fragments of the statue of Constantine in the Capitoline. This celebrated image expresses a new proto-Romantic attitude towards classical sculpture, based on emotion and empathy rather than on the study of its idealised beauty and proportions. The next group 7 of works shows the embracing of classicism and the establishment of an academic curriculum in 18th-century Britain (cats 23–29), a nation that would have a crucial role in disseminating the classical ideal far beyond the borders of Europe, to the most remote corners of its vast Empire. The final section of this exhibition covers the widespread use of plaster casts in 19th-century European academies and their frequent appearance in domestic interiors, a clear sign of the commercialisation and further diffusion of the Antique (cats 30–35). But while classical sculpture became a familiar presence in bourgeois homes through inexpensive reproductions and while its role within academic curricula remained well-established, the Antique as a canonical model began to be challenged by the more dynamic and innovative forces of European art, a challenge that led to its rapid decline. The last exhibit (cat. 35), where a plaster copy of a celebrated ancient bust of Homer is placed on equal footing with a bust of Shakespeare, reproductions of 17th- and 18th-century French sculptures, and even with a multicoloured Staffordshire porcelain parrot, reveals how by the mid-19th century the Antique had become just one of the many historical references in an increasingly diversified and modern society. Although focused on images representing the relationship of artists with the Antique, that is, the act of copying after it, this catalogue includes also some examples of the end product of this practice. Among them is a selection of some of the most celebrated drawings after classical statues by Hendrick Goltzius, destined to be disseminated through engravings (cats 6-8). We have also included drawings by Rubens and Turner showing the widespread practice of setting the live model in the pose of antique statues (cats 9, 27b), and an early academic study by Turner of the Belvedere Torso (cat. 27a), made two centuries after Goltzius had copied the same celebrated fragment (cat. 8). Three images show also how artists portrayed themselves in the presence of the Antique (cats 3, 19, 35), a practice that began in the 16th century and blossomed fully in the 18th. The point of view adopted by this catalogue is always that of the artists: the forms and ideas that they sought in the classical models, the diversity of their approaches and the kinds of images they created to show their own relationship with the Antique. Therefore, the attitudes towards classical statuary of collectors and antiquarians, although touched upon in the essays and in some of the entries, are not discussed at length. We also decided to focus primarily on free-standing nude sculpture, as opposed to reliefs, as the former was the main focus of artists in terms of the study of proportions, anatomy and idealised beauty, while the latter served as compositional models and inspiration for narrative scenes; drawings after reliefs would be the subject of a different exhibition. The choice of the two venues is entirely appropriate. Haarlem was one of the earliest Northern cities where the 8 Antique was a subject of debate – within the private academy established in the 1580s by Karel Van Mander, Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem and Hendrick Goltzius – whose magnificent series of drawings after canonical classical statues is preserved in the Teylers Museum (cats 6–8). Sir John Soane’s Museum, on the other hand, represents one of the last incarnations of the classicist curriculum. But it was an eccentric, kaleidoscopic academy where, in the name of the union of the arts, the study of architecture was integrated with the copying of paintings, classical statues and plaster casts, to attain that mastery of drawing of human forms advocated by Vitruvius as a crucial element in the education of the young architect. The idea for this exhibition has evolved over the last five years. Katrin Bellinger, who began collecting in 1985 in parallel to her career as a dealer in Old Master drawings, had long wanted to showcase her little-known private collection, which is based on a singular theme: the artist at work. Fascinated by the creative process and the mystique surrounding it, she chose to focus on acquiring works that would not be in conflict with her dealing interests. Since the mid-1980s, her collection has expanded considerably and now includes over 900 examples in a range of media – drawings, paintings, prints, photographs and sculpture – from the Renaissance to the present day. Rather than stage an obvious ‘greatest hits’ exhibition focusing on famous names, our idea was to show little-known, rarely exhibited, works and to present aspects of the collection, which had been neglected by scholarship in an attempt to open new academic ground. A preliminary step was made by Tim Knox, then Director of the Soane, who approached Katrin to enquire whether she might showcase works from her collection in the newly renovated upstairs gallery. It soon became apparent that the theme of the relationship between the artist and antique sculpture, which seemed so suitable to the venue of an architect’s house-academy-museum with its rooms filled with antiquities and plaster reproductions, would have resonance with a wider audience. Accompanying a selection of works from the Bellinger collection we have attempted to assemble – through loans from ten museums in Europe and North America – some of the most iconic images, and others less well-known, that demonstrate the evolution of the practice of drawing after the Antique over an extended period. Almost half of the works on display have never previously been exhibited and most have not been shown either in the United Kingdom or in the Netherlands. The resulting display provides the first overview of a phenomenon crucial for the understanding and appreciation of European art, which lays stress on the creative processes of Western artists and on the norms and conventions that guided and inspired their art for more than half a millennium. Acknowledgements Presenting a relatively small yet coherent display on a topic that encompasses one of the major themes in the history of Western Art has been a serious challenge but a most pleasurable one. Our exhibition could not have been accomplished without the unwavering support of Katrin Bellinger, who generously agreed to part with fourteen choice examples from her little-seen private collection of images of artists at work and who has remained committed to the project since its inception: to Katrin we owe our deepest gratitude. For the other twenty-one works on display, we have benefited from the great generosity of colleagues at ten lending institutions for agreeing to send works in their care – some of them among their most popular and requested – to one or both venues of the exhibition. In the UK, we owe sincere thanks to Hugo Chapman at the British Museum, Stephanie Buck at the Courtauld Gallery, Ruth Hibbard and Helen Dawson at the Victoria and Albert Museum, Charles Saumarez Smith, Helen Valentine and Rebecca Comber at the Royal Academy of Art. Abroad we wish to acknowledge the generosity of Lee Hendrix and Julian Brooks at the J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, Bernhard von Waldkirch at the Kunsthaus Zürich, Taco Dibbits at the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam and Katrin Käding at the Kunstbibliothek, Berlin. We are enormously grateful both to Sir John Soane’s Museum and the Teylers Museum for hosting this two-venue exhibition. Thanks are due to the former and the present Director of the Soane, Tim Knox and Abraham Thomas, for their support for the project, and to their colleagues, Sue Palmer, Archivist and Head of Library Services, for copyediting the manuscript and Dominique Jenkins, Interim Exhibitions Curator, for assisting with the loans. Marjan Scharloo, Director of the Teylers and Michiel Plomp, Chief Curator of the Art Collection, kindly agreed to house the first showing of the exhibition and to lend works from their collection. The catalogue was thoughtfully designed and produced by Susan Wightman at Libanus Press, to whom we owe our warmest thanks, and printed by Hampton Printing in Bristol. Curatorial Assistant, Rachel Hapoienu, oversaw the photography and contributed immeasurably to the catalogue. Other curatorial colleagues have given their time and effort in preparing scholarly entries or essays: Eloisa Dodero, Ian Jenkins, Jerzy Kierkuć-Bieliński, Michiel Plomp and Jonathan Yarker. Special thanks are due to Eloisa, for sharing her infinite knowledge of antique sources. Finally, we are greatly indebted to Paul Joannides for reading various draughts of the text. Any and all errors are entirely our own. We wish to acknowledge warmly Paul Taylor and Rembrandt Duits for granting us unfettered access to the Photographic Collection of the Warburg Institute and other colleagues and friends who assisted in various ways in bringing this project to fruition: Mattia Biffis, Rhea Blok, Yvonne Tan Bunzl, Wolf Burchard, Elisa Camboni, Martin Clayton, Zeno Colantoni, Paul Crane, Daniela Dölling, Alexander Faber, Cameron Ford, Ketty Gottardo, Martin Grässle, Axel Griesinger, Florian Härb, Eileen Harris, John Harris, Niall Hobhouse, Matthew Hollow, Peter Iaquinandi, Catherine Jenkins, Theda Jürjens, Jill Kraye, David Lachenmann, Alastair Laing, Barbara Lasic, Huigen Leeflang, Cornelia Linde, Anne-Marie Logan, Olivia MacKay, Austeja MacKelaite, Bernard Malhamé, Patrick Matthiesen, Mirco Modolo, Jane Munro, Lorenzo Pericolo, Benjamin Peronnet, Camilla Pietrabissa, Eugene Pooley, Pier Paolo Racioppi, Cristiana Romalli, Gregory Rubinstein, Susan Russell, Nick Savage, Nicolas Schwed, Ilaria Sgarbozza, Kim Sloane, Perrin Stein, MaryAnne Stevens, Marja Stijkel, Michael Sullivan, Cecilia Treves, Michiel Ilja M. Veldman, Anna Villari, Rebecca Wade and Alison Wright. Support for the exhibition and catalogue was provided by the Tavolozza Foundation and the Wolfgang Ratjen Stiftung, Vaduz, to whom we owe our sincere gratitude. Adriano Aymonino & Anne Varick Lauder London, 1 January 2015 9 Ideal Beauty and the Canon in Classical Antiquity i an je nki ns and a dri ano aymoni no The long practice of artists drawing from ancient sculptures and plaster casts is here represented by a remarkable collection of works. The viewer is reminded of the substantial role that the Antique has played in the education and inspiration of artists for more than four hundred years. Sir John Soane himself famously mixed marble sculpture with plaster reproductions in the learned and decorative interiors of his house-museum. A constant theme in ancient Greek thought is that behind the surface chaos of the tangible world, there is a hidden order (kósmos). Harmony occurred when, for example, opposite forces in nature, such as wet and dry, hot and cold, strong and weak, were properly balanced. In medicine, well-being depended upon a set of complementary humours. Reason (logos) was the weapon wielded in a constant struggle against the dark forces of the natural and artificial worlds alike. Numbers played an especially important role in the Greek world view. Mathematics was most probably acquired from Babylon in modern Iraq and first took root in the east Greek cities of Ionia, in present-day western Turkey in the 6th century bc. Pythagoras’ discovery of the measurable intervals of the musical scale seemed to demonstrate that numbers held the key to the mysteries of the harmony of the Universe.1 Pythagoras was born on the Aegean island of Samos, which was just one of the many city states that participated in the Ionian Enlightenment with its concentration of natural philosophers known as the Pre-Socratics. Applied mathematics found new purpose in the creation of colossal temples in an architectural culture that took its inspiration from that of Egypt and Mesopotamia. The technical aspects of this new tectonic art were to be explained in treatises that were the first prose writing in ancient Greek. None of them survive but they were known to the Roman historian and architect Vitruvius (80/70 bc – post c. 15 bc), who used them extensively for his own book, De Architectura (On Architecture), c. 30–20 bc. His is the only complete treatise on classical architecture to have survived from antiquity. It was the main channel through which knowledge of Greek architectural principles was handed down to the Renaissance, and the impact it had on Western architecture was paramount (see Appendix, no. 1). In the opening years of the 6th century bc, the first colossal temples were erected and foremost among them was the archaic temple of Artemis at Ephesus. Its forest of columns, some of them carved pictorially and its painted and gilded mouldings must have been breath-taking to those who saw them for the first time. The Ionian Enlightenment was terminated by the catastrophic destruction of Miletus in 494 bc by the Persian army. The Persians next set out to punish Athens for her instigation of the revolt. The failure of two Persian invasions in a series of battles on land and sea served as a catalyst for a great surge of art and thought in the city that was the world’s first democracy. It was in Athens that humanity’s modern sense of self was first forged. It was there that humankind acquired a unique and individual soul with personal responsibility for its welfare. Whereas the Biblical conception of the universe is theocentric, in classical Greece mankind placed itself at the centre of the universe and was, as Protagoras (c. 490–420 bc) famously said, ‘the measure of all things’.2 Protagoras’ contemporary Socrates (c. 470–399 bc) led the way in a new moral philosophy aimed at penetrating the dark hinterland of human existence. Humanism prompted a new realism in art that represented the human body in a naturalistic way that had not previously been seen nor anticipated. There were those, however, who held a less positive view of human capacity for self-determination. A recurring theme in the philosophy of Socrates’ famous pupil, Plato (428/423 bc – c. 348 bc), is the theory of mimesis (imitation), whereby art is twice removed from reality by virtue of its being a copy of nature, which is itself a copy of the hidden, intangible reality of the abstract world of Ideas. In Plato’s kósmos, true reality is not to be found in nature and cannot be detected by the physical senses. Rather, reality is invisible and exists beyond the material world and can be grasped only through intellectual effort. Ordinary mortals will never know it, and must be governed by those with the intellectual capacity to achieve true knowledge and understanding of universal laws. Nature is a copy of this unseen realm, so Plato argued and, as an imitation of nature, art is twice removed from the metaphysical world. There could be no place for the 11 pretensions of artists in the world of true reality. Only the pure and virtuous abstract beauty of the Forms was to be found in the land of Ideas. The clearest and most developed account of Plato’s condemnation of art and his reasons for banning it from his ideal state are to be found in the Socratic dialogue known to modern readers as The Republic.3 The whole text is beautifully crafted in a series of carefully honed set-piece speeches in which, and the irony appears to have been lost on Plato, he demonstrates his skills as a literary artist. It is difficult to say to what extent Plato puts words into or takes them out of the mouth of Socrates. The historical Socrates appears never to have written anything himself. We can at least be sure of Socrates’ insistence upon the imperative to pursue true knowledge as distinct from mere opinion and to seek real understanding, as distinct from mere belief. These were after all the goals by which Socrates measured the moral integrity of all human intelligence. When it comes to the standing of the artist in Socrates’ moral landscape, we may wonder whether this marble worker who had followed in his father’s profession himself fully shared Plato’s antithetical view of art and the artist. In the dialogue recorded by Xenophon between Socrates and the famous painter Parrhasius, it is concluded that the artist cannot achieve real beauty by simply reproducing a single human model. He must instead select the best parts of more than one model, melding them together in such a way as to transcend nature and turn the representation of beautiful subjects into ideal beauty itself. 4 Aristotle (384–322 bc), ever practical, ever helpful, opposed Plato in arguing that instead of being a slave to nature mankind could create as nature itself created. In his Poetics and Politics he also recognised the civic role of art, as he praised the educational value for the youth of those painters, like the famous Polygnotos, who had represented men better than they are, therefore improving on nature and offering ideal models.5 It is ultimately futile to try to best guess who said what when. Suffice it to say that in the second half of the 5th century bc and the first half of the 4th – that is from around 450 to 350 bc – sculptors and the leading painters of Athens were under pressure from various sides to justify their works as proper exemplars of art that transcended the imperfections of nature, reflecting the universal laws of the kósmos. Artists, it may be said, had to become philosophers, or at least mathematicians. The first half of the 5th century bc had seen great changes in the representation of the human body in art. The abstract conceptualism of the archaic kouros and kore (fig. 1) with their formulaic tendency to convey the human form through descriptive lines and block-like forms was to 12 sculptures were later said to have more by way of symmetria about them than any other works of his generation.6 As with the Doryphoros so with Myron’s Diskobolus, known only through Roman copies (fig. 3), it is impossible now to reconstruct the system of proportion that he used. We can, however, detect the deployment of balanced opposites in the composition. The creators of the Doryphoros and Diskobolus share a common regard for art that transcended nature. Although Polykleitos’ Canon and its physical embodiment, the Doryphoros, were lost – the most famous Roman copy was dug up only at the end of the 18th century – various literary sources handed over to the Renaissance the knowledge of them and the classical principle that ideal beauty is based on proportions, commensurability and mathematical perfection.7 The quest for ideal beauty that could be measured and defined within the premises of natural philosophy was a peculiar feature of the 5th century bc and, although current still in the next century – notably in the work of Lysippus (c. 370–300 bc) – it was destined to die out. In the minds of later commentators, the attribution of the power of creation to sculptors likened them to seers and afforded them unique insight into their subjects. It was said of Polykleitos that while his particular skills were suitable give way to greater naturalism, conjuring three-dimensional volumes of warm flesh and flowing drapery. So popular did the new naturalistic figure type become, some have called it the kouros of the 5th century. The foremost example was the so-called spear-bearer or Doryphoros of Polykleitos of Argos. The original was cast in bronze and is lost but it was a popular model with Roman copyists and several versions survive in marble (fig. 2). Polykleitos’ statue, cast around 440–430 bc, was famous in antiquity for its elaborate system of measurements about which the artist wrote a treatise known as the Canon. This, like the original statue, has not survived but to judge from what other writers say about the sculpture, it was an explanation of the principles of proportion that Polykleitos had declared to be the key to perfection in the artist’s representation of the male body. The word symmetria was used to describe a system of measured proportions. The word has entered the English language to mean something different. To the ancient authors, however, it signified a Fig. 2. Polykleitos of Argos, Doryphoros, Roman copy of the 1st century bc of a Greek original of c. 440 bc, marble, 212 cm (h), Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, inv. 6011 Fig. 1. Kouros (youth), c. 590–80 bc, marble, 194.6 cm (h), Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, inv. 32.11.1 commensurability of parts measured in relation to one another and to the whole. Thus the length of a finger was calculated in relation to the hand and the hand in relation to the whole arm and so on. Ideal beauty, based on mathematical perfection was, therefore, quantifiable. The preoccupation with numbers in idealised sculpture has strong links to the number-based aesthetics of the Pythagorean school of mathematics, first anticipated in architecture. Another link to the natural philosophy of the Ionian Enlightenment is the deliberate balancing of opposite motifs. There was found a bio-mechanical system of parts that were at once weight-bearing and weight-free, engaged and disengaged, stretched and contracted, tense and relaxed, raised and lowered – an overall balancing principle found in the Doryphoros and in many classical statues that will be extremely influential in Renaissance sculpture under the name contrapposto. In the 5th century bc Polykleitos trained at the workshop of Ageladas of Argos, where another famous pupil, Myron of Eleutherae ( fl. 480–440 bc), also learned his craft. Myron’s Fig. 3. Myron of Eleutherae, Diskobolus, Roman copy of a Greek original of c. 460–450 bc, marble, 155 cm (h), Museo Nazionale Romano, Rome, inv. 126371 13 for representing heroes, the imaginative power of Phidias (c. 490–430 bc) – the greatest of the 5th-century artists and author of the Parthenon’s sculptures – had conjured the gods.8 This positive view of the intuitive process of artistic creation became especially important in the Roman period, when copies of the great works of Greek classical sculpture were reproduced in large numbers. Reproduced, that is, but not replicated. For no two copies are ever exactly the same. The copyists, who were mostly ethnic Greeks, probably saw such works as improvisations on earlier originals, rather than slavish copies. It is through this army of Roman copies that Renaissance artists acquired a fragmentary knowledge of the Greek prototypes, the vast majority of which, being in bronze, were deliberately melted by the Christians as blasphemous pagan gods and heroes. The spectre of the greatest mind of all antiquity, Plato, and his condemnation of art always hovered over the heads of artists and art lovers alike. In the high empire of ancient Rome a neo-Platonist movement challenged Plato’s extreme opinion and argued for art being possessed of intellectual beauty. Plotinus was to write in the 3rd century ad ‘now it must be seen that the stone […] brought under the artist’s hand to the beauty of form is beautiful not as stone – for so the crude block would be as pleasant – but by virtue of the Form or Idea introduced by the art’ .9 14 The practical and workable Aristotelian and neo-Platonic rather than the Platonic philosophy of art was that adopted by the Italian Renaissance and, indeed, by the Enlightenment culture of the 18th and the 19th centuries. The superiority of art to nature – as a selected, ideal version of it – has been a central premise of the beau idéal in the humanistic theory of art and especially in its late neo-classical incarnation. Marble sculpture has been admired as the embodiment of a moral aesthetic that could be applied also to white plaster casts. These have served both as the paradigms of art training and as sources of inspiration for artists for centuries. 1 For an introduction to ancient aesthetics and views on art, see Tatarkiewicz 1970; Pollitt 1974. Selections of primary sources are included in Pollitt 1983; Pollitt 1990. 2 The main source for this famous sentence is Plato, Theaetetus 151e. See also Diogenes Laertius, De Vitis … philosophorum, 9.51. 3 Plato, Republic, 10, esp. 10.596E–597E. 4 Xenophon, Memorabilia, 3.10.1–5. 5 Aristotle, Poetics, 1448a1; Politics, 1340a33. See also Metaphysics, 1.1, 981a. 6 Pliny, Naturalis Historia, 34.57–58. 7 Cicero, Brutus, esp. 69–70, 296; Pliny, Naturalis Historia, 34.55; Galen’s treatises, esp. De Placitis Hippocratis et Platonis, 5, and De Temperamentis, 1.9; Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, esp. 5.12.21 and 12.10.3–9; Vitruvius’ De Architectura, 3.1. 8 Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, 12.10.3–9. 9 Plotinus, Enneads, 5.8.1. ‘Nature Perfected’: The Theory & Practice of Drawing after the Antique adr iano aymoni no Prologue On the evening of 16th February 1807, two months before he died unexpectedly of fever, the painter John Opie delivered his first lecture as Professor of Painting to the young students of the Royal Academy of Arts of London. His lecture was arranged under the following headings: General definition of Painting […] Imitation of Nature […] Ideas of general and perfect Beauty the true object of the highest style […] Design, or Drawing, the most important part of Painting […] Uses of Anatomical Knowledge – The Study of Symmetry and Proportion the next in importance – Great excellence of the ancient Sculptors in those points: Methods of studying their Works to advantage […] Perfection of the Arts under Leonardo da Vinci, Michael Angelo, and Raffaelle.1 Opie’s outline, with its standardised categories and didactic aim, represents one of the clearest summaries of an aesthetic tradition which, by the beginning of the 19th century, had evolved for almost four hundred years, with its origins in the remote classical past. Opie’s idea of what constituted art was a direct continuation of the humanistic theory of art, formulated in early Renaissance Florence and expanded and modified in the succeeding centuries, mainly in Italy and France. At the core of this tradition was the belief that art should imitate Nature and, in art’s highest manifestation, that it should perfect Nature by selecting her best parts, to create models of ideal beauty, universal standards to which other artists – and mankind in general – should aspire. Classical statuary played a crucial role in this theoretical framework. Antique statues were perceived, and often revered, as works in which the process of selection of the best parts of Nature had already been accomplished. They offered to the eye and the mind of aspiring young artists, and also of established masters, with models from which the forms, poses, gestures and expressions of the human body could be learnt, as well as its idealised anatomy and proportions. As the theory evolved from the 16th century onwards, the three leading protagonists of the High Renaissance, Leonardo, Michelangelo and Raphael, were placed on the same level as the Antique, as the first modern artists who had equalled, if not surpassed, the ancient masters. The humanistic theory of art remained for centuries the main common denominator between artists and theoreticians over most of Europe, although it underwent many developments and was at times challenged. From the early Renaissance to the 19th century, it was primarily through the medium of drawing that young artists were educated in geometry and perspective – to learn how to depict space – and in anatomy and the live model – to learn how to deploy the human body as the main element of the pictorial or sculptural composition. The Antique represented the other essential component of this educational method, initially as a convenient model for the depiction of human forms, and then progressively as a benchmark of perfection that students were supposed to study and assimilate before being exposed to ‘fallible Nature’, embodied by the live model with all its imperfections and unnecessary features, such as body hair or wrinkles. In their codified and pedantic rigidity, Opie’s categories reveal that, at the same time as they held theoretical sway, by the beginning of the 19th century the tradition that he espoused had become increasingly stifling. At the dawn of the Modern era, a system based on the principle that art is a rational practice that can be taught by precepts resting on a fixed aesthetic was progressively being dismantled by those who advocated subjectivity, individual expression and the conceptual freedom required by inventive genius. Although the normative principles of the humanistic theory of art remained solidly established within academic programmes for at least the next century, the creative forces of European art were increasingly to be found elsewhere. With this epochal shift of aesthetic values in the early 19th century, classical statuary, unsurprisingly, suffered most. Precisely because of its status as a model and standard of perfection in academic curricula, it inevitably encountered the indifference, if not open hostility, of those avant-garde artists who did not believe in the idealising role of art and, increasingly, not even in its imitative one. The Antique, which for 15 centuries had sustained and inspired creativity and diversity in European art, offering an immense repertory of forms, expressions and aesthetic principles, had finally lost its propulsive drive. To understand the pervasive role that classical statuary played in the education and inspiration of artists in the Early Modern period, that is from the 15th to the early 19th century, we must return to the theoretical foundations and the practical concerns that created and sustained the conditions for its immense success and eventual decline. The Humanistic Theory of Art and the Classical Ideal After the Middle Ages, in which the visual arts had been essentially symbolic, aiming to represent the metaphysical and the divine, in the early Renaissance focus shifted to an art that, as in antiquity, aimed at a convincing imitation of the external world, the world of Nature, with man at its centre.2 The primary concern of early Renaissance artists and art theorists was to set rational rules for the faithful representation of space and the human figure on a two-dimensional surface. In his De Pictura (On Painting, 1435–36), the most influential art treatise of the Early Modern period, Leon Battista Alberti (1404–72), established for the first time the principles of art as an intellectual discipline, focusing on geometry, mathematical perspective and the representation of the human body.3 The philosophical conviction that ‘man is the scale and measure of all things’ was applied to space: Alberti’s choice of viewpoint and scale in his perspective diagrams was based on the height of a well-formed man and the units into which his body might be divided.4 This philosophical position also accepted that the main aim of the visual arts should be the depiction of man’s actions, emotions and deeds, what Alberti called historia. Naturally, the study and drawing of the live model in the artist’s workshop, and later of anatomy and classical statuary in studios and academies, were essential for this purpose. Although Alberti’s approach, and even the literary structure of De Pictura, were based on classical models and examples, his conception of art, and that of most of his contemporaries, was essentially naturalistic.5 For Alberti, to become skilled in the visual arts ‘the fundamental principle will be that all steps of learning should be sought from Nature’.6 Earlier, more practical treatises, like Cennino Cennini’s Libro dell’Arte (c. 1390, see Appendix, no. 2), had advocated the study of paintings produced by other masters, a practice that encouraged repetition and which could eventually lead to artistic sterility. Alberti accepted the copying 16 of two-dimensional works by other artists only because ‘they have greater stability of appearance than living things’, but he privileged the copying of sculpture because, being life-like, it did not impose a single viewpoint on its copyist.7 Hence, while the practice of the early Renaissance workshop often involved the copying of three-dimensional models or drawings of such models, it was as a preparation for life-study rather than an end in itself. Of course, this is not to ignore the impact of antique prototypes on 15th-century artists, which was enormous: one need only think of Donatello (c. 1386–1466) who was responding to antique models from very early in the quattrocento. But from a theoretical point of view, for Alberti’s generation and those following, the emphasis was on the full mastery of natural forms rather than on the imitation of other works of art, even those from antiquity. The artist’s goal was to achieve an illusionistic translation of the external world on to the flat surface of a painting or into the volumes and masses of sculpture. Nevertheless, in Alberti we find the roots of two intertwined concepts, both originating in classical sources, which progressively supported and justified the practice of copying, and particularly of ancient statuary. The first is that the ultimate role of the arts is to create beauty by selecting the most ‘excellent parts . . . from the most beautiful bodies, and every effort should be made to perceive, understand and express beauty’.8 To substantiate this fundamental principle, Alberti recalls the episode of the celebrated painter of antiquity, Zeuxis, who, in order to create Helen, the image of female perfection, selected the most beautiful maidens from the city of Croton so that he could choose the best parts from each.9 This anecdote, derived from ancient literary sources, became one of the most recurrent leitmotifs of art treatises in the following centuries, as it embodied and clearly explained the idea of art as a form of perfected Nature (fig. 1). The second, related concept is that beauty is based on a system of harmonic proportions. For Alberti, in the perfect Fig. 1. Giorgio Vasari, Zeuxis composing Helen from the Maidens of Croton, fresco, Casa di Vasari, Arezzo body the single part – a hand, the head, etc. – is related numerically to all the other parts and to the whole in the principle of commensurability (the measurability by a common standard). The overall result is harmonic perfection, which he defines as concinnitas, a theory that Alberti based on Vitruvius’ De Architectura (see Appendix, no. 1), the only surviving architectural treatise from antiquity.10 The study of proportions, which Alberti covered in depth in his De Statua (c. 1440s), would later become a major subject of artistic speculation: Leonardo (1452–1519) and Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528) both produced in-depth studies, and Leonardo’s celebrated Vitruvian Man is the perfect visual expression of the theory of the mathematical conception of the human body (fig. 2).11 Overall, therefore, we might say that for Alberti the role of art is to select the best from Nature and to reassemble it according to a system of harmonic proportions ultimately resting on the mathematical relations that may be inferred from Nature itself. This principle, as explained in the previous essay, was one of the cornerstones of ancient Greek aesthetics, especially in the classical period. Although the central textual foundation for the concept that beauty is based on proportion, Polykleitos’ Canon, had been lost, Renaissance artists and scholars were well aware through Vitruvius and other classical writers that ancient artists had based their works on this essential principle (see Appendix, no. 1).12 Therefore, from the 16th century onwards, and especially Fig. 2. Leonardo da Vinci, The Proportions of the Human Body according to Vitruvius, c. 1490, metal point, pen and brown ink with touches of wash, 344 × 245 mm, Gallerie dell’Accademia, Venice, inv. 228 in the following two centuries, the crucial appeal that ancient statues had for artists rested not only in their aesthetic qualities and rich variety of forms, but also on the very fact that they literally embodied the intellectual principle of proportional perfection. As we shall see, the rationalistic approach of the French academy in the 17th and 18th centuries even provided students with manuals in which the numerical proportions of ancient statues were carefully laid out (figs 72–73). During the second half of the 16th century the predominantly naturalistic attitude of early Renaissance art theory, which had in any case been greatly modified in High Renaissance practice, shifted towards a more idealistic approach and, simultaneously, a more systematic one, laying the ground plan for the classicist theory for the next two centuries. Because most art theoreticians of the later 16th century considered their era to be a period of artistic decadence and excess after the great achievements of the High Renaissance, and also because many of them focused on codifying artistic rules that could be taught in the emerging academies, models of perfection were increasingly deemed necessary in the education of young artists. For theorists like Ludovico Dolce (1508–68, see Appendix, no. 4), Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo (1538–1600) and Giovan Battista Armenini (c. 1525–1609, see Appendix, no. 6), the ancient statuary that they felt had inspired and guided the ‘buona maniera’ of Raphael and Michelangelo, became a standard by which the faults of Nature or the affectations of artists could be corrected. From the late 16th to the late 18th centuries, the copying of classical statues took a decisive lead over the copying of Nature in the learning process of most artists. Correspondingly, in the classicist tradition that developed in Rome and Paris in the 17th and 18th centuries, the Antique became the essential model for the composition of history painting. This, definable as the depiction of episodes based on ancient Greek and Roman mythology, the Old and the New Testaments, or secular history, with a moral value attached, was considered from Alberti onwards the highest form and final aim of painting and received the place of honour in the academic hierarchy of the genres.13 Although naturalistic and anti-classicist tendencies remained alive even within the academic system, classicism established itself as the predominant aesthetic principle of the 18th century and beyond, as Opie’s lecture attests. Its success rested primarily on the fact that it represented an aesthetic approach that was considered to express universal and ‘true’ principles. And these, because of their rational nature, could be taught by rule, which suited the systematic attitude of Enlightenment culture. The proliferation of academies during the 18th and the first half of the 19th centuries 17 encouraged the penetration of this set of values even within contexts and cultures that until then had been only superficially exposed to it. The humanistic theory of art, clothed in new and more codified forms, eventually reached the most remote corners of the Western world, with the army of replicas of classical statues as their heralds. Drawing from the Antique: Approaches and Categories At the centre of the education of any young artist in the Renaissance was the practice of disegno, drawing or design, considered to be one of the essential foundations of art from Cennini onwards (Appendix, no. 2). Disegno, endowed with an intellectual role by Giorgio Vasari (1511–74) and other theorists of the 16th century, as the manifestation of the idea and invention of the artist (Appendix, no. 5), became the essential quality of the Roman and Florentine schools of painting. Successively, it assumed a central role in the theory of European academies as the expression of the rational common denominator of the three sister arts: painting, sculpture and architecture. At the beginning of the 19th century, Opie, himself a rather poor draughtsman, still considered ‘Design, or Drawing, the most important part of Painting’. Drawing after the Antique, as a union of intellectual medium and intellectual end, became so integral to the learning process and the activity of artists, that representing the practice itself developed into an artistic genre. Stretching over more than four hundred years, this included the first depictions of academies (cats 1, 2, 4), images of studios (cats 10, 12), artists copying from originals (cats 5, 6b, 20, 21), from casts (cats 10, 12, 17, 25, 33), in situ in, usually, Rome (cats 5, 6b, 17, 20, 21) or back at home (cats 13, 23, 24, 30). Whether they copied classical statues on paper to learn how to represent outlines and chiaroscuro – the effects of light on three-dimensional forms – or to assemble a repertory of the body’s forms, poses and expressions, or finally to assimilate a system of ‘correct’ proportions and anatomy, no European artist from the 16th century onwards could avoid confronting the lessons of the Antique, and of adjusting his or her own creative process in relation to it. Apart from the didactic and inspirational functions of copying, many other reasons justified the practice. As a result of their pervasiveness, actual drawings after classical statues – which are innumerable – are difficult to categorise precisely because they were produced for different reasons, served different purposes and displayed different conceptions and relations to the Antique. Nevertheless, at risk of over-simplification, 18 one might attempt a division into the following, often overlapping, categories: didactic drawings : copies produced by artists in their course of study (see for instance cat. 27a or cat. 20, fig. 4). This includes drawings produced by a master in a workshop to provide the apprentices with an accessible repertory of classical forms to copy (figs 3, 4). record drawings : sketches created by artists to serve as inspiration for forms, poses, expressions, compositions, movement, proportions, etc., for their own artistic purposes (see figs 6, 39–43, 45–47, 63). translations : precisely finished drawings intended to be engraved, usually conveying as much information as possible about the forms and poses of the statues (fig. 28, cats 6–8). documentary drawings : those produced by artists with the proto-archaeological purpose of recording accurately the physical appearance of antiquities including damage (fig. 27). To this category belong many drawings produced specifically for antiquarians, from the Codex Coburgensis (c. 1549–55) to those of the famous ‘Paper Museum’ assembled in the 17th century by the antiquarian and collector Cassiano dal Pozzo (1588–1657).14 marketable drawings: finished copies specifically produced to be sold on the market or commissioned by collectors to fill their paper museums of classical antiquities. Starting in the 17th century, this practice reached its peak in the 18th century. Famous examples are those produced by the painter Pompeo Batoni (1708–87) for the collector Richard Topham (fig. 93).15 promotional drawings: Drawings made with the specific purpose of promoting the acquisition of individual sculptures, such as those sent by the dealer and artist Thomas Jenkins (c. 1720–98) to collector and antiquarian Charles Townley (1737–1805) in the second half of the 18th century.16 Naturally, as with any categorisation, these divisions are a simplification and many drawings overlap two or more classes, such as drawings by Hendrick Goltzius (1558–1617), most of which were undoubtedly intended to be engraved, but which also functioned as a repertory of classical forms to be taken back to the Netherlands and used in the artist’s practice (cats 6–8). Whatever their categories, all these drawings followed the technical evolution of the medium, from the predominant metalpoint and pen-and-ink employed in the 15th century, to the black and red chalks that were introduced at the beginning of the 16th century. Later, although pen-and-ink remained a favoured medium, chalk became the favoured choice for full-size statuary: as a softer, more pliable medium it allowed a more sophisticated rendering of tonal passages and, therefore, of relief and anatomies.17 Red chalk especially offered the possibility of bringing ancient statues to life, transforming white stone into warm human flesh (see figs 42, 45, 63 and cats 7a and 8). Drawing after the Antique in the Early Renaissance Workshop In artists’ workshops in the early Renaissance, one of the most important aspects of an apprentice’s training, aside from mastering the manual procedures of painting, was copying works by the master and other artists. This was intended as a means to shorten the process of learning how to represent threedimensional Nature on a two-dimensional surface thanks to examples already produced by others. This practice was described by Cennini as early as the 1390s – although still intended only to train the apprentice to reproduce the master’s style and not yet Nature (see Appendix, no. 2).18 Young apprentices could resort to copying model books and sketchbooks already assembled by the master or by others. These were repertories of drawings of animals, plants, decorative details, human figures at rest or in action, usually produced as teaching tools, and it is in these collections on paper that we find the earliest surviving drawings derived from classical antiquities. The Antique was included mainly as a source of information on the human body, on its forms, modelling, poses, expressions, movements and the interaction of all these elements.19 Most of the early drawings that represent antique forms were produced by artists active in Rome where the largest number of accessible physical remains from antiquity was concentrated. But only a few ancient full size statues in the round survived above ground. Among the most famous publicly displayed examples were the Marcus Aurelius (fig. 8), then believed to represent Constantine the Great and located outside the Lateran Palace, the Spinario (fig. 15) and the Camillus, both of which were moved from the Lateran to the Capitoline Hill in 1471 by Pope Sixtus IV; the Quirinal Horse Tamers (fig. 10) and the two Quirinal Recubantes or Rivers.20 Virtually no ancient paintings were known, and their original appearance had to be conjectured from descriptions in literary sources, notably Pliny’s Naturalis Historia (esp. book XXXV). It was only with the exploration at the end of the 15th century of the buried interiors of the Domus Aurea of Nero in Rome, known as grotte, that artists could access ancient examples, and from this time a wave of grotesque motifs and decorations spread progressively over Europe.21 More readily available were sarcophagus reliefs and large imperial reliefs, and early drawings depict mainly this category of ancient artefacts. They were also popular because, with their complex, frieze-like narratives, they offered invaluable sources of inspiration for the compostion of historie, as Alberti noted.22 Among the most frequently represented were the reliefs of sarcophagi reused as Christian tombs inside Roman churches, and the imperial reliefs of Trajan’s Column and the Arches of Titus and Constantine.23 The subjects preferred by late Gothic or early Renaissance artists – Bacchic themes, Amazons, the story of Adonis, marine deities or ancient battles – demonstrate their interest in the nude and in the depiction of movement, dynamism and strong expressions.24 Although it is recorded that Donatello and Brunelleschi copied antiquities during their trip to Rome, no drawings survive by either of them to reveal their approach to the Antique, which was no doubt very different from those of the majority of their contemporaries. The earliest surviving drawings of ancient sculpture that we have were produced by artists working in the workshops of Gentile da Fabriano (c. 1370–1427) and Pisanello (born by 1395–c. 1455) around 1427–32, when both painters were in Rome working for Pope Martin V in St John in Lateran.25 These drawings correspond in many ways to their paintings. They show little awareness of the formal principles of classical art, transforming figures from Roman sarcophagus reliefs into late Gothic types. They often reinterpret the poses and proportions of the original, even, as in the case of a sheet in the Louvre, assembling figures from different sarcophagi (fig. 3).26 This process of extrapolation, isolation and modification is common to many 15th-century drawings after the Antique. The draughtsmen created visual repertories of single figures, or isolated groups of figures which were easy to reuse in their own compositions. From a teaching point of view, isolated figures were probably considered, at least in 15thcentury model books and sketchbooks, to be more readily assimilable by apprentices in the workshop than whole compositions. A good example of such an approach is seen in a drawing attributed to the so-called ‘Anonymous of the Ambrosiana’, from a sketchbook made in Rome in the 1460s (fig. 4).27 The original model is a celebrated sarcophagus relief of the Muses, Minerva and Apollo then in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore (fig. 5); it was copied in drawings by several later 19 Fig. 3. Workshop of Pisanello, Three Nude Figures from Ancient Roman Sarcophagi, c. 1431–32, silver point, pen and brown ink on vellum, 194 × 273 mm, Louvre, Paris, inv. 2397 artists, including Filippino Lippi (c. 1457–1504) and Battista Franco (c. 1510–61) and it was engraved by Marc-antonio Raimondi (c. 1480–1527/1534).28 The Ambrosiana draughtsman has reproduced only a few figures, changing their position and disregarding their interrelations and the background, no doubt with the intention of assembling a range of drapery studies that could be reused in the future; the artist selected primarily figures that offered the greatest variety and movement of cascading robes, leaving the nude Apollo in the bottom right corner unfinished. In the second half of the 15th century two tendencies, apparently opposed but both symptomatic of a more profound understanding of the Antique, gained ground in sketchbooks and loose drawings. On one hand there was a Fig. 4. Anonymous, North Italian, called Anonymous of the Ambrosiana, Figures from an ancient Roman Muses Sarcophagus, c. 1460, metal point, pen and brown ink, heightened in white, on pink prepared paper, 310 × 200 mm, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. F. 214 inf.2 growing archaeological awareness, in parallel with the spread of antiquarian studies and rising interest in the classical world and its physical remains.29 On the other hand, artists displayed a freer handling and more personal approach to the originals, as they moved away from the restraints of the late medieval model book. With the probable exception of Donatello, from whom he learned much, Andrea Mantegna (c. 1431–1506) is the quattrocento artist who had the most complex and sophisticated relationship to the classical past. His approach is evident in the introduction of direct quotations from ancient architecture, reliefs and sculptures in his paintings and frescoes and in his adoption of a precise, highly sculptural painting style. A drawing by him – or a copy after a lost drawing – executed during his sojourn in Rome between 1488 and 1490, accurately renders a classical prototype but with a vivacious freedom in style (fig. 6).30 It represents one of the Trajanic reliefs inserted in the central passage of the Arch of Constantine (fig. 7), which later served as a source of inspiration for innumerable artists.31 Mantegna sketched it at an angle from the right side and from below. He precisely recorded the relief’s damaged condition by showing both the emperor and the helmeted soldier on the right without their right hands; but he also interpreted the composition freely, concentrating on the most prominent actors and on the relief’s formal principles, specifically its treatment of movement and emotions, qualities praised by Alberti as essential for the construction of a historia.32 The flow from left to right is accentuated, the emperor now has windswept hair and his horse is shown galloping, less upright and frontal. Their mouths are wide open, as are those of the soldiers on the right, expressing the intensity of emotion in the moment of final assault and victory over the Dacians. A drawing like this served a twofold purpose, as a study of formal principles and a record of antique costumes, armours, shields and helmets. Its organisational lessons and visual references could then be reused to demonstrate the artist’s power of inventio and his erudite knowledge of the classical past, as Mantegna indeed did, after his return to Mantua in c. 1490 in his sequence of canvases of the Triumph of Caesars.33 Fig. 6. Andrea Mantegna, or circle of, Drawing after the Relief on the Arch of Constantine, end of the 15th century – beginning of the 16th, black chalk with brown ink, 273 × 189 mm, Albertina, Vienna, inv. 2583r Fig. 7. The Emperor Trajan overpowering Barbarians, Roman, c. 117 ad, marble, Arch of Constantine, central arch, north façade, Rome A similar evolution is seen in the relatively few surviving 15th-century drawings that reproduce free-standing classical statuary. Not surprisingly, all are after the most famous statues then visible in Rome which, given their size and anatomical detailing, were an invaluable source for the study of the human body. The earliest examples are again a group of drawings probably produced by Pisanello or his workshop around 1431–32. They represent, among other figures, the Marcus Aurelius (figs 8 and 9), and one of the two Horse Tamers or Dioscuri on the Quirinal Hill (figs 10 and 11).34 The latter is especially relevant for our purpose, as the two Dioscuri constituted the most complete free-standing nude sculptures in Rome in the 15th century. Both Horse Tamers were copied repeatedly, praised by contemporary written sources, and remained constant sources of inspiration for artists into the 19th century.35 In a drawing of one of the Horse Tamers (fig. 11), the draughtsman has isolated the sculpture from its context, and focused exclusively on rendering the anatomy, while the cloak on the statue’s left forearm is just outlined. Although it is an impressive achievement for so early a date, and while the male body is realised much more plausibly than those figures taken from sarcophagus reliefs (fig. 3), the elongation and slimming of the figure and the inaccurate rendering of the statue’s idealised anatomy still betray the late Gothic mindset of the artist. Almost twenty years later the same statue was copied in a drawing attributed to Benozzo Gozzoli (c. 1421–97) (fig. 12), Fig. 8. Equestrian Statue of Marcus Aurelius, Roman, 161–180 ad, bronze, 424 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC3247 Fig. 9. Workshop of Pisanello, Marcus Aurelius, c. 1431–32, pen, brown ink and wash heightened in white on brown-orange prepared paper, 196 × 156 mm, Castello Sforzesco, Civico Gabinetto dei Disegni, Milan, inv. B 878 SC Fig. 5. Sarcophagus of the Muses, with Apollo and Minerva, front, 2nd c. ad, marble, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Antikensammlung, Vienna, inv. I 171 20 21 Fig. 10. One of the Two Dioscuri or Horse Tamers, Roman copy of the 2nd century ad, after a Greek original of the 5th century bc, marble, 528 cm, Quirinal Square, Rome Fig. 11. Pisanello, or circle of, One of the Two Dioscuri or Horse Tamers, c. 1431–32, silverpoint, pen and brown ink on vellum, 230 × 360 mm, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. F. 214 inf.10v Fig. 12. Benozzo Gozzoli (attr.), One of the Two Dioscuri or Horse Tamers, c. 1447–49, metalpoint, grey-black wash, heightened with lead white, on blue prepared paper, 359 × 246 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. Pp, 1.18 probably executed in 1447–49 when he was in Rome to assist Fra Angelico in the St Nicholas Chapel in the Vatican Palace.36 In this case the drawing is again far from accurate, and the draughtsman has combined the left-hand Dioscuro with the horse held by his twin. Again the forms are isolated. As in the earlier drawing the supporting cuirass and the strut between the right arm and thigh are omitted as is the cloak on the figure’s forearm – and the group is set against a neutral backdrop and on the ground rather than on its pedestal. Although the Dioscuro stands firmly, and although his anatomical structure, his surface musculature and their modelling are rendered much more convincingly than in the Pisanello drawing, the idealisation of the human body is still not emphasised and we seem to be looking at a real man taming his horse rather than at a heroic marble statue. Although it is difficult to draw general conclusions based on such exiguous surviving material, it seems safe to say that for most 15th-century artists, classical freestanding statuary was seen as a model for the nude body, its poses and movements. With notable exceptions, such as Donatello, artists did not try to grasp the anatomical and formal principles of the originals nor did they aspire to recreate the process of idealisation innate in so many classical nudes. For this reason, their drawings are often not immediately recognisable as copies after the Antique.37 22 The Antique could also be copied inside the workshop using small-scale three-dimensional models. We have plenty of evidence about collections of antique statues, often fragments, and the ownership of plaster casts by artists in the 15th and early 16th centuries.38 Their presence in the workshop was also acknowledged at the beginning of the 16th century in De Sculptura of 1504, by Pomponio Gaurico, who speaks of artists having cabinets ‘filled with any sort of sculptures’ and ‘chests filled with casts’. 39 Although many casts must have been taken from live models, as described by Cennini,40 others were taken from ancient statues, such as those mentioned by Lorenzo Ghiberti (c. 1381–1455) and Francesco Squarcione (c. 1395–after 1468), the teacher of Mantegna, whose Paduan workshop contained a collection of antiquities.41 Casts and real antiquities were part of the working material of the bottega, but they also served to elevate the status of the workshop to that of a studium, a place of cultivation of liberal arts, the beginning of that process of the intellectual emancipation of the artist that would be fully developed in the later 16th century with the foundation of the first academies. A beautiful drawing of feet, part of a sketchbook produced around 1460 in Benozzo Gozzoli’s workshop, eloquently shows the use of casts, in this case most likely taken from antique fragments, as teaching tools in the bottega (fig. 13). 42 We see here one of the earliest visual records of a Fig. 13. Workshop of Benozzo Gozzoli, Studies of Plaster Casts of Feet, c. 1460, silverpoint heightened with white, on green prepared paper, 225 × 155 mm, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam, Benozzo Gozzoli Sketchbook, fol. 53 practice, copying from casts, that would expand exponentially in the following centuries. For the study of the human body and the three-dimensional form, young pupils could rely also on small models in wax, clay, or bronze, provided by such sculptors as Ghiberti or Antonio Pollaiuolo (c. 1431–98).43 Many were modelled on ancient prototypes, like those being handled and studied by young artists in the 1530s in Baccio Bandinelli’s academy (cat. 1). But life drawing from posed apprentices was also widely practised throughout the second half of the 15th century and became increasingly common in the final decades, especially in Florence.44 Another drawing from Gozzoli’s circle (fig. 14) shows a practice that became more diffused later, especially from the 17th century onwards: setting the live model in the pose of a classical statue (figs 87–89, 106).45 In this case the obvious reference is, in reverse, the so-called Spinario (fig. 15), the celebrated bronze antique figure whose complex pose remained one of the most popular for live models (cat. 9). The use of the model book as a teaching tool gradually disappeared as the 15th century wore on, but sketchbooks and travel books reproducing antiquities became more widespread. 46 Their progressive diffusion is one of the clearest indications of the spread of interest in the Antique and goes hand-in-hand with the formation of collections of antiquities and the pursuit of antiquarian studies, such as Flavio Biondo’s influential Roma Instaurata of 1444–46, the first methodical guide to the monuments of ancient Rome. 47 Enthusiasm for classical art and a more attentive study of its forms and principles is reflected in the increased dynamism, pathos and complexity of the compositions that we can see in Italian painting and sculpture in the final decades of the 15th century, in the work of Florentine artists like Antonio Pollaiolo, Domenico Ghirlandaio (1449–94) and Filippino Lippi (c. 1457–1504). Fig. 14. Workshop of Benozzo Gozzoli, A Nude Young Man Seated on a Block, His Right Foot Crossed over His Left Leg, c. 1460, metalpoint, over stylus indications, grey-brown wash, heightened with white, on pink-purple prepared paper, 226 × 150 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. Pp, 1.7 Fig. 15. Spinario, Roman, 1st century bc, bronze, 73 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC1186 23 Raphael, Michelangelo, and Rome as the Centre of the Study of the Antique The following generation, that of Michelangelo (1475–1564) and Raphael (1483–1520), saw a seismic shift in the artists’ approach to the Antique. They now attempted to equal or even surpass it by penetrating its principles.48 The two titans of the High Renaissance had a radically different approach towards classical forms, but they both aimed at assimilating the ancient mimetic standards of idealised naturalism, full mastery of the human body, its anatomy and proportions, and the convincing rendering of the expressions of the soul. Leonardo (1452–1519), a generation older, had already expressed a deep interest in the Antique and was directly exposed to it in Florence and in Rome.49 Classical forms are referenced in many of his works, particularly in the unrealised project for an equestrian statue of Francesco Sforza in Milan, on which he worked from 1488 to 1497. But Leonardo’s naturalism, based on empirical observation, meant that he always checked his ancient sources against the scientific observation of the natural world. He remained a naturalist at heart, famously stating that ‘a painter who imitates the work of other artists instead of Nature herself, becomes Nature’s grandchild when he could have been her son’.50 On the other hand, from a practical point of view, Leonardo also acknowledged the usefulness of copying from a ‘good master’ and sculpture for young pupils.51 While for him the Antique remained an interest secondary to Nature, Raphael and Michelangelo’s engagement with it was on an unprecedented level. The immense impact that both artists had on their own generation and on Western art in the centuries that followed lies in the very fact that they were perceived and celebrated as the first modern masters who had equalled, if not surpassed, the ancients. At the beginning of the 19th century John Opie still proclaimed the ‘perfection of the Arts under Leonardo da Vinci, Michael Angelo, and Raffaelle’, but their status as modern classics was already acknowledged during their lifetime. The scholar and poet, Cardinal Pietro Bembo (1470– 1547) elevated Michelangelo and Raphael to the same pedestal of the ‘ancient good masters’ (see Appendix, no. 3) and Vasari sustains his uncompromising panegyric of Michelangelo by affirming that his David (1501–04, Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence) had surpassed in beauty and measure even the best ancient monumental sculptures of Rome, in particular the various Rivers and the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal.52 The modern artist, now capable of providing an idealised nude more convincing than the most famous surviving classical ones, had finally outshone the ancients. Artists of Raphael and Michelangelo’s generation had the advantage of benefiting from more, and more readily 24 available, classical statues, including those discovered in excavations and those displayed in relatively accessible settings. However, both Leonardo and Michelangelo must already have been exposed to drawings, casts and models after the Antique respectively in the workshops of Andrea del Verrocchio (1435–88) and Domenico Ghirlandaio (1449– 94). Both studied (although Leonardo briefly and already as an adult) in the Giardino di San Marco, an informal academy set up by Lorenzo the Magnificent to train young artists specifically in drawing and copying after classical statuary under the supervision of the sculptor Bertoldo di Giovanni.53 Vasari informs us that Michelangelo devoted himself obsessively to the task, and Ascanio Condivi (1525–74), Michelangelo’s biographer, emphatically stated that the young genius ‘having savoured their beauty […] never again went to Domenico’s workshop or anywhere else, but there he would stay all day, always doing something, as in the best school for such studies’.54 As a young pupil Raphael probably did not receive a similar training in the workshop of Perugino (c. 1450–1523), who had less interest in the Antique. But some drawings from his youth with reference to classical models survive and he certainly participated in the sophisticated antiquarian environment of early 16thcentury Florence, where he moved in c. 1504.55 It was the impact of what Michelangelo and Raphael saw in Rome, which they visited in their youth and where they both moved – Michelangelo between 1496–1500 and again from 1505 to 1516, and Raphael from 1508 onwards – that had the most far reaching and radical impact on the evolution of their art and their relationship with classical antiquity. Between the last twenty years of the 15th century and the early decades of the 16th century, and especially under the pontificates of Julius II (r. 1503–13) and Leo X (r. 1513–21), Rome had established itself as the centre for the study of the Antique. Many of the most celebrated private aristocratic collections of antiquities were formed or consolidated in this period, such as those of Riario, Maffei, and Della Valle (fig. 16) and later on the Cesi and the Sassi, some of which were accessible to artists.56 The antiquities of the Capitoline Hill were enlarged with the transfer of the statues of the Rivers, the Nile and the Tiber from the Quirinal in 1517 and the Marcus Aurelius from the Lateran in 1538 (fig. 17), the latter a statue so important for the symbolic imagery of Rome that Michelangelo designed the square that we see around it today.57 However, the real centre of attention in the early years of Michelangelo and Raphael in Rome were the new discoveries emerging from the soil of the city. Within a few years some of the statues that would attract the attention of artists and connoisseurs for centuries to come were discovered, Fig. 16. Anonymous engraver after Maarten van Heemskerck, The Antique Courtyard of the Palazzo Della Valle, 1553, engraving, 289 × 416 mm, Rijksmuseum, inv. RP-P-1996-38 Fig. 17. Hieronymous Cock after Anonymous Draughtsman, The Capitoline Hill, 1562, etching and engraving, 155 × 212 mm, Metropolitan Museum, New York, inv. 2012.136.358 provoking enormous enthusiasm among contemporaries: the Apollo Belvedere (fig. 18), the Laocoön (fig. 19), the Cleopatra (fig. 20), the Hercules Commodus, and the large rivers Tiber and Nile.58 By 1512 all could be admired, with the addition of the Venus Felix, in the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican, a purpose-built space commissioned by Pope Julius II from Donato Bramante, the great interpreter of ancient Roman architecture (fig. 21, and cat. 5).59 The Courtyard, open to artists and other visitors and displaying some of the most complete and prestigious sculptures from antiquity, soon became the canonical Roman site for making copies after the Antique. It retained its unparalleled prestige for almost four hundred years, as the many drawings after its statues illustrated in this catalogue eloquently attest. For artists it was invaluable, as the Belvedere Courtyard offered them the opportunity to study different human forms and positions and different types of ideal beauty at the same time: moving from the elegant female body of the Venus and the Cleopatra, to the androgynous forms of the Apollo, to the stronger and more pronounced muscular anatomy of the Hercules Commodus. Two more statues were added to the Courtyard during the 16th century: the Belvedere Antinous and the Belvedere Torso (figs 22 and 23).60 The former was to become from the 17th century onwards the canonical model for artists for the perfect proportions of the young male body (fig. 68 and cat. 19, fig. 1). The latter, which had been known from the early 15th century but which had attracted little attention, now became one of the most copied of all antiquities, a compulsory reference for the body of the muscular man at rest, especially because of Michelangelo’s admiration for it and the popular belief that he had given instructions to leave it unrestored. The master’s praise of the evocative fragment became a leitmotif in artistic treatises and literary sources from the 16th century onwards, to the point that it became known in 18th-century Britain as the ‘School of Michelangelo’.61 The Belvedere Courtyard, the Capitoline and the private aristocratic collections, remained until the end of the 18th century the privileged centres for copying the Antique in Rome (see cats 5–8, 20–22). The increasing number of accessible classical statues made the city a pole of attraction, where artists from all over Europe would congregate to complete their education and gather on paper a repertory of classical forms and motifs to be employed when they returned to their native countries. This was a phenomenon central to the development of Early Modern Western art reaching its peak in the 18th century; but it was evocatively described by Pietro Bembo as early as 1516 (see Appendix, no. 3). Under Julius II and Leo X both Michelangelo and Raphael were at the centre of the antiquarian debate and, as Bembo put it, played an essential role in their efforts to emulate and surpass ancient models. Indeed Vasari, in a famous passage, attributes the rise of the modern manner or ‘bella maniera’, and the great achievements of Raphael and Michelangelo, to their familiarity and exposure to the Belvedere statues (see Appendix, no. 5). Even if Vasari’s words were a retrospective celebration aimed at establishing the primacy of the Florentine and Roman schools of painting, the spirit of classical art permeates much of Michelangelo’s and Raphael’s Roman production and specific antique prototypes are evoked in many of their works. One need only think of the inspiration Michelangelo derived from the Belvedere Torso for his Ignudi in the Sistine Chapel.62 Given their familiarity with classical antiquity, it may seem strange therefore that very few drawings after classical statuary by either Michelangelo or Raphael survive. Many might have been accidentally or intentionally destroyed – Vasari recounts Michelangelo burning large numbers of drawings, sketches 25 Fig. 18. (top left) Apollo Belvedere, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period (117–138 ad) after a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 224 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome inv. 1015 Fig. 19. (top right) Laocoön, possibly a Roman copy of the 1st century ad after a Greek original of the 2nd century bc, marble, 242 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 1064 Fig. 20. (middle left) Cleopatra, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period (117–138 ad) after a Greek original of the 2nd century bc, marble, 162 (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 548 and cartoons shortly before his death so that none could see the efforts of his creative process.63 Nonetheless, in the few surviving drawings which bear direct references to classical models, one can see their tendency towards assimilating the spirit of antique forms rather than slavishly copying them. This attitude can be shown by comparing a drawing by Amico Aspertini (c. 1474–1552) after the Belvedere Cleopatra (fig. 20) with one by Raphael of a few years later derived from the same statue (figs 24 and 25). Aspertini’s copy, paired on the facing page with one from a relief from the Arch of Constantine, embodies the attitude typically seen in sketchbooks from the end of the 15th and the early 16th centuries: a more or less faithful rendering of the antique forms, in this case rather finished and accurate, that could serve as a visual record for future creations, as clearly expressed in Bembo’s words (Appendix, no. 3).64 Raphael’s beautiful drawing represents a later, more evolved phase, when the ancient forms take a new shape: the elegant and difficult pose of the body of the Cleopatra and the play of the drapery over her intertwined legs are used as an inspiration for the muse Calliope in his Vatican Parnassus (fig. 26).65 Raphael nevertheless also produced some ‘record’ drawings. From 1515 he was nominated by Pope Leo X as inspector of all the antiquities in and around Rome and embarked on a project to reconstruct the aspect of ancient Roman buildings based on precise architectural surveys of their remains.66 His proto-scientific archaeological method, based on a precise visual analysis paired with ancient literary sources, remained unmatched until the 18th century. His scholarly attitude towards classical art and his thorough understanding of it are clearly expressed in a famous letter that he wrote around 1517–19 to Pope Leo X with the help of the courtier and writer, Baldassarre Castiglione (1478–1529) in which he appealed against the destruction of classical monuments. At the same time, he provided an outstandingly accurate description of the different styles of ancient sculpture found on the Arch of Constantine.67 One of the very few surviving exact copies of classical statues in Raphael’s hand is indicative of his precise, almost Fig. 24. (top) Amico Aspertini, The Sleeping Cleopatra and a Relief from Trajan’s Column, (verso) post 1496, pen and brown ink, over black chalk, on two sheets conjoined, 254 × 423 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. 1905,1110.1-2 Fig. 25. (bottom left) Raphael, Figure in the Pose of the Sleeping Cleopatra, c. 1509, pen and brown ink, 244 × 217 mm, Albertina, Vienna, inv. 219 Fig. 26. (bottom right) Raphael, The Muse Calliope, detail from the Parnassus, c. 1509–10, fresco, Stanza della Segnatura, Vatican Palace, Rome Fig. 21. (middle right) Hendrik III Van Cleve, Detail from View of Rome from the Belvedere of Innocent VIII, 1550, oil on panel, 55.5 × 101.5 cm, Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, inv. 6904 Fig. 22. (bottom left) Belvedere Antinous, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period (117–138 ad) after a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 195 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 907 Fig. 23. (bottom right) Belvedere Torso, Greek or Roman, 1st century bc, marble, 159 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 1192 26 27 archaeological approach to the Antique, and we can assume that he produced similar ones during his period as inspector of Roman antiquities (fig. 27). It is a clear rendering of one of the two horses from the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal, that we encountered in Benozzo Gozzoli’s study (fig. 12).68 Almost sixty years divide the two drawings and there could not be a better comparison to demonstrate the progress made in the understanding of classical statuary during this relatively brief period. Raphael’s drawing, although we are ignorant of its actual purpose, is ‘scientific’: now we can clearly recognise that the horse is a piece of marble sculpture, with a faithful record of its missing left leg and the joint between the neck and the body. The horse is copied at eye level (Raphael presumably stood on a platform) and not seen from below, as in most other contemporary views.69 This allows a proper study of the proportions of the sculpture, in a way similar to an architectural elevation.70 Outstandingly, even the measurements of the statue are recorded on the drawing, probably by one of his pupils, making this the first surviving measured drawing of a classical statue, and the only one for almost a century (see figs 67–76).71 Incidentally Raphael’s drawing also shows the introduction of a new medium – red chalk – which would become one of the preferred tools for drawing after the Antique in the following centuries. It is likely, nevertheless, that Raphael generally left making such specific records of classical sculptures to the pupils of his large workshop, as several surviving drawings in the hand of Giulio Romano (fig. 28) and Polidoro da Caravaggio, among others, attest.72 Some of these were probably intended to be engraved, as it is in Raphael’s circle that we find the first printed images of celebrated statues and reliefs, such as those of Marcantonio Raimondi, Marco Fig. 27. Raphael, The Right Horse of the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal Hill, c. 1513, red chalk and pen and brown ink over indentations with the stylus, 219 × 275 mm, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., inv. 1993.51.3.a, Woodner Collection 28 Fig. 30. Michelangelo, Study of an Antique Torso of Venus, c. 1524, black chalk, 256 × 180 mm, The British Museum, Departments of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. 1859,0625.570 Fig. 31. Michelangelo, A Youth beckoning; A Right Leg, c. 1504–05, pen and brown ink, black chalk, 375 × 230 mm, The British Museum, Departments of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. 1887,0502.117 Fig. 28. Giulio Romano (attr.), Apollo Belvedere, c. 1513–15, pen and brown ink, pencil, 316 × 155 mm, Albertina, Vienna, inv. 22449 Fig. 29. Agostino Veneziano, Apollo Belvedere, engraving, c. 1518–20, 269 × 169 mm, private collection Dente (c. 1486–1527) and Agostino Veneziano (c. 1490–after 1536; fig. 29).73 The print medium, which played a crucial role in disseminating the knowledge of the Antique throughout Europe, was to be increasingly used by students in workshops and academies for training; thus they first copied the Antique from a flat image, before turning to the third dimension of casts and originals. Raphael’s approach towards the Antique, based on study, measurement, reconstruction and dissemination, could not have been more distant from that of Michelangelo, who constantly confronted the classical models with a challenging spirit. Several anecdotes reported by contemporaries reveal his approach towards antiquity. The French antiquarian and collector Jean Jacques Boissard (1528–1602) informs us that shortly after having seen the Laocoön emerging from the ground of the Esquiline in 1506, Michelangelo enthusiastically commented that it was ‘a singular miracle of art in which we should grasp the divine genius of the sculptor rather than trying to make an imitation of it’.74 This quotation is poignant for understanding the Platonic concept of divine inspiration for Michelangelo. At the same time it shows clearly that his relationship with the antique model was not based on a process of imitatio, or imitation, but rather on that of aemulatio, a creative rivalry possible only after the assimilation and internalisation of its principles. This approach is reinforced in a celebrated passage from Vasari – which became a recurrent leitmotif in subsequent art literature – in which he reported that Michelangelo created figures of nine, ten or even twelve heads high, searching only for the overall grace in the artistic creation, because in matter of proportions ‘it was necessary to have the compasses in the eyes and not in the hand, because the hands work and the eyes judge’.75 Advocating the principle of grace, consistency of artistic creation, and the artist’s own judgement, Michelangelo therefore disregarded the canon of eight heads comprising the human figure established by Vitruvius (see Appendix, no. 1), implicitly expressing a relation with the classical prototype based on empathy and intimate understanding of its form, rather than on a rational adherence to rules based on numbers – an approach he replicated in his architecture. Michelangelo’s surviving copies after classical statues can be counted on one hand, such as a series of the early 1520s reproducing the torso of an antique Venus, probably made in preparation for one of the female figures in the Medici Chapel (fig. 30).76 His free relationship with the Antique emerges from many of his drawings, for instance the famous Beckoning Youth (fig. 31), loosely inspired by the Apollo Belvedere (fig. 18).77 Michelangelo evokes the pose and aspect of the celebrated statue, but turns it into something new, where the hint of movement of the original is dramatically accentuated and balance is replaced by unstable dynamism. Raphael and Michelangelo have been discussed at length here because their different attitudes towards classical forms resurface constantly in Western Art for the next three centuries and beyond. This polarity could be defined as assimilating the principles of the Antique by sticking to its rules and system of proportions on the one hand and, on the other, assimilating the creative spirit of the Antique by breaking its rules. At the risk of oversimplification we could argue that Guido Reni (1575–1642) and Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665) fall within the first sphere and Rubens (1577– 1640) and Bernini (1598–1680) in the second. It is not by chance that the classicist credo that permeated the Italian and French academies for most of their history from the 17th century onwards, elected Raphael as their champion, while the eccentric and unruly Michelangelo remained a figure more difficult to celebrate from a didactic point of view (see cat. 15). The Antique in Theory and its Role in the Academic ‘Alphabet of Drawing’ During the course of the 16th century, ever more statues emerged from the soil of Rome and little by little even those already discovered were given new life and integrity by partial or full restoration. One needs to remember that the vast majority of statues were unearthed in fragmentary states, as can be seen from the evocative drawings of Roman collections made in the 1530s by the Dutch artist Maarten van Heemskerck (1498–1574; fig. 38). Whether philologically correct or not, the growing fashion for restoration allowed artists to copy the human figure in its entirety rather than in mutilated fragments. Celebrated restorations included those of the Apollo Belvedere and the Laocoön carried out in the 1530s by Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli (1507–63) on the recommendation of Michelangelo (see cat. 5).78 Among the 29 most famous statues discovered during the 16th century, three must be mentioned as they immediately became constant references for artists, a status they retained over the following centuries. The place of honour goes to the Farnese Hercules (fig. 32), first recorded in 1556 in the Farnese Palace. It provided an ideal model for the muscular male at rest and copies after it became ubiquitous in artists’ workshops and academies (see cats 7, 14, 15, 16, 21, 31).79 The other two statues were discovered together in 1583 and immediately entered the collection of Villa Medici in Rome: the Wrestlers, representing two men in a complexly interlocked group (fig. 33; see also cat. 13, figs 5–6), which was used often in later academies as a source for posing two live models (see cats 16 and 27b); and the Niobe Group (fig. 34 and cat. 12), whose suffering expressions would be widely referenced as a source for drama and pathos, for instance by Guido Reni, among others.80 In time, a standard set of ideal types began to take shape, thanks to the diffusion of bronze and plaster casts and, especially, of prints.81 After the loose sheets of Marcantonio Raimondi, Marco Dente and Agostino Veneziano, more systematic enterprises were launched. Collections such as Antoine Lafréry’s Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae, published between 1545 and 1577, or Giovanni Battista de Cavalieri’s Antiquarum statuarum urbis Romae, published in several editions between the 1560s and the 1590s, played a crucial role in the European-wide dissemination of a canonical selection of classical statues, thus attracting more and more artists to Rome to study the originals.82 This tendency towards codification also affected the relationship of artists and art writers with the Antique, as the imitation of classical statuary was progressively given theoretical underpinning. At the same time the Antique acquired a clear role within the curricula of the emerging academies as a teaching tool for young artists, systemising a practice that, as we have seen, was already widely diffused within Renaissance workshops. Art theory in general went through a process of radical systematisation in the second half of the century.83 Many artists and writers felt that rules were required to give the visual arts an intellectual framework that would lift their status from ‘mechanical’ to ‘liberal’ arts – an ambition dating back to the writings of Alberti. As mentioned above, most theoreticians and mature painters believed that codified precepts were vital to inculcating young students with ‘correct’ principles in an age that they considered to be one of artistic corruption. Giovan Battista Armenini, writing in 1587, speaks explicitly of the ‘pain’ that masters like Raphael and Michelangelo would have felt in seeing the art of his own time.84 And Armenini, Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo, Federico Zuccaro (c. 1541–1609) and others, notwithstanding differences among them, considered that the rules of painting could be inferred from study of the best examples of the great Renaissance masters and those of antiquity. The latter especially, it was thought, would provide young artists with correct proportions and anatomy and inculcate ideal standards. A foundation of this theoretical effort was provided by the assimilation of Artistotle’s Poetics, the first reliable Latin translation of which appeared in 1498, and circulated widely.85 Since no comprehensive treatise on painting had Fig. 32. The Farnese Hercules, Roman copy of the 3rd century ad of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 317 cm (h), Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, inv. 6001 Fig. 33. The Wrestlers, Roman copy of a Greek original of the 3rd century bc, marble, 89 cm (h), Uizi, Florence, inv. 216 Fig. 34. The Niobe, possibly Roman copy of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 228 cm (h), Uizi, Florence, inv. 294 30 Fig. 35. Giovanni Battista de Cavalieri, The Laocoön, engraving plate 4, from Antiquarum statuarum urbis Romae, Rome, 1585 survived from antiquity, the Poetics, together with Horace’s Ars Poetica, offered a theoretical structure that could be transferred from the literary disciplines to visual art – justified by Horace’s celebrated motto ‘ut pictura poesis’, ‘as is painting so is poetry’.86 More relevant from our perspective, Aristotle’s Poetics provided, in several passages, an authoritative ancient source for the principle that art should perfect Nature to create ideal models – a concept implied but never clearly defined by Alberti – and which constituted one of the most solid bases for the classicist doctrine of art.87 This Aristotelian trend had a counter-balance in a neo-Platonic tendency in which ideal beauty did not derive from Nature but was infused in the mind of the artist by God, two approaches that at times were combined by the same author, such as Lomazzo or Zuccaro.88 But whether of Aristotelian or Platonic origins, or indeed a combination of both, the principle of imitation of those works of art that had already accomplished idealisation – particularly antique statues – became one of the leitmotifs of Italian, and then European, art theory from the later 16th century on. The most important writer on art of the Renaissance, Giorgio Vasari, firmly established the primacy of disegno, design or drawing, as the intellectual part of art, the ‘parent’ of the three sister arts of architecture, sculpture and painting. In his Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects – published first in 1550 and expanded in 1568 – drawing was described as the physical manifestation of the artistic idea, encompassing ‘all the objects in nature’ (see Appendix, no. 5).89 Although he did not provide a theoretical case for drawing after the Antique, nonetheless passages referring to the impact that classical statues had on Renaissance artists are readily found in his work.90 For him the best ancient sculptures embodied the supreme quality of grazia or grace, which cannot be attained by study but only by the judgement of the artist – a concept that remained one of the central tenets of Italian art theory for the next two centuries. Vasari’s Lives also proclaimed the superiority of the Central Italian School of painting, based on disegno, to the Venetian one, based on colore, initiating a debate over the respective merits of the two traditions which lasted for centuries.91 Although traditionally the Venetians aimed at imitating Nature directly on the canvas through colours and therefore were less attached to the laborious practice of drawing after the Antique, classical statuary played a role in the formation of many Venetian painters, and casts were used in their workshops, especially in the second half of the 16th century.92 Jacopo Tintoretto (1519–94), for instance, owned a large collection of casts and reductions of ancient and modern sculptures that he used as teaching tools (see cat. 10).93 The importance attached to the study of the Antique by all the Italian schools of painting is shown by the fact that one of the very first consistent formulations of the principle of the imitation of classical statuary is to be found in Ludovico Dolce’s Dialogo della pittura, published in 1557. This treatise contains the strongest defence of the Venetian tradition against the Vasarian point of view but it also contains, if not fully developed, most of the fundamental elements of the artistic theory of the 17th and 18th centuries (Appendix, no. 4). Dolce clearly specifies that in the search for perfect proportions of the human figure, the artist should ‘partly imitate nature’ and partly ‘the best marbles and bronzes of the antient [sic] masters’, because through them he can correct the defects of living form as they are ‘examples of perfect beauty’, ideal versions of Nature. But in Dolce we find also a warning against regarding the copying of ancient sculpture as an end in itself rather than the means by which an artist creates his own ideal artistic forms – something already stressed by Vasari in his Lives.94 Ancient sculptures must be imitated with ‘judgement’, to avoid turning some of their pleasing traits into formulae or, worse, eccentricities. This warning would be repeated frequently in following centuries, notably, for instance by Rubens and Bernini (see Appendix, nos 8 and 10), and it could, as we will see, lead to open opposition to copying the Antique. Similar advice appears in Armenini’s Veri Precetti della Pittura, written thirty years later.95 His treatise is quite systematic and offers one of the most articulated approaches towards the role of the Antique in the artist’s education; many of his ideas and much of his advice would become standard practice in the following centuries. In the chapter on ‘disegno’, he states that to acquire the ‘bella’ or ‘buona 31 maniera’ of the great Renaissance masters, the student needs fully to assimilate through drawing those principles of the ancient statues that those Renaissance masters themselves had copied, as they embody the best of Nature (Appendix, no. 6). Armenini’s importance lies also in the fact that he was the first to list the specific statues and reliefs that artists should copy and to praise the didactic use of plaster casts, of which he saw many collections throughout Italy – testifying to a practice that must already have been quite widespread.96 The imitation of the Antique also became a central tenet of the earliest art academies. Deriving their name from the ancient philosophical Academy of Plato, they were intended as venues for the cultivation of the practical, but even more, the intellectual aspects of art.97 Their role was conceived in parallel and not in opposition to the artist’s workshop, where the young apprentices were still supposed to learn art’s technical rudiments. One of the first mentions of the word ‘academy’ in conjunction with art is found in the first object shown in this catalogue, the Academy of Baccio Bandinelli in Rome, engraved by Agostino Veneziano in 1531 (cat. 1). This depicts an academy centred on disegno set up by the celebrated sculptor Baccio Bandinelli (1493–1560) in the Vatican Belvedere, where Pope Leo X (r. 1513–21) had given him quarters. It shows young artists learning how to draw the human figure and it is significant that the focus of their attention is a series of statuettes modelled after classical prototypes. This, and the later view of Bandinelli’s Florentine Academy (cat. 2), are the very first examples of the iconographical genre treated by this exhibition: images of academies, workshops, studios, often created with a programmatic or didactic purpose, showing pupils learning the different branches of art or going through different stages in their education. Just glancing at the works illustrated in our catalogue will show how the presence of the Antique became progressively relevant.98 The centrality of disegno and the human figure was firmly stressed by the earliest institutional, more organised, academies. The first, and a model for all future academies, was the aptly named Florentine Accademia del Disegno, founded by Duke Cosimo de’ Medici in 1563 on the initiative of Vasari, whose aim was to emancipate artists from guild control, and to affirm the intellectual status of the visual arts.99 The two most significant academies that followed before the end of the century were the Bolognese Accademia degli Incamminati, founded by the three Carracci in 1582, and the Accademia di San Luca in Rome, which was relaunched and given a didactic curriculum under Federico Zuccaro in 1593.100 These three early academies – although there were significant differences among them, and often huge discrepancies between the theory they supported and the everyday 32 teaching they practised – proposed a system that could give a broad education to aspiring artists. This usually included the study of mathematics, geometry and perspective, to teach the student how to represent space rationally; and of anatomy, the Antique and the live model, to teach him to master the correct depiction of the human body. We can see an idealised version of early academic practices in a complex and fascinating drawing by Johannes Stradanus (1523–1605), later engraved by Cornelis Cort (1533–78), where the stress is on the study of anatomy, the Antique and on the three arts of disegno (cats 4a and 4b). Similar practices are illustrated in an etching by Pierfrancesco Alberti of c. 1625, which shows a structured curriculum of studies involving anatomical dissection, geometry, the Antique and architectural drawing (see cat. 2, fig. 1).101 These studies codified artistic exercises that had been current from the early Renaissance onwards but important new teaching structures were introduced.102 These included a rotating academic staff, competitions and prizes, and organised debates on artistic questions and they were supported especially by the regulations of the Accademia di San Luca.103 Although we do not know to what extent and how effectively these new structures functioned in the first decades of the Roman institution, they soon spread to other academies, becoming, for instance, the model for the influential Académie Royale of Paris, which opened in 1648. All these institutions strongly advocated the copy of the Antique, both in plaster reproduction or in the original. The Accademia del Disegno in Florence supervised drawing from the Antique both in the Academy and in the workshops where apprentices were trained. It also owned a ‘libreria’, which included drawings, models of statues, architectural plans, and ancient sculpture, all used as teaching tools.104 The Accademia di San Luca listed the copying after the Antique in its first statutes (see Appendix, no. 7) and in 1598 received a donation of casts, while numerous plasters – such as reliefs from Trajan’s Column, the bust and the head of the Laocoön, one of the Horse Tamers of the Quirinal, the Belvedere Torso and many other entire or in fragments – appear in its early inventories.105 The importance accorded by Federico Zuccaro, the founder of the Roman Academy’s curriculum, to the thorough study of Rome’s most famous statues, emerges from his wonderful drawing of his elder brother, Taddeo, as a youth, sketching the Laocoön in the Belvedere Courtyard (cat. 5). The series to which this drawing belongs, produced around the same time as the foundation of the Accademia di San Luca, illustrates the ideal training that a young artist should follow: imitation of the Antique and the works of Renaissance masters, such as Raphael’s Stanze and Loggie, Michelangelo’s Last Judgment and Polidoro’s painted façades. Another sketch, by a Zuccaro follower, probably depicts Federico himself in the Accademia, surrounded by students sketching after the cast of an ancient torso (fig. 36).106 The Carracci academy too, although primarily focused on life-drawing, advocated study of the Antique and we know that Agostino Carracci (1557–1602) made his collection of drawings, medals and casts available for students.107 Early academies also codified a teaching model, defined as the ‘alphabet of drawing’ or the ‘ABC’ method, which, in a less regulated form, was already established within workshops and which would have a long-lasting impact continuing into the 20th century. This contributed significantly to giving the Antique a fixed place within teaching curricula. Modelled on the learning of grammar, the ‘alphabet’ was a sequence that encourage students to advance from elementary unity to complex whole and from the simple and similar to the varied and different.108 The scheme once again originated in Alberti, who advised young painters to follow the method practiced by teachers of writing, from the alphabet to whole words. So beginners were supposed to learn first ‘the outlines of surfaces, then the way in which surfaces are joined together, and after that the forms of all the members individually; and they should commit to memory all the differences that can exist in those members’.109 He recommended the same process for the study of human anatomy: starting from the bones, proceeding to the sinews and muscles, and finally to the flesh and skin.110 During the course of the 16th century, increased stress on the human figure, meant that pupils often started from the eye, then assembled different parts of the body in ever more intricate combinations, and finally reached the whole figure, via the study of ancient sculpture and the live model. Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71), writing around the middle of the century, reported that starting with the eye was the common practice and advised, like Alberti, a similar process for the study of anatomy.111 This process is reflected in the various images of early academies or studios, such as Stradanus’ The Practice of the Visual Arts (cat. 4a), where the young pupil on the extreme left is shown drawing eyes on his sheet, or Pierfrancesco Alberti’s Painters’ Academy where, on the left, another young artist is presenting a similar drawing to his elderly master (cat. 2, fig. 1). A parallel progression led the student from simplicity to complexity in the depiction of outlines, surfaces, chiaroscuro, poses and expressions: from copying objects in the same medium and in two dimensions, to the imitation of three-dimensional figures. The process usually started with copying of drawings and prints, then paintings, first in grisaille and then in colour, moving on to ancient sculpture, either originals or casts, and finally to the live model. This progression, already outlined by Leonardo in his unpublished treatise on painting, and advocated also by Vasari, was codified by Armenini, the first to list all its stages while simultaneously assigning a central role to classical statuary in providing a model for ideal forms (Appendix, no. 6).112 Armenini delineated both the progression from the eye to the whole body and from drawings and prints to the live model and warned the reader not to subvert this order.113 The earliest academies applied this method and Zuccaro’s statutes of the Accademia di San Luca, which were the most explicit, specifically mentioned the ‘alphabet’ or ‘ABC’ of drawing (Appendix, no. 7). In the following centuries it would become standard practice in academies throughout Europe. The final aim was, as most writers reiterated, to assimilate this repertory of forms through constant study and the exercise of memory, as to finally be able to create forms independent of the object of imitation (see cat. 2).114 The ‘alphabet of drawing’ had its physical manifestation in the publication of a series of drawing-books for beginners, conceived in the environment of the Carracci academy, that began to appear in the early 17th century – the first being Odoardo Fialetti’s Il vero modo in 1608 (see fig. 37 and cat. 10).115 The diffusion of such manuals, as we shall see, contributed enormously to spreading the knowledge of the didactic role of the Antique to the North of Europe in the 17th century, where, for almost a century, artists had already made a trip to Rome a compulsory part of their education. Fig. 36. Workshop of Federico Zuccaro, A Group of Artists Copying a Sculpture, c. 1600, 190 × 264 mm, pen, black and red chalk on prepared paper, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. F 261 inf. n. 128, p. 125 33 Fig. 37. Odoardo Fialetti, Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parti et membra del corpo humano, Venice, c. 1608, etching, 100 × 140 mm, Katrin Bellinger collection The North in Rome and Rome in the North During the course of the 16th century Rome established itself as the preeminent centre for Northern Europeans eager to assimilate the principles of Italian Renaissance art. The first significant artist, and one of the greatest of all to come to Italy with specific educational intent, was the painter and engraver Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528). He spent the years 1494–95 and 1505–07 in Italy and visited Rome at least once; the impact of classical statuary is evident in many of his prints and paintings, for example, in his Adam and Eve (1507) in the Prado, Madrid.116 But the largest number of artists to travel to Rome in the 16th century originated from the Low Countries. Coming from a powerful and influential pictorial tradition that privileged an analytical representation of Nature, and having received little or no exposure to classical antiquity in their training, Netherlandish artists sought especially to learn how to master the human figure through the lessons of the Antique and the works of Raphael and Michelangelo.117 Rome offered also the opportunity of training in one of its many workshops and the appealing possibility of benefiting from its rich system of papal and aristocratic commissions. Indeed the ‘fiamminghi’, as they were generally called in Rome, gained an increasing number of public commissions, eventually, in their turn, influencing the Roman art world. Some of them stayed for long periods or moved permanently to Italy, such as Joannes Stradanus (1523–1605, see cat. 4), Giambologna (1529–1608) or Willem Danielsz. van Tetrode (c. 1525–after 1575). We know about the Roman years of many of these artists mainly thanks to Karel van Mander’s Schilderboeck (The Book of Painters, 1st ed. 1604; 2nd ed. 1618), the 34 earliest systematic account of Netherlandish and Northern European painters, based on Vasari’s Vite. The approach of these artists towards the Antique could be varied and multifaceted. Most filled their sketchbooks with drawings that served as a collection of forms to be reused when they returned home. Others, like Bartholomeus Spranger (1546– 1611), according to Van Mander, aimed to assimilate the principles of classical art to establish mental repertoires of forms and an attitude towards the human figure that could be infused in their own creations, rather than spending too much time in the physical act of drawing.118 Although Jan Gossaert, called Mabuse (c. 1472–1532), who arrived in Itlay in 1508, was the first Fleming to pass time in the peninsula, it was only with Jan van Scorel (1495–1562), who spent the years 1522–24 in Rome, that the lesson of antiquity was transmitted to the North, through the workshop that he established following his return to Utrecht.119 Of his various pupils, Maarten van Heemskerck (1498–1574) was certainly the most prolific and versatile in copying antique statuary. Two albums from the five years Heemskerck spent in Rome between 1532 and c. 1536 are preserved in Berlin. They constitute one of the largest surviving collections of copies after the Antique of the 16th century and are filled with exceptional drawings in different media and size, offering an invaluable opportunity to categorise the many different approaches to classical statuary that can be described as record drawings.120 Many are topographical views of Rome in which Heemskerck indulged in the depiction of architectural ruins and sculptural fragments, and which he later reused in imaginary landscapes. Some of his views are poetic meditations on the colossal ruins of the city, physical reminders of the passage of time, of human grandeur and fragility, a mood he shared with other artists, such as Herman Posthumus (active c. 1536–42). Other drawings are more or less accurate depictions of classical statues in their physical locations, from the Belvedere Courtyard (cat. 5, fig. 3), to the Capitoline, to Roman private courtyards and gardens (figs 16 and 38), where the antiquities are shown in their still fragmentary state. In numerous detailed drawings focusing on single statues, we see van Heemskerck’s different approaches to copying the Antique and, correspondingly, the different media he employed to do so. His drawings range from precise penand-ink studies, in which he faithfully recorded the condition of celebrated statues, isolating the heads as physiognomic types (figs 39 and 40), to drawings where the whole statue is presented from different angles, to record the different poses and volumes of the human body in space (fig. 41). He also made copies in which he exploited the softness of red chalk to study anatomical details, assembling parts from different statues on the same sheet and focusing on torsos and legs, sometimes even disregarding faces, drapery and other details (fig. 42). Finally, in yet other red chalk drawings he carefully recorded decorative details from statues (fig. 43) or reliefs. The variety of techniques and handling deployed in these Fig. 39. (top left) Maarten van Heemskerck, Head of the Laocoön, 1532–36, pen and brown ink, 136 × 211 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 39r Fig. 40. (middle left) Maarten van Heemskerck, Two Studies of the Head of the Apollo Belvedere, 1532–36, pen and brown ink, 136 × 211 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 36v Fig 41. (bottom left) Maarten van Heemskerck, Three Studies of a Fragmentary Statue of a Crouching Venus in the Palazzo Madama, 1532–36, pen and brown ink, 135 × 210 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 06v Fig. 42. (middle right) Maarten van Heemskerck, Studies of Three Torsos and a Leg from Classical Statues in the Casa Sassi, 1532–33, red chalk, 135 × 211 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 51v Fig. 43. (bottom right) Marten van Heemskerck, The Right Foot of the So-Called ‘Colossal Genius’, 1532–33, red chalk, 135 × 208 mm, Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 65v Fig. 38. Maarten van Heemskerck, View of the Santacroce Statue Court, 1532–37, pen and brown ink, 136 × 213 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 29r 35 copies allowed him to find appropriate solutions to the variety of problems posed by the style and condition of the works that he copied. The result was a stunning visual repertory that was easy to access and use, and which would inspire him when he returned home. Several Frenchmen also established their residence in Rome from the 1540s onwards. Many of them, such as Nicolas Beatrizet (1507 or 1515–1565), Antoine Lafréry (1512–77), or Etienne Dupérac (c. 1535–1604), specialised in engraved views of the city and its ancient remains, catering to a European market increasingly fascinated by Rome’s ruins and statues.121 In one engraving attributed to Beatrizet, we find a rare image of a 16th-century artist in the act of copying from ancient statuary in situ – in this case the famous colossal Marforio, at that time located in the Forum and today visible in the courtyard of the Palazzo Nuovo on the Capitoline Hill (fig. 44).122 This image clearly expresses the sense of awe that Northern artists must have felt in front of the grandeur of the remains of Roman classical statuary. The fragmentary condition of so much monumental sculpture inspired thoughts about the fragility of the human condition and the ultimate insignificance of worldly troubles, which, as the inscription on the print remarks, the old Marforio ‘does not consider worth a single penny’.123 It is against this backdrop that we must consider Hendrick Goltzius’ draughtsmanly activity in Rome, where he arrived in 1590, almost certainly on the recommendation of his friend Karel van Mander, who had been in Italy in 1573–77. Goltzius was then 32 years old and already celebrated as an Fig. 44. Nicolas Beatrizet (attr.), An Artist Drawing the ‘Marforio’, 1550, engraving, 370 × 432 mm, published in Antoine Lafréry’s Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae 36 engraver throughout Europe. With Van Mander and Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem (1562–1638) he had established an academy in Haarlem in the 1580s.124 Although we know almost nothing about this artistic association, it must have involved discussions about the Antique and its representation among the three friends, who had the advantage of direct access to van Heemskerck’s Roman drawings, then owned by Cornelis Cornelisz.125 It is therefore significant that while in Rome, Goltzius took an approach to classical statuary that was very different from van Heemskerck’s. He concentrated from the beginning on 30 of the most famous classical statues, of which 43 drawings in total survive (see cats 6–8).126 His drawings are highly finished and unprecedentedly detailed, carefully recording the tonal passages on the muscles of the statues. The viewpoint is almost always close and frontal to the statue, or exploits the most dramatic or informative angle. Most importantly, unlike almost all of his 16th-century predecessors, who filled single pages of their sketchbooks with details from unrelated sculptures, he devoted a full page to each, a practice followed only a few years later by Rubens. Goltzius’ intent from the beginning was clearly to produce drawings that could be transformed into engravings capable of surpassing in precision all previously published series, and which, in faithfully reproducing the volumes of the marble, would also demonstrate his renowned virtuosity in handling the burin. This set must have been intended for a market of connoisseurs and collectors, but it is also likely that Goltzius wished to provide art students in the North with correct and detailed images of classical statues that they could copy during their apprenticeships. Eventually, for unknown reasons, he engraved only three plates, one of which, significantly, shows an artist at work copying the celebrated Apollo Belvedere (cat. 6b). Only ten years after Goltzius’ trip to Rome, the young Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640) arrived in the city. The great Flemish artist spent two prolonged periods in Rome, between 1601 and 1602 and from late 1605 (or early 1606) to late 1608, with short interruptions.127 Rubens constitutes a special case, being the perfect embodiment of the humanistic ideal of the artist-scholar: the son of a wealthy Antwerp family, highly educated in the classics and socially accomplished, he arrived in Rome already equipped with a thorough understanding of the Antique and its literary sources, a passion he cultivated throughout his life with his circle of scholarly friends and patrons. His approach towards classical statuary is therefore fascinating, complex and varied. Rubens’ appetite for the most famous ancient statues must have been stimulated already in Antwerp through the engravings of Marcantonio Raimondi and his pupils (fig. 29) and through those in the collections published by Lafréry and De Cavalieri (fig. 35).128 When in Rome he devoted himself completely to copying the originals with unique thoroughness, both to exercise his draughtsmanship and to create an immense repertory of mental and physical forms, to which he referred for inspiration throughout his life. His approach towards classical statuary was twofold: one was more intellectual, focused on understanding the mathematical proportions and volumes of various emblematic marbles, which he divided into different categories according to their muscular strength, to capture the very essence of their perfection. The other was more direct: to study the statues exhaustively in order to assimilate their formal principles. For Rubens it was not only necessary to ‘understand the antique’, but ‘to be so thoroughly possessed of this knowledge, that it may diffuse itself everywhere’ (see Appendix, no. 8). Unlike Goltzius, he studied the sculptures over and over again, copying them from many, and often unusual, points of view, devoting a single page to each: no one before him had shown such a painstaking interest in understanding the formal logic of a single sculpture intended as a whole. His focus on the nude – to learn the principles of perfect human bodies – on specific male statues, such the Laocoön, the Belvedere Torso and the Farnese Hercules (figs 19, 23 and 32) and his choice of the most favourable points of view, may reflect the specific advice and examples given in Lomazzo’s Trattato and in Armenini’s Veri Precetti (see Appendix, no. 6).129 But, as Dolce (Appendix, no. 4) and Armenini had already done before him, Rubens also cautioned young artists to focus on the forms and not on the matter of the statues, to avoid the ‘smell of stone’ in their drawings and creations (see Appendix, no. 8).130 He was aware of the danger of transferring the characteristics and limits of one medium – marble – into another – drawing or painting. In a section titled De Imitatione Statuarum (‘On the Imitation of Statues’) of a larger theoretical notebook that he compiled over several years, Rubens referred to painters who ‘make no distinction between the matter and the form, the stone and the figure’, with the result that ‘instead of imitating flesh, they only represent marble tinged with various colours’ (Appendix, no. 8).131 We can see Rubens’ genius at revitalising inert substance by applying his principle of inventive and transformative imitation in most of his drawings after the Antique, for which he used soft chalk on rough paper better to translate stone into flesh. This is particularly evident in muscular figures such as the Belvedere Torso (fig. 45) and the Laocoön (figs 46–47), which he brought back to life, adopting dramatic angles and diagonals that completely abandoned the static Fig. 45. Peter Paul Rubens, The Back of the Belvedere Torso, c. 1601–02, red chalk, 395 × 260 mm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, inv. 2002.12b 37 Fig. 46. Peter Paul Rubens, Study of the Laocoön Seen from the Back, c. 1606–08, black chalk, 440 × 283 mm, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. 624, F 249 inf. n. 5, p. 11 Fig. 47. Peter Paul Rubens, Study of the Younger Son of the Laocoön Seen from the Back, black chalk, 444 × 265 mm, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. 623, F 249 inf. n. 5, p. 11 and frontal point of view of most 16th-century drawings.132 This attention to the qualities of human skin and flesh, and the dynamism, pathos, and drama that he learnt mainly from Hellenistic sculptures, were to become the main traits of his own art. In this he was following in the footsteps of Michelangelo, who, not by chance, he copied extensively, focusing especially on the nudes of the Sistine Chapel and on his sculptures.133 Rubens adopted a similar approach to the live model, which he often posed in attitudes reminiscent of classical statues.134 Unsurprisingly, he frequently cited the Laocoön and the Torso, but the most recurrent was the Spinario in the Capitoline collection (fig. 15), for which several drawings made from different angles survive (see cat. 9). The Spinario pose had been already chosen by one of the pupils of Benozzo Gozzoli almost a century and a half earlier (fig. 14), and it remained one of the most popular for posing the live model until the 19th century (fig. 106). Rubens’ drawings of it convey the essence of his attitude towards the ideal human form: by posing flesh as marble, he was able to bypass the dangers of the ‘matter’ to focus only on the complex forms and poses of the original statue. Back in Antwerp, Rubens retained until his death his drawings after the Antique, bound together in separate books, as a distinctive part of the collection of his house-museum, which hosted also numerous antiquities.135 They remained a constant source of inspiration and they may also have been used as teaching tools – as in the best tradition of Renaissance 38 workshop practices – judging by the copies deposited by his pupils in the cantoor, Rubens’ cabinet or studio.136 As the 17th century advanced, the flux of Northern artists coming to Rome did not cease, although most became fascinated by the radical naturalism of Caravaggio (1571–1619) and his followers, rather than aiming at recreating the principles of classical art. A group of artists, mainly Dutch, even developed from the fourth decade onwards a successful speciality in the depiction of contemporary Roman street life and everyday reality, including rustic taverns, drinking scenes, brigands, street vendors, charlatans and carnivals. The art of the ‘Bamboccianti’, so named after their leader, Pieter van Laer (1599–c. 1642), dubbed ‘Bamboccio’, or ‘ugly puppet’, was fiercely criticised as a debased form of art that deliberately chose the worst of Nature, by the supporters of classicism and history painting, such as Francesco Albani (1578–1660), Andrea Sacchi (1599–1661) and Salvator Rosa (1615–73), as well as by theorists of ‘ideal beauty’ such as Giovan Pietro Bellori (1613–96).137 In contrast to the Dutch, among the foreign communities in 17th-century Rome, as we shall see, it was the French who were to take the lead in the cause of classicism, the defence of Ideal Beauty and the copy and study of the Antique. The contrasting attitudes of foreign artists towards the study of art in Rome in the middle of the century are perfectly visualised in a canvas by Anton Goubau (1616–98), a Flemish painter influenced by the Bamboccianti, who had been in Rome c. 1644–50 (fig. 48).138 On the right, judicious artists under the supervision of a master are busy at work among imaginary Roman ruins, copying and measuring ancient statues and reliefs, among them the Farnese Hercules and the Venus de’ Medici; on the left the Bamboccianti indulge in the pleasures of wine and music under the pergola of a rustic tavern.139 Nevertheless, this wittily expressed opposition should not be taken too literally, as by the 1660s the educational and inspirational role of classical statuary had been deeply assimilated by European artists of all inclinations and aesthetics. Many moved between genres and artistic currents such as the Flemish genre painter Pieter van Lint (1609–90), who produced many drawings after the Antique while in Rome in 1633–40.140 Even those close to the Bamboccianti clearly treasured the didactic role of classical statuary, as can be seen in the depictions of workshops and artists at work by the Flemish Michael Sweerts (1618–64, see cat. 12). The Antique, and its didactic role in the Italian model of artistic education, also made rapid progress in the North of Europe, supported by the publication of Karel van Mander’s Schilderboeck in 1604. Knowledge was transmitted mainly through drawings, drawing-books and plaster casts. These were used in the drawing schools or private academies that proliferated, some of which were founded by the same artists who had been exponents of the Bamboccianti in Rome. These drawing schools often had to struggle against regulations by the guilds, which remained the dominant associations for artists in the North well into the 18th century, dictating what went on in most workshops – the notable exception being the academy founded in Antwerp by royal decree in 1663.141 But despite the heavy hands of the guilds, many thriving workshops, while accepting individual apprentices, adopted academic practices from the South, such as conducting classes for groups of students, or implementing a training programme focused on drawing and the mastery of the human form. This often included the ‘alphabet of drawing’, as was the practice of Rembrandt’s studio in Amsterdam, in which many children were taught annually, and of Rubens, who, as court painter, did not have to register his apprentices with the Antwerp guild.142 According to Van Mander, another studio famous for its educational efficacy was that of Abraham Bloemaert (1566– 1651) in Utrecht (see cat. 11).143 During the second half of the century, other private drawing schools or ‘colleges’ were founded, which catered for a clientele of artists and dilettanti, giving them the chance to draw from casts and the nude model alongside their studio practice.144 Among the most famous were those of Michael Sweerts, opened in Brussels in 1656 (see cat. 12), and of Jan de Bisschop (1628–71), which flourished in the 1660s in The Hague (see cat. 13).145 Closely connected with workshops’ and schools’ drawing practices was the proliferation of drawing-books and artists’ manuals in the Southern and Northern Netherlands.146 Most of them were based on the example of Odoardo Fialetti’s Il Vero Modo(1608, see cat. 10) and Giacomo Franco’s De excellentia et nobilitate delineationis (1611) sometimes reprinting parts of them.147 Like their Italian predecessors, Netherlandish drawing-books focused on the human form, on classical statuary, and on the different stages of the academic learning process.148 The increasing importance of Fig. 48. Anton Goubau, The Study of Art in Rome, 1662, oil on canvas, 132 × 165 cm, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp, inv. 185 39 the Antique in the Netherlands is well expressed by the various Dutch translations of François Perrier’s Segmenta (1638) – the most successful collection of prints after classical statues of the 17th century (fig. 57 and cat. 16, figs 3–6) – and by the equal success of its Dutch counterpart, Jan de Bisschop’s Icones (1668, see cat. 13), explicitly compiled as a teaching tool.149 Antique models were also copied by young Northern artists in three dimensions, thanks to the proliferation of casts, as shown in the frontispiece of Abraham Bloemaert’s Konstryk Tekenboek (c. 1650) – one of the most influential drawing-books of the second half of the century (see cat. 11). Many studios and drawing schools owned collections of casts, often of famous prototypes such as the Laocoön or the Apollo Belvedere. Inventories of the studios of Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem, Hendrik van Balen (1575–1632), and Rembrandt, for instance, testify to their presence.150 The diffusion of casts appears explicitly in the numerous paintings depicting young artists at work, which became popular from the middle of the century onwards (figs 49–53, see also cats 12 and 14). These works constitute an individual iconographical genre that probably derives from Fialetti’s striking etching (see cat. 10), which, as we have seen, was well known and reprinted several times in the Netherlands.151 This genre was practised mainly by Jacob Van Oost the Elder (1601–71, fig. 50), Wallerant Vaillant (1623–77, fig. 51), Balthasar Van den Bossche (1681–1715) and Michael Sweerts (fig. 52 and cat. 12), whose canvases tend to represent the ideal training curriculum, where the copying of plaster casts after the Antique has the place of honour.152 As ‘low’ genre paintings that celebrate the didactic role of the Antique – traditionally considered to be essential for the lofty genre of history painting rather than for scenes of daily life – they indirectly attest to the ubiquitous penetration of classical models in all 17th-century artistic practices. Incidentally they are also a direct visual source for the most widely diffused typologies of classical statues in the North of Europe in the 17th century: from busts of the Apollo Belvedere (figs 18 and 50), of the Laocoön group, both father and sons (figs 19 and 51), and of the so-called Grimani Vitellius (fig. 52), to reduced copies of the Spinario (figs 15 and 49), the Belvedere Antinous (figs 22 and 51), the Venus de’ Medici (figs 53 and 56), and the Farnese Hercules (see fig. 32 and cat. 14). Also frequently depicted are busts of Niobe (see fig. 34 and cat. 12), reduced copies of the Wrestlers (fig. 33) and the Borghese Gladiator (fig. 54). urban palaces and suburban villas of the Medici, Farnese, Borghese, Ludovisi and Giustiniani attracted an increasing number of visitors and artists, becoming privileged centres for the study of the Antique, and family names became attached to certain statues, as the Farnese Hercules or the Venus de’ Medici testify.154 Some of these, such as the Palazzo Farnese (see cat. 21), and the Casino Borghese retained their status as ‘private museums’ until the end of the 18th century. Prints continued to play a vital role in the dissemination of images of classical statues throughout Europe. They were produced predominantly in Rome, where, as in the 16th century, French printmakers played a prominent role alongside Italian antiquarians and engravers.155 Among others, the publications of François Perrier (1594–1649) and the duo comprising the antiquarian and theoretician Giovanni Pietro Bellori (1613–96) and the engraver Pietro Santi Bartoli (1615– 1700), offered artists and the educated public a choice of The Italian and the French Academies in the Seventeenth Century and the Establishment of Classicism Fig. 49. (top left) Jan ter Borch, The Drawing Lesson, 1634, oil on canvas, 120 × 159 cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, inv. SK-A-1331 Fig. 50. (top right) Jacob van Oost the Elder, The Painter’s Studio, 1666, oil on canvas, 111.5 × 150.5 cm, Groeningenmuseum, Bruges, inv. 0000.GRO0188.II Fig. 51. (bottom left) Wallerant Vaillant, The Artist’s Pupil, c. 1668, oil on canvas, 119 × 90 cm, Bonnefantenmuseum, Maastricht, inv. 673 Fig. 52. (bottom centre) Michael Sweerts (attr.), Boy Copying a Cast of the Head of Emperor Vitellius, c. 1658–59, oil on canvas, 49.5 × 40.6 cm, The Minneapolis Institute of Arts, inv. 72-65 Fig. 53. (bottom right) Pieter van der Werf, A Girl Drawing and a Boy near a Statue of Venus, 1715, oil on panel, 38.5 × 29 cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, inv. SK-A-472 40 The 17th century witnessed dramatic changes of attitude towards the study of the Antique in terms of codification, diffusion and theoretical debate; at the same time it saw the formulation of a style heavily dependent on classical sculpture, setting the stage for the final affirmation of classicism as a pan-European phenomenon in the following century. The selection of the most significant antique statues, begun in the 16th century, was further refined, especially in the cosmopolitan antiquarian environment of Rome. Excavations continued and some of the new discoveries immediately joined the canon of ideal models. Three of them, in particular, were ubiquitously reproduced and copied in studios and academies: the Borghese Gladiator (fig. 54), discovered in 1611, which soon became the preferred model for the anatomy of the muscular man in action; the Dying Gladiator (fig. 55), first mentioned in 1623, whose complex pose could be drawn from different angles and which offered an ideal of heroic pathos expressed in the moment of death; and finally, the Venus de’ Medici (fig. 56), first recorded in 1638 but possibly known in the late 16th century, which rapidly became the most admired embodiment of the graceful female body.153 New collections gradually replaced earlier ones and a few families succeeded in acquiring some of the newly discovered statues that had gained canonical status. The magnificent Fig. 54. Agasias of Ephesus, Borghese Gladiator, c. 100 bc, marble, 199 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. Ma 527 Fig. 55. Dying Gladiator, Roman copy of a Pergamene original of the 3rd century bc, marble, 93 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC0747 41 the ‘best’ ancient statues and reliefs; the authority of their selections lasted throughout the 18th century. For full-length statues, crucial was the appearance in 1638 of Perrier’s Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum (fig. 57 and cat. 16 figs 3–6), a collection of prints which in many ways fulfils what Goltzius had intended to publish four decades earlier (see cats 6–7).156 Offering good quality reproductions and different points of view– three for the Farnese Hercules and four for the Borghese Gladiator, for instance – Perrier’s images were essential in focusing the attention of artists on a selected number of models considered exemplary in anatomy, proportions, poses and expressions. Reprinted and translated several times, the success of the Segmenta was immense and it was used in studios and academies as a teaching tool for almost two centuries, as we have seen earlier in the Netherlands. As late as 1820 John Flaxman was still recommending the use of Perrier to his students at the Royal Academy.157 Such publications were the results of the antiquarian and theoretical interests of a French-Italian classicist milieu that flourished in the first half of the century in Rome.158 Innumerable French artists now spent time in the city, filling sketchbooks with copies after the Antique and Renaissance Fig. 56. Venus de’ Medici, Greek or Roman copy of the 1st century bc of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 153 cm (h), Uizi, Florence, inv. 224 Fig. 57. François Perrier, Venus de’Medici, plate 81, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 42 masters, and devoting increasing space to the study of Raphael.159 Two of the most relevant figures in this context were the great French painter Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665), who resided in Rome between 1624 and 1665 (with a brief sojourn in France in 1640–42), and his friend and biographer Giovanni Pietro Bellori, possibly the most influential art writer of the century, who deserves to be called the protagonist in the theoretical formulation of classicism. Of similar significance was the scholar, antiquarian, collector and patron Cassiano dal Pozzo (1588–1657), a friend of both Poussin and Bellori – and patron of the former – who assembled a vast encyclopaedic collection of drawings divided by themes, a ‘Paper Museum’, with sections devoted to classical antiquity commissioned from several contemporary artists.160 Classicism found probably its clearest and most influential formulations in a landmark discourse composed by Bellori and delivered in 1664, the year before Poussin’s death, in the Roman Accademia di San Luca: the ‘Idea of the painter, the sculptor and the architect, selected from the beauties of Nature, superior to Nature’ (see Appendix, no. 11). Bellori’s theoretical statement, published as a prologue to his Vite in 1672, was to become enormously influential in defining and disseminating the central tenets of the classicist ideal (see cat. 15).161 Joining Aristotelian and neo-Platonic premises, Bellori’s Idea advocates in the selection of the best parts of Nature according to the right judgement of the artist in order to create ideal beauty – a concept that we have already encountered many times. According to Bellori, the Idea had been embodied in art at several periods of history and he traced its development according to a scheme of peaks and descents. It took shape first and foremost in the ancient world and was revived in modern times by Raphael, who is accorded nearly divine status. After the decadence and excesses of Mannerism, it was revitalised by the Bolognese Annibale Carracci (1560–1609) and by his pupils and followers, notably Domenichino (1581–1641). Their flame was kept alive in Bellori’s time by Poussin and Carlo Maratti (1625– 1713), a protégé of Bellori, who fashioned himself as the new Raphael and whose Academy of Drawing is the most programmatic representation of the principles of Roman classicism (see cat. 15). Bellori’s classicism, heir of the rich debates of the first half of the century, can be defined as a codification and defence of an idealistic style and of moralising history painting against the radical naturalism introduced by Caravaggio and his followers, whose slavish dependence on Nature and choice of low subjects were seen to undermine the intellectual premises of art. On the other hand, Bellori also confronted the excesses and liberties of the Baroque, whose representatives, according to him, leaned towards artificiality and despised the ‘ancient purity’.162 Classicism in many ways was based on the principles laid down by the art theory of the second half of the 16th century, as it shared with it a fundamental premise: the necessity of the defence of what was perceived as the ideal path of art – the ‘bella maniera’ – against contemporary artistic trends which were considered erroneous or even noxious.163 The classicist theoretical approach further reinforced the practice of copying: it reinstated the intellectual value of drawing while providing a selected group of correct models to follow, with the Antique and Raphael on the loftiest pedestal. These premises were embraced by the Italian and French academies, and became the basis of most of the European academies of the following century – Opie’s words to the young pupils of the Royal Academy in 1807 still reiterate their fundamental tenets. Although the debate was at times fierce – as for instance within the Accademia di San Luca in the 1630s – a strict division of 17th-century artists into classicist, naturalist and Baroque categories would be arbitrary and inaccurate, as many of them moved between currents and at times incorporated elements of each in their own creations. Indeed, artists of all allegiances copied, studied and took inspiration from the Antique. We know from surviving drawings and contemporary written sources that ‘classicist’ artists such as Annibale Carracci, Poussin and Maratti copied antique statues (figs 58–61), yet an equal number of ‘Baroque’ Fig. 58. Annibale Carracci, Head of Pan from the marble group of Pan and Olympos in the Farnese Collection, 1597–98, black chalk heightened with white chalk on grey-blue paper, 381 × 245 mm, Louvre, Paris, inv. 7193 artists, such as Rubens (figs 45–47 and cat. 9), Pietro da Cortona (1596–1669, fig. 62) and Bernini (figs 63–64) spent as much time in absorbing the principles of the Antique.164 Nevertheless their approaches towards the Antique could be very different. Poussin, the intellectual and antiquarian painter par excellence, copied hundreds of details from classical sculpture, especially reliefs and sarcophagi, to give archaeological consistency to his art, so that his paintings would represent classical histories with the maximum of accuracy, Fig. 59. Nicolas Poussin, Equestrian Statue of Marcus Aurelius, c. 1630–32, pen and brown ink and brown wash, 244 × 190 mm, Musée Condé, Chantilly, inv. AI 219; NI 264 Fig. 60. Carlo Maratti, The Farnese Flora, c. 1645–70, black chalk, 294 × 159 mm, The Royal Collection, Windsor Castle, inv. 904377 Fig. 61. Carlo Maratti, or Studio of, The Farnese Hercules, c. 1645–70, red chalk, 292 × 165 mm, The Royal Collection, Windsor Castle, inv. 904382 43 Fig. 62. Pietro da Cortona, The Trophies of Marius, c. 1628–1632, pen, brown ink, brown wash, heightened in white, on blue sky prepared paper, 518 × 346 mm, The Royal Collection, Windsor Castle, inv. RL 8249 integrity and power, an approach in several ways similar to that of Mantegna and Raphael. Bernini, arguably the greatest 17th-century sculptor, spent his youth obsessively copying the ancient statues in the Belvedere (see Appendix, nos 9–10) and in his old age recommended that students of the Académie Royale in Paris begin their studies by copying casts of the most famous classical statues before approaching Nature (see Appendix, nos 9–10). But Bernini’s attitude towards ancient statuary was poles apart from that of Poussin (whom he nevertheless highly admired): he assimilated its principles in order to create his own independent forms, at times deviating radically from the classical model – an attitude that we have already seen in Michelangelo and Rubens. To develop their own style and avoid a slavish dependency on the Antique – something already stressed by Dolce, Armenini and Rubens (Appendix, nos 4, 6, 8) – he advised his students to combine and alternate ‘action and contemplation’, that is to alternate their own production with the practice of copying (Appendix, no. 10). A wonderful example that allows us to follow Bernini’s creative process of transforming of the antique model is provided by a study of the torso of the Laocoön, the unbalanced and twisted pose of which he then ingeniously adapted in reverse for the complex attitude of his Daniel (figs 63–66). A recollection of the Laocoön is furthermore recognisable in Daniel’s powerful expression (fig. 66).165 A practical outcome of the French and Italian theoretical formulation of a classicist doctrine was the foundation in 1648 of the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture in Paris, followed in 1666 by that of the Académie de France in Rome – the latter intended to give prize-winning students the opportunity to study the Antique in situ and to provide 44 Louis XIV (r. 1643–1715) with copies of classical and Renaissance statues.166 The foundation of the French Académie in Paris is a turning point in the history of the teaching of art, as its codified programme – based on Italian examples, and especially the Roman Accademia di San Luca – would constitute the basis for the academies that spread over the Western world in the 18th and 19th centuries. Founded by several artists, most of whom had spent periods in Rome such as Charles Le Brun (1619–90), the Paris Académie was supported by the monarch and candidates could apply for admission only after they had trained in a workshop. Its regulations aimed at full intellectual development for its students to prepare them for the creation of the highest genre, history painting, or the grande manière. Although its curriculum was rather loosely organised and, in the first two decades of its history, fairly tolerant in its aesthetic positions, during the 1660s the Académie was drastically reformed by the powerful Minister and Superintendent of Buildings Jean-Baptiste Colbert (1619–83) and by Le Brun to become an institution in the service of the absolutist policy of Louis XIV, with a codified version of classicism as its official aesthetic. The rationalistic nature of French 17th-century culture meant that the Académie conceived of art as a science that could be taught by rules. This was explicitly stated by Le Brun in 1670,167 and efforts were concentrated in clarifying and applying most of the precepts already devised by the early Italian academies and theoreticians. If a student followed these precepts correctly he – and only he, as the institution was limited to male pupils until the late 19th century – would be able to assimilate the principles of ideal beauty and create grand art.168 The future European success of this regimented version of the humanistic theory of art rested exactly in its rational nature, as a clear system of rules easy to export and replicate, offering at the same time a safe path towards ‘true’ and universal art. Pupils were supposed to follow the ‘alphabet of drawing’, from copying drawings, to casts and statues, to the live model, which remained the most difficult task and one reserved for the most advanced students. Regular lectures on geometry, perspective and anatomy were provided. As in Federico Zuccaro’s statutes for the Accademia di San Luca, professors rotated monthly to supervise the life class, prizes were awarded to students and regular debates were initiated on the principles of art – the celebrated so-called Conférences, regularly held from 1667 onwards on the advice of Colbert, although they faltered by the end of the century to be revived only a few decades later.169 Other aspects of the reforms of the 1660s included the division of the drawing course into lower classes, devoted to copying, and higher classes, for Fig. 63. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Study of the Torso of the Father in the Laocoön group, c. 1650–55, red chalk heightened with white on grey paper, 369 × 250 mm, Museum der Bildenden Künste, Leipzig, inv. 7903 Fig. 64. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Two Studies for the Statue of ‘Daniel’, c. 1655, red chalk on grey paper, 375 × 234 mm, Museum der Bildenden Künste, Leipzig, inv. 7890 Fig. 65. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Daniel in the Lion’s Den, c. 1655, terracotta, 41.6 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 2424 drawing from the live model. Competitions were further structured to lead towards the highest reward, the famous Grand Prix or Prix de Rome, which allowed the winners to spend between three and five years at the Académie de France in Rome, to complete their education and to assimilate the principles of the greatest ancient and modern art. The official doctrine of the Paris Académie was distilled and diffused by André Félibien (1619–95), the most prominent French art theorist of the period, in his preface to the first series of Conférences held in 1667 and published in 1668. Félibien offered a clear structure for the hierarchy of genres that would be associated with academic painting for the next two centuries: at the bottom was still life, followed on an ascending line by landscape, genre painting, portraiture and finally by history painting, for which the study of the Antique, of modern masters and of the live model were considered necessary.170 The first Conférences reveal in their subjects and approach the central tenets of the Parisian Académie: paintings by Raphael, Poussin, Le Brun and the Laocoön were meticulously analysed in their parts according to strict rules: invention, expression, composition, drawing, colour, proportions etc. Some Conférences were devoted to specific parts of painting: one given by Le Brun in 1668, on the ‘passions of the soul’, which was printed posthumously and translated into several languages, constituted the basis for the study of facial expressions until well into the 19th century.171 The Antique remained one of the favourite subjects to be dissected by the academicians. After the 1667 Conférence on the Laocoön (see Appendix, no. 12),172 praised as the ideal model for drawing and for the ‘strong expressions of pain’,173 many more followed specifically devoted to the Farnese Hercules, Belvedere Torso, Borghese Gladiator, and Venus de’ Medici, the ultimate selected canon of sculptures.174 Conférences were also given on the study of the Antique in general.175 Sébastien Bourdon’s (1616–71) Conférence sur les proportions de la figure humaine expliquées sur l’Antique, in 1670 advised students to fully absorb the Antique from a very early age, measure precisely its proportions and control ‘compass in hand’ the Fig. 66. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Daniel in the Lion’s Den, 1655–57, marble, over life-size, Chigi Chapel, Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome 45 live model against classical sculptures, as they are never arbitrary – a method, according to Bourdon, approved by Poussin.176 This extreme rationalistic approach, based on the actual measurement of the Antique, which, as we will see, would generate opposition, was put into practice by Gérard Audran (1640–1703), engraver and ‘conseiller’ of the Académie (Appendix, no. 13). His illustrated treatise of 1682 (figs 72–73) provided students with the carefully measured proportions of the antique statues that they were supposed to follow and became a standard reference work in many languages, continuously republished until 1855. While the Académie de France in Rome must have started accumulating casts after the Antique from early on – the inventory of 1684 lists a vast collection of statues, reliefs, busts, etc.177 – it is not entirely clear how readily the students of the Académie in Paris had access to casts or copies in the first decades of the institution’s history. Bernini, in his 1665 visit, explicitly advised the formation of a cast collection for the Parisian Académie, and some, among them a Farnese Hercules, were ordered or donated in the following years.178 But although students certainly copied casts already in Paris, full immersion in the practice was reserved for the period they spent in Rome.179 ‘Make the painters copy everything beautiful in Rome; and when they have finished, if possible, make them do it again’ Colbert tellingly wrote in 1672 to Charles Errard (c. 1606–9 – 1689), the first Director of the Académie de France in Rome.180 In Rome a similar practice was encouraged in the Accademia di San Luca, which, like its Parisian counterpart, was significantly reformed in the 1660s, perhaps a sign of the increasingly important reversal of influence, from France to Italy. From the beginning of the presidency of Carlo Maratti in 1664, a staged drawing curriculum, competitions and lectures were implemented and new casts were ordered (see cat. 15).181 Some twenty years later the Accademia received the donation of hundreds of casts of antique sculptures from the studio of the sculptor and restorer Ercole Ferrata (1610–86).182 Sharing the same values and similar curricula, in 1676 the Accademia di San Luca and the Parisian Académie Royale were formally amalgamated and on occasion French painters even became principals of San Luca – Charles Errard in 1672 and 1678, and Charles Le Brun in 1676–77.183 But the Italians could never feel wholly comfortable with the extreme rationalisation of art characteristic of so much French theory.184 After the publication of the French Conférences, debates were held in defence of the Vasarian tradition and of the value of grace, judgement and natural talent against the rules and the overly rational analysis of art and the Antique by the French.185 The engraving by Nicolas Dorigny (1658–1746) after Carlo Maratti is the most eloquent 46 visual expression of this intellectual confrontation that continued into the 1680s (cat. 15). Some of the most doctrinal aspects of the Parisian academy also generated an internal counteraction and the supporters of disegno, classicism and Poussin, headed by Le Brun, were challenged by the promoters of Venetian colore and Rubens, led by the artist and critic Roger de Piles (1635–1709) and by the painter Charles de la Fosse (1636–1716). The battle between ‘Poussinisme’ and ‘Rubénisme’ – a new incarnation of the debate started more than a century earlier by Giorgio Vasari and Lodovico Dolce – captured the imagination of the French academic world between the end of the 17th and the first decade of the 18th centuries. The victory of the Rubénistes led the way to a freer, anti-classicist and more painterly aesthetic and to the eventual affirmation of the Rococo in French art.186 But the next century would also witness the triumph of the classicist ideal, as its principles spread all over Europe. The Antique Posed, Measured and Dissected Given the rationalistic approach of French artists and theorists to the Antique – ‘compass in hand’ – it does not come as a surprise that, during the 17th century, they actually started to measure ancient statues in order to tabulate their proportions. And as well as measuring statues they began to merge the study of anatomy with study of the Antique to provide young students with ideal sets of muscles to copy. Such efforts produced a series of extremely influential drawing-books filled with fascinating and disturbing images, in which ancient bodies are covered by nets of numbers or flayed and presented as living écorchés. In a way it was inevitable that the study of human proportions applied by Alberti, Leonardo and Dürer to living bodies Fig. 67. Peter Paul Rubens, Study of the Farnese Hercules, c. 1602, pen and brown ink, 196 × 153 mm, The Courtauld Gallery, Samuel Courtauld Trust, London, inv. D.1978.PG.427.v, Fig. 68. Charles Errard, Antinous Belvedere, plate on p. 457 in Giovanni Pietro Bellori, Le vite de’ pittori scultori e architetti moderni, Rome, 1672 would eventually be merged with the study of the ideal bodies of ancient statues, to test Vitruvius’ assertion that ancient artists worked according to a fixed canon (Appendix, no. 1). The main problem was that the canonical proportions of 5th-century bc sculpture had been disregarded from the 3rd century bc onwards. Furthermore, as we now know, most of the ‘perfect’ Greek statues were actually modified Roman copies of lost originals. The measuring efforts of 17thcentury art theorists were therefore for the most part in vain, as most of the revered marbles did not embody the principles of commensurability and overall harmonic proportion that they believed they did. Although we have seen that Raphael had already initiated the practice of measuring statues (fig. 27), the first to refer explicitly to this exercise is Armenini in his 1587 De veri precetti della pittura, in which a chapter is devoted specifically to the ‘measure of man based on the ancient statues’.187 Rubens also devoted much attention to trying to discover the perfect numbers and forms of ancient statues, dividing for instance the Farnese Hercules, the strongest type of male body, according to series of cubes, the most solid of the perfect forms (fig. 67).188 Not surprisingly, Poussin’s approach to the Antique in Rome was similar, and we know from Bellori that he and the sculptor François Duquesnoy (1597–1643) ‘embarked on the study of the beauty and proportion of statues, measuring them together, as can be seen in the case of the one of Antinous’ – two illustrations of which he published in Poussin’s life in his Vite (fig. 68).189 But the first artist to provide accurate drawings of the most famous statues was the future founding director of the Académie de France in Rome, Charles Errard, who, later, also provided the measured Antinous illustrations for Bellori’s Vite (fig. 68). In collaboration with the theorist Roland Fréart de Chambray (1606–76), and most likely inspired by Poussin, he executed in 1640 a series of intriguing measured red chalk drawings today preserved at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris (figs 69–71).190 Produced only two years after the publication Fig. 69. Charles Errard, or collaborator, Measured Drawing of the Belvedere Antinous, 1640, red chalk, pencil, pen and brown ink, 430 × 280 mm, École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris, inv. PC6415, no. 27 Fig. 70. Charles Errard, Measured Drawing of the Laocoön, 1640, red chalk, pen and brown ink, 430 × 280 mm, École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris, inv. PC6415, no. 11 Fig. 71. Charles Errard, Measured Drawing of the Venus de’Medici, 1640, red chalk, pencil, pen and brown ink, 430 × 280 mm, École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris, inv. PC6415, no. 28 47 of Perrier’s successful Segmenta, Errard’s drawings were clearly intended to be published and to present young artists with a set of certain and ideal proportions on which they could base their own figures. A similar search for discipline was undertaken by Fréart de Chambray, and later by other theorists, among the remains of ancient architecture, which involved an even more intense effort to discover their ‘perfect’ proportions. Although a few of Errard’s drawings were published in 1656 by Abraham Bosse – the first professor of perspective of the Parisian Académie Royale – the first successful manuals appeared in the 1680s, as a result of the theoretical debates on the proportions of ancient statues held in the Académie during the previous decade.191 By far the most influential was a manual we have already encountered, Gérard Audran’s Proportions du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, published in 1683 (Appendix, no. 13). This provided a fully ‘classicised’ drawing-book, following the ‘alphabet of drawing’ from the measured eye, nose and mouth of the Apollo Belvedere (fig. 72), to whole canonical statues, such as the Laocoön (fig. 73). Audran’s book, republished several times in various languages, became the model for many similar publications that appeared during the 18th and early 19th centuries and espoused a practice embraced by many artists. Examples from different nations include a Dutch manual, where, fascinatingly, the Apollo Belvedere is presented according to Vitruvian principles (fig. 74; see also fig. 2 and Appendix, no. 1); drawings by the sculptor Joseph Nollekens (1737–1823; fig. 75); and measured notes drawn by Antonio Canova (1757– 1822) over an engraving of the Apollo Belvedere from a didactic series of prints after the Antique (fig. 76).192 In addition to being carefully measured, antique bodies were also dissected. If classical statues displayed perfect anatomies, then, it was thought, they would offer an ideal starting point for young students to study bones and muscles. Combining the study of the Antique with that of anatomy was intended to reinforce the familiarity of young artists with ancient canonical models, now also analysed from the inside. Students until then had trained mainly on the immensely influential De humani corporis fabrica, published by Andrea Vesalius in 1543, and on the anatomical treatises that were based on it, but from the late 17th century new ‘classicised’ manuals appeared.193 The first, Anatomia per uso et intelligenza del disegno… , based on drawings by Errard, was published in 1691 by Bernardino Genga (1655–1720), professor of anatomy at the Académie de France in Rome.194 Probably conceived much earlier, the set of engravings included fascinating and somewhat morbid images of the skeletons of classical statues (figs 77–78; although these were not eventually included in the book) and several different views of the muscles of the strongest types of ancient prototypes, the Laocoön, the Borghese Gladiator, the Farnese Hercules and the Borghese Faun (figs 79–80).195 Genga and Errard’s Anatomia was a model for several similar books which appeared in the 18th and early 19th centuries to satisfy the needs of the increasingly classicistic curricula of European academies. Not surprisingly, only male antiquities, and usually the most muscular ones, were illustrated, both for reasons of decorum and also because the Fig. 74. Jacob de Wit, Measured ‘Apollo Belvedere’, plate 8 in Teekenboek der proportien van ‘t menschelyk lighaam, Amsterdam, 1747 Fig. 75. Joseph Nollekens, Measured Drawing of the ‘Capitoline Antinous’, 1770, pen and brown ink over traces of black chalk, 431 × 292 mm, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, inv. DBB 1460 Fig. 76. Giovanni Volpato and Rafaello Morghen, Measured ‘Apollo Belvedere’, engraving (with inscribed measures in pencil, red chalk, pen and brown ink by Antonio Canova), post 1786, plate 35 in Principi del disegno. Tratti dall più eccellenti statue antiche per il giovanni che vogliono incamminarsi nello studio delle belle arti, Rome, 1786, Museo Civico, Bassano del Grappa, inv. B 42.69 Fig. 77. (above left) After Charles Errard, The Skeleton of the ‘Laocoön’, c. 1691, engraving, 328 × 198 mm, Bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris, Album Maciet 2-4 (4) Fig. 78. (above centre) After Charles Errard, The Skeleton of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, c. 1691, engraving, 334 × 280 mm, Bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris, Album Maciet 2-4 (1) Fig. 79. (above right) After Charles Errard, Anatomical Figure of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, c. 1691, plate 51 in Bernardino Genga and Charles Errard, Anatomia per uso et intelligenza del disegno . . . , Rome, 1691 Fig. 80. (left) After Charles Errard, Anatomical Figure of the ‘Laocoön’, c. 1691, plate 43 in Bernardino Genga and Charles Errard, Anatomia per uso et intelligenza del disegno . . . , Rome, 1691 Fig. 72. Gérard Audran, Measured Details of the ‘Apollo Belvedere’, plate 27 in Les Proportions du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, Paris, 1683 Fig. 73. Gérard Audran, Measured ‘Laocoön’, plate 1 in Les Proportions du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, Paris, 1683 48 49 male body was believed to provide more anatomical information compared to the female one. One of the most disturbingly accurate, printed in two colours to distinguish the muscles from the bones, is the Anatomie du Gladiateur combatant … published in 1812 by the military surgeon JeanGalbert Salvage (1772–1813). Although this provided a precise anatomical analysis of the head of the Apollo Belvedere (fig. 81), its main focus was on the anatomy of the Borghese Gladiator analysed in all its parts (fig. 82). The accuracy of the manual’s plates made it extremely influential throughout Europe.196 Fig. 81. Nicolaï Ivanovitch Outkine after Jean-Galbert Salvage, Muscles and Bones of the Head of the ‘Apollo Belvedere’, engraving in two colours, plate 1 in Jean Galbert Salvage, Anatomie du Gladiateur combatant …, Paris, 1812 The stress on anatomical precision also produced a spectacular three-dimensional écorché of the Borghese Gladiator created by Salvage in 1804 and acquired as a teaching tool in 1811 by the École des Beaux-Arts, where it remains (fig. 83).197 An earlier model, which had served as inspiration for Salvage, was the gruesomely naturalistic écorché posed as the Dying Gladiator (see fig. 55) made by William Hunter (1718– 83), the professor of anatomy at the Royal Academy of Arts in London, in collaboration with the sculptor Agostino Carlini (1718–90; fig. 84). Casted on the body of an executed smuggler, it was aptly Latinised as Smugglerius.198 The Antique found its way into academic anatomical manuals for students throughout the 19th century, and its pervasiveness was enormous, extending even beyond Western culture. A plate with a flayed Laocoön from the popular Anatomie des formes extérieures du corps humain, published in 1845 by Antoine-Louis-Julien Fau (fig. 85), served as inspiration for a popular artists’ manual produced in Japan at the end of the century, resulting in an extraordinary image which fuses the Western canon and the Japanese woodblock print tradition of the Ukiyo-e (fig. 86).199 The osmosis between the Antique and other disciplines of the academic curriculum gained ground also in the study of the live model. We have seen that already in the 15th century it was common practice to pose apprentices in imitation of ancient sculpture (see fig. 14), and great artists like Rubens often returned to this expedient (see cat. 9). But the practice became increasingly diffused within the codified curricula of French and Italian academies during the 17th and 18th centuries (figs 87–89). Recommended by several Fig. 84. (top left) William Pink after Agostino Carlini, Smugglerius, c. 1775 (this copy c. 1834), painted plaster, 75.5 × 148.6 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/1436 Fig. 85. (middle left) M. Léveillé, Anatomical Figure of the ‘Laocoön’, lithography, plate 24 in Antoine-Louis-Julien Fau, Anatomie des formes extérieures du corps humain, Paris, 1845 Fig. 86. (middle right) Anatomical Figures of the ‘Laocoön’ and of a Small Child, woodblock print, plate in Kawanabe Kyo-sai, Kyosai Gadan, 1887 Fig. 87. (bottom left) Antoine Paillet, Drawing of a Model Posing as the ‘Laocoön’, 1670, black and white chalk on brown paper, 580 × 521 mm, École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, Paris, inv. EBA 3098 Fig. 82. Jean Bosq after Jean-Galbert Salvage, Anatomical Figure of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, engraving in two colours, plate 6 in Jean Galbert Salvage, Anatomie du Gladiateur combatant …, Paris, 1812 50 Fig. 83. Jean-Galbert Salvage, Écorché of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, 1804, plaster, 157 cm (h), École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris, inv. MU11927 Fig. 88. (bottom centre) Giuseppe Bottani, Drawing of a Model in the Pose of the ‘Lycean Apollo’ Type, c. 1760–70, red and white chalks on red-orange prepared paper, 423 × 270 mm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, inv. 1978-70-197 Fig. 89. (bottom right) Jacques-Luois David, An Academic Model in the Pose of the ‘Dying Gaul’, 1780, oil on canvas, 125 × 170 cm, Musée Thomas Henry, Cherbourg, inv. MTH 835.102 51 academicians, posing the live model with the same tension and flexing of muscles as the ancient statues encouraged students to correct their drawings after fallible Nature against the perfection of the antique examples and to derive universal principles from particular living models (see cats 16 and 27b).200 The Eighteenth Century and the Diffusion of the Classical Ideal The seeds planted by 17th-century classicist theory fully blossomed during the 18th with the affirmation of Neoclassicism in the second half of the century. Supported by and supporting the exponential diffusion of academies – from some nineteen in 1720 to more than 100 in 1800 – the cult of the Antique spread to the four corners of Europe, from St Petersburg to Lisbon and beyond.201 The ‘true style’, as classicism was often called in the 18th century, was inextricably linked with many of the values of Enlightenment culture: in an age in search of order and universal principles, the appeal of the rational and ‘eternal’ ideals embodied by classical statuary proved irresistible. At the same time they provided a useful tool for existing political powers and a formidable one for new authorities in search of legitimisation. The new academies based their curricula mainly on that of Paris and Rome, and the didactic role assigned to the Antique was physically imported through an army of plaster casts – the ‘Apostles of good taste’ – as Denis Diderot called them, which became the most recognisable trademark of the newly founded institutions (fig. 90).202 The progressive method of the ‘alphabet of drawing’ definitively established itself as the basis of the training of European artists well into the 20th century. Not necessarily followed in practice, as students often wanted to rush to the copy of the live model, its didactic value was, in Fig. 90. After Augustin Terwesten, The Life Academy at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Berlin, engraved vignette on p. 217 from Lorenz Beger, Thesaurus Brandenburgicus Selectus…, vol. 3, Berlin, 1701 52 theory, supported by the vast majority of academies.203 The plate illustrating the entry on ‘Drawing’ in Diderot and D’Alembert’s epochal Encyclopédie significantly focuses on the three steps, being followed in different media (fig. 91).204 While the French model was spreading throughout Europe during the first half of the century, ironically the Parisian Académie itself underwent a period of crisis. After the death of Colbert in 1683 and of Le Brun in 1690, the royal institution became decreasingly relevant in determining the direction of the national school of painting. Financial constraints and the waning of royal patronage coincided with the fact that the vital forces of French art were becoming less interested in adhering to the precepts of the Académie. A change in taste under the regency of Philippe d’Orléans (r. 1715–23) favoured the so-called petite manière, a form of painting dealing with light-hearted subjects – ‘bergeries’, ‘fêtes galantes’ – against the grande manière. Partly as a consequence, the traditional curriculum of the Académie, centred on the study of the human figure to prepare for history painting, was increasingly neglected.205 But things changed radically in 1745 with the appointment of Charles-FrançoisPaul Le Normant de Tournehem – the uncle of Madame de Pompadour – as Surintendant des Bâtiments du Roi, the official protector of the Académie Royale on behalf of the king. He initiated a reform involving the reinvigoration of royal patronage, the re-establishment of Conférences and, more generally, a series of initiatives aimed at re-establishing the leading role of the Académie and of history painting in the French art world.206 The principles of Le Normant’s reform, supported by the influential antiquarian and theorist Comte de Caylus (1692–1765) and visualised by Charles-Joseph Natoire’s beautiful drawing (cat. 16), paved the way for the final affirmation of the grande manière in the second half of the century, despite the continuing clamour of dissenting voices. If Paris progressively became the centre of the modern art world, Rome retained its status as the ‘academy’ of Europe Fig. 91. Benoît-Louis Prévost after Charles-Nicolas Cochin the younger, A Drawing School, plate 1, illustrating the entry ‘Dessein’ from Denis Diderot and Jean Le Ronde D’Alambert, Encyclopédie …, Recueil de planches, sur les sciences, les art libéraux, et les arts méchaniques …, Paris, 1763, vol. 20 where a thriving international community of artists congregated to round off their education in the physical and spiritual presence of the Antique and the great Renaissance masters.207 The crucial role that Rome occupied in 18thcentury culture is evoked in the words of the most famous art critic of the age and the champion of classicism Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717–68): ‘Rome’ he wrote in his letters ‘is the high school for all the world, and I also have been purified and tried in it’.208 Of course, artists and travellers had visited the city to study its art for at least two centuries, but the 18th century represented Rome’s golden age as the traveller’s ultimate destination. The Grand Tour – as the trip to Italy and to Rome was known – became a social and cultural phenomenon that included artists, antiquarians, collectors and, in general, members of European elites.209 It generated an industry of collectibles that travellers could bring back to their homeland, and an army of original ancient statues and modern copies in all media was exported, alongside portraits and paintings of various kinds that would powerfully recall the time spent by their owners in the eternal city. Among the most fascinating and systematic evocations of Rome are a series of celebrated canvases by Giovanni Paolo Panini (1691–1765), where ‘the best of the best’ of Roman sites and antiquities are gathered together in imaginary galleries. In the foreground of fig. 92, (see also cat. 20, fig. 5) artists are busy drawing and measuring with their compasses a selected choice of canonical classical statues – a reminder of one of the most widespread artistic activities in the city.210 The demands of the Grand Tour ‘industry’ also generated a specific category of ‘marketable drawings’ after the Antique destined to fill the ‘paper museums’ of collectors and antiquarians all over Europe. They were mainly produced for collectors and travellers from Britain, a nation that became increasingly important in the study of the Antique throughout the century. Among the most famous drawings were those produced in the workshop of the entrepreneurial painter Francesco Ferdinandi Imperiali (1679–1740) in the 1720s by various painters and draughtsmen – among them Giovanni Domenico Campiglia (1692–1775; see cats 19–20) and the young Pompeo Batoni (1708–87; fig. 93).211 Created for the extensive collection of the antiquarian Richard Topham Fig. 92. Giovanni Paolo Panini, Roma Antica, 1754–57, oil on canvas, 186 × 227 cm, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, inv. Nr 3315 53 (1671–1730), Batoni’s red chalk drawings are among the most extraordinary produced in the 18th century. With their precision, attention to detail, fidelity to the originals and frontal viewpoint, they encapsulate many of the typical qualities of this category of drawings. Their manner continues and develops some of the characteristics already seen in the classicist drawings of Carlo Maratti, of whom Batoni was the natural artistic heir (figs 60–61). Growing interest in the classical past was also supported by massive expansion in antiquarian publications, such as the monumental Antiquité expliquée (Paris, 1719–24) by the Abbé Bernard de Montfaucon, an illustrated encyclopaedia of the Antique for the use of the European educated public. Artists could also benefit from an increase in printed collections of classical statues.212 Paolo Alessandro Maffei and Domenico de Rossi’s Raccolta di Statue Antiche e Moderne (1704) set new standards of accuracy, and it was followed by the various sumptuous volumes devoted to the antiquities of the Grand Ducal collection in Florence and of the Capitoline Museum in Rome (see cats 19–20). With its wealth of patrons, artistic competitions, academies and artists’ studios, many displaying collections of casts, Rome also offered an unrivalled opportunity to learn and practice the arts of disegno.213 The classicist direction given to the Accademia di San Luca by Giovanni Pietro Bellori and Carlo Maratti, was sanctioned by the Pope Clement XI (r. 1700–21) who in 1702 established papalsupported competitions, the celebrated Concorsi Clementini, which thrived especially during the second half of the century (see cat. 20).214 Open to all nationalities, the Concorsi Fig. 93. Pompeo Batoni, Drawing of the Ceres of Villa Casali, c. 1730, red chalk, 469 × 350 mm, Eton College Library, Windsor, inv. Bn. 3, no. 45 54 were divided into three classes of increasing difficulty, the third and lowest class being reserved for copying, usually after the Antique (see cat. 20, fig. 4). This reinforced, as nowhere else in Europe, the study of classical statuary as the cornerstone of the artist’s education, giving to Italian and foreign artists alike the chance to be rewarded publicly in sumptuous ceremonies held in the Capitoline palaces, even in early stages of their careers. The cosmopolitan atmosphere of the Accademia di San Luca is reflected in the fact that among its Principals were several foreigners, such as the Frenchman Charles-François Poerson (elected 1714) or the Saxon Anton Raphael Mengs (1771–2) and the Austrian Anton von Maron (1784–6). The Accademia was also open to leading women painters such as Rosalba Carriera (1675–1757) or Elisabeth-Louise Vigée Le Brun (1755–1842), although they were not allowed to attend meetings. Crucial for artistic education was the opening of the Capitoline as a public museum in 1734, thanks to the enlightened policy of Pope Clement XII (r. 1730–40).215 One of the main reasons behind the papal decision was specifically to support ‘the practice and advancement of young students of the Liberal Arts’ through the copy of the Antique.216 An evocative vignette inserted in the Musei Capitolini – the first sumptuously illustrated catalogue of the collection – reflects the popularity of its cluttered rooms among artists of all nations (see cat. 20). With the opening in the Capitoline of the Accademia del Nudo in 1754 – specifically devoted to the study of the live model and controlled by the Accademia di San Luca – the museum became a sort of ideal academy where art students could copy concurrently from the Antique, Old Masters paintings and the live model.217 Apart from the Capitoline and other traditional places, such as the Belvedere Court or the aristocratic palaces where original antiquities could be studied in situ (cat. 21), the other favoured locus for the study of the Antique in the city was the Académie de France in Rome, which owned the largest collection of plaster casts in Europe. Although the Académie, like its Parisian counterpart, had gone through a troubled period in the early decades of the century – the Prix de Rome was cancelled for lack of funds in 1706–8, 1714 and 1718–20 – its role was revamped and its practices drastically reformed under the directorship of Nicholas Vleughels (1668–1737) between 1725 and 1737.218 The casts were redisplayed in Palazzo Mancini, the Académie’s prestigious new location on the Corso, and integrated for didactic purposes with the study of the live model (see cat. 16). The collection of the Académie served as an example for similar institutions throughout Europe, as its arrangement of many copies sideby-side was considered ideal for the assimilation of classical forms. With the advancing neo-classical aesthetic, their flawless white appearance was even preferred for didactic purposes above the originals: young students could concentrate on their purified forms, without the signs of time shown by real antiquities. No other nation had as many members in Rome as France, both as pensionnaires of the Académie and permanent residents (see cats 17–18, 21).219 The long directorship of Charles-Joseph Natoire, between 1751 and 1775, greatly developed and expanded the copying of antiquities that had been reinstated by Vleughels. But Natoire also encouraged the creation of ‘classical’ landscapes of the Roman campagna, following the principles established by the great 17th-century French landscapists: Poussin, Dughet and Claude.220 Natoire and his most gifted and prolific pupil, Hubert Robert (1733– 1808), who spent more than a decade in Rome between 1754 and 1765, produced a series of drawings in which copying in the city’s museums and palaces is splendidly evoked (figs 94–97 and cat. 17).221 Focused in particular on the Capitoline collection, Robert’s images are among the most fascinating products of a genre – that of the artist drawing in situ surrounded by classical statues – that, as we know, goes back to the 16th century (see cat. 5 and fig. 44). Robert specialised in evocative views of the remains of ancient Rome, with artists and wanderers lost among their crumbling grandeur. In many ways he recaptured the spirit of wonder and meditation on the ruins of the city expressed by 16th-century Northern artists, such as Maarten van Heemskerck, Herman Posthumus, and Nicolas Beatrizet (fig. 44).222 Boosted by the enthusiasm generated by the unearthing of the remains of Herculaneum and Pompeii in 1738 and 1748, in the second half of the century the ‘true style’ of Neo-classicism firmly established itself, spreading from the international community in Rome to the whole of Europe. Significant figures in the formulation of the new taste were the architect and engraver Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720– 78), whose lyrical etchings and engravings of ancient and modern Rome established – and sometimes created – the image of Rome among a European public, and the art historian Johann Joachim Winckelmann, whose powerful descriptions of classical statues inspired generations of artists and travellers, firmly establishing a new classicist doctrine in European taste.223 More than ever before, artists now aimed not only at assimilating the principles of classical sculpture, but at recreating its formal aspect, as a universal standard of perfection to which any great artist should aspire. Fig. 94. Charles-Joseph Natoire, Artists Drawing in the Inner Courtyard of the Capitoline Museum in Rome, 1759, pen and brown ink, brown and grey wash, white highlights over black chalk lines on tinted grey-blue paper, 300 × 450 mm, Louvre, Paris, inv. 3931381 55 As Winckelmann famously stated in his Reflections on the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks (1755): ‘There is but one way for the moderns to become great, and perhaps unequalled; I mean, by imitating the ancients’ (see Appendix, no. 15). Although in 1775 new regulations for the Académie de France in Rome stressed again the centrality in the curriculum of study of the live model, most pupils now favoured the study of the Antique, an evident sign of the evolution of taste towards a new radical classicism.224 Of all the artists converging on Rome, Jacques-Louis David (1748–1825), was one of the most prolific in making copies after the Antique.225 Leaving Paris in 1775 with the firm resolution of maintaining his independence and avoiding the seductions of the Antique, his arrival in Rome, according to his own words, opened his eyes.226 He started his artistic education again by spending the next five years as a pensionnaire obsessively copying from modern masters and classical statues, reliefs and sarcophagi with an attention to detail that recalls Poussin’s approach to antiquity (fig. 98).227 Generally speaking, between the end of the 18th century and the beginning of the 19th, artists copying from the Antique concentrated progressively on the outlines of statues rather than on the modelling or the chiaroscuro, as the neo-classical aesthetic valued the purity of the line over any other pictorial element, accentuating the stress on disegno inaugurated by Vasari more than two centuries before. Fig. 95. Hubert Robert, The Draughtsman at the Capitoline Museum, c. 1763, red chalk, 335 × 450 mm, Musée des Beaux-Arts et d’Archéologie de Valence, inv. D. 80 Fig. 96. Hubert Robert, Antiquities at the Capitoline Museum, c. 1763, red chalk, 345 × 450 mm, Musée des Beaux-Arts et d’Archéologie de Valence, inv. D. 81 Fig. 97. Hubert Robert, The Draughtsman of the Borghese Vase, c. 1765, red chalk, 365 × 290 mm, Musée des Beaux-Arts et d’Archéologie de Valence, inv. D28 56 Fig. 98. Jacques-Louis David, Drawing of a Relief with a Distraught Woman with Her Head Thrown Back, 1775/80, pen and black ink with gray wash over black chalk, 196 × 150 mm, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., Patrons’ Permanent Fund1998.105.1.bbb But coinciding with David’s residence in Rome, other interpretations of the Antique started to emerge within a circle of artists that included Tobias Sergel (1740–1814) and Thomas Banks (1735–1805) and which revolved around the Swiss painter Henry Fuseli (1741–1825).228 The approach of this ‘Poetical circle’ was utterly anti-academic and prefigures some of the principles that would be embraced by Romantic artists a few years later. For them ancient sculptures were embodiments of the emotions of the artists who created them, rather than models of ideal beauty and proportional perfection. Fuseli’s extraordinary drawing, The Artist Moved by the Grandeur of Antique Fragments (cat. 22), which he produced immediately after leaving Rome in 1778, perfectly expresses this more empathic and meditative relation with classical antiquity and its lost grandeur. The attitude of Fuseli and his friends represents a turning point in the relation of the artist with ancient statuary, stressing the creative genius of the artist, his or her individuality and, in general, the subjective values of art: all principles that would contribute to the decline of the classical model in the following century. The Antique in Britain: The eighteenth century Of the various nationalities of artists resident in Rome during the 18th century, the British were among the most numerous. Britain had arrived late on the international artistic stage. Until the late 17th century, several factors, including the theological disapproval of pagan and Catholic imagery of large sections of Protestant society, had made Britain, outside the confined patronage of the Court, a virtual backwater in the visual arts. There was no established national school of painting or sculpture and no academy; painters were tied to the craft guild of the Painter Stainers’ Company; it was illegal to import pictures for sale, and there was no proper art market.229 However, by a century later, things had changed radically: following the nation’s dramatic political liberalisation and economic expansion, Britain had one of the most dynamic national art schools in Europe and a Royal Academy, founded in 1768. Several hundred thousand artworks – including a multitude of original antiquities and copies – had been imported to adorn the urban townhouses and country mansions of the upper classes; and London had become the centre of the international art market, displacing Antwerp, Amsterdam and Paris.230 The new ruling class that had emerged from the Glorious Revolution of 1688 embraced classicism, defined as the ‘Rule of Taste’; at the same time artists started gathering to form private academies where they could study together and where beginners could receive at least some training, based, 57 of course, on the continental model, with the copy after the Antique as one of its cornerstones.231 Many British artists also travelled to Rome, where they participated in the Concorsi of the Accademia di San Luca or attended the Accademia del Nudo in the Capitoline and several built national and international reputations thanks to their success in the city.232 In Rome, furthermore, artists encountered British travellers and potential future patrons. Plaster casts must already have been relatively widely available during the first half of the 18th century.233 Drawings after classical sculptures survive by British artists who did not travel to Italy: among them some fascinating, rough, early studies by Joseph Highmore (1692–1780), possibly from casts in the Great Queen Street Academy – which operated under Sir Godfrey Kneller and Sir James Thornhill between 1711 and 1720 – where he enrolled in 1713 (fig. 99).234 But the insular situation of the British art world, where many painters struggled in vain to create a modern and national school and genre of painting, plus an innate distrust of cultural models imported from the Continent, especially France, meant that copying the Antique encountered strong criticism. The most vociferous opponent was William Hogarth (1697–1764), who, as director of the second St Martin’s Lane Academy from 1735, became increasingly hostile to a curriculum based on the French Académie model and to history painting in general, although, paradoxically, he demonstrated great admiration for a few classical statues in his writings (see Appendix, no. 14).235 His war against fashionable imported taste and didactic principles is well expressed by the celebrated first plate in his Analysis of Beauty (1753), where the Antique, anatomy and the study of proportions evocated in the centre of the composition are surrounded by vignettes illustrating Hogarth’s own aesthetic ideas (fig. 100).236 But despite such discontented voices, fascination with the Antique would only intensify, and educational curricula based on French or Italian models would gradually impose themselves. In 1758, a ‘continental’ enterprise was launched by the 3rd Duke of Richmond with the opening of a gallery attached to his house in Whitehall ‘containing a large collection of original plaister casts from the best antique statues and busts which are now at Rome and Florence’.237 With a curriculum based on the ‘alphabet of drawing’ and under the directorship of the Italian painter Giovanni Battista Cipriani (1727–85) and the sculptor Joseph Wilton (1722–1803) – the first Englishman to receive, in 1750, the prestigious first prize of the Accademia di San Luca – the gallery was set up specifically with the didactic purpose of training youths on the basis of the Antique (fig. 101).238 To compensate for the absence of a national Academy, a semi-formal system developed probably inspired by the joint model of the Accademia di San Luca and the Capitoline, where many British artists had worked.239 Students would have started by copying drawings, prints and parts of the body in the private drawing school set up in 1753 by the entrepreneur and drawing master William Shipley (1714– 1803); they would then progress to the Duke of Richmond’s Academy when they were ready to study three-dimensional forms; finally they would proceed to the study of the live model in the second St Martin Lane’s Academy.240 Competitions were set up and the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce, which was founded Fig. 101. John Hamilton Mortimer, Self-portrait with Joseph Wilton, and an Unknown Student Drawing at the Duke of Richmond’s Academy, c. 1760–65, oil on canvas, 76 × 63.5 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/970 in 1754, awarded prizes for the best drawings after casts and copies, several of which survive in the institution’s archive (figs 102–03).241 The continental system also reached cities outside London. For example, academies and artists’ societies were set up in Glasgow – in an image of the Foulis Academy of Art and Design founded there in 1752 we see the familiar presence of the Borghese Gladiator (fig. 104) – and in Liverpool (see cat. 24).242 But it was with the foundation of the Royal Academy in London in 1768 that Britain finally had a national institution with a formal curriculum based on continental models (see cats 25–27). Directed by Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723–92) – its first president between 1768 and 1792 – the Academy had a teaching structure that centred on the Antique or ‘Plaister’ Academy and the Life Academy, to which students would progress after having practised for years on plaster casts.243 To advance from one stage to another, they had to supply a presentation drawing showing their skills in depicting antique forms: one by the young Turner (1775–1851), who enrolled in the Academy in 1789 as a boy of fourteen, probably belongs to this category (cat. 27a). Several evocative images testify to the study of the growing collection of plaster casts, both in daylight and at night (fig. 105 and cats 25–27),244 while the Life Academy is evoked in the famous painting by Johan Zoffany (1733–1810) which shows the first academicians in discussion around two male models – one glancing at us in the pose of the Spinario – surrounded by familiar plaster casts of classical and Renaissance sculpture (fig. 106). In the background, on the right, an écorché appears among the other casts, to remind us that anatomy lessons were delivered in the Academy by the physician William Hunter (1718–83). By bringing together plaster casts, anatomy and the study of the live model, Zoffany’s image declared unmistakably the Royal Academy’s affinity with continental academic models of teaching. The two female members, Mary Moser (1744–1819) and Angelica Kauffmann (1741–1807) are evoked through their portraits, as their presence in the Life Academy was considered improper.245 A system of discourses, competitions and exhibitions, complemented and completed the teaching curriculum. The official theoretical line of the Academy, fixed in Reynolds’ celebrated Discourses – which were delivered between 1769 and 1790 – was a distillation of the idealistic theory of the previous centuries and included frequent references to the Antique (see Appendix, no. 17). Reynolds’ highest praise was reserved for the Belvedere Torso, which embodied the Fig. 102. William Peters, Study of a Cast of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, c. 1760, pencil, black and white chalk on coloured paper, 410 × 450 mm, Royal Society of Arts, London, inv. PR/AR/103/14/621 Fig. 99. Joseph Highmore, Study of a Cast of the Borghese Gladiator, Seen from Behind, c. 1713, graphite, ink and watercolour on paper, 354 × 230 mm, Tate, London, inv. T04232 58 Fig. 103. William Peters, Study of a Cast of the ‘Callipygian Venus’, c. 1760, pencil, black and white chalk on coloured paper, 525 × 355 mm, Royal Society of Arts, London, inv. PR/AR/103/14/669 Fig. 100. William Hogarth, The Analysis of Beauty (Plate 1), 1753, etching and engraving, 387 × 483 mm, private collection, London 59 Fig. 104. David Allan, The Foulis Academy of Art and Design in Glasgow, c. 1760, engraving, 134 × 168 mm, Mitchell Library, Glasgow, inv. GC ILL 156 Fig. 105. Anonymous British School, The Antique School of the Royal Academy at New Somerset House, c. 1780–83, oil on canvas, 110.8 x 164.1 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/846 Fig. 106. Johan Zofany, The Portraits of the Academicians of the Royal Academy, 1771–72, oil on canvas, 100.1 × 147.5 cm, The Royal Collection, Windsor Castle 60 ‘superlative genius’ of ancient art, and this judgement is reflected in the official iconography of the Royal Academy, as the Torso appeared, significantly below the word ‘Study’, on the silver medals awarded in the Academy’s competitions (see cat. 27a).246 The muscular fragment reappears as well in one of the female allegories of Invention, Composition, Design and Colour, commissioned by the Royal Academy from Angelica Kauffman in 1778 to decorate the ceiling of the Academy’s new Council Chamber and to provide a visual manifesto for Reynolds’ theory of art (fig. 107).247 Showing her wit and erudition, Kauffman’s Design is a significant image, as she took the traditional personification of Disegno, depicted as male (the word is masculine in Italian), and transformed it into a woman copying the ideal male body – thereby asserting the right of women to study the Antique and pursue a traditional artistic career. Although increasingly questioned by anatomists and by a growing number of artists, plaster casts were used in the Academy’s curriculum well into the 19th century and beyond. In London the didactic role of original sculptures and casts was also exploited outside official institutions. This was the case of the antiquities assembled by the influential antiquarian and collector Charles Townley (1737–1805) at his house on 7 Park Street, which became a sort of alternative academy where artists, amateurs – and also women – could study the statues he had imported from Italy (cat. 28).248 Another private space set up with the specific intention of training young architects in the study of the Antique was the houseacademy established by Sir John Soane (1754–1837) at No. 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields (cat. 29). In the labyrinthine spaces of Soane’s interiors, which were constantly enlarged to house Fig. 107. Angelica Kaufman, Design, 1778–80, oil on canvas, 130 × 150.3 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/1129 his growing collections, he obsessively juxtaposed paintings, architectural fragments, copies of celebrated classical statues, drawings and objects of all sorts.249 Architecture, sculpture and painting were seamlessly integrated to create a whole and to express the qualities of ‘variety and intricacy’, advocated by Reynolds in his 13th Discourse (1786). This variety was intended to stimulate the imagination of Soane’s students – in 1806 he was appointed the Royal Academy’s Professor of Architecture – and to invite would-be architects not to limit themselves but to train in the three sister arts, as recommended by Vitruvius.250 Academic training continued as students gathered to copy the Antique in the newly built galleries of the British Museum,251 but, as the 19th century progressed, its authority faded dramatically as young artists looked increasingly to the modern world for their inspiration. Dissenting Voices and Seeds of Decline The linear evolution of the classical ideal from the early Renaissance to the beginning of the 19th century was in reality punctuated by several opposing voices. But none of them, with rare exceptions, ever questioned the greatness and authority of classical art. What was at times disputed was the didactic value of copying from the Antique or the slavish dependence on its forms demonstrated by some of the most dogmatic devotees of classicism. We have seen that even in the 16th century, art critics like Vasari, Dolce and Armenini had warned against excessive dependence on classical forms and had advocated an independent and creative approach based on the artist’s own judgement. Rubens and Bernini too had warned against the ‘smell of stone’ in painting or psychological dependence on the model. This balanced approach to the Antique would become a leitmotif among later generations of art theorists. Furthermore, artistic traditions outside Central Italy had always demonstrated a good dose of scepticism towards the dependence of the Florentine and Roman schools on the forms and ideals embodied by classical statuary. One of the most intelligent expressions of this attitude is the famous woodcut by Nicolò Boldrini, almost certainly after an original drawing by Titian, in which Laocoön and his sons are transformed into three monkeys and set in a bucolic landscape (fig. 108).252 In this complex image Titian, one of the greatest creative geniuses of the Renaissance, who himself had a profound and fruitful relationship with the Antique, was presumably issuing an ironic statement against the faithful artistic imitation of the classical models – a behaviour similar to that of mimicking monkeys. Fig. 108. Nicolò Boldrini after Titian, Caricature of the Laocoön, c. 1540–50, woodcut, 267 × 403 mm, private collection In the 17th century the pernicious effect on painting from too-slavish imitation of sculptural forms would be summarised by the Bolognese art theorist Carlo Cesare Malvasia (1616–93) with the specific neologism ‘statuino’ or ‘statuelike’ (see cats 9 and 15).253 But during the 17th and 18th centuries even the most outspoken critics of the perfection of the Antique, such as the champion of colore versus disegno Roger de Piles, or the defender of a modern and independent artistic language like Hogarth, always demonstrated great admiration for classical statues, especially in terms of their proportions (see Appendix, no. 14).254 According to Bellori, the only great master who showed no interest at all in them was the ultra-naturalist Caravaggio. In a famous passage of his Vite, the champion of classicism reported that Caravaggio expressed ‘disdain for the superb marbles of the ancients and the paintings of Raphael’ because he had decided to take ‘nature alone for the object of his brush’. ‘Thus’, Bellori continues, ‘when he was shown the most famous statues of Phidias and Glycon so that he might base his studies on them, his only response was to gesture toward a crowd of people, indicating that nature had provided him with masters enough’.255 But this anecdote must not be taken too literally, as it certainly contains Bellori’s defence of idealism against the dangers of the unselective imitation of Nature, as represented by Caravaggio and his followers. In fact, although it is not immediately obvious, Caravaggio had a profound understanding of antique forms, and was deeply conscious of High Renaissance prototypes by Michelangelo (his namesake) and by Raphael. Even if Bellori’s account of Caravaggio had been accurate, such a radical attitude would have to be considered an exception in the long period covered here. In the 18th century criticism of the academic curriculum, in particular that of the Parisian Académie, and the art that it produced, increased. But, once again, two of its sternest 61 critics, Diderot and David, had an immense admiration for classical statuary and Diderot’s attack was directed at the codified and repetitive nature of academic practices, in particular the drawing lessons, and at the slavish dependence on the Antique at the expense of Nature of most of his contemporaries, not at classical models as such (see Appendix, no. 16).256 Significantly David, who played a crucial role in the closure of the Parisian Académie in 1793 during the French Revolution, would become the hero of the refounded École des Beaux-Arts in the 19th century. More significant criticism came from the students forced to copy casts for sessions on end. The great French painter Jean-Siméon Chardin (1699–1769) recalled the frustration that many artists must have felt by being forced to follow the oppressive ‘alphabet of drawing’, as powerfully evoked in his recollections (see also cat. 26): We begin to draw eyes, mouths, noses and ears after patterns, then feet and hands. After having crouched over our portfolios for a long time, we’re placed in front of the Hercules or the Torso, and you’ve never seen such tears as those shed over the Satyr, the Gladiator, the Medici Venus, and the Antinous […]. Then, after having spent entire days and even nights by lamplight, in front of an immobile, inanimate nature, we’re presented with living nature, and suddenly the work of all preceding years seems reduced to nothing.257 But even the painter of still-lifes and domestic genre scenes Chardin recognised the greatness of the original statues. The appeal of the forms and principles of the Antique was still supreme within an aesthetic system – the humanistic theory of art – that placed the representation of mankind and its most noble behaviours at the centre of the artistic mission, and this was true even for painters, like Chardin, who did not abide by the academic hierarchy of genres. The real beginning of the decline of the authority of the Antique started when these premises began to be challenged by artists who felt at odds with a conception of art that they perceived as increasingly inadequate. Romanticism landed a first, but eventually fatal, blow by challenging the rationalistic, idealistic and supposedly ‘universal’ principles of classicism, in the name of subjective emotion and individual genius. The drastic changes imposed by industrialisation and urbanisation accelerated the process. Opie’s outline of what constitutes art, with which this essay began – a pedantic and codified version of Reynolds’ aesthetic – came to be perceived as increasingly irrelevant by students exposed to urban life in London, Paris or any other modern city, as the 62 words of the painter James Northcote (1746–1831) in 1826 clearly express (see Appendix, no. 19). But if various ‘progressive’ avant-gardes rejected more decisively the principles of classicism and academic art, one need only remember that artistic education remained almost everywhere based on the traditional curriculum and that casts were used in academies and art schools until a few decades ago. Some of the greatest modern painters, such as Cézanne, Degas, Van Gogh and Picasso, spent portions of their youth copying plaster casts. And, as the last part of this exhibition shows (cats 32, 34–35), with mass-production casts became ever more available to wider audiences, including women and the bourgeoisie, entering the realm of the private home, often in a reduced format. But an assault on the canonical status of many of the most famous sculptures also came from another ‘academic’ direction, as a new archaeological precision recognised them as more or less accurate Roman copies of Greek originals. If art education remained solidly structured around the traditional curriculum, becoming more and more conservative, the creative forces of European art placed themselves firmly outside the academic system, and principles of ideal imitation would become progressively irrelevant. An image that perfectly visualises the dawn of the new aesthetic era, and an ideal conclusion to our journey, is a painting produced by Thomas Couture (1815–79) as a satire against the Realist fashion of the mid-19th century (fig. 109) – a preparatory study for which is in the Katrin Bellinger collection.258 Couture, who ran a successful studio in Paris, described his own painting in his Methodes et Entretiens d’Atelier published in 1867: I am depicting the interior of a studio of our time; it has nothing in common with the studios of earlier periods, in which you could see fragments of the finest antiquities. At one time, you could see the head of the Laocoön, the feet of the Gladiator, the Venus de Milo, and among the prints covering the walls there were Raphael’s Stanze and Poussin’s Sacraments and landscapes. But thanks to artistic progress, I have very little to show […] because the gods have changed. The Laocoön has been replaced by a cabbage, the feet of the Gladiator by a candle holder covered with tallow or by a shoe […]. As for the painter […], he is a studious artist, fervent, a visionary of the new religion. He copies what? It’s quite simple – a pig’s head – and as a base what does he choose? That’s less simple, the head of Olympian Jupiter.259 Couture’s image, wherein a once revered antique fragment of the Olympian god, Jupiter, has been relegated to a mere stool and the object of study is now the severed head of a pig, encapsulates the decline of the Antique in the 19th century and the shift of interest from the ‘ideal’ to the ‘real’. Little did Couture kn0w that in a few decades not only the traditional role of imitation would be subverted, but that the principle of imitation itself – formulated by Alberti four hundred years before – would be questioned in favour of expressive or abstract values, leaving even less space for the previously revered Laocoön, Borghese Gladiator and the Venus de Milo. The Antique continued its life in the 20th century in many, often unexpected ways: quoted, subverted and deconstructed by many avant-garde artists; in the official art of totalitarian regimes; in the ironic and playful, but often shallow game of post-modernism; and even, one may say, in much of the aesthetic of fashion advertisement. The relation of the classical model and ideal with modernity is a story that still needs to be written fully and would be a fascinating subject for another exhibition. Fig. 109. Thomas Couture, La Peinture Réaliste, 1865, oil on panel, 56 × 45 cm, National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin, inv. 4220 Notes 1 Hoare 1809, p. 11. See also Opie 1809, pp. 3–52. The italics are the author’s. 2 On the Renaissance or humanistic theory of art good overviews are: Lee 1967; Schlosser Magnino 1967; Blunt 1978; Williams 1997; Barasch 2000, vol. 1. Anthologies of primary sources in English translation are: Gilbert 1980; Gilmore Holt 1981–82; Harrison, Wood and Gaiger 2000. 3 Alberti 1972. See also M. Kemp’s introduction, in Alberti 1991, pp. 1–29. Although initially circulating only in manuscript form, Alberti’s treatise had an immense impact on artists and successive art theoreticians. The first Latin (Basel, 1540) and Italian (Venice, 1547) editions, and subsequent ones, influenced the earliest academies such as Vasari’s Accademia del Disegno, founded in 1563. The first French translation (Paris 1651) took shape in the environment of the French Académie Royale, founded just three years before (1648). The first English translation (London, 1726) was motivated by the aspirations of English artists towards the foundation of a national academy based on continental standards. Innumerable translations and editions contributed to the diffusion of Albertian principles well into the 19th century. See Alberti 1991, pp. 23–24. 4 Alberti 1972, p. 53 (book 1, chap. 18). Alberti quotes Protagoras, probably through Diogenes Laertius, De Vitis … philosophorum, 9.51: Alberti 1991, p. 53, note 11. 5 On the sources and structure of De Pictura see especially Spencer 1957 and Wright 1984. 6 Alberti 1972, p. 97 (book 3, chap. 55). 7 Ibid., p. 101 (book 3, chap. 58). 8 Ibid., p. 99 (book 3, chap. 55). 9 Ibid., p. 99 (book 3, chap. 56). Albertis’s sources are Cicero, De inventione, 2.1.1–3 and Pliny, Naturalis Historia, 35.36 (with differences in detail). 10 Alberti 1972, p. 75 (book 2, chap. 36). See also Alberti 1988, p. 156 (book 6, chap. 2) and pp. 301–09 (book 9, chaps 5–6), esp. p. 303. 11 On the theory of proportions see Panofsky 1955; R. Klein’s introduction to ‘De Symmetria’ in Gaurico 1969, pp. 76–91; Gerlach 1990. On Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man see Kemp 2006, pp. 71–136; Salvi 2012, with previous bibliography. 12 Other ancient surviving sources on the Canonical ideal are Cicero, Brutus, esp. 69–70, 296; Pliny, Naturalis Historia, 34.55; Galen’s treatises, esp. De 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 Placitis Hippocratis et Platonis, 5, and De Temperamentis, 1.9; Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, esp. 5.12.21 and 12.10.3-9; Vitruvius’ De Architectura, 3.1. For Alberti’s concept of historia, see Alberti 1972, pp. 77–83 (chaps 39–42). The clearest definition of history painting according to the academies of the 17th and 18th centuries is provided by Félibien 1668, Preface (not paginated). The Codex Coburgensis is preserved in the Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg: see Wrede and Harprath 1986; Davis 1989. Cassiano dal Pozzo’s Paper Museum is divided between several collections but mainly concentrated in the Royal Collection, Windsor Castle and the British Museum, London: see Herklotz 1999; Claridge and Dodero forthcoming. Macandrew 1978; Connor Bulman 2006; Windsor 2013. London and Rome 1996–97, pp. 257–69; Bignamini and Hornsby 2010. General introductions to drawing techniques in the Renaissance and beyond are Joannides 1983, pp. 11–31; Bambach 1999, esp. pp. 33–80; Ames Lewis 2000a; Petherbridge 2010; London and Florence 2010–11. See Ames-Lewis 2000b, pp. 36–37. Recent general introductions to drawing after the Antique and the training of young artists in the 15th century include Rome 1988a; Ames-Lewis 2000b, pp. 35–60, 109–40; Jestaz 2000–01; Chapman 2010–11, pp. 46–60. More focused on the 16th century is Barkan 1999. Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 252–55, no. 55 (Marcus Aurelius), 308–10, no. 78 (Spinario), 167–69, no. 16 (Camillus), 136–41, no. 3 (Horse Tamers); Buddensieg 1983; Nesselrath 1988; Rome 1988a, pp. 232–38 (Marcus Aurelius); Paris 2000–01, pp. 200–25 and pp. 417–20, nos 221–24 (Spinario); Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 223–25, no. 176 (Marcus Aurelius), 254–56, no. 203 (Spinario), 192–93, no. 192 (Camillus), 172–75, no. 125 (Horse Tamers). Dacos 1969; Morel 1997; Miller 1999. Alberti calls the relief of a sarcophagus in Rome representing the death of Meleager a historia, specifically praising it as a source for the compositio: see Alberti 1972, pp. 74–75 (chap. 37). Cavallaro 1988b; Cavallaro 1988c; Scalabroni 1988. Cavallaro 1988b; Scalabroni 1988; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, passim. On Brunelleschi and Donatello’s Roman trip see the famous account by Antonio di Giannozzo Manetti: Manetti 1970, pp. 53–57. See also Vasari’s 63 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 64 anecdote of Donatello producing a pen drawing after a sarcophagus that he saw in Cortona on his way back from Rome to Florence: Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 3, pp. 151–52. See also Micheli 1983, p. 93. On the drawings after the Antique produced in the workshops of Gentile of Pisanello see: Degenhart and Schmitt 1960; Cavallaro 1988a; Degenhart and Schmitt 1996, pp. 81–117; Paris, 1996, Appendix IX, ‘Le “Carnet de voyage dessins sur parchemin”’, pp. 465–67; Cavallaro 2005. Rome 1988a, pp. 95–96, no. 24 (A. Cavallaro); Paris 1996, pp. 180–81, no. 100. See Rome 1988a, pp. 158–59, no. 51, see also pp. 155–56, no. 49; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 87, no. 38. Wegner 1966, pp. 88–89, no. 228; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 86–87, no. 38. Weiss 1969. London and New York 1992, pp. 445–48, no. 145 (D. Ekserdjian); Paris 2008–09b, pp. 378–79, no. 159 (C. Elam); Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 207, no. 158iii (158c). Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 207–08, no. 158iii. Alberti 1972, pp. 80–81 (chap. 41). See Lightbown 1986, pp. 140–53, 424–33; Elam 2008–09. For the drawing after the Marcus Aurelius see Rome 1988a, pp. 232–33, no. 80 (A. Nesselrath); Rome 2005, p. 263, fig. II.10.7, pp. 267–68, no. II.10.7 (A. Nesselrath). For the drawing after the Horse Tamers see Rome 1988a, pp. 211–12, no. 61 (A. Nesselrath); Paris 1996, pp. 153–54, no. 84; Rome 2005, p. 334, fig. III.8.1, pp. 338–39, no. III.8.1 (A. Cavallaro). On the fame of their nudity see the contemporary comments by Angelo Decembrio in his De Politia litteraria, written in the central decades of the 15th century: Baxandall 1963, p. 312. For other mentions in contemporary written sources see Nesselrath 1988, pp. 196–97. Nesselrath 1988, p. 197, fig. 61; Cole Ahl 1996, p. 6, pl. 1; Ames-Lewis 2000b, p. 120, fig. 57; Cavallaro 2005, p. 330; London and Florence 2010–11, pp. 118–19, no. 14 (M.M. Rook). On Gozzoli and the Antique see Pasti 1988. For a notable exception see Gozzoli’s faithful drawing of a fragmentary classical Venus: Pasti 1988, p. 137, fig. 38; Ames-Lewis 2000b, p. 121, fig. 59. For a general overview see Weiss 1969, pp. 180–202; Ames-Lewis 2000b, pp. 52–60, 79–85. Gaurico 1969, pp. 62–63; Gaurico 1999, pp. 142–43, providing a less accurate translation. Cennini 1933, vol. 2, pp. 123–31. Fiocco 1958–59; Lightbown 1986, p. 18; Favaretto 1999. On Ghiberti’s collection of casts see Ames-Lewis 2000b, p. 81, with previous bibliography. Ames-Lewis 1995. Fusco 1982; Ames-Lewis 2000b, pp. 52–55. Ragghianti and Dalli Regoli 1975; Ames-Lewis 2000a, pp. 91–123; ForlaniTempesti 1994. Ames-Lewis 1995, pp. 394, 397, fig. 10. For the practice see Schwartz 2000–01. For an overview see Nesselrath 1984–86. Lists of sketchbooks are provided in Nesselrath 1993, pp. 225–48 and Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 473–96. The first printed edition of Biondo’s Roma Instaurata was published in Rome in 1471: Weiss 1969, esp. pp. 59–104. On Michelangelo’s and Raphael’s attitude towards the Antique the bibliography is vast. For Michelangelo good surveys are Agosti and Farinella 1987 (pp. 12–13, note 3, with the most exhaustive bibliography to date); Florence 1987; Haarlem and London 2005–06, pp. 58–68; Parisi Presicce 2014. On Raphael: Becatti 1968; Jones and Penny 1983, pp. 175–210; Burns 1984 (p. 399, footnote 2, with exhaustive bibliography to date); Nesselrath 1984; Dacos 1986. Clark 1969b; Marani 2003–04; Marani 2007. Leonardo 1956, vol. 1, p. 51, no. 77. Ibid., vol. 1, p. 45, no. 59, p. 64, no. 112. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 6, p. 21. On other sources on the paragone between Michelangelo and the ancients see Florence 1987, pp. 107–08. Elam 1992; Florence 1992; Joannides 1993; Baldini 1999–2000; Paolucci 2014. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 6, pp. 9–12; Condivi 1998, pp. 10–11; Condivi 1999, p. 10. Knab, Mitsch and Oberhuber 1984, pp. 51–54; Ferrino Padgen 2000. See Franzoni 1984–86; Cavallaro 2007; Christians 2010. A list of collections with essential bibliography is provided also in Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 497–507. For the Nile and the Tiber see Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 112–13, no. 65. The Apollo Belvedere was discovered in 1489, the Laocoön in 1506, the Cleopatra in the first decade of the 16th century, the Hercules Commodus in 1507, the 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 Tiber in 1512 and Nile probably in 1513: see Haskell and Penny 1981, respectively pp. 148–51, no. 8, pp. 243–47, no. 52, pp. 184–87, no. 24, pp. 188–89, no. 25, pp. 310–11, no. 79, pp. 272–73, no. 65; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, respectively pp. 76–77, no. 28, pp. 164–68, no. 122, pp. 125–26, no. 79, pp. 180–81, no. 131, pp. 113–14, no. 66, pp. 114–15, no. 67. The discovery date of the Venus Felix is not known, but it was placed in the Belvedere Courtyard in 1509: Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 323–25, no. 87; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 66–67, no. 16. For the Belvedere Courtyard see Brummer 1970; Winner, Andreae and Pietrangeli 1998. The first mention of the Belvedere Antinous-Hermes is in 1527 and it was placed in the Belvedere Courtyard by 1545; the Belvedere Torso is recorded from 1432 and by the middle of the 16th century it was displayed in the Courtyard: see Haskell and Penny 1981, respectively pp. 141–43, no. 4 and pp. 311–14, no. 80; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, respectively p. 62, no. 10 and pp. 181–84, no. 132. The first mention of Michelangelo’s praise of the Torso is in Aldrovandi 1556, p. 121. For a selection of other primary sources see Barocchi 1962, vol. 4, pp. 2100–03; Agosti and Farinella 1987, pp. 43–44. For the Torso as ‘School of Michelangelo’ see Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 313. Schwinn 1973, pp. 24–37. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 6, p. 108. Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 126, no. 79. Joannides 1983, p. 192, no. 240r; Knab, Mitsch and Oberhuber 1984, p. 615, no. 375. In this drawing Raphael also references Michelangelo’s Sistine Adam. Golzio 1971, pp. 38–40, 72–73; Nesselrath 1984. The original Italian is in Camesasca 1994, pp. 257–322 (esp. pp. 290–98); Shearman 2003, pp. 500–45. For an English translation, see Holt 1981–86, vol. 1, pp. 289–96. See also Frommel, Ray and Tafuri 1984, p. 437, no. 3.5.1. (H. Burns and H. Nesselrath). Nesselrath 1982, p. 357, fig. 37; Frommel, Ray and Tafuri 1984, p. 422, no. 3.2.10 (A. Nesselrath); Jaffé 1994, p. 187, no. 315 617*. For the few other surviving Raphael drawings after Roman antiquities see Frommel, Ray and Tafuri 1984, p. 438, no. 3.5.3 (A. Nesselrath). Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 172–75, no. 125. This consideration is already in Jones and Penny 1983, p. 205. The practice of measuring classical statues would become widespread from the 17th century onwards: see pp. 46–49 in the present volume. A good selection is in Mantua and Vienna 1999. Check also Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 473–96. Oberhuber 1978; Mantua and Vienna 1999; Viljoen 2001; Pon 2004. Boissard 1597–1602, vol. 1, pp. 12–13, translated by Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 165. According to a letter by Francesco da Sangallo of 1567, Michelangelo and Giuliano da Sangallo were sent by the Pope to witness and comment upon the unearthing of the Laocoön on the Esquiline in 1506: Fea 1790–1836, vol. 1, pp. cccxxix–cccxxxi, letter XVI. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 6, p. 109. An opinion then appropriated by Vasari himself in the introduction to his chapter on Sculpture: Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 1, pp. 84–86. This was repeated later by many authors see for instance Lomazzo 1584, p. 332, reprinted in Lomazzo 1973–74, vol. 2, p. 288. Wilde 1953, pp. 79–80, nos 43–44, pls lxx–lxxi; Agosti and Farinella 1987, pp. 33–36, figs 11–14; Tolnay 1975–80, vol. 2, pp. 51–53, nos 230–34; Florence 2002, pp. 150–51, nos 2–5 (P. Joannides); Haarlem and London 2005–06, pp. 64–66. Wilde 1953, pp. 9–10, no. 4, pl. vi; Tolnay 1975–80, vol. 1, pp. 58–59, no. 48; Haarlem and London 2005–06, pp. 88–89, 285, no. 13. On the restoration of classical statues, see Rossi Pinelli 1984–86; Howard 1990; Pasquier 2000–01a. Specifically on Montorsoli’s restorations: Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 148, 246; Vetter 1995; Nesselrath 1998b; Winner 1998; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 77, 165. See Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, pp. 17–20, no. 1. On the Wrestlers see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 337–39, no. 94; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, pp. 62–63, no. 50 (71). For the Niobe Group see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 274–79, no. 66; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, pp. 316–26, nos 596 (1251) (1–14). On Guido Reni using the Niobe Group as a source for the expression of many of his figures see Bellori 1976, p. 529. See Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 16–22. Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 16–22. On Lafréry see Chicago 2007–08. On Cavalieri see Pizzimano 2001. See Lee 1967, esp. pp. 3–16; Blunt 1978, esp. pp. 137–59; Barasch 2000, vol. 1, pp. 203–309. 84 Armenini 1587, pp. 136–37 (book 2, chap. 11). 85 Lee 1967, p. 7, note 23. See also Weinberg 1961, pp. 361–423. The first commentary appeared only in 1548 and the first Italian translation in 1549. 86 Horace, Ars Poetica, 361. See Lee 1967, esp. pp. 3–9. 87 Aristotle, Poetics, see esp. 9; 15.11; 25.1–2; 25.26–28. 88 Lomazzo 1590, see esp. chap. XXVI; Zuccaro 1607. On this see Lee 1967, pp. 13–14; Panofsky 1968, esp. pp. 85–99; Blunt 1978, pp. 137–59. 89 Also in Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 1, p. 110. The definition of Disegno was added only to the second edition of the Lives in 1568. 90 On Vasari and the Antique see Barocchi 1958; Cristofani 1985. 91 Puttfarken 1991; Rosand 1997, pp. 10–24. 92 Walters 2014, p. 57. 93 Whitaker 1997. 94 See for instance Vasari’s comments in the lives of Andrea Mantegna and Battista Franco: Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, respectively vol. 3, pp. 549–50 and vol 5, pp. 459–61. 95 Armenini 1587, see esp. pp. 59–60 (book I, chap. 8), pp. 86–89 (book II, chap. 3). 96 See also Lomazzo’s treatment of the Antique: Lomazzo 1584, p. 481 (book VI, chap. 64). 97 General surveys about the development of European academies include Pevsner 1940; Goldstein 1996. See also Levy 1984; Olmstead Tonelli 1984; Boschloo 1989. 98 On images of academies see Kutschera-Woborsky 1919; Pevsner 1940, passim; Roman 1984. 99 On the Florentine Accademia del Disegno see Pevsner 1940, pp. 42–55; Goldstein 1975; Dempsey 1980; Waźbiński 1987; Barzman 1989; Barzman 2000. 100 On the Carracci Academy see Dempsey 1980; Goldstein 1988, esp. pp. 49– 88; Dempsey 1989; Feigenbaum 1993; Robertson 2009–10. On the Accademia di San Luca the bibliography is vast. On its early history see Pevsner 1940, pp. 55–66; Pietrangeli 1974; Lukehart 2009. On the teaching in the first decades of the Accademia see Roccasecca 2009. 101 On Alberti’s print see Roccasecca 2009, p. 133. 102 Olmstead Tonelli 1984. 103 Alberti 1604, esp. pp. 2–15. 104 Jack Ward 1972, pp. 17–18; Olmstead Tonelli 1984, pp. 96–97. 105 On the donation of the Salvioni collection of casts in 1598 see Missirini 1823, p. 73. On the inventories see Lukehart 2009, Appendix 7, esp. pp. 368–69, 371–73, 379–80. 106 On the drawing see Bora 1976, p. 125, no. 126. 107 Malvasia 1678, vol. 1, p. 378; Goldstein 1988, esp. pp. 49–50. 108 On this see Meder 1978, vol. 1, pp. 217–95; Amornpichetkul 1984; BleekeByrne 1984; Roman 1984, p. 91; Bolten 1985, p. 243. 109 Alberti 1972, p. 97 (book 3, chap. 55). 110 Alberti 1972, p. 75 (book 2, chap. 36). 111 Cellini 1731, pp. 156–59. 112 Leonardo 1956, vol. 1, p. 45, chaps 59–61, and esp. p. 64, chap. 112; Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 1, p. 112; Armenini 1587, pp. 51–59, esp. p. 57 (book 1, chap. 7); See Bleeke-Byrne 1984. 113 Armenini 1587, see esp. p. 86 (book 2, chap. 3). 114 The necessity of exercising one’s memory recurs in Alberti (Alberti 1972, p. 99, book 3, chap. 55); Leonardo (Leonardo 1956, vol. 1, p. 47, chaps 65–66); Vasari (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 1, pp. 114–15); Cellini (Cellini 1731, p. 157); and Armenini (Armenini 1587, p. 53, book 1, chap. 7). 115 Gombrich 1960; Rosand 1970; Maugeri 1982; Amornpichetkul 1984; Bolten 1985. 116 On Dürer in Italy see Rome 2007. 117 Dacos 1995; Meijer 1995; Dacos 1997; Dacos 2001. 118 Van Mander 1994-99, vol. 1, pp. 342–45 (fols 271r–v). See Meijer 1995, p. 50, note 18. 119 Dacos 1995, pp. 19–20; Dacos 2001, pp. 23–34. 120 Hülsen and Egger 1913–16; Veldman 1977; Dacos 2001, pp. 35–44; Bartsch 2012; Christian 2012; Veldman 2012. 121 On Beatrizet see Bury 1996; on Lafréry see Chicago 2007–08; on Dupérac see Lurin 2009. 122 For the print attributed to Beatrizet see Paris 2000–01, pp. 378–79, no. 184 (C. Scailliérez). On the Marforio see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 258–59, no. 57; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 110–11, no. 64. 123 ‘I disagi e li affanni tutti del mondo non stima un quattrino’. 124 On the so-called Haarlem Academy see Van Thiel 1999, pp. 59–90. 125 Veldman 2012, p. 21, with previous bibliography. 126 Reznicek 1961, vol. 1, pp. 89–94, pp. 319–46, nos. 200–38, 245–48. 127 On Rubens in Rome and his approach to the Antique see esp. Stechow 1968; Jaffé 1977, pp. 79–84; Muller 1982; Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 41–81; Muller 2004, pp. 18–28; London 2005–06, pp. 88–111. 128 Jaffé 1977, p. 79; Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, p. 42, note 6. Copies of Lafréry’s Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae and De Cavalieri’s Antiquarum statuarum urbis Romae, are listed in Rubens’ son Albert’s library: Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, p. 42, note 6. It is most likely that they were originally in Peter Paul’s possession, although we do not know whether he acquired them before, during or after his Italian years. 129 See Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 69–74. 130 Armenini 1587, see esp. pp. 59–60 (book I, chap. 8), pp. 86–89 (book II, chap. 3). On the ultimate Aristotelian character of this principle see Muller 1982. See also Cody 2013. 131 On Rubens’ handwritten Notebook, lost in a fire in Paris in 1720, but known through several transcriptions and partial publications see Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, esp. p. 71, note 11 and pp. 77–78, note 44, with previous bibliography; Jaffé and Bradley 2005–06; Jaffé 2010. 132 On the drawing after the Torso see Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 70–71, vol. 2, pp. 56–59, nos 37–39; New York 2005a, pp. 140–44, no. 34. On the Laocoön drawings see: Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 2, p. 98, no. 81, vol. 3, fig. 153 (father), vol. 2, pp. 103–04, no. 93, vol. 3, fig. 164 (son); London 2005– 06, pp. 90–91, nos 24 (son), 25 (father); Bora 2013. The question of whether he copied the original Laocoön in Rome, or a cast derived from it, possibly Federico Borromeo’s in Milan, remains open: see Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, p. 48; London 2005–06, pp. 90–91, no. 25. 133 Muller 2004, p. 22; Edinburgh 2002, pp. 43–46, nos 8–14; Wood 2011, vol. 1, pp. 129–241; Cody 2013. 134 Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 80–81. 135 Muller 2004, p. 22. On Rubens’ collection see Antwerp 2004, with previous bibliography. 136 Jaffé 1977, p. 80; Healy 2004. 137 On the Bamboccianti see Briganti, Trezzani and Laureati 1983; Cologne and Utrecht 1991–92; Rome and Paris 2014–15. On the fierce criticism by artists see Malvasia 1678, vol. 2, pp. 267 (Sacchi), 268–69 (Albani); Cesareo 1892, vol. 1, pp. 223–55 (Rosa); Castiglione 2014–15. On Bellori’s condemnation see Bellori 1976, p. 16. 138 On Goubau see Briganti, Trezzani and Laureati 1983, pp. 295–99. 139 On the painting see Paris 2000–01, pp. 382–83, no. 188 (J. Foucart); Cappelletti 2014–15, pp. 48–50. 140 Vlieghe 1979. On other Dutch artists copying the Antique in Rome in the 17th century see Van Gelder and Jost 1985, pp. 35–36. 141 Already at the beginning of the 17th century Karel Van Mander explicitly laments the poor state of the visual arts in the Netherlands, blaming the ‘shameful laws and narrow rules’ by which in nearly all cities save Rome ‘the noble art of painting has been turned into a guild’: Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 264–65 (fol. 251v). See also Bleeke-Byrne 1984. On the Antwerp Academy see Pevsner 1940, pp. 126–29; Van Looij 1989. 142 See Emmens 1968, pp. 154–59; Bleeke-Byrne 1984, pp. 30, 38, notes 76–77. 143 Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 448–49 (fol. 297v); Bolten 1985, p. 248. 144 De Klerk 1989. 145 Bolten 1985, pp. 248–50. For Bisschop’s school see Van Gelder 1972, p. 11. 146 Bolten 1985. 147 Bolten 1985, pp. 119, 131, 133–34, 141, 143, 153, 157, 188–207, 243–56; Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. 79. 148 Bolten 1985, pp. 159–60. Also many Dutch theoretical treatises on the art of painting and drawing insisted on the human form and on the stages of the learning process. For instance William Goeree’s influential Inleydinge tot de al-gemeene Teycken-Konst, Middelburgh, 1668, revised and reprinted many times, lays out the five stages of artistic training: copy of prints, drawings, paintings, plaster casts and the life model (pp. 31–37). See BleekeByrne 1984, p. 34 and note 45; De Klerk 1989, p. 284. 149 On Perrier’s diffusion in the Netherlands see Bolten 1985, pp. 257–58; Van Gelder and Jost 1985, pp. 51–52; Van der Meulen 1994–95, p. 76. 150 For Van Haarlem’s 1639 inventory see Van Thiel 1965, pp. 123, 128; Van Thiel 1999, p. 84, and Appendix II, pp. 254–255, 257, 270–71, 273. For van Balen’s 1635 and 1656 inventories, see Duverger 1984–2009, vol. 4, pp. 200–11. For Rembrandt’s 1656 bankruptcy inventory see Strauss and Van der Meulen 1979, pp. 349–88. For Rembrandt’s use of statues, casts and models, see Gyllenhaal 2008. See also cat. 23 in this catalogue, note 18. For the use of plaster casts in 17th- and 18th-century artists’ studios in Antwerp and Brussels, see Lock 2010. Also collections of original antiquities were formed in the 17th century, especially in the Southern Netherlands and in Antwerp: Van Gelder and Jost 1985, pp. 35–50, esp. p. 35, note 65. 65 151 For a copy in reverse, dated 1639, see Bolten 1985, pp. 133–34, and p. 138, fig. a. 152 On Jan ter Boch’s painting (fig. 49) see Paris 2000–01, pp. 401–02, no. 207 (J. Foucart). On Van Oost the Elder’s painting (fig. 50), see Antwerp 2008, p. 77, no. 20 (S. Janssens). On Vaillant’s painting (fig. 51), see MacLaren 1991, vol. 1, p. 440, note 8; Amsterdam 1997, p. 349, fig. 2. On the painting attributed to Sweert (fig. 52) see Waddingham 1976–77; Amsterdam 1997, pp. 348–52, under no. 74; Paris 2000–01, pp. 400–01, no. 206 ( J. Foucart); Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, pp. 134–36, no. 40 ( J. Clifton), where the painting is attributed to Wallerant Vaillant. On Balthasar Van den Bossche’s paintings of artists’ workshops see Mai 1987–88; Paris 2000–01, pp. 402–03, no. 208 ( J.-R. Gaborit and J.-P. Cuzin); Lock 2010. 153 For the Borghese Gladiator see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 221–24, no. 43; Paris 2000–01, no. 1, pp. 150–51 (L. Laugier); Pasquier 2000–01c. For the Dying Gladiator see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 224–27, no. 44; Mattei 1987; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2010, pp. 428–35. For the Venus de’ Medici, see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 325–28, no. 88; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, pp. 74–75, no. 64 (137). 154 See Haskell and Penny 1981 esp. pp. 23–30. On the Medici collection of classical sculptures see Cecchi and Gaspari 2009. On the Farnese’s see Gasparri 2007. On the Borghese’s: Rome 2011–12; on the Ludovisi’s: Rome 1992–93; on the Giustiniani’s Rome 2001–02. 155 Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 16–22; Coquery 2000; Picozzi 2000. 156 Picozzi 2000; Laveissière 2011; Di Cosmo 2013; Fatticcioni 2013. 157 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 21; Goldstein 1996, p. 144; Coquery 2000, pp. 43–44. On Perrier’s success in the Netherlands see Bolten 1985, pp. 257–58; Van Gelder and Jost 1985, pp. 51–52; Van der Meulen 1994–95, p. 76. 158 Boyer 2000; Montanari 2000; Rome 2000a; Bonfait 2002; Bayard 2010; Bayard and Fumagalli 2011. 159 Bertolotti 1886; Bousquet 1980; Coquery 2000. 160 Herklotz 1999; see also the ongoing catalogue raisonné of Cassiano dal Pozzo’s Paper Museum: http://warburg.sas.ac.uk/research/projects/ cassiano 161 For the text of Bellori’s Idea see Bellori 1976, pp. 13–25, and for an English translation see Bellori 2005, pp. 55–65. On it see Mahon 1947, esp. pp. 109– 54, pp. 242–43; Panofsky 1968, pp. 103–11; Bellori 1976, esp. XXIX–XL; Barasch 2000, vol. 1, pp. 315–22; Cropper 2000. 162 Bellori 1976, p. 299. 163 See Barasch 2000, vol. 1, pp. 310-72. 164 Bellori mentions many of these artists devoting time and efforts in the copying of celebrated classical statuary, such as the Farnese Hercules, the Belvedere Torso, the Niobe Group, the Borghese Gladiator: Bellori 1976, pp. 75, 90–91 (Annibale Carracci), pp. 529–30 (Guido Reni), p. 625 (Carlo Maratti). For Rubens, Bernini and Cortona see Bellori 1976, p. XXXI. For Annibale Carracci and the Antique see also Weston-Lewis 1992. For his drawing (fig. 58) see Washington D.C. 1999–2000, p. 177, no. 50 (G. Feigenbaum). For Poussin and the Antique the literature is vast: see Bull 1997; Bayard and Fumagalli 2011; Henry 2011, with previous literature. For his drawing (fig. 59) see Rosenberg and Prat 1994, vol. 1, pp. 312–13, no. 161. For Maratti’s drawings (figs 60–61) see Blunt and Cooke 1960, p. 63, nos 378, 380. On Pietro da Cortona and the Antique see Fusconi 1997–98. Some of his drawings after the Antique were commissioned for the Paper Museum of Cassiano dal Pozzo. On the drawing (fig. 62) see Rome 1997–98, p. 71, no. 2.4 (G. Fusconi). 165 Wittkower 1963; Princeton, Cleveland and elsewhere 1981–82, pp. 159–73; New York 2012–13, pp. 234–38, no. 25. 166 Pevsner 1940, pp. 82–114; Goldstein 1996, pp. 40–45. On the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture in Paris see Vitet 1861; Montaiglon 1875–92; Hargove 1990; Tours and Toulouse 2000; Michel 2012. On the Académie de France in Rome see Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912; Lapauze 1924; Henry 2010–11; Coquery 2013, pp. 173–219, with previous bibliography. 167 Montaiglon 1875–92, vol. 1, p. 346. 168 Women were admitted to the Académie, then named École des BeauxArts, only in 1896 and allowed to enrol for the Prix de Rome in 1903: Goldstein 1996, p. 61. 169 Montaiglon 1875–92, vol. 1, pp. 315–17. 170 Félibien 1668, Preface (not paginated). 171 Le Brun 1698. On it see Montagu 1994. 172 Félibien 1668, pp. 28–40; Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, vol. 1.1, pp. 127–35. 173 Félibien 1668, Preface (not paginated). 66 174 Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, see esp. vols 1-2, passim. 175 Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, vol. 1.1, pp. 316–22, 374–77; vol. 1.2, pp. 667–71; vol. 2.2, p. 583. 176 Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, vol. 1.1, pp. 374–77. See also Goldstein 1996, p. 150. 177 Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vol. 1, pp. 129–32. 178 Montaiglon 1875–92, vol. 1, p. 293 (for a Venus donated by Chantelou in 1665), pp. 300, 330–31 (for the cast of the Farnese Hercules ordered in 1666 and delivered in 1668), p. 366 (for several casts after ancient reliefs and statues copied for the Académie from the Royal collection on the order of Colbert). 179 See Foster 1998; Schnapper 2000 and Macsotay 2010. 180 Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vol. 1, p. 36. 181 Goldstein 1978, esp. pp. 2–5. 182 Golzio 1935. 183 Boyer 1950, p. 117; Goldstein 1970; Bousquet 1980, pp. 110–11; Goldstein 1996, pp. 45–46. 184 Mahon 1947, pp. 188–89. 185 Missirini 1823, pp. 145–46 (chap. XCI); Mahon 1947, p. 189; Goldstein 1996, p. 46. 186 Teyssèdre 1965; Puttfarken 1985; Montagu 1996; Arras and Épinal 2004. 187 Armenini 1587, pp. 93–99, esp. p. 96 (book 2, chap. 5). 188 See esp. Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 69–75; Muller 2004, esp. pp. 18–21; Jaffé and Bradley 2005–06; Jaffé 2010. For the drawing (fig. 67) see Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 71–72, notes 11, 14, 16 with previous literature. Rubens applied this method to several other statues. 189 Bellori 1976, pp. 451, 473–77, ; Bellori 2005, p. 311, and for the plates pp. 334–37. See Rome 2000b, vol. 2, pp. 403–04, no. 9 (V. Krahn); Henry 2011; Coquery 2013, p. 361, nos G. 179–80. 190 The surviving 39 drawings are today preserved in an ‘Album de dessins et mesures de statues romaines…’ at the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris: Coquery 2000, pp. 48–50; Paris 2000–01, pp. 389–90, no. 195; Coquery 2013, pp. 37–40; Stanic 2013. For the three drawings reproduced here see Coquery 2013, p. 281, no. D114 (Laocoön), p. 283, no. D130 (Belvedere Antinous), p. 283, no. D131 (Venus de’Medici). 191 Bosse 1656. See the Conférences by Sébastien Bourdon, Charles Le Brun, Henri Testelin, Michel Anguier, etc.: Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, vol. 1.1, esp. pp. 161–66 (Charles Le Brun), 316–33 (Charles Le Brun), 332–35 (Michel Anguier), 374–77 (Sébastien Bourdon); vol. 1.2, pp. 636–38 (Michel Anguier), 667–71 (Henry Testelin). 192 On De Wit’s Teekenboek (fig. 74) see Bolten 1985, pp. 82–86. On Nollekens’ drawing (fig. 75) see Blayney Brown 1982, p. 484, no. 1460; Nottingham and London 1991, pp. 58–59, no. 31 (Venus de’ Medici); Lyon 1998–99, pp. 123–24, no. 101. On Volpato’s and Morghen’s print annotated by Canova (fig. 76) see Rome 2008, p. 144, no. 25, with previous bibliography. 193 On the study of anatomy in the Renaissance and the 17th century see Schultz 1985; Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97; London, Warwick and elsewhere 1997–98; and the excellent essays in Paris 2008– 09a, esp. Carlino 2008–09. On the combination of the study of anatomy and of the Antique between the 17th and 19th centuries see esp. Schwartz 2008–09. 194 Paris 2000–01, pp. 391–92, no. 197; Coquery 2013, pp. 195–200; Paris 2008–09a, pp. 222–23, no. 79. 195 For the skeletons (figs 77–78) and anatomical figures (figs 79–80) of the Laocoön and Borghese Gladiator see Coquery 2013, respectively p. 384, no. G.416, p. 383, no. G.413, p. 381, no. G.400, p. 382, no. G.408. A series of Conférences at the Académie Royale in Paris had been devoted to the Antique and anatomy: see esp. Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, vol. 1.2, pp. 581–93 (Pierre Monnier, ‘Sur les muscles du Laocoon’, 2 May 1676). 196 See Paris 2000–01, pp. 393–94, no. 199, with previous bibliography; Paris 2008–09a, pp. 226–27, no. 85. 197 See Paris 2000–01, pp. 392–93, no. 198, with previous bibliography; Paris 2008–09a, pp. 226–27, no. 82. Sauvage also made écorchés of other classical prototypes. 198 The original cast appears to have been destroyed. The écorché preserved at the Royal Academy of Arts is a 19th-century copy by William Pink: see Postle 2004, esp. pp. 58–59, with previous bibliography. 199 See Jordan and Weston 2002, p. 97, fig. 4.7. 200 For the practice see Paris 2000–01, pp. 415–29; Schwartz 2008–09; London 2013–14, pp. 62–69. On Paillett’s drawing (fig. 87) see London 2013–14, p. 21, pl. 1, p. 96, no. 1. For Bottani’s (fig. 88) see Philadelphia 1980– 81, pp. 59–60, no. 47. For David’s painting (fig. 89) see Rome 1981–82, pp. 101–02, no. 25. 201 Pevsner 1940, pp. 140–41. On the diffusion of academies in the 18th century see Boschloo 1989, passim. A good recent overview is Brook 2010–11. 202 Diderot’s remark appeared in an article in the Correspondance littéraire, philosophique et critique, no. 13, 1763: ‘Sur Bouchardon et la sculpture’, p. 45. See an English translation in Diderot 2011, p. 19. On the diffusion of casts in the 18th century see Haskell and Penny 1981, esp. pp. 79–91, chap. 11; Rossi Pinelli 1984; Rossi Pinelli 1988; Pucci 2000a; Frederiksen and Marchand 2010. 203 London 2013–14, pp. 36, 46–47. 204 See the explanatory text for the plate: Diderot and D’Alembert 1762–72, vol. 20, entry ‘Dessein’, pp. 1–20, esp. pp. 2–5. See also Michel 1987, pp. 284, 288. 205 Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13; Toledo, Chicago and elsewhere 1975–76; Plax 2000. 206 Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13; Schoneveld-Van Stoltz 1989, pp. 216–28, with previous bibliography. 207 Excellent introductions to the art world of Rome in the 18th century are the essay contained in Philadelphia and Houston 2000 (see esp. Barroero and Susinno 2000) and in Rome 2010–11b. 208 Goethe 2013, vol. 2, p. 373. 209 Overviews on the Grand Tour are Black 1992; London and Rome 1996–97; Chaney 1998; Black 2003. 210 On Panini’s painting see London and Rome 1996–97, pp. 277–78, no. 233; Philadelphia and Houston 2000, p. 425, no. 275, with previous literature. 211 Macandrew 1978; Connor Bulman 2006; Windsor 2013, with previous bibliography. 212 Haskell and Penny 1981, esp. pp. 23–30, 43–52; Paris 2010–11, with previous bibliography. 213 On drawing in Rome in the 18th century see Bowron 1993–94; Percy 2000, with previous bibliography. On collections of casts in private academies see Bordini 1998, p. 387. 214 On the Concorsi see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91; Rome, University Park (PA) and elsewhere 1989–90; Cipriani 2010–11. 215 On the early years of the Capitoline as a public museum see Arata 1994; Franceschini and Vernesi 2005; Arata 2008. 216 See Arata 1994, p. 75. 217 On the Accademia del Nudo see Pietrangeli 1959; Pietrangeli 1962; MacDonald 1989; Barroero 1998; Bordini 1998. 218 Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 62–63; Raspi Serra 1998–99; Macsotay 2010; Henry 2010–11. The main source for Vleughels’ reform, rich in information on the study of the Antique in the Académie under his directorship, is Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vols 7–9, passim (for description of the collection of casts see vol. 7, pp. 333–37). 219 Boyer 1955; Loire 2005–06, pp. 75–81. 220 Caviglia-Brunel 2012, pp. 115–63. 221 For Natoire’s drawing (fig. 94) see Paris 2000–01, p. 372, no. 177; CavigliaBrunel 2012, pp. 415–16, no. D.558. On Robert’s drawings (figs 95–96) see Paris 2000–01, pp. 373–74, nos 178–79; Rome 2008, pp. 132–33, nos 12–13; Ottawa and Caen 2011–12, pp. 22–23, nos 1a–1b. For fig. 97 see Paris 2000– 01, p. 384, no. 190. 222 On Robert in Rome see Rome 1990–91. 223 On Piranesi and his influence on artists see Fleming 1962; Wilton Ely 1978; Rome, Dijon and elsewhere 1976; Brunel 1978. On Winckelmann see Potts 1994, with previous bibliography. 224 Henry 2010–11. 225 For David in Rome see Rome 1981–82. For his drawings after the Antique see Sérullaz 1981–82; Rosenberg and Prat 2002, passim, esp. vol. 1, pp. 391– 746, vol. 2, pp. 754–866. 226 Sérullaz 1981–82, p. 42. 227 For David’s drawing (fig. 98) see Rosenberg and Prat 2002, p. 499, no. 642. 228 See Pressly 1979; Valverde 2008; Busch 2013. 229 On all these aspects see Pears 1988, esp. pp. 1–26. 230 As general introductions see Denvir 1983; Solkin 1992; Brewer 1997; Bindman 2008. 231 On the ‘Rule of Taste’ see Lipking 1970; Barrell 1986, esp. 1–68; Pears 1988, pp. 27–50; Ayres 1997. For a recent overview see Aymonino 2014. On academies in Britain before the foundation of the Royal Academy see Bignamini 1988; Bignamini 1990. 232 See MacDonald 1989. 233 An excellent introduction to the use of the Antique in artists’ education in 18th-century Britain is Postle 1997. For casts in Britain in the first half of the 18th century see: Bignamini 1988, p. 59, note 63, p. 65, p. 77, note 9, p. 81, note 65, p. 88, p. 103. 234 Einberg and Egerton 1988, pp. 64–71. 235 Kitson 1966–68, esp. pp. 85–86; Postle 1997, esp. pp. 83–84. 236 See Paulson 1971, vol. 2, pp. 168–71; Nottingham and London 1991, p. 62, no. 37. 237 Coutu 2000, p. 47; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. 238 On Mortimer’s painting see Nottingham and London 1991, p. 45, no. 11, with previous bibliography. 239 MacDonald 1989. 240 Allan 1968, pp. 76–88; Bignamini 1988, p. 108; Postle 1997, pp. 85–87; Coutu 2000, p. 52; Kenworthy-Browne 2009, pp. 43–44. 241 Ibid. 242 On the Glasgow Foulis Academy see Pevsner 1940, p. 156; MacDonald 1989, pp. 84–85; Fairfull-Smith 2001. 243 On the Royal Academy see Hutchison 1986. On its regulations see also Abstract 1797. 244 On the Antique School at the Royal Academy (fig. 105) see Nottingham and London 1991, p. 43, no. 7; Rome 2010–11b, p. 432, no.V.6. 245 On Zoffany’s painting see New Haven and London 2011–12, pp. 218–21, no. 44, with previous bibliography. 246 For the medal see Hutchison 1986, p. 34. 247 On Kauffman’s painting see Rome 2010–11b, pp. 325, 432–33, no. V.7. 248 For Townley see particularly Coltman 2009. 249 On Soane’s collection of plaster casts see Dorey 2010. 250 De Architectura, 1.1, esp. 1.1.13; Watkin 1996. 251 Jenkins 1992, pp. 30–40. 252 Venice 1976, pp. 114–15, no. 49. 253 Malvasia 1678, vol. 1, pp. 359, 365, 484. On the 17th-century neologism ‘statuino’ see Pericolo’s forthcoming article. 254 See De Piles 1677, pp. 253–54; De Piles 1708, esp. pp. 128–38. 255 Bellori 1976, p. 214; Bellori 2005, p. 180. 256 See Pucci 2000a; Bukdahal 2007 257 Diderot 1995, p. 4. See also Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 91. 258 Boime 1980, pp. 330–35, pl. ix.47. 259 Couture 1867, pp. 155–56. 67 Appendix: Primary Sources On The Antique * Rome to copy its antiquities as a source of inspiration, a phenomenon that increased over the subsequent four hundred years. Bembo is, in addition, one of the earliest writers to rank Raphael and Michelangelo on the level of artists from antiquity. 1. Vitruvius (80–70 bc – post c. 15 bc) on harmonic proportions as the principle of ideal beauty. Marcus Vitruvius Pollio’s De Architectura (On Architecture), c. 30–20 bc, is the only complete treatise on classical architecture to have survived from antiquity and its impact on Western architecture from the Renaissance onwards is paramount. Manuscript copies of the treatise circulated widely in the 15th century and were well known to Filippo that the members are proportionate and consentaneous to the whole figure, with reason the ancients have determined, that in all perfect works, the several members must be exactly proportional to the whole object. 1 The Latin word ‘symmetria’ of Vitruvius’ text has often been translated in English with ‘symmetry’, while commensurability – the mathematical relation between the part and the whole within a given body or building resulting in overall harmonic proportions – would be a better translation. Brunelleschi, Leon Battista Alberti, Donatello and to subsequent generations of early Renaissance artists and architects. The first printed Latin edition appeared in 1486, followed by a more popular version in 1511 (edited by Fra Giovanni Giocondo). Italian translations appeared in 1521 (by Cesare Cesariano) and in 1556 (edited and translated by Daniele Barbaro with illustrations by Andrea Palladio). 2. Cennino d’Andrea Cennini (c. 1370–c. 1440) on drawing as the foundation of art and on the advantage for young artists of copying from other masters. The first chapter of book 3, provided architects and artists with an Written around 1390 possibly in Padua, Cennini’s Il Libro dell’Arte is the authoritative account of the principle of harmonic proportions based first art treatise composed in Italian. Although mainly concerned with on commensurability which had inspired ancient sculptors and paint- practical advice to painters, Cennini also devoted some of the chapters ers in search of ideal beauty. The celebrated passage on the perfect to the education of the young artist, ofering the first written evidence proportions of the human body was visualised by Leonardo in his of the importance of drawing in the apprenticeship of the aspiring ‘Vitruvian Man’ (see p. 17, fig. 2). painter, and especially the copying of works by other artists. Later, The following translation is from the first integral English edition: The in early Renaissance workshop practices, this increasingly included Architecture of M. Vitruvius Pollio. Translated from the Original Latin, by W. Newton Architect, London, 1771, book 3, chapter 1, pp. 45–46: ‘On the Composition and Symmetry of Temples’.1 The composition of temples, is governed by the laws of symmetry; which an architect ought well to understand; this arises from proportion, which is called by the Greek, Analogia. Proportion is the correspondence of the measures of all the parts of a work, and of the whole configuration, from which correspondence, symmetry is produced; for a building cannot be well composed without the rules of symmetry and proportions; nor unless the members, as in a well formed human body, have a perfect agreement. For nature as so composed the human body, that the face from the chin to the roots of the hair at the top of the forehead, is the tenth part of the whole height; and the hand, from the joint to the extremity of the middle finger, is the same; the head, from the chin to the crown, is an eight part; […] the rest of the members have their measures also proportional; this the ancient painters and statuaries strictly observed, and thereby gained universal applause. […] The central point of the body is the navel: for if a man was laid supine with his arms and legs extended, and a circle was drawn round him, the central foot of the compasses being placed over his navel, the extremities of his fingers and toes would touch the circumferent line; and in the same manner as the body is adapted to [p. 46] the circle, it will also be found to agree with the square; for, if the measure from the bottom of the feet to the top of the head is taken, and applied to the arms extended, it will be found that the breadth is equal to the height, the same as in the area of a square. Since, therefore, nature has so composed the human body, 68 p. XLII r (translation Michael Sullivan). At all times of day [Rome] witnesses the arrival of artists from near and far, intent on reproducing in the small space of their paper or wax the form of those splendid ancient figures of marble, sometimes bronze, that lie scattered all over Rome, or are publicly and privately kept and treasured, as they do with the arches and baths and theatres and the other various sorts of buildings that are in part still standing: and hence, when they mean to produce some new work, they aim at those examples, striving with their art to resemble them, all the more so since they believe their efforts merit praise by the closeness of resemblance of their new works to ancient ones, being well aware that the ancient ones come closer to the perfection of art than any done afterwards. These have succeeded more than others, Messer Giulio [de’ Medici], your Michelangelo of Florence and Raphael of Urbino […] so outstanding and illustrious that it is easier to say how close they come to the good old masters than decide which of them is the greater and better artist. antique sculpture. Although not published until 1821, manuscript copies of the Libro circulated widely in the 16th and 17th centuries, evidenced by the fact that references to it and passages from it reappear in subsequent art treatises. Excerpts from Cennino Cennini, Il Libro dell’Arte, ed. F. Brunello, Vicenza, 1971 (translation, present author). [P. 6, chapter 4] The foundations and the principles of art, and of all these manual works, are drawing and colouring. [P. 27, chapter 27] If you want to progress further on the path of this science […] you must follow this method: […] take pain and pleasure in constantly copying the best things that you can find done by the hands of the great masters. And if you are in a place where many masters have been, so much better for you. But I will give you some advice: be careful to imitate always the best and the most famous; and progressing every day, it would be against nature that you will not eventually be infused by the master’s style and spirit. 4. Ludovico Dolce (1508–68) on the necessity for artists copying from antique statues to learn how to correct the defects of Nature and to aim for perfect beauty. 3. Pietro Bembo (1470–1547) on artists going to Rome to copy the Antique, and on Michelangelo and Raphael having equalled the ancient masters. Italian scholar, poet, literary theorist, collector and cardinal, Pietro Bembo was a central figure in the cultivated antiquarian milieu at the court of Pope Leo X (r. 1513–21) and a personal friend of Raphael and Michelangelo. His Prose . . . della volgar lingua, a treatise published of the earliest and most eloquent reports of artists converging on 5. Giorgio Vasari (1511–74) on drawing as the intellectual foundation of all arts; on grace, and on the classical sculptures in the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican as the source for the ‘beautiful style’ of High Renaissance masters. Giorgio Vasari’s Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects – published first in 1550 and in an expanded edition in In his treatise Dialogo della pittura . . . (1557), the humanist, writer and 1568 – is arguably the most influential example of art literature of the art theorist Lodovico Dolce upheld a strong defence of the Venetian Renaissance. Vasari’s biographies of the most famous modern artists school of painting, based on colour, against the Florentine and Roman set the standard for a progressive conception of the history of art, ones, based on drawing, supported by Giorgio Vasari. At the same with the Florentine and Roman schools representing its culmination. time he included one of the earliest theoretical statements on the At the start of his essay on painting, in a section added to the 1568 necessity to study the Antique as a model of idealised nature and edition of the Lives, he provides a definition of disegno, drawing, to perfect beauty – especially in the study of the proportions of the give a theoretical underpinning to his defence of the Central Italian human figure. However, in Dolce, one finds also a warning against the indiscriminate copying of classical sculptures – which should always be imitated with the correct artistic judgement to avoid eccentricities – a principle that would become a leitmotif in subsequent art literature, as shown here in excerpts from Rubens (no. 8) or Bernini (no. 10). For Dolce a slavish dependence on the Antique can lead to the excesses of Mannerism. in 1525, but composed over the previous two decades, contains one * All sentences in Italics are by the present author throughout. Excerpt from P. Bembo, Prose . . . della volgar lingua, Venice, 1525, should imitate the best marbles and bronzes of the [p. 129] antient masters, the admirable perfection [p. 130] of which, whoever can fully taste and posses, may safely correct many defects of Nature herself, and make his pictures universally pleasing and grateful. These contain all the perfection of the art, and may be properly proposed as examples of perfect beauty. […] [p. 131] Proportion being the principal foundation of design, he who best observes it, must always be the best master in this respect: and it being necessary to the forming of a perfect body, to copy not only nature but the antique, we must be careful that we do this with judgement, lest we should imitate the worst parts, whilst we think we are imitating the best. We have an instance of this, at present, in a painter, who having observed that the [p. 132] antients, for the most part, designed their figures light and slender, by too strict an obedience to this custom, and exceeding the just bounds, has turned this, which is a beauty, into a very striking defect. Others have accustomed themselves in painting heads (especially of women) to make long necks; having observed that the greatest part of the antique pictures of Roman ladies have long necks, and that short ones are generally ungraceful; but by giving into too great a liberty, have made that which was in their original pleasing, totally otherwise in the copy. schools of painting. Vasari’s conception of drawing as the first physical manifestation of the artist’s idea – the intellectual part of art common to painting, sculpture and architecture – would provide the foundation for the centrality of drawing in the curriculum of future academies. In another passage to be found in both editions, Vasari praises the best ancient sculptures, as they embodied the supreme quality of grazia, or grace, which cannot be attained by study but only by the Exerpts from Ludovico Dolce, Dialogo della pittura intitolato judgement of the artist – a concept that remained one of the central l’Aretino . . . , Venice, 1557, pp. 32r–33r. The following translation is tenets of Italian art theory for the next two centuries. He attributes from the first English edition: Aretin: A Dialogue on Painting. From the the rise of the modern manner or ‘bella maniera’, and the great Italian of Ludovico Dolce, London, 1770, pp. 127–32. achievements of Raphael and Michelangelo, to their familiarity and Whoever would do this [to form a justly proportioned figure] should chuse the most perfect form he can find, and partly imitate nature, as Apelles did, who, when he painted his celebrated Venus emerging from the sea […] [p. 128] drew her from Phryne, the most famous courtesan of the age; and Praxiteles also formed his statue of the Venus of Gnidus, from the same model. Partly he exposure to the best examples of classical sculpture in the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican. Excerpts from Giorgio Vasari, Le Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori et architettori, Florence, 1568, part 1, p. 43. The following translation is from Vasari on Technique, ed. G. Baldwin Brown, trans. L. S. Maclehose, London, 1907, pp. 205–06. 69 Seeing that Design, the parent of our three arts, Architecture, Sculpture and Painting, having its origin in the intellect, draws out from many single things a general judgement, it is like a form or idea of all the objects in nature, most marvellous in what it compasses, for not only in the bodies of men and of animals but also in plants, in buildings, in sculpture and in painting, design is cognizant of the proportions of the whole to the parts and of the parts to each other and to the whole. Seeing too that from this knowledge there arises a certain conception and judgement, so that there is formed in the mind that something which afterwards, when expressed by the hands, is called design, we may conclude that design is not other than a visible expression and declaration of our inner conception and of that which others have imagined and given form to their idea. And from this, perhaps, arose the proverb among the ancients ‘ex ungue leonem’ when a certain clever person, seeing carved in a stone block the claw only of a lion, apprehended in his mind [p. 206] from its size and form all the parts of the animal and then the whole together, just as if he had had it present before his eyes. Excerpts from Giorgio Vasari, Le Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori et architettori, Florence, 1568, part 3, vol. 1, pp. 2–3 of the Preface (unpaginated). The following translation is from Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects by Giorgio Vasari, ed. and trans. by G. du C. de Vere, London 1912–14, vol. 4, pp. 81–82. [Fifteenth-century artists] were advancing towards the good, and their figures were thus approved according to the standards of the works of the ancients, as was seen when Andrea Verrocchio restored in marble the legs and arms of the Marsyas in the house of the Medici in Florence. But they lacked a certain finish and finality of perfection in the feet, hands, hair, and beards, although the limbs as a whole are in accordance with the antique and have a certain correct harmony in the proportions. Now if they had had that minuteness of finish which is the perfection and bloom of art, they would also have had a resolute boldness in their works; and from this there would have followed delicacy, refinement, and supreme grace, which are the qualities produced by the perfection of art in beautiful figures, whether in relief or painting; but these qualities they did not have, although they give proof of diligent striving. That finish, and that certain something that they lacked, they could not achieve so readily, seeing that study, when it is used in that way to obtain finish, gives dryness to the manner. After them indeed, their successors were enabled to attain to it through seeing excavated out of the earth certain antiquities cited by Pliny as amongst the most famous, such as the Laocoön, the Hercules, the Great Torso of the Belvedere, and likewise the Venus, the Cleopatra, the Apollo, and an endless number of others, which, both with their sweetness and their severity, with their fleshy roundness copied from the great beauties of nature, and with certain attitudes which involve no distortions of the whole figure but only a movement of certain parts, [p. 82] and are revealed with a most perfect grace, brought about the disappearance of a certain dryness, hardness, and sharpness of manner, which had been left to our art by the excessive study […]. 70 6. Giovan Battista Armenini (c. 1525–1609) on assimilating the principles of the Antique through constant drawing as a safe guide for artistic creation. Giovan Battista Armenini’s De veri precetti della pittura (1587), constitutes one of the most systematic art treatises of the second half of the 16th century. In it we find the clearest formulations of a progressive method of learning, later defined as the ‘alphabet of drawing’ (see no. 7), and of the necessity of assimilating the principles of the Antique through drawing. Armenini is also the first to provide a proper canon of sculptures and reliefs in Rome that students should copy and to praise the didactic use of plaster casts. Excerpts from Giovan Battista Armenini, De veri precetti della pittura, Ravenna, 1587, book 1, ch. 8, pp. 61–63. The following translation is from G. B. Armenini, On the True Precepts of the Art of Painting, ed. and trans. by J. Olszewski, New York, 1977, pp. 130–34. [To obtain a good style] it is the general and universal rule only to draw those things which are the most beautiful, learned and most like the good works of ancient sculptors. Having familiarised himself with them through continual study, the student must know these things so thoroughly that when the occasion demands he can reproduce one or more of these compositions. He must be so familiar with them that whatever is good in the old works will be marvellously reflected in his rough sketches, as well as in finished drawings, and consequently in large paintings […]. For the continual drawing and copying of things which are well made ensures that one has a proper guide to follow and executes his own work very well. […] In order that you may fully know the basis of art, make it the foundation of your own works, and learn how to recognise excellence with certainty, particularly in figures, we shall place before you as principal models some of the most famous ancient sculptures which most closely approach the true perfection of art and are still intact in our own days. [p. 131] For it is well known that the ancients who fashioned these statues first chose the best that nature offered in diverse models and then, guided by their excellent judgement, combined the best perfectly into one work. […] These ancient statues are as follows: the Laocoön, Hercules, Apollo, the great Torso, Cleopatra, Venus, the Nile, and some others also of marble, all of them to be found in the Belvedere in the papal palace in the Vatican. Some others are scattered throughout Rome and among the [p. 132] foremost is the Marcus Aurelius in bronze, now in the square of the Campidoglio. Then there are the Giants of Monte Cavallo, and the Pasquino, and others not as good as these. Also well known because of the histories depicted thereon are those in the arches with very beautiful manner of half and low relief as in the two columns, the Trajan and the Antonine, which still stand, even though time is hostile to human work. […] And even though this study we have been discussing is not in the power of all students, since as is well known not all can stay in Rome labouring long and at great expense, yet even they have many of these works in their own homes. I am speaking of those copies of the originals fashioned by the masters in plaster or other material. I have seen a wax copy of the Roman Laocoön, not larger than two spans, but one could say that it was the original in small size. Still, if those parts that are modelled in gesso from these works can be obtained, they are better without doubt since every detail is there precisely as in the marble, so that they can be scrutinised and serve the student’s needs excellently. Also, they are very convenient because they are light and easily handled and transported. And, as for price, one can say it is very cheap, that is, in comparison with the originals. Therefore, with such excellent aids available, there is no excuse for anyone who really wishes to learn the good and ancient path. I have seen studios and chambers in Milan, Genoa, Venice, Parma, Mantua, Florence, Bologna, Pesaro, Urbino, Ravenna and other minor cities full of such well formed copies. Looking at these, it seemed to me that they were the very works found in Rome. Nor is any beautiful living model excluded from these, and the closer it is to the aforementioned [p. 133] sculptures, the better it may be considered to be, but this is rarely the case. Now, with so many examples and reasons, such as these, I believe [p. 134] you should have a good idea of all that you must consider and observe carefully. task according to his individual disposition and talent: some will draw from drawings, others from cartoons or from reliefs; others will copy heads, feet, hands; others will go out during the week drawing after the antique or the facades by Polidoro, or landscapes, buildings, animals and other similar things; other students in convenient times will draw after live models, and they must copy them with grace and judgement. Others will do exercises in architecture and in perspective, following its correct and good rules, and the best students shall always be rewarded […]. 8. Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640) on the usefulness and dangers of copying from the Antique. The great Flemish artist Peter Paul Rubens spent two extended periods in Rome, between 1601 and 1602 and from late 1605 to late 1608, with short interruptions. His erudite approach towards the Antique and his desire to assimilate its principles resulted in many extraordinary drawings after classical statues, mostly in black and red chalk. In his theoretical treatise, De Imitatione Statuarum (‘On the 7. The ‘alphabet of drawing’ and the role of the Antique in the first orders and statutes of the Roman Accademia di San Luca (1593). The first ‘orders and statutes’ of the Roman Accademia di San Luca, laid out by Federico Zuccaro (c. 1541–1609) in 1593 and published by Romano Alberti (active 1585–1604) in 1604, codified a progressive method in learning how to draw the human figure, considered as the central subject of art: from details, like the eye, to the whole body. This ‘alphabet of drawing’, based on Renaissance workshop practices, would become enormously influential in the teaching of art in Europe well into the 20th century. The Antique had a crucial role in it, as it gave students the possibility to learn how to approach the third dimension of the human body through models of idealised beauty, anatomy and proportions, and the role of ancient statuary is clearly specified in another passage of the Accademia’s rules and regulations. Excerpts from Romano Alberti, Origine, et progresso dell’Academia del Dissegno, de’ Pittori, Scultori, et Architetti di Roma, Pavia, 1604, pp. 5–8 (translation, present author). [P. 5] Another hour will be devoted to practice and to teaching drawing to young students, showing them the way and the good path of study, and for this purpose we have appointed twelve Academicians, one for each month of the year, in charge of taking particular care and responsibility in assisting the students in this task. […]. The Principal will order the young students to produce something by their hand, while he will draw himself, and he will award his resulting drawings to the best students. The first figures – to start from the Alphabet of Drawing (so to speak) – will be the A, B, C: eyes, noses, mouths, ears, heads, hands, feet, arms, legs, torsos, backs and other similar parts of the human body, as well as any other sort of animals and figures, architectural elements, and reliefs in wax, clay and similar exercises. Imitation of Statues’), c. 1608–10, he warned against the dangers of slavishly copying the Antique and transferring the characteristics and limits of one medium – marble – into another – drawing or painting. Although Rubens’ manuscript remained unpublished in his lifetime, it was owned by the influential French art theorist Roger de Piles (1635–1709), who first published it in his Cours de peinture par principles, Paris, 1708, pp. 139–47. The following translation is from the first English edition: Roger de Piles, The Principles of Painting, London, 1743, pp. 86–92. To some painters the imitation of the antique statues has been extremely useful, and to others pernicious, even to the ruin of their art. I conclude, however, that in order to attain the highest perfection in painting, it is necessary to understand the antiques, nay, to be so thoroughly possessed of this knowledge, [p. 87] that it may diffuse itself everywhere. Yet it must be judiciously applied, and so that it may not in the least smell of stone. For several ignorant painters, and even some who are skilful, make no distinction between the matter and the form, the stone and the figure, the necessity of using the block, and the art of forming it. It is certain, however, that the finest statues are extremely beneficial, so the bad are not only useless, but even pernicious. For beginners learn from them I know not what, that is crude, liny, stiff, and of harsh anatomy; and while they take themselves to be good proficient, do but disgrace nature; since instead of imitating flesh, they only represent marble tinged with various colours. For there are many things [p. 88] to be taken notice of, and avoided, which happen even in the best statues, without the workman’s fault: especially with regard to the difference of shades […]. [p. 89] He who has, with discernment, made the proper distinctions in these cases, cannot consider the antique statues too attentively, nor study them too carefully; for we of this erroneous age, are so far degenerate, that we can produce nothing like them. [P. 8] [The Academician in charge] will start instructing the students in what to study, assigning to each of them a different 71 9. Gianlorenzo Bernini (1598–1680) described as a young boy devoting his days to copying the statues in the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican. 10. Gianlorenzo Bernini (1598–1680) on the formative role of ancient sculpture in the education of young artists. In 1713 Gianlorenzo Bernini’s son Domenico (1657–1723) published designs for the completion of the Palais du Louvre. His five-month 11. Giovanni Pietro Bellori (1613–96): his ‘Idea of the painter, the sculptor and the architect, selected from the beauties of Nature, superior to Nature’ as the manifesto of the classicist doctrine. a biography of his father that constitutes, with Filippo Baldinucci’s Vita stay was recorded by his guide Paul Fréart, Sieur de Chantelou in his lively Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France. The advice given Giovanni Pietro Bellori, a central figure in 17th-century art theory and del cavaliere . . . Bernino (MS. 1682), one of the most important sources on the life and art of the great Baroque sculptor and architect. A by Bernini on his visit to the Académie Royale de peinture et de passage describing the impact of the art of Rome on Gianlorenzo, after sculpture is among the clearest statements on the formative role his arrival from his native Naples, vividly evokes the dedication and assigned to antique statuary in the education of young artists in 17th- devotion of the young sculptor in assimilating day and night the century Rome. At the same time it reveals the opinion of the great principles of the great classical examples in the Belvedere Courtyard – Baroque sculptor on the dangers of copying from classical models especially the Antinous Belvedere, the Apollo Belvedere and the Laocoön. without also involving independent inspiration and artistic creations. Excerpts from Domenico Bernini, Vita del cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, The manuscript of the Journal du voyage du cavalier Bernin en France God’s perfect Ideas become corrupted in our world because Rome, 1713, pp. 12-13. The following translation is from Domenico par M. de Chantelou was published for the first time by Ludovic Lalanne of accidents and the innate imperfection of the ‘matter’. The role of Bernini, The Life of Gian Lorenzo Bernini, ed. and trans. by F. Mormando, in a series of articles in the Gazette des Beaux-Arts in 1877–84 (a new ‘noble’ artists is therefore to aim at recreating the perfection of the University Park (PA), 2011, p. 101. edition by M. Stanić was published in Paris in 2001). The following original divine ideas in their works by selecting the best parts of translation is from Paul Fréart de Chantelou, Diary of the Cavaliere nature. Classical statues ofer the best guide and example for the Bernini’s Visit to France, ed. by A. Blunt, trans. by M. Cornbett, Princeton, modern artists as they are the result of this process of selection already 1985, pp. 165–67. achieved by ancient artists. In the final paragraph quoted here, Bellori There now opened before him in Rome a marvellous field in which to cultivate his studies through the diligent observation of the precious remains of ancient sculpture. It is not to be believed with what dedication he frequented that school and with what profit he absorbed its teachings. Almost every morning, for the space of three years, he left Santa Maria Maggiore, where Pietro, his father, had built a small comfortable house, and travelled on foot to the Vatican Palace at Saint Peter’s. There he remained until sunset, drawing, one by one, those marvellous statues that antiquity has conveyed to us and that time has preserved for us, as both a benefit and dowry for the art of sculpture. He took no refreshment during all those days, except for a little wine and food, saying that the pleasure alone of the lively instruction supplied by those inanimate statues caused a certain sweetness to pervade his body, and this was sufficient in itself for the maintenance of his strength for days on end. In fact, some days it was frequently the case that Gian Lorenzo would not return home at all. Not seeing the youth for entire days, his father, however, did not even interrogate his son about this behaviour. Pietro was always certain of Gian Lorenzo’s whereabouts, that is, in his studio at Saint Peter’s, where, as the son used to say, his girlfriends (that is, the ancient statues) had their home. The specific object of his studies we must deduce from what he used to say later in life once he began to experience their effect on him. Accordingly, his greatest attention was focussed above all on those two most singular statues, the Antinous and the Apollo, the former miraculous in its design, the latter in its workmanship. Bernini claimed, however, that both of these qualities were even more perfectly embodied in the famous Laocoön of Athen0dorus, Hagesander, and Polydorus of Rhodes, a work of so well-balanced and exquisite a style that tradition has attributed it to three artists, judging it perhaps beyond the ability of just one man alone. Two of these three marvellous statues, the Antinous and the Laocoön, had been discovered during the time of Pope Leo X amid the ruins of Nero’s palace in the gardens near the church of San Pietro in Vincoli and placed by the same pontiff in the Vatican Palace for the public benefit of artists and other students of antiquity. 72 In 1665 Bernini visited France at the invitation of Louis XIV to discuss 5 September: The Cavaliere worked as usual, and in the evening went to the Academy […] [p. 166]. The Cavaliere glanced at the pictures round the room: they are not by the most talented members. He also looked at a few bas-reliefs by various sculptors of the Academy. Then, as he was standing in the middle of the hall surrounded by members, he gave it as his opinion that the Academy ought to possess casts of all the notable statues, bas-reliefs, and busts of antiquity. They would serve to educate young students; they should be taught to draw after these classical models and in that way form a conception of the beautiful that would serve them all their lives. It was fatal to put them to draw from nature at the beginning of their training, since nature is nearly always feeble and niggardly, for if their imagination has nothing but nature to feed on, they will be unable to put forth anything of strength or beauty; for nature itself is devoid of both strength or beauty, and artists who study it should first be skilled in recognising its faults and correcting them; something that students who lack grounding cannot do […] [p. 167]. He said that when he was very young he used to draw from the antique a great deal, and, in the first figure he undertook, resorted continually to the Antinous as his oracle. Every day he noticed some further excellence in this statue; certainly he would never have had that experience had he not himself taken up a chisel and started to work. For this reason he always advised his pupils, and others, never to draw and model without at the same time working either at a piece of sculpture or a picture, combining creation with imitation and thought with action, so to speak, and remarkable progress should result. For support of his contention that original work was absolutely essential I cited the case of the late Antoine Carlier, an artist known to most of the members of the Academy. He spent the greater part of his life in Rome modelling after the statues of antiquity, and his copies are incomparable: and they had to agree that, because he had begun to do original work too late, his imagination had dried up, and the slavery of copying had in the end made it impossible for him to produce anything of his own. the champion of classicism, delivered his epochal speech, the ‘Idea’, in front of the Roman Accademia di San Luca in 1664 and later published it as a preface to his influential Vite of 1772. In this he provided one of the clearest and most influential systematisations for the concept of the idealistic mission of art, already formulated by various Renaissance art theorists such as Dolce, Vasari, Armenini and Zuccaro. Joining Aristotelian and neo-Platonic premises, for Bellori stresses the value of the imitation of the Antique against some contemporary artists and theorists, like the Venetian painter and writer Marco Boschini (1605–81), who criticised the practice. Excerpts from Giovan Pietro Bellori, Le vite de’ pittori scultori e architetti moderni, Rome, 1672, pp. 3–13. The following translation is from G. P. Bellori, The Lives of the Modern Painters, Sculptors and Architects: a New Translation and Critical Edition, ed. by H. Wohl, trans. by A. Sedgwick Wohl, introduction by T. Montanari, Cambridge, 2005, pp. 57–61. [P. 57] The supreme and eternal intellect, the author of nature, looking deeply within himself as he fashioned his marvellous works, established the first forms, called Ideas, in such a way that each species was an expression of that first Idea, thereby forming the wondrous context of created things. But the celestial bodies above the moon, not being subject to change, remained forever beautiful and ordered, so that by their measured spheres and by the splendour of their aspects we come to know them as eternally perfect and most beautiful. The opposite happens with the sublunar bodies, which are subject to change and to ugliness; and even though nature intends always to make its effects excellent, nevertheless, owing to the inequality of matter, forms are altered, and the human beauty in particular is confounded, as we see in the innumerable deformities and disproportions that there are in us. For this reason noble painters and sculptors, imitating that first maker, also form in their minds an example of higher beauty, and by contemplating that, they emend nature without fault of colour or of line. This Idea, or rather the goddess of painting and sculpture […], reveals itself to us and descends upon marbles and canvases; originating in nature, it transcends its origins and becomes the original of art; measured by the compass of the intellect, it becomes the measure of the hand; and animated by the imagination it gives life to the image. [P. 58] Now Zeuxis, who chose from five virgins to fashion the famous image of Helen that Cicero held up as an example to the orator, teaches both the painter and the sculptor to contemplate the Idea of the best natural forms by choosing them from various bodies, selecting the most elegant.1 For he did not believe that he would be able to find in a single body all those perfections that he sought for the beauty of Helen, since nature does not make any particular thing perfect in all its parts. […] Now if we wish also to compare the precepts of the sages of antiquity with the best of [p. 59] those laid down by our modern sages, Leon Battista Alberti teaches that one should love in all things not only the likeness, but mainly the beauty, and that one must proceed by choosing from very beautiful bodies their most praised parts.2 […] Raphael of Urbino, the great master of those who know, writes thus to Castiglione about his Galatea: In order to paint one beauty I would need to see more beauties, but as there is a dearth of beautiful women, I make use of a certain Idea that comes to into my mind.3 [P. 61] It remains for us to say that since the sculptors of antiquity employed the marvellous Idea, as we have indicated, it is therefore necessary to study the most perfect ancient sculptures, in order that they may guide us to the emended beauties of nature; and for the same purpose it is necessary to direct our eye to the contemplation of other most excellent masters; but this matter we shall leave to a treatise of its own on imitation, to meet the objections of those who criticise the study of ancient statues. 1 Cicero, De inventione, II, 1, 1–3. 2 Alberti 1972, p. 99 (book 3, chap. 55). 3 Quoted the first time in Pino 1582, vol. 2, p. 249. 12. A Conférence of the Parisian Académie Royale de peinture et de sculpture on the artistic excellence of the Laocoön, 1667. Among the celebrated seven Conférences given at the Académie in 1667, devoted to the analysis of famous paintings of the Italian and French schools, the third, held by the sculptor Gerard van Opstal (1594–1668), was specifically dedicated to the Laocoön. Opstal’s approach, in which each aspect of the famous statue, from its anatomy, to its proportions, character and expressions, is discussed in detail, clearly expresses the analytical and didactic approach of the Académie to the Antique. Excerpts from André Félibien, Conférences de l’Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture, pendant l’année 1667, Paris, 1668, pp. 28–40. The following translation is from the first English edition: Seven Conferences held in the King of France’s Cabinet of Paintings . . . , London, 1740, pp. 33–42 (pagination is discontinuous). [Gerard van Opstal] examined all the Parts of this Figure in order to shew the Excellence of it: and observed with what Art the Sculptor had given in a large Breast and Shoulders, all the Parts of which are expressed with a great deal of Exactness and Tenderness. He also took Notice of the Height of the Hips, and the Nervousness of the Arms: the Legs neither too thick nor too lean but firm 73 and well muscled; and in general he observed that in all the other Members, the Flesh and Nerves were expressed with as much strength and sweetness as in Nature herself, but in Nature well formed. […] [p. 34]. He did not forget to shew likewise the strong Expressions which appear in this admirable Figure, where Grief is not only diffused over the Face, but also over all the other Parts of the Body, and to the Extremities of the Feet, the Toes of which violently contract themselves. [p. 35] As every thing about this Statue is contrived with surprising Art, every one will own that it ought to be the chief study of Painters and Sculptors: But which they should not consider chiefly as a Model that only serves to design by; they ought to observe exactly all the Beauties, and imprint on their Minds an Image of all that is excellent in it: because it is not the Hand that is to be employed if one desires to make himself perfect in this Art, but Judgement to form these great Ideas and Memory carefully to retain them. But as those strong Expressions cannot teach one to design after a Model, because we cannot put such a Person in a State where all the Passions are in him at once, and it is likewise difficult to copy them in Persons who are really active because of the quick Motion of the Soul: It is therefore of great Importance for Artists to study Causes, and then to try with how great Dignity [p. 30] they can represent their Effects, and we may aver that it is only to these fine Antiques they must have recourse since there they will meet with Expressions which it will be difficult to draw after nature. and here lies the Difficulty, to find certain Rules for the Justness and Nobleness of the Proportions; which, since Opinions are divided, may stand as an infallible Guide, upon whose Judgement we may rely with Certainty. This appears at first very easy; for since the Perfection of Art consist in imitating Nature well, it seems as if we need consult no other Master, but only work after the Life; nevertheless, if we examin the Matter farther, we shall find, that very few Men, or perhaps none, have all their Parts in exact Proportion without any Defect. We must therefore chuse what is beautiful in each, taking only what is called the Beautiful Nature. […] I see nothing but the Antique in which we can place an entire confidence. These Sculptors who have left us those beautiful Figures […] have in some sort excell’d Nature; for […] there never was any Man so perfect in all his Parts as some of their Figures. They have imitated the Arms of one, the Legs of another, collecting thus in one Figure all the Beauties which agreed to the Subject they represented; as we see in the Hercules all the Strokes that are Marks of Strength; and in the Venus all the Delicacy and Graces that can form an accomplished Beauty. […] [p. 2]. I give you nothing of myself; everything is taken from the Antique: but I have drawn nothing upon the Paper till I had first mark’d all the Measures with the Compasses, in order to make the Out-Lines fall just according to the Numbers. [P. 31] Every one will agree that it is from this Model [that] we may learn to correct the Faults which are commonly found in Nature; for here all appears in a State of Perfection […]. 14. William Hogarth (1697–1764) against fashionable taste and the uncritical cult of the Antique. The celebrated painter and engraver William Hogarth played a crucial role in establishing an English school of painting in the 18th century. 13. Gérard Audran (1640–1703) on the perfect proportions of antique sculptures. [P. 77, ‘On Proportions’] Notwithstanding the absurdity of the above schemes [of Dürer and Lomazzo], such measures as are to be taken from antique statues, may be of some service to painters and sculptors, especially to young beginners […] [p. 80]. I firmly believe, that one of our common proficients in the athletic art, would be able to instruct and direct the best sculptor living, (who hath not seen, or is wholly ignorant of this exercise) in what would give the statue of an English-boxer, a much better proportion, as to character, than is to be seen, even in the famous group of antique boxers, (or some call them, Roman wrestlers) so much admired to this day. [P. 91] As some of the ancient statues have been of such singular use to me, I shall beg leave to conclude this chapter with an observation or two on them in general. It is allowed by the most skilful in the imitative arts, that tho’ there are many of the remains of antiquity, that have great excellencies about them; yet there are not, moderately speaking, above twenty that may be justly called capital. There is one reason, nevertheless, besides the blind veneration that generally is paid to antiquity, for holding even many very imperfect pieces in some degree of estimation: I mean that peculiar taste of elegance which so visibly runs through them all, down to the most incorrect of their basso-relievos: [p. 92] which taste, I am persuaded, my reader will now conceive to have been entirely owing to the perfect knowledge the ancients must have had of the use of the precise serpentine-line. But this cause of elegance not having been since sufficiently understood, no wonder such effects should have appeared mysterious, and have drawn mankind into a sort of religious esteem, and even bigotry, to the works of antiquity. As director of the second St Martin’s Lane Academy from 1735, he became increasingly hostile to a curriculum based on the French Gérard Audran, engraver and conseiller of the Parisian Académie published in 1753, he attacked the idealistic concept of art – as a 15. Johan Joachim Winckelmann (1717–68) on the Antique. Royale, published the most popular illustrated manual on the selection of the best parts of nature – in favour of a more naturalistic approach. At the same time he disputed the validity of studies on Winckelmann, the greatest art historian of the 18th century, moved measured proportions of selected canonical ancient statues in 1682 (see p. 48, figs 72–73). We find in the Preface one of the clearest proportion such as those produced by Dürer and Lomazzo in the expressions of the rationalistic attitude of the Académie: the Antique 16th century. Hogarth retained a bold independent-minded position here represents an infallible standard of perfect proportions, towards the Antique, criticising the slavish reverential attitude of which Audran has made available, ‘compass in hand’, for young connoisseurs and men of taste, while recognising the greatness artists, providing them with precise references on which to base of certain antiquities. Their peculiar elegance, according to Hogarth, their own figures. is the expression of the ‘serpentine line’, the central principle of his Excerpts from Gérard Audran, Les proportions du corps humain mesurées Académie model. In his theoretical treatise The Analysis of Beauty, own aesthetic. sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, Paris, 1683, pp. 1-4 of the Preface Excerpts from William Hogarth, The Analysis of Beauty, London, 1753. (unpaginated). The following translation is from The Proportions of [P. 66] We have all along had recourse chiefly to the works of the ancients, not because the moderns have not produced some as excellent; but because the works of the former are more generally known: nor would we have it thought, that either of them have ever yet come up to the utmost beauty of nature. Who but a bigot, even to the antiques, will say that he has not seen faces and necks, hands and arms in living women, that even the Grecian Venus doth but coarsely imitate? [p. 67] And what sufficient reason can be given why the same may not be said of the rest of the body? the Human Body, measured from the most Beautiful Statues by Mons. Audran . . . , London, 1718, pp. 1–2. There will be, I think, but little occasion to enlarge upon the Necessity of a perfect Knowledge of the PROPORTIONS, to every Person conversant in Designing; it being very well known, that without observing them they can make nothing but monstrous and extravagant Figures. Everyone agrees to this Maxim generally consider’d, but everyone puts it differently in practice; 74 to Rome from Dresden in 1755 and soon established himself as one of the leading antiquarians and scholars of Europe. His powerful and intimate descriptions of ancient sculptures, especially those in the Belvedere Courtyard, had a tremendous impact on the European public and contributed decisively to the difusion of the classical ideal and the airmation of the neo-classical aesthetics. His analysis of Greek art provided a stylistic classification of antiquities by period, stressing the importance of contextual conditions such as the climate and political freedom of the ancient Greek city states. This revolutionised the approach to the Antique and contributed to the [P. 1] To the Greek climate we owe the production of Taste, and from thence it spread at length over all the politer world. [P. 2] There is but one way for the moderns to become great, and perhaps unequalled; I mean, by imitating the antients. And what we are told of Homer, that whoever understands him well, admires him, we find no less true in matters concerning the antient, especially the Greek arts. But then we must [p. 3] be as familiar with them as with a friend, to find Laocoon as inimitable as Homer. By such intimacy our judgment will be that of Nicomachus: Take these eyes, replied he to some paltry critick, censuring the Helen of Zeuxis, Take my eyes, and she will appear a goddess. With such eyes Michael Angelo, Raphael, and Poussin considered the performances of the antients. They imbibed taste at its source; and Raphael particularly in its native country. We know, that he sent young artists to Greece, to copy there, for his use, the remains of antiquity. […] Laocoon was the standard of the Roman artists, as well as ours; and the rules of Polycletus became the rules of art. [P. 4] The most beautiful body of ours would perhaps be as much inferior to the most beautiful Greek one, as Iphicles was to his brother Hercules. The forms of the Greeks, prepared to beauty, by the influence of the mildest and purest sky, became perfectly elegant by their early exercises. Take a [p. 5] Spartan youth, sprung from heroes, undistorted by swaddling-cloths; whose bed, from his seventh year, was the earth, familiar with wrestling and swimming from his infancy; and compare him with one of our young Sybarits, and then decide which of the two would be deemed worthy, by an artist, to serve for the model of a Theseus, an Achilles, or even a Bacchus […] [p. 6]. By these exercises the bodies of the Greeks got the great and manly Contour observed in their statues, without any bloated corpulency. [P. 9] Art claims liberty: in vain would nature produce her noblest offsprings, in a country where rigid laws would choak her progressive growth, as in Egypt, that pretended parent of sciences and arts: but in Greece, where, from their earliest youth, the happy inhabitants were devoted to mirth and pleasure, where narrowspirited formality never restrained the liberty of manners, the artist enjoyed nature without a veil. [P. 30] The last and most eminent characteristic of the Greek works is a noble simplicity and sedate grandeur in Gesture and Expression. As the bottom of the sea lies peaceful beneath a foaming surface, a great soul lies sedate beneath the strife of passions in Greek figures. ’ Tis in the face of Laocoon this soul shines with full lustre, not confined however to the face, amidst the most violent sufferings. establishment of a modern art historical method. He recommended to artists the imitation of ancient statuary as the only way to achieve perfection, in both aesthetic and moral terms. Excerpts from Johan Joachim Winckelmann, Gedanken über die 16. Denis Diderot (1713–84) on the excessive dependence on the Antique at the expense of the study of Nature. Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in der Malerei und Bildhauerkunst, Philosopher, polymath and editor of the Encyclopédie (1751–65), ed. by C. L. von Ulrichs, Stuttgart, 1885, pp. 6–12, 24. The following Diderot is one of the central figures of the French Enlightenment. translation is from the first English edition: J. J. Winckelmann, Reflections His celebrated art criticism was directed towards the biennial Salons on the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks . . . , trans. by Henry Fuseli, organised by the Académie Royale de peinture et de sculpture in London, 1765. Paris, and covered the period from 1759 to 1781. His review of the 75 17. Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723–92) on the role of the Royal Academy and on the study of the Antique. Apollo, the Antinoüs, the Laocoon, the Hercules, the Gladiator, the Faun, the Venus and many more that decorate the Belvedere, the Palazzo Farnese, the Borghese grounds and the gallery of Florence. The gallery Giustiniani alone is perhaps richer in antique statues than the entire French kingdom. 18th century, served as first president of the Royal Academy between 18. The Encyclopédie by Denis Diderot (1713–84) and Jean-Baptiste le Rond d’Alembert (1717–83) on the advantages for artists to go to Rome to experience the Antique and modern works of art. 1768 and 1792. His fifteen Discourses on Art, delivered to the students The second edition of Diderot’s and D’Alembert’s epochal Encyclopédie and members of the Academy between 1769 and 1790, became included an entry on the Académie de France in Rome, in which the widely popular in Britain and abroad. They represent a distillation of role and mission of the institution is celebrated in superlative terms. the idealistic and academic art theory of the previous centuries A period in Rome was still considered, even by the anti-academic in support of the ‘Grand manner’, mixed with his personal views, Diderot, to be essential for young artists to round of their education such as Reynolds’ huge admiration for Michelangelo. The Discourses in the physical and spiritual presence of the Antique and the great Diderot’s review of the Salon of 1765 was written for Melchior Grimm’s The pungent and lively conversations between the writer and art range from didactic guidelines for the Academy to more theoretical Correspondence littéraire, which circulated in manuscript form. It was Renaissance masters. This apology and defence of the Roman critic William Hazlitt (1778–1830), and the painter James Northcote, discussions, and references to the Antique can be found throughout, printed for the first time in Jacques-André Naigeon, Oeuvres de Denis Académie was also perhaps intended to counter the opinion of especially in Discourse 10, devoted to sculpture. were published in various articles in The New Monthly Magazine in those, such as the sculptor Etienne-Maurice Falconet (1716–91), who 1826 and then collated in 1830, causing scandal for their frankness Excerpts from Discourses of Art. Sir Joshua Reynolds, ed. by R. R. Wark, judged the trip to Rome no longer necessary, given the quantity of among contemporaries. The passage selected is one of the most New Haven and London, 1997. plaster casts available in France. revealing testimonies on the growing dissatisfaction with the Antique [P. 15] Discourse 1 (1769): The principal advantage of an Academy is, that, besides furnishing able men to direct the student, it will be a repository for the great examples of the Art. These are the materials on which genius is to work, and without which the strongest intellect may be fruitlessly or deviously employed. By studying these authentic models, that idea of excellence which is the result of the accumulated experience of past ages may be at once acquired; and the tardy and obstructed progress of our predecessors may teach us a shorter and easier way. The student receives, at one glance, the principles which many artists have spent their whole lives in ascertaining; and, satisfied with their effect, is spared the painful investigation by which they come to be known and fixed. Excerpt from D. Diderot and J.-B. le Rond D’Alembert, Encyclopédie ou 1765 Salon included a section on sculpture in which he criticised Winckelmann’s semi-religious dependence on the Antique and instead urged artists to return to the study of Nature, as the source of all excellence in art, classical statues included. Diderot’s ‘naturalistic’ and anti-academic approach – already difused into European art theory at least from the 17th century onwards – became predominant in the 19th century. Nevertheless, Diderot had an immense admiration for classical sculpture in itself; for him it represented the best result of that fruitful study of Nature and freedom of artistic creativity that he advocated for contemporary French art. Diderot publiés sur les manuscrits de l’auteur, 15 vols, Paris, 1798, vol. 13, pp. 314–16. This translation is from Diderot on Art – 1: The Salon of 1765 and Notes on Painting, ed. and trans. by J. Goodman, New Haven and London, 1995, pp. 156–57. I am fond of fanatics […] [p. 157]. Such one is Winckelmann when he compares the productions of ancient artists with those of modern artists. What doesn’t he see in the stump of a man we call the Torso? The swelling muscles of his chest, they’re nothing less than the undulation of the sea; his broad bent shoulders, they’re a great concave vault that, far from being broken, is strengthened by the burdens it’s made to carry; and as for his nerves, the ropes of ancient catapults that hurled large rocks over immense distances are mere spiderwebs in comparison. Inquire of this charming enthusiast by what means Glycon, Phidias, and the others managed to produce such beautiful, perfect works and he’ll answer you: by the sentiment of liberty which elevates the soul and inspire great things; by rewards offered by the nation, and public respect; by the constant observation, study and imitation of the beautiful in nature, respect for posterity, intoxication at the prospect of immortality, assiduous work, propitious social mores and climate, and genius […]. There is not a single point of this response one would dare to contradict. But put a second question to him, ask him if it’s better to study the antique or nature, without the knowledge and study of which, without a taste for which ancient artists, even with all the specific advantages they enjoyed, would have left us only mediocre works: The antique! He’ll reply without skipping a beat; The antique! […] and in one fell swoop a man whose intelligence, enthusiasm, and taste are without equal betrays all these gifts in the middle of the Toboso. Anyone who scorns nature in favour of the antique risks never producing anything that’s not trivial, weak, and paltry in its drawing, character, drapery, and expression. Anyone who’s neglected nature in favour of the antique will risk being cold, lifeless, devoid of the hidden, secret truths which can only be perceived in nature itself. It seems to me that one must study the antique to learn how to look at nature. 76 Sir Joshua Reynolds, the foremost portrait painter in England in the [P. 106] Discourse 6 (1774): All the inventions and thoughts of the Antients, whether conveyed to us in statues, bas-reliefs, intaglios, cameos, or coins, are to be sought after and carefully studied: The genius that hovers over these venerable reliques may be called the father of modern art. From the remains of the works of the antients the modern arts were revived, and it is by their means that they must be restored a second time. However it may mortify our vanity, we must be forced to allow them our masters; and we may venture to prophecy, that when they shall cease to be studied, arts will no longer flourish, and we shall again relapse into barbarism. [P. 177] Discourse 10 (1780): As a proof of the high value we set on the mere excellence of form, we may produce the greatest part of the works of Michael Angelo, both in painting and sculpture; as well as most of the antique statues, which are justly esteemed in a very high degree […]. But, as a stronger instance that this excellence alone inspires sentiment, what artist ever looked at the Torso without feeling a warmth of enthusiasm, as from the highest efforts of poetry? From whence does this proceed? What is there in this fragment that produces this effect, but the perfection of this science of abstract form? A MIND elevated to the contemplation of excellence perceives in this [p. 178] defaced and shattered fragment, disjecti membra poetae, the traces of superlative genius, the reliques of a work on which succeeding ages can only gaze with inadequate admiration. 19. James Northcote (1746–1831) on the decline of the Antique as a model and on the thirst for novelty in art. and the widespread demand for new forms of art. dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des metiers . . . , new ed., Excerpts from William Hazlitt, Conversations of James Northcote, Esq., Geneva, vol. 1, 1777, pp. 238–39 (translation Barbara Lasic). R.A., London, 1830, pp. 51–53. The French Academy in Rome is a school of painting that King Louis XIV established in 1666, & one of the most beautiful institutions of this great monarch for the glory of the kingdom and the progress of the fine arts […]. It was one of the greatest causes for the perfection of art in France […]; thus Le Brun thought that young Frenchmen who intended to study the fine arts should go to Rome and spend some time there. This is where the works of Michelangelo, Vignola, Domenichino, Raphael and those of the ancient Greeks give silent lessons far superior to those that our great living masters could give […]. Italy has the uncontested advantage and glory of having the richest mine of antique models that can serve as guides to the modern artists, and enlighten them in the quest for ideal beauty; of having revived in the world the arts that had been lost; of having produced excellent artists of all types; and finally of having given lessons to other people to whom it had previously given laws […] [p. 139]. Italy is for artists a true classical land as an Englishman calls it. Everything there entices the eye of the painter, everything instructs him, everything awakens his attention. Aside from modern statues, how many of those antiques, which by their exact proportions and the elegant variety of their forms, served as models to past artists and must serve to those of all centuries, does not the superb Rome contain amid its walls? Although there are in France some very fine statues like the Cincinnatus and a few others, we can state, without fear of being mistaken, that there are none of the first rate, or of those that the Italians call preceptive and that can be put in parallel with the ‘Did you see Thorwaldsen’s things while you were there? A young artist brought me all his designs the other day, as miracles that I was to wonder at and be delighted with. But I could find nothing in [p. 52] them but repetitions of the Antique, over and over, till I was surfeited.’ ‘He would be pleased at this.’ ‘Why, no! that is not enough: it is easy to imitate the Antique: – if you want to last, you must invent something. The other is only pouring liquors from one vessel into another, that become staler and staler every time. We are tired of the Antique; yet at any rate, it is better than the vapid imitation of it. The world wants something new, and will have it. No matter whether it is better or worse, if there is but an infusion of new life and spirit, it will go down to posterity; otherwise, you are soon forgotten. Canova too, is nothing for the same reason – he is only a feeble copy of the Antique; or a mixture of two things the most incompatible, that and opera-dancing. But there is Bernini; he is full of faults, he has too much of that florid, redundant, fluttering style, that was objected to Rubens; but then he has given an appearance of flesh that was never given before. The Antique always looks like marble, you never for a moment can divest yourself of the idea; but go up to a statue of Bernini’s, and it seems as if it must yield to your touch. This excellence [p. 53] he was the first to give, and therefore it must always remain with him. It is true, it is also in the Elgin marbles; but they were not known in his time; so that he indisputably was a genius. Then there is Michael Angelo; how utterly different from the Antique, and in some things how superior!’ 77 CATALOGUE notes to the reader support: All drawings and prints are on paper. me asur ements: Mesurements of all works, both exhibited and reproduced as comparative illustrations, are given height before width, in millimeters for drawings and prints and in centimeters for paintings and sculpture. inscr iptions: Recto and verso indications for inscriptions are given only for drawings. For prints it is assumed they are on the recto. Abbreviations: u.l.: upper left; u.c.: upper centre; u.r.: upper right; c.l.: centre left; c.r.: centre right; l.l.: lower left; l.c.: lower centre; l.r.: lower right. The original spelling is always respected. prov enance: Provenance is given in chronological sequence, as completely as possible. Collectors’ names are given as listed in Lugt (abbreviated L., L. suppl.) liter ature/e xhibitions: Prints are included in the Exhibition references when the actual impression catalogued here was shown; when another impression was exhibited, it is mentioned under Literature. For exhibition catalogue entries included in the Literature and Exhibition references, the author or authors are given only when their initials are specified at the end of the entry. Otherwise it is assumed that the entry was written by the compilers of the catalogue. If an object has been illustrated in a publication, a figure or plate number is included. If the object has been illustrated without a figure or plate number, ‘repr.’ is used. If nothing is specified, the object was not illustrated. For exhibition catalogues, only the catalogue number is provided, as it is assumed that it was reproduced. Otherwise, ‘not repr.’ is used. 1. Agostino dei Musi, called Agostino Veneziano (Venice c. 1490–after 1536 Rome) After Baccio Bandinelli (Gaiole, near Chianti 1493–1560 Florence) The Academy of Baccio Bandinelli in Rome 1531 Engraving, state II of III 274 × 299 mm (plate), 278 × 302 mm (sheet) Inscribed recto, l.c., on front of table support: ‘ACADEMIA . DI BAC: / CHIO . BRANDIN . IN . / ROMA . / IN LUOGO . DETTO / . BELVEDERE . / . MDXXXI . / . A . V . ’ prov enance: Elizabeth Harvey-Lee, North Aston (Oxfordshire), from whom acquired in 1995. selected liter atur e: Heinecken 1778–90, vol. 2, p. 98; Bartsch 1803–21, vol. 14, pp. 314–15, no. 418; Pevsner 1940, pp. 38–42, fig. 5; Ciardi Duprè 1966, p. 161; Wittkower 1969, p. 232, fig. 70; Oberhuber 1978, 314.418, repr.; Florence 1980, p. 264, no. 687; Roman 1984, pp. 81–84, fig. 62; Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, pp. 497–98, fig. 1; Landau and Parshall 1994, p. 286, fig. 304; Barkan 1999, pp. 290–98, fig. 5.12; Fiorentini 1999, pp. 145–46, no. 29; Munich and Cologne 2002, p. 319, no. 110; Thomas 2005, pp. 3–14, figs 1–3; Hegener 2008, pp. 396–403 and 624–25, pl. 228; Antwerp 2013, p. 26, repr.; Florence 2014, pp. 528–29, no. 77. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1995-047 This renowned print by Agostino Veneziano after a design by Baccio Bandinelli, the Florentine sculptor and draughtsman, depicts Bandinelli’s academy for artists in the Belvedere in Rome, where he was granted the use of rooms by Pope Leo X (r. 1513–21) and Pope Clement VII (r. 1523–34).1 We are informed of this by the prominent inscription below the table, which renders this engraving a particularly appropriate work to begin this catalogue, because as well as being the first known representation of artists copying from statuettes modelled after antique prototypes, it is the first recorded use of the word ‘accademia’ in conjunction with art and the training of artists.2 This term had previously been used to describe informal gatherings of men to discuss liberal or intellectual subjects, such as philosophy or literature.3 Though the scene does not depict an art academy in the modern sense – the origins of which are found some thirty years later in Vasari’s Accademia del Disegno 4 – Bandinelli made the association between art and intellectual endeavour very clear. His design focuses on the fundamental elements of a young artist’s training, namely, intensive study and copying of the antique sculptures in miniature scattered around the room, replicated on the artists’ tablets. It is therefore evident that artistic academies were from the beginning conceived of as humanistic educational institutions, reliant, among other things, on ancient statues as sources of inspiration. There is a conspicuous absence here of drawing from life, which would later become one of the central elements of Italian and French academic practices.5 The scene also places emphasis on disegno, a word that encompasses much more than its mere translation as ‘drawing’. It comprises the intellectual capacity to create any kind of art, including painting and sculpture, as well as drawing 80 itself.6 In Bandinelli’s own words, his was an ‘Accademia particolare del Disegno’.7 In the print exhibited here, the almost claustrophobic room and closely bunched apprentices imply that study was a collaborative endeavour in Bandinelli’s academy, with discussion among the students encouraged in order that they might better comprehend the objects of their study, and capture them more effectively on paper. Bandinelli himself is seated on the right, wearing a fur-lined collar, holding a statuette of a female nude for his students’ contemplation. The results of their efforts are drawn on paper placed on drawing boards, using quills and ink pots; what appears to be a blotter rests on the near edge of the table. The nocturnal setting evokes an atmosphere of mystery and a sense that the central candle, with its forcefully radiating light, has, as well as a physical function, a symbolic one, to illuminate the secrets of art and disegno. The theme of drawing at night recurs throughout this exhibition (cats 2, 23, 24, 34) and reflects a persistent belief that such a setting is essential for stimulating the introspection necessary for artistic success. It also implies diligence and commitment, the ability and will to continue working through day and night, that is required from a master artist.8 For these reasons, a candle or lamp often symbolises ‘Study’, as seen in Federico Zuccaro’s allegorical drawing (see cat. 5, fig. 5). It also reveals a didactic reliance on artificial light as preferable to natural light to emphasise the contours of the sculptures and the contrasts of their planes, thereby facilitating the copying process, an idea earlier espoused by Leonardo da Vinci (with whom the young Bandinelli had personal contact) and later by Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71).9 There is a striking interplay of the shadows cast by the candlelight on the back walls, with the heads of both statues 81 and artists overlapping one another. This may refer to a wellknown passage from Pliny’s Natural History: ‘The question as to the origin of the art of painting is uncertain [. . .] but all agree that it began with tracing an outline around a man’s shadow’.10 The central figure on the rear shelf casts an improbable shadow, as the hand held perpendicular to the body is reflected on the wall as upright and perpendicular to the ground. This was corrected in a copy after the second state (British Museum, London), which is slightly smaller.11 The design of this copy is more crudely executed than the original, and there are a number of significant changes to the scene that are unique to this plate, which suggests that it was created by someone other than Bandinelli.12 This demonstrates the relative freedom of printmakers to make adjustments to designs, and may help us to infer that this print was especially popular; such changes would have necessitated a new plate, which would imply that demand outstripped the supply, or that the original plate was under especially tight control by a single owner.13 The male and female statues on the table are the focus of the artists’ devotion, and are reminiscent of Apollo and Venus, specifically of the Venus Pudica type.14 They are probably inspired by the famous statues of the Apollo Belvedere (see p. 26, fig. 18 and cat. 5, fig. 1) and Venus Felix (fig. 1), which stood in the Belvedere Court and were constantly used by artists as ideal models.15 They would have been easily accessible to Bandinelli while lodging at the Belvedere. The male figures may alternatively be types after Hercules, a figure Fig. 1. Venus Felix and Cupid, c. 200 ad, marble, 214 cm (h), Museo Pio-Clementino, Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 936 82 that is prevalent throughout Bandinelli’s work (see cat. 3). In fact, Maria Grazia Ciardi Duprè identified the upper left male figure on the shelf as a bronze statuette of Hercules Pomarius, now at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, and on that basis suggested the statuette be newly attributed to Bandinelli.16 Many subsequent scholars have accepted this,17 but the differences in the two figures’ poses leaves the present author unconvinced, and it seems more likely that the figures in the print are generic, idealised types. In an almost meta-narrative, the intense focus on antique statuary is echoed even by the central male statuette, as he gazes at a miniature statuette poised on his own outstretched palm, which twists back to face him, returning his gaze (fig. 2). The three statues arrayed on the shelf along the back wall – two male and one female – are all of the same type as those on the table, and may be either copies or casts of them in wax or clay. The statuettes probably represent objects sculpted by Bandinelli himself referencing the Antique; Vasari tells us that while using the rooms at the Belvedere, Bandinelli made ‘many little figures [. . .] as of Hercules, Venus, Apollo, Leda, and other fantasies of his own’.18 One of these survives in bronze, a Hercules Pomarius at the Bargello, in Florence (fig. 3), and it resembles the figures in the engraving.19 The production of small models in wax, clay or bronze – many modelled on ancient prototypes – for young artists to practice drawing in the workshop, was already common in the 15th century. Several were created, for instance, by Lorenzo Ghiberti (c. 1381–1455) and Antonio Pollaiuolo (c. 1431–98).20 They Fig. 2. Detail of Veneziano’s engraving, statue gazing at an even smaller statuette Fig. 3. Baccio Bandinelli, Hercules Pomarius, c. 1545, bronze, 33.5 cm (h), Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence, inv. 281 Bronzi served the purpose of familiarising young artists with the forms and poses of antique models, allowing them to learn how to draw the three-dimensional human figure from different angles on a flat surface. The juxtaposition of the statuettes with several antique-style pots and vessels in the engraving reinforces the connection between Bandinelli’s ‘academy’ and the classical past, as does the fragment of a foot on the book that serves as a plinth for the male figure on the right. The statuettes are positioned so that each faces a slightly different direction, enabling the viewer to observe them from all angles, just as the artists are instructed to do. Our participation is further encouraged by the figure on the far left and by Bandinelli: both gaze outward and seem to acknowledge our presence. The viewer is thus accorded a role as a fellow student among the apprentices learning from Bandinelli in his academy. This link with the academy was less explicit in the original version of Bandinelli’s design. Ben Thomas drew attention to the first state of the print (Ashmolean Museum, Oxford),21 in which the inscription – so prominent below the table in the print exhibited here – was presented only in an abbreviated form on the tablet hanging on the wall at the far right, without the word ‘academia’, and with only Veneziano’s monogram and the date 1530, a year earlier than the present engraving. This tablet, deprived of the inscription in the later states, became an awkwardly superfluous element of the composition. Also missing in the first state are the drawings on the sheets of the artists gathered around the table. In changing these elements in the second state, as represented here,22 Bandinelli deliberately ensured there was no possibility of misinterpreting this as a literary, rather than artistic, endeavour; it also serves as propaganda for the artist himself, as a dissemination of not only his powers of design, but his role as a teacher and an innovator. This makes it all the more surprising that on the current print, his name is inscribed as ‘Bacchio Brandin.’ rather than Bandinelli. He adopted the Bandinelli surname in 1529 to align himself with a noble family from Siena, thereby making himself eligible for the Order of Santiago, which he was awarded by Emperor Charles V in 1530.23 The inscription dates the print to 1531, after his adoption of this new genealogy, and so must reflect an error on the part of the engraver, Veneziano.24 In his self-portrait, seated at the table, Bandinelli also does not wear the insignia of the Order of Santiago, as he does in his other self-portraits (cats 2 and 3), and so the design for this print most likely dates prior to the granting of this award in 1530. Tommaso Mozzati suggested a date earlier than 1527, when the sack of Rome forced both artists to flee the city, Veneziano to Mantua, Bandinelli first to Lucca and then Genoa.25 The inscription itself tells us the design was made in Rome, depicting a room in the Belvedere. If Veneziano engraved the design after the two artists went their separate ways, it could explain how the mistake in nomenclature was allowed to occur.26 Bandinelli’s relentless self-promotion and willingness to rewrite his family tree to achieve noble status can be explained by his upbringing. His father, Michelangelo di Viviano (1459–1528), was a prominent goldsmith in Florence, but the family had lost much of its wealth and prestige by the time his son was born in October 1493.27 As Bandinelli’s three siblings left home or died young, he was essentially the only child, charged with restoring the family’s social standing. His father encouraged his training as an artist from an early age, as an apprentice within his own workshop. Bandinelli also worked with the sculptor Gian Francesco Rustici (1474–1554), learning from him the process of modelling sculptures in wax and clay for casting into bronze. This association no doubt provided the opportunity to meet Rustici’s collaborator at the time on St John the Baptist Preaching (Florence Cathedral, Baptistry), Leonardo da Vinci (1452– 1519). Bandinelli was a staunch Medici supporter, even throughout the family’s exile, and this cemented his financial success as soon as two Medici popes came to power (Giovanni de’ Medici as Leo X in 1513 and Giulio de’ Medici as Clement VII in 1523). However, it also inspired rabid criticism from many Florentines, who were Republican by nature. 83 Our view of him is also coloured by Vasari’s biography, in which Bandinelli is treated as the villain to his heroic rival, Michelangelo.28 Such a bias is perhaps not completely unwarranted, as all three prints on display here by Bandinelli reflect his insistence not only on publicising his own image, but in vaunting his abilities as both a teacher of the next generation of artists, as well as having a special and privileged relationship to the Antique. This betrays the arrogance that is also evident in his writings,29 and may well have contributed to the negative opinions of his character that persist to this day. rh 1 Vasari tells us that Bandinelli was given use of the Belvedere (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 5, pp. 246, 250) but he never mentions an academy (Barkan 1999, p. 290). This engraving and cat. 2, as well as Bandinelli’s own account in his autobiographical Memoriale (which exists in a single manuscript in the Biblioteca Nazionale in Florence, Cod. Pal. Bandinelli 12, and is transcribed in Colasanti 1905 and Barocchi 1971–77, vol. 2, pp. 1359– 1411) are the only evidence we have for the existence of Bandinelli’s academy. 2 A less explicit link between art and the term ‘accademia’ is found on engravings after Leonardo da Vinci’s designs of knot work, which are inscribed ‘Academia Leonardi Vinci’ (see Pevsner 1940, p. 25; Roman 1984, p. 81; and Goldstein 1996, p. 10 and frontispiece). For Bandinelli as the first to use this word in conjunction with art training, see Pevsner 1940, p. 39; Barkan 1999, p. 290; Munich and Cologne 2002, p. 319 under no. 110; Thomas 2005, p. 8; Hegener 2008, pp. 401 and 403. 3 Visual arts were regarded as applied disciplines rather than liberal arts and thus unsuitable for intellectual discussion (Pevsner 1940, pp. 30–31; Goldstein 1996, p. 147; Cologne and Munich 2002, p. 319 under no. 110; Thomas 2005, pp. 8–9). 4 Although Vasari was the instigator and organiser of the Accademia, officially it was opened in 1563 by Cosimo de Medici (Pevsner 1940, p. 42). For more about the Accademia see Goldstein 1975; Waźbiński 1987; Barzman 1989; Barzman 2000. 5 Goldstein 1996, chap. 8; Barkan 1999, p. 292; Costamagna 2005. 6 Goldstein 1996, p. 14. 7 Barocchi 1971–77, vol. 2, pp. 1384–85. 8 Roman 1984, p. 83; Munich and Cologne 2002, p. 319; Thomas 2005, pp. 6–7. 9 Weil-Garris 1981, pp. 246–47, note 39; Barkan 1999, p. 292; Hegener 2008, p. 401. 10 ‘De picturae initiis incerta […] quaestio est […] omnes umbra hominis lineis circumducta, itaque primam talem’: Pliny the Elder, Nat. Hist., 35.5. See Pliny 1999, pp. 270–71. 11 The British Museum print’s inventory number is V,2.136. 12 Some changes are: the removal of Veneziano’s monogram, the underlining of ‘Belvedere’ in the inscription and the figure sketches on the artists’ sheets (Thomas 2005, p. 12). 13 Thomas 2005, p. 12. 14 For other statues of the Venus Pudica type known in the early Renaissance, see Tolomeo Speranza 1988. 84 15 Hegener 2008, p. 401. For Venus Felix, see Spinola 1996–2004, vol. 1, p. 97, PN 23 and fig. 14 on p. 98. 16 Ciardi Duprè 1966, p. 161. The inventory number of the statuette is A.76-1910. 17 Or they have at least restated Ciardi Duprè’s thesis without contestation. This includes Fiorentini 1999, p. 145; Thomas 2005, p. 11, note 21; and Hegener 2008, p. 403. Paul Joannides disagrees and attributes the statuette in the Victoria and Albert Museum to Michelangelo, saying that it in turn inspired Bandinelli to create his own version of Hercules Pomarius, now in the Bargello, in Florence (fig. 3), which is widely accepted as by Bandinelli (Joannides 1997, pp. 16–20). Volker Krahn also expressed doubt that it is by Bandinelli (Florence 2014, p. 374). 18 ‘Fece molte figurine […] come Ercoli, Venere, Apollini, Lede, ed altre sue fantasie’ (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 5, p. 251). 19 See Florence 2014, pp. 372–75, no. 32. 20 Fusco 1982; Ames-Lewis 2000b, pp. 52–55. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 22–23. 21 Thomas 2005, p. 11. The print’s inventory number is WA1863.1759. 22 There is also a third state owned by the Davison Arts Center of Wesleyan University, CT, in which the publisher Antonio Salamanca’s name is added at the bottom right (Thomas 2005, p. 12). Bartsch noted only one state (the second), but was also aware of the copy of the second state discussed here (Bartsch 1803–21, pp. 314–15, no. 418). The sheet exhibited here may represent a later impression of the second state, as the underlining of ‘Belvedere’ has become so worn that it is only visible below the first ‘el’ and the ‘r’. 23 There is some debate as to when Bandinelli received this honour. Scholars usually agree on 1529, but in his autobiography, Bandinelli said it occurred in the same year as the emperor’s coronation, which was in February 1530. According to Weil-Garris Brandt, the confusion arose because the Florentine year ended in March (Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, p. 501, note 26). Ben Thomas agrees with her and says the emperor sent news of the honour to Bandinelli from Innsbruck, after departing from Bologna on 22 March 1530 (Thomas 2005, p. 9 and note 12). 24 This is perhaps not the only print to exhibit such a mistake, as Bandinelli, in his Memoriale, bemoaned a similar error that had to be corrected on a print of his Martyrdom of St Lawrence (Barocchi 1971–77, vol. 2, p. 1396). However, this complaint itself is inaccurate, as the inscription of ‘Baccius Brandin. Inven.’ on the St Lawrence print would have been a correct appellation at the time of its execution in 1524, well before Bandinelli’s adoption of his new name. Such an anachronism has prompted speculation that the Memoriale is not actually by Bandinelli, but rather a forgery by one of his descendants (Thomas 2005, p. 10); nevertheless, it represents a familial dissatisfaction with the dissemination of Bandinelli’s designs once removed from his control. 25 Minonzio 1990, p. 686 and Florence 2014, p. 528 under no. 77. 26 However, by 1530, the date on the first state of this print, both Veneziano and Bandinelli had returned to Rome (Thomas 2005, p. 11). This does not preclude Veneziano from having engraved the design during their separation. It is unlikely that the design was executed at this later date because of the absence of the insignia of the Order of Santiago; even if the image were retrospective, it seems unlikely that Bandinelli would miss an opportunity for self-aggrandisement. 27 For Bandinelli’s biography, see Bandinelli’s own Memoriale (see note 1), Vasari’s account in Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 5, pp. 239–76, and more concise surveys in Weil-Garris 1981, pp. 224–42 and Waldman 2004, pp. xv–xxviii. 28 Weil-Garris 1981, p. 224. 29 Pevsner 1940, p. 42. 2. Enea Vico ( Parma 1523–1567 Ferrara) After Baccio Bandinelli (Gaiole, near Chianti 1493–1560 Florence) The Academy of Baccio Bandinelli c. 1545/50 Engraving, state II of III 314 × 486 mm (sheet) Inscribed recto, u.r., on left page of open book: ‘Baccius / Bandi: / nellus / invent’; on right page: ‘Enea vi: / go Par: / megiano / sculpsit.’ Inscribed verso, l. c., on additional paper fragment, now attached, in pencil: ‘Eneas Vico ca 1520 – ca 1570 / Nagler XXII/515 bl 49 / Ein Hauptblatt’; and below, in pencil, ‘B. Vol 15 B 305 No. 49’; l.l. in pencil: ‘£ 3013 60’ [the rest illegible] prov enance: Venator & Hanstein, Cologne, 3 November 1998, lot 2722, from whom acquired. selected liter atur e: Heinecken 1778–90, vol. 2, pp. 98–99; Bartsch 1803–21, vol. 15, pp. 305–06, no. 49; Passavant 1860–64, vol. 6, p. 122, no. 49; Pevsner 1940, pp. 40–42, fig. 6; Ciardi Duprè 1966, pp. 163–64, fig. 26; Goldstein 1975, p. 147, fig. 1; Weil-Garris 1981, pp. 235–36, fig. 14; Roman 1984, pp. 84–87, fig. 66; Spike 1985, 305.49-I and 305.49-II, repr.; Landau and Parshall 1994, p. 286, fig. 303; Barkan 1999, pp. 290–98, fig. 5.13; Fiorentini 1999, pp. 146–47, no. 30; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, pp. 86–88, no. 21; Thomas 2005, pp. 12–14, fig. 5; Hegener 2008, pp. 404–12 and 625–26, pl. 232; Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, p. 18, fig. 15; Florence 2014, pp. 530–31, no. 78. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1998-039 This print by Enea Vico after a design by Baccio Bandinelli depicts a scene similar to that in his earlier self-styled academy (cat. 1), but it has been expanded and amplified: the table which occupies all of the space in Agostino Veneziano’s engraving has been moved to the right side of Vico’s print, and the perspective is widened to allow a larger room to come into view. The number of apprentices has grown from six to twelve, the books from one to six and the antique sculptures from five to ten. The style of the print, as well as Vico’s chronology, suggest that it is not the Belvedere academy that is depicted here, but a second academy, established by Bandinelli some twenty years later after his return to Florence in 1540.1 As in the earlier print, the classical figurines appear to be generalised interpretations of antique statuary rather than exact copies of specific models, although they have been diversified here by the addition of a horse’s head and a bust of a Roman emperor on the shelf. Added to the fragments strewn about the room are skeletons and skulls, which are now given a status equal to classical sources as inspiration for artists. These refer to the growing tendency to study the anatomy of the human body in Italian workshops around the mid-16th century, mainly through skeletons, a practice that was codified by Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71) some twenty years later in his Sopra i Principi e l’ Modo d’Imparare l’Arte del Disegno, in which he advised artists to copy anatomical parts in order to attain skill as draughtsmen.2 While Bandinelli’s representation is one of the first to document the spread of anatomical study among young artists, the practice was formalised in the second half of the 16th century in the curricula of the first academies, where sophisticated anatomy lectures were given and dissections were performed.3 Both antique sculptures and skeletons became common elements in subsequent representations of artists’ workshops, studios and academies, as seen in Stradanus’ studio image and Cort’s engraving after it (cat. 4). This is also reflected in an etching by Pierfrancesco Alberti of a painter’s studio or academy (fig. 1), which shows a more structured curriculum of studies involving anatomical dissection, geometry, the Antique and architectural drawing, closely reflecting the disciplines taught in the earliest Italian academies, particularly the Roman Accademia di San Luca.4 The light source is another difference between the two prints after Bandinelli. The single candle in Veneziano’s engraving has become three forcefully radiating fires, with the candle on the table now partially dissolving the face of the student standing to its right. The importance of studying at night, and the diligence and introspection this implies, is again a primary theme. Another engraving after a Bandinelli design, The Combat of Cupid and Apollo,5 also places importance on fire as a source of not only visual illumination, but as a symbol of philosophical and spiritual revelation. The recurrence of this motif has been regarded as indicative of Bandinelli’s neo-Platonic leanings; the flame symbolises divine Reason and its power to defeat the darker, profane vices of the human condition, allowing man to perceive true, celestial beauty, even while bound to the terrestrial realm.6 Indeed, the very concept of an academy is closely intertwined with Neo-Platonism, as it was widely considered that the first academy founded since the end of classical times was that of Marsilio Ficino (1433–99) in Florence, which was specifically based on the philosophy and teachings espoused by Plato.7 85 Bandinelli himself is again represented, but he now stands at the far right, instructing the two students who face him. He also now wears the cross of St James, as befits a knight of the Order of Santiago, which he was awarded in 1530, and which is seen in his other self-portrait (cat. 3). The same insignia is placed prominently above the fireplace between the two cupids. Bandinelli’s design therefore takes on a more propagandistic role, and has been described by some scholars as a ‘manifesto’ for his academy.8 The staging here stresses Bandinelli’s nobility, humanism and sophistication, while the importance of copying from antique sculpture is rather downplayed, with the casts relegated to the margins of the scene. None of the artists is now looking at the casts; their focus is instead inward, as best exemplified by the figure who sits at the centre of the composition, with his head in his hand. Only one of the students’ drawings is visible, on the tablet of the standing apprentice at the centre of the scene, and the female nude emerging from his stylus is unrelated to any of the sculptures surrounding him, although clearly referring to a model all’antica. She must therefore be a product of his mind, and so the emphasis here is on the artist’s memory and imagination; the skeletons and antique sculptures were essential for building his graphic vocabulary of the human form, but they have been discarded now that he has successfully internalised them and no longer needs to copy them directly.9 The exercise of memory was one of the central principles of the pedagogical practices of the Italian Renaissance, going back as far as Leon Battista Alberti (1404– 72) and Leonardo (1452–1519).10 Giorgio Vasari (1511–74), in his Vite explicitly recommended that ‘the best thing is to draw men and women from the nude and thus fix in the memory by constant exercise the muscles of the torso, back, legs, arms and knees, with the bones underneath. Then one may be sure that, through much study, attitudes in any position can be drawn by help of the imagination without one having the living forms in the view’. 11 The importance of memory was also stressed by Cellini in his treatise.12 There are three states of this print, differentiated by the inscriptions.13 In the first state, the inscription identifying Bandinelli as the designer on the left page of the book on the upper right is included, as is the address of the Roman publisher, Pietro Palumbo, below the sleeping dog in the lower centre (not seen here). In the second state, Enea Vico’s name is added on the right-hand page of the same book, in a different script. In the final state, the name of Palumbo’s successor as the publisher of this print, Gaspar Alberto, is added below the skulls in the lower centre. Nicole Hegener believed there was an additional state between the first and second, represented by a version at Yale in which Agostino’s Veneziano’s name was inscribed on the right-hand page of the book before it was replaced by Vico’s.14 However, it was noted in 2005 that this was added by hand in pen-and-ink, and was therefore just a modification of the first state of the print.15 The print exhibited here was also believed to be a unique Fig. 1. Pierfrancesco Alberti, Painters’ Academy, c. 1603–48, etching, 412 × 522 mm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-1952-373 86 87 example of a state between the first and second, as both Bandinelli’s and Vico’s names are present on the book, but Palumbo’s is missing.16 However, close examination of the verso reveals extensive abrasion over the area where Palumbo’s address would have been. The inscription was therefore erased from this sheet, and does not reflect any changes to the original plate. It must, therefore, be an example of the second state, which was subsequently altered for an unknown reason. Palumbo’s name on the first state also makes the dating of this print difficult. On stylistic grounds, most scholars date it to c. 1545/50,17 but Palumbo was not active before c. 1562 at Sant’ Agostino in Rome,18 which post-dates Bandinelli’s death. Tommaso Mozzati speculated that Bandinelli transferred his design to Vico before 1546, when the engraver left Florence for Rome, and that the publication may have been delayed by a deteriorating relationship between the two artists.19 If Vico intentionally withheld the design until after Bandinelli’s death, it might explain how Palumbo became its first publisher more than a decade later. rh 1 Pevsner 1940, pp. 40–41; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 86. This engraving, cat. 1 and Bandinelli’s own writings in his Memoriale are the only evidence we have for the existence of his academies (see cat. 1, note 1). 2 Weil-Garris 1981, pp. 246–47, note 39. Cellini’s fragmentary treatise was probably written during the last two decades of his life but published only 88 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 in 1731: Cellini 1731, pp. 155–62 (on the study of the bones and muscles, pp. 157–62). See Olmstead Tonelli 1984, esp. p. 101. See also Schultz 1985; Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97; London, Warwick and elsewhere 1997–98; Carlino 2008–09. Roman 1984, p. 91. See Appendix, no. 7 for the statutes of the Accademia di San Luca. Repr. in Panofsky 1962, fig. 107. Panofsky 1962, pp. 148–51. Goldstein 1996, p. 14. For the neo-Platonic movement during the Renaissance, see Panofsky 1962, chap. 5. Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, p. 18; Florence 2014, p. 520. Thomas 2005, pp. 13–14; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 87. Alberti 1972, pp. 96–99 (book 3.55); Leonardo 1956, vol. 1, p. 47, chap. 65–66. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, p. 33. Brown 1907, p. 210; Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 1, pp. 114–15. Cellini 1731, p. 157. Bartsch mistakenly conflated the second and third states and therefore only listed two states (Bartsch 1803–21, vol. 15, pp. 305–06). He was corrected by Passavant (1860–64, vol. 6, p. 122, no. 49) and this is accepted by subsequent scholarship (i.e. Thomas 2005, p. 13). Hegener 2008, p. 405. Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 88, note 1. See also Florence 2014, p. 530. Venator & Hanstein sale, Cologne, 3 November 1998, lot 2722. Pevsner remarks on the characteristic ‘Mid-Cinquecento Mannerism’ of Vico’s print in contrast to Veneziano’s style, which is reminiscent of Raimondi (Pevsner 1940, p. 40). The following agree on the approximate dates c. 1545/50: Weil-Garris 1981, p. 235; Thomas 2005, p. 13; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 86; Florence 2014, p. 530. Fiorentini suggested c. 1550 because after that date Vico used ‘sculptere’ on his works, rather than ‘sculpsit’ as here (Fiorentini 1999, p. 147). However, the form of Vico’s inscription as ‘Enea Vigo’ on this print is completely unique, as his other extant works are signed either ‘E.V.’, ‘Enea Vico’ or variations on ‘AENEAS VICUS’ (Thomas 2005, p. 13). Therefore we must be very cautious in making any assumptions based on this particular inscription. London 2001–02, p. 230. He continued working until c. 1586. Florence 2014, p. 531. 3. Anonymous, 16th-century Italian Artist After Niccolò della Casa (Lorraine fl. 1543–48) After Baccio Bandinelli (Gaiole, near Chianti 1493–1560 Florence) Self-Portrait of Baccio Bandinelli, Seated 1548 Engraving, 416 × 306 mm Dated l.c.: ‘1548’; inscribed l.r: ‘A.S.Excudebat.’; inscribed l.c. in pencil: ‘No 7.’ and below to r. in pencil: ‘No 7’. With the initials of the publisher, probably Antonio Salamanca (1478–1562). prov enance: Léon Millet, Paris (his stamp, not in Lugt, in blue ink on the verso: ‘Léon Millet / 13 rue des Abbesses’ and below, printed in black ink: ‘12 Mars 1897’);1 Bassenge, Berlin, 3 December 2003, lot 5155, from whom acquired. selected liter atur e: Heinecken 1778–90, vol. 2, p. 90; Bartsch 1854–76, vol. 15, pp. 279–80; Nagler 1966, vol. 1, p. 542, under no. 1266; Le Blanc 1854-88, vol. 3, p. 414, nos. 1–2; Steinmann 1913, pp. 96-97, note 8; Florence 1980, pp. 264, 266, no. 690; Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89, p. 76–77, no. 20; Fiorentini 1999, pp. 153–54, no. 34, fig. 34 (see also pp. 150–53, under no. 33); Fiorentini and Rosenberg 2002, p. 37, fig. 20, pp. 38, 42, 44; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, pp. 32–34, no. 1 (J. Clifton); Hegener 2008, pp. 391–96, version II, fig. 57, p. 617–18, no. 16 (see also pp. 380–91, under version I); Florence 2014, pp. 526–27, no. 76 (T. Mozzati). e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2003-020 This engraving reproduces, in reverse and with variations in detail, an unfinished engraving by Niccolò della Casa, based on a lost drawing by Bandinelli.2 It is unclear why the Della Casa engraving, which is known in only a few impressions, was never finished. The present engraving is smaller than its model, resulting in a few compositional differences. It was attributed to Nicolas Beatrizet (c. 1507/15–1573) by Erna Fiorentini and Raphael Rosenberg and while this was accepted by James Clifton, it was rejected by Nicole Hegener and Tommaso Mozzati.3 Until further information comes to light, it is perhaps safer to attribute it to an unidentified Italian engraver working in Rome in the mid-16th century. Hegener identified a further state with the added inscription at centre right, ‘effigies / Bacci Bandinelli sculp / florentini’ and Karl Heinrich von Heinecken mentioned yet another without inscriptions (untraced). 4 If Bandinelli’s self-portrait inserted among his students in his academies (cats 1–2) emphasises his role as teacher and mentor, this image speaks of a solitary and relentless self-promoter.5 By 1548, the engraving’s date, Bandinelli had achieved great success. He had served two Popes, Leo X (Giovanni de’ Medici) and Clement VII (Giulio de’ Medici), for whom he had carried out several important commissions including the classicising Orpheus and Cerberus (Palazzo Medici Riccardi, Florence, c. 1519) modelled after the Apollo Belvedere, the monumental Hercules and Cacus (Piazza della Signoria, Florence, 1523–34) and the papal tombs in Santa Maria sopra Minerva (1536–41).6 He was currently serving the Grand Duke Cosimo I de’ Medici. And yet, it was Baccio’s close alliance with the Medici, coupled with his ongoing rivalry with Michelangelo, a staunch anti-Medicean Republican, and others, like Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71) that denied him the full respect and admiration of his Florentine contemporaries. His intense competitiveness and difficult character only exacerbated his contemporaries’ widespread dislike of him.7 Projecting strength, power and authority, this arresting image, clearly intended for circulation, was no doubt Baccio’s attempt to right those perceived wrongs. 8 By fusing motifs from his own work with motifs from antique sculpture – absorbed and recast – Bandinelli sought to elevate his status and rank and to assert his position while defending his work by associating it with the art of Greece and Rome.9 The multi-layered and intertexual combination of themes and references that resulted contributes to the engraving’s enigmatic allure and demands careful interpretation. Significantly, it is the first image in the exhibition to demonstrate how Antique imagery could be used by an artist to promote his own art and his own achievements. The engraving shows us a man of great physical presence, seated as though enthroned. His elevation is enhanced by a rich costume – the luxurious fur-lined cloak nonchalantly slides off one shoulder – more typical of an aristocrat than an artist. Emblazoned on his chest is the cross of St James, the emblem of the prestigious 12th-century Spanish military Order of Santiago, conferred on Bandinelli in 1530 by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V who overruled protests that it was unmerited. Bandinelli took great pride in the honour, justifiably, since he was the only artist to be awarded the cross of St James, which he included in other self-portraits (see cat. 2).10 Immediately below the sharp lower point of the cross his prominent codpiece protrudes 89 through the folds of his tunic, an unsubtle reference to his virility. His ‘progeny’ – a selection of his small models and statuettes – are seen throughout. Proprietorially and prominently cradled, and elevated on its own column base, is the figure of Hercules, the son of Zeus, who heroically carried out the Twelve Labours. Hercules played a central role in Bandinelli’s work.11 His near obsession with the demi-god, the embodiment of strength in the face of adversity, is demonstrated in Hercules’ constant appearance – in bronze, marble, stucco and drawing – throughout Bandinelli’s career.12 And since Hercules was the mythical founder of Florence and an exemplum much favoured by the Medici, in linking his own image so closely to the hero, Bandinelli was also referencing his association with his native city and its ruling house.13 Hercules was the perfect foil to David, another protector of Florence, and to represent the hero gave Baccio the opportunity to display his mastery of the muscular male nude in heroic and often violent action. Bandinelli also holds a rather different figure of Hercules in the della Casa engraving, c. 1544 and in his grand painted self-portrait of c. 1550 (Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston) he proudly displays a preparatory drawing for the Hercules and Cacus his most spectacular and ambitious sculpture.14 This colossal group, – a pendant to Michelangelo’s David – and a commission that he had taken away from Michelangelo, brought him considerable fame despite the unfavourable reception that it received on its unveiling in 1534.15 In effect, Hercules was Bandinelli’s calling card and his prominence in his self-portraits is unsurprising.16 Small-scale, classicising models made in wax and terracotta such as those seen here and in his other prints (cats 1–2), were central to Bandinelli’s work as tools for teaching, and as preparation for large-scale sculpture; many were translated into bronze, as independent statuettes.17 Here, for example, the pose of the male nude seen from behind standing in contrapposto at the right anticipates that of Adam in Baccio’s Adam and Eve group of 1551 (Bargello, Florence).18 Perhaps because Bandinelli was still working out the pose or perhaps to give the figure the aura of a damaged antique, the left arm is missing below the elbow; several of the other figurines in the engraving derive from the Antique but have been, as it were, naturalised into Bandinelli’s own idiom. On equal footing with the statuette of Hercules that he holds are the two standing female nudes on the left, also elevated on a column shaft. They derive from the Cnidian Venus of the 4th century bc, among the most famous works of the Greek sculptor, Praxiteles, which was probably known Fig. 1. Baccio Bandinelli, A Standing Female Figure, c. 1515, red chalk, 410 × 242 mm, private collection, Switzerland Fig. 2. Giulio Bonasone, Saturn Seated on a Cloud Devouring a Statue, c. 1555–70, etching and engraving, 254 × 154 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, H,5.137 Fig. 3. Anonymous, Ferrarese School, Fortitude, playing card, c. 1465, engraving, 179 × 100 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1895,0915.36 90 91 Fig. 4. Amico Aspertini, Lion Attacking a Horse, pen and light brown ink, 107 × 146 mm, Staatliche Museen, Kupferstichtkabinett, Berlin, KdZ 25020 to Bandinelli through a Roman copy.19 Intent on demonstrating his full knowledge of the statue Baccio presents one woman frontally, while the other, headless, is seen from behind.20 Slim and regularly proportioned, the Cnidian Venus was Bandinelli’s preferred female type and examples abound in his sculpted and graphic work.21 A highly finished red chalk drawing (private collection Switzerland, fig. 1) compares well with the engraved nude on the left.22 The foreground is occupied with further statuettes: another Hercules stands on a pedestal on the left and five male torsos are scattered on the ground at his feet. While they loosely evoke the Antique – the two on the lower left, for example, recall the Belvedere Torso (p. 26, fig. 23), they have become generalised.23 Headless and limbless, like antique fragments, they suggest once more that Bandinelli was equating his work with that of the ancients. The lion has been interpreted diversely and Bandinelli may well have intended multi-layered interpretation. It has widely been seen as a heraldic Medici lion (marzocco) and, as such, a reference to Bandinelli’s favoured position with the Medici as well as his loyalty to their regime.24 Interpreted as devouring a lower thigh and knee,25 the lion has also been seen as a symbol of the artist’s prowess in sculpture. A more complex explanation suggests a link with Saturn devouring a boulder, a subject illustrated in a print by Giulio Bonasone (fig. 2), which is accompanied by the motto, ‘in pulverem reverteris’ (‘unto dust shalt thou return’).26 As such, Bandinelli is not merely subjugating a wild animal but also triumphing over Time.27 More simply, the lion may also refer to Bandinelli’s favourite hero, Hercules, who conquered the Nemean lion, or evoke Fortitude whose traditional attributes were a lion and a broken column, here transformed into a plinth (fig. 3).28 Finally, it may be that Bandinelli was again referencing the Antique: the Lion Attacking a Horse – part of a colossal Hellenistic group (Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome) – in Bandinelli’s day, a limbless fragment on the Campidoglio29 – freely interpreted by artists like Amico Aspertini (1472–1552) (fig.4; Kupferstichtkabinett, Berlin).30 Fig. 5. Giovanni Antonio da Brescia (fl. 1490–1519), The Belvedere Torso with Legs and Feet, as Hercules, c. 1500–20, engraving, 166 × 103 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1845,0825.258 Fig. 6. Baccio Bandinelli, Laocoön, pen and brown ink, 1520s, 417 × 265 mm, Uizi, Florence, inv. 14785 F (recto) 92 The fragment was considered ‘of such excellence that Michelangelo judged it to be most marvellous’.31 There has been much speculation about Bandinelli’s pose in the engraving. It might, in fact, refer to the Belvedere Torso,32 as ‘restored’ in an engraving by Giovanni Antonio da Brescia (1485–1525) of c. 1515 (fig. 5).33 The arrangement of his legs is also close, in reverse to that of Laocoön, (p. 26, fig. 19), a direct copy of which, in marble (c. 1520–25, Florence, Uffizi) commissioned by Leo X, was one of Baccio’s greatest successes.34 His preparatory drawing for the sculpture also in the Uffizi (fig. 6) shows him seated in a comparable pose as seen here.35 Once again, therefore, we see the sculptor referencing and promoting his own work, employing the associative authority of Antique imagery. In sum, Bandinelli presents himself here not only with the strength and fortitude of a modern Hercules who successfully vanquished his adversaries but also as the greatest, most recognisable heromartyr and father from antiquity, Laocoön, with his sculpted ‘offspring’ triumphant. avl 1 Rhea Blok has noted (e-mail, 12 August 2014) that the same collector’s mark is found on Henri Mauperché’s etching, L’Ange conseillant Tobie, with A. & D. Martinez (Paris 2003, p. 5, no. 20) and a print by Vincenzo Mazzi (Stage Set from the Caprici Teatrali, Bologna, 1776) in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 66.500.27. It also appears on the reverse of the drawing by Hubert Clerget, La Maison de Boucher, rue Carnot à la Ferte-Bernard, with C. J. Goodfriend, New York, in 2014. 2 Fiorentini 1999, pp. 150–53, no. 33; Fiorentini and Rosenberg 2002, p. 36, fig. 19; Hegener 2008, pp. 380–91, version I, fig. 221, p. 617, no. 15. 3 J. Clifton in Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, pp. 32–34, no. 1; Hegener 2008, p. 391; Mozzati in Florence 2014, pp. 526–27, no. 76. Erna Fiorentini previously attributed it to Casa with a query (1999, p. 153). 4 Hegener 2008 p. 618, no. 17, fig. 226; Heinecken (1778–90, vol. 2, p. 90). 5 For his portraiture and use of it for self-promotion, see Weil-Garris 1981, pp. 237–38; Weil-Garris Brandt 1989; Mozzati 2014, pp. 452–63. 6 Florence 2014, p. 568, no. III; p. 573, no. VII; pp. 576–81, nos IX.-X. (R. Schallert). The Orpheus and his copy of the Laocoön (ibid., p. 571, no. V) earned his reputation as ‘a great young talent who can export the Belvedere’. (Barkan, 1999, p. 279). 7 His personality is revealed in his letters and the lengthy account in Vasari’s Lives (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 5, pp. 238–76). See also Weil-Garris 1981, pp. 223–24; Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, p. 497. 8 Along with the date, 1548, the engraving bears the initials and inscription, ‘A.S.Excudebat.’, presumably Antonio Salamanca, the leading publisher of prints in Rome in the mid-16th century (Fiorentini and Rosenberg 2002, p. 38). Many of the prints he published were of Roman antiquities. See London 2001–02, p. 233; Pagani 2000; Witcombe 2008, pp. 67–105. 9 Weil-Garris 1981, p. 231; Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, p. 497. For a fundamental discussion of Bandinelli and the Antique, see Barkan 1999, pp. 271–408. 10 Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, pp. 497, 499–500. 11 Weil-Garris 1981, p. 237. 12 See V. Krahn, in Florence 2014, pp. 372–75, cat no. 32 who further notes the similarity between the Hercules appearing in outline leaning on his club at right in the unfinished print by Niccolò della Casa (Fiorentini and Rosenberg 2002, p. 36, fig. 19), and Bandinelli’s Hercules with the Apple of the Hesperides, c. 1545, in the Bargello in Florence (ibid., pp. 372–75, cat. no. 32, repr.). There are many other engraved representations of Hercules subjects by or based on Bandinelli, who evidently planned a series, as noted by Roger Ward (in Cambridge 1988, p. 74, under cat. no. 42). See also M. Zurla, in Florence 2014, pp. 388–93, cat. nos 37–39. 13 Weil-Garris 1981, p. 237; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 34. 14 Weil-Garris 1981, pp. 236–37. For the painting, see O. Tostmann, in Florence 2014, pp. 510–13, no. 69, repr.; Mozzati 2014, pp. 458–63. 15 For a full discussion of the statue, see Vossilla 2014, pp. 156–67, repr.; Florence 2014, p. 573, no. VII. 16 For Herculean imagery in the engraving, see Hegener 2008, pp. 382–86, 389–91, 395–96. 17 Barkan 1999, p. 304; Krahn 2014, pp. 324–31. 18 As first observed by Bruce Davis in Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89, p. 77. For the sculpture, see D. Heikamp, in Florence 2014, pp. 314–15, no. 22, repr. He also appears, in adapted form, in other works by the sculptor (Fiorentini 1999, p. 152). 19 First noted by B. Davis, in Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89, p. 77; Barkan 1999, pp. 308–09, fig. 5.19. 20 One half expects to see to a third figure to complete the ‘Three Graces’. On the use of this double-view and his drawings that may relate to these figures, see Fiorentini 1999, pp. 151–52. 21 Barkan 1999, pp. 309–12; V. Krahn, in Florence 2014, pp. 356–59, no. 28. 22 B. Davis in Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89, p. 77. The drawing was formerly with Yvonne Tan Bunzl (Bunzl 1987, no. 5, repr.; see also V. Krahn, in Florence 2014, p. 356, fig. 1). Other copies by Bandinelli after the same statue, one in red chalk, the other, in pen and ink, are on a doublesided sheet in in the Biblioteca Reale, Turin (Bertini 1958, p. 17, no. 37; Barkan 1999, p. 311, figs. 5.21, 5.22). The same Cnidian Venus type occurs at left in his drawing, Four Female Nudes, in the Art Gallery of Toronto, 2006/432 (repr. in Aldega and Gordon 2003, p. 8, no. 1). A woman very similar to that engraved at left both in pose, body type and hairstyle, appears on a sheet in the Louvre, formerly classed as Bandinelli and now given to Giovanni Bandini (1540–1599), Viatte 2011, pp. 246–47, R2, repr. 23 Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 34. Of course, they could also be a further Herculean reference, as the Torso was in the Renaissance believed to be that of Hercules (Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 313). Fiorentini 1999, p. 150, followed by Hegener 2008, p. 388, considered one of the torsos, the second from the left, to be based on the torso of a satyr now in the Villa Barbarini, Castel Gandolfo, Rome, which was in the Ciampolini collection in the Renaissance (Liverani 1989, pp. 92, no. 34, 94–95, figs. 34.1–4). Given the differences in pose, the present author cannot accept this view. Bandinelli adapted the pose of the Torso Belvedere for his red chalk drawing, A Nude Man, Seated on a Grassy Bank in the Courtauld Gallery, as noted by Ruth Rubinstein (Cambridge 1988, pp. 26–27, no. 8, repr.); see also Barkan 1999, pp. 308–09, fig 5.17. 24 Hegener 2008, p. 383. 25 Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 34. 26 T. Mozzati, in Florence 2014, p. 527, who reports that this view is shared by Mino Gabriele. That author notes (repeating Massari 1983, p. 125) that the concept is paralleled in a passage from Ovid’s Metamorphosis (15.236–38). However, it is also part of a famous passage from Genesis 3:19: ‘In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.’ For the print, see Massari 1983, vol. 1, p. 125, no. 223, repr. 27 T. Mozzati, in Florence 2014, p. 527, who also considers that Bandinelli holds a complete statuette, not a fragment like the others in the print, as a modern manifestation of classicism. 28 Zucker 1980, p. 185, no. 53-A (136), repr.; Zucker 2000, p. 47, .036a. See also Ripa’s illustrated edition of 1603 (Buscaroli 1992, pp. 142–44, repr.). 29 Fiorentini 1999, p. 151; Hegener 2008, p. 383. For the statue: Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 250–51, no. 54, fig. 128; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 236–37, no. 185. 30 Faietti and Kelescian 1995, pp. 220–21, no. 4; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 237, fig. 185a. 31 Aldrovandi 1556, p. 270, cited and translated by Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 236. 32 As proposed by Hegener (2008, pp. 380, 382, 389–90) who considered his arms to be based on those of Christ in Michelangelo’s Last Judgment. 33 Zucker 1980, p. 78, no. 5 (100), repr.; Zucker 1984, pp. 350–51, .028, repr. The pose also anticipates Bandinelli’s God the Father sculpture of the 1550s in S. Croce, Florence (Florence 2014, pp. 595–98, no. XVIII, repr.). 34 Although intended as a gift for François I, it never reached its intended recipient and remained with the next Pope Clement VII, in Florence. Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 165–66, no. 122b. Capecchi (2014, pp. 129–55) provides a thorough account of the project. 35 D. Cordellier, in Paris 2000–01, pp. 237–40, no. 74, repr. 93 4a. Jan van der Straet, called Johannes Stradanus (Bruges 1523–1605 Florence) The Practice of the Visual Arts 1573 Pen and brown ink with brown wash and white heightening with touches of grey, incised for transfer 436 × 293 mm Inscribed recto, l.c., in pen and brown ink, in reverse sense: ‘io stradensis flandrvs in 1573 cornelie cort excv’ prov enance: Sir H. Sloane bequest, 1753. liter ature: Hind and Popham 1915–32, vol. 5, p. 182, no. 1; Ameisenowa 1963, p. 58; Wolf-Heiddeger and Cetto 1967, p. 171, no. 73, repr. on p. 431; Heikamp 1972, p. 300 and fig. 1 on p. 302; Heidelberg 1982, p. 29, no. 52, pl. 1 on p. 17; Sellink 1992, p. 46; Rotterdam 1994, pp. 195–99 (in Dutch), pp. 200–05 (in English), fig. a on p. 204; Baroni Vannucci 1997, pp. 63–64, 247, no. 313, repr. on p. 246. e xhibitions: Florence 1980, p. 213, no. 523, not repr. (G. G. Bertelà); London 1986, no. 144, repr. on p. 193 (N. Turner); Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97, pp. 148–49, no. 39 (M. Kornell); London, Warwick, and elsewhere 1997–98, pp. 19, 25, 119, no. 142 (D. Petherbridge and L. Jordanova); London 2001–02, p. 21, no. 4 (M. Bury); Bruges 2008–09, pp. 227–28, no. 20 (A. Baroni). The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, SL,5214.2 e xhibited in london only 4b. Cornelis Cort (Hoorn 1533–before 1578 Rome) After Jan van der Straet, called Johannes Stradanus (Bruges 1523–1605 Florence) The Practice of the Visual Arts 1578 Engraving State I of II 1 432 × 295 mm Inscribed recto, l.c., on wooden box: ‘Cornelius Cort fecit. / 1578’; along bottom: ‘Illmo et Exmo Dńo Iacobo Boncompagno Arcis Praefecto, ingenior, ac industriae fautori, Artiú nobiliú praxim, á Io, Stradési Belga artifiosè expressá, Laureti’ Vaccarius D.D. Romae Anno 1578.’; u.r.: ‘PICT VRA’; c.l. on table in background: ‘FVSORIA’; u.c. below statue: ‘STATV ARIA’; l.l. on table: ‘ANATOMIA’; below statue of horse: ‘SCVLPTVRA’; c.r. on book on table: ‘ARCHITECTVRA’; r. on paper on table: ‘Typorum eneorum / INCISORIA’; l.c. on stool: ‘Tyrones pi / cture’. prov enance: possibly entered Rijksmuseum collection late 19th century (L.2228)2 liter ature: Hind and Popham 1915–32, vol. 5, p. 182; Bierens de Haan 1948, p. 199, no. 218, fig. 53; Hollstein 1949–2001, vol. 5, p. 58, no. 218, repr.; Ameisenowa 1963, p. 58; Wolf-Heiddeger and Cetto 1967, pp. 171–72, no. 74, repr. on p. 431; Heikamp 1972, p. 300, fig. 2 on p. 302; Strauss 1977, vol. 1, pp. 278–79, repr.; Florence 1980, p. 213; Parker 1983, pp. 76–77, repr. (as state II); Roman 1984, pp. 88–91, fig. 69; Strauss and Shimura 1986, p. 249, 218.199; Liedtke 1989, p. 190, no. 53, repr. on p. 191; Sellink 1992, p. 46, fig. 18 on p. 47; Rotterdam 1994, pp. 195–99 (in Dutch), pp. 200–205 (in English), no. 69; Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97, pp. 148–51, no. 40; Baroni Vannucci 1997, pp. 63–64, 436, no. 772; Sellink and Leeflang 2000, part 3, pp. 118–19, no. 210; London 2001–02, pp. 18–21, no. 3; Munich and Cologne 2002, pp. 321–22, no. 112; Wiebel and Wiedau 2002, p. 154, repr. on p. 155; Perry Chapman 2005, p. 116, fig. 4.7 on p. 117. e xhibitions: Vienna 1987, p. 320, no. VII.25 (M. Boeckl); Amsterdam 2007, no. 5 (C. Smid and A. White); Bruges 2008–09, no. 21 (A. Baroni); Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, pp. 18–19, no. 16. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-BI-6381 e xhibited in ha arlem only This crowded, idealised vision of a workshop for training artists is the natural successor to the earlier academies depicted by Baccio Bandinelli (cats 1 and 2). The Antique still plays a prominent role, seen in the large marble statues in the centre depicting Rome personified next to the river god Tiber, both based on the well-known sculptures in the Capitoline,3 and by the statuette of a Venus Pudica type with her back to us standing on the table in the foreground. Equal importance, however, is accorded to the study of anatomy, 94 and the young pupils in the foreground focus their attention on the skeleton and cadaver suspended from ropes and pulleys. This reflects the later 16th-century emphasis on the study of anatomy as an integral part of the artist’s education, a tendency that was already evident in the skeletons added to Bandinelli’s second academy print (cat. 2), and which is fully realised in this scene. The drawing and print catalogued here were produced in close collaboration by two Northern artists who both made their careers in Italy. Jan van der Straet was born in Bruges in 1523, but we know very little of his life before he arrived in Italy around 1545.4 He settled in Florence but worked in both Rome and Naples, and became a close collaborator of Giorgio Vasari (1511–74), assisting him in the decoration of the Palazzo Vecchio and at Poggio a Caiano. Like Vasari, Van der Straet was immensely versatile, working on paintings and portraits, making cartoons for tapestries and creating hundreds of designs for prints. He died in Florence in 1605, and is better known to posterity by the Italianised version of his name, Johannes Stradanus. He nevertheless maintained his Flemish identity by signing his works with variations of ‘FLANDRUS’, as seen in the exhibited drawing; however, it is difficult to decipher, because Stradanus wrote the inscription in reverse. This is clear evidence that the drawing was intended as a design for a print. All the figures use their left hands, which is further proof, as are the clear indentation lines made to transfer the design to the plate. Stradanus’ inscription is dated 1573, and includes the name of the Dutchman Cornelis Cort, who would engrave the drawing five years later, in 1578.5 Cort is first documented working in the printing house of Hieronymous Cock (c. 1510–70) in Antwerp, around 1553, before he travelled to Italy in 1565.6 At first he worked in Venice, where he formed a famous partnership with Titian (c. 1488–1576), but he later moved to central Italy. Cort probably met Stradanus in 1569 in Florence, where the Medicis had requested his presence to engrave their family tree.7 In the engraving, Cort moved his own name to the block at the centre foreground, where he also inscribed the date 1578. Stradanus’ inscription was replaced by one from the publisher, Lorenzo Vaccari (active 1575–87), dedicating the work to Giacomo Boncampagni, Prefect of the Castel Sant’Angelo and son of the newly appointed Pope Gregory XIII (r. 1572–85).8 Cort made several further changes to Stradanus’ design, the most obvious of which are the inscriptions added to clarify the various activities being conducted around the room. Thus we can identify the three arts of disegno taking place in one institution, with painting (‘PICTVRA’) on the wall, sculpture (‘STATVARIA’ and ‘SCVLPTVRA’) on the plinths in the centre, and architecture (‘ARCHITECTVRA’), which is given short shrift, represented only by the man seated at the table before the Venus, holding a pair of dividers. The architect is in fact overshadowed by the unusual addition beside him of a seated engraver, whose burin rests on the corner of the table next to the more prominent inscription ‘Typorum eneorum INCISORIA’. Michael Bury thought this focus on engraving was added at Cort’s urging,9 but Stradanus, as the inventor of more than 560 designs for prints, may himself have decided to place unprecedented emphasis on the graphic arts.10 Of the three genres of painting – landscape, portraiture and history painting – the latter was considered the most admirable, and so it is appropriate that the painting on the wall depicts an ancient battle scene. Sculpture is depicted hierarchically, with prominence given to the grand marble sculptures atop the plinth, distinguished from the lesser arts of wax modelling and bronze casting, embodied by the rearing horse below. While the older bearded masters are at work within their individual disciplines, their true purpose is to guide the next generation of artists – the young, clean-shaven students scattered around the room. The foreground is therefore occupied with training exercises, as the pupils learn to draw after the Antique and the human body before attempting the loftier projects of sculpture and painting, exemplified in the upper back registers of the scene. The role of the Antique is actually more prominent in the print than in the drawing, as the statuette of Venus – which, like the statuettes in Bandinelli’s academies (cats 1 and 2), is probably all’antica rather than an antique original – meets the gaze of a young pupil, whose quill is poised to draw her. This same youth in Stradanus’ design has already filled his sheet with repeated sketches of eyes. This reflects a different practice, referred to as the ‘alphabet of drawing’, in which students were encouraged to start with the smallest part of the human body, usually the eyes, gradually building up a repertoire of the individual parts before assembling them into more complex configurations. In the same way, a writer must first learn the alphabet and how to form individual letters into words before being able to construct sentences. Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71) described this as a common practice: ‘The teachers would put a human eye in front of those poor and most tender youths as their first step in imitating and portraying; this is what happened to me in my childhood, and probably happened to others as well’ . 1 1 His statement is corroborated not only by Stradanus’ drawing, but by a similar youth in Pierfrancesco Alberti’s (1584–1638) etching of a studio (cat. 2, fig. 1) and by a sheet of eyes from Odoardo Fialetti’s (1573–1638) drawing-book (p. 34, fig. 37). Stradanus repeated the youth and his drawing of eyes in another design for a print, which appeared in a series called Nova Reperta, published by Philips Galle (1537– 1612) in the 1590s (fig. 1). This ‘ABC ’ technique of drawing, as well as the important role of the Antique, were codified in Federico Zuccaro’s (c. 1540–1609) first statutes for the Accademia di San Luca, ‘re-founded’ in Rome in 1593.12 The idea of progressing from simple elements to a complex whole originated with Leon Battista Alberti (1404–72), and he recommended a similar method for the study of human anatomy, starting with the bones before adding muscles and 95 96 97 finally flesh.13 The students in Stradanus’ drawing are diligently following these instructions by examining the bones of a skeleton, while a bespectacled tutor flays the arm of a corpse to grant them a view of the musculature. Regardless of which object they are studying, all the pupils are engaged in drawing, considered to be the essential element in their education. Stradanus’ design is therefore an allegory of the ideal academy, in which all of the arts are improbably combined under one roof to offer the most well-rounded and comprehensive instruction to the next generation of artists. Detlef Heikamp, however, believed it to represent a specific academy, the Accademia di San Luca in Rome, and to be the pendant to another drawing by Stradanus, now in Heidelberg, depicting the Accademia del Disegno in Florence (fig. 2).14 Most other scholars disagree, however, as the Accademia di San Luca was not officially founded until 1593, exactly 20 years after the drawing was made.15 The drawing also predates a Breve issued by Pope Gregory XIII in 1577, urging the foundation of such an academy.16 Heikamp was correct, however, in pointing out the Roman symbolism of this drawing, evident in the grand statue of Rome personified, based iconographically on Minerva, flanked by the river god Tiber and the she-wolf suckling Romulus and Remus. The Heidelberg drawing, by contrast, is decidedly Florentine, showing Brunelleschi’s dome, the river god of the Arno and the Florentine lion, the Marzocco. However, the two drawings are very different Fig. 2. Johannes Stradanus, Allegory of the Florentine Academy of Art, c. 1569–70, pen and brown ink, brown wash and white heightening, 465 × 363 mm, Kurpfälzisches Museum der Stadt Heidelberg, Inv. Nr. Z 5425 in size,17 and the consensus of opinion is that they are not a pair, representing separate allegorical, idealised Roman and Florentine teaching traditions.18 Stradanus himself was a founding member of the Accademia del Disegno, which opened in 1563 in Florence. The study of anatomy was a central precept of the Accademia, and, while acting as a consul in the winter of 1563, Stradanus was responsible for organising a dissection for the students.19 His experience guiding and shaping young Florentine artists must have informed his designs. Perhaps Stradanus was compelled to portray such an academy in which the three arts of disegno are exalted and glorified in order to allay growing concerns about the status of art and artists.20 Alessandra Baroni made the radical proposal that Cort was the driving force behind the project, and that it was conceived around 1569 when he and Stradanus were both working in Florence.21 The Medicis commissioned Cort to engrave their family tree, and while he was in Florence he created a series of prints with Florentine and Medici themes, including engravings of tombs in the Medici Chapel. Cort may have undertaken these projects on his own initiative, and the Heidelberg drawing would have made a fitting addition to the series. An engraving of it, however, was never executed, perhaps because a receptive audience could not be found, but in Rome four years later, Cort may have found a more conducive atmosphere and convinced Stradanus to resume the endeavour. Whatever the motivation, the design proved very popular, as evidenced by the existence of two early copies of the engraving, the first of which was published in Venice around 1580.22 Clearly, Italian audiences were fascinated by the subject of art and the requisite training necessary for its creation, in which the Antique played a pivotal role. rh 1 The second state was printed 200 years later, when the plate came into the possession of Carlo Losi, who changed the date on it to 1773 (Bruges 2008–09, p. 229). 2 I am grateful to Erik Hinterding, Curator of Prints at the Rijksmuseum, for his correspondence regarding this provenance. 3 Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 89–90, no. 42 and pp. 113–14, no. 66. 4 Janssens 2012, pp. 9–10. Karel van Mander’s biography of Van der Straet is very brief (Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 326–29). A better source is Borghini 1584, pp. 579–89. There is an excellent chronology of his life, including lists of the related archival documents, in Baroni Vannucci 1997, pp. 446–51. 5 The inscription ‘CORNELIS CORT EXCV’ suggests that Cort had intended to publish the print himself. He may have struggled to do so, explaining the five-year gap between the date of the drawing and the publication of the print, and it was published by another man, Lorenzo Vaccari (Bruges 2008–09, pp. 228–29). It may even have been published posthumously, as Cort died in 1578 (Sellink and Leeflang 2000, part 3, p. 119). 6 For Cort’s biography, see Thieme-Becker 1907–50, vol. 12, pp. 475–77. Cock was also the first publisher with whom Stradanus worked, in 1567, and they had a long partnership (Baroni 2012, p. 91). 7 Bruges 2008–09, p. 228. 8 Boncompagni was appointed to this post in 1572, and in April 1573 was promoted to Governor General of the Church. It is strange that the inscription added to the print in 1578 refers to Boncompagni by the lesser title of Prefect, which Michael Bury took as proof that the print was more likely to have been executed in 1573, the same year as the drawing. He thought it possible that the ‘3’ had simply been changed to an ‘8’ in the date 1578 on the stool; however there are no extant 1573 versions of the print (London 2001–02, pp. 18, 21). 9 London 2001–02, p. 18. 10 Leesberg 2012a, p. 161. 11 Amornpichetkul 1984, p. 117 and Cellini 1731, p. 141. Cellini went on to say he considered this a ‘poor method’ but he agreed on the means of building up the bones of a skeleton in order to draw a successful nude. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 33–34. 12 Appendix, no. 7. 13 Alberti 1972, p. 75 (book 2, chap. 36) and p. 97 (book 3, chap. 55). 14 Heikamp 1972, p. 300. 15 It is true that for decades the idea for such an institution had been simmering, especially at the behest of Federico Zuccaro, a founding member of the Accademia del Disegno in Florence. He was unhappy with its tenets and sought reforms, eventually simply founding the Accademia di San Luca instead (Pevsner 1940, pp. 59–60). Heikamp’s theory has been rejected in London 2001–02, p. 21 and Bruges 2008–09, p. 226. 16 The Pope decried the level of decadence in contemporary art and blamed it on defective training of young artists, arguing that if they had been properly instructed in both art and religion, they would not sink to such lows (Pevsner 1940, p. 57). 17 The Heidelberg drawing is much larger and measures 465 × 363 mm. 18 The figures in the Heidelberg drawing also all use their left hands, so it must have been intended for a print; however, no such print has come to light (London 2001–02, p. 21). 19 Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97, p. 148. 20 Rotterdam 1994, p. 200. 21 Bruges 2008–09, pp. 226–27. 22 Bruges 2008–09, p. 229. For a list of the copies, see Sellink and Leeflang 2000, part 3, p. 119. For the practice of copying after Stradanus’ prints, see Leesberg 2012a. Fig. 1. Published by Philips Galle after a design by Johannes Stradanus, Color Olivi, plate 14 in Nova Reperta series, c. 1580–1600, engraving, 201 × 271 mm, private collection 98 99 5. Federico Zuccaro (Urbino c. 1541–1609 Rome) Taddeo in the Belvedere Court in the Vatican Drawing the Laocoön Fig. 1. Apollo Belvedere, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period (117–138 ad) from a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 224 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome inv. 1015 c. 1595 Pen and brown ink, brush with brown wash, over black chalk and touches of red chalk, 175 × 425 mm Fig. 2. Laocoön, possibly a Roman copy of the 1st century ad after a Greek original of the 2nd century bc, marble, 242 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 1064 Inscribed recto in brown pen and ink by the artist on the building in the background: ‘le camore di Rafaello’; on the figure’s tunic in capital lettering, ‘THADDEO ZUCCHARO’; numbered u.r. in brown ink: ‘17’. prov enance: Gilbert Paignon Dijonval (1708–92); Charles-Gilbert, Vicomte Morel de Vindé (1759–1842), see L. 2520; Samuel Woodburn (1786–1853), 1816; Thomas Dimsdale (1758–1823), see L. 2426; Samuel Woodburn, 1823; Sir Thomas Lawrence (1769–1830), L. 2445; Samuel Woodburn, 1830; Sold Christie’s, London, 4 June 1860, part of lot 1074; bought by Sir Thomas Phillipps (1792–1872); Thomas Fitzroy Fenwick (1856–1938); Dr A. S. W. Rosenbach (1876–1952), 1930; Philip H. and A. S. W. Rosenbach Foundation until 1978; The British Rail Pension Fund, 1978; Their sale, Sotheby’s, New York, 11 January 1990, lot 17; Finacor, Paris; Their sale, Christie’s, London, 28 January 1999, part of lot 35 (no. 17), from whom acquired. selected liter atur e: 1 Rossi 1997, p. 64; Acidini Luchinat 1998, vol. 1, pp. 14, 16, 22, fig. 20; vol. 2, p. 225; Paul 2000, pp. 5–6, fig. 1; Paris 2000–01, pp. 379–80, under no. 185 (C. Scailliérez); Silver 2007–08, p. 86; Lukehart 2007–08, p. 105; Cavazzini 2008, p. 50, fig. 26; Tronzo 2009, pp. 49, fig. 6, 52–54; Deswarte-Rosa 2011, pp. 27–28, 31, fig. 4; Pierguidi 2011, pp. 29–30, fig. 3; Luchterhandt 2013–14, pp. 38–39, fig. 11. e xhibitions: London 1836, p. 11, no. 17, not repr.; Los Angeles 1999 (no catalogue); Rome 2006–07, pp. 159–60, no. 51 (M. Serlupi Crescenzi); Los Angeles 2007–08, pp. 24, 33–34, no. 17 (see also, pp. 7, 40, 70, 86, 127). The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 99.GA.6.17 e xhibited in london only Look here, O Judgment, how he observes the antique and Polidoro’s style as well as Raphael’s work he studies. (Ecco qui, o Giuditio, osservando Va de l’antico, e Polidoro il fare E l’opre insiem di Rafael studiando)2 The series of twenty drawings by Federico Zuccaro of his older brother, Taddeo (1529–66), is a unique treasure of Renaissance drawing.3 With cinematic realism and narrative flair, the drawings tell the story of Taddeo’s travails and eventual success as a young artist in Rome in the 1540s. It begins with his heart-rending departure at fourteen from the family home in S. Angelo in Vado, a provincial town in the Marches, and his arrival in the Eternal City. There Taddeo sets about following the prescribed course of study typical for any aspiring painter of the period. First, he apprentices with a local painter, performing menial tasks – preparing pigments and household chores – and finding time to draw, mostly only at night. After being mistreated by the painter’s wife, he escapes to discover Rome for himself. He assiduously copies statues and reliefs from classical antiquity and the work of contemporary masters including the frescoes in the Logge and the Stanze of the Vatican by Raphael, the Last Judgment by Michelangelo and façade paintings by Polidoro da Caravaggio. After much focused and disciplined study, he triumphs victoriously with his first major success: the painted façade of Palazzo Mattei (1548). And this is where the story ends (Taddeo would die prematurely of illness at the age of thirty-seven). In this drawing, number seventeen, we enter the story in medias res. Here Taddeo, affectionately identified by name on 100 his tunic, is at Vatican Belvedere Statue Court studying the most iconic antique sculptures of the day: the Apollo Belvedere on the left (fig. 1; see also pp. 25–26), the Nile and Tiber in the centre and the object of his attention, possibly the most famous work in the collection, the Laocoön on the right (fig. 2; see also pp. 25–26).4 With his back turned, we peer voyeuristically over his shoulder as he draws intently. He has settled in for a day of intense study; his meagre sustenance, a small loaf of bread and flask of wine on the ground next to him, has remained untouched. The notion of the artist drawing incessantly with little to eat or drink anticipates the vivid description of the young Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598–1680) who as a boy spent dawn to dusk at the statue court making copies.5 Significantly, this is the earliest known image of an artist at work at the Belvedere, the most important and certainly the most influential collection of classical antiquities assembled in the Renaissance.6 Given its unique accessibility – unlike the collections housed in private aristocratic palaces – it provided a sanctuary for the unencumbered study of antique statuary, which also included recently excavated works. Thus, it served a key role in providing an artistic instruction not just direct but exhilaratingly au courant. It also meant that the sculptures displayed there would become famous as their images were disseminated through prints and drawings. When Taddeo visited the sculpture court in the 1540s, it had undergone a major renovation.7 In 1485, under Pope Innocent VIII (r. 1484–92), a private villa was built on the hill behind the old Vatican place, named the Belvedere (‘fair view’), for its position. In 1503, Pope Julius II (r. 1503–13) commissioned the architect, Donato Bramante (1444–1514), to incorporate the house with the Vatican complex thereby creating an enclosed rectangular garden courtyard, the Cortile del Belvedere, to display his expanding antiquities collection. Wishing it to be accessible to the public, the Pope had Bramante construct a spiral staircase that enabled visitors to arrive at the courtyard directly, without having to enter the palace proper.8 The courtyard was an enchanted world filled with orange trees, fountains, an elegant loggia, and displayed in the centre of the court, the colossal marble statues of the Nile and Tiber mounted as fountains.9 Statues including the celebrated Apollo Belvedere and the Laocoön were displayed in especially created niches.10 Maarten van Heemskerck’s drawing in the British Museum, c. 1532–33 (fig. 3), the earliest known view of the Cortile, gives a sense of the space and the disposition of the sculpture displayed there.11 Immediately evident is that Federico’s al fresco evocation bears little resemblance to Heemskerck’s and to other contemporary descriptions of the courtyard. The setting is now a sun-drenched rise with a vista, not an enclosed garden, and the statues are freed from the confines of their niches. And yet in other ways Federico has gone to lengths to convince us of the time period – 1540s – as we will see. In fact, so well-known was this space that Federico needed only to refer to it in short-hand. The statues depicted would have been instantly recognisable to any viewer and Taddeo’s location in the Belvedere understood. Since its discovery in January of 1506 in the ground of a private vineyard on the Esquiline near the remains of the so-called Baths of Titus, the Laocoön group, comprising the ill-fated Trojan priest and his two sons violently struggling to free themselves from two serpents who devour them, was immediately venerated.12 While still in the ground, the architect and antiquarian, Giuliano di Sangallo, sent to inspect it by Pope Julius II, identified it as the famous statue singled out by Pliny the Elder as ‘of all paintings and sculptures the most worthy of admiration’ (Natural History 36.37–38).13 It was installed in the Belvedere in a chapel-like recess.14 The sculpture’s fame was instant and far-reaching. Entranced by it, Michelangelo proclaimed it an inimitable miracle.15 Collectors eagerly sought copies, commissioning Jacopo Sansovino (1486–1570), Baccio Bandinelli (see cat. 3) and others to make replicas of various sizes in bronze, marble, wax, terracotta, even gold.16 For artists, its effect was manifold. It provided an anatomical model for the male nude that was strong, forceful and capable of dynamic movement. The range of ages and emotions conveyed and symbolised – fear, agony, heroism in death – also inspired emulation. Fig. 3. Maarten van Heemskerck (1498–1574), View of the Belvedere Sculpture Court, c. 1532–36/37, pen and brown ink, brush with brown wash, 231 × 360 mm, Department of Print and Drawings, British Museum, London, 1946,0713.639 101 102 103 Epitomising human suffering, the statue became a model for portraying martyrs from Christendom, especially in the Counter-Reformation.17 For centuries that followed artists would imitate and infuse this muscular body type and expressions in their work (cat. 16). The group’s influence endured well into the 19th century.18 When the Laocoön was first discovered, his right arm and that of his youngest son on the left were missing, as were among other losses the fingers of the eldest son’s right hand. By the 1530s, the missing appendages were restored including a terracotta arm by the sculptor, Giovanni Antonio Montorsoli (1507–63).19 Federico’s drawn version is something of an enigma. In some respects it appears pre-restoration: the fingers of the eldest son on the right are still missing. But he has included part of the previously absent right arm of the son on the left but made him hand-less. Laocoön is shown with his right arm restored but it is out of view so the angle cannot be determined. In any case, it seems that Federico has attempted to represent the sculpture as he thought Taddeo and others of his generation might have first seen it, undoubtedly to create an air of authenticity. It is possible that he consulted print sources such as Marco Dente da Ravenna’s (fl. 1515–27) Laocoön of c. 1520–23, which makes a compelling comparison.20 The perfect foil for the Laocoön is the commanding figure of the Apollo Belvedere anchoring the composition on the left.21 So instantly recognisable was he that Federico needed only to indicate his lower half. Discovered at S. Lorenzo in Panisperna in 1489, the statue was acquired by Giuliano della Rovere, Cardinal of S. Pietro in Vincoli, the future Pope Julius II, who displayed it in the garden of his palace next to SS. Apostoli.22 After he became Pope, it was brought to the Vatican in 1508 and installed in a niche in the Belvedere cortile in 1511. Based on a lost Greek bronze original, it became one of the most famous statues to survive from antiquity and was copied by innumerable artists (see cats 6, 25, 26).23 If the Laocoön exemplified the powerful male nude body in action, the Apollo encapsulated the qualities of its counterpart, the perfect male youth: elegant, graceful, confident and restrained; in repose yet poised for action. As the god Apollo he was thought to have just discharged his arrow at the python of Delphi (see cat. 6) or else, to be on the verge of killing the sons of Niobe with his arrows, as punishment for her boasting.24 Praised by Vasari for its instructive importance, every aspiring artist visited the Apollo in the Belvedere.25 The statue retained immense popularity in the centuries that followed.26 Federico’s abbreviated description of the Belvedere Courtyard is a clever device as it allows him to combine several episodes of Taddeo’s self-education in the same 104 drawing and a highly sophisticated continuous narration.27 All show Taddeo studying the Antique in various forms – freestanding statues, narrative reliefs and contemporary works in an all’antica style. So while the most prominent Taddeo is at work copying the Belvedere statues, a second Taddeo is visible in the distance, perched on a window ledge copying Raphael’s celebrated Stanze frescoes in the papal apartments in the Vatican.28 At the far left is Trajan’s Column of 113 ad under which are figures, including an artist sketching the famous reliefs carved on the column shaft, presumably Taddeo again. These monuments were very distant from one other and yet, countering this artificial structure, Federico has striven for local historical accuracy. For example, he shows the column as it would have appeared in Taddeo’s day, omitting the bronze statue of St Peter at the top that was added by Sixtus V in 1588.29 Lightly sketched in the left distance is the dome of the Pantheon and on the far right, what appears to be the Mausoleum of Augustus of 28 bc identifiable by the trees on the summit.30 Another drawing from the series (fig. 4) further demonstrates the importance Federico attributed to copying after the Antique, one of the pillars of artistic education.31 It shows Taddeo studying a relief – perhaps the right-hand front section of a Muse sarcophagus of a type similar to an example now in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (p. 20, fig. 5).32 Having already sketched the figures – possibly a Muse holding a mask and Apollo – in black chalk, he is about to go over the contours with pen and ink. Resting on the relief is the armless body of a male youth similar in type to the Torso of Apollon Sauroktonos, the so-called Casa Sassi Torso now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples.33 In the background, in another example of continuous narration, Taddeo copies façade paintings by Polidoro da Caravaggio, who, specialising in monochrome frescoes imitating marble or bronze reliefs, represented another type of contemporary all’antica style, one which would exert an enormous influence on Taddeo’s own approach to painting.34 It is significant that Federico executed the Taddeo series in the mid-1590s, around the time that he established a reformed Accademia di San Luca of which he was elected president in 1593. Learning to draw by copying the work of others – the Antique, Michelangelo, Raphael and Polidoro da Caravaggio – was already a key phenomenon of Renaissance workshop practice. Federico codified this practice further by making such a disciplined approach to drawing central to the curriculum.35 Successful learning also required virtue and hard work – fatica – both physical and intellectual, and such qualities are extolled in Federico’s drawings of Taddeo.36 According to the guidelines Federico wrote for the academy, students were required to ‘go out during the week drawing after the antique’ (see Appendix, no. 7).37 It is significant that in the final image of the series (fig. 5), an allegorical personification of Study – represented by a young man diligently copying an antique male torso with other sculptures – flanks the left side of the Zuccaro family emblem.38 He is joined by Intelligence on the right. Along with training, Federico was also concerned with the welfare of young artists and proposed reforms to the artists’ academy in Florence, the Accademia del Disegno.39 At his death in 1609, he intended the family palace, the Palazzo Zuccari (now the Bibliotheca Hertziana, Max Planck Institute for Art History) to house young, struggling artists in Rome, so that they would not suffer as Taddeo had.40 Appropriate in subject matter, the drawings may well have prepared a complex arrangement of paintings for the walls of the palace’s Sala del Disegno.41 This might account for the present drawing’s unusual dumbbell format.42 Regardless of its intended purpose, the Early Life of Taddeo series, a touching tribute to one brother from another, sends a clear message. Drawing, especially after the Antique in all its various forms, was the cornerstone of artistic education in 16th-century Italy and was to become a canonical activity throughout Europe in the centuries that followed. As one of the first great illustrations of this phenomenon in practice, the present drawing is an ideal visual representation of this exhibition’s theme. avl Fig. 4. Federico Zuccaro, Taddeo Drawing after the Antique; in the Background Copying a Façade by Polidoro, c. 1595, pen and brown ink, brush with brown wash, over black chalk and touches of red chalk, 423 × 175 mm, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 99.GA.6.12 Fig. 5. Federico Zuccaro, Allegories of Study and Intelligence Flanking the Zuccaro Emblem, c. 1595, pen and brown ink, brush with brown wash, over black chalk and touches of red chalk, 176 × 425 mm, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 99.GA.6.20 105 1 Additional bibliography for the drawings in the series up to 1999 is given in the catalogue of the Christie’s sale, London, 28 January 1999, p. 70, lot 35. 2 This poem written by Federico Zuccaro to accompany this drawing appears on the back of another sheet in the series (Los Angeles 2007–08, p. 34, no. 18, 40). Translation by J. Brooks (ibid., pp. 33–34). 3 The Early Life of Taddeo series, acquired by the J. Paul Getty Museum in 1999, was the subject of an exhibition and in-depth catalogue by J. Brooks (Los Angeles 2007–08). 4 For the Tiber and the Nile see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 272–73, no. 65 and pp. 310–11, no. 79; Klementa 1993, pp. 9–51, nos A1–A39, pls 1–18; pp. 52–71, nos B1–B15, pls 19–23. 5 See Appendix, no. 9. 6 For essential reading on the Cortile and its history, see Ackerman 1954; Brummer 1970; Coffin 1979, pp. 69–87; Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 7–11; Nesselrath 1994, pp. 52–55; Nesselrath 1998a, pp. 1–16. 7 See Coffin 1979, pp. 69–87; Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 7. 8 Coffin 1979, p. 82. 9 For the two Rivers, see above, note 4. 10 For statues in their niches, see Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 11, fig. 4, and Bober and Rubinstein 2010, fig. 122c. 11 First published as Heemskerck in Winner and Nesselrath 1987, p. 867; see also M. Serlupi Crescenzi, in Rome 2006–07, pp. 148–49, no. 37. For a sense of the atmosphere, see the painting by Hendrik III van Cleve (1524–89), 1550, in the Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels (M. Serlupi Crescenzi, in Rome 2006–07, pp. 146–47, no. 34), see Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, p. 26, fig. 21. 12 For the group, see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 243–47, no. 52; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 164–68, no. 122, Pasquier 2000–01b and the exhibition catalogue devoted to it, Rome 2006–07. 13 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 243; M. Buranelli, in Rome 2006–07, pp. 127–28, no. 13. 14 Coffin 1979, p. 82; Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 243. 15 Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 165, see also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, p. 28. 16 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 244 and Settis 1998, pp. 129–60. 17 Ettlinger 1961, pp. 121–26; Brummer 1970, pp. 117–18; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 166. 18 For the statue’s critical reception, see Bieber 1967; Brilliant 2000; Décultot 2003 and Rome 2006–07. 19 Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 246–47; Nesselrath 1998b, pp. 165–74; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 165. Montorsoli’s additions were removed in 1540 when Primaticcio made a mould of the group unrestored to prepare a cast in bronze for Francis I (Rome 2006-07, pp. 150–51, no. 40). The additions were then put back. 20 Oberhuber 1978, p. 50, no. 353 (268); T. Schtrauch, in Rome 2006–07, pp. 152–53, no. 42. 21 For their juxtaposition, see Tronzo 2009, pp. 49–55. 22 According to a document published by Fusco and Corti 2006 (Appendix I, 106 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 p. 309, doc. 112; see also pp. 52–56). For the statue, see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 148–51, no. 8; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 76–77, no. 28. In 1532–33 Montorsoli replaced the existing right arm and restored the hands (Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 77). Federico presents it in its restored state with bow. Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 150. Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 76; Vasari’s preface to Part III of the Lives, 1568 ed. (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 4, p. 7). See Roettgen 1998, pp. 253–74. He employs the same device in other drawings in the series (Los Angeles 2007–08, p. 7). Federico indicates the location on the drawing itself with the inscription, le camore di Rafaello (the rooms of Raphael). Another drawing in the series shows him copying the frescoes in the loggia of the Villa Farnesina, see Los Angeles 2007–08, pp. 20, 32, no. 13. For the column, its reliefs and history, see Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 208–10, no. 159. Francesco Soderini purchased the Mausoleum in 1546 in order to transform the tomb into a garden museum with antique statuary. See Riccomini 1995, especially p. 267, fig. 91 (Etienne Du Pérac’s engraving, 1575) and p. 271, fig. 95 (Alò Giovannoli’s engaving, 1619) and Riccomini 1996. Los Angeles 2007–08, pp. 19, 31–32, no. 12. For essential reading on Taddeo, Federico and the antique and the absorption of it in their work, see Silver 2007–08, pp. 86–91. Wegner 1966, pp. 88–89, no. 228, plates 11–12. Los Angeles 2007–08, p. 31. In Taddeo’s time the torso (CensusID 159347 and Ruesch 1911, p. 158, no. 491) was in the courtyard of the Sassi family palace displayed in a niche as seen in Heemskerck’s famous view reproduced in etching (Paris 2000–01, pp. 360–62, no. 169, entry by C. Scailliérez). For Polidoro and the Zuccari, see Los Angeles 2007–08, pp. 71–77. Armenini had already advised artists to copy Polidoro’s frescoes (1587, p. 58, book 1, chap. 7). Alberti 1604, p. 7. See also Armenini, 1587, pp. 52–59 (book 1, chap. 7). See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 32–33 Rossi 1997, pp. 66–68. Alberti 1604, p. 8 (‘e chi andarà frà la settimana dissegnando all’antico’), cited and translated in Silver 2007-08, p. 86). Los Angeles 2007–08, pp. 27, 35, no. 20. Ibid., p. 2. Ibid. For previous arguments on the topic and a fascinating hypothetical reconstruction of the Sala del Disegno, see Strunck 2007–08, pp. 113–25. The shape is adapted slightly in a version of the present drawing in the Uffizi, Florence, of similar dimensions (Paris 2000–01, pp. 379–80, no. 185 (entry by C. Scailliérez), believed by Gere to be autograph (1990, under no. 17) but by Brooks as unlikely to be and the present author agrees. See Los Angeles 2007– 08, p. 45, note 48, where two other copies are also noted: Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid 7656 and the other sold Phillips, London, 9 July 2001, lot 148. 6. Hendrick Goltzius (Bracht-am-Niederrhein 1558–1617 Haarlem) a. The Apollo Belvedere 1591 Black and white chalk on blue paper indented for transfer; 388 × 244 mm prov enance: Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–89)1; Cardinal Decio Azzolini (1623–89); Marchese Pompeo Azzolini (1654–1706); Don Livio Odescalchi (1658–1713); purchased from the Odescalchi family by the Teylers Foundation, 1790. selected liter atur e: Reznicek 1961, vol. 1, p. 326, no. 208, vol. 2, fig. 170; Van Regteren Altena 1964, fig. 19, pp. 101–02, no. 32; Miedema 1969, pp. 76–77; Brummer 1970, pp. 70–71, repr.; Stolzenburg 2000, pp. 426–27, repr., p. 439, no. 173; Brandt 2001, p. 148; Hamburg 2002, p. 114, repr. under no. 33; Amsterdam, New York and elsewhere 2003–04, p. 269, repr.; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 77, under no. 28; Leesberg 2012b, vol. 2, p. 370 under no. 380; Göttingen 2013–14, pp. 22–23, fig. 6; Nichols 2013a, pp. 56, 84, fig. 54; Veldman 2013–14, p. 105. e xhibitions: Münster 1976, p. 138, no. 111, p. 140, repr. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. no. K III 23 e xhibited in ha arlem only b. Apollo Belvedere 1592 Engraving, 412 × 300 mm State II of II Inscribed on the base of the statue: ‘HG sculp. APOLLO PYTHIUS Cum privil. Sa. Cæ. M.’. With the address of the printer at right ‘Herman Adolfz excud. Haerlemens.’. Inscribed with two lines in the lower margin, at centre: ‘Statua antiqua Romae in palatio Pontificis belle vider / opus posthumum HGoltzij iam primum divulgat. Ano. M.D.C.X.VII.’.2 Two Latin distichs by Theodorus Schrevelius in margin l.l. and l.r.: ‘Vix natus armis Delius Vulcaniis / Donatus infans, sacra Parnassi iuga’ / ‘Petii. draconem matris hostem spiculis / Pythona fixi: nomen inde Pythii. Schrevel’.3 Numbered in l.l. corner: ‘3’. Published by Herman Adolfsz. (fl. 1607) in 1617 prov enance: P. & D. Colnaghi Co., London, from whom acquired in 1854. liter ature: Bartsch 1854–76, vol. 3, p. 45, no. 145; Hirschmann 1921, pp. 60–61, no. 147; Hollstein 1949–2001, vol. 8, p. 33, no. 147.II, repr.; Strauss 1977, vol. 2, pp. 566–67, no. 314, repr.; Leesberg 2012b, vol. 2, p. 370, no. 380, pp. 373–74, repr. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1854,0513.106 It was undoubtedly at the urging of Karel van Mander (1548– 1606), his friend and fellow Haarlem artist, that Hendrick Goltzius left for Rome in 1590 in order to study the remnants of classical antiquity and the works of modern Italian masters. 4 He was already thirty-two years old. Northern artists usually went south when they were much younger, sometimes even half that age. The tradition of artists travelling from Northern Europe to Italy, eager to learn, had begun almost a century earlier with Jan Gossaert, called Mabuse (c. 1472–1532). Other well-known Dutch artists who had derived inspiration from antique remains in Rome and who had produced drawings after them, were Jan van Scorel (1495–1562) and above all, Maarten van Heemskerck (1498– 1574), also a native of Haarlem.5 Like these artists Goltzius travelled to Rome as a mature draughtsman, eager to deepen his knowledge and see with his own eyes the works of art of which he had heard so much. It was probably family obligations and his flourishing print workshop that had delayed his Italian trip for so long. Finally in 1590–91, hoping for relief from the consumptive state of his health, Goltzius made the long anticipated journey.6 We know from Van Mander that on arriving in Rome, Goltzius concentrated almost exclusively on drawing the most important classical sculptures carefully and industriously.7 Goltzius was now a celebrity, for his prints had spread his fame throughout Europe, but he travelled largely incognito. In Rome, for example, he donned rustic garb in order to blend in with pupils and amateurs drawing from the Antique. According to Van Mander, they looked at him pityingly until they saw what he was capable of, whereupon they started asking him for advice.8 Although this story may be a topos – art-loving Italy values a gifted outsider – it is not hard to imagine such an encounter when one considers Goltzius’ Roman drawings.9 Forty-three of Goltzius’ drawings after thirty different classical statues survive, plus one after Michelangelo’s Moses; all are preserved in the Teylers Museum in Haarlem.10 In the short time at Goltzius’ disposal – he was only in Rome for seven months – he managed to copy all the most important sculptures, in both public and semi-public locations 107 108 109 such as churches and papal palaces, and in some private collections.11 He must have prepared thoroughly for his drawing expedition and have studied travel books and prints before his departure. Certainly at his disposal would have been Maarten van Heemskerck’s Roman sketchbook, now in the Berlin Kupferstichkabinett, but then owned by his fellow Haarlem artist, Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem (1562–1638) (see p. 35, figs 39–43 and cat. no. 8).12 Strikingly Goltzius’ selection more or less corresponded with the antique statues described in travel literature.13 Evidently, a canon of the most outstanding classical statues in Rome had already been established and disseminated to the North and although this canon would later be expanded, most of the statues drawn by Goltzius in 1591 continued to remain popular models for artists in subsequent centuries (see cat. nos 14–16, 21, 25–27 and 31). Goltzius did not make his drawings merely as an exercise. The artist and printshop owner was well aware of the importance of those statues for their reproductive potential. He must have envisaged a series of engravings from the very outset and that is why he went to such lengths to select the most celebrated and, by then, canonical sculptures. The series he had in mind would have rivalled existing print series of antique sculptures in Rome, such as Antoine Lafréry’s Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae, published between 1545 and 1577 (fig. 1), or Giovanni Battista de’ Cavalieri’s Antiquarum Statuarum Urbis Romae, published between the 1560s and the 1590s.14 Cavalieri’s reproductions were printed on small plates, without backgrounds, and incorporated little information about the sculptures in their locations; the lighting is not consistent and there is a lack of naturalism in the statues’ rendering. While the differences between Lafréry’s reproductions and what Goltzius planned to create are less striking, the burin technique is more refined in Goltzius’ works, his rendering of the statues more realistic and his prints fractionally larger; moreover, he generally represented the statues from closer vantage points, thereby creating more engaging compositions.15 What audience did Goltzius have in mind when he produced his drawings and his prints? While Cavalieri and Lafréry’s publications were mainly intended for antiquaries and art lovers, Goltzius seems to have aimed at a broader audience encompassing artists as well as amateurs. This is supported by his emphasis on anatomical precision and the sculptures’ three-dimensional character, rather than accuracy of reproduction – he sometimes omitted inscriptions, for example (see cat. 8); the presence of the draughtsman in the print displayed is also significant in this connection. Goltzius’ project was timely for around this period a market seems to have been developing for prints after 110 Fig. 1. Anonymous engraver after Marcantonio Raimondi, published by Antoine Lafréry, Apollo Belvedere, 1552, engraving, 323 × 228 mm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-H-232 antique statues for artists to employ as models. Between 1599 and 1616 Goltzius’ stepson Jacob Matham published the first known printed sketchbook after the Antique, Verscheijden Cierage,16 intended, according to its title page, for an international public of artists and amateurs.17 And it seems likely that Goltzius envisaged the same international audience for his projected series, perhaps particularly young students in Northern Europe – and no doubt his own pupils – who were not able to undertake the trip to Rome but could use his engravings as models.18 It was probably in 1592, soon after his return from Italy, that Goltzius embarked on the print series, engraving after his own drawings three of the statues: the Farnese Hercules Seen from Behind (cat. 7), Hercules and Telephus and this Apollo Belvedere. It is unlikely that Goltzius was disappointed with the results but he progressed no further with the project and never officially printed the plates which were published posthumously in 1617, bearing the address of the Haarlem publisher Herman Adolfsz.19 We do not know why Goltzius did not publish these prints in his lifetime but it may have been the result of excessive ambition. He probably hoped to market a much longer series of prints in a single publication, but found himself overwhelmed with other projects. In most of his drawings after antique sculpture, Goltzius began with a sketch in black and white chalk on bluish-grey paper, like this drawing of Apollo Belvedere. The trial-anderror lines by the figure’s legs and waist suggest that he had difficulty deciding on a vantage point. He would then have used a stylus to indent the contours of that sketch onto a second sheet of paper, on which he subsequently produced an extremely precise drawing of the statue. That second version in red chalk, unfortunately now lost, would have served as the model for the engraver. Teylers Museum has both drawings for the Farnese Hercules Seen from Behind (see cat. 7a and fig. 2) but at some point Goltzius’ second version of the Apollo Belvedere was separated from the group that ended in the Teylers Museum,20 for in the early 18th century it belonged to the famous collector Valerius Röver (1686– 1739) of Delft,21 and was listed in his inventory: ‘The Apollo, with red chalk, transferred to the copper by Goltzius, which print is herewith attached, fl. 3:10’. 22 The engraving is in the same direction as the black chalk drawing, and the size of the statue is identical in both.23 The most striking difference between them is the rendering of volume. The statue appears a little flat in the drawing, while in the print it is highly sculptural, with a keenly observed interplay between light and shade across the form lending relief and depth to the engraving. As noted above, Goltzius would have developed these features in the lost red chalk version of the subject. It may be that this lost drawing also incorporated the draughtsman seen in the lower right corner of the print, and the large cast shadow on the left, accessories and details that Goltzius tended to vary from work to work. In any event, these added elements reinforce the sense of depth; the draughtsman also conveys an idea of the scale of the statue (see cat. 7). But perhaps Goltzius added the young draughtsman for yet another reason. His rendering of this figure is so direct, so true to life, that it appears to be a portrait. The two small figures in his reproduction of the Farnese Hercules are also represented in a fashion which suggests that these too are portraits (cat. 7, fig. 4). It seems that in Rome Goltzius asked a local artist, Gaspare Celio (1571–1640), to draw copies of both classical and modern artworks for him and they may have drawn some works together.24 Could this figure be Celio? Pure speculation, of course, for remarkably little is known about this mysterious individual.25 At any rate the figure of the draughtsman is seated exactly as Goltzius must have positioned himself, although at a different angle, employing the same technique (n.b. the porte-crayon), the same format paper and probably the same travel board. And this may point to another reason for Goltzius’ introduction of the young draughtsman: to emphasise the didactic intention of the series and to convey the message that these prints allowed artists to draw the finest Roman sculptures, just like the draughtsman in the image, without having to go to Rome. Whatever the reason for this figure’s inclusion, his presence demonstrates – as does Van Mander’s story of Goltzius amidst younger artists – that during this period the copying of antique sculptures in Rome was very widespread. The Apollo Belvedere is a Roman copy of a Greek original by Leochares from c. 330–320 bc. The copy probably dates from the reign of Hadrian (117–138 bc). In the late 15th century the Apollo was in the collection of Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, who, as Pope Julius II, placed it in the Belvedere, where it was displayed in the small Cortile delle Statue (see p. 26, fig. 21 and cat. 5). The Apollo Belvedere soon became one of the most famous sculptures in the collection and was drawn by many artists. Prints of the sculpture by Agostino Veneziano (c. 1518–20, see p. 28, fig. 29), Marcantonio Raimondi (c. 1530) and Goltzius himself (c. 1617), among others, ensured that its fame spread throughout Europe. However, the Apollo’s prestige began to fade in the 19th century and nowadays the sculpture, while well-known to art historians is less appreciated by the general public.26 mp 1 I. M. Veldman revealed the Rudolf II provenance for Goltzius’ Roman portfolio to be a myth. A more logical provenance might be, as Veldman suggests, through Jacob Matham (1571–1631), Theodor Matham (1605/06– 76), Joachim von Sandrart (1606–88) and/or Pieter Spiering (1594/97–1652): Veldman 2013–14, pp. 109–13. 2 ‘An antique statue in Rome, in the Pope’s Belvedere Palace; a work by H. Goltzius that is now being published posthumously for the first time, in the year 1617’. 3 ‘Barely born, I, Apollo of the island of Delos, received arms from Vulcan; I sought the sacred heights of Parnassus; with my arrows I pierced the dragon Python, my mother Leto’s enemy; thus it is that I bear the name “Pythian”’. 4 I wish to thank Professor Ilja Veldman, who generously put at my disposal her Goltzius entries for the forthcoming catalogue of the 16th-century Netherlandish drawings in the Teylers Museum, which she is preparing with Yvonne Bleyerveld. 5 For the early tradition of Northern European artists going to Rome (including Gossaert, Van Scorel and Van Heemskerck), see Brussels and Rome 1995. 6 Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 388–89 (fol. 282 verso). 7 Ibid., pp. 390–91 (fol. 283 recto). 8 Ibid. 9 Luijten 2003–04, p. 123. 10 Reznicek 1961, vol. 1, pp. 89–94, pp. 319–46, nos 200–38; 245–48. 11 From the 1689–90 inventory of Goltzius drawings owned by Queen Christina of Sweden it is known that Goltzius also produced (now lost) drawings of two famous antique figures, the Spinario (now in the Capitoline Museums, Rome, see p. 23, fig. 15) and the Farnese Bull (now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples); see Stolzenburg 2000, p. 437, nos. 140–41, p. 440, no. 180 and Veldman 2013–14, p. 101. 12 Veldman 2012, pp. 11–23. 13 Reznicek 1961, p. 90; Brandt 2001, p. 136. 14 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 18; Brandt 2001, p. 136. 15 Brandt 2001, pp. 143–46. 16 Fuhring 1992, pp. 57–84. 111 17 Ibid., pp. 64–65, p. 76, pl. 1. 18 It is tempting at this point to think of the ‘Haarlem Academy’, of which Goltzius was a member before his departure for Italy as a true academy, where artists could draw from life and presumably also after sculptures. However, in all probability this ‘academy’ comprised no more than three artists: Karel van Mander, Cornelis Cornelisz. and Goltzius. See also cat. 8. 19 Leesberg 2012b, vol. 2, pp. 368–75, nos 378–80; Luijten 2003–04, pp. 119–20. 20 For the provenance of the drawings see Stolzenburg 2000 and Veldman 2013–14. 21 Van Regteren Altena 1964, pp. 101–02, under no. 32. 22 ‘De Apollo, met rootaarde, door Goltzius int koper gebragt, welke print hierbij gevoegt is, f 3:10.’ See the manuscript catalogue by Valerius Röver in the Amsterdam University Library, inv.no. II A 18: Catalogus van boeken, schilderijen, teekeningen, printen, beelden, rariteiten [1730], portefeuille 2, no. 3. 23 In view of the incomplete right hand and the missing left hand it seems likely that the sheet has been trimmed on the right and left, and possibly at the top as well. 24 Baglione 1642, p. 377. 25 All we really know is that Celio must have drawn a copy of Raphael’s fresco, The prophet Isaiah in the San Agostino in Rome for Goltzius (see Luijten 2003, p. 118). Goltzius used this copy for his engraving; see Leesberg 2012b, vol. 2, pp. 292–93, no. 333, repr. For a recently published drawing by Celio in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, with a parade carriage of his own design incorporating pyrotechnic features, see Stemerding 2012, pp. 13–17. 26 For the history and the fortuna critica of the Apollo Belvedere: Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 148–51, no. 8; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 76–77, no. 28. Regarding the sculpture’s reputation today, which some describe as bordering on total neglect, Kenneth Clark observed in 1969: ‘. . . for four hundred years after it was discovered the Apollo was the most admired piece of sculpture in the world. It was Napoleon’s greatest boast to have looted it from the Vatican. Now it is completely forgotten except by the guides of coach parties, who have become the only surviving transmitters of traditional culture.’ Clark 1969a, p. 2. 7. Hendrick Goltzius (Bracht-am-Niederrhein 1558–1617 Haarlem) a. The Farnese Hercules Seen from Behind 1591 Red chalk, indented for transfer, 390 × 215 mm. Verso: Design lightly traced in black chalk from recto. The upper corners cut. prov enance: Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–89); 1 Cardinal Decio Azzolini (1623–89); Marchese Pompeo Azzolini (1654–1706); Don Livio Odescalchi (1658–1713); purchased from the Odescalchi family by the Teylers Foundation, 1790. liter ature: Scholten 1904, p. 40, cat. N 19; Hirschmann 1921, p. 59; Reznicek 1961, vol. 1, p. 337, cat. K 227, vol. 2, fig. 179; Miedema 1969, pp. 76–77, repr. (recto and verso); Schapelhouman 1979, p. 67, note 3; Amsterdam 1993–94, pp. 361–62, under no. 24 (B. Cornelis); Stolzenburg 2000, p. 439, no. 164; Brandt 2001, pp. 139, 144, fig. 132, p. 148; Hamburg 2002, p. 116, under no. 34 (A. Stolzenburg) ; Leeflang 2012, pp. 24–25, fig. 5; Leesberg 2012b, vol. 2, pp. 368–69, under no. 378; Göttingen 2013–14, p. 210; Veldman 2013–14, pp. 102–05. e xhibitions: New York 1988, pp. 58–60, no. 12; Brussels and Rome 1995, p. 204, no. 101; Luijten 2003–04, pp. 132–36, no. 42.2. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. N 19 e xhibited in ha arlem only b. The Farnese Hercules, 1592 (published 1617) Engraving Only state 416 × 300 mm Lettered on the base of the statue: ‘HERCULES VICTOR’. Lettered in l.l. corner: ‘HGoltzius sculpt. Cum privilig. / Sa. Cæ. M.’ and ‘Herman Adolfz / excud. Haerlemen’. Inscribed with two lines in the lower margin, at centre: ‘Statua antiqua Romae in palatio Cardinalis Fernesij / opus posthumum H Goltzij iam primum divulgata Ano M.D.CXVII.2 Two Latin distichs by Theodorus Schrevelius in margin l.l. and l.r.: ‘Domito triformi rege Lusitaniae / Raptisque malis, quae Hesperi sub cardine / Servarat hortis aureis vigil draco, / Fessus quievi terror orbis Hercules.’ 3 Numbered in l.l. corner: ‘1’. prov enance: Bequest of Carel Godfried Voorhelm Schneevoogt (1802–77), Haarlem. liter ature: Bartsch 1803–21, vol. 3, pp. 44–45, no. 143; Hirschmann 1921, pp. 58–59, no. 145; Hollstein 1949–2001, vol. 8, p. 33, no. 145, repr.; Strauss 1977, vol. 2, pp. 562–63, no. 312, repr., p. 569; Leesberg 2012b, vol. 2, pp. 368–69, no. 378, repr. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. KG 02263 The Farnese Hercules, which bears a Greek inscription naming ‘Glykon of Athens’, a sculptor unknown in classical literature, was one of the most famous statues in Rome from the time of its discovery until the end of the 19th century (fig. 1). 4 The first certain mention of it dates from 1556, when it stood in Palazzo Farnese.5 The fragments, unearthed at different times, must have been reassembled shortly before. The head was found in a well in Trastevere, probably around 1540. The torso was discovered six years later in the Baths of Caracalla, followed by the legs.6 However, the legs emerged too late to be incorporated in the statue because it had already been ‘restored’ and given new ones by Guglielmo della Porta (1500/10–1577). Oddly enough, Michelangelo allegedly appealed to the Farnese family to leave the new legs in place and not replace them with the originals, ‘in order to show that works of modern sculpture can stand in comparison with those of the ancients’.7 The statue recovered its original legs only in the 18th century. In addition to the 112 Palazzo Farnese, Goltzius drew studies on the Capitol, the Quirinal and in the Belvedere statue court (see cats 6, 8). He had an ambitious plan for his drawings: they were to prepare a series of high-quality and accurate engravings of the most important classical statues, on a scale not previously attempted.8 The importance he attached to the project is evident from the care he lavished on many of his drawings. In preparation for this one, which is in red chalk, he first made an equally large, slightly freer and more loosely drawn black chalk version on blue paper (fig. 2; see cat. 6a). He then indented the contours through onto the white sheet on which he made the present drawing. The contours are consequently razor-sharp. He then exercised phenomenal skill in depicting the statue’s volume and the smooth texture of the marble with a subtle interplay of light and shade. He achieved this by leaving reserves of white paper, by alternating pressure on the chalk and by stumping it here and there so that individual strokes are no longer visible.9 113 114 115 Fig. 4. Hendrick Goltzius, Two Male Heads: Jan Matthijsz Ban and Philips van Winghen (?), metalpoint on an ivory-coloured prepared tablet, 92 × 117 mm, Amsterdam Museum, inv. A 10180 Fig. 1. The Farnese Hercules, back view, Roman copy of the 3rd century ad of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, 317 cm (h), Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, inv. 6001 Fig. 2. Hendrick Goltzius, The Farnese Hercules seen from Behind, 1591, black and white chalk on blue paper indented for transfer, 360 × 210 mm, Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. K III 30 Fig. 3. Hendrick Goltzius, The Farnese Hercules, black and white chalk on blue paper, indented for transfer, 382 × 189 mm, Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. N 20 However beautiful the two drawings in black and red chalk may be, it is only in Goltzius’ engraving that we really see what he intended. The backlit effect of the Farnese Hercules is seen to best advantage in the print, in which the added clouds have a functional role by creating a sense of depth and atmosphere. It is enhanced by the two observers, also only introduced in the print stage, who help to convey the statue’s scale. As we view Hercules from behind, the two admirers are gazing upon the sunlit front. The resulting interaction between front and back, between seeing and imagining, gives the print an agreeable tension that is missing in the drawings.10 Goltzius was probably familiar with the Farnese Hercules even before he went to Italy from descriptions in travel guides to Rome, through prints of 1562 and around 1575 by Jacobus Bos (c. 1520–c. 1580) and Giorgio Ghisi (1520–82)11 and possibly also from the larger print series by Giovanni Battista de’ Cavalieri (1570–84) and Antoine Lafréry (c. 1575).12 All showed the Hercules from the front, but Goltzius drew it from both sides (fig. 3). He seems to have been the first artist to appreciate its beauty from the back, or, at least, the first to record it on paper. He must have been very pleased with the 116 unorthodox view13 because he chose this viewpoint in 1592 when he issued the engraving, one of the only three that he engraved from his series of drawings (see also cat. 6b).14 It was thanks to Goltzius’ engraving that the back view of the statue became as popular as the front (see cats 16 and 21). Something of this popularity is revealed by the fact that by the mid-17th century the Hercules Farnese seen from the rear, bending slightly forwards with his arm on his back, had permeated Dutch genre painting.15 The question arises: why did Goltzius choose to adopt this angle? Could it be that he had a didactic purpose in mind when he produced the first rendering in a print series of the back of a muscular male body at rest? With Goltzius’ magnificent print in hand, young artists could now study the anatomy of a ‘hero’s’ back and use this in their own work. Goltzius’ print of the Apollo Belvedere (cat. 6b) offered a similar aid with the anatomy of an elegant youth. Goltzius also drew other figures, such as the Belvedere Torso (cat. 8), from several angles, but in these he was probably experimenting with different points of view rather than having a didactic aim in mind. Goltzius might also have chosen to represent both sides of the Farnese Hercules expressly to demonstrate that he had seen the sculpture in the round, making this clear by depicting the figure’s ‘alien’ back as well as its usual front. His choice was probably inspired by a combination of these factors. The Amsterdam Museum houses Goltzius’ preparatory drawing (fig. 4) of the two men whose admiring, upturned gazes provide such a fine connection between the front and back of the Farnese Hercules.16 In the engraving they are represented in mirror image and have been exchanged for each other. They have portrait-like features and their identities have been a subject for speculation. The most serious suggestion made so far, dating from the end of the 19th century, is that they were Goltzius’ temporary travelling companions: Jan Matthijsz Ban on the left and Philips van Winghen (d. 1592) on the right; they may even have witnessed him drawing this statue.17 It is difficult to verify this suggestion, but it is certainly interesting and plausible. Goltzius had produced, albeit on a larger scale, several portraits of his circle of acquaintances in Rome and elsewhere such as Giambologna (1529–1608), Dirck de Vries ( fl. 1590–92) and Jan van der Straet, also called Stradanus (1523–1605; see cat. 4).18 Most of his sitters, like Ban and Van Winghen, were northern artists active in Italy. Ban was a silversmith, and Van Winghen is described by Karel van Mander as ‘a learned young nobleman from Brussels [ . . . ] who was a great archaeologist’.19 According to Van Mander the three of them made an excursion from Rome to Naples in the spring of 1591.20 Van Winghen died unexpectedly in 1592,21 and it was maybe as a tribute to his friend that Goltzius included him in the plate that he cut that same year. mp 1 See footnote 1 in cat. 6. 2 ‘An antique statue in Rome, in the palace of Cardinal Farnese; a work by H. Goltzius that is now being published posthumously for the first time, in the year 1617’. 3 ‘Now that I have vanquished the King of Spain with his three bodies [Geryon] and have stolen the apples that were guarded by a vigilant dragon under the western heaven in the golden garden, I, Hercules, the terror of the world, rest from my labours’. 4 I wish to thank Professor Ilja Veldman, who generously put at my disposal her Goltzius entries for the forthcoming catalogue of the sixteenthcentury Netherlandish drawings in the Teylers Museum, which she is preparing with Yvonne Bleyerveld. 5 U. Aldrovandi, ‘Delle statue antiche, che per tutta Roma … si veggono’, in Mauro 1556, pp. 157–58. The Hercules, today in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples, is regarded as an enlarged copy of the 3rd century ad after an original by Lysippos or someone from his school of the 4th century bc. For its history and fortuna critica see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, pp. 17–20, no. 1. 6 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 229. 7 Baglione 1642 (facsimile edition, Rome 1935), p. 151: ‘. . . per mostrare con quel rifarcimento si degno al mondo, che le opere della scultura moderna potevano stare al paragone de’lavori antichi’. 8 Reznicek 1961, vol. 2, pp. 89–94; Brandt 2001, passim; Luijten 2003–04, pp. 117–25. 9 For both drawings see Luijten 2003–04, pp. 132–36. 10 Göttingen 2013–14, pp. 210–11. 11 For the prints by Bos and Ghisi see Göttingen 2013–14, pp. 205–07, no. II. 18 (Ghisi) and pp. 285–86, no. IV.09 (Bos). 12 Brandt 2001, pp. 143–46. 13 It has been suggested that Goltzius was prompted to make his unorthodox choice by a description in Pliny of a painting by Apelles of Hercules with Face Averted, whose features could nevertheless be guessed. Goltzius may have known the related engraving by G. J. Caraglio after Rosso Fiorentino: see Luijten 2003–04, p. 134 (with previous literature). 14 For the dating of the three prints see Reznicek 1961, p. 419; Boston and St. Louis 1981–82, p. 12, under no. 6. 15 See the painting Rest by Nicolaes Berchem the Elder (1620–83) dated 1644 in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the painting The Return from the Hunt, also by Berchem, from c. 1670 in The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, both of which include a male figure whose attitude is clearly based on that of the Farnese Hercules (Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82, p. 67, fig. 2; Haarlem, Zurich and elsewhere 2006–07, p. 85, cat. 45, repr.). A drawing by Berchem, Standing Herdsman from the Back in the Rijksmuseum, prepares the figure of the standing herdsman in the New York painting (see Amsterdam and Washington D.C., 1981–82, p. 67, fig. 1). 16 Schapelhouman 1979, p. 67 (with earlier literature); Luijten 2003–04, pp. 135–36. 17 Hymans 1884–85, p. 187, note 1. Schapelhouman (1979, p. 67) does not believe this, while Luijten (2003–04, pp. 135–36) considers it plausible. It is curious that Goltzius altered the preparatory drawing of the two men’s heads in the engraving (fig. 3): in addition to representing them in mirror image and swopping them over, he depicted them in the same scale as well. Ban (if it is indeed Ban) is now somewhat taller than Van Winghen, which would reflect reality for Van Mander reports that Ban was a sizeable man (Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 392–93, fol. 283v). 18 Schapelhouman 2003–04, pp. 147–58. 19 Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 392–93 (fol. 283v). 20 Ibid. 21 Between 1592 and 1597 Jacob Matham engraved a portrait of Philips van Winghen after another (unknown) drawing by Goltzius; see Widerkehr and Leeflang 2007, vol. 2, p. 256, no. 263. 117 8. Hendrick Goltzius (Bracht-am-Niederrhein 1558–1617 Haarlem) The Belvedere Torso 1591 Red chalk, 255 × 166 mm prov enance: Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–89) 1; Cardinal Decio Azzolini (1623–89); Marchese Pompeo Azzolini (1654–1706); Don Livio Odescalchi (1658–1713); purchased from the Odescalchi family by the Teylers Foundation, 1790. liter ature: Scholten 1904, p. 42, no. N 31; Reznicek, 1961, vol. 2, pp. 321–22, no. 201, vol. 2, fig. 156; Miedema 1969, pp. 76–77; Brummer 1970, pp. 146, note 27, 148, repr.; Van Gelder and Jost 1985, vol. 1, p. 109; Stolzenburg 2000, p. 437, no. 143; Brandt 2001, p. 148; Goddard 2001–02, p. 39 (erroneously as a drawing in black chalk); Florence 2008, p. 62, under no. 33 (M. Schapelhouman); Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 183, under no. 132; Nichols 2013a, pp. 56, 146, under no. A-37, fig. 31. e xhibitions: Recklinghausen 1964, no. 87 [unpaginated]; Munich and Rome 1998–99, pp. 44, fig. 43, 160, no. 49; Luijten 2003–04, pp. 130–31, no. 41.1. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. no. N 31 From the High Renaissance onwards the Belvedere Torso was one of the most celebrated of ancient statues, despite its fragmentary state.2 In the past it was identified as the torso of Hercules because of the anatomy and the lion’s skin on which it is seated. However, in the late 19th century doubts were raised as to whether the skin really was that of a lion, making the Hercules identification uncertain.3 Although the Torso is comprehensively signed ‘Apollonius, son of Nestor, of Athens’, his name is not found in classical literature. It is assumed that he lived in the 1st century bc and that the Torso is a repetition or paraphrase of an earlier model. Although the statue was known from the 1430s, it was only when it was in the collection of the sculptor Andrea Bregno in the later 15th century that it began to arouse interest; in the early 16th century the sculpture entered the papal collections and was placed in the Belvedere (see p. 26, fig. 23). Direct correspondences with many of Michelangelo’s painted and drawn nude figures demonstrate the importance of the Belvedere Torso for the great Italian artist and shortly after Michelangelo’s death a number of stories emerged connecting him with the Torso. 4 According to such one tale, he had been surprised by a cardinal kneeling before the statue (though only in order to examine it as closely as possible).5 In 1590 Giovanni Paggi wrote from Florence to his brother Girolamo: ‘Michelangelo called himself a pupil of the Belvedere Torso, which he said he had studied greatly, and indeed that he speaks the truth of this is to be seen in his works.’ 6 Describing the statue as ‘the school of Michelangelo’ took this association a step further.7 And yet the Renaissance artist appears to have spoken only once about the Torso, albeit in highly positive language: Ulisse Aldrovandi (1522– 1605) noted, in 1556 when the artist was still alive, that the Torso was ‘singularmente lodato da Michel’Angelo’.8 Not surprisingly the statue acquired great status both north and south of the Alps. This status probably preserved it 118 from the restoration suffered by many antique sculptures in later centuries. Goltzius also seems to have felt the mysterious beauty of the Torso, for he drew it no less than four times. All four drawings were together in the collection of Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–89).9 But while two are now in the Teylers Museum (fig. 1) the other two have been lost. Goltzius undoubtedly knew the Torso even before he arrived in Italy, for reduced copies after the sculpture circulated throughout Europe in the 16th century; thus Goltzius’ friend and fellow Haarlem artist, Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem (1562–1638), had used the Torso as the model for a nude figure in a painting Fig. 1. Hendrick Goltzius, The Belvedere Torso, c. 1591, black chalk, 253 × 175 mm, Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. no. K I 30 119 of the late 1580s.10 It is reasonable to suppose that the Torso would have been discussed at meetings of the ‘Haarlem Academy’,11 which Karel van Mander, Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem and Goltzius had set up in the mid-1580s. One of the purposes of their ‘academy’ was to allow them to ‘study from life’ (om nae ‘t leven te studeeren), which meant they drew from nude models and probably from sculpture, plaster casts or other three-dimensional specimens as well.12 We may assume that during these drawing sessions they discussed human anatomy and the exemplary way classical artists had depicted it. All three were able to quote directly from the antique with the aid of Maarten van Heemskerck’s Roman sketchbook (now Kupferstichkabinett, Berlin), which was then owned by Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem13 and which contained two views of the Torso.14 It is noteworthy that Goltzius, who was generally meticulously faithful in his depiction of classical sculptures, was not always so precise in his treatment of the inscriptions on their pedestals.15 In his red chalk drawing of the Belvedere Torso from the front he has omitted the signature, which would have been clearly visible on the base. Even more curious is the fact that he completely ignored the wear suffered by the statue, the result of decades spent outdoors. Instead his drawings give the sculpture a freshness that makes it seem alive. This emphasis on the statue’s lifelikeness and beauty can probably be explained by Goltzius’ intention that these drawings should serve as preparations for prints with an educational purpose: the study of anatomy based on ideal models. The muscles of Goltzius’ Torso appear to be tensed, the skin lifelike and infused with warmth. The muscles’ extreme exaggeration and restless tension clearly display a Mannerist emphasis.16 Once in Rome, surrounded by the clear, classic, ideal vocabulary of ancient statuary, Goltzius would reject Mannerist exaggeration so the fact that he did not decide to do so here may indicate that these two studies after the Torso were among the first drawings he produced after his arrival in Rome. It is interesting to note that Goltzius clearly used the Belvedere Torso in his fine Back of an Athletic Man, now in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence (fig. 2).17 This drawing is one of his Federkunststücke, or virtuoso drawings in pen, whose linear execution often imitates engravings, with lines that swell and taper. Curiously, the backbone in this drawing curves slightly to the left, while that of the sculpture curves to the right. Is this a conscious change by Goltzius or did he recall the statue in mirror image? The suggestion has sometimes been made that Goltzius produced this great drawing in Italy to display his virtuosity with the pen;18 however, we know that Goltzius travelled incognito to avoid admirers (see cat. 6), 120 9. Peter Paul Rubens (Siegen 1577–1640 Antwerp) Two Studies of a Boy Model Posed as the ‘Spinario’ c. 1600–02 Red chalk with touches of white chalk, 201 × 362 mm Inscribed recto, l.r., in pen and brown ink by a late 17th- or early 18th-century hand: ‘Rubens’ prov enance: Gabriel Huquier (1695–1772); William Fawkener; his bequest to Museum, 1769. liter ature: Hind and Popham 1915–32, vol. 2, p. 22, no. 52; Burchard and D’Hulst 1963, vol. 1, pp. 34–35, no. 16 and vol. 2, pl. 16; Stechow 1968, pp. 53–55, fig. 43; Held 1986, p. 82, no. 39, pl. 23 on p. 172; New York 1988, p. 77, under no. 18, fig. 18-I; Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, p. 80; Paris 2000–01, p. 419, under no. 222, fig. 222a. e xhibitions: London 1977, pp. 28–29, no. 14 (J. Rowlands); London 2009–10 (no catalogue). Department of Prints and Drawings, The British Museum, London, inv. T,14.1 Fig. 2. Hendrick Goltzius, Back of an Athletic Man, pen and brown ink, 150 × 165 mm, Uizi, Florence, inv. no. 2365 F so he is unlikely to have felt a need to demonstrate his virtuoso skills. Perhaps Goltzius created this virtuoso drawing after his Italian trip, or even before he went to Italy as he was already producing pen work of this quality in the 1580s.19 mp 1 See footnote 1 in cat. 6. 2 Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 311–14, no. 80, fig. 165; Munich and Rome 1998–99; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 181–84, no. 132. 3 Wünsche 1998–99, p. 67. 4 Michelangelo did indeed use the Torso directly as a model; see Wünsche 1998–99, pp. 31–37; Haarlem and London 2005–06, pp. 116–17. 5 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 312. 6 Guhl 1880, vol. 2, p. 42; Schwinn 1973, pp. 36–37. 7 Wright 1730, vol. 1, p. 268; Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 312–13; Schwinn 1973, p. 172; Montreal 1992, pp. 76–77. 8 ‘… un torso grande di Hercole ignudo, assiso sopra un tronco del medisimo marmo: non ha testa, ne braccia, ne gambe. È stato questo busto singularmente lodato da Michel’Angelo’. U. Aldrovandi, ‘Delle statue antiche, che per tutta Roma … si veggono’, in Mauro 1556, p. 115. For Aldrovandi’s complete text ‘nel giardino di Belvedere, sopra il Palagio del Papa’, see Brummer 1970, pp. 268–69. 9 Stolzenburg 2000, pp. 437, nos 142–44, 439, no. 161. 10 Van Thiel 1999, pp. 79, 294, no. 7, pl. 34. 11 According to an anonymous biographer, shortly after arriving in Haarlem, around 1583, Karel van Mander entered into a collaboration with Goltzius and Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem, described as follows: ‘the three of them maintained and made an Academy, for studying from life’, see Van Mander 1994–1999, vol. 1, pp. 26–27 (fol. S2 recto), vol. 2, pp. 70–72; Van Thiel 1999, pp. 59–90. It should be stressed that this academy was in no way an institution for advanced professional training: such institutions came into being only in the 18th century (see Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 2, p. 70). 12 It is unclear how and for what length of time this ‘Haarlem Academy’ exactly functioned (see also Leeflang 2003–04a, p. 16; Leeflang 2003–04b, p. 252. 13 Veldman 2012, pp. 11–23. 14 Hülsen and Egger 1913–16, vol. 1, p. 34 (fol. 63), p. 40 (fol. 73). See also Brummer 1970, pp. 144–45, figs 125–26. 15 Brandt 2001, p. 143. 16 Reznicek 1961, vol. 1, pp. 321–22, no. K 201; Luijten 2003–04, p. 131. 17 Reznicek 1961, vol 1, p. 452, no. 431, vol. 2, fig. 132; Florence 2008, pp. 61–62, no. 33 (M. Schapelhouman). 18 Reznicek 1961, vol. 1, p. 452. 19 Schapelhouman (in Florence 2008, p. 62) has previously questioned the Italian dating for Back of an Athletic Man; for pen works by Goltzius from the 1580s see: Amsterdam, New York and elsewhere 2003–04, pp. 238–39, figs 93–94, 242–46, nos 84–85. The son of a wealthy Antwerp family, Rubens was born in the German city of Siegen in 1577 but in 1589 returned with his family to Antwerp where he received a humanistic education at the Latin School run by Rumoldus Verdonck (1541–1620) and an artistic one with the painters Tobias Verhaeght (1561–1631), Adam van Noort (1561–1641) and Otto van Veen (c. 1556–1629). After entering the Guild of St Luke as an established painter in 1598, Rubens set out for Italy in May 1600. This fundamental step in Rubens’ training had been carefully prepared not only by the study of engravings of classical statues and Renaissance masters by Marcantonio Raimondi (c. 1480–1527/34) and his pupils assembled by van Veen in his workshop, but also by eager reading of Roman texts such as Suetonius, Tacitus and Pliny the Elder.1 The impact of classical antiquity on Rubens’ art and theory of art was immense. Before arriving in Rome in 1601, Rubens spent time in Venice, then Mantua, in the service of the Duke Vincenzo I Gonzaga (r. 1587–1612) as a painter and a curator of his collections, and also in Florence. Although based in Mantua, Rubens spent two extended periods in Rome, first from July 1601 until April 1602 and again from late 1605 (or early 1606) until October 1608.2 During this second period he shared a house with his scholarly elder brother Philip (1574–1611), a pupil of the Flemish philologist and humanist Justus Lipsius (1547–1606). In Rome Philip Rubens worked on the Electorum Libri duo published in Antwerp in 1608, an influential study of the customs, morals and dress of the ancients. Peter Paul assisted Philip in making drawings from ancient monuments in preparation for the plates, and he also contributed to their explanatory notes. Rubens’ commitment to the systematic study of classical antiquities, and in particular of sculpture in the round, is testified to by the large number of sketches and drawings he made during his Italian period, but also by those he executed after his return to Antwerp in 1608.3 In Rome Rubens visited the Belvedere Courtyard and some of the most important private aristocratic collections, such as the Borghese, the Medici, the Farnese, the Mattei and the Giustiniani. His drawings after the Antique are among the most extraordinary ever produced, most of them in red or black chalk; they show Rubens’ great virtuosity in handling the medium and, at the same time, his deep understanding of the formal principles of the antique statues. He obsessively sketched some of the most ‘muscular’ masterpieces of classical statuary, such as the Laocoön (see p. 26, fig. 19) and the Farnese Hercules (see p. 30, fig. 32), from all sides, many angles and in great detail, in order to assimilate thoroughly the anatomical structure and the mathematical proportions of the human body as part of his search for the rules of perfection achieved by ancient artists. 4 Returning to Antwerp in 1608, Rubens established his own studio in an Italianate villa in the centre of the city – today the Rubenshuis. His drawings after the Antique, bound in several books, remained in his studio and continued to serve not only as an important reference and source of inspiration for Rubens himself, but probably also as teaching tools for his pupils. The purchase in 1618 by Rubens of the collection of ancient sculptures owned by the English diplomat and collector Sir Dudley Carleton (1573–1632) represented the first step towards the formation of one of the most important – but short-lived – collections of antiquities in Northern Europe, which Rubens sold on to the 1st Duke of Buckingham in 1626.5 The pre-eminent figure of the Flemish Baroque, a universal genius, Rubens also had an active diplomatic career which in the 1620s led him to travel between the courts of Spain and England. His last decade, the 1630s, was mostly spent in Antwerp, where he devoted himself entirely to painting. Rubens’ theory on both the usefulness and dangers of copying after the Antique are effectively expressed in his essay De Imitatione Statuarum, a short treatise on the imitation of sculpture that remained in manuscript in Rubens’ lifetime 121 but was published by the art theorist Roger de Piles in his Cours de peinture par principles of 1708 (see Appendix, no. 8).6 While emphasising the importance for an artist of becoming deeply familiar with the perfection embodied in ancient models, Rubens warned that ‘[the imitation of antique statues] must be judiciously applied, and so that it may not in the least smell of stone’.7 The warning against the risk of hardening one’s style by copying ancient sculptures, thus creating paintings that looked ‘dry’ and eccentric, had already been pointed out by several 16th-century artists and theoreticians, such as Giorgio Vasari (1511–74), Ludovico Dolce (1508–68) and Giovanni Battista Armenini (1530–1609).8 Later in the 17th century the pernicious effect on painting of too-slavish imitation of antique statuary would be summarised by the Bolognese art theorist Carlo Cesare Malvasia (1616–93) with the specific neologism ‘statuino’ or ‘statuelike’.9 As stressed by Rubens in the De Imitatione, young artists needed to learn how to transform marble into flesh instead of depicting figures as ‘coloured marble’. The two studies on one sheet presented here perfectly express Rubens’ views: they are in fact an example of a practice – setting live models in the poses of famous ancient statues – already diffused from the Early Renaissance (see p. 23, fig. 14) and common practice within the curricula of the French and Italian academies.10 Through this exercise Rubens could concentrate on the classical pose and disregard the ‘matter’, something that he repeated in modified form several times, in studies of live models in poses reminiscent of the Belvedere Torso, the Laocoön and other canonical statues.11 In the present drawing, the young model is seen from his left side in the pose of one of the most celebrated bronzes in Rome, the Spinario (‘Thorn-puller’), recorded in the city as early as the 12th century among the antiquities at the Lateran Palace and donated by Pope Sixtus IV (r. 1471– 84) to the Palazzo dei Conservatori in 1471 (fig. 1, see also p. 23, fig. 15).12 Interpreted in the Renaissance as the personification of the month of March or a shepherd, the Spinario has been recently recognised as the young Ascanius, the son of Aeneas and founder of the gens Iulia.13 The right-hand drawing faithfully imitates the pose of the statue, with the head looking down towards the gesture of extracting a thorn from the foot; the left-hand drawing, in contrast, modifies the original by turning the head towards the spectator and altering the action so that the youth no longer withdraws a thorn from his foot, but dries it with a towel. Two similar studies, presumably after the same young model, are preserved in the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Dijon (fig. 2) and in London (private collection): the former, in red chalk, shows the model from his back and his right;14 the latter, in black chalk, from his left.15 The three drawings were probably done in the same session and they have been dated to one of Rubens’ two Roman periods, probably the first one (1600–02).16 As long ago noted by Wolfgang Stechow,17 the pose of Fig. 1. (left) Spinario (Thorn-Puller), 1st century bc, bronze, 73 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Sala dei Trionfi, Rome, inv. 1186 Fig. 2. (above) Peter Paul Rubens, Two Studies of a Young Model Posing as the Spinario, red chalk with touches of black chalk, 246 × 382 mm, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Dijon, inv. sup. 49D 122 123 the Spinario was employed by Rubens for a young man drying his feet in the Baptism of Christ, painted for the Jesuit church of Santa Trinità in Mantua in 1605 and now in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Antwerp, a preparatory drawing for which is in the Louvre,18 as well as for Susanna in Susanna and the Elders, a painting executed in Rome about 1606–08, and now in the Borghese Gallery.19 ed 1 For Rubens’ early years see Muller 2004, pp. 13–15. 2 On Rubens in Rome and his approach to the Antique see esp. Stechow 1968; Jaffé 1977, pp. 79–84; Muller 1982; Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 41–81; Muller 2004, pp. 18–28. 3 On Rubens’ drawings after the Antique see the fundamental catalogue in Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 2. 4 See Ayomonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 46–52. 5 See Muller 1989, passim; Muller 2004, pp. 35–56. On the collection of antiquities see in particular Muller 1989, pp. 82–87; Antwerp 2004, pp. 260–63 (F. Healy). On the sale to the 1st Duke of Buckingham see Muller 2004, pp. 62–63. 6 On the De Imitatione see Muller 1982; Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, esp. 124 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 p. 71, note 11, pp. 77–78, note 44; Antwerp 2004, pp. 298–99; Jaffé and Bradley 2005–06; Jaffé 2010. Transcribed in Appendix, no. 8, from De Piles 1743, pp. 87–88. For Vasari see Bettarini Barocchi 1966–87, for instance vol. 3, pp. 549–50 and vol. 5, pp. 495–61. For Dolce see Appendix, no. 4. See Armenini 1587, esp. pp. 59–60 (book I, chap. 8), pp. 86–89 (book II, chap. 3). The concept was repeated later also by Bernini during his visit to Paris in 1665: see Appendix, no. 9. See also Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 77–78. Malvasia 1678, vol. 1, pp. 359, 365, 484. On the 17th-century neologism ‘statuino’ see Pericolo, forthcoming. See Aymonino’s essay in this volume, pp. 50–52. Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 80–81. The statue is traditionally considered to be an eclectic work of the 1st century bc: see Stuart Jones 1926, pp. 43–47, no. 2; Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 308–10, no. 78; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 254, no. 203. Recent analysis has proved that the classicistic head, dating to the 5th century bc, was added to the Hellenistic body and given a Roman subject presumably in the 1st century bc, see Rome forthcoming. Rome forthcoming. Held 1986, p. 82; Paris 2000–01, pp. 417–18, no. 222. Held 1986, p. 82; Paris 2000–01, p. 418, fig. 222b. Held 1986, p. 82. Stechow 1968, pp. 54–55. See also Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 80–81. Lugt 1949, pp. 12–13, no. 1009, pl. XIV; Antwerp 1977, p. 129, no. 121. Coliva 1994, p. 170, no. 88. 10. Odoardo Fialetti (Bologna 1573–c. 1638 Venice) Artist’s Studio c. 1608 Etching in Odoardo Fialetti, Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parti et membra del corpo humano, Venice, Justus Sadeler, 1608 110 × 152 mm (plate); 194 × 238 mm (sheet) Inscribed l.l. with Fialetti’s monogram and ‘A 2’ and ‘No 208’. prov enance: Elmar Seibel, Boston, from whom acquired. liter ature: Rosand 1970, pp. 12–22, fig. 10; Buffa 1983, pp. 315–37, nos 198 (295) – 243 (301), repr. (for the Artist’s Studio, p. 321, no. 210 (298), repr.); Amornpichetkul 1984, pp. 108–09, fig. 83; Bolten 1985, pp. 240–43, 245 and 248; Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, pp. 248–49, no. 130 (D. P. Becker); London 2001–02, pp. 198–200, no. 143; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, pp. 94–96, no. 24 ( J. Clifford); Walters 2009, vol. 1, pp. 68–79, vol. 2, pp. 254–76, figs. 3.9–3.53; Walters 2014, pp. 62–63, fig. 59; Whistler 2015 (forthcoming). e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, London, 2002–013 A prolific artist whose large and diverse body of work comprises some fifty-five paintings and about 450 prints, Fialetti was born in Bologna in 1573 but moved to Venice where he was apprenticed to Jacopo Tintoretto (1519–94) and where he later collaborated with Palma Giovane (c. 1548– 1628).1 By 1596 he was listed as a printmaker and, from 1604 to 1612, a member of the Venetian painters’ guild, the Arte dei Pittori; he joined the Scuola Grande di San Teodoro between 1620 and 1622.2 His wide-ranging graphic oeuvre comprises religious, mythological, and literary subjects as well as landscapes, portraits, depictions of sport (fencing and hunting), ornamental motifs and anatomical studies, and appears in different formats and genres, from single or series of prints to complete illustrations for books.3 His etchings remained influential for decades after his death not only in Venice and northern Italy, but even in France and England.4 Without doubt Fialetti’s most admired and influential works were his two volumes of etchings: Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parte et membra del corpo humano (‘The true means and method to draw all the parts of the human body’) and Tutte le parti del corpo humano diviso in piu pezzi . . . (‘all the parts of the human body divided into multiple pieces’). The first was published in Venice in 1608 by Justus Sadeler (Flanders 1583–1620), and the second, which is undated, presumably appeared in Venice shortly thereafter. The two books are varied in their plates and paginations and exist in different compilations, sometimes confusingly, combining elements of both as in the example shown here.5 The first of their kind to be published in Italy, these books served as portable instruction manuals in drawing for beginners and amateurs. They provided techniques for the correct construction of the human face and body and they also illustrate the crucial role of copying plaster casts in workshop practice at the end of the 16th and beginning of the 17th centuries. The Bellinger volume includes a frontispiece dedication to Cesare d’Este, the Duke of Modena and Reggio (1561–1628), a leaf with a further dedication to Giovanni Grimani (the Venetian patrician and collector of antiquities, 1506–93), six pages with step-by-step instructions on drawing eyes, ears and faces, another title page, Tutte le parti . . . and thirty leaves of further faces, various parts of the body – arms, legs, torsos – grotesque heads and portraits.6 The volume concludes with two religious etchings by Palma Giovane.7 Unusual for manuals of the period is the scene depicted on the first plate following the dedications: a lively and informal artists’ workshop, sometimes thought to be Tintoretto’s.8 In the foreground, young students seated on low wooden benches draw diligently before models and assorted plaster casts of body parts arranged on and below a table, while two older artists are painting at large easels in the background.9 At the far left, an apprentice grinds pigments. Scattered on the ground are various artists’ tools including compasses, an inkwell and feather quill pen. Boy draughtsmen representing three different ages – roughly from six to sixteen – diligently record a cast of the young Marcus Aurelius, similar in type to the marble of 161– 180 ad now in the Capitoline Museum in Rome (fig. 1).10 Behind them, two slightly older boys enthusiastically discuss a completed copy. The torso next to the bust, although reminiscent of the Belvedere Torso, (p. 26, fig. 23), appears to be based on a different antique sculpture, which seems to be the subject of a drawing of seven male torsos in various positions in a sketchbook by an unidentified Northern artist working in Rome in the mid- to late 16th century (Trinity College Library, Cambridge, fig. 2).11 The torso seen in Fialetti’s etching is comparable to the one with the upraised right arm placed at the lower centre of the Trinity page;12 it was evidently a favourite of Fialetti’s as it reappears later in his book (fig. 3). 125 The cast of the armless female torso on the floor on the right in the etching also derives from an antique prototype. She is probably based on a now-lost version of Venus Tying her Sandal, a Hellenistic type well known in the Renaissance and one that inspired many adaptations,13 such as that in an anonymous Italian drawing in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (fig. 4). The male torso depicted in that drawing is also very similar to that in the etching. Fialetti would have had ample opportunity to study Antique statuary first-hand during a trip to Rome, made before he settled in Venice, though plaster casts were an integral part of Venetian workshop practice from the 16th century onwards.14 They were in wide use in Tintoretto’s studio where Fialetti trained. According to his biographer, Carlo Ridolfi, Tintoretto collected plaster casts of ancient and Renaissance marbles avidly and at great expense: ‘Nor did he cease his continuous study of whatever hand or torso he had collected’.15 From the chalk drawings he produced, ‘thus did he learn the forms requisite for his art’.16 The casts remained in the Tintoretto family workshop when Domenico (1560–1635), his son, took it over and are Fig. 1. Portrait of Marcus Aurelius as a Boy, 161–180 ad, marble, 74 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Palazzo Nuovo, Albani Collection, Rome, MC 279 126 Fig. 2. Anonymous artist working in Rome, Studies of Male Torsos, mid to late 16th c., pen and brown ink, 280 × 450 mm, folio 47v from the Cambridge Sketchbook, Trinity College Library, Cambridge, R. 17.3 recorded in his will of 1630.17 The younger Tintoretto for a period considered bequeathing to painters his house and studio with its contents – reliefs, drawings and models – so that an academy could be established to train future generations of Venetian artists, although nothing came of this scheme.18 Whether the Artist’s Studio seen here is actually Tintoretto’s or simply a generalised venue, Fialetti asserted the centrality of drawing, especially for young artists.19 This also recorded his own experience: when as a boy, he asked what he should do in order to make progress, he was advised by Tintoretto that he ‘must draw and again draw’.20 By the early 17th century, repeated and systematic study from studio drawings, plaster casts, sculpture, as well as anatomy and the live model was deemed essential preparation for the accurate portrayal of the human figure.21 But in order to depict the body as a whole, students first had to master its individual parts, a tenet of Central Italian working practice that was perpetuated throughout the 16th century by artists and writers like Giovan Battista Armenini (1525–1609) and Federico Zuccaro (c. 1541–1609), who instructed pupils to draw parts of the body, an ‘alphabet of drawing’.22 Similar principles were espoused by the Carracci Academy in Bologna, of which Fialetti was no doubt aware.23 While precedents for instructional drawing books are found in 15th-century model and pattern books containing motifs that artists could copy into their compositions (p. 20, figs 3–4),24 Fialetti’s were the first aimed at students and amateurs as well as art lovers and collectors.25 They also seem to be the first of their kind to be printed in Venice.26 Other publications modelled after them soon followed in the Veneto and elsewhere in Italy, notably De excellentia et nobilitate delineationis libri duo, published 127 by Giacomo Franco (1573–1652) in 1611 based on designs by Palma Giovane and prints by Battista Franco (c. 1510–1561) as well as Gasparo Colombina’s Paduan publication of 1623.27 Like Fialetti’s compendia, Giacomo Franco’s treatise featured several plates incorporating antique motifs: busts of the Laocoön (p. 26, fig. 19), the Emperors Vitellius (p. 40, fig. 52) and Galba were inserted among the etched portraits on plates 18 and 20 while plates 14 and 25 showed torsos of a female Venus Tying her Sandal type much like that seen in Fialetti’s etching.28 In the decades that followed, the Antique would assume a greater role in drawing manuals.29 Several published at the end of the 17th century, like Gérard Audran’s Les Proportions du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, 1683 (p. 48, figs 72–73) and Jan de Bisschop’s Icones, 1668/69 (see cat. 13) and into the 18th century, such as Giovanni Volpato and Raffaello Morghen’s Principi del disegno, 1786 (p. 49, fig. 76), would focus on antiquities exclusively. The influence of Fialetti’s books was far-reaching and persisted long after his death. Plates from them were copied and adapted for publications appearing both in Italy and elsewhere:30 for example Johannes Gellee copied the Artist’s Studio and other etchings in his Tyrocinia artis pictoriae caelatoriae published in Amsterdam in 1639.31 Fialetti’s volumes also influenced a great many other books published in the Netherlands, paving the way for Abraham Bloemaert’s Tekenboek of 1740 (cat. no. 11).32 Furthermore, Fialetti’s manuals catered to a new demographic – the connoisseur, gentleman scholar and mature artist – and would inspire similar books printed in England.33 With the growing market for Venetian art in England during the first decades of the 17th century and accelerated interest in drawing, Fialetti’s work was esteemed not just by Venetians but by aristocratic collectors visiting Venice like Sir Henry Fig. 4. Anonymous, Roman School, Studies after Antique Statuary (Fragments), c. 1550, pen and brown ink and brown wash, black chalk, heightened with white on blue-green paper, 294 × 212 mm, Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, inv. 2978. © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge 1 For a full appraisal of his life and work on which this biographical account is based, see Walters 2009 and Walters 2014, pp. 57–67. 2 Walters 2009, vol. 1, pp. 6–7; Walters 2014, p. 58. 3 Walters 2014, p. 57. 4 Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. vi. 5 Beginning with Bartsch, there has been considerable confusion over the size and content of the two editions. See Walters 2009, vol. 1, pp. 68–70, particularly note 40 and Walters 2014, pp. 66–67, note 23; Greist 2014, pp. 14–15. Alexandra Greist (ibid., pp. 12–18) published a little-known instructional text by Fialetti dictating how he wished the manual to be used, printed on the versi of nine prints bound together with early editions of both books (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, C/RM0024.ASC/552*1, Shelfmark 325G6). 6 Among the plates not included in the present volume is the painter’s studio showing artists measuring human proportions: Buffa 1983, p. 321, no. 211 (298). 7 The Holy Family and Christ Preaching. 8 Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, p. 248; Nichols 2013b, pp. 195, 236, note 134. 9 The standing painter in profile is believed by some scholars to be Tintoretto (Ilchman and Saywell 2007, p. 392; Nichols 2013b, p. 236, note 134). Nichols points to the similarity with the painter as seen in Francesco Pianta the Younger’s wood-carving, Tintoretto as ‘Painting’, in the Scuola Grande di San Rocco, Venice (Nichols 1999, p. 238, fig. 212). His elongated body, unlike the others in the etching, and his energetic pose and outstretched right arm, recall Tintoretto’s studies of single figures. Alternatively, Catherine Whistler (2015, forthcoming) has suggested that the studio may evoke Palma Giovane ‘given that there is something of his panache in the figure of the painter at work and in the costume of the seated artist’. She further noted their similarities to his self-portrait in the Brera (Mason Rinaldi 1984, pp. 92–93, 213, fig. 117). 10 Fittschen and Zanker 1985, vol. 1, pp. 67–68, no. 61, vol. 2, pls 69, 70, 72. 11 CensusID: 46328. Michaelis 1892, p. 99, no. 60v; Dhanens 1963, p. 185, no. 52v, fig. 30; Fileri 1985, pp. 39–40, no. 48, repr. Given in the 19th c. to a Flemish artist working in Rome around 1583 (Michaelis 1892), more recently the sketchbook has been associated with the sculptor, Giambologna (1529– 1608), and his Roman trip of 1550 (Dhanens 1963 and Fileri 1985). 12 As pointed out by Eloisa Dodero (personal communication). 13 Künzl 1970; Bober and Rubinstein. 2010, p. 69, no. 20; CensusID: 58121. 14 Walters 2014, p. 57. Ridolfi 1984, p. 16. 15 Ridolfi 1914, vol. 2, p. 14; Whitaker 1997. 16 Ridolfi 1914, vol. 2, p. 14; Ridolfi 1984, p. 16. 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 Tozzi 1933, p. 316. Ridolfi 1914, vol. 2, pp. 262–63. Rosand 1970; Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. 73. Because ‘drawing was what gave to painting its grace and perfection’, Ridolfi added (Ridolfi 1914, vol. 2, p. 65; Ridolfi 1984, p. 16). Muller 1984; Bolten 1985; Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. 73. Armenini 1587, pp. 52–59 (book 1, chap. 7); Alberti 1604, p. 5 (quoting Federico Zuccaro); Amornpichetkul 1984; Bleeke-Byrne 1984; Roman 1984, p. 91; Greist 2014, p. 15. Gombrich 1960, p. 161–62; Rosand 1970, pp. 7, 14–15; Bolten 1985, p. 245; Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, p. 248 (D. P. Becker); Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 95 (J. Clifford); Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. 74; Walters 2014, pp. 62, 66, note 6. On the Carracci’s influence on model books, see Amornpichetkul 1984, pp. 113–16. For model books, see Gombrich 1960, pp. 156–72; Rosand 1970, p. 5; AmesLewis 2000a, pp. 63–69; Nottingham and London 1983, pp. 94–101; Amornpichetkul 1984, p. 109. D. P. Becker, in Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, p. 248; J. Clifford, in Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 95. Catherine Whistler has argued persuasively that the book was aimed at a growing market of virtuosi, art lovers and collectors, who placed a social value on the knowledge of drawings (Whistler 2015, forthcoming). Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. 69; Walters 2014, p. 62. For the growing interest in publishing prints at this time in Venice, see Van der Sman 2000, pp. 235–47. Rosand 1970, p. 17–19; Amornpichetkul 1984, p. 110–12; Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. 74. Rosand 1970, pp. 15, 27. Amornpichetkul 1984, p. 115. Ibid., p. 112; D. P. Becker in Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, p. 248 (D. P. Becker); Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. 75–79. Bolten 1985, pp. 132–39. Ibid., pp. 119, 131, 133–34, 141, 143, 153, 157, 188–207, 243–56; Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. 79. Whistler 2015 (forthcoming). For a fundamental discussion of Fialetti and his impact in England, see Walters 2009, vol. 1, Chapter 5, pp. 152–197. See also Walters 2014, pp. 64–65. Malvasia 1678, vol. 2, p. 312; Greist 2014, p. 12. Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. 152; Walters 2014, pp. 64–65 Amornpichetkul 1984, p. 112; Walters 2009, vol. 1, pp. 78, 152. Walters 2009, vol. 1, pp. 78, 180–97; Greist 2014, p. 14. Wotton (1568–1639) and Thomas Howard, the 2nd Earl of Arundel (1585–1646), among others, who undoubtedly admired his facile draughtsmanship.34 Interestingly, Fialetti’s biographer, Malvasia, who praised his versatility, mentioned that as well as giving drawing lessons to Venetians, he also instructed Alethea Talbot, the Earl of Arundel’s wife, whose grandson owned one of Fialetti’s books.35 Through connections like these, Fialetti attracted the attention of English-based artists and architects including Edward Norgate (c. 1580–1650), Inigo Jones (1573–1652) and Anthony Van Dyck (1599–1641).36 Copied and emulated, Fialetti’s plates would play a key role in the development of the drawing book in England.37 Treatises by Norgate (1627–28, 1st ed.; 1648–49, 2nd ed.), Isaac Fuller (1654), Alexander Brown (1660), and others helped to further the principles set forth in Fialetti’s books, which were copied well into the 19th century.38 avl Fig. 3. Odoardo Fialetti, Two Male Torsos Seen from Behind, c. 1608, etching, 103 × 142 mm, plate 30 from Il vero modo…1608, Katrin Bellinger collection 128 129 11. Frederick Bloemaert (Utrecht c. 1616–90 Utrecht) after Abraham Bloemaert (Gorinchem 1566–1651 Utrecht) A Student Draughtsman, Drawing Plaster Casts 1740 Engraving and chiaroscuro woodcut with two-tone blocks (brown and sepia), titlepage from Het Tekenboek (‘The Drawing Book’), Amsterdam, Reinier and Josua Ottens, 1740 303 × 222 mm (image); 378 × 286 mm (sheet) prov enance: Elmar Seibel, Boston, from whom acquired. liter ature: Strauss 1973, p. 348, no. 164, repr.; Lehmann-Haupt 1977, pp. 155–57, fig. 125; Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82, pp. 16–17; Bolten 1985, p. 49, repr., pp. 57–67; Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1, p. 395, vol. 2, fig. T1a; Bolten 2007, vol. 1, pp. 362, 366, under no. 1150. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1995-071 Abraham Bloemaert, a prolific artist by whose hand over two hundred paintings and sixteen hundred drawings are known, was born in Gorinchem in 1566.1 From the age of 15 or 16, he spent three years in Paris from 1581–83, studying for six weeks with the otherwise unknown Jehan Bassot and then for two and a half years with the similarly obscure ‘Maistre Herry’. His third teacher in Paris was his fellow countryman Hieronymus Francken I (1540–1610).2 In 1611, along with Paulus Moreelse (1571–1638) and several colleagues, Bloemaert founded the new painters’ guild in Utrecht, the Guild of St Luke, and became its deacon in 1618.3 Shortly after the guild’s foundation, around 1612, some form of drawing academy must have been established in Utrecht, again with Bloemaert’s involvement. We learn about this from a letter to the Utrecht antiquarian Arnout van Buchell (1565–1641) and in Van ’t Light der Teken en Schilder konst (‘About the Light of the Art of Drawing and Painting’) of 1643–44, by Crispijn de Passe the Younger (c. 1597–c. 1670). 4 In the introduction to his book De Passe recalls how he learned his art together with the son of Paulus Moreelse ‘in a famous drawing school which was, at that time organized by the most eminent masters’.5 The well-known print Modeltekenen (‘Model Drawing’) from De Passe’s book is thought to represent this school (fig. 1) and it has even been suggested that one of the two tutors looking over the students’ work is Abraham Bloemaert himself.6 We do not know how long this ‘Academy’ existed. Bloemaert had a large studio of his own with many pupils, including his four sons and many well-known Dutch artists, such as the Italianate painters Cornelis van Poelenburgh (1594/95–1667), Jan Both (c. 1618–52) and Jan Baptist Weenix (1621–60/61), as well as the Caravaggists Gerrit van Honthorst (1590–1656) and Hendrick ter Brugghen (1588–1629).7 A development can be traced in Bloemaert’s work from a robust Mannerism, influenced by artists such as Joachim van Wtewael (c. 1566–1638), towards a more classicist style which 130 he presumably derived from Hendrick Goltzius (1558–1617) and his Haarlem colleagues. Caravaggism made a brief appearance in Bloemaert’s work during the early 1620s, when his first pupils returned from Italy – which, incidentally, he never visited himself. At the end of Bloemaert’s life his style grew smoother and more even. In teaching, Bloemaert undoubtedly used his own drawings as examples for his many pupils to copy.8 He found this approach so productive – and perhaps commercially attractive – that towards the end of his life he joined forces with his son Frederick (c. 1616–90) in the publication of the Tekenboek or ‘Drawing Book’, a compilation of specimen drawings.9 The prints in the Tekenboek, which were cut by Frederick after drawings by his father, were published in instalments from c. 1650.10 Abraham’s reversed preparatory drawings, which he probably began around 1645 and some of which reproduce earlier work, are preserved en groupe in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge,11 including that for Fig. 1. Crispijn de Passe, Model Drawing, from: Van ’t Light der Teken en Schilder konst (‘About the Light of the Art of Drawing and Painting’), 1643, engraving, 330 × 390 mm, Rijksmuseum Research Library, Amsterdam, inv. no. 330B13 131 Fig. 2. Abraham Bloemaert, A Student Draughtsman, Drawing Plaster Casts, pen and brown ink, 397 × 301, Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, Inv. PD 166–1963.5. © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge the title page displayed here (fig. 2).12 The title page of Bloemaert’s Tekenboek, catalogued here in the most popular 18th-century edition (1740), shows an artist seated on the floor of an imaginary studio, drawing from the plaster figure of an elderly, reclining man.13 For apprentices the copying of two-dimensional works, such as prints and drawings – and also paintings – was followed by drawing from plaster casts, a crucial activity in the workshop practice. Ideal examples were employed to prepare the student for drawing from life, from the real world and especially from clothed and nude models.14 Such plaster casts invariably included copies of well-known classical statues, plus copies of more modern works and casts of limbs and body parts taken from live models, such as those seen here hanging on the wall behind the draughtsman. In this image the casts do not include any firmly identifiable antique statues, although a number are clearly intended to suggest them, such as the female head at lower right with the short, rounded hairstyle and the male torso beside it, which resembles the Belvedere Torso (p. 26, fig. 23); the pose of the reclining man is reminiscent of an antique River God. In this image Bloemaert made clear his allegiance to classical tradition, and the importance of antique works as the foundation for the learning of art.15 Midway through the Tekenboek, Bloemaert reiterates this 132 sentiment regarding the importance of antique works by incorporating a similar title page, A Draughtsman Sitting at a Table, Drawing after Plaster Casts (fig. 3), in the section on ‘Mannelijke en Vrouwelijke Academie Figuren’ (‘Male and Female Academy Figures’).16 This features the same or a similar draughtsman, now seated at a table in a more realistic setting and drawing from a plaster model of a nude male torso. Around him lie other casts: a male head, a foot and a further torso seen from the back. As in the first title page, no recognisable antique sculptures can be seen, although the artist has again created the suggestion of antique pieces.17 Images of artists drawing in a studio combined with assemblages of plaster casts are highly appropriate subjects for drawing books. In earlier Italian and Netherlandish examples we encounter similar images, such as Modeltekenen (‘Model Drawing’) by De Passe from 1643 (fig. 1), by Petrus Feddes (1586–c. 1634) from around 1615, and especially by Odoardo Fialetti (1573–c. 1638), in his highly influential Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parte et membra del corpo humano (‘The true means and method to draw all the parts of the human body’) and Tutte le parti del corpo humano diviso in piu pezzi . . . (‘all the parts of the human body divided into multiple pieces’) of c. 1608 (also featured here as cat. 10).18 Bloemaert’s Tekenboek, which only contains specimens of heads, faces, body parts and figures, is a product of direct studio practice. It is thus different in approach from the other important mid-17th century Netherlandish drawing book, mentioned above, Van ’t Light der Teken en Schilder konst (‘About the Light of the Art of Drawing and Painting’; 1643), by De Passe the Younger. De Passe primarily focuses on the structure, proportion and anatomy of the human body;19 examples of models and ways to learn to draw them are of secondary importance. Bloemaert’s Tekenboek is actually closer in character in its approach and images to the two volumes of etchings produced by Fialetti, which were probably known to the Bloemaerts in one of the Dutch editions.20 The Bloemaerts’ publication might well be described as the Northern counterpart to Fialetti’s books.21 And as in those the emphasis in the Tekenboek is on providing many practical examples of heads, faces and limbs to draw. Like Fialetti’s works it may be regarded as a portable instruction manual for drawing. Bloemaert’s Tekenboek was exceptionally popular from the time of its publication around 1650 to the end of the 18th century.22 Many editions followed the first (very rare) editio princeps, which probably contained 100 plates arranged in five parts.23 After his father’s death in 1651, Frederick must have published one or more sub-editions with 120 plates in six parts and around 1685 Nicolaes II Visscher (1649–1702) another with 160 plates. Several decades later, in 1723, an edition by Louis Renard (dates unknown) appeared (of which only one copy is known), with 166 plates in eight parts arranged by Bernard Picart (1673–1733).24 The same arrangement was retained in the best-known edition of Bloemaert’s work, published by Reinier and Josua Ottens, the magnificent 1740 volume displayed here. At that time the title was changed to Oorspronkelyk en vermaard konstryk tekenboek van Abraham Bloemaert (‘Original and famous artful drawing book of Abraham Bloemaert’). Bloemaert’s popularity was certainly not restricted to the Dutch Republic: artists such as François Boucher (1703–70) and Balthasar Denner (1685–1749) also took the Utrecht master as a model for their own work.25 mp 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 1 For Bloemaert’s life on which this biographical account is based, see Roethlisberger and Bok, 1993, vol. 1, pp. 551–87; Bolten 2007, vol. 1, pp. 3–5. For ‘new’ Bloemaert paintings, see Roethlisberger, 2014, pp. 79–92. 2 Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 448–49 (fol. 297v). 3 Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1, p. 570. 4 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 571. 5 Verbeek and Veldman 1974, p. 146, no. 191; De Passe 1643–44, unpaginated introduction, Aen de Teekunst-lievende en-gunstige lezers, to the first part, met de zoon van Paulus Moreelse en anderen) in een vermaarde 24 25 Teekenschool/die op dien tijt van de voornaamste meesters wiert gehouden heb gedaan’. Schatborn suggests that this drawing school might have been in France where Van de Passe spent a long period, 1617–30 (see Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82, p. 21). Veldman emphasises that De Passe’s book is a tribute to the city of Utrecht, thanking the city for spiritual nourishment including the Utrecht Drawing School (Veldman 2001, pp. 337–38). Suggestion by Bok in Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1, p. 571. Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1, pp. 645–51. Such a group of drawings (mixed with prints) occurs for example in the estate of the painter Gaspar Netscher (1639–84): ‘In the brown portfolio [ ] are 327 both prints and drawings [ ] serving for disciples to copy’; see Amsterdam and Washington D. C. 1981–82, p. 17; Plomp 2001, p. 37. For artists’ practical education in the Netherlands and Italy in the 16th and 17th centuries see Bleeke-Byrne 1984, pp. 28–39. Bloemaert’s Tekenboek was published with the Latin title: Artis Apellae, liber hic, studiosa juventus, / Aptata ingenio fert rudimenta tuo … (This book, studious youths, brings to your minds the appropriate rudiments of the art of Apelles …); see Bolten 1985, p. 51; Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1, p. 395 [translation]). It is possible that Abraham Bloemaert conceived the idea of producing such a Tekenboek much earlier in his career: the Giroux album, containing many figure studies, may well constitute Bloemaert’s initial selection for such a didactic project; see Bolten 1993, p. 9, note 6; Bolten 2007, vol. 1, pp. 350–61. For the publication in instalments see: Bolten 2007, vol. 1, p. 362. Bolten 1985, p. 66; Bolten 2007, vol. 1, pp. 362–97, nos. 1150–1311. For doubts regarding Bloemaert’s authorship of the drawings in Cambridge see Bolten 1985, p. 48 (‘A. or F. Bloemaert’); Roethlisberger 1992, p. 30, note 41; Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1, p. 391; Bolten 1993, pp. 6–8. Bolten 2007, vol. 1, p. 363, no. 1150, vol. 2, fig. 1150. The scene was engraved, then supplemented with a chiaroscuro woodcut with two-tone blocks (brown and sepia). This technique and the dimensions (303 × 222 mm [image]) are the same in the editio princeps from c. 1650 and the 1740 edition displayed here (see Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1, p. 395). See Aymonino’s essay in the present volume, pp. 15–77. According to Roethlisberger and Bok (1993, vol. 1, p. 395), there is little or no discernible influence of ancient sculpture in his own work. The engraving, A Draughtsman Sitting at a Table, Drawing after Plaster Casts (fig. 3), does not appear in the editio princeps from circa 1650, but does feature in the 1685 edition and later ones (Bolten 2007, vol. 1, p. 392, under no. 1290). The original drawing for this engraving is also in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge: Bolten 2007, vol. 1, p. 392, no. 1290, vol. 2, fig. 1290. For Feddes, see Bolten 1985, p. 18, repr.; Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1, p. 395. For De Passe’s Tekenboek see: Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82, pp. 15–17, 21, repr. For Dutch editions of Fialetti and for Dutch publications based or partially reprinting Fialetti see Bolten 1985, pp. 119, 131, 133–34, 141, 143, 153, 157, 188–207, 243–56. According to Strauss (1973, p. 348) Bloemaert’s title page was ‘patterned partly on the frontispiece of Odoardo Fialetti’s Vero modo et ordine per dessignar Tutte le parti et membra del corpo humano, Venice (Sadeler), 1608’. See also Lehmann-Haupt 1977, p. 157. For Bloemaert’s fortuna critica see: Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1, pp. 47–50. Regarding the Tekenboek Roethlisberger surmises that the 1740 edition was intended for print and book collectors, rather than artists: ibid., vol. 1, p. 394. For the various reprints of Bloemaert’s Tekenboek cited in this paragraph see Bolten 2007, vol. 1, p. 362. There were also various editions of sets of prints copied after Frederick’s engravings [consequently printed in reverse] during the second half of the 17th century and in the 18th century (see ibid., p. 362, note 22). The only known copy of the 1723 edition is in the Centraal Museum in Utrecht (see Bolten 2007, vol. 1, p. 362). Slatkin, 1976; Gerson 1983, pp. 109–10 (Boucher and Fragonard), p. 189 (Piazzetta). Fig. 3. Frederick Bloemaert after Abraham Bloemaert, A Draughtsman Sitting at a Table, Drawing after Plaster Casts, engraving, 280 × 165 mm, Katrin Bellinger collection, London 133 12. Michael Sweerts (Brussels 1618–1664 Goa, India) A Painter’s Studio c. 1648–50 Oil on canvas, 71 × 74 cm prov enance: Private collection, Moscow; acquired by Dr Abraham Bredius (1855–1946); purchased by the Rijksmuseum in 1901 for f. 400. selected liter atur e: Martin 1905, pp. 127, 131, pl. II [a]; Martin 1907, pp. 139, 149, no. 10; Horster 1974, pp. 145, 147, fig. 2; Van Thiel 1976, p. 532, A 1957, repr.; Döring 1994, pp. 55–58, fig. 2, 60–62; Kultzen 1996, pp. 88–89, no. 6, repr., with previous bibliography. e xhibitions: Milan 1951, no. 166, pl. 117; London 1955, pp. 90–92, no. 77 (D. Sutton), not repr.; Rome 1958–59, pp. 32–34, no. 4 (R. Kultzen); Rotterdam 1958, pp. 36–37, no. 4; Toyko 1968–69, no. 63; Cologne and Utrecht 1991–92, pp. 270–72, no. 33.1 (R. Kultzen); Hannover 1999, pp. 18–20, fig. 9; Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, pp. 97–99, no. VII (G. Jansen); Antwerp 2004–07 (no catalogue); Brussels 2007–08 (no catalogue); Doha 2011 (no catalogue). Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum, SK-A-1957 We have entered the shadowy inner sanctum of a painter’s studio in mid-17th-century Rome. A young draughtsman perched on a wooden stool to the left studies a life-size model of a flayed nude écorché, assuming a balletic pose at centre right. Behind it, another boy draughtsman, younger still, sketches a classical female bust resting on a table, which is shared on the right by the studio assistant who grinds red-hued pigments. Working at an easel in the left background is a painter, perhaps the master of the studio, capturing the likeness of a male nude posed in the corner. Partly obscured in the shadows on the far left are two gentlemen visitors in Dutch dress. One glances in our direction while the other gestures to our right, perhaps towards the painter or the écorché. The main attraction, however, is the abundant array of plaster casts, mostly antique, piled up in the foreground – heads, torsos, limbs and a relief – all bathed in warm, golden light. Though widely admired in his lifetime, Sweerts remains a somewhat enigmatic figure about whom relatively little is known.1 He was born in Brussels in 1618, but is first documented from 1646 to 1651 as residing on the Via Margutta in the parish of S. Maria del Popolo in Rome, an area favoured by Dutch and Flemish expatriates.2 Already twenty-eight when he arrived in the city, he would have had at least some artistic training before then, probably in the North, though his early teachers have not been identified. Neither signed nor dated, this canvas was probably executed by Sweerts c. 1648–50 in Rome, where he remained until 1652 or later.3 In travelling south, Sweerts was following a long-standing educational tradition, one succinctly articulated by Dutch painter and art theorist Karel van Mander (1548–1606) who stated: ‘Rome is the city where before all other places the Painter’s journey is apt to lead him, since it is the capital of Pictura’s Schools’. 4 It is evident from the Painter’s Studio and other depictions of the same or similar theme of the artist at work, a subject that clearly fascinated him, that Sweerts was well aware of 134 artistic theory of the day, particularly the importance placed on learning through drawing.5 Karel van Mander recommends beginning artists to ‘seek a good master’, one who has decent works of art in his workshop, that is, an ample supply of study materials such as books, prints, drawings and plaster casts. The pupil must learn to draw ‘first with charcoal, then with the chalk or pen’.6 After making copies of prints and drawings by various masters, the student should progress to plaster casts, an important step. On equal footing with the copying of casts was the study of anatomy. However, given the difficulty of procuring corpses, artists at this time copied anatomical figures in plaster or ‘flayed plaster casts’.7 This was followed by study of the living figure before the student finally proceeded to painting. Written at the beginning of the 17th century, Van Mander’s book thus made available for Northern artists those principles of artistic education, the ‘alphabet of drawing’ that had been codified in Italy during the 15th and 16th centuries.8 By clearly setting out the stages of study established by Van Mander and others, first drawing from casts and anatomical figures in plaster, then the live model, Sweerts’ composition is a visual lesson in the main principles of studio practice required to become a successful painter.9 The goal is manifested in Sweerts’ completed Wrestling Match canvas of c. 1648–50 displayed on the wall in the background, which features figures based on classical models.10 His didactic intent to illustrate the step-by-step approach to learning recalls Odoardo Fialetti’s Artist’s Studio, c. 1608, from Il vero modo, the instructional manual on drawing published in Venice about forty years earlier (cat. 10), no doubt known to Sweerts through one of the Dutch publications that reproduced plates from it.11 Plaster casts and models were in constant use in Northern workshops from the late 16th century onwards.12 Though he never travelled to Italy, Van Mander’s friend, Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem (1562–1638), had a collection of ninety-nine casts after antique and anatomical 135 models.13 Van Mander praised his colleague (with whom he started, along with Hendrick Goltzius, an informal academy in Haarlem in 1583) for selecting for his work ‘from the best and most beautiful living and breathing antique sculptures’.14 Sumptuously displayed in a large pile in the foreground, a veritable feast for the eyes, casts play a starring role in Sweerts’ painting (detail, fig. 1). While light enters both from the window and the open door, which reveals an urban view, that light that illuminates the sculptures so brilliantly and mysteriously emanates from an unseen source, over the viewer’s shoulder. The casts are presented with clarity and in sharp focus, in marked contrast to the more generalised treatment of most of the other elements in the composition.15 While the human expressions seem almost blank, those of the casts are animated and alive: the comment often made about Sweerts, that ‘his people often look like sculptures and his plaster casts seem almost human’, rings very true here.16 Several sources for the antique casts can be identified, beginning with the head of a woman on the table, the subject of study for the young boy sketching in the middle distance. As noted previously,17 she is a much reduced copy of the colossal so-called Juno Ludovisi (considered now to be a Fig. 1. Michael Sweerts, A Painter’s Studio (detail) 136 portrait of Antonia Augusta, daughter of Octavia Minor and Mark Antony), which, from 1622, was in the Ludovisi collection in Rome and is now in the Palazzo Altemps in Rome.18 The most prominent among the jumble of casts in the foreground on the right is the head of a woman, usually identified as Niobe from the famous group in the Uffizi (fig. 2, see also p. 30, fig. 34), but equally, the head could be that of one of her daughters from the same group.19 They were discovered together with the Wrestlers (p. 30, fig. 33) on a vineyard outside Rome.20 Immediately to the left of the Niobe, is a cast of a limbless Apollo based on a model by François Duquesnoy (1597–1643).21 The head of an old woman in profile at the back of the pile to the left is inspired by the Roman copy of a Hellenistic original donated in 1566 by Pius V to the Con-servatori Palace and today in the Capitoline Museum (fig. 3).22 She contrasts with the youthful beauty to her right, the head of the celebrated Venus de’ Medici (Florence, Uffizi, see p. 42, fig. 56). Behind the old woman is a head of the Laocoön, ‘bronzed’ in effect, while the rest of his body, seen from behind, rests on the top of the pile of casts (p. 26, fig. 19).23 The relief propped up against the table at the back is a cast of a Roman terracotta plaque, Winter and Hercules, from the Campana collection and acquired by the Louvre in 1861 Fig. 2. Niobe, from the Niobe Group, possibly a Roman copy of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 228 cm (h), Uizi, Florence, inv. 294 Fig. 3. Statue of an Old Woman, Roman copy of a Hellenistic original, marble, 145 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. Scu 640 (fig. 4).24 It was admired by artists like Giovanni da Udine (1487–1564) in the 16th century when it was recorded in the collection of Gabriele de’ Rossi (1517),25 and into the 17th by others such as Pietro da Cortona (1596–1669) and Pietro Testa (1612–50), whose copies after it are preserved respectively in the Uffizi, Florence, and in the Royal Collection at Windsor Castle.26 That this collection of casts was an important part of Sweerts’ working practice is suggested by their regular appearance in other compositions. Some familiar faces – the head of the old woman, the Juno Ludovisi, the Niobe and others – return in Sweerts’ later Artist’s Studio, signed and dated 1652, in the Detroit Institute of Arts (fig. 5). They are seen among examples, including a cupid and torso by François Duquesnoy; this is being scrutinised by an elegant young man, probably in Rome on the Grand Tour, while the painter appears to be explaining how Duquesnoy’s Fig. 4. Winter and Hercules, Roman, 1st century ad, terracotta, 60 × 52 cm, Louvre, Paris, inv. Cp 4169 figures once formed part of a group.27 Closer to the present composition in conception, is the Artist’s Studio with a Woman Sewing in the Collection Rau Foundation UNICEF, Cologne (fig. 6).28 Though almost certainly a workshop picture, it evidently documents Sweerts’ original design and intention. There is a similar haphazard arrangement of casts, with many of the same specimens reappearing, including the bronzed head of Laocoön and his torso, placed beside modern works, including the copy after a marble relief of François Duquesnoy, Children Playing with a Goat.29 Many other celebrated compositions by Sweerts feature antique casts (see p. 40, fig. 52). It is not known why he chose to display them with such prominence and so frequently, but he may well have been catering to a new class of patron, the Dutch Grand Tourist.30 Among Sweerts’ most important benefactors in Rome in the 1640s were Dutch tourists, especially merchants.31 Thus three of five brothers from the Deutz textile merchant family were in Italy between 1646 and 1650, and that is when they probably acquired the many paintings by Sweerts listed in their inventories, including an Artist’s Studio owned by Joseph Deutz.32 Significantly, the documents also suggest that Sweerts acted as the Deutz’s agent for purchasing antique sculpture as well as modern pictures, as so many other painters were to do in the next century.33 Another important patron in Rome, Prince Camillo Pamphilj, the nephew of Pope Innocent X (r. 1644–55), may have involved Sweerts in teaching. He painted a range of works for the Prince, who, interestingly, possessed a version in porphyry of the ever-present Head of the Old Woman; he 137 25 26 27 28 29 Horster (1974, p. 145) who both identified the motif from a sketchbook by Francisco de Hollanda. Sutton and Guido Jansen (Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, p. 97) believed the plaster relief to combine scenes from two separate ones: the Winter and Hercules and the Cretan Bull. However, as Eloisa Dodero has noted (personal communication), it is based on the single terracotta relief in the Louvre, see Christian 2002, pp. 181–84 no. II.15, fig. 25; De Romanis 2007, pp. 235–238, fig. 1. For the acquisition by the Louvre, see Sarti 2001, p. 121. Dacos 1986, p. 222; Christian 2002, pp. 181–86. For the Cortona drawing: Briganti 1982, fig. 286.27; for the Testa sheet at Windsor: Christian 2002, pp. 181–82, fig. 26. See Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, pp. 120–23, no. XV, where the painting is discussed at length. Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, p. 110, fig. xii–i (as by or after Sweerts). Many copies are known suggesting it was a much-admired composition. Bikker 2002, p. 29, fig. 27. 30 Ibid., p. 27. 31 Ibid., p. 27. 32 Sutton 2002, pp. 15–16; Bikker 2002, pp. 27–28. Described in documents in general terms as ‘Ein Schildersacademetje’, it is not known which of the surviving studio pictures it was. According to the collections database, Detroit Institute of Arts website, it was theirs (fig. 5). 33 Bikker 2002, pp. 27–28. 34 Ibid., pp. 28–31, figs 25, 27. 35 Ibid., p. 29. This was probably a private academy and not the Accademia di San Luca, of which Sweerts was possibly a member. He was responsible for collecting membership dues from his compatriots: see Bikker 2002, pp. 25–26. 36 Lock 2010, p. 251; Bikker 2002, p. 31. 37 Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, pp. 133–35, no. xix (G. Jansen). 38 Present whereabouts unknown; see Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, p. 133, fig. xix–i. Fig. 5, Michael Sweerts, An Artist’s Studio, 1652, oil on canvas, 73.5 × 58.8 cm, The Detroit Institute of Arts, inv. 30.297 Fig. 6, After Michael Sweerts, Artist’s Studio with a Woman Sewing, c. 1650, oil on canvas, 82.5 × 106.7 cm, Collection RAU-Fondation UNICEF, Cologne, inv. GR 1.874 also owned the Duquesnoy relief that occurs in Sweerts’ Artist’s Studio now in Cologne (fig. 6).34 An intriguing payment recorded in the Pamphilj account book to Sweerts on 21 March of 1652 for ‘various amounts of oil used since 17th February in His Excellency’s academy’, suggests Sweerts’ direct involvement with an academy in Rome.35 By the summer of 1655, Sweerts had returned to Brussels where he founded ‘an academy of life drawing’, primarily to educate tapestry and carpet designers.36 Something of its original appearance might be gleaned from Sweerts’ Drawing School in the Frans Hals Museum in Haarlem (c. 1655–60), where students of various ages draw from a live male nude.37 In this painting, conspicuously absent are plaster casts; the animation is now provided by the more than twenty young students assuming various attitudes, some concentrating on the task at hand, others less focused. However, there was probably another version by Sweerts of this painting, now known only in a copy, where the live nude has been substituted by a cast of a classical female sculpture.38 Evidently plaster models were never far from his mind. aa & avl 1 For his life and work, see Kultzen 1996 and Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, with previous literature. 2 Sutton 2002, p. 12; Bikker 2002, pp. 25–26. 3 Sutton 2002, p. 21. 4 In his ‘Foundation of the Painter’s Art’ (Grondt der Schilder-Const), published together with his ‘Lives’ and his two other theoretical treatises in the Schilder-Boeck (1604). See Van Mander 1604, fol. 6v, chap. 1, no. 66; Van Mander 1973, vol. 1, pp. 92–93, chap. 1, no. 66; Stechow 1966, pp. 57–58. Van Mander further noted, ‘From Rome bring home skill in drawing, the ability to paint from Venice, which I had to bypass for the lack of time.’: Stechow 1966, p. 58; Sutton 2002, pp. 12–13. 138 5 Sutton 2002, pp. 11, 17. 6 In the preface to his book on painters: Van Mander 1604, fol. 9r, chap. 2, no. 9; Van Mander 1973, pp. 102–03, chap. 2, no. 9; Martin 1905, p. 126. 7 Martin 1905, p. 127. 8 See Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 33–34. 9 Martin 1905, p. 127. 10 Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe; Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, pp. 94–96, no. VI (G. Jansen). 11 For example, Johannes Gellee’s Tyrocinia artis pictoriae caelatoriae published in Amsterdam in 1639 where copied versions of the Artist’s Studio and other etchings appear: see Bolten 1985, pp. 132–39 and for other publications based or reprinting parts of Fialetti’s treatise see Bolten 1985, pp. 119, 131, 133–34, 141, 143, 153, 157, 188–207, 243–56. 12 For the use of plaster casts in 17th- and 18th-century artists’ studios in Antwerp and Brussels, see Lock 2010. Rembrandt’s bankruptcy inventory of 1656 lists numerous plaster casts, from life as well as from the Antique, which were doubtless an essential part of his workshop practice (Strauss and Van der Meulen 1979, pp. 349–88; Gyllenhaal 2008). See also cat. 23, note 18. 13 Van Thiel 1965, pp. 123, 128; Van Thiel 1999, p. 84, and Appendix II, pp. 254–55, 257, 270–71, 273; Sutton 2002, p. 18. 14 Van Mander 1604, fol. 292v; Van Mander 1973, pp. 428–29. Sutton 2002, p. 18. 15 This also may be due, in part, to the compromised condition of the canvas. 16 Sutton 2002, p. 20. 17 Martin 1905, p. 127; Horster 1974, p. 145. 18 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 100; Palma and de Lachenal 1983, pp. 133–37, no. 58 (de Lachenal). 19 Horster 1974, pp. 145; Döring 1994, p. 60; Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, p. 97. For the group, see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 274–79, no. 66, figs 143–47, and for the daughter that it resembles the most, fig. 145; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, pp. 318–19, no. 596.1. 20 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 274; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, pp. 62–63, no. 50. 21 Noted by Döring 1994, pp. 60–61. For the Duquesnoy sculpture, see Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, p. 122, no. XV-2. On Duquesnoy’s fame as a ‘classical’ sculptor during the 17th century and later see Boudon-Mauchel 2005, pp. 175–210. 22 As first observed by Döring 1994, p. 62. For the statue see Stuart Jones 1912, pp. 288–89, no. 22. 23 Döring 1994, p. 63. 24 The subject was noted by Denys Sutton (London 1955, p. 91) and Marita 139 13. Jan de Bisschop (Amsterdam 1628–1671 The Hague) Two Artists Drawing an Antique Bust (recto); A Reclining Man seen from Behind (verso) c. 1660s Pen and brown ink, brushed with brown wash, 91 × 135 mm Inscribed recto l.r. in pencil: J. Bisschop. water m ar k: part of the crowned coat of arms of Amsterdam.1 prov enance: Private collection, Germany; Sotheby’s, London, 13 April 1992, lot 260, from whom acquired. liter ature: London 1992 (unpaginated), repr.; Broos and Schapelhouman 1993, p. 51, under no. 34, fig. b. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1992-012 Born in Amsterdam in 1628, Jan de Bisschop was among a group of talented amateur artists, including his immediate contemporaries and friends Constantijn Huygens the Younger (1628–1697) and Jacob van der Ulft (1627–1689) who all worked in Netherlands around the mid-17th century.2 De Bisschop was classically educated and trained as a lawyer; he became an advocate at the judicial court of The Hague. But he also distinguished himself as a writer, theoretician, literary scholar, and as a connoisseur of the Antique. And although without formal artistic training, he was an accomplished draughtsman and etcher who, through his publications reproducing ancient sculpture and Old Master drawings, disseminated in the Netherlands an antiquarian culture and an aesthetic based on the works of classical antiquity. He also helped introduce the practice of drawing after both antique sculpture and live models in the Hague.3 His large corpus of drawings, numbering in the upper hundreds, consists of sun-infused, Italianate landscapes, lively figure and genre studies, portraits, and many copies after antique sculpture and paintings by Old Masters, Fig. 1. Bust of the so-called Lysimachus, Roman copy of the Augustan period from a Greek original of the 2nd c. bc, marble, 49 cm (h), Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, inv. 6141 140 usually executed in pen and brush and wash with a distinctive warm, golden-brown ink, referred to from the late 17th century as bisschops-inkt (Bisschop’s ink). 4 As in the examples illustrated here, he often effectively combined dense washes with reserves of untouched paper to create a light-drenched, fresh out-of-doors effect. In this lively and rapid sketch, probably made on the spot, two seated draughtsmen, seen from the back, draw after an antique bust of a man. On the reverse one of them is sketched again, casually reclining. The object of their gaze is a bust nowadays identified as of Lysimachus, the Greek successor to Alexander the Great, who from c. 306 to 281 bc reigned as King of Thrace, Asia Minor and Macedonia.5 Discovered c. 1576, it was acquired by Cardinal Odoardo Farnese from the Giorgio Cesarini collection, and is preserved today in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli (fig. 1). Doubtless known to de Bisschop through one of the plaster casts which circulated in Northern Europe at the time, the bust was in the 17th century thought to represent a philosopher; from the 18th century he was identified more specifically – but wrongly – as the Athenian legislator, Solon. It was copied profusely from the 17th century onwards, and was included, for example, in a portrait painted by Isaac Fuller (1606–72) in c. 1670 (Yale Center for British Art, New Haven) of the architect and sculptor, Edward Pierce (c. 1635–95), who rests one hand on the bust while gesturing to it with the other.6 Admiration for the sculpture continued in the 18th century, in France, where a red chalk copy of it was made by the sculptor, Edmé Bouchardon (1698–1762) or a member of his circle,7 and particularly in England, where, catering to a n emerging neo-classical aesthetic, a blemish-free replica of the Lysimachus was carved in 1758 by Joseph Wilton (1722– 1803); this was acquired by Charles Watson-Wentworth, the second Marquess of Rockingham, for his country house in Wentworth and is now in the The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles.8 Another copy of the bust, made by the sculptor and restorer of ancient statues, Bartolomeo Cavaceppi (see 141 cat. 18), was mentioned in a letter, dated 6 June 1775, from the dealer and agent, Thomas Jenkins, to his client, Charles Townley, as a possible acquisition. His scheme involved fusing Cavaceppi’s bust with the body of a statue of Achilles; mercifully, this was abandoned when the original head of Achilles was recovered.9 Its diminutive size and spontaneous style of execution would suggest the present sheet came from a sketchbook, probably one like that held by the artist on the right. The draughtsmen have not been securely identified but they are no doubt to be found among de Bisschop’s friends and associates; one may be Huygens the Younger, with whom he made sketching excursions in and around The Hague and Leiden. In fact, drawings by de Bisschop are often mistaken for works by Huygens, to whom this sheet was previously assigned.10 A treatment of a similar theme, of two draughtsmen from the front seated in a landscape but without an antique model to study, is found in de Bisschop’s drawing in the Amsterdam Museum (fig. 2).11 Executed with the same loose pen work and spontaneous handling of the brush, characteristic of de Bisschop after 1660, it shows one artist on the left gazing downwards to – or reading from – a loose sheet held in both hands, while the other appears to be sketching in a small book. A third rendering of two artists sketching out of doors, one, with hat removed, holding a drawing board, is among the sheets by Huygens the Younger in the Municipal Archives of The Hague (fig. 3).12 As with the present study, the figures are seen from behind in a sunlit setting but on a bench, near the entrance to the country house, Zorgvliet, near The Hague, and the subject of their attention is out of view. De Bisschop’s drawings were admired by collectors and connoisseurs from John Barnard (1709–84) to Horace Walpole (1717–97), but his main contribution to scholarship was the publication of two influential books. The first was the Signorum veterum icones issued in two volumes in 1668–69; Fig. 2. Jan de Bisschop, Two Draughtsmen Seated Outdoors, pen and brown ink with the brush and brown wash, grey ink, 97 × 149 mm, Amsterdam Museum, inv. nr. A 18179 142 Fig. 4. Jan de Bisschop, Allegory of Sculpture, title page to the Signorum veterum icones, part 1, Amsterdam (?), 1668, etching, 245 × 114 mm, Warburg Institute Library, London Fig. 3. Constantijn Huygens, the Younger, Two Draughtsmen near Zorgvliet, detail, pen and brown ink and wash with the brush over traces of graphite, 243 × 373 mm, Municipal Archives of The Hague, Gr. A 110 the first volume was dedicated to his friend, Huygens the Younger and the second, to Johannes Wtenbogaard, the Receiver-General of Holland and a neighbour of his parents. In 1671, de Bisschop published the Paradigmata graphices variorum artificum, which he dedicated to the collector Jan Six; this comprised forty-seven etchings based on Italian Old Master drawings and ten antique busts.13 The two volumes of the Icones were republished together with the Paradigmata, in later editions.14 Of particular relevance to us is de Bisschop’s Icones, featuring one-hundred etched plates after antique sculpture (fig. 4). Its purpose was didactic: to provide a compilation of the best-known works and to establish norms of classical beauty for artists, amateurs and collectors. In de Bisschop’s words, they were ‘sculptures and reliefs of the greatest perfection in art and the best sources for students’.15 The book proved to be an enormously useful resource especially as it featured, in some cases, the same sculpture seen from different angles; in essence, in the round. For instance, de Bisschop’s presented five views of the celebrated Wrestlers sculpture in the Uffizi (see p. 30, fig. 33, and cats 16 and 27), two of which are shown here (figs 5–6).16 In the Icones, the unusual left profile view of the Farnese Hercules, in reverse was probably known to Jan Claudius de Cock (1667–1735) and Wallerant Vaillant (1623–77), who reproduced it from the same viewpoint (see cat. 14, fig. 4). In fact, Cock took inspiration from several of the Icones plates for his Allegory of the Arts series (cat. 14). As de Bisschop probably never travelled to Italy, many of his prints relied on antique sculptures in Dutch collections, or on casts, and especially on drawings by artists who had travelled south to visit collections in Florence and Rome, such as Willelm Doudijns (1630–97), Pieter Donker (1635– 68), Adriaen Backer (1635/35–84) and others.17 De Bisschop also consulted prints by François Perrier (1590–1650), who had published a selection of antique statuary in Paris and Rome in 1638 (Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum . . .).18 An album of 140 drawings by de Bisschop suggests that he intended to publish a third volume of Icones on antique Roman reliefs, based largely on another publication by Perrier of 1645 (Icones et segmenta . . .).19 However, de Bisschop’s death from tuberculosis at forty-three meant that the third volume was never realised. In addition to his writings on art, de Bisschop contributed in other ways to furthering artistic education in the Netherlands. He participated in local confraternities of artists and co-founded a private drawing academy with his friends, including Huygens the Younger; they met several times a week in the evenings, often drawing after a live model.20 In 1682, eleven years after de Bisschop’s death, the first drawing academy in the Northern Netherlands – including in its curriculum the study of plaster casts after the Antique – was established in The Hague.21 De Bisschop’s influence may have extended further, perhaps as a direct consequence of the Icones. Of significance is a letter dated 1688 from the artist Romeyn de Hooghe (1645–1708) to the burgermasters of Haarlem, asking their assistance in setting up an academy for students to study ‘the best ancient statues, such as Venus, Apollo, Laocoön, in order to familiarise themselves with the idea of classical beauty’.22 Although that request was turned down, a Haarlem Drawing Academy was founded in 1772 and although it was closed in 1795, in the following year, the Haarlem Drawing College was established, with the study of the Antique remaining a vital part of the curriculum (see cat. 31).23 avl 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 See Churchill 1967, pl. 8, no. 9, date: 1665 or pl. 9, no. 11, date: 1670. For this life and work, see Van Gelder 1972. Van Gelder 1972, p. 27. Goeree 1697, p. 91. Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 2, pp. 55–57, no. 32 (F. Coraggio), and pp. 188–89, pl. XXXII, figs 1–4. Charlton-Jones 1991, pp. 100–01, pl. 89. The subject of the Louvre drawing (Guiffrey and Marcel 1907–75, vol. 1, no. 1353) was identified by Rausa 2007a, p. 172, no. 165.1. Fusco 1997, p. 56. Coltman 2009, p. 87. Sold as Huygens at Sotheby’s, London, 13 April 1992, lot 260. Broos and Schapelhouman 1993, p. 51, no. 34 (B. Broos). Amsterdam 1992, p. 37, no. 22 (R. E. Jellema and M. Plomp). Van Gelder 1972, pp. 1–2. Both books are published in their entirety with commentary by Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 2 vols. See also Bolten 1985, pp. 257–58 and Plomp 2010, pp. 39–47. Bolten 1985, p. 71. Van Gelder 1972, p. 19. Van Gelder and Jost 1985, vol. 1, pp. 106–08, nos 18–22, vol. 2, pls 18–22. Further plates are after other artists as well as drawings by Jacob de Gheyn III (1596–1641), who is not known to have travelled to Italy but visited collections in England (Van Gelder and Jost 1985, vol. 1, pp. 15–16, 155). Van Gelder 1972, pp. 19–20. The album of classical statues, reliefs, Roman architecture and contemporary Dutch figures and scenes is at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, inv. D.1212:1 to 141-1989. On it see Van Gelder 1972, pp. 8–9 and especially Turner and White 2014, vol. 1, pp. 25–67, no. 23. Van Gelder 1972, p. 11. Van Gelder 1972, p. 27. Van der Willigen 1866, p. 137; Washington D.C. 1977, under no. 69 (F. W. Robinson). Haarlem 1990, pp. 16–17, 34–38. Fig. 5. Jan de Bisschop, The Wrestlers, from the Signorum veterum icones, part 1, Amsterdam (?), 1668, pl. 18, etching, 164 × 215 mm, Warburg Institute Library, London Fig. 6. Jan de Bisschop, The Wrestlers, from the Signorum veterum icones, part 1, Amsterdam (?), 1668, pl. 21, etching, 199 × 133 mm, Warburg Institute Library, London 143 14. Attributed to Jan Claudius de Cock (Brussels 1667–1735 Antwerp) An Allegory of Painting c. 1706 Etching, 141 × 100 mm water m ar k: possibly part of a coat of arms. prov enance: Bassenge, Berlin, 6 December 2001, lot 5452 (as Anonymous, Southern German, c. 1700), from whom acquired. liter ature: None. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2001-037 In the corner of a painter’s workshop, students draw after plaster casts, selected according to their age and level of study. The youngest, wearing a Roman-style toga and standing at a pedestal, which supports his open sketchbook, records the likeness of the head of a boy similar to him in age. He may be copying the bust itself, or more likely, the drawing after the bust, propped up next to it. At the left, another pupil, a pre-teen representing a higher level of study, thoughtfully examines a reduced model, in reverse, of a rather unfit Farnese Hercules (see p. 30, fig. 32 and cats 7, 16, 21) elevated on a plinth, and shown in a similar pose as illustrated by Jan de Bisschop’s Icones (fig. 1). The student and Fig. 1. Jan de Bisschop, The Farnese Harcules, from the Signorum veterum icones, part 1, Amsterdam (?), 1668, pl. 8, etching, 221 × 105 mm, Warburg Institute Library, London 144 the statuette are so posed that they appear to exchange glances. In the background, partially obscured by the sculpture’s base, is a third boy, probably midway in age between the others, who bows his head in concentration. Displayed on the shelf and walls above are workshop props – a globe, hourglass, books, compass and additional fragments of plaster casts, included a female torso and a male one which may be based on the Belvedere Torso (p. 26, fig. 28). Presiding over the scene is a voluptuously dressed female figure with an elaborate hairstyle and bared breasts, who holds a palette with brushes in one hand, and gestures to the statue of Hercules with the other. She is leaning on a richly carved wooden table bearing bottles of spirit, compasses and completed figural drawings. She is an Allegory of Painting, as described by Cesare Ripa in his Iconologia, the widely consulted emblematic handbook first published in 1593 – and probably known to de Cock through the Dutch editions of 1698 or 1699: a beautiful woman with twisted, unruly hair, holding the tools of the painter.1 She represents the goal; once pupils had completed their prescribed course of study, mastering the succession of stages dictated by the established norms of 16th-century studio practice – first, drawing the individual parts of the body through drawings of others, prints, fragments and casts, and finally, the entire figure, a statue or live model – only then, may they progress to painting (see also cat. 10).2 The attainment of the goal is encapsulated in the prominently displayed picture on the wall above Hercules, probably a Mars and Venus. Though acquired as by an anonymous southern German artist, c. 1700, the etching shares similarities with the work of the Flemish painter, sculptor, etcher and writer, Jan Claudius de Cock.3 It is particularly close in style and execution to his drawing of the Allegory of Sculpture drawing, signed and dated 1706 (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, fig. 2), which is carried out with the same meticulous handling and degree of finish. 4 Direct references to antique sculpture abound in the New York sheet with plaster casts freely modelled after the Pan and Apollo from the Cesi collection (Museo Nazionale 145 chief and notable rules from the sculptor in order to become a good master in due course’) although it remained unpublished until the 19th century.16 It is entirely possible that he intended the Allegory of Arts series to illustrate this treatise, in which he expressed his great admiration for classical sculpture, namely the Laocoön, the Medici Venus – and, most importantly – the Farnese Hercules.17 avl Fig. 4. Wallerant Vaillant, A Boy Drawing in a Studio, c. 1660–75, mezzotint, 324 × 300 mm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-1889-A-14489 Fig. 2. Jan Claudius de Cock, Allegory of Sculpture, 1706, pen and brown ink, 317 × 195 mm, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 2010.533 Fig. 3. Jan Claudius de Cock, An Allegory of Sculpture, 1706, pen and brown ink, black chalk, 321 × 192 mm, Christie’s, London, 19 April 1988, lot 140 Romano, Rome) at right and, at the left, the Wrestlers, acquired by the Medici in 1583 (Uffizi, Florence; see p. 30, fig. 33).5 Antique-inspired motifs – busts, putti, fragments and a strigilated krater – are also visible throughout. As with the etching, there is a female personification – in this case, of sculpture – her hand resting on one bust and pointing to a second with the other, just as Painting does here in the etching. At her feet are the tools of her trade: scalpels, mallet and a drill. Other drawings of similar subject matter, format and date suggest de Cock planned a series on the Allegories of the Arts, perhaps intending them to appear as etchings in a book. His drawing of a female sculptor modelling a recumbent Venus (fig. 3), another Allegory of Sculpture, is also signed, and dated (1706) and is numbered like the New York drawing.6 Further studies by de Cock no doubt relate to the same series.7 However, while the drawings are roughly the same size, the present etching is considerably smaller. The colossal Farnese Hercules became enormously popular immediately after its discovery in the 16th century, and numerous copies after it were produced, often reduced to life-size or the scale seen here, to make it more manageable and portable.8 A model strikingly similar to that in the etching occurs in a mezzotint of a boy drawing in a studio, c. 1660–75, by the Dutch painter and engraver, Wallerant Vaillant (1623–77), where it is perched on a table at a nearly identical angle (fig. 4).9 Both prints suggest that by the early 18th century, plaster models of the Hercules were commonplace in Flemish and Netherlandish workshops.10 Several of the antiquities in both the etching, here attributed to de Cock, and his two related drawings discussed above, argue knowledge of Jan de Bisschop’s Icones (1668–69), by then the standard reference for antique sculptures in the Netherlands (see cat. 13). For example, the rather unusual left-profile view of the Farnese Hercules in the etching and the pose of the Wrestlers in the New York drawing (fig. 2), both shown reversed in respect to the antique originals, find their counterparts in the Icones (fig. 1 and cat. 13, fig. 5).11 And the pensive Muse, possibly Clio, at the upper right of the 146 second Allegory of Sculpture drawing (fig. 3), is a literal quotation from a plate in the second volume of Bisschop’s publication.12 The original marble from the Earl of Arundel’s collection, known to de Bisschop through a drawing after it by Jacques de Gheyn III, is now in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.13 Born in Brussels, de Cock was apprenticed in the workshop of Peeter Verbrugghen the Elder (c. 1609–86) in Antwerp. After Verbruggen’s death, he established himself in that city, although he later moved to Breda, where King William III Stadholder of the Netherlands commissioned him to work on sculpture for a courtyard in the town.14 However, by 1697 or 1698, de Cock had returned to Antwerp and devoted himself more to teaching, establishing a large workshop with many pupils, some learning drawing, others, goldsmithing.15 In 1720, he wrote a didactic poetical treatise for his students, Eenighe voornaemste en noodighe regels van de beeldhouwerije om metter tijdt en goet meester te woorden (‘Some 1 For Pittura from Ripa’s first illustrated edition (1603), see Buscaroli 1992, p. 357 and in the Dutch edition of 1698, reprinted in 1699, see Hoorn 1698, II, p. 515 [c]. 2 Armenini 1587, pp. 52–59 (book 1, chap. 7); Alberti 1604, p. 5 (quoting Federico Zuccaro); Roman 1984, p. 91. 3 Nagler (1966, vol. 3, no. 2100) and Wurzbach (1906–11, vol. 1, pp. 304–05) only briefly mention his etchings and this subject does not occur. 4 Acquired Christie’s, London, 7 July 2010, lot 328. It is signed at lower left: ‘Joannes Claud: de Cock invenit delineavit Anno= MDCCVI’ and numbered below, ‘4’. A further inscription by the artist on the verso, “Sculptura Pace, et Abondante=”/[. . .], may refer to another drawing in the series, perhaps an Allegory of Peace and Abundance or a Concordia. 5 Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 286–88, no. 70; pp. 337–39, no. 94. 6 Christie’s, London, 19 April 1988, lot 140. According to the catalogue, it is signed and dated, ‘Joan Claudius de Cock/invenit delineavit/AºMDCCVI’ and numbered ‘3’ below. 7 They include another signed Allegory of Sculpture close to the New York drawing in composition, with differences and executed in pencil, 326 × 194 mm (Christie’s, Amsterdam, 15 November 1993, lot 115) and a signed Allegory of Architecture, pen and brown-grey ink and wash, 328 × 234 mm (Christie’s, Amsterdam, 21 November 1989, lot 52). 8 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 232; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, pp. 17–20, no. 1, repr. on pp. 207–13. 9 Hollstein 1949–2001, vol. 31, p. 119, no. 96. 10 The 1635 studio inventory of the painter, Hendrik van Balen (1575–1632) mentions a cast of the Hercules among other antique works (Duverger 1984–2009, vol. 4, p. 208). 11 The torso of a draped male statue on the shelf at upper right in the drawing probably derives from a further etching by Bisschop, based on copies by Willelm Doudijns (1630–97), reproducing a marble in the Pighini collection and now in the Vatican (Van Gelder and Jost 1985, vol. 1, pp. 110–11, no. 26, vol. 2, pl. 26; Helbig 1963–72, vol. 1, p. 194, no. 250). 12 Van Gelder and Jost 1985, vol. 1, pp. 184–85, no. 98, vol. 2, pl. 98. In that drawing, the male torso seen from the back on the shelf at right recalls de Bisschop’s etching of the Belvedere Torso (Van Gelder and Jost 1985, vol. 1, pp. 108–10, no. 24, vol. 2, pl. 24). 13 Van Gelder and Jost 1985, vol. 1, pp. 184–85; Haynes 1975, pl. 18. De Gheyn was in London in the summer of 1618 and his drawing (untraced), was in the collection of J. A. Wtenbogaert in Amsterdam (Van Gelder and Jost 1985, vol. 1, pp. 16, 155, 185). 14 For his life and work, see C. Lawrence, “Cock, Jan Claudius de”. Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, accessed December 10, 2014, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T018366. 15 Pauwels 1977, p. 37. 16 Published in Brussels by Mertens 1865; Lawrence 1986, p. 283. 17 Mertens 1865; Lawrence 1986, p. 283. 147 15. Nicolas Dorigny (Paris 1658–1746 Paris), after Carlo Maratti (Camerano 1625–1713 Rome) The Academy of Drawing c. 1702–03 Etching and engraving, 470 × 321 mm (plate); 503 × 331 mm (sheet) State I of II (second state dated 1728 with the address of Jacob Frey). Inscribed on the plate, l.l. on the ground: ‘TANTO CHE BASTI’, same inscription repeated l.r. on the perspective drawing on the easel, and c.l. on the pedestal of the anatomical model. Inscribed u.c. above the statue of Apollo: ‘NON / MAI ABASTANZA’; u.r. above the Three Graces: ‘SENZA DI NOI OGNI FATICA E VANA’. Inscribed l.c. with the title, ‘A Giovani studiosi del Disegno’, followed by ten lines explaining the scene: ‘La Scuola del Disegno, che s’espone delineata con le presenti Figure dal Sig.r Cavalier Carlo Maratti, può molto contribuire al’disinganno di coloro che credono di potere con la cognizione, e studio di molte Arti divenir perfet.ti nell’Arte del dipingere senza procurare in primo luogo d’esser perfettissimi nel Disegno, e senza il dono naturale, et un particolare istinto di saper con grazia, e facilità animare, e disporre vagamente le parti di quell’Opera, che prenderanno a delineare, e và figurando questo suo nobil pensiero con il mezzo dell’azzioni, che qui si additano. Vedonsi alcuni studiosi delle mathematiche in quella parte, che spetta alla Geometria, et Ottica, che conferiscono alla Prospettiva: dall’altro lato, altri applicati all’osservazione d’un Corpo anatomico, dà cui si apprende la giusta proporzione delle membra, e sito de’muscoli, e nervi, che compongono una figura, dimostrato eruditame-te dà Leonardo da Vinci espresso co- la propria effige, con il motto . Tanto che basti . per dimostrare, che di tali professio ni basta, che quello, che attenderà al Disegno sia mediocrem.te erudito, per ridurre ad un’perfetto fine qualunque Idea. Mà per coloro, che si esprimono attenti allo studio delle statue antiche, non serve una leggiera applicazione alle mede, essendo lor d’uopo di farvi sopra una lunga, et esatta riflessione, e studio per apprendere le belle forme; e si pone l’esemplare delle statue antiche, come le più perfette, nelle quali quei grandi Huomini espressero ì Corpi nel più perfetto grado, che possano dalla natura istessa crearsi, e perciò vi si pone il motto . Non mai abastanza . Tutto però riuscirebbe vano di conseguire senza l’assistenza delle Grazie, che intende, come accennammo, per quel natural gusto di disporre, et atteggiare con grazia, e delicatezza le positure, et ì movimenti delle Figure, dalle quali poi risulta quella vaghezza, e leggiadria, che destano meraviglia, e piacere in chiunque le mira, ponendosi queste a tal oggetto in alto, e sù le nuvole per significare, che questo dono non viene che dal Cielo, con il motto . Senza di noi ogni fatica e vana . Vivete felici.’ 1 Inscribed l.l. margin: ‘Eques Carolus Maratti inven. et delin. Cum privil Summi Pont. et Regis Christ.mi ’, and l.r.: ‘N. Dorigny sculp.’. water m ar k: Possibly a four-legged animal inscribed in a double circle. prov enance: Possibly Hugh Howard (1675–1737); Charles Francis Arnold Howard, 5th Earl of Wicklow (1839–81), from whom acquired in 1874. liter ature: Le Blanc 1854–88, II, p. 140, no. 51; Mariette 1996–2003, vol. 3, p. 511, no. 76, fig. 189; Kutschera-Woborsky 1919, pp. 9–28, fig. 5; Goldstein 1978, p. 1, fig. 1; Rudolph 1978, Appendix, p. 203, n. 38; Philadelphia 1980–81, pp. 114–16, no. 101 A (A. E. Golahny); Johns 1988, pp. 17–21, fig. 5; Goldstein 1989, p.156, fig. 1; Winner 1992, fig. 1; Jaffé 1994, p. 128, under no. 251 646; Mertens 1994, pp. 222–24, fig. 94; Goldstein 1996, p. 47, fig. 14; Rome 2000b, vol. 2, pp. 483–84, no. 2 (S. Rudolph); Pierguidi 2014. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1874,0808.1713 This intriguing and complex image has a central role in this catalogue, as it represents the most eloquent visual expression of the classicistic credo of the Roman Accademia di San Luca in the final decades of the 17th century. More generally, it is a strong defence of the Florentine and Roman academic traditions, with their stress on drawing, their celebration of Raphael and, above all, on the study, copy and reverence of the Antique. As we shall see, the original drawing from which the print is derived was most likely conceived in 1681–82, at a time when the aesthetic belief supported by the Accademia di San Luca was being challenged by other pedagogical methods and criticised from other theoretical viepoints, hence its programmatic nature and didactic aim. Carlo Maratti was the most authoritative painter in Rome during the final decades of the 17th century and the beginning of the 18th and the champion of classicism.2 As a boy of twelve he had entered the large workshop of Andrea Sacchi (1599–1661), where he remained until the master’s death in 1661. His training followed the usual curriculum of 148 Roman studios, centred on drawing, and on the copy of the Antique, and of Renaissance and early 17th-century masters.3 His lifelong friend, mentor and biographer, the great art theorist and antiquarian, Giovanni Pietro Bellori (1613–96), tells us that he concentrated especially on copying Raphael’s frescoes. 4 He pursued this commitment throughout his life, incorporating the essential qualities of the great Renaissance champion of classicism into his own painting, to the point that he became known as the Raphael of his time.5 In 1664 Maratti became ‘principe’, or president, of the Accademia di San Luca, where, in the same year, Bellori’s discourse, the ‘Idea of the painter, the sculptor and the architect, selected from the beauties of Nature, superior to Nature’, was publicly delivered (see Appendix, no. 11).6 Bellori’s theoretical statement, then published as a prologue to his Vite in 1672, was to become enormously influential in defining and diffusing the central tenets of the classical ideal, preparing the ground for the eventual affirmation of classicism in the 18th century.7 Maratti remained an influential 149 figure within the Accademia for almost fifty years – while Bellori held the position of secretary several times – playing a vital role in reorganising its curriculum according to a comprehensive pedagogical programme, based on the exercise of drawing from drawings, from casts after the Antique and from the live model, and on students’ competitions and regular lectures.8 The print, which embodies this theoretical and didactic approach, is based on a drawing now preserved at Chatsworth (fig. 1), commissioned from Maratti by one of his most faithful patrons, Gaspar Méndez de Haro y Guzmán, 7th Marquis of Carpio, (1629–87), Spanish ambassador in Rome between 1677 and 1682.9 A sketchier version, in the same direction as the print but with differences in detail, is at the Wadsworth Atheneum (fig. 2).10 Art lover, collector and patron, Carpio commissioned from contemporary Roman artists a large series of drawings with the practice, theory, and nature of painting as their subject.11 The result was a sophisticated collection of allegories of art, of which Maratti’s drawing is by far the most celebrated, largely due to Dorigny’s print.12 Another drawing with the Allegory of Ignorance Ensnaring Painting and Massacring the Fine Arts, now in the Louvre, was probably produced by Maratti for Carpio as a pendant to the Academy of Drawing, and as such was later engraved by Dorigny with a similar explanatory inscription devoted to the ‘Lovers of the Fine Arts’ (fig. 3).13 Possibly intended from the beginning to be printed, Maratti’s drawing for the Academy of Drawing was later engraved by the Parisian printmaker, Nicolas Dorigny, Fig. 1. Carlo Maratti, The Academy of Drawing, c. 1681–82, pen and brown ink with brown wash, heightened with white gouache, over black chalk, 402 × 310 mm, Chatsworth, The Duke of Devonshire and the Chatsworth Settlement Trustees, inv. 646 Fig. 2. Carlo Maratti, The Academy of Drawing, c. 1681–82, pen and brown ink and red chalk, 505 × 355 mm, Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford, CT, inv. 1967.309a 150 who spent the years 1687–1711 in Rome. The rare first state, exhibited here, was probably published around 1702–03 under the supervision of Maratti, who owned the copperplates and who, no doubt, was the author of the explanatory inscriptions below this print and its pendant.14 The reason why it took twenty years for the original drawing and its pendant to be engraved, may be due to the fact that Carpio left Rome in 1683 to become Viceroy of Naples and his move might have brought the original publication project to a halt. After Maratti’s death in 1713, the plates were purchased by Jacob Frey (1681–1752) who published a second state in 1728.15 The image is a very condensed and crowded composition, in line with similar examples by Stradanus (cat. 4), Pierfrancesco Alberti (cat. 2, fig. 1), and others, which would certainly have been known to Maratti.16 The Academy of Drawing is presented as an antique academy devoted to intellectual pursuits, clearly reminiscent of Raphael’s School of Athens in the Vatican Stanze, and in general subtle references to Raphael’s works are ubiquitous throughout.17 We are invited to follow the different disciplines and principles essential for the education of the young artists, distributed visually and symbolically in an ascent: from the technical and mathematical rudiments for the representation of space in the foreground, to the ideal models for the depiction of the human figure in the upper left part of the composition, and finally to the divinely inspired grace and artistic talent on the upper left background, without which all the previous learning would be useless. Bellori, in his biography Fig. 3. Nicolas Dorigny after Carlo Maratti, Allegory of Ignorance ensnaring Painting and massacring the Fine Arts, 1704–10, etching and engraving, 468 × 319 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. 1874,0808.1714 of Maratti, left unfinished at his death in 1696, provides a description of one of Maratti’s original drawings (figs 1–2) and this, plus the explanatory inscription on the print, constitute the best guide to interpret the composition.18 At the centre a ‘master of perspective’ indicates to a young disciple the visual pyramid and various geometrical figures traced on a canvas placed on an easel, at the bottom of which we read: ‘TANTO CHE BASTI’, ‘Enough to suffice’.19 The same inscription recurs on the ground on the left, in front of another pupil intent at drafting geometrical figures on the abacus with his compass, a gesture evoking that of Archimedes in Raphael’s School of Athens. As Bellori explains, this is to signify that ‘once the young have learned the rules necessary to their studies’ – geometry and perspective – ‘they should pass on without stopping’.20 On the right, below the easel, we see a stool supporting the physical tools of the art of painting: another compass and a palette with various brushes. Behind them a ruler leans diagonally against the canvas. The same warning ‘ TANTO CHE BASTI’ reappears on the left on the pedestal supporting a life-size anatomical écorché, in a pose reminiscent of the Borghese Gladiator (see p. 41, fig. 54 and cat. 23, fig. 1). Several students draw its muscles, directed by Leonardo, whose anatomical studies were very well known, especially after the first publication of his treatise on painting in 1651.21 ‘Anatomy and the drawing of lines’ continues Bellori, ‘do indeed fall under definite rules and can be learned perfectly by anyone, just as geometry used formerly to be learned in school from childhood’. 22 They therefore constitute those sciences that can be taught by rational precepts. But if the young students want to become great artists they need much more than that. We know from another passage in Bellori that Maratti, although he ‘always considered […] perspective and anatomy necessary to the painter’, abhorred some ‘masters, or rather modern censors who, having learned a line or two of perspective or anatomy, the minute they look at a picture look for the vanishing point and the muscles, and […] scold, correct, accuse and criticise the most eminent masters’.23 Maratti’s attitude was, in fact, very much in line with the Italian art theory of the second half of the 16th century.24 Most writers agreed that, although the knowledge of mathematical sciences was vital, the artist’s judgement and his eye must be the ultimate criteria in the artistic process. Giorgio Vasari (1511–74) clearly formulated this concept, paraphrasing Michelangelo’s famous saying that ‘it was necessary to have the compasses in the eyes and not in the hand, because the hands work and the eyes judge’.25 This opinion was rephrased by Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo (1538– 1600) who wrote precisely that ‘all the reasoning of geometry and arithmetic, and all the proofs of perspective were of no use to a man without the eye’, and shared also by Federico Zuccaro (c. 1540–1609) the founder and first principal of the reformed Accademia di San Luca in 1593 (see cat. 5).26 A similar approach was reserved for the study of anatomy, the excess of which, as represented by Michelangelo – who is not alluded to in the print – was explicitly condemned by Giovan Battista Armenini (c. 1525–1609) and others, an opinion supported by Bellori and Maratti.27 The ‘Young Students of Drawing’, to which the print is dedicated, need instead to focus their attention on, and constantly draw from, ancient statues, here represented by Fig. 4. Raphael, Apollo, detail, School of Athens, 1509–11, fresco, Stanza della Segnatura, Apostolic Palace, Vatican City 151 the gigantic Farnese Hercules (see p. 30, fig. 32 and cat. 7, fig. 1), by a Venus Pudica reminiscent of the Venus de’Medici (see p. 42, fig. 56) and by an Apollo, the latter clearly derived from the statue presiding over the philosophers in the School of Athens (fig. 4).28 Apollo, as patron of the arts, combining together a reference to the Antique and to Raphael, conveniently substitutes for the Belvedere Antinous (see p. 26, fig. 22 and cat. 19) seen on the earlier sketch (fig. 2).29 The study of classical sculptures, as the inscription on the wall behind the Apollo instructs us, is ‘NON MAI ABASTANZA’, ‘Never enough’, as they contain ‘the example and the perfection of painting […] together with good imitation selected from nature’ as Bellori tells us.30 In other words, they materialise Bellori’s concept of the ‘Idea’, intended as the selection of the best parts of Nature according to the right judgement of the artist in order to create ideal beauty (see Appendix, no. 11). If a young artist assimilates their principles, he will have a secure guide towards artistic perfection. On the left, sitting on clouds, the Three Graces – again referring to the similar figures painted by Raphael in the Villa Farnesina in Rome – are there to remind us: ‘SENZA DI NOI OGNI FATICA E VANA’, ‘Without us, all labour is in vain’. Without natural talent and divine inspiration, all the efforts and studies depicted below would be ultimately useless. The concept of grace was one of the crucial features in Vasari’s theory of art, intended as a certain sweetness and facility of execution, dependent on natural talents – namely judgement and the eye – as opposed to beauty which is based on the rules of proportions and mathematics.31 But the great artist must cultivate this natural gift through constant study and, for Bellori, constant imitation of the Antique and of the great masters, especially Raphael, the excellence and grace of whom he exalted in several of his publications.32 Therefore our print reminds us in its subject of the necessary union of natural talent and study. At the same time it provides in its very forms an ideal example of inventive imitation, namely Maratti’s assimilation of the Antique and Raphael. The need to insist on these very points reflects the particular moment in which our image was created. In 1676 the Accademia di San Luca and the Parisian Académie Royale were formally amalgamated and at times French painters became principals of San Luca – Charles Errard (1606/09– 89) in 1672 and 1678, and Charles Le Brun (1619–90) in 1676–77.33 While sharing the same values and attitudes, the Italian could never feel comfortable with the extreme rationalisation of art characteristic of so much French theory and academic approach.34 The methodical and precise dissection of painting into its main components, as expressed for instance in the Académie’s Conférences, is in fact probably 152 alluded to in the speaker seen below the Graces in our image, who uses his fingers to enumerate the main points of his arguments – referring to Socrates in the School of Athens. The early Académie’s Conférences were published by André Félibien (1619–95) in 1668, and their official presentation at San Luca in 1681 generated a discussion that was most likely at the origin of Maratti’s Academy of Drawing, as reported by Melchior Missirini (1773–1849) in his history of the Accademia di San Luca.35 After the reading of the last two Conférences, devoted to the analysis of the drawing, colour, composition, proportions and expressions of Poussin’s paintings, one of San Luca’s members, Giovanni Maria Morandi (1622–1717), raised the objection that the French had left out art’s most important and beautiful element: grace, that sublime and delicate quality of the ‘imitative practice’, which appeals to the heart rather than the mind.36 The elderly Bellori, present in the audience, interrupted the speech remarking that grace was indeed Apelle’s and Raphael’s best quality, ‘and it is well known’, continues Missirini, ‘that Maratti, who also devoted every effort to obtain this quality, induced by these words painted his three graces with the motto ‘Without you, everything is worthless’.37 No doubt conceived as a response to this intellectual debate, as a defence of the Florentine and Roman attitude and tradition versus its French counterpart, Maratti’s Accademia must be understood also as a celebration of classicism against those painters and theorists who were at that time criticising its values and outcomes. In particular the Venetian Marco Boschini (1515–80) and the Bolognese Cesare Malvasia (1613–93) in their treatises published in the 1770s had attacked the pictorial tradition based on disegno and imitation of the Antique, supporting instead colore and naturalism.38 They, as Bellori remarks right before his discussion of Maratti’s drawing, taught ‘in their schools and in their books that Raphael is dry and hard, that his style is statuelike’.39 This dispute had its counterpart in France where the Querelle du coloris had been fiercely debated in the 1770s.40 The theoretical battle escalated further with the publication in 1681 of the Notizie de’ professori del disegno by the Florentine Filippo Baldinucci (1625–97), who strongly defended Vasari and the Central Italian tradition, at the same time directly attacking Malvasia. 41 The early 1680s were therefore a moment of intense debate within and between the Italian and French artistic schools and theoretical traditions, of which this image is one of the most telling documents. In the following decades Maratti became the leading artistic authority in Rome. His devotion to Raphael was rewarded in 1693 when he was appointed Keeper of the Vatican Stanze, which he then restored in 1702–03, having already worked on the restoration of Raphael’s frescoes in the Farnesina from 1693. 42 In 1699 he was re-elected principal of San Luca, a position he held until his death in 1713. Pope Clement XI (r. 1700–21) nominated Maratti Director of the Antiquities in Rome in 1702, and officially sanctioned support for his classicism by establishing papal-sponsored competitions, the Concorsi Clementini, at the Academy. 43 It is probably in celebration of the final affirmation of this classicist aesthetic that Maratti decided to finally print in 1702, or soon after, the complex drawing celebrating above all the study of Antique that he had produced twenty years earlier, with the Allegory of Ignorance as its pendant (fig. 3). 44 aa 1 ‘The School of Drawing, a figurative drawing by Cavalier Carlo Maratti, can contribute much to the disenchantment of those who believe that through knowledge and study of many arts they can become most accomplished in the art of painting without first acquiring the highest skill in drawing and without the natural gift and innate capacity to give, with grace and ease, life and shapeliness to the parts of a work they set out to depict. In addition, he [Maratti] gives form to his fine thought through the activities pointed out here. To one side there are some students of the mathematics of Geometry and Optics that feed into Perspective: elsewhere there are others intent on the observation of an anatomical model, from which can be learned the just proportions of the limbs, the placement of the muscles and sinews that compose a figure, as set out with precision by Leonardo da Vinci, a likeness of whom is given, with the motto ‘Enough to suffice’, to evince that, of these professional skills, he who pursues drawing must be competent enough to bring any idea to a perfect outcome. But for those shown engaged in the study of classical statues, slight attention to the same is of no use since the point is to make a long and detailed study so as learn the forms of the beautiful; and classical statues are given as the most perfect for this since those great sculptors gave shape to bodies in the most perfect state that Nature herself can create, which explains the presence of the motto: ‘Never enough’. Everything, however, would be futile without the assistance of the Graces, understood, as mentioned, as a natural bent for composing and arranging with grace and delicacy those postures and movement of figures from which derive the beauty and allure that stir wonder and pleasure in the spectator, wherefore they are set for that purpose up above on the clouds as indication that this gift comes only from heaven, and are given the motto: ‘Without us all labour is in vain’. Live happily’ (translation by Michael Sullivan). 2 For a biographical summary see Rudolph 2000. 3 Schaar and Sutherland Harris 1967. 4 See Bellori 1976, pp. 625, 636, 639. 5 See Baldinucci 1975, p. 307. On Maratti’s cult for and imitation of Raphael see also Mena Marqués 1990. 6 Goldstein 1978, p. 3. 7 For the text of Bellori’s Idea see Bellori 1976, pp. 13–25, and for an English translation see Bellori 2005, pp. 55–65. On it see Mahon 1947, esp. pp. 109– 54, 242–43; Panofsky 1968, pp. 103–11; Bellori 1976, esp. xxix–xl; Barasch 2000, vol. 1, pp. 315–22; Cropper 2000. 8 On Maratti’s role within the Accademia see Goldstein 1978, esp. pp. 2–5. On Bellori’s see Cipriani 2000. 9 Jaffé 1994, p. 128, no. 251 646. It is not fully clear whether Dorigny used the Chatsworth drawing or a lost copy of it, as he arrived in Rome in 1687, five years after Del Carpio had left the city to become Viceroy of Naples: see Rome 2000b, vol. 2, p. 483, no. 1 (S. Rudolph). 10 Philadelphia 1980–81, p. 116, note 3 and 4; Winner 1992, p. 512, fig. 5. 11 Bellori 1976, pp. 629–31. On Del Carpio’s commission see Haskell 1980, pp. 190–92; Pierguidi 2008; Frutos Sastre 2009, pp. 369–71. 12 For other drawings of the series, see Winner 1992. 13 For the drawing (Louvre, Paris, inv. 17950) see Rome 2000b, vol. 2, p. 484, no. 3 (S. Rudolph). For the print see Philadelphia 1980–81, pp. 114–16, no. 101 B (A. E. Golahny); Rome 2000b, vol. 2, pp. 484–85, no. 4 (S. Rudolph). For the transcription of the print’s inscription see Winner 1992, pp. 517–18, note 7. 14 See Philadelphia 1980–81, pp. 114–16, no. 101 A and B (A. E. Golahny); Rome 2000b, vol. 2, p. 483, no. 2 (S. Rudolph). 15 This second state contains the address of Frey. Rudolph (Rome 2000b, 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 vol. 2, p. 483, no. 2), supposes that the long explanatory inscription was added only to this second state, while the impression exhibited here proves that it was inserted in the first state as well. The inscription is mentioned also in a chronological list of Maratti’s prints produced in 1711: see Rudolph 1978, Appendix, p. 203, no 38. Kutschera-Woborsky 1919; Winner 1992, especially pp. 521–22, 531. Although some will be discussed here, the references to Raphael are too many to be covered comprehensively. For a fuller discussion see Winner 1992. Bellori 1976, pp. 629–31. For an English translation, see Bellori 2005, pp. 422–23. Bellori’s unfinished biography of Maratti was first published with modifications in 1731 and independently in 1732. See Bellori 1976, p. 571, note 1; Bellori 2005, p. 435, note 4. For modern critical editions of the text, see Bellori 1976, pp. 569–654; Bellori 2005, pp. 395–440. Winner (1992, p. 524) suggests that the ‘master of perspective’ could be Vitruvius, as the geometrical figures on the canvas are similar to those illustrated by Andrea Palladio in Daniele Barbaro’s edition of Vitruvius’ De architectura (1556). On the other hand the visual pyramid clearly refers to Albertian perspective, as it had been recently republished and illustrated in Dufresne 1651, see especially pp. 17–18. Bellori 1976, p. 630; Bellori 2005, p. 423. Dufresne 1651: see esp. the ‘Vita di Lionardo da Vinci descritta da Rafaelle du Fresne’, at the beginning of the volume (not paginated) and p. 5, ch. XXII, p. 12, ch. LVII. Bellori 1976, p. 631; Bellori 2005, p. 423. Bellori 1976, p. 629; Bellori 2005, p. 422. On Bellori’s sources in general see esp. Barocchi 2000; Perini 2000a. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 6, p. 109. See also Vasari’s introduction to his chapter on Sculpture: Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 1, pp. 84–86. Lomazzo 1584, p. 262 (book V, chap. 7). Zuccaro 1607, vol. 2, pp. 29–30 (book II, chap. 6). See Armenini 1587, pp. 63–67 (book I, chap. 8); Bellori 1976, p. 630; Bellori 2005, p. 423. On this see also Pierguidi 2014. Bellori had specifically praised the Farnese Hercules and the Venus de’Medici in his Idea: Bellori 1976, p. 18; Bellori 2005, p. 59. On this see also Winner 1992, p. 532. On the Farnese Hercules see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, pp. 17–20, no. 1. On the Venus de’ Medici see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 325–28, no. 88; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, pp. 74–75, no. 64 (137). On the Belvedere Antinous see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 141–43, no. 4; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 62, no. 10. Bellori 1976, p. 630; Bellori 2005, p. 423. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 3, p. 399, vol. 4, pp. 5–6. See also Blunt 1978, pp. 93–99. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 3, p. 399; Bellori 1976, pp. 625–26; Bellori 2005, p. 421. Also for Armenini ‘una bella e dotta maniera’ could be acquired only if the artist has a natural gift cultivated by study (Armenini 1587, see esp. p. 6 of the Proemio and pp. 51–69, book I, chs 7 and 8). Bellori’s essays on Raphael, written at various dates, were published in Bellori 1695. On Raphael and grace in Bellori see Maffei 2009. On the cult of Raphael in the 17th century see Perini 2000b. Boyer 1950, p. 117; Goldstein 1970, pp. 227–41; Bousquet 1980, pp. 110–11; Goldstein 1996, pp. 45–46. Mahon 1947, pp. 188–89. Missirini 1823, pp. 145–46 (ch. XCI); Mahon 1947, p. 189; Goldstein 1996, p. 46. Missirini 1823, p. 145. Ibid., p. 146. Boschini 1674; Malvasia 1678. Bellori 1976, p. 627; Bellori 2005, p. 421. On the ‘statuelike’ concept, or ‘statuino’ see esp. Malvasia 1678, vol. 1, pp. 359, 365, 484. See also Pericolo’s forthcoming article. I wish to thank Dr Lorenzo Pericolo for generously putting this study at my disposal. See Teyssèdre 1965; Puttfarken 1985; Arras and Épinal 2004 with previous bibliography. Baldinucci 1681, see esp. his ‘Apologia’ at pp. 8–29. On the controversy between Malvasia and central Italian art theorists see Perini 1988; Rudolph 1988–89; Emiliani 2000. See Zanardi 2007. See Johns 1988. The second state of both prints, published by Jacob Frey in 1728 was explicitly issued in parallel to the reward ceremony of the 1728 Concorso Clementino: see Rome 2000b, vol. 2, pp. 484–85, no. 4. 153 16. Charles-Joseph Natoire (Nîmes 1700–1777 Castel Gandolfo) The Life Class at the Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture 1746 Pen, black and brown ink, grey wash and watercolour and traces of graphite over black chalk 453 × 322 mm Signed and dated by the artist on recto, on the box at l.c., in pen and dark grey ink: ‘C. NATOIRE f. 1746’. prov enance: Possibly sold at the artist’s posthumous sale, Alexandre-Joseph Paillet, Paris, 14 December 1778, lot 100;1 purchased Aubert for 120 livres; Gilbert Paignon-Dijonval (1708–92); Bruzard, Paris, 23–26 April 1839, part of lot 208; Walker Gallery, acquired Sir Robert Witt (1872–1952) (L. suppl. 2228b); Sir Robert Witt Bequest, 1952. selected liter atur e: Bérnard 1810, p. 142, no. 3348; Mirimonde 1958, p. 282, fig. 3; Princeton 1977, pp. 22–23, fig. 3; Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977, p. 80, under no. 42; Roland Michel 1987, pp. 58–59, fig. 45; Foster 1998, pp. 55–56, fig. 13; Amsterdam and Paris 2002–03, pp. 85–88, under no. 25; Paris 2009–10, p. 40, fig. 13; Petherbridge 2010, p. 222, pl. 152; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 122, repr., p. 336, no. D. 370, repr.; Rowell 2012, pp. 179–80, fig. 9; London 2013–14, p. 8, repr., p. 69, fig. 24. selected e xhibitions: London 1950, p. 18, no. 54; London, York and elsewhere 1953, pp. 27–28, no. 79, not repr.; London 1953, pp. 91–92, no. 391, not repr. (K. T. Parker and J. Byam Shaw); Los Angeles 1961, pp. 51, 58, no. 25; London 1962, pp. 9–10, no. 37, not repr.; Swansea 1962, unpaginated, no. 38; London 1968a, p. 101, no. 490 (D. Sutton); King’s Lynn 1985, p. vi, no. 33, not repr.; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35 (G. Kennedy); Paris 2000–01, pp. 405–06, no. 210 ( J.-P. Cuzin); London and New York 2012–13, pp. 161–65, no. 33 (K. Scott). The Courtauld Gallery, Samuel Courtauld Trust, London, D. 1952.RW.397 e xhibited in london only Painter, draughtsman and educator, Natoire was a contemporary of François Boucher (1703–70) and like him, executed both cabinet pictures and decorative schemes, as well as history paintings.2 Trained in the studio of François Lemoyne (1688–1737), Natoire started his career with a series of successes: having won in 1721 the Prix de Rome of the Académie Royale, he spent the years 1723–28 in Rome where in 1727 he received the most prestigious reward for a young painter, the first prize of the Accademia di San Luca. Back in Paris in 1730, he was received (reçu) as a full member of the Académie in 1734 and spent the following two decades executing decorative ensembles in Royal Palaces and various hôtels and châteaux of the aristocracy, such as the celebrated Hôtel de Soubise (now the Archives Nationales) in Paris. In 1751 he was appointed Director of the Académie de France in Rome and spent the rest of his life there, dying at Castel Gandolfo in the Alban Hills in 1777. Natoire’s large and beautifully preserved drawing – of which there is another version, dated 1745, almost identical but less finished, in the Musée Atger in Montpellier – offers a rare glimpse of the École du modèle of the Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture in Paris, where young students spent hours copying the live model.3 But rather than a faithful view of the École du modèle, which was a similar but rather different space,4 it is an idealised representation of how Natoire thought it ought to be. In essence, it is a visual manifesto for the Académie’s reform at a time, as we shall see, when many of its original practices had been abandoned or neglected. Trying, in a programmatic image, to convey as much information as possible, Natoire ingeniously reconfigures the 154 space for his purpose: a very high ceiling and an angular point of view allow maximum concentration and display of objects. Crammed together, one on top of the other, we see drawings, bas-reliefs, paintings of different format and size and, most importantly, plaster casts after the Antique. Our attention is immediately drawn to the seated figure at the lower left-hand corner wearing a bright red cloak, no doubt Natoire himself: he had been appointed assistant professor at the Académie royale in 1735, professor in 1737 and from 1736 was instructor in the life class for the month of February.5 Comfortably seated in an armchair, his tricorne hat resting on the box in the centre, he carefully corrects the black chalk drawings after the two live models presented by his pupils. At the centre of the composition, the attention of all students is directed to the two models posed together, a monthly event at the Académie that had been introduced in the mid-1660s.6 The teacher was responsible for placing the models ‘in an attitude’ for afternoon classes lasting two hours, using sunlight during the summer and artificial light during the winter months.7 The sunlight filtering in from the left is therefore imaginary, as in February, when Natoire was in charge of the École du modèle, illumination would have been from lamps. Only male models were allowed, despite repeated requests for female models from the students, all of whom were also male since women were not allowed to join the Académie until the end of the 19th century.8 The same pose was retained for three days in a row for a total of six hours and students were supposed to produce two study drawings of the figures each week.9 As in this case, a curtain was usually placed behind the model or models, to enhance 155 the contours and isolate the figure from the background. The plinth supporting the model had hooks at the corner to allow the professor to move it according to the fall of the light. In addition to posing the model, the ‘duty teacher’ from 1664 onwards was supposed to make his own drawing to serve as an example for the students and to devote part of each session to correcting students’ works, as we see represented in this drawing.10 Natoire’s own drawing of the two models may be in the portfolio leaning against the box in the centre; indeed an identical red chalk composition survives – although reversed – proving that this pose was actually used during one of his sessions (fig. 1).11 The models’ attitude in the middle follows the wellestablished practice within the Académie of adopting and adapting poses to recall ancient statuary.12 In this case they evoke the dynamic, interlocking bodies of the Wrestlers (see p. 30, fig. 33), of which the Académie possessed a plaster cast, or possibly the pose of the so-called Pasquino.13 The main purpose of the practice was to pose the live model with the same tension and flexing of muscles as the ancient statues, so that students could then correct their drawings from ‘fallible Nature’ against the perfection of the antique example. The practice was diffused already in the 17th century and explicitly recommended by Sébastien Bourdon (1616–71), in his famous Conférence Sur les proportions de la figure humaine expliquées sur l’Antique delivered at the Académie in 1670.14 We know from the influential Abrégé de la vie des plus fameux peintres, published by the art writer Antoine-Joseph Dezallier d’Argenville (1680–1765) in 1745, that the great painter Philippe de Champaigne (1602–74) devoted ‘his evenings […] to drawing at the Académie and, on his return, he would correct from the Antique what he had done from the model’.15 Natoire was exposed to a similar exercise during the years he spent at the Académie de France in Rome during the 1720s and he must often have returned to this practice during his sessions at the Académie in Paris.16 Distributed in a semi-circle around the models are students of different ages, busy drawing the figures. Most of them are using chalk in porte-crayons, drawing on large sheets of paper. The exceptions are the two more mature students on the right who are modelling bas-reliefs in clay with their fingers and wooden sticks; the one on the right holds a sponge in his hand to clean the clay with water as seen in the drawing by Cochin engraved for the Encyclopédie (p. 52, fig. 91).17 The process is clearly described in the Istruzione elementare per gli studiosi della scultura, the famous manual for students of sculpture published by Francesco Carradori (1747–1824) in 1802, and illustrated with a strikingly similar image (fig. 2).18 A third student, in the lower right corner, is wetting rags in a bucket to keep the clay damp and avoid cracks, as Carradori advised. On his left a dog – could it be Natoire’s? – stares at us from its sheltered position. The Fig. 1. Charles-Joseph Natoire, Two Models, c. 1745, red chalk, 490 × 420 mm, sold Sotheby’s, Paris, 18 June 2008, lot 101 Fig. 2. Francesco Carradori, Istruzione elementare per gli studiosi della scultura . . . , Florence, 1802, detail of plate 5 156 disposition of the students reflects the admission conditions and entrance hierarchy of the École du modèle: two-thirds were painters and one-third sculptors, placed in the back rows.19 Behind the semi-circle of students we see life-size plaster casts of four of the most canonical classical sculptures: from left to right the Farnese Hercules (see p. 30, fig. 32; cat. 7), the Laocoön (see p. 26, fig. 19; cat. 5), the Venus de’ Medici (see p. 42, fig. 56) and the Borghese Gladiator (see p. 41, fig. 54; cat. 23).20 The Hercules and the Venus are looking away from the viewer, as if to signal that the study of the Antique constitutes a different – though inextricably connected – practice from the study of the live model. The four statues provided the students with idealised models of human proportions, anatomy, beauty and emotion: the muscular strength of the heroic male body at rest, embodied by the Hercules, the complex pose and the pathos and drama of the Laocoön, the grace and beauty of the female body ideally incarnated by the Venus and, finally, the active anatomy of the muscular man in motion as expressed by the Gladiator. They represented a sort of ‘canon within the canon’ of classical sculptures for artists, and their choice here is not accidental. These four statues – plus the Belvedere Torso and an antique Bacchus at Versailles – had been specifically selected as subjects of the Conférences devoted to the Antique held at the Académie Royale during the 1660s and 1670s; the text describing them was constantly being re-read by academicians since then.21 At the time this drawing was made, the Académie owned casts of all four statues – among many others – but Natoire ingeniously concentrates here what was actually distributed over various rooms.22 Significantly, all the statues in the drawing are in reverse as Natoire did not copy them from the casts but from prints in François Perrier’s celebrated Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum of 1638 (figs 3–6).23 Perrier’s collection of engravings after ancient statues had been for more than a century the standard work of reference for students beginning their study of the Antique, providing them with images in two dimensions that they could master before approaching the three-dimensional casts. This course was firmly recommended at the time of the foundation of the Académie in 1648 by Abraham Bosse (1602–76), its first professor of perspective.24 References to the glorious past of the Académie continue on the walls, where we are invited to ascend from drawings and bas-reliefs to paintings. On the lower tier are the designs and reliefs after the model that teachers had to produce from 1664 onwards (although this requirement was eventually abolished in 1715).25 Above these are displayed a series of canvases representing some of the greatest triumphs of modern French painting: the largest and most prominent, on the left, is Charles Le Brun’s Alexander at the Tent of Darius (1661); to its right, Jean Jouvenet’s Deposition (1697) and below it, barely discernible, Eustache Le Sueur’s Solomon and the Queen of Sheba (1650). Above, in the upper register, is hung another Le Sueur, the circular Alexander and His Doctor (1648– 49). On the right is François Lemoyne’s Annunciation (1725); and finally, below it Sébastien Bourdon’s Holy Family (1660– 70).26 The two square paintings on the upper left, probably a reclining Nymph or Venus and a Cupid and Psyche, have not been identified; it would be tempting to think that they might be Natoire’s own creations, but they do not correspond to any of his known works.27 None of the paintings were displayed at that time in the Académie and all are reversed, meaning that Natoire deliberately assembled them in this crowded space from prints.28 All were revered examples of history paintings by famous past academicians, ranging from Le Brun, Le Sueur and Bourdon, who had been among the twelve original founding members of the Académie in 1648, to Lemoyne, Natoire’s own teacher. Showing different kinds of history painting – Biblical subjects, Mythology and secular history – they here provide the young students with models both to imitate and aspire to. On the central pier, presiding over all the artistic activity below, is Bernini’s 1665 bust of Louis XIV, of which the Académie then displayed a plaster cast,29 reminding us of the glories of the institution under the reign of the Sun King. Such a deliberately programmatic image, which assembles so many references from different places and times, must be understood as a visual manifesto in favour of a retour à l’ordre within the Académie. At the time Natoire conceived it, many of the original academic practices and credos had long been neglected. After the late 17th century almost no new Conférences were held, and teachers simply re-read the old ones and the biographies of past academicians.30 Nor does it seem that the study of the Antique was much promoted and certainly the collection of casts was not integrated with the École du modèle.31 Finally, and most importantly, during the first half of the 18th century, history painting had lost its place of pre-eminence within the Académie, a process foreshadowed by the success of JeanAntoine Watteau (1684–1721) and his acceptance into the Académie in 1717 as a painter of fêtes galantes, a new category that encouraged the development of the ‘lesser genres’ of painting.32 At the same time, because of the popularity of ‘the Rococo interior’, history painters were often obliged to adapt their canvases for decorative schemes, to the point that Natoire complained in 1747 that his painting was regarded as mere furniture.33 Significantly, a completely different model was in place in Rome during the years spent by Natoire in the city as a young 157 Fig. 3. (top left) François Perrier, Farnese Hercules, plate 4, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 Fig. 4. (top right) François Perrier, Laocoön, plate 1, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 Fig. 5. (bottom left) François Perrier, Venus de’Medici, plate 83, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 Fig. 6. (bottom right) François Perrier, Borghese Gladiator, plate 28, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 student. The Accademia di San Luca officially supported the copying of the Antique and the production of history painting through the system of the Concorsi Clementini, established in 1702, of which, as we know, Natoire obtained the first prize.34 At the same time the Académie de France in Rome saw a complete reorganisation under the directorship of Nicholas Vleughels (1668-1737) between 1725 and 1737. Its enormous collection of casts was redisplayed and integrated with the Ecole du modèle and its students, like Natoire, were 158 strongly encouraged to compare the ideal of casts from the Antique against nature in the form of the live model, as we see promulgated in our drawing.35 These principles began to be re-introduced in Paris after the election in 1745 of CharlesFrançois-Paul Le Normant de Tournehem – the uncle of Madame de Pompadour – as director of the Bâtiments du Roi, the official protector of the Académie Royale on behalf of the king. Tournehem initiated a reform aimed at the rehabilitation of history painting, and in the following years implemented a series of radical changes – such as the re-establishment of the Conférences, the acquisition of new casts, and making the history paintings of the Royal Collection accessible to students – which paved the way to the triumph of the highest genre in the second half of the century.36 It is at this moment that Natoire’s drawing was conceived, probably as a statement in support of Tournehem’s reforms. These, in essence, involved a return to the original credo and mission of the Académie as devised by Louis XIV’s Minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert (1619–83) and his Premier Peintre Charles Le Brun (1619–90): a royal institution intended to support and cultivate History Painting through the practice of drawing and the study of the live model and the Antique. Natoire would apply many of the principles proclaimed in his drawing during his tenure as director of the Académie de France in Rome after 1751. The fact that everything in the Courtauld drawing – statues, paintings and even models – appears in reverse would suggest that it was intended to be engraved.37 However, the students hold the porte-crayons in their right hands, which would seem to contradict this theory. In any case, it is highly likely that this complex image was conceived to be diffused for promotional purposes, possibly on the example of Dorigny’s engraving after Maratti (cat. 15), which Natoire would certainly have known.38 It would have been a persuasive way to promote the study of the live model together with the study of the Antique, a training that would effectively prepare young artists to revive those noble forms of painting that had been the glory of the Grand Siècle. aa 1 Lot 100 is probably this drawing but it could also refer to the very similar version of this sheet now preserved at the Musée Atger, Montpellier, inv. MA1, album M43 fol. 26: see Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977, p. 80, no. 42; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 334, no. D.362 and p. 336, no. D. 370, where the lot description is transcribed in full. 2 On Natoire see Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977; Caviglia-Brunel 2012. 3 For the Monpellier drawing see above note 1. 4 Guérin 1715, pp. 257–60, plate between pp. 256–57; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 334, no. D.362; London and New York 2012–13, pp. 161–62, fig. 68. 5 Montaiglon 1875–92, vol. 5, pp. 171, 193; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 334, no. D.362. 6 Guérin 1715, p. 259; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35; London 2013–14, pp. 46, 62. 7 See the 4th article of the 1648 statutes of the Académie: Montaiglon 1875–92, vol. 1, p. 8. See also Guérin 1715, p. 258. 8 London 2013–14, p. 40. Women were admitted to the Académie, then named École des Beaux-Arts, only in 1896 and allowed to enrol for the Prix de Rome in 1903: Goldstein 1996, p. 61. 9 London 2013–14, p. 33. 10 See the 11th article of the 1664 reformed statutes of the Académie: Montaiglon 1875–92, vol. 1, p. 253. See also London 2013–14, pp. 33–34. 11 The fact that the drawing is in reverese seems to suggest that it is a counterproof. For the drawing see Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 481, no. D.794, repr. in colour at p. 128. The drawing was sold at Sotheby’s, Paris, 18 June 2008, no. 101. Some of Natoire’s drawings after the live model were published in 1745: Huquier 1745. 12 Paris 2000–01, pp. 415–29; London 2013–14, pp. 62–69. 13 Guérin 1715, p. 148, no. 49; London 2013–14, p. 94, note 62. On the pose of the two models see also Foster 1998, pp. 56–57. On the Pasquino see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 291–96, no. 72; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 202, no. 155 14 Lichtenstein and Michel 2006-12, vol. 1.1, pp. 374–77. See also Goldstein 1996, p. 150. 15 Dezailler d’Argenville 1745–52, vol. 2, p. 182. 16 Macsotay 2010, pp. 189–90. 17 As noted by Gillian Kennedy in London 1991, p. 80, no. 35. I wish to thank Camilla Pietrabissa for a fruitful discussion on the subject. 18 Carradori 1802, esp. pp. 3–4, article 2, and plate 5; Carradori 2002, pp. 23–24, and pp. 60–61, plate 5. 19 London 2013–14, p. 34. 20 On the Farnese Hercules see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, pp. 17–20, no. 1. On the Laocoön see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 243–47, no. 52; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 164–68, no. 122. On the Venus de’ Medici see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 325–28, no. 88. On the Borghese Gladiator see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 221–24, no. 43; Paris 2000–01, no. 1, pp. 150–51 (L. Laugier); Pasquier 2000–01c. 21 Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, see esp. vols 1–2, passim. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 45–46. 22 Guérin 1715, p. 62, no. 35, pp. 105–06, nos 1–2, p. 185, no. 41; London and New York 2012–13, p. 162; London 2013–14, p. 94, note 62. 23 On Perrier’s Segmenta see Picozzi 2000; Laveissière 2011; Di Cosmo 2013; Fatticcioni 2013. 24 Bosse 1649, p. 98. On the success of the Segmenta see Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 21; Goldstein 1996, p. 144; Coquery 2000, pp. 43–44. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, p. 42. 25 London 2013–14, p. 53. On a similar display in the real École du modèle see Guérin 1715, p. 258 26 London 1991, p. 80, no. 35; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 334, no. D.362; London and New York 2012–13, p. 161. The Montpellier version also shows Poussin’s circular Time defending Truth against the Attacks of Envy and Discord on the ceiling: see Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 334, no. D.362. 27 I would like to thank Alastair Laing for discussing these two paintings with me. 28 London 1991, p. 80, no. 35. It was previously thought that the print from Lemoyne’s Annunciation was not in reverse but this has been disproven by Rowell 2012, see p. 178, fig. 7 and p. 180, note 27. 29 Guérin 1715, p. 165, no. 1. 30 See Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, passim. 31 Guérin 1715, pp. 257–60. See also Foster 1998, pp. 56–57; Schnapper 2000; Macsotay 2010. 32 Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13; Plax 2000. 33 Jouin 1889; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35. 34 On the Concorsi Clementini see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91 and Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, p. 54. See also cat. 15. 35 Macsotay 2010; Henry 2010–11. 36 Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13; Schoneveld-Van Stoltz 1989, pp. 216–28; CavigliaBrunel 2012, pp. 86–87. 37 As already noted in Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977, p. 80, no. 42. 38 Dorigny’s print was reissued in 1728, in parallel to the award ceremony of the Concorsi Clementini, when Natoire was still in Rome (see cat. 15). 159 17. Hubert Robert (Paris 1733–1808 Paris) The Artist Seated at a Table, Drawing a Bust of a Woman c. 1763–65 Red chalk, 333 × 441 mm prov enance: Poulet, whence acquired by Pierre Decourcelle (1856–1926), Paris in October 1912 for 300 francs;1 by descent; Decourcelle sale, Christie’s, Paris, 21 March 2002, lot 317, from whom acquired. liter ature: Paris 1933, p. 124, under no. 197; Rome 1990–91, p. 191, under no. 135; Ottawa, Washington D.C., and elsewhere 2003–04, p. 308, under no. 92, fig. 142. e xhibitions: Paris 1922, p. 16, no. 85, not repr. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2002–012 Hubert Robert received a classical education at the Collège de Navarre before studying drawing in the studio of the sculptor, Michel-Ange Slodtz (1705–64). Even during this early period, he showed an interest in ‘architecture in ruins’.2 Although not eligible for a place at the Académie de Rome – he had not attended the requisite École Royale des élèves protégés – family connections allowed him to bypass this regulation and on 4 November 1754 Robert arrived in Rome in the retinue of the new French ambassador, Étienne-François, comte de Stainville (1719–85), later duc de Choiseul. The diplomat sponsored Robert for the first three years of his stay before he was granted pensionnaire status at the Academy in 1759, under the directorship of Joseph-Charles Natoire (see cat. 16).3 Robert remained in Rome – with intermittent study trips to Naples, Florence and elsewhere in Italy – for eleven years, responding to the fertile archaeological climate, sparked by recent excavations at Pompeii and Herculaneum as well as the newly opened Capitoline Museum, and indulging his fascination for classical ruins. Natoire encouraged Robert and the other students to sketch antiquities outdoors in situ, in the Roman campagna and beyond. Robert also took inspiration from the work of other mentors including the celebrated vedutista, Giovanni Paolo Panini (c. 1692–1765), and the printmaker and draughtsman, Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720–78). With his friend and compatriot, Jean-Honoré Fragonard (1732–1806), Robert enthusiastically sketched classical monuments and antiquities in and around Rome, later fusing real and imagined elements to create highly original compositions – often punctuated by ancient ruins or dilapidated architectural fragments – that would become a trademark of his work. The vast repository of motifs amassed by him during this productive Roman period, coupled to his facile draughtsmanship, would serve him well for years to come. He became a star pupil of the Academy and his drawings in particular would be eagerly sought after before he returned to France in 1765, where he entered the Académie Royale and successfully exhibited at the Salons.4 160 Undoubtedly one of his finest red chalk drawings, the present study shows the artist in a rare moment of casual repose, seated at a table and drawing, legs casually extended and crossed, stockinged feet resting carelessly on a large portfolio of drawings lying open on the floor.5 His relaxed, almost dishevelled appearance and level of undress – the fallen left knee-sock slumped around his ankle, the unbuttoned breeches and the disregarded, rumpled, coat, strewn on a chair opposite alongside his hat and the long shadows cast – all suggest that it is the end of a long day and he is at home, resuming a favourite activity: drawing. The focus of Robert’s gaze is the bust of an attractive young woman in right profile placed on the table. With his chalk-filled porte-crayon in hand, he stares intently at her, poised to sketch. Her head titled downwards, she returns his steady gaze; there is a palpable tension between them. However, the presence of a third figure threatens to interrupt their private moment. With a side-glance, a bearded man drawn on a sheet pinned up on the wall between them also watches the young woman, thereby completing an amusing love triangle of Robert’s invention. The object of the men’s attention is the Roman Empress, Faustina the Younger (c. ad 125/30–175), daughter of Emperor Antonius Pius and Faustina the Elder (fig. 1). She married Emperor Marcus Aurelius, perhaps the bearded rival in the drawing on the wall.6 Her marble bust was discovered in Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli and in 1748 presented by Benedict XIV to the Capitoline Museum where Robert would have seen it.7 Bartolomeo Cavaceppi, the Roman sculptor and antiquities restorer, who worked on the original for a year after its discovery and made several copies after it, was an acquaintance of Robert’s who occasionally visited his studio (cat. 18).8 In fact, his red chalk drawing in the Château Borély in Marseilles (cat. 18, fig. 6) records an antiquities restorer, quite possibly Cavaceppi himself, working on a female bust.9 The present composition is repeated in a small signed painting in the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen in 161 Fig. 1. Bust of Empress Faustina the Younger, 147–48 ad, marble, 60 cm (h), Musei Capitolini, Rome, inv. MC449 Rotterdam (fig. 2).10 It is of similar dimensions to the drawing but a few modifications were made: Robert no longer has a full head of hair and the open portfolio used as a foot rest is now safely closed, while another leans against his chair. The view of the room is wider and includes a high, beamed ceiling, a generously sized window and a table on the right, on which rest tools and utensils. A further nod to antiquity is a lively copy after the celebrated Roman sculpture, Germanicus (cat. 33, fig. 4) on a pedestal on the left. While it was found in Rome, in Robert’s time the statue was already in Versailles.11 But its fame endured in Italy and a plaster cast was available for study at the French Academy in Rome. Further playful details were introduced: a framed picture and precariously hung drawings (including a possible portrait of Faustina); a charming dog that takes a keen interest in Robert’s casually flung slippers. While the intimate nature of the scene, bordering on genre, suggests this is indeed Robert’s private space, its spacious grandeur is not that of his student lodging at the Academy. When his official term as pensionnaire ended in October 1763, his stay was extended by the largesse of the French Ambassador of the Order of Malta to the Holy See, the Bailli de Breteuil (1723–85), who housed him at his palace on the Via dei Condotti until he returned to Paris in July of 1765.12 Certain decorative features in the painting – the 162 room’s generous proportions, the beamed ceiling and formal window, the elegant Louis XV-style table– are consistent with those found in Robert’s detailed sanguine of Breteuil’s grand Salone.13 Thus, it is highly likely that the composition was conceived during his stay at the Ambassador’s residence, 1763–65, and that it is Breteuil’s guest room that is shown. Perhaps the drawing, more a ricordo than a preliminary study for the painting, was intended as a gift to the host, as a gesture of gratitude and friendship. A highly regarded collector and patron of the arts, Breteuil was an ardent admirer of Robert’s work.14 At the outset of his posting in Rome, Natoire praised the diplomat as an informed collector who already owned ‘quelque chose’ by Robert.15 Breteuil would later procure many of Robert’s drawings as well as paintings.16 A close friendship between patron and artist followed, evidently based on a shared love of art and antiquity in all its forms.17 Together they translated texts by Virgil and took sightseeing trips in Rome, and at least one to Florence.18 The Ambassador asked Robert to accompany him to Sicily ‘pour visiter et dessiner les beaux morceaux antiques qui sont dans ses cantons-là’, but, it seems, the trip never took place.19 Representations of artists in the act of drawing antique sculpture and other works of art are recurrent in Robert’s oeuvre along with representations of classical architecture in ruin. Detailed studies made on the spot such as The Draughtsman at the Capitoline, c. 1763 (p. 56, fig. 95) convey something of the wonder and excitement that he must have felt at encountering these celebrated sights for the first time.20 He often represented himself or his associates in grandiose, stage-like settings or as art tourists, of the sort that he would frequently have encountered. But as an intimate scene of private contemplation, the present drawing stands apart Fig. 2. Hubert Robert, The Artist in his Studio, c. 1763–65, oil on canvas, 37 × 48 cm, Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, Rotterdam, 2586 (OK) Fig. 3. Hubert Robert, Young Artists in the Studio, red chalk, with framing lines in pen and brown ink, 352 × 412 mm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1972.118.23 from these. It bears a close resemblance to a composition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (fig. 3) showing the same room but on another day with visitors: a bare-footed servant and two artists – one drawing, the other inspecting the portfolio.21 A little-known red chalk study formerly in the Camille Groult collection in Paris (fig. 4) probably preceded the present drawing.22 It shows the same relaxed figure alone – Robert – in identical attire but fully dressed and outdoors, lying on the ground and sketching, presumably after his favourite subject: the Antique. avl Fig. 4. Hubert Robert, Le Dessinateur, red chalk, 300 × 400 mm, present whereabouts unknown 9 10 11 12 13 14 1 According to N. Schwed (e-mail, 30 July 2014), this information was provided to Christie’s at the time of the Decourcelle sale in 2002. 2 Taillasson 1808, p. 473. 3 Letters exchanged between the influential Marquis de Marigny, Director General of King Louis XV’s buildings (and brother of his mistress, Madame de Pompadour), and Charles-Joseph Natoire, Director of the French Academy in Rome published by A. de Montaiglon and J. Guiffrey between 1887–1912 provide essential details about Robert and his stay in Italy. For Robert and Choiseul, see ibid., vol. 11, p. 262, no. 5331. 4 Collector and connoisseur, Pierre-Jean Mariette preferred Robert’s drawings to his paintings: ‘ses tableaux est fort inferieur à ses desseins [sic], dans lesquels il met beaucoup d’esprit’ (Mariette 1850–60, vol. 4, p. 414). Letters between Marigny and Natoire mention requests from Mariette for drawings: Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vol. 11, p. 365, no. 5477; p. 367, no. 5483; p. 388, no. 5521; p. 428, no. 5589. 5 The traditional view that the drawing is a self-portrait (Paris 1922, p. 16, no. 85; Paris 1933, p. 124, under no. 197), upheld in the recent literature, need not be questioned. The figure resembles Augustin Pajou’s marble bust of Robert (1780) in the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts and Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun’s 1788 portrait of him in the Louvre. 6 He has all the characteristics of an emperor from the Antonine period. It could well be a reference to the bust of Marcus Aurelius in the Capitoline Museum. See Fittschen and Zanker 1985, vol. 1, pp. 76–77, no. 69, vol. 2, pls 79, 81–82. A copy by Cavaceppi in terracotta is preserved in the Museo del Palazzo di Venezia, see Rome 1994, p. 104, no. 19, repr. 7 For the bust, see Fittschen and Zanker 1983, vol. 1, pp.20–21, no. 19, vol. 2, pls 24–26. 8 For its restoration, see London 1983, pp. 66–67. Cavaceppi’s posthumous inventory of 1802 mentions two marble Faustinas and one plaster cast 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 (Gasparri and Ghiandoni 1994, p. 264, no. 310, p. 270, no. 624 and p. 286, no. 109). For surviving copies by Cavaceppi, predominantly acquired by English collectors, see Howard 1970, p. 123, figs 8 and 9, p. 128; Howard 1982, p. 240, no. 6, p. 313, fig. 133, pp. 83, 251, nos. 25–26, p. 326, fig. 211, p. 264, no. 14, p. 268, no. 15, p. 419; I. Bignamini, in London and Rome 1996–97, pp. 211–12, no. 159; D. Walker, in Philadelphia and Houston 2000, p. 242, no. 120. This is not, however, Faustina, as Marianne Roland Michel proposed (Marseille 2001, p. 96, no. 109). For the painting, see J. Ebeling, in Ottawa, Washington D.C. and elsewhere 2003–04, pp. 308–09, no. 92, 372, with select previous literature listed. See Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 119–20, no. 42, fig. 114. Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vol. 12, p. 86, no. 5856. Paris, Louvre. Méjanès 2006, p. 77, no. 33 and Ottawa and Caen 2011–12, pp. 140–41, no. 53. The connection was first noted by J. de Cayeux in Rome 1990–91, p. 191, under cat. no. 135. On Breteuil, see Yavchitz-Koehler 1987, pp. 369–78, Depasquale 2001, and Ottawa and Caen 2011–12, pp. 13–17 and 140–41, no. 53. Letter from Natoire to Marigny, 25 April 1759 (Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vol. 11, pp. 272–73, no. 5346). For the drawings, see letter from Natoire to Marigny, 5 January 1763, Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vol. 11, p. 455, no. 5636. Compositions by Robert are among the copies made in 1770 by Jean-Robert Ango (active 1759 – after 1773) after works in Breteuil’s collection (Choisel 1986, nos 23–26, 44, 80). Their close rapport was recorded by Robert’s friend, the painter Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun (Gabillot 1895, pp. 80–81). Breteuil owned antique works as well as copies after the antique by contemporary artists. Some are recorded in drawings by Ango (Choisel 1986, nos. 29, 45, 47, 51, 54–57, 71–72, 74–75, 83 and 125) including a small bronze Venus Pudica, no. 56, and a copy by Laurent Guiard (1723–88) after the Venus Calllypige from the Farnese collection (no. 75). Additional antique works and copies are listed in Breteuil’s posthumous sale in Paris of 16 January 1786, including a copy of the Gladiator by Luc-François Breton (1731–1800), no. 135, and a copy of the bust of Germanicus in the Capitoline, no. 143. Although no bust of Faustina is listed, he may have owned the copy that Robert draws in the present drawing. Gabillot 1895, pp. 61, 81–82. Letter from Natoire to Marigny, 5 January 1763 and another from Marigny to Natoire, 20 February 1763. Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vol. 11, p. 455, no. 5636 and p. 462, no. 5649. J.-P. Cuzin, in Paris 2000–01, p. 373, no. 178. Michel 1998–2000, pp. 60, 62, fig. 13. Sold Galerie Charpentier, Paris, 21 March 1952, lot 52. Present whereabouts unknown. 163 18. Hubert Robert (Paris 1733–1808 Paris) The Roman Studio of Bartolomeo Cavaceppi c. 1764–65 Black chalk, 339 × 443 mm Inscribed verso l.r. in pencil: ‘Salon de 1783 / No. 61 Intérieur d’un atelier à Rome / dans lequel on restaure des statues / antiques / Cet atelier est pratiqué et construit / dans les debris d’un ancien temple / 5 pieds de large sur 3 pieds 9 pounces de haut’ water m ar k: A coat of arms, possibly containing a star, three hills and the initials ‘CB’ below, surmounted by a Cardinal’s hat with tassels on each side (see Heawood 1950, nos 791–99). prov enance: Charles Albert de Burlet (1882–1956), Berlin, around 1910; Sold Galerie Fischer, Lucerne, 13 November 2006, lot 1944; Private collection, Switzerland, in 2006; Le Claire Kunst, Hamburg, in 2011; Sold Villa Grisebach, Berlin, 28 November 2013, lot 307R, from whom acquired. liter ature: Le Claire Kunst 2011, no. 13 (unpaginated), repr.; Yarker and Hornsby 2012-13, pp. 65–66, fig. 37; Körner 2013, lot 307R, repr. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2013-030 A visit to the studio of Bartolomeo Cavaceppi (1716–99) the sculptor, dealer, antiquarian, collector and especially, restorer of ancient sculpture was essential for any serious art tourist or collector in Rome on the Grand Tour.1 Known as the ‘Museo Cavaceppi’, by the 1770s it was listed in guidebooks as among the top sights of the Eternal City.2 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832), who lived nearby, and visited it in 1788 noted that one could experience in the studio ancient sculpture from close proximity in all its grandeur and beauty.3 The painters, Henry Fuseli (1741–1825) and Giovanni Casanova (1728/30–1795) and the sculptor, Antonio Canova (1757–1822), also came to see the collection.4 The ‘Museo’ was an international meeting place, frequented by many artists including the English sculptor, Joseph Nollekens, who worked for Cavaceppi as an assistant in the 1760s, and the English painter, Charles Grignoin, who resided with him in 1787.5 Strategically located between the Spanish Steps and the Piazza del Popolo and thus in the social hub of Rome, the sprawling workshop was graced by European royalty – Catherine the Great, Maria Christina, Duchess of Teschen, Princess Sophia Albertina of Sweden, her brother, King Gustav III – and a steady stream of English Grand Tourists like Charles Townley (see cat. 28), many of whom became important clients.6 From a modest background, Cavaceppi trained as a sculptor before enrolling in the Accademia di San Luca in 1732. Two years later, Cardinal Alessandro Albani (1692–1779), the nephew of Pope Clement XI and then the most respected private collector of antiquities in Rome, appointed Cavaceppi as his personal restorer. The association brought him many profitable commissions from foreign tourists for whom he found antique statues, restored them, or made copies, in marble or plaster. He also created original works, rarely signed, that were often confused with authentic antique originals. Through his friend, the art historian and archaeol- 164 ogist, Johann Joachim Winckelman (1717–68), who, in 1764, published The History of Art in Antiquity (Geschichte der Kunst des Alterthums), Cavaceppi secured many English clients, taken with the current mania for classical antiquity. He later served as chief restorer to the Pope at the Museo Clementino and was made Knight of the Golden Spur in 1770. In 1768 Cavaceppi published the first volume of his Raccolta d’antiche statue, busti, teste cognite ed altre sculture antiche containing sixty plates of antique statues that had been repaired in his studio, often ‘corrected’ with missing or broken parts filled in. Over half of these had been acquired by English collectors.7 A year later, he published the second volume, essentially a promotional catalogue with works available for purchase, followed by a third in 1772. Illustrating a total of 196 works, these influential volumes, the first of their kind, helped to satisfy the seemingly insatiable demand for unblemished antique sculpture – free of fragmentary vestiges or other perceived flaws – and to encourage an emerging neo-classical aesthetic. For modern scholars they serve as an indispensible tool for identifying works he restored. By 1756 Cavaceppi established his vast studio on the Via del Babbuino, a workshop and showroom. Cavaceppi employed a range of skilled and unskilled workers with different roles and specialisations, fifteen of whom have been identified by name, with Giuseppe Angelini and Carlo Albacini being the most accomplished.8 The frontispiece to the first volume of Cavaceppi’s Raccolta provides a fascinating look at his active studio with assistants exercising different techniques of restoration and antiques in various stages of completion (fig. 1). It offers a glimpse at what must have been a sprawling complex of rooms with distinctive architectural details – high ceilings, lattice windows and an enfilade of vaulted archways connecting each room, one leading to an open garden courtyard at the back.9 165 Fig. 2. Lucilla Sotto sembianza d’Urania, anch’essa or esistente in Germania, engraving in Raccolta d’antiche statue, vol. 1, Rome, 1768, pl. 58. Photo: Warburg Institute, London Fig. 3. Kore as Urania, body, Antonine, c. 150 ad after a Greek model, 4th century bc; head, 160–170 ad; marble, 270 cm (h), Berlin, SMBPK, Antikensammlung, Sk 379 Fig. 1. View of Cavaceppi’s Roman Studio, engraving, in Raccolta d’antiche statue, vol. 1, frontispiece, Rome, 1768. Photo: Warburg Institute, London Hubert Robert certainly encountered Cavaceppi during his Roman sojourn, 1754–65 (see cat. 17), and visited his studio on occasion, as this drawing testifies. Executed in soft black chalk, it offers a view of one of the many rooms in the Cavaceppi workshop. As in the engraving, there is a high ceiling with lattice windows, statues and blocks of stone are scattered about, and affixed to the wall on the left, is the same type of wooden structure and lead point suspended on a cord used for measuring sculpture.10 With a chisel in one hand and a mallet in the other, a restorer dressed in formal attire, perhaps Cavaceppi himself, is busy worker-cutting on the cascading drapery of an enormous statue of an armless woman. We can identify this as Cavaceppi’s studio with virtual certainty as two works in the drawing were illustrated in his Raccolta.11 One of them, the monumental female statue in the centre, re-appears in the publication, with arms added and an entirely different head (fig. 2). Cavaceppi identified her as Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelius, with the attributes of Urania, the muse of Astronomy (‘Lucilla Sotto sembianza d’Urania, anch’essa or esistente in Germania’). A staggering 220-cm in height she is preserved today, with further restorations, in Berlin (fig. 3).12 The seated figure behind her 166 in the drawing, to the right, the muse Kalliope, lost in Berlin during World War II, was also restored by Cavaceppi (figs 4–5).13 Both were acquired in 1766 by the Bolognese doctor and antiquarian, Giovanni Ludovico Bianconi, another friend of Winkelmann’s, for King Frederick William II of Prussia and assigned to Cavaceppi for restoration before being sent to the Sansssouci Palace in Potsdam in 1767.14 The child’s sarcophagus visible in the drawing on the left wall is also similar to that preserved today in Charlottenhof Palace in Potsdam though it does not appear in the Raccolta.15 The dating of Robert’s drawing is problematic as in 1766, the year Lucilla and Kalliope were acquired by Bianconi, the Fig. 4. Kalliope, engraving in Raccolta d’antiche statue, vol. 1, Rome, 1768, pl. 45. Photo: Warburg Institute, London Fig. 5. Kalliope, Roman, marble, 98 cm, formerly Berlin, SMBPK, Antikensammlung, Sk 600, lost c. 1945 Fig. 6. Hubert Robert, L’Atelier du restaurateur de sculptures antiques, black chalk, 368 × 323 mm, Château Borély, Marseilles, Inv. 68-194 Fig. 7. Hubert Robert, Studio of a Sculpture Restorer, oil on panel, 13 × 10 cm, private collection. Photo: Witt Library painter was already back in Paris, having left Rome in July 1765. However, it seems highly likely that the works were lodged in Cavaceppi’s studio before their acquisition and, indeed, they are drawn in their pre-restoration state.16 During the same period Robert probably made the black chalk drawing now in Marseille showing an antiquities restorer, perhaps Cavaceppi himself, working on a female bust (fig. 6).17 Captivated by the theme of the artist at work, Robert would return to the subject of the restorer’s studio. In 1783 he successfully showed the impressive, rather generically entitled, The Studio of an Antiquities Restorer in Rome at the Salon (Toledo Museum of Art), which, though clearly an idealised vision featuring some of the most famous antique works of the day (including the River Nile, Cupid and Psyche, etc.), is also a wistful reminiscence of the artist’s own Roman years and passionate study of antique statuary: a diminutive figure of an artist sketching is visible in the foreground.18 In another little-known privately owned picture attributed to Robert, well-clad visitors admire antique statues in a sculptor’s studio while the ubiquitous artist is seen drawing (fig. 7). Though certain features suggest the small painting may also represent Cavaceppi’s studio, as with the Toledo canvas, topographical exactitude is tempered with a more generalised, romantic – and highly saleable view – of remnants from Rome’s ancient past. avl 1 For his life and work, see especially Howard 1970, Howard 1982, London 1983, Howard 1991, Gasparri and Ghiandoni 1994, Rome 1994, Piva 2000, Barr 2008, Weiss and Dostert 2000, Bignamini and Hornsby 2010, pp. 252–55; Piva 2010–11, C. Piva in Rome 2010–11, pp. 418–19, no. IV.1 and Meyer and Piva 2011, pp. 149–55 (for essential bibliography). 2 Howard 1988, p. 479; Piva 2000, p. 5; Barr 2008, p. 86. 3 Goethe 1827–42, p. 540, cited in C. Piva in Rome 2010–11b, pp. 418–19, no. IV.1. 4 Piva 2000, pp. 6, 17, note 4; Honour and Mariuz 2007, pp. 26, 60–63. 5 For Nollekens, see Howard 1964, pp. 177–89; Coltman 2003, pp. 371–96. For Grignoin, see Ingamells 1997, pp. 433–34. 6 Howard 1988, p. 479. For Cavaceppi’s works from British collections, see London 1983. 7 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 68. 8 Barr 2008, p. 104 and p. 184, Appendix B. 9 Some of the same topographical details are discernible in a little-known floor plan of the building (Piva 2000, p. 10, fig. 7). 10 For more on this device and an engraving demonstrating its use (published by D. Diderot and J. le Rond d’Alembert in the Encyclopédie in 1765), see Myssok 2010, pp. 272–73, fig. 13.2. 11 As first noted by Stefan Körner (Körner 2013, under lot 307R). 12 Ibid., under lot lot 307R; U. Müller-Kaspar, in Hüneke 2009, p. 416, no. 270. 13 Körner 2013, under lot lot 307R; U. Müller-Kaspar, in Hüneke 2009, p. 430, no. 283. 14 Müller-Kaspar 2009, p. 395. 15 D. Kreikenbom, in Hüneke 2009, pp. 578–79, no. 357. 16 According to Winckelmann, many statues (including Kalliope and possibly also Lucilla) were acquired by Bianconi in 1766 from the sale of Cavaliere Pietro Natali’s collection in Rome. Conceivably, they were brought to Cavaceppi’s studio while they were still in Natali’s possession (MüllerKaspar 2009, p. 395; U. Müller-Kaspar, in Hüneke 2009, pp. 416, 430). 17 Marseille 2001, p. 96, no. 109. 18 Guiffrey 1869–72, vol. 32, p.25, no. 61: ‘L’intérieur d’un Attelier à Rome, dans lequel on restaure des statues antiques. Cet Attelier est pratiqué & construit dans les debris d’un ancien Temple’. 167 19. Georg Martin Preissler (Nürnberg 1700–54 Nürnberg) after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia (Lucca 1692–1775 Rome) Self-Portrait of Campiglia Drawing 1739 Engraving, first state (before the lettering) 226 × 167 mm (image); 315 × 223 mm (sheet) Inscribed l.l. below image in pencil: ‘Campiglia se ipse del.’; l.r.: in pencil: ‘G. M. Preisler.Sc.Nor.; and l.c. in pencil: ‘Joh. Dominicus Campiglia, / Pictor Florent. Delineator / Musei Fiorentini.’ prov enance: Trinity Fine Art, London, 1999, from whom acquired. liter ature: Le Blanc 1854–88, vol. 3, p. 244, no. 6, ‘Campiglia (Giov. – Dom.). 1739. In – fol. -1er état : avant le lettere.’ e xhibitions: London 1999b, p. 8, no. 16, not repr. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1999–054 A prolific and accomplished draughtsman, painter and reproductive engraver, Campiglia was a central figure in promoting and disseminating images of the Antique during the middle decades of the 18th century and therefore, is a key figure in the present exhibition.1 His formative years were spent training with his uncle and local painters in Lucca, Bologna and Florence where he studied drawing, as well as anatomy and perspective and made copies after the Old Masters. By 1716, he was residing in Rome studying the most important collections of antique sculpture. That year he received a first prize for painting and for drawings to illustrate a booklet for the Accademia di San Luca. He was already respected for his wide culture and his work was admired by English collectors like Richard Topham, who esteemed his refined and highly finished chalk studies of antique sculpture, as well as his portraits.2 His close involvement in two lavishly illustrated and highly successful and influential publications largely devoted to antique sculpture – the Museum Florentinum and the Museo Capitolino (cat. 20) – brought him lasting fame and consolidated the taste for classical antiquity that continued through the rest of the 18th century and beyond.3 In the early 1730s the Florentine antiquarian, Anton Francesco Gori (1691–1757), began to assemble a set of volumes that aimed to provide a visual record of the art collections of Florence, mainly those of the Medici, the ruling dynasty. He commissioned Campiglia, already in the city in 1726, and others to make drawings of the works selected to be engraved. The Museum Florentinum was published between 1731 and 1766. It comprised twelve large volumes divided into four parts: Gemmae antiquae ex Thesauro Mediceo et privatorum dactyliothecis florentiae…, devoted to engraved gems (1731–32); Statuae antiquae deorum et virorum illustrium, on antique statues and monuments (1734), Antiqua numismata aurea et argentea, dedicated to ancient coins (1740–42) and, lastly, Serie di ritratti 168 degli eccellenti pittori, illustrating 320 portraits of prominent artists, published in 1752–66. This last volume, based on artists’ self-portraits in the Uffizi’s collection, is of particular relevance here, as we shall see later. This rare engraving by Preissler, hitherto unpublished and known only in a single impression of the first state, is probably based on a now untraced self-portrait of Campiglia. 4 Without explanation, Le Blanc dates the print to 1739 – when the artist was 47.5 Wearing an ermine collar with a crisp, white, open-necked shirt and directly engaging the viewer, he presents himself as straightforward, successful and brimming with confidence. Assuming that Le Blanc’s date is correct, the print appeared at time when Campiglia was enjoying considerable success. The first two parts of the Museum Florentinum had already been published, he had begun work on the Capitolino in 1735 (see cat. 20) and, precisely in 1739, he had been appointed Superintendent of the Calcografia Camerale, the papal printing press. These successes culminated in his nomination for membership of the Accademia di San Luca in November of that same year.6 Resting a sheet of paper against a drawings portfolio held in his left hand, with his right hand he is drawing with a porte-crayon a model of the Belvedere Antinous standing on the table before him (fig. 1). At the statue’s feet is a figurine of a herm with the head of a youth, perhaps Mercury, and two medals, one showing a man holding a lyre, who may be Homer.7 It is not surprising that Campiglia, whose reputation was established through skilfully reproducing artefacts from the ancient world, should present himself with the Belvedere Antinous, one of the most celebrated statues to survive from antiquity. Renowned since its discovery in the 16th century and for its placement in the Belvedere court, it soon ranked among the most famous statues of Rome.8 Casts of the statue of the handsome youth, the lover of the Roman emperor, Hadrian, who drowned himself in the Nile and was deified by 169 Fig. 1. Belvedere Antinous, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period (117–138 ad) from a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 195 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 907 the grief-stricken emperor, were produced almost immediately after its discovery and copies in marble and bronze were made through the 17th century.9 Considered to embody perfection, according to Bellori the statue was the subject of studies in ideal proportion by François Duquesnoy (1597– 1643) and Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665) (p. 47, fig. 68). The figure had wide-reaching appeal to collectors and connoisseurs, and enticed a range of artists, who, from the 16th century included it in portraits.10 During the 18th century small-scale models in bronze or marble, like that seen in the engraving, were produced in large numbers with ‘restored’ arms, as seen here. Archaeologist and art historian, Winckelmann, no doubt contributed to the statue’s elevated status even more with his claim, ‘our Nature will not easily create a body as perfect as that of the Antinous admirandus’.11 The widely held belief that the statue was the embodiment of ideal beauty would be upheld into the 19th century: even the usually acerbic William Hogarth admitted its proportions were ‘the most perfect . . . of any of the antique statues’.12 Campiglia was not shy and his other self-portraits make a compelling comparison with this one. Interestingly, he 170 adopts the same pose in the print as he did for his personification of painting in the little-known Il Genio della Pittura of around 1739–40 in the Accademia Nazionale di San Luca (fig. 2).13 The chalk holder becomes a paint brush and the drawings portfolio a canvas. Not coincidentally, Campiglia seems to have donated this painting as his entry work to the Academy c. 1740, about contemporary with the present engraving.14 He cleverly fuses iconographic elements in an amusing black chalk study of c. 1737–38 in the British Museum (fig. 3) acquired by Charles Frederick (1709–85) while in Rome on the Grand Tour, where he depicts himself drawing in the company of a seated monkey who playfully holds up a paint brush, a clear allegorical reference to art imitating nature or ‘art as the ape of nature’ as Aristotle describes it in the Poetics.15 Characterised as ‘a very well-bred communicative man’, Campiglia and his portraits were enormously popular with English collectors.16 Campiglia made several other self-portraits throughout his career.17 Of particular relevance is the painting made around 1766 for his pupil and collaborator, Pietro Antonio Pazzi (c. 1706–after 1766) and now in the Uffizi.18 It shows the artist at ease, his hands casually resting on his ever-present portfolio. The picture appears, like so many of the Uffizi self-portraits, as an engraving by the same Pazzi in the final volume of the Museum Florentinum (fig. 4).19 In Pazzi’s engraving the format and central image dimensions are nearly identical to our print of Campiglia by Georg Martin Preissler, who, not coincidentally, engraved other portrait plates in the Museum Florentinum. Furthermore, the pencil lettering, Joh. Dominicus Campiglia, / Pictor Florent. Delineator, beneath the image in our engraving is similar in style and format to the engraved inscriptions accompanying the other portraits in the book. Also telling is the final pencil inscription, Delineator Musei Fiorentini, under his name in the print. All this evidence strongly suggests that Campiglia intended to use the present image for the Museum Florentinum – and had it engraved by Preissler for that purpose – but he decided not to use it. Perhaps it served as a kind of test-print for the engraved self-portraits in the volume. Although the portrait series was not published until 1752–66, by 1739, Gori and Campiglia would already have started to plan the format of the later sections. Interestingly, Charles Le Blanc similarly describes Preissler’s engravings of Dürer, Eglon van der Neer, Rubens and Raphael, all destined for the Museum Florentinum, as first states ‘before the lettering’.20 But whatever our print’s true purpose, by the time the portrait volumes appeared, Campiglia, then well into his sixties and in the twilight of his career opted to present a more recent and relaxed version of himself. avl Fig. 2. Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, Genius of Painting, c. 1739–40, oil on canvas, 48 × 63.3 cm, Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, Rome, Inv. 0075 Fig. 3. Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, Self-Portrait of Campiglia Drawing, with a Monkey Seated on the Table at Left, c. 1737–38, black chalk, 417 × 258 mm, Department of Prints and Drawings, British Museum, London, 1865,0114.820 Fig. 4. Pietro Antonio Pazzi after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, Self-Portrait of Campiglia, engraving in Museum Florentinum, Florence, vol. 12, 1766, plate XXII, 274 × 176 mm (plate), Sir John Soane’s Museum Library, London, 2848 1 For essential biography, see Prosperi Valenti 1974, pp. 539–41; Quieto 1984a; Quieto 1984b. 2 Through his agent, Francesco Ferdinano Imperiali, Topham commissioned Campiglia and others, including the young Pompeo Batoni, to make dozens, if not hundreds of drawings with the aim of systematically illustrating Roman collections of antiquities. Many of these drawings are now preserved at Eton College. See Connor Bulman 2002, pp. 343–57 and Windsor 2013, pp. 11, 14–15. 3 The corpus of his drawings for the Museum Florentinum are in the Uffizi in Florence (Quieto 1984b, p. 10) and for the Museo Capitolino, in the Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica in Rome (Quieto 1984b, pp. 10, 17–26, 29–36; I. Sgarbozza in Rome 2010–11b, p. 402, no. II.15a-b). 4 It is listed by C. Le Blanc (1854–88, vol. 3, p. 244, no. 6) among the prints by G. M. Preissler: ‘Campiglia (Giov. – Dom.). 1739. In – fol. -1er état : avant le lettere. Frauenholz, 4 flor.’ To the knowledge of the present writer, no impression of the second state exists nor, for that matter, has either state previously been published or discussed. The name and price Le Blanc mentions – Frauenholz, 4 florins – refer to the Nuremberg-based print dealer and publisher, Johann Friedrich Frauenholz (1758–1822), who may have owned the catalogued impression and who sold (or acquired) it for the price of 4 florins. While it is possible that the present impression is the one described, none of Frauenholz’s collector’s marks or inscriptions (L. 951, L. 994, L. 1044 and L. 1458) appear on it. 5 Campiglia’s relatively youthful appearance suggests the drawn or painted original may have been executed a decade or so earlier. 6 He was proposed by Sebastiano Conca on 15 November 1739 and his membership confirmed, 3 January 1740 (Quieto 1983, p. 3). 7 As noted by Eloisa Dodero (personal communication), the herm is similar to the one seen in the background of Campiglia and Pazzi’s engraving, Students Copying Antiquities at the Capitoline Museum (see following entry, cat. no. 20). 8 Haskell and Penny (1981, pp. 139–42, no. 4) give a full account of the sculpture’s history and reception. See also Krahn 1996. 9 See V. Krahn in Rome 2000b, vol. 2, pp. 403–04, no. 9. 10 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 142 and Krahn 1996. 11 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 142; and Winckelmann 1968, p. 153. 12 Hogarth 1753, pp. 81–83. 13 Faldi 1977, pp. 504, 508, fig. 8. 14 Quieto 1983, p. 5; Rome 1968, p. 22, no. 5. 15 Liverpool 1994-95, p. 72, no. 19. 16 Ibid., p. 72. Gentleman’s Magazine 1853, vol. 40, p. 237, as quoted by H. Macandrew 1978, p. 138. 17 Painted self-portraits are in the Palazzo Altieri, Viterbo (formerly Faldi collection, Rome; Quieto 1983, pp. 5–6, 8, fig. 3, c. 1726–28), the Lemme collection, Rome (ibid., 1983, pp. 5, 7–8, fig. 4, 1732–34). See also the two mentioned in note 18, below. Drawn self-portraits of a later date have appeared on the London art market: Chaucer Fine Arts, 2003 (London 2003a, no. 12), Christie’s, December 6, 2012, lot 56 and Christie’s, April 21 1998, lot 126. 18 See Quieto 1983, pp. 4–5, fig. 2 and Quieto 2007, pp. 93–94, fig. 27. As that author noted, it reprises the composition of an earlier work painted for the Accademia di San Luca (1983, p. 5, cover). 19 Although in 1766 the painting was not yet in the Uffizi – it was not left by Pazzi to the Grand Ducal collection until 1768 (Quieto 1983, p. 5) – it is likely that at that date he had already planned to bequeath it, given the selfportraits in the Museum Florentinum are based on the Uffizi’s collection. 20 Le Blanc 1854–88, vol. 3, p. 244, nos. 8, 23, 28, 30. Interestingly, Le Blanc indicates that the Dürer and Raphael were also once owned by Frauenholz. It seems that all these early first states were in a folio together. 171 20. Pietro Antonio Pazzi (Florence c. 1706 – after 1766 Florence) after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia (Lucca 1692–1775 Rome) Students Copying Antiquities at the Capitoline Museum 1755 Engraving in Giovanni Gaetano Bottari, Musei Capitolini, vol. 3, Rome, 1755, p. 1 99 × 186 mm (plate), 444 × 287 mm (sheet) Inscribed l.l.: ‘Gio. Dom. Campiglia inv. e disegn.’; and l. r.: ‘P. Ant. Pazzi incis.’ prov enance: Robert Adam (1728–92); his sale, Christie’s, London, 20–21 May 1818; purchased by Sir John Soane (1753–1837), not listed in the Christie’s sale catalogue (according to hand list, Sir John Soane’s Museum, Priv. Corr. XVI.E.3.12: ‘Books purchased at Mr Adam’s sale’). liter ature: Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 84, fig. 46; Lyon 1998–99, pp. 109–10, under no. 89, not repr. (A. Themelly); Paris 2000–01, p. 370, fig. 2; Macsotay 2010, p. 194, fig. 9.3. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Sir John Soane’s Museum Library, London, 4033 e xhibited in london only Few images capture the process of learning to draw after the Antique in 18th-century Rome as vividly as Campiglia and Pazzi’s densely populated engraving. More readily accessible than the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican (cats 5 and 6) and the private aristocratic collections, such as the Borghese and Farnese (cats 6 and 21), the Capitoline Museum was the ideal venue for students to draw in situ from some of the most celebrated antiquities preserved in Rome. Founded in 1471 with Pope Sixtus IV’s (r. 1471–84) donation of several important ancient bronzes – the She Wolf, the colossal bronze head and hand of Constantine, the Spinario and the Camillus – all preserved until then in the Lateran Palace, the Capitoline grew in time to become one of the largest and most prestigious collections of classical antiquities ever assembled in Rome.1 In 1734, in conjunction with the recent acquisition of the celebrated collection of Cardinal Alessandro Albani, and thanks to the enlightened policy of Pope Clement XII (r. 1730–40), the Capitoline opened as a public museum.2 Established with the two-fold civic and educational purpose of preserving and making accessible to the public the city’s antiquities and to cultivate ‘the practice and advancement of young students of the Liberal Arts’, the museum soon became a lure for Italian and foreign antiquarians and artists alike.3 The didactic function of the museum was emphasised further by Pope Benedict XIV (r. 1740–58) with the opening of the Pinacoteca Capitolina in 1748, the first public collection of painting in Rome, and, in 1754, the establishment of the Accademia del Nudo.4 The Capitoline thus became the first public museum in Europe in the modern sense of the word and an ideal academy where art students could copy concurrently from the Antique, Old Master paintings and the live model. The museum’s educational mission was sanctioned by its growing association with the Accademia di San Luca. Academy members 172 presided over the life classes at the Accademia del Nudo (Campiglia directed classes there in April 1757 and November 1760)5 and prizes for the student competitions at the Accademia di San Luca, the Concorsi, were awarded in sumptuous ceremonies in the rooms of the Capitoline palaces.6 This image is the engraved vignette that introduces the volume devoted to ancient statues of the Musei Capitolini, an ambitious publication produced with the pedagogical intent of spreading knowledge of the museum and its collection of antiquities.7 Conceived by Cardinal Neri Maria Corsini, the nephew of Pope Clement XII, it consisted of large engraved plates (fig. 1), all based on designs by Campiglia, accompanied by a substantial commentary by the antiquarian Giovanni Gaetano Bottari (1689–1775); both artist and writer had worked together previously on the monumental Museum Florentinum (cat. 19). First published in Italian as Del Museo Capitolino (4 vols, Rome, 1741–82) and then translated into Latin as Musei Capitolini (4 vols, Rome, 1750–82) in order to reach a wider foreign audience, the large volumes can be Fig. 1. Carlo Gregori after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, The Dying Gladiator, engraving, 202 × 300 mm, plate 68 from Giovanni Gaetano Bottari, Musei Capitolini, vol. 3, Rome, 1755 173 considered the first systematic catalogue of a public museum.8 The prestige of the publication, the clarity and neatness of the illustrations – produced by many of the engravers who, like Pietro Antonio Pazzi, had participated in the Museum Florentinum – soon made it a celebrated and indispensible reference work that greatly contributed to the diffusion of the classical taste in Europe. It was a familiar presence in the libraries of connoisseurs and artists as this copy, owned by Sir John Soane (1753–1837) and before him by Robert Adam (1728–92), testifies. The engraving is a celebration of the new educational role of the museum and its association with the Academy of San Luca, of which Campiglia had been a member since 1740 (see cat. 19). In a crowded space, a group of students is seen sketching and modelling in clay after two of the most famous statues that had been recently acquired for the museum: the so-called Dying Gladiator (fig. 2) and the Capitoline Antinous (fig. 3), now believed to represent respectively a Gaul and Hermes. The former, discovered around 1623, and already famous in the 17th century when it was in the Ludovisi collection, had been acquired in 1737 by Clement XII for the Capitoline.9 Placed at the centre of the composition, with Fig. 2. The Dying Gladiator, Roman copy of a Pergamene original of the 3rd century bc, marble, 93 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC0747 Fig. 3. The Capitoline Antinous, Roman copy of the 2nd century ad of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 180 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC0741 the young artists assembled in a semi-circle around it as if in a life class, the Gladiator invited analysis and study of the male anatomy in a complex pose, as well as offering an example of a noble and heroic death. The Capitoline Antinous, recorded in Cardinal Albani’s possession from 1733, had been acquired with the rest of the Cardinal’s collection in the same year and was displayed in the museum a few years later.10 Quickly eclipsing the Belvedere Antinous (see p. 26, fig. 22 and cat. 19, fig. 1), it represented a perfect image of the male body in its youth. It is not by chance that the young students are focusing on these two statues among the many towering over them in the room, for the Dying Gladiator and the Capitoline Antinous were the chosen subjects for the third class of the Concorso Clementino – reserved for the copy – either drawing or modelling – usually after the Antique, organised by the Accademia di San Luca for the year 1754 (fig. 4).11 But if the engraving alludes to a contemporary event, the establishment of the museum as a ‘Scuola del Disegno’,12 it is also a capriccio, as it gathers together sculptures that were in fact displayed elsewhere in various rooms and collections, much as Hubert Robert would do in his beautiful red chalk drawing of almost ten years later (p. 56, fig. 96). The Dying Gladiator, the Capitoline Antinous and the two standing statues behind him, the Antinous Osiris and the Wounded Amazon, could all be admired and studied in the privileged space of the Salone of the Palazzo Nuovo, which housed some of the best masterpieces of the collection.13 The socalled Albani Crater, half visible on the far left, and the seated Agrippina behind the Antinous, were however, displayed elsewhere in the Palazzo Nuovo, respectively in the Stanza del Vaso and in the Stanza dell’Ercole.14 Moreover, Campiglia did not confine himself to depicting only works from the Capitoline collections: even more out of place are the two figures on the right, who turn their backs to Fig. 5. Giovanni Paolo Panini, View of Ancient Rome or Roma Antica, detail, c.1755, oil on canvas, 169.5 × 227 cm, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart inv. Nr. 3315 us as if to signify that they belong elsewhere. These are the much revered Antinous Belvedere and the Venus de’ Medici – displayed at that time respectively in the Vatican and in the Tribuna of the Uffizi.15 Their presence here probably served to sanction and affirm the canonical status of their Capitoline companions, all recently excavated or acquired. What we see is therefore a symbolic space, where reality and fantasy are combined to legitimise and promote the relatively new collection of the museum. The volumes of the Musei Capitolini served as a reference tool for many artists and no doubt inspired the scene showing young students drawing the Dying Gladiator in the foreground of Giovanni Paolo Panini’s renowned View of Ancient Rome (fig. 5, and p. 53, fig. 92), the first version of which, not coincidentally, was painted at about the same Fig. 4. Giovanni Casanova, Drawing of the Capitoline Antinous (third award for the third class in painting of the Concorso Clementino), 1754, red chalk on brown prepared paper, 510 × 290 mm, Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, Rome, inv. A.380 Fig. 6. Carlo Gregori after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, Young Artists Copying the ‘Arrotino’, engraving, 118 × 151 mm, page 225 in Anton Francesco Gori, Museum Florentinum . . . , vol. 8, Florence, 1754 174 time as the publication of this particular volume. Campiglia devised similar graceful allegorical vignettes for the contemporary volumes of the Museum Florentinum.16 One in particular, engraved by Carlo Gregori (1719–59), seems to be the Florentine counterpart of the Roman image, showing students sketching the Arrotino, surrounded by the symbols of the arts and books on anatomy and geometry (fig. 6).17 Although in the second half of the 18th century access to the museum sometimes proved difficult due to lack of personnel, and while artists had to go through the bureaucratic process of applying to the papal camerlengo or to the director of the museum for licence to make copies, the Capitoline remained one of the most popular sites among artists and travellers, as the many views of its interiors testify (pp. 55–56, figs 94–96).18 aa 1 For recent and brief introductions on the history of the Capitoline collections, with previous bibliography, see Parisi Presicce 2010; Paul 2012. 2 On the early years of the Capitoline as a public museum see Arata 1994; Franceschini and Vernesi 2005; Arata 2008. 3 Document dated 5 December 1733 quoted in Arata 1994, p. 75. 4 On the Pinacoteca see Marinetti and Levi 2014. On the Accademia del Nudo see Pietrangeli 1959; Pietrangeli 1962; MacDonald 1989; Barroero 1998. 5 On Campiglia’s supervision of life classes at the Accademia del Nudo see Pirrotta 1969. 6 On the Concorsi see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91; Rome, University Park (PA) and elsewhere 1989–90; Cipriani 2010–11. 7 See Quieto 1984b; Kieven 1998; Philadelphia and Houston 2000, pp. 484– 86, no. 329 (S. Prosperi Valenti Rodinò); Rome 2004, pp. 96–108, nos 1–7 (A. Gallottini); Rome 2010–11b, p. 401, no. II.14 (I. Sgarbozza). 8 Campiglia started working on his designs for the plates in 1735: see Franceschini and Vernesi 2005, pp. 59–60. 9 See Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 224–27, no. 44; Mattei 1987; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2010, pp. 428–35. 10 See Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 143–44, no. 5; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2010, pp. 500–01. The statue was exhibited in the museum from 1739 or 1742. 11 Cipriani and Valeriani 1988-91, vol. 2, pp. 219–20, 228. While the 1754 prize drawings depicting the Antinous survive in the archives of the Accademia, the terracottas representing the Dying Gladiator are lost. The Dying Gladiator was also chosen as the subject for the third class in painting in 1758 and the Capitoline Antinous for the third class in sculpture in 1779, and in painting in 1783: ibid., vol. 3, pp. 9–22, 120, 129–30, 141–46. 12 It was referred to as such in the award ceremony for the Concorso: see Belle Arti 1754, p. 36. 13 On the Antinous-Osiris, donated to the museum by Benedict XIV in 1742 and from 1838 in the Vatican Museum, see Paris, Ottawa and elsewhere 1994– 95, pp. 78–79, no. 24 (M. Pantazzi). On the Wounded Amazon, acquired in 1733 as part of Albani collection, see Weber 1976, pp. 46–56. 14 On the Albani Crater and its base, both previously in the Albani collection, see Grassinger 1991, pp. 189–90, no. 32. On the so-called Agrippina, already recorded in the Capitoline collections in 1566, see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 133–34, no. 1; Rome 2011, pp. 324–25, no. 5.9 (A. Avagliano). On their display at that time, see Venuti 1750, pp. 23, 30, 33–34; Arata 1994. 15 For the Antinous Belvedere and the Venus de’ Medici see above p. 26, fig. 22 and p. 42, fig. 56. 16 Many are found in volumes 8 to 12. 17 On the so-called Arrotino or Knife Grinder, once in the Villa Medici in Rome and from 1680 in the Tribuna of the Uffizi see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 154–56, no. 11; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 83–84, no. 33. 18 On access to the Capitoline Museum in the 18th century see Sgarbozza 2010–11. 175 21. Louis Chays (Aubagne c.1740–1811 Paris) The Courtyard of the Farnese Palace in Rome with the Hercules Farnese 1775 Pen and brown ink, brown wash, pencil and white gouache, 434 × 534 mm Inscribed recto, l.l., in pen and black ink: ‘chaÿs f. a rome 1775.’; and l.c., in pencil, possibly by different hand: ‘Cour du Palais Farnése’. prov enance: Hippolyte Destailleur (1822–93) collection (no. 110). liter ature: Berckenhagen 1970, p. 394, no. 3027, repr.; Giuliano 1979, p. 100, fig. 13; Michel 1981b, p. 584, fig. 8; De Seta 1992, p. 240, repr.; Gasparri 2007, p. 53, fig. 45 and p. 178, no. 273.4; Macsotay 2010, p. 194; Göttingen 2013–14, p. 208, fig. 53. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Kunstbibliothek, Berlin, Hdz 3027 e xhibited in london only Private aristocratic collections of antiquities in Rome continued to attract large numbers of artists and visitors during the 18th century. The Farnese Palace, with its group of canonical ancient sculptures – the Farnese Hercules (see p. 30, fig. 32) the Farnese Bull and the Farnese Flora among others – and its Gallery with the Loves of the Gods, the widely admired fresco cycle by Annibale Carracci (1560–1609), offered the ideal opportunity to copy the Antique and a tour de force of early 17th-century mythological decoration at the same time.1 Drawings after the famous Farnese statues by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498–1574), Hendrick Goltzius (1558–1617) (see cat. 7), Annibale Carracci (see p. 43, fig. 58), Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640; see p. 46, fig. 67), Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665), Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641), Carlo Maratti (1625–1713; see p. 43, figs 60–61), Hubert Robert (1733–1808), Jacques Louis David (1748–1825) and Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (1780– 1867), to name just a few, testify to the enduring fame of the palace and its legendary collection of antiquities among European artists residing in Rome.2 In the 18th century the palace went through changes of ownership, passing in 1731 from the Farnese to the Bourbon, but it remained a lively environment, with many artists and others residing in its rooms, and was readily accessible for those who wished to draw or model.3 Between 1786 and 1800 all the ancient statues of the collection were removed by the Bourbon King Ferdinand IV to Naples – where they can be seen today in the National Archaeological Museum – a decision that marked the end of the palace as a privileged place for studying the Antique.4 Louis Chays is one of the lesser-known figures among the French artists who gravitated towards the Académie de France in Rome in the 1770s. He studied at the Academy in Marseille under Jacques-Antoine Beaufort (1721–84), before moving to Rome thanks to the patronage of Louis-Joseph Borély, a wealthy Marseille merchant.5 His five years in Rome, between 1771 and 1776, were probably spent in the company of such pensionnaires of the Academy as Joseph-Benoît Suvée (1743–1807), Jean-Simon Berthélemy (1743–1811), Pierre- 176 Adrien Pâris (1745–1819) and François-André Vincent (1746–1816). These young artists were of the same generation, they all arrived in Rome in 1771 and stayed there for a similar span of years. They seem to have travelled around the city and the Roman campagna as a group, sketching sites, ruins and landscapes, and they naturally shared a similar style and repertoire.6 The result of Chays’ artistic wanderings consists mainly of evocative drawings in the manner of Hubert Robert and Jean-Honoré Fragonard (1732–1806) though Chays’ drawings lack their characteristic vivacity. The corpus of his drawings is preserved in the Kunstbibliothek in Berlin.7 This study, with its companion, The Colonnade of St Peter’s Square, stands apart in Chays’ known graphic production in being a large-scale and highly finished pen-and-wash drawing.8 The lively view is the only known representation of groups of students, rather than just individuals, at work in the courtyard of the Palazzo Farnese; nor does the present writer know of any similar record of study in other private collections of antiquities in Rome. It is also an important historical document, being one of the last images to show the statues in their original location before their removal to Naples, from 1786 onwards. Chays cleverly chose a low viewpoint and an angle that allows for maximum drama: the receding pillars of the portico frame the focus of our attention, the massive statue of the Farnese Hercules. We are standing in the shadowy passage leading to the gardens of the palace and we see the Hercules from behind, by then a view as successful as the front (see cats 7 and 16). Other images of the Hercules from the back in the Farnese courtyard had been produced decades earlier by Giovanni Paolo Panini (1691–1765) (fig. 1), Giacomo Quarenghi (1744–1817) (fig. 2) and Frédéric Cronstedt (1744–1829), and one wonders whether Chays had seen any of them.9 In any case, to animate his composition Chays certainly took inspiration from the many capricci by Panini where the Hercules towers over groups of wanderers and also from such drawings showing artists at 177 Fig. 1. Giovanni Paolo Panini, View of the Courtyard of the Palazzo Farnese with the ‘Hercules’ seen from Behind, c. 1730, pen and black and grey ink and wash, and coloured wash, heightened with white, 419 × 417 mm, private collection Fig. 2. Giacomo Quarenghi, View of the ‘Farnese Hercules’ in the Portico of the Courtyard of the Farnese Palace, c. 1775–79, pen and black ink and wash and coloured wash, 304 × 233 mm, private collection work in Rome produced by Charles-Joseph Natoire (see p. 55, fig. 94) or Hubert Robert (see p. 56, figs 95–97). We see here the usual cast of characters familiar from Robert’s drawings: a combination of artists, beggars, dogs, young children, and bystanders, some of them dressed in the current fashion, like the elegant aristocratic couple in the centre, no doubt accompanied by a tour guide or cicerone. Others are presented in all’antica dress, such as the beggar and muscular male student on the right, both of whom wear Roman togas and gaze intently at the sculpture from behind. But among the many visitors to the courtyard, the true protagonists are the students, busy at work, sketching on large sheets resting on drawing boards or modelling in clay, as in Campiglia’s and Pazzi’s engraving (cat. 20). Some focus on the Hercules, while others, seated on chairs or on the ground in the middle of the courtyard, turn towards the other star of the collection, the Farnese Flora, visible to the right of the Hercules.10 The entire palace seems to have been turned into an academy, with animated conversations taking place throughout: particularly intriguing is the lively discussion taking place around a large drawing in the central bay of the first floor loggia. In the distance, through the entrance vestibule on the lower right, we have a glimpse of the Piazza Farnese and the external world. While the technique in this drawing is precise and although the details are lively, the rendering of the architecture, which was evidently drawn first and before the figures were superimposed, is less successful. It is notable that the scale of the two sides of the courtyard visible behind the portico does not quite correspond. In fact, Chays’ real forte was landscape rather than accurate architectural views, although reasonably faithful depictions of the Villa Madama and other Roman buildings survive.11 Although this view is largely imaginary, it seems to evoke the spirit of the courtyard as it appeared to pupils of the Accademia di San Luca and pensionnaires of the Académie de France in Rome who frequented the palace regularly. Visits to grandiose palaces such as this must have left a lasting impression on these young students. The Accademia di San Luca sent its students around Rome to copy the Antique, especially on the occasion of academic competitions, the Concorsi.12 In the 18th century the Hercules and the Flora were chosen several times as subjects for the third class of the Concorso Clementino – reserved for the copy, a drawing or a model, usually after the Antique – and the students’ gatherings in those occasions must have offered a scene as animated as that we see in Chays’ drawing.13 Most of the artists depicted here are sketching on large sheets of paper, generally reserved in the 18th century for academic drawings after the Antique, as seen also in Campiglia’s and Pazzi’s engraving (cat. 20).14 The Académie de France in Rome had been founded in 1666 with the specific intent of shaping the taste and manner of young artists ‘sur les originaux et les modèles des plus grands maîtres de l’Antiquité et des siècles derniers’ and of furnishing the royal gardens at Versailles with copies of the most famous antiquities from Rome.15 178 Although the direct copy from antique statuary had been neglected for certain periods since the Académie’s founding, it had once again gained a central place in the official curriculum of the pensionnaires during the directorates of Nicolas Vleughels (1725–37) and Charles-Joseph Natoire (1751–75) (see cat. 16). Although no surviving drawings after the Antique by Chays are known, he probably produced them as he spent considerable time in Rome copying Old Master paintings, such as those by Raphael, Titian and Guido Reni.16 He returned to Marseilles in 1776 and spent the following years decorating the château of his patron, today the Musée Borély, where he put into practice the lessons and skills he had acquired in Rome.17 After becoming one of the professors of the Académie in Marseilles, Chays participated in the Revolution and as sergeant-major took part in 1790 in the occupation of the fort of Notre-Dame de la Garde by the Garde National.18 He later published a collection of etchings some of which he based on the views that he had assembled in his Roman years.19 Among the last mentions we have of him are his Paris Salon entries of 1802 and 1804: perspective drawings of the antiquities collection of the Louvre.20 aa 1 On the Farnese Hercules see above p. 30 and cat. 7. On the Farnese Flora see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 217–19, no. 41; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, pp. 37–42, no. 8, pl. VI, 1–5 (C. Capaldi). On the Farnese Bull see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 165–67, no. 15; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, pp. 20–25 no. 2, pl. II, 1–16 (F. Rausa). 2 See Gasparri 2007, p. 11 and pp. 157–78. 3 See Michel 1981b and La Malfa 2010–11. In 1775, the year of this drawing, the palace had 180 inhabitants. See the list in Michel 1981a, p. 565. For a list of artists residing in the palace see Michel 1981b, table between pp. 610–11. 4 Rausa 2007b, pp. 57–60. 5 On Chays (often spelled differently, Chaÿs, Chais, Chaix) see: ThiemeBecker 1907–50, vol. 6, p. 445; Benoît 1964; Toronto, Ottawa and elsewhere 1972–73, pp. 143–44, no. 23; Paris 1989, pp. 268–69, no. 113 (J.-F. Méjanès); Raspi Serra 1997. 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 See Méjanès 1976; Washington D.C. 1978–79, pp. 148–155. Berckenhagen 1970, pp. 393–96, nos 3026–3074 and 3673–3674. Ibid., p. 394, no. 3026. For Panini’s drawing see Arisi 1961, p. 245, no. 80, fig. 359; Sotheby’s New York, 29–30 January 2013, lot 113. Two paintings attributed to Panini (wrongly, in the opinion of the present writer) in a French private collection show similar views: see Munich and Cologne 2002, pp. 408–10, nos 187 a/b. For Quarenghi’s drawing see Sotheby’s New York, 27 January 2010, lot 90. Another, almost identical version is in the Hermitage, St Petersburg (inv. 25819): Bergamo 1994, pp. 185–86, no. 234. For Cronstedt’s drawing, executed in 1772, now in the National Museum, Stockholm see Palais Farnèse 1980–94, vol. 2, p. 131, fig. b. Before the 18th century the same viewpoint had been represented in a drawing by an anonymous Dutch draughtsman of c. 1540–60, now in the Herzog Anton Ulrich-Museum, Braunschweig (inv. Z 320r): see Gasparri 2007, p. 17, fig. 4 and p. 178, no. 273.1. The Flora is here shown with its Renaissance restorations by Guglielmo Della Porta and Giovanni Battista de Bianchi and before Carlo Albacini’s new restorations undertaken after 1787: see Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, esp. pp. 38–40. See for instance, Berckenhagen 1970, p. 395, no. 3030. On the Concorsi see cat. 20, note 6. Both were chosen for the third class in sculpture in 1703: Cipriani and Valeriani 1988-91, vol. 2, pp. 26–27. The Hercules was chosen for the third class in both painting and sculpture in 1728 and later on in sculpture in 1783 and in 1789 (this time from a plaster since the statue had been transported to Naples in 1787): ibid., vol. 2, p. 182, vol. 3, pp. 130, 153. The Flora was chosen for the third class in painting in 1750: ibid., vol. 2, pp. 209–10. See the size of the drawings for the third class of the Concorsi Clementini of the Accademia di San Luca in Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91, vols 2–3. See also Macsotay 2010, pp. 193–94. ‘On the originals and the examples of the greatest Antique masters and those of preceding centuries’: letter from Jean-Baptiste Colbert to Nicolas Poussin, 1664, mentioned in Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vol. 1, p. 1 and in Lapauze 1924, vol. 1, p. 2. See Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 44–46. These copies now survive in the Musée des Beaux-Arts and in the Musée Borély in Marseille: Paris 1989, pp. 268–69, no. 113 (J.-F. Méjanès). Benoît 1964. Vialla 1910, p. 484. ‘Ouvrage de 36 feuilles tirées des Porte-feuilles du C[itoye]n S. [sic] Chays…’. See Thieme-Becker 1907–50, vol. 6, p. 445. See also Le Blanc 1854–88, vol. 1, p. 625. ‘Dessins perspectives de différens points de vue, qui donnent le développement de toutes les figures antiques du Musée [du Louvre], ainsi qu’une juste idée du local et de la décoration du palais’: Sanchez and Seydoux 1999– 2006, vol. 1, p. 46, no. 58 (1802), p. 76, no. 105 (1804). See also Paris 1989, pp. 268–69, no. 113 (J.-F. Méjanès). 179 22. Henry Fuseli (Zürich 1741–1825 London) The Artist Moved by the Grandeur of Antique Fragments; The Right Hand and Left Foot of the Colossus of Constantine c. 1778–79 Pen and sepia ink and wash, red chalk, 420 × 352 mm Inscribed recto on the pedestal of the foot: ‘S.P.Q.R’, followed by illegible characters and l.r. in pencil: ‘85 W. Blake’ (false signature, perhaps 19th century) water m ar k: ‘ZP’ and the coat of arms of the city of Zurich1 prov enance: Susan Coutts, Countess of Guildford (1771–1837) (her stamp on the verso2); Paul Hürlimann, from whom acquired in 1940. selected liter atur e: Irwin 1966, p. 47, pl. 32; Schiff 1973, vol. 1, pp. 115, 478–79, no. 665, vol. 2, p. 145, fig. 665; Tomory 1972, pp. 49, 90, fig. 4; Füssli 1973, pp. 60–61, repr.; Schiff and Viotto 1980, pl. viii, no. D35 on p. 112; Klemm 1986, no. 4; Lindsay 1986, pp. 483–84, fig. 1; Taylor 1987, p. 125, repr.; Nochlin 1994, pp. 7–8, fig. 1; Rossi Pinelli 1997, pp. 15, 18, repr.; Bartels 2000, p. 23, note 2; Patz 2004, p. 271, fig. 3; Bungarten 2005, cover; Pacini 2008, pp. 55–56, fig. 4; Valverde 2008, pp. 163–64, fig. 5; Trumble 2010, pp. 6–7, repr.; Barroero 2011, no. 22, repr.; Mongi-Vollmer 2013, p. 294, fig. 127. selected e xhibitions: Zurich 1941, no. 251; New York 1954, no. 31; Zurich 1969, no. 165; Copenhagen 1973, p. 55, no. 21, not repr. (B. Jørnæs); Hamburg 1974–75, p. 129, no. 45 (G. Schiff); London 1975, pp. 54–55, no. 10 (G. Schiff ); Paris 1975, unpag., no. 10 (G. Schiff ); Milan 1977–78, pp. 19–20, no. 6 (L. Vitali); Geneva 1978, p. 8, no. 3; Munich 1979–80, pp. 279–80, no. 154 (J. Gage); Tokyo 1983, pp. 62–63, no. 7 (G. Schiff ); Zurich 1984, pp. 49, 179, no. 25; Stockholm 1990, p. 33, no. 3 (G. Cavalli-Björkman and R. von Holten); Stuttgart 1997–98, pp. 5–7, no. 10 (C. Becker); Zurich 2005, p. 256, no. 1, frontispiece 2; Paris 2008, p. 120, no. 36 (B. von Waldkirch). The Kunsthaus, Graphische Sammlung, Zürich, inv. no. 1940/144 e xhibited in london only This celebrated drawing is one of the most powerful images ever produced on the relationship of the artist with the Antique. It presents a very different response to classical antiquity from the many didactic compositions shown in this catalogue, expressing the extremism and the Sturm und Drang that imbued early Romanticism. The artist here confronts the Antique not as a source of information or inspiration but on a deeper level: he meditates on the grandeur of a lost past both as a philosopher, considering the fragility of the human condition and, more powerfully still, as a creator in despair at his own inability to match the achievements of classical antiquity. Fuseli’s evocative image effectively summarises the dramatic change in the approach to the Antique which took place in Rome in the late 18th century within a circle of anti-academic and largely self-taught artists, such as Alexander Runciman (1736–85), John Brown (1749–87), Tobias Sergel (1740–1814) and Thomas Banks (1735–1805), among whom Fuseli was the most influential.3 For them the ancient sculptures were alive, a tangible expression of the emotions and individuality of their creators, rather than models of ideal beauty and proportional perfection. Born Johann Heinrich Füssli in 1741 in Zurich into a family of artists, his father, Caspar (1706–82), a painter and historian, was one of the Swiss correspondents of Anton Raphael Mengs (1728–79) and Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717– 68). 4 Fuseli’s early education benefited from the teaching of Johann Jakob Bodmer (1698–1783) and Johann Jakob Breitinger (1701–76), forerunners of the literary and artistic 180 movement Sturm und Drang, who introduced the young artist to the study of Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton and the Niebelungenlied, decisively contributing to the eclecticism of his imaginative sources. Fuseli moved to London in 1764 and soon became well acquainted with the city’s lively cultural milieu and quickly acquired fame as a painter. In 1770, on the advice of Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723–92), Fuseli travelled to Rome. He stayed there for eight years, with very few interruptions, leaving in 1778. After spending a few months in Zurich, he returned to London where he was destined to spend the rest of his life. Elected academician at the Royal Academy of Art in 1790 and Professor of Painting in 1799, Fuseli became one of the most acclaimed artists of his generation; he died in the residence of the Countess of Guilford, one of his patrons and previous owner of the present drawing, in Putney Hill in south-west London, in 1825. The eight years Fuseli spent in Rome were of great importance for the development of his artistic language and theory of art. Fascinated by the majestic relics of imperial Rome, but even more impressed by Michelangelo’s masterpieces, Fuseli soon distanced himself from the idealised and harmonious view of the Antique espoused in the theoretical works of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729–81) and of Winckelmann, who had been murdered in Trieste two years before Fuseli arrived in Rome. This death was symbolic for, although initially a great enthusiast for Winckelmann’s writings, some of which he translated into English, Fuseli became one of his most radical detractors by asserting the importance of appreciating the emotions and conflicts that ran through 181 ancient works of art.5 As Fuseli stated many years later in the introduction to his Lectures on Painting presented at the Royal Academy, German critics had taught the artist ‘to substitute the means for the end, and, by a hopeless chase after what they call beauty, to lose what alone can make beauty interesting – expression and mind’.6 ‘Expression animates, convulses, or absorbs form. The Apollo is animated; the warrior of Agasias is agitated; the Laocoon is convulsed; the Niobe is absorbed’. This is one of the Aphorisms on Art compiled by Fuseli in the late 1780s, although it was first published only in 1831 by John Knowles in his The Life and Writing of Henry Fuseli.7 These famous masterpieces of ancient sculpture, the Apollo Belvedere, the Borghese Gladiator, the Laocoön and the Niobe Medici, are not seen by Fuseli simply as the embodiment of a canon of perfection, models to imitate, or points of reference in the academic education of a young artist; they are treated as animated forms of the subjectivity of the artists who created them and, ultimately, of their ways of expressing feeling and emotion.8 Fuseli’s many studies after the Antique are never an end in themselves, they are rather means of expression and, because of that, ancient statues can be adapted, distorted, even desecrated by him.9 A homosexual scene depicted on an ancient Greek red-figured vase can become the model for a Shakespearean composition showing the King of Denmark poisoned by his brother in his sleep.10 Likewise, one of the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal Hill (see p. 22, fig. 10), reproduced and adapted many times by Fuseli, can be turned into Odin receiving the Prophecy of Balder’s Death.11 If Winckelmann praised the Laocoön for his dignified grandeur,12 in two of his late sketches Fuseli transformed the Trojan priest into the object of a courtesan’s sexual desire.13 Even the famous Nightmare (1781),14 one of the most disquieting compositions ever created by Fuseli, still retains memories of the Antique, from the devilish head of the horse peeping out of the curtain, so like those of the Quirinal horses, to the reclining figure in which one can recognise a transposition of the celebrated Cleopatra in the Belvedere Court (see p. 26, fig. 20).15 The Artist Moved by the Grandeur of Antique Fragments perfectly embodies the artist’s revolutionary approach to the Antique. Although no doubt based on sketches made on the spot, and using a technique, sepia ink and wash, often used by Fuseli in Rome, the watermark with the coat of arms of the city of Zurich suggests that the drawing was made during or soon after his brief stay in his home town after he left Rome in 1778.16 The drawing shows a scantily clad figure seated on a block dwarfed by two adjacent marble fragments, the left foot and the right hand of a gigantic statue set on plinths before a wall composed of majestic, square blocks.17 The pose of the artist, loosely inspired by Michelangelo’s Ancestors of Christ on the Sistine Ceiling, is deeply expressive; he cradles his head in deep grief and anguish, and his mood, with his legs casually and unguardedly crossed, is one of total surrender; the forlornness is enhanced by the wild weed that audaciously pushes its way up against the colossal marble hand. The antique fragments are easily recognisable as the left foot and the right hand of a colossal statue of the emperor Constantine the Great (r. 306–37 ad; figs 1–2) which were found in the west apse of the Basilica of Maxentius in 1486 under the papacy of Innocent VIII (r. 1481–92) along with other fragments including the head (fig. 3) and the right foot. By Fuseli’s time they could be admired in the courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori on the Capitoline hill, where they are still preserved today.18 The monumental scale of these fragments fascinated generations of artists from the Renaissance onwards, but they became increasingly a focus of attention in the 17th and Fig. 3. Colossal Statue of Constantine the Great: Head, 313–24 ad, marble, 260 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome, inv. MC0757 18th centuries: two wanderers are shown among the colossal ruins in a drawing by Stefano della Bella (1610–64; fig. 4),19 while the foot and hand appear in an evocative capriccio by Hubert Robert (1733–1808; fig. 5).20 As in their studies, Fuseli’s drawing shows the base sustaining the colossal upward pointing right hand on the pedestal supporting the left foot; only in the early 19th century was the hand moved to its present location along the wall of the courtyard. Fuseli, however, modifies the disposition of the fragments in order to create a perfect triangle, whose apex coincides with the index finger of the hand, pointing authoritatively upward. The fact that the drawing was made when Fuseli had already left Rome may account for a few inconsistencies, such as swapping the right foot – flat on the ground – and the left foot – with the heel slightly raised and set on a support.21 Moreover, the first line of the inscription roughly transcribed in the drawing (‘S.P.Q.R.’) can actually be found on the pedestal supporting the right foot and not the left one, as Fuseli represents it here. The detail, however, is not irrelevant, since it is part of the inscription, commemorating a restoration of the fragments promoted by Pope Urban VIII (r. 1623–44) in 1635 and 1636, so that one can read a clear reference to the awe inspired by the greatness of the ‘Res Romana’.22 Awe of the Antique is expressed in the drawing by the contrast between the muscular fragments of the colossus and the diminutive, frail and almost abstract figure, who can be interpreted both as a personification of a modern man in general and as a symbolic self-portrait of the artist – ‘Füssli’ in German means ‘little foot’, thus suggesting a visual wordplay.23 However, the title of the drawing given by Gert Schiff, The Artist Moved by the Grandeur of Antique Fragments, captures only one aspect of the composition, that is, the feeling of artistic and intellectual inadequacy before the sublime Past.24 Possibly, even the inconsistent perspective of the pedestal of the foot was consciously introduced to express the artistic inferiority of the moderns compared to the ancients. But the pose, which recurs many times in Fuseli’s works, can convey at the same time other meanings.25 It could cause a deep Fig. 1. Colossal Statue of Constantine the Great: Right Hand, 313–24 ad, Luna marble, 166 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome, inv. MC0786 Fig. 2. Colossal Statue of Constantine the Great: Left Foot, 313–324 ad, Parian marble, 120 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome, inv. MC0798 Fig. 4. Stefano della Bella, Courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori, after 1659, pen and grey ink and grey wash, 152 × 194 mm, Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica, Rome, inv. FC 126001 182 Fig. 5. Hubert Robert, Ancient Sculptures of the Capitoline, red chalk, 442 × 330 mm, Staatliche Museen, Kunstbibliothek, Berlin, Inv. Hdz 3076 183 sense of loss before the dismembered statue as well as a melancholic frustration at the impossibility of achieving a whole, satisfactory knowledge of the ancient world. Finally this evocative image is clearly a grim meditation on human Vanitas, on the cruelty of time and its inevitability, capable of destroying even the most impressive human creations.26 In his vision of antiquity Fuseli was following in the footsteps of Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720–78), the great engraver of ancient Rome, who populated his images with similar figures dwarfed and seemingly lost among the colossal remains of Rome’s decaying statues and buildings. Piranesi’s ancient ruins, the gigantic stones of which fill his modern onlookers with wonder, are evoked by Fuseli in the massive blocks of the background wall, which are not part of the courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori. Piranesi died in 1778, the year that Fuseli left Rome for Zurich where he created this harrowing memory of the city he had just left behind him. Could the present drawing be a posthumous homage to the great Italian artist, with whom Fuseli shared the same inventive, original and imaginative vision of the Antique? aa & ed 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 184 Schiff 1973, p. 479. Ibid., p. 479. See Pressly 1979; Valverde 2008; Busch 2013. For Fuseli’s biography see Tomory 1972, pp. 9–46; Schiff 1973, vol. 1; Zurich 2005, pp. 13–31. See Pucci 2000b and Busch 2009. During his London years between 1764 and 1770, Fuseli translated into English Winckelmann’s Beschreibung des Torso del Belvedere Zu Rom (1764, translated as Description of the Torso Belvedere in Rome in 1765) and the Gedanken über die Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in der Malerei Und Bildhauerkunst (1755, translated as Reflections on the Painting and the Sculpture of the Greeks in 1765). See Wornum 1848, p. 345. On Fuseli’s Lectures see in particular Bungarten 2005. Knowles 1831, vol. 3, p. 90, aphorism no. 88. For these statues see respectively p. 26, fig. 18; p. 41, fig. 54; p. 26, fig. 19; p. 30, fig. 34. For a checklist of Fuseli’s drawings of ancient sculptures see Schiff 1973, vol. 1, pp. 475–79, nos 634–65. 10 Schiff 1973, vol. 1, p. 450, no. 445 (dated 1771); the ancient scene is taken from D’Hancarville 1766–67, vol. 2, pl. 32. 11 Schiff 1973, pp. 456–57, nos 485 and 487 (c. 1776). 12 See in particular Winckelmann 2002, pp. 674, 676 (original pagination pp. 347–49). See also Appendix, no. 15. 13 Schiff 1973, vol. 1, p. 547, nos 1072 and 1072a (1801–05). 14 Schiff 1973, vol. 1, p. 496, no. 757. 15 See Powell 1973, pp. 67–75. 16 See in particular Waldkirch 2005, pp. 63–78. 17 For a drawing showing a figure in a similar attire see Schiff 1973, vol. 1, p. 476, no. 561 (1777–79); and for one with similar blocks in the background ibid., vol. 1, p. 447, no. 425. 18 For the right hand and the left foot see Stuart Jones 1926, p. 11, no. 13, pl. 5 (hand), pp. 13–14, no. 21, pl. 5 (foot). For a discussion on the original colossal statue see Fittschen and Zanker 1985, pp. 147–52, pls 151–52; Deckers 2005; Parisi Presicce 2007 (in particular for the history of the display); Bardill 2012, pp. 203–17. The provenance of the colossus from the Basilica is testified to by a caption on a drawing by Francesco di Giorgio Martini (1439–1501) (Morgan Library & Museum, New York, Codex Mellon, fol. 54r), see Buddensieg 1962; http://census.bbaw.de/easydb/censusID= 233951. 19 See Paris 2000–01, p. 371 no. 176 ( J.-P. Cuzin); Rome 2004, p. 346, no. 46 (V. Di Piazza); another similar drawing is in the Louvre, see Viatte 1974, p. 63 no. 46, p. 65, fig. 46. 20 See Berckenhagen 1970, p. 332; Paris 2000–01, p. 374, no. 180 (J.-P. Cuzin). 21 These details are clearly rendered on the drawings by Della Bella and Robert. 22 Bartels 2000, p. 23 no. 1.7: ‘S(enatus) P(opulus) Q(ue) R(omanus)/ APOLLINIS COLOSSUM A M(arco) LUCULLO/ COLLOCATUM IN CAPITOLIO/DEIN TEMPORE AC VI SUBLATUM EX OCULIS/ TU TIBI UT ANIMO REPRAESENTES PEDEM VIDE/ET ROMANAE REI MAGNITUDINEM METIRE’. (‘The Senate and the People of Rome; that you may bring before your mind’s eye the colossal statue of Apollo set by Marcus Lucullus on the Capitol Hill, later removed from sight by the violence of time; look at this foot and be aware of the greatness of Rome’: translation Eloisa Dodero). 23 Lindsay 1986, p. 483. 24 Schiff 1973, vol. 1, pp. 115, 478–79, no. 665, vol. 2, p. 145, fig. 665. 25 The pose finds parallels in other works by Fuseli chiefly illustrating mournful scenes, such as the painting showing Milton Dreaming of His Dead Wife Catherine (1799–1800): Schiff 1973, vol. 1, pp. 523–24, no. 920; Zurich 2005, p. 223, no. 184. 26 Remarkable is the closeness of Fuseli’s figure with the famous Democritus by Salvator Rosa (Statens Museum, Copehangen; see Scott 1995, p. 97, fig. 101; the composition was known also through a number of etchings, see for instance Naples 2008, p. 281, no. 8). The philosopher in Rosa’s composition is shown deep in thought and surrounded by several symbols of mortality including antiquities; the caption on the etchings describes the scene as ‘Democritus omnium derisor/in omnium fine defigitur’ (‘Democritus, who used to laugh about everything, here meditates on the end of everything’). 23. Philippe Joseph Tassaert (Antwerp 1732–1803 London) A Drawing Academy 1764 Pen and black ink, grey and black wash drawn with the brush over black chalk, 331 × 309 mm prov enance: Private collection, Vienna; Gallery Kekko, Lucerne, 2004, from whom acquired. liter ature: None. e xhibitions: Brussels 2004, pp. 75–76, repr.; London 2007–08, no. 59, not repr. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2004-004 Although Tassaert was born in Flanders, he moved at a young age to London where he trained with the expatriate Flemish drapery painter, Joseph van Aken (c. 1699–1749), and where he established his career; aside from occasional trips to the continent, Tassaert remained in London until his death.1 Van Aken had a large practice executing draperies for most of the major British portrait painters active during the 1730s and 1740s, and after his death, Tassaert seems to have followed his example, assisting especially the portrait painter, Thomas Hudson (1701–79). In 1769, Tassaert joined the Society of Artists of Great Britain and served as its president from 1775–77; he exhibited with the Society until 1785.2 Also active as a dealer and picture restorer, Tassaert worked as an agent for the auctioneer, James Christie (1730–1803), valuing paintings in French and English collections, including that of Sir Robert Walpole at Houghton Hall, for sale to Catherine the Great in 1779.3 He later moved for a period to Italy, residing in Rome between 1785 and 1790.4 As a mezzotinter, Tassaert reproduced many compositions after earlier painters, especially those by Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640). The present drawing – a relatively rare survival compared with his production of prints – shows young students, dressed in the costumes of Rubens’ era, sketching a reduced model of the Borghese Gladiator (fig. 1), illuminated by candlelight from above.5 Two instructors, including the imposing figure of Rubens him-self in the doorway on the right, inspect drawings made by two pupils who await their verdict. Casts of busts and statuettes are placed on the shelf above the lamp, as seen in artists’ workshops from the Renaissance onwards (see cats 2, 10, 14).6 The present drawing is closely related to another, rather larger and more loosely executed, representation of an academy by Tassaert now in the British Museum (fig. 2), that is observed from a closer viewpoint and is horizontal rather than vertical in format.7 Rendered in warm brown instead of grey ink, the British Museum drawing focuses on the group clustered around the sculpture on the left. The master, in the doorway in our drawing, now leans against a chair gesturing towards the sculpture and the copy of it made by one of the pupils. But that student, seen in left profile studying the Gladiator intently, remains essentially unchanged in both sheets. The British Museum drawing is signed and dated, ‘Tassaert. del Bruxelles. 1764’, and the Bellinger drawing was no doubt made at the same time. Both were probably made in preparation for a painting, now lost, but described in a 1774 review of the Society of Artists’ exhibition at the Strand in London: ‘Mr. TASSAERT, Director, F.S.A. [ . . .] 285. An academy with youth’s [sic] at study. -Yellow shaded with black, has a starved effect’, a description which suggests that it may have been monochrome. 8 A keen admirer and copyist of Rubens’ work, Tassaert clearly intended to evoke the atmosphere of the master’s studio. A drawing by Tassaert, ‘Rubens instructing his pupils’ Fig. 1. Agasias of Ephesus, Borghese Gladiator, c. 100 bc, marble, 199 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. Ma 527 185 Fig. 2. Philippe Joseph Tassaert, A Drawing Academy, 1764, pen and brown ink and brown wash over black chalk, 330 × 406 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 2003,1129.1 which was sold in London in 1785 was probably one of the two drawings under consideration.9 The master in both is physiognomically identical, and wears the wide-brimmed hat and voluminous cloak seen in Rubens’ mature self-portraits, such as that of 1623 in the Royal collection, Windsor Castle, an image widely disseminated through engravings.10 Another self-portrait, showing the artist at sixty, in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (1633–35), may also have been known to Tassaert through prints.11 No doubt Tassaert’s drawings and the lost painting for which they presumably prepared, were intended to commemorate the fact that Rubens’ studio in Antwerp, founded on his return from Italy in 1608, was one of the first in Northern Europe to be organised on the ‘academic’ Italian model. Ruben’s studio – much more than a workshop – encouraged the intellectual as well as practical ambitions of young artists, who vied with each other to become his pupils. The purpose of Tassaert’s lost painting is not certain, but one possibility is that he intended to present it to the recently revamped Brussels art school. It may be significant that Tassaert, who hailed from Antwerp (where he became a member of the Guild of St Luke in 1756), signed the British Museum drawing ‘Tassaert. del Bruxelles’, and dated it, 1764, the year the Brussels school began to flourish under new stewardship.12 Reportedly discovered in Nettuno in 1611, the Borghese Gladiator, signed by Agasias of Ephesus, is thought to copy a statue of the school of Lysippus.13 It was acquired by Cardinal Scipione Borghese (1576–1633), and between 1650 and 1807, was displayed in a room bearing its name on the ground floor of the Casino Borghese before it was sold to Napoleon.14 The statue was keenly admired by artists from the mid-17th 186 century onwards as it embodied the male nude in an active, heroic and resolute pose. François Perrier (1590–1650) ranked it among the finest statues in Rome and published four views of it in his influential collection of etching after antique sculpture (Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum . . . , Paris, 1638, pls. 26–29), more than he devoted to any other figure. Casts of it were made for Philip IV of Spain and for the Académie Royale in Paris (see cat. 16) and the Académie de France in Rome.15 It became a standard presence in artists’ manuals from the 17th century onwards, as the perfection of its anatomy and proportions made it an ideal model for young pupils to copy. Its fame endured well into the 18th century as many of the objects in this catalogue make clear (cats 16, 24, 26).16 Rubens, who was thirty-four when the statue was found, revered it greatly. Although his two Roman sojourns (1601– 02 and 1600–08) pre-date its discovery in 1611, he certainly knew the statue through copies and probably owned a cast of it.17 That plaster casts came to be widely used in Northern workshops of the period is shown in the 1635 and 1656 studio inventories of Rubens’ contemporary, Hendrik van Balen (1575–1632) and of Rembrandt (1606–69) and by the many paintings that depict artists making copies of them (see p. 40, figs 49–53 and cat. 14).18 Rubens’ deep interest in antique sculpture, which he collected enthusiastically, is well-documented.19 In one of his theoretical notebooks, De Imitatione Statuarum (‘On the Imitation of Ancient Statues’), recording his observations from 1600 to 1610 on the proportions of the human form, symmetry, perspective, anatomy and architecture, he defined canonical male body types of the first rank: the strongest and most robust, the Farnese Hercules (see cats 7, 14, 16, 21); the less muscular and fleshy, Commodus in the Guise of Hercules and the River Nile (see cat. 5) and the third, lean and slender, with prominent bones and a longer face, the Borghese Gladiator, which he analysed in a diagram.20 Finally, there was the slim and handsome type, less strong, among which statues of Apollo and Mercury were classed.21 Rubens referred to the Gladiator again in another of his notebooks and he adapted it in some of his paintings, such as the Mercury and Argus of 1636–37 (Prado, Madrid) where Mercury in a pose strongly reminiscent of the Gladiator, is about to behead the multi-eyed giant.22 Although Tassaert would not have known Rubens’ manuscript, parts of it were published in 1708 by Roger de Piles in his Cours de peinture par principles, translated into English in 1743 as The Principles of Painting (see Appendix, no. 8).23 Within twenty years of its discovery, casts of the Borghese Gladiator were commissioned by Charles I and other English patrons and it soon became one of the most celebrated 187 antique sculptures in the British Isles.24 By the 18th century, copies of it had becoming a mainstay of country house collections.25 Joseph Wright of Derby (1734–1797) depicted a reduced model of the Gladiator studied by candlelight (private collection; see cat. 24, fig. 2), exhibiting it at the Society of Artists in 1765, just a year after Tassaert’s drawings and William Pether made a mezzotint after Wright’s painting in 1769.26 When Tassaert showed his painting of a similar subject, probably based on his earlier studies, at the same venue in 1774 he may have been responding to the challenge of his English colleagues, particularly the fellow mezzotinter, Pether.27 Indeed, it is tempting to suppose that Tassaert, by exhibiting the finished painting, was asserting the supremacy of Flemish academies over the English ones by establishing that the sculpture was well-known and used as a teaching tool already in Rubens’ time. As will be seen later (see cats 24–26), study after plaster casts increasingly became an indispensible part of artistic training in the English Academies as the 18th century progressed. It is especially significant in the present context that the catalogue of the posthumous sale of the effects of Tassaert’s master, Joseph Van Aken, in 1751 in London, lists no fewer than sixty models in terracotta and plaster after the Antique, among them, the Laocoön, the Farnese Hercules, heads of Antinous and, significantly, two Gladiators.28 It is well known that antique models were widely diffused in England in the first half of the 18th century, well before the foundation of the Royal Academy in 1768 (see cat. 25), but Van Aken’s collection and Tassaert’s preoccupations suggest that interest in the Antique had a particularly Flemish dimension. Of course, such models served a vital role for artists in helping to achieve an idealised representation of the anatomy, poses and expressions of the human body, but also, as in the case of Van Aken, they could act as lay-figures for the arrangement of drapery.29 avl 1 For brief accounts of Tassaert’s life and work, see Edwards 1808, who, on pp. 282–83, asserts that Tassaert was ‘the scholar’ of van Aken; Redgrave 1874, vol. 2, p. 402; Wurzbach 1906–11, vol. 2, pp. 689–90; Thieme-Becker 1907–50, vol, 32, p. 456; Bénézit 2006, vol. 13, pp. 708–09; Wallens 2010, p. 328. Edwards (1808, p. 282) reports his association with van Aken though the latter had already moved to London in 1720, before Tassaert was born. They probably met there though he was only about seventeen when van Aken died. According to Bénézit (2006, p. 708), Tassaert was the brother of the sculptor, Jean Pierre Antoine Tassaert (1727–1788). 2 For his involvement with the Society (and disagreements with), see Hargraves 2005, pp. 141–43, 152–53, 158–72. His paintings were shown also at the Royal Academy. 3 He is listed frequently as buyer/seller in Christie’s sale catalogues of c. 1779– 82 (see Kerslake 1977, vol. 1, p. 337). For Tassaert at Houghton, see Twist 2008, p. 106–07. 4 Wallens 2010, p. 328. 188 5 For his engravings, see Le Blanc 1854–88, vol. 4, p. 9; Wurzbach 1906–11, vol. 2, pp. 689–90; Smith 1878–83, vol. 3, pp. 1354–56. A further drawing by Tassaert of an artist’s studio, but with figures in contemporary dress, is in Tate Britain, from the Oppé collection, black chalk on blue paper, 490 × 317 mm, inv. no. T09847. 6 They may also be seen lightly sketched at upper right in Tassaert’s drawing of an artist’s studio in the Tate (see note 5 above). 7 Lock 2010, p. 255, fig. 12.4; Phillips 2013, p. 127, fig. 5. 8 ‘Conclusion of the Account of the Pictures now exhibiting at the Artist’s [sic] great Room near Exeter Exchange, Strand’, published in The Middlesex Journal, 30 April – 3 May 1774, p. 2 (as noted by Elizabeth Barker, under inv. no. 2003,1129.1, British Museum collection database). The same subject painted by Tassaert, probably more than once, is listed in several Christie’s sales in London between 1805–12: 1805 (1–2 March, lot 69, seller: John Mayhew; unsold; 14–15 June, lot 40, seller: John Mayhew; unsold); 1806 (7–8 March, lot 33, seller: John Mayhew; unsold); 1808 (11–12 March, lot 18, seller: Adam Callander; unsold; 14 May, lot 33, seller: Rev. Philip Duval; bought by Daubuz); 1809 (17–18 November, lot 65, seller: Adam Callander; bought by J. F. Tuffen) and 1812 (22 May, lot 44, seller: John Mayhew; unsold; 18–19 December, lot 80, seller: John Mayhew; bought by J. F. Tuffen). Source: Getty Provenance Index. 9 Jean-Baptiste-Guillaume de Gevigney, his sale, Greenwood, London, 14–15 April 1785, lot 44. Presumably the same drawing was sold two years later: ‘An academy by Tassaert, washed in bisque, fine’, Greenwood, London, 14–15 March 1787, lot 29 to John Thomas Smith for £1.0. 10 Jaffé 1989, p. 281, no. 764. 11 Ibid., p. 371, no. 1379. 12 Between 1764 and 1768, the school was revitalized under Count Charles Cobenzl (Phillips 2013, pp. 127–28). 13 Paris 2000–01, no. 1, pp. 150–51 (L. Laugier); Pasquier 2000-01b. 14 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 221; Laugier 2000–01. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, p. 41. 15 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 221. 16 Ibid., pp. 221–24, no. 43, fig. 115. 17 For Rubens’ study of sculpture in Roman collections, see Van der Meulen 1994-95, vol. 1, pp. 41–68. 18 For van Balen’s inventory, see Duverger 1984–2009, vol. 4, pp. 200–11. Among the casts listed are the Laocoön, Hercules, Apollo, Athena and Mercury (ibid., p. 208). Rembrandt’s 1656 bankruptcy inventory (Strauss and Van der Meulen 1979, pp. 349–88) mentions several plaster casts from life, including hands, heads and arms (ibid., pp. 365, 383), and after the antique (‘A plaster cast of a Greek antique’ (Een pleijster gietsel van een Griecks anticq), p. 383, no. 323). Also mentioned are antique statues of unspecified medium, including a Faustina, Galba, Laocoön, Vitellius (ibid., pp. 365, nos 166, 168; 385, nos 329, 331) and several others. For Rembrandt’s use of statues, casts and models, see Gyllenhaal 2008. 19 For his collection, see Muller 1989, Appendix C, pp. 82–87 and Muller 2004, especially, pp. 18–23. 20 The Johnson manuscript (manuscript transcript of the Rubens Pocketbook), mid-18th century, Courtauld Gallery, London, MS.1978.PG.1, fols 4v-5r, cited in Muller 2004, p. 19. See also Muller 1982, pp. 235–36 and Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 72–73. 21 Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, p. 73. 22 Ms de Ganay (formerly Paris, Marquis de Ganay), fols 22r–23r, transcribed and translated in Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 254–58. In addition to the Madrid painting (Georgievska-Shine and Silver 2014, p. 136, fig. 5.3), the pose of the sculpture was utilised in other drawn and painted compositions by the artist (Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, p. 239, note 9). 23 De Piles 1708, pp. 139–48; De Piles 1743, pp. 86–92. . 24 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 221. 25 However, due to the demand for casts the Borghese tried to stop moulds from being made (Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 221). 26 Liverpool 2007, p. 132, no. 10; Clayton 1990, p. 236, no. 154, P3. 27 Tassaert and Pether, both members of the Society of Artists, had a disagreement over the latter’s proposed exhibition fee for fellows (Hargraves 2005, pp. 141–42). 28 Landford’s, London, 11–25 February 1751, among lots 1–77. 29 It has been suggested that Rembrandt worked from draped plaster casts, especially during his Leiden years (Gyllenhaal 2008, p. 51). 24. William Pether (Carlisle 1731–1821 Bristol) after Joseph Wright of Derby (Derby 1734–1797 Derby) An Academy 1772 Mezzotint, 579 × 458 mm Inscribed l.l.: ‘Iosh., Wright, Pinxt.’; and l.r.: ‘W. Pether, Fecit.’; on the boy’s portfolio in the centre: ‘An / Academy / Published by W Pether, / Feby, 25th / 1772’; and l.c., at the foot of the seated artist: ‘Done from a Picture in / the Collection of the Rt. Hon. / Ld. Melburne.’ prov enance: The Hon. Christopher Lennox-Boyd (1941–2012), from whom acquired by the British Museum in 2010. liter ature: Chaloner Smith 1883, vol. 2, p. 46, not repr.; Clayton 1990, p. 240, no. 159, P9, this impression listed under II, not repr.; Liverpool 2007, pp. 159–62, no. 33. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 2010,7081.2228 In 1769 Joseph Wright of Derby exhibited An Academy by Lamplight (private collection) at the Society of Artists in London.1 The painting depicted six young boys drawing from casts of antique sculpture in a vaulted space lit only by a concealed lamp. Wright repeated the composition the following year for his patron, Peniston Lamb, 1st Viscount Melbourne (Yale Center for British Art, fig. 1) and it was from this second version that William Pether took the present mezzotint, renamed simply An Academy, published in its first state in February 1772.2 The subject-matter is related to Wright’s earlier painting, Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight (private collection, fig. 2),3 but, by showing a group of students at work, addresses more directly the theme of education by studying casts of antique sculpture by candlelight. Artistic education was of paramount importance to Wright. In December of 1769, the year he settled in Liverpool, twenty-two men in the burgeoning city formed a Society of Artists that gathered at a member’s house to make drawings from a substantial collection of prints and, more significantly, thirty-five plaster casts. 4 These casts had been pur- chased from John Flaxman senior, a plaster-cast salesman in Covent Garden, for £8.8.3, and were intended specifically for furnishing an academy.5 While Wright is not listed as a member of the Society of Artists, his friend, the engraver Peter Perez Burdett (c. 1735–93), was its first President and Wright’s landlord in Liverpool, Richard Tate (1736–87), was an amateur painter who showed works at the Society’s first public exhibition in 1774, so he was certainly aware of the group’s aspirations. Wright seems also to have had at least one student in Liverpool, Richard Tate’s brother, William, who was described by Wright in a letter in 1773 as ‘a pupil of mine’.6 Artistic education would therefore have been a pressing concern when he was conceiving An Academy by Lamplight. Wright no doubt encouraged William Tate to take the same route that he had followed as a pupil of Thomas Hudson (1701–79): first copying drawings by accomplished masters (which for Tate would have included works by Wright himself) as well as prints, before moving to the study of plaster casts and, ultimately, the life model.7 In 1774 Tate exhibited ‘Venus with a Shell, a drawing in black chalk’ at the first Fig. 1. Joseph Wright of Derby, An Academy by Lamplight, 1770, oil on canvas, 127 × 101 cm, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection, New Haven, inv. B1973.1.66 Fig. 2. Joseph Wright of Derby, Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight, 1765, oil on canvas, 101.6 × 121.9 cm, private collection 189 Liverpool Society of Artists exhibition, and a sheet in the Derby Museum and Art Gallery of this subject has been recently been identified as Tate’s drawing.8 This title of that drawing is highly suggestive as it is precisely the so-called Nymph with a Shell that the students are shown drawing in Wright’s painting and Pether’s mezzotint. Housed in the Borghese collection during the 18th century, the sculpture is now in the Louvre (fig. 3).9 While a cast of this statue is not listed among those purchased by the Liverpool Society of Artists, one was probably owned by Wright himself. The other statue shown in the background on the right is the familiar Borghese Gladiator (see p. 41, fig. 54 and cat. 23) – the sculpture being studied in Wright’s earlier Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight (fig. 2). Wright’s composition depicts young students in different attitudes, some at work drawing the Nymph, which is illuminated by a hanging lamp, from varying angles, while others merely admire her. Wright has created an ideal representation of an academy of young men, precisely the environment which his contemporaries were attempting to create in Liverpool. The students’ visible drawings are in black chalk similar to Wright’s own and those of his ‘pupil’, Tate. The varying ages of the students, from young boys to young men, also suggests an ideal academic establishment. The date of the work has further resonance: 1769 was the year after the foundation of the Royal Academy in London, where a precise programme of artistic education, which included drawing from antique sculpture, was being formulated (see cat. 25). The composition continues a theme Wright addressed in Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight (fig. 2), the first painting he exhibited in London, showing it at the Society of Artists in 1765. Such was its popularity that Pether produced a mezzotint of it in 1769 and we can suppose that our Fig. 3. Nymph with the Shell, Roman copy of the 1st century ad after a Hellenistic type of the 2nd century bc, marble, 60 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. MR 309-N 247 (Ma 18) 190 mezzotint, published three years later, was conceived as a pendant.10 Wright’s Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight depicts three men – traditionally identified as Wright himself, Peter Perez Burdett (c. 1735–93) and John Wilton – comparing a reduced model of the Borghese Gladiator with a drawn copy of it in black chalk. We know Wright made drawings of the sculpture; and a study in pen and brown ink on brown paper by him is preserved at Derby.11 Dating from before his journey to Italy, it seems likely to have been made from a reduced model. Whilst there is no evidence that Wright owned a model of the Gladiator, it seems likely that he did: reduced models of it appear in numerous artists’ sales during the 18th century and they were also readily available in Derby at the time.12 Viewing and drawing sculpture by candle-light was a feature of many European academies as for example those of Bandinelli and Tassaert (see cats 1 and 23).13 This was intended to emphasise the contrast of the sculpture’s anatomy and facilitate its copy. There were many perceived artistic benefits in owning models. William Hogarth noted in his Apology for Painters: ‘the little casts of the gladiator the Laocoon or the venus etc. if true copies – are still better than the large as the parts are exactly the same [–] the eye [can] comprehend them with most ease and they are more handy to place and turn about’.14 It therefore seems likely that Wright’s picture depicts an evening viewing of his own cast. Burdett was an amateur draughtsman and printmaker, and the comparison between Wright’s own drawing and the model is the probable topic of their conversation. This was the theme that Wright developed more fully in An Academy. jy 1 Liverpool 2007, p. 159, no. 31. 2 For Yale version of the painting ibid., p. 159, no. 32. 3 Nicolson 1968, vol. 1, p. 234, no. 188; London 1990, pp. 61–63, no. 22; Liverpool 2007, p. 132, no. 10. 4 For a discussion of the foundation of the Society of Artists and a list of the casts it acquired see Mayer 1876, pp. 67–69. 5 Ibid., p. 5. 6 Joseph Wright to William Thompson, Derby 25 March, 1773, in Barker 2009, p. 72. 7 Wright’s work in Hudson’s studio is remarkably well documented in an archive of his drawings as a student preserved in Derby Museum and Art Gallery: see Derby 1997, pp. 49–65. 8 Liverpool 2007, p. 162, no. 34. For the relationship between Tate, Wright and the Liverpool Society of Artists see Barker 2003, pp. 265–74. 9 For the Nymph with the Shell see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 281–82, no. 67; Rome 2000b, vol. 2, p. 335, no. 10 (F. Rausa); Gaborit and Martinez 2000–01; Paris 2000–01, pp. 327–28, no. 147 (J.-L. Martinez); Rome 2011–12, pp. 402–05 (I. Petrucci, M.-L. Fabréga-Dubert, J.-L. Martinez). 10 Clayton 1990, p. 236, no. 154, P3. 11 Derby 1997, p. 88, no. 152. 12 An Italian plaster-modeller based in Oxford, ‘Mr Campione’ is recorded selling: ‘a large and curious collection of statues, modelled from the Antiques of Italy … in fine plaister paris work’ in the Red Lion in Derby. See Barker 2003, p. 25. 13 On this see Roman 1984, p. 83. See also cat. 1, p. 80, note 8. 14 Kitson 1966–68, p. 86. 191 25. Edward Francis Burney (Worcester 1760–1848 London) The Antique Academy at Old Somerset House 1779 Pen and grey ink with watercolour wash, 335 × 485 mm Signed recto, on the portfolio depicted in the drawing at l.c., in pen and black ink: ‘E.F.B. 1779’; and inscribed verso, in pen and black ink, with a key identifying the casts and objects shown on recto, numbered 1–43: ‘View of the Plaister Room in the Royal Academy old Somerset House / 1. Cincinnatus / 2. Apollo Belvedere / 3. Meleager / 4. Biting Boy / 5. Foot of the Laocoon / 6. Arm of M. Angelo’s Moses / 7. Paris / 8. Faun / 9 Anatomy of a Horse / 10. Head of Antinous / 11. A young Orator by M. Angelo / 12. Antoninus Pius / 13. Bacchus / 14. Pompey / 15. Alexander / 16. Model of a Cow / 17. Agrippa / 18. Nero / 19. Augustus / 20. Cicero / 21 Other Roman Emperors / 22. Door of Mr Mosers little Room / 23. Heads. Casts from Trajans pillar / 24. Table for Drawing Hands Heads etc. on / 25. Screens to prevent Double Lights / 26. Modelers stands / 27. Large chalk Drawing of the Virgin etc. by Leon: da Vinci / 28. Homer / 29. Laocoon / 30. Esculapius / 31. Proserpine / 32. Carracalla / 33. Mithridates / 34. Bacchus / 35. Antinous / 36. River Gods from M. Angelo / 37. Boys by Fiamingo / 38. Dying Gladiator / 39. Lamps for lighting the figures in Winter / 40. Antique Bass Relieves / 41. Laughing Boys / 42. Head of a Wolf / 43. Legs cast from nature etc. etc. etc.’ prov enance: From an album of drawings in the possession of the Burney family; P. & D. Colnaghi, London, from whom acquired 5 July 1960. liter ature: Byam Shaw 1962, pp. 212–15, figs 54–55; Hutchison 1986, p. 192, fig. 27; Wilton 1987, p. 26, fig. 25; Rossi Pinelli 1988, p. 255, fig. 4; Nottingham and London 1991, p. 63, under no. 39, fig. 3; Fenton 2006, pp. 98–99, 100–01, repr.; Kenworthy-Browne 2009, pp. 45–46, pl. 16; Wickham 2010, pp. 300–01, fig. 14; Brook 2010–11, p. 158, fig. 5. e xhibitions: London 1963, p. 34, no. 87, not repr.; London 1968b, pp. 211–12, no. 651, not repr.; London 1971, p. 18, no. 71, not repr.; London 1972, p. 316, no. 521, not repr. (R. Liscombe); York 1973, p. 40, no. 98, not repr.; London 2001, p. 46, no. 85. Royal Academy of Arts, London, 03/7485 With its companion The Antique Academy at New Somerset House (fig. 1), this drawing constitutes one of the best and most evocative visual records of the Antique or ‘Plaister’ Academy at the Royal Academy of Arts in London.1 The Academy was founded in 1768 and initially occupied rooms in Pall Mall before moving to Somerset House in 1771. The rather chaotic early records of the Academy means that Burney’s detailed drawings are fundamental in establishing precisely which antiquities were available to the first generation of students at the Academy. Although copying after casts had been a practice followed in previous British academies and schools of art – such as the Duke of Richmond’s Academy – it was only with the foundation of the Royal Academy that it became part of an extended curriculum modelled on the Roman and Parisian Academies.2 The first Academicians draughted surprisingly few rules governing the education of students, other than the requirement that a student have a ‘Drawing or Model from some Plaister Cast’ approved for admission to the Antique Academy, and again to progress into the Life Academy.3 For at least the first fifty years of its existence there was no stipulation about the length of time students should spend in either School. The timetable itself was fairly minimal, following the traditional model in which the purpose of an Academy was to provide instruction in draughtsmanship and theory whilst the student learned his chosen art of painting, sculpture or architecture with a master. The Antique or Plaister Academy was open from 9 to 3 pm with a two-hour session in the evening, while the Life Academy consisted of only a twohour class each night. Until 1860, both were attended by male 192 students only. The collection of casts was under the control of the Keeper, while a Visitor attended monthly to examine and correct the students’ drawings and to ‘endeavour to form their taste’.4 Following the theoretical model of continental academies, the main didactic purpose of drawing from plaster casts was to teach young students to become acquainted with and to internalise ideal beauty before being exposed to Nature in the Life Academy. As Benjamin West (1738–1820), president of the Royal Academy for almost thirty years from 1792, put it, proficiency was ‘not to be gained by rushing impatiently to the school of the living model, correctness of form and taste was first to be sought by an attentive study of the Grecian figures’.5 Edward Francis Burney studied at the Royal Academy Schools from 1777 and left in the 1780s to become a suc- Fig. 1. Edward Francis Burney, The Antique Academy at New Somerset House, c. 1780, pen and grey ink with watercolour wash, 335 × 485 mm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/7484 193 commissioning of a series of new casts from Antonio Canova (1757–1822) in Rome.19 Burney’s image illustrates both the Royal Academy’s aspiration to offer an ‘academic’ education in line with great Continental examples, but also its differences from them, as a private organisation sponsored by the monarch rather than a state-run academy. aa & jy Fig. 2. Plaster Casts of the So-Called Lansdowne ‘Cincinnatus’, 1774, 162 cm (h), Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/1488 Fig. 3. Lansdowne Paris, Roman copy of the Hadrianic Period (117–138 ad) from a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 165 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. MNE 946 (n° usuel Ma 4708) Fig. 4. Lansdowne Hermes/Meleager, Roman copy of the Hadrianic Period (117–138 ad) of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 219 cm (h), Santa Barbara Museum of Art, Gift of Wright S. Ludington, inv. 1984.34.1 cessful book illustrator.6 As a young pupil of the Antique Academy, he recorded in the present drawing of 1779 and its companion the rebuilding of Somerset House begun in 1776 by Sir William Chambers (1723–96). This drawing shows the Academy before Chambers’ intervention in a room that was probably designed by John Webb (1611–72) in 1661–64, on the south side of the building facing the Thames. These rooms had windows exposed to direct sunlight and therefore may have required the ‘Screens to prevent Double Lights’, visible in the upper left corner of the drawing and annotated on the verso. The drawing depicts four students at work, the one on the right in the middle distance being guided by George Michael Moser (1706–83), the first Keeper of the Royal Academy Schools, including the Antique Academy.7 In the room everything was moveable. Boxes could be used as seats or as supports for drawing boards, as one is by the student in the foreground on the left, while rails were used for holding the individual students’ candles (see cat. 26). Even the pedestal of the casts could be moved on castors, so that the Keeper could change their position weekly. The collection of plaster casts was one of the largest assembled in Britain in the 18th century.8 Many came from the second St Martin’s Lane Academy, brought by Moser who had been one of its directors.9 The collection was then expanded considerably thanks to donations from aristocratic collectors and acquisitions on the London market.10 Among the most easily identifiable casts are those ubiquitous in European workshops and academies from the 17th century onwards, all listed in the long inscription on the verso of the drawing: the Apollo Belvedere (p. 26, fig. 18) at left centre, behind, in the background, the Faun with Kid, and on the far right, the Dying Gladiator (p. 41, fig. 55), which a student is copying, as innumerable other students had done before him (see cat. 20).11 In addition, a series of peculiarly ‘English’ casts are on display, some donated, others copied from originals recently brought to England from Rome. Partly obscured in shadow on the left is a cast of Cincinnatus – which still survives in the collection of the Royal Academy (fig. 2) – close 194 to the Faun with Kid is a Paris (fig. 3), and behind Moser the so-called Lansdowne Meleager (fig. 4). All of these were cast in 1774 from the originals in the collection of William Petty, 2nd Earl of Shelburne (1737–1805), recently returned from his Grand Tour.12 Behind the Cincinnatus is partly discernible a cast of the Knucklebone Players given by Charles Townley in 1769, the antique original of which could be admired in his London town-house at 7 Park Street (cat. 28, fig. 1).13 As was customary, the Academy’s collection included also casts of busts and statuettes distributed on shelves and of ‘dismembered’ body parts – arms, legs and feet – hung on the wall, so that students could learn how to draw anatomical details before approaching the whole human figure. Pupils were also required to draw from reliefs, to become acquainted with the composition of historie, or narrative scenes, based on classical models. Above the chimneypiece is a large cast of a relief with music-making angels by François Duquesnoy (1597–1643) – the Boys by Fiamingo identified on the reverse of the drawing – whose most classicising works had, by the end of the 17th century, acquired the same status of antique statuary (fig. 5).14 Above was displayed a reduced version of one of the Marcus Aurelius reliefs in the Capitoline Museum (fig. 6), and a comparatively obscure relief with warriors, which had clearly gained fame because of its inclusion in Winckelmann’s Monumenti Antichi Inediti, published in 1767 (fig. 7).15 Further identifiable casts included a series of heads from Trajan’s Column, which we can see hanging from the shelves on the end wall, many of which remain in the Fig. 6. Relief from an Honourary Monument to Marcus Aurelius: Triumph, 176–180 ad, marble, 324 × 214 cm, Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC0808 Fig. 7. Relief with Warriors, Roman, 1st or 2nd century ad, marble, 93 × 82 cm, San Nilo Abbey, Grottaferrata, inv. 1155 Academy’s collection (figs 8–9). Finally, between the shelves and the door on the right, it is possible to discern Leonardo’s cartoon of The Virgin and Child with St Anne and St John the Baptist, today one of the most celebrated works in the National Gallery in London – the present drawing is the earliest to document its presence in the collection of the Royal Academy.16 The cast collection was of paramount importance to the Royal Academy during its first decades, but the ad hoc nature of its accumulation and the inclusion of casts of ‘Grand Tour’ souvenirs – such as Lord Shelburne’s Cincinnatus – left it open to criticism. In 1798 the Academy’s Professor of Painting, James Barry (1741–1806), launched a stinging public attack complaining that the Academy was ‘too ill supplied with materials for observations’ lamenting ‘the miserable beggarly state of its library and collection of antique vestiges’.17 As a direct result, the sculptors John Flaxman (1755–1826) and John Bacon the Younger (1777–1859) were charged with purchasing new casts from the sale of George Romney’s (1734–1802) collection.18 Flaxman spent much of the rest of his career attempting to improve the Academy’s cast collection; after 1815, he finally convinced the Prince Regent to sponsor the Fig. 8. Plaster Cast of Head of a Roman Soldier in Helmet, from Trajan’s Column, 15.7 × 15.4 × 4.4 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 10/3267 Fig. 5. François Duquesnoy, Relief with Music-Making Angels, 1640–42, marble, 80 × 200 cm. Filomarino Altar, Church of Santi Apostoli, Naples Fig. 9. Plaster Cast of the Head of Trajan, from Trajan’s Column, 15.5 × 15.4 × 4.6 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 10/3262 1 For the early history of the Royal Academy see Hutchison 1986, pp. 23–54. 2 For drawing after casts in Britain before the foundation of the Royal Academy see esp. Postle 1997; Coutu 2000; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. 3 Hutchison 1986, pp. 29–31. For the full admission process see London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, vol. 1, p. 4, 27 Dec. 1768; Abstract 1797, pp. 18–19. 4 Hutchison 1986, p. 27. For the ‘Rules and Orders, for the Plaister Academy’, see London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1 Council minutes, vol. 1, p. 6, 27 Dec. 1768, and p. 17, 17 March 1769; Abstract 1797, pp. 22–23. For the role of the visitors see ibid., p. 8. 5 Hoare 1805, p. 3. 6 See Rogers 2013. 7 The identification of the teacher with Moser is confirmed by other likenesses: see Edgcumbe 2009. 8 The only other collection that could compete in numbers of casts was the Duke of Richmond’s Gallery: see Coutu 2000; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. On the Royal Academy collection of casts see Baretti [1781], esp. pp. 18–30. 9 See Thomson 1771, pp. 42–43; Strange 1775, p. 74. We would like to thank Nick Savage for pointing out these two sources to us. 10 On plaster shops and traders in Britain in the second half of the 18th century see Clifford 1992. Among private donors, Thomas Jenkins, the Rome based dealer, sent a cast of the so-called Barberini Venus shortly after the Royal Academy’s foundation: London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, vol. 1, p. 38, 9 Aug. 1769. Jenkins in turn encouraged many of his clients in London to donate casts, including John Frederick Sackville, Duke of Dorset who sent in 1771 ‘a Bust of Antinous in his collection’ and ‘a cast of Pythagoras’: ibid., p. 111, 25 Oct. 1771, and p. 118, 18 Dec. 1771. Other early donors were Sir William Hamilton, the Rome-based dealer Colin Morrison and the Anglo-Florentine painter Thomas Patch. 11 For the Faun with Kid see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 211–12, no. 37. 12 The Council Minutes record on 11 June 1774: ‘Resolved that casts be made from three statues in the possession of Lord Shelburne, viz the Meleager, the Gladiator putting on his sandals, & the Paris, leave having been already obtained from his lordship’, London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, vol. 1, p. 179. The three sculptures had recently been supplied by Gavin Hamilton (1723–98) from Rome and were largely recently excavated pieces: the Meleager had been found at Tor Columbaro; the Paris and the so-called Cincinatus had both come from an excavation at Hadrian’s Villa near Tivoli, called Pantanello. See Bignamini and Hornsby 2010, vol. 1, pp. 321–22 for Shelburne; for the excavation and purchase of the Cincinnatus and Paris see vol. 1, pp. 162–64, nos 1 and 12; for the excavation and purchase of the Meleager see vol. 1, pp. 180–81, no. 7. 13 London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, vol. 1, p. 38, 9 Aug. 1769 ‘Charles Townly Esq. having presented the Academy with a cast of the Lacedemorian Boy … ordered that letters of thanks should be wrote.’ 14 On the original relief see Boudon-Mauchel 2005, pp. 251–52, no. 43 and on Duquesnoy’s fame as a ‘classical’ sculptor ibid., pp. 175–210. The cast of the relief had been sent by Sir William Hamilton, then British ambassador to the court of Naples, in 1770 together with a cast of ‘Apollo’: see Ingamells and Edgcumbe 2000 p. 32, no. 25, 17 June 1770; see also London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, vol. 1, p. 72, 17 March 1770. 15 For the Marcus Aurelius relief see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 255–56, no. 56; Rome 1986–87. For the relief with warriors see Musso 1989–90, pp. 9–22. The relief was illustrated in Winckelmann 1767, pl. 136. The same cast appears in Zoffany’s celebrated Portrait of the Academicians of the Royal Academy, 1771–72, in the Royal Collections. See Webster 2011, pp. 252–61; New Haven and London 2011–12, pp. 218–21, no. 44 (M. A. Stevens). 16 For Leonardo’s cartoon see London 2011–12, pp. 289–91, no. 86 (L. Syson). 17 Barry 1798, p. 7. 18 London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/3, Council minutes, vol. 3, pp. 99–100, 22 May 1801. They purchased 16 casts in total for £68.10.3. 19 Windsor Liscombe 1987. 195 26. Anonymous British School, 18th century A View of the Antique Academy in the Royal Academy c. 1790s Pen and brown ink and grey wash, with watercolour, over graphite, 294 × 223 mm Stamped recto, l.l., in brown ink: ‘J.R’; on separate piece of paper now attached to the reverse of the mount, in pen and black ink: ‘Henry Fuseli R A / 1741–1825. / Bought at Sir J. Charles Robinson’s sale 1902 / E.M.’ prov enance: Charles Heathcote Robinson; Sir John Charles Robinson (1824–1913) (not listed in his sales: Christie’s 12–14 May 1902; or Christie’s 17–18 April 1902); Sir Edward Marsh (1872–1953); his bequest through The Art Fund (then called National Art Collection Fund), 1953. liter ature: None. e xhibitions: London 1969, no.1 (unpaginated), not repr. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1953,0509.3 This satirical drawing, probably made by a distracted student who ought to have been studying diligently from one of the casts, shows an imposing, heavy-set man towering physically and psychologically over three young seated pupils drawing in the Antique Academy. While traditionally he has been identified as the painter Henry Fuseli (1741–1825), Keeper of the Royal Academy Schools from 1803 to 1825, given the style of the drawing and the subject’s dress he is more likely to be either Agostino Carlini (c. 1718–90), Keeper between 1783 and 1790, or Joseph Wilton (1722–1803) who held the position between 1790 and 1803.1 The view shows one of the end walls of the Antique, or ‘Plaister’ Academy, housed from 1780 in a purpose-built room in Somerset House.2 The same wall, with a similar arrangement of casts, appears in the evocative candlelight view of the room by an anonymous British artist (see p. 60, fig. 105). The young students are busy at work, copying from casts of the Belvedere Torso (p. 26, fig. 23), the Apollo Belvedere (p. 26, fig. 18) and the Borghese Gladiator (p. 41, fig. 54), models of different ideal types of beauty, masculinity and anatomy, repeatedly praised by Sir Joshua Reynolds in his third Discourse of 1770. It is likely that the three moveable casts were often set side by side by the Keepers to reflect Reynolds’ conception of ideal beauty and of the ‘highest perfection of the human figure’, which ‘partakes equally of the activity of the Gladiator, of the delicacy of the Apollo, and of the muscular strength of the Hercules’, as expressed in his third Discourse.3 On the wall behind the casts, are two cupboards possibly containing students’ drawings, which support smaller casts and busts. Whilst the Antique Academy was a serious, professional space, it was naturally the focus of humour from the students, who ranged in ages from fourteen to thirty-four. Several other caricatures exist testifying to the lighter side of academic life, including an earlier study by Thomas Rowlandson (1756–1827) showing a bench of students at work in the Life Academy in 1776 and including mocking 196 depictions of Rowlandson’s fellow students (fig. 1). 4 In terms of its public image the cast collection was an important symbol of the Academy’s prestige but this view does not seem to have been shared by some of the students, many of whom must have considered the long hours spent copying after the Antique as a constraining and repetitive exercise. Joseph Wilton was a crucial figure within the academy in promoting a rigid curriculum based on the classical ideal. He never abandoned his firm belief in the didactic value of plaster casts, established while he was director of the Duke of Richmond’s Gallery in the late 1750s.5 His strict teaching methods must have generated discontent and considerable derision, brilliantly visualised in a satirical print by Isaac Cruikshank (1756–1811) (fig. 2) which shows Wilton – transformed into Bottom with the head of an ass – inspecting the drawing of an irritated student in the Antique Academy.6 Wilton’s exacting standards, as the lines below the cartoon make clear, would prevent him from seeing the genius of a modern day Raphael and it is clear that some students of the Academy saw him as a ‘formal old fool’. Unlike the Life Academy, where the Visitor presided, setting the model and frequently drawing from it himself, the Antique Academy was presided over by the Keeper of the Schools. Each week the Keeper would set out specific casts and direct and comment on the students’ work. According to Fig. 1. Thomas Rowlandson, A Bench of Artists, 1776, pen and grey and black ink over pencil, 272 × 548 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. T08142 197 other the lumps of bread they were given to erase their drawings. Stephen Francis Rigaud (1777–1862), son of the Royal Academician, John Francis Rigaud (1742–1810) and a student in the early 1790s, wrote that the Schools were also the forum for political agitation: The peaceable students in the Antique Academy being continually interrupted in their studies by others of an opposite character, who used to stand up and spout forth torrents of indecent abuse against the King [. . .] One evening [. . .] I rose and protested that if they continued to use such abominable language in a Royal Academy I would denounce every one of them to the Council and procure their expulsion [. . .] this threat checked them a little; but they shewed their spite by pelting me well with [. . .] pieces of bread.9 This incident reached the ears of the Academy Council from which the Keeper was excluded. Wilton told Joseph Farington in 1795: Fig. 2. Isaac Cruikshank, Bless The Bottom, bless Thee-Thou art translated – Shakespere, 1794, hand-coloured etching, 295 × 212 mm, G. J. Saville The Students in the Plaister Academy continue to behave very rudely; and that they have a practise of throwing the bread, allowed them by the Academy for rubbing out, at each other, so as to waste so much that the Bill for bread sometimes amounts to Sixteen Shillings a week.10 The Council took the decision to stop the allowance of bread altogether, as the President, Benjamin West, noted: the rules, students did not choose which casts to draw and they were not allowed to move them without permission.7 But depictions of the Antique Academy suggest that the situation was probably more flexible and may have allowed for individually tailored study. Several anecdotes point to the unruly life of the Academy and its students, who were allowed to choose their own seats, with utter chaos resulting. Joseph Farington (1747–1821) noted in 1794, that they behaved like ‘a mob’: Hamilton says the life Academy requires regulation: but the Plaister Academy much more. The Students act like a mob, in endeavouring to get places. The figures also are not turned so as to present different views to the students.8 The reason for the commotion was that once a student had a seat, he was expected to retain it for the week. The atmosphere seems to have been generally boisterous and there are numerous reports in the Council Minutes of the Academy of misbehaviour, high spirits and students throwing at each 198 It would be productive of much good to the Students to deprive them of the use of bread; as they would be induced to pay more attention to their outlines; and would learn to draw more correct, when they had not the perpetual resource of rubbing out.11 a a & jy 1 For the traditional attribution of the sitter see the entry on the collection online database of the British Museum. The identification of the sitter with Joseph Wilton has been proposed already by Andrew Wilton in London 1969, no. 1. For a list of Keepers of the Royal Academy see Hutchison 1986, pp. 266–67. Both Carlini and Wilton presented similar physical characteristics as the man in the drawing. For a list of their likenesses see respectively Trusted 2006 and Coutu 2008. 2 See Baretti [1781], pp. 18–30. 3 See Reynolds 1997, p. 47. 4 London 1997, pp. 170–71, no. 67. 5 See Coutu 2000; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. 6 George 1870–1954, vol. 7 (1793–1800), p. 118, no. 8519. 7 See ‘Rules of the Antique Academy’: Royal Academy of Arts PC/1/1, Council Minutes, vol. 1, pp. 4–6, 27 Dec. 1768, quoted in Hutchison 1986, p. 31. 8 Farington 1978–98, vol. 1, p. 281. 9 Pressly 1984, p. 87. 10 Farington 1978–98, vol. 2, pp. 461–62. 11 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 462. 27. Joseph Mallord William Turner (London 1775–1851 London) a. Study of a Plaster Cast of the Belvedere Torso c. 1792 Black, red and white chalk, on brown paper, 331 × 235 mm Signed recto, l.r., in pen and black ink: ‘Wm Turner.’ liter ature: Postle 1997, pp. 91–93, repr.; Owens 2013, pp. 102–03, pl. 76. e xhibitions: Nottingham and London 1991, p. 51, no. 18 (M. Postle); Munich and Rome 1998–99, p. 49, fig. 50, p. 164, no. 62 (M. Ewel and I. von zur Mühlen); Munich and Cologne 2002, p. 414, no. 192 (J. Rees); London 2011 (no catalogue). Victoria and Albert Museum, Prints & Drawings Study Room, London, 9261 b. The Wrestlers c. 1793 Black, red and white chalks, on brown paper, 504 x 384 mm Signed recto, l.r., in pen and black ink: ‘Wm Turner.’ liter ature: Wilton 2007, p. 16, repr. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Victoria and Albert Museum, Prints & Drawings Study Room, London, 9262 prov enance: Both drawings purchased by the Museum in 1884 from R. Jackson with four other academic drawings by different artists (Victoria and Albert Museum Register of Drawings 1880–1884, pp. 171, 174). These two drawings by Turner epitomise the two principal stages of education provided by the Royal Academy Schools during the late 18th century: the Antique, or Plaister, Academy and the Life Academy. Turner enrolled as a student in the Schools in December 1789 as a boy of fourteen, spent more than two years in the Antique Academy, and then progressed to the Life Academy in June 1792, presumably after presenting a drawing for inspection by the Visitor.1 Although there is no record of the drawing Turner submitted, it may well have been this finished study of the Belvedere Torso (see p. 26, fig. 23) a sculpture of enduring popularity among artists as demonstrated by Goltzius’ drawing made almost exactly two hundred years earlier (cat. 8). Turner copied the same cast of the Torso shown in the satirical view of the Academy (cat. 26). He is recorded as having visited the Antique Academy on 137 separate occasions during his studentship but only some twenty of his drawings after the Antique survive (figs 1–4) – many from the casts seen in Burney’s drawing (cat. 25) – and none as highly rendered as the present study.2 Turner’s signature at the lower right also suggests it was esteemed by the artist himself and prepared for some formal purpose. Whilst the surviving Academy Council Minutes do not record in detail the process of progression from the Antique Academy to the Life Academy, contemporary accounts offer some insight. Turner’s contemporary, Stephen Rigaud noted: I was admitted as a Student in the Life Academy by Mr Wilton the Keeper, and Mr Opie, the Visitor for the time being, on the presentation of a drawing from the Antique group of the Boxers, in which I had copied the strong effect of light and shade in the whole group coming out by strong lights on one side, and reflected lights on the other, with which Mr Opie expressed himself much pleased.3 The study of the Torso has all the characteristics of a presentation drawing. It is on better, more regularly cut paper than Turner’s other drawings after the Antique and the figure is highly worked and boldly modelled with hatching and crosshatching in chalk to convey the ‘strong effects of light and shade’ mentioned by Rigaud. This is in keeping with the established tradition of copying casts by candlelight to enhance contrast, so that the students could learn how to render planes and anatomical details. Unlike Goltzius’ Torso, being copied in daylight after the original in the Belvedere Courtyard in Rome, Turner’s cast is strongly lit from above by an oil lamp and set against a neutral screen to provide a uniform background – as clearly visible in the view of the Antique Academy (p. 60, fig. 105). Furthermore, this is the only drawing from the Antique where Turner employed trois crayons, adding red to black and white chalk, a technique he usually reserved for studies from life. Might it be that Turner was attempting to turn marble into flesh, the practice 199 200 201 prescribed by Rubens (see Appendix, no. 8), something he may have thought would demonstrate that he was ready to progress to the Life Academy? Fig. 1. Joseph Mallord William Turner, Study of a Plaster Cast of the Apollo Belvedere, c. 1791, black and white chalks on brown laid wrapping paper, 419 × 269 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. D00057 (Turner Bequest V D) Fig. 2. Joseph Mallord William Turner, Study of a Plaster Casts of Marquess of Shelbourne’s Cincinnatus, c. 1791, pencil with black and white chalks and stump on laid buf paper, 425 × 267 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. D00055 (Turner Bequest V B) The Torso would have been a clever choice for a presentation drawing, since the antique fragment held a position of great prominence in the mission and the iconography of the Royal Academy. According to Reynolds the Torso was the greatest exemplar of classical art. ‘What artist’, he asked in his 10th Discourse of 1780, ‘ever looked at the Torso without feeling a warmth of enthusiasm, as from the highest efforts of poetry?’ For him only ‘a MIND elevated to the contemplation of excellence perceives in this defaced and shattered fragment […] the traces of superlative genius, the reliques of a work on which succeeding ages can only gaze with inadequate admiration’ (see Appendix, no. 17). 4 The muscular figure featured prominently under the words ‘STUDY’ on the obverse of several medals annually distributed as premiums to the students and in Angelica Kauffman’s Design for the ceiling of the Council Chamber, which served also as a second room of the Antique Academy (see p. 60, fig. 107).5 In Turner’s time as a student, the Academy possessed two casts of the Torso, one of which we know was presented by the dealer Colin Morrison in 1770, and significantly Turner himself donated a further cast in 1842.6 The second drawing exhibited here was made from posed models in the Life Academy. The model would be set by the Visitors and Turner studied under a number of them, including Henry Fuseli, James Barry and Thomas Stothard (1755–1834). This drawing possibly dates from 1793 and may represent an unusually elaborate pose set by the sculptor John Bacon (1740–99). Stephen Francis Rigaud, who entered the Life Academy a year after Turner, noted: I remember Mr Bacon once setting a well composed group of two men, one in the act of slaying the other; or a representation of the history of Cain and Abel, which was continued for double the time allowed for a single figure, and which gave general satisfaction to the students.7 This precisely accords with the present group, which shows specific models engaged in combat. Although designed to represent a biblical subject, the pose of the two figures was reminiscent of antique groups, especially the Wrestlers (see Fig. 3. Joseph Mallord William Turner, Study of a Plaster Casts of the Borghese Gladiator, c. 1791–92, black and some white chalk on buf wove paper, 580 × 457 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. D00071 (Turner Bequest V S) 202 p. 30, fig. 33) which had already served as inspiration for posing the live models in the Italian and French academies – as seen for instance in Natoire’s imaginary view of the Académie Royale (cat. 16). Turner continued to attend the Schools throughout the 1790s until he was awarded Associateship of the Academy in 1799; he would continue to visit the Life Academy intermittently for the rest of his life.8 He was made inspector of the cast collection of the Royal Academy in 1820, 1829 and 1838 and served as Visitor in the Life Academy for a total of eight years between 1812 and 1838.9 In the latter role he became famous for setting the live model in postures reminiscent of classical sculpture, clearly recalling what he had learned during his time as a student. Lauding this practice and lamenting its decline, the artists and essayists Richard (1804– 88) and Samuel (1802–76) Redgrave noted: When a visitor in the life school he introduced a capital practice, which it is to be regretted has not been continued: he chose for study a model as nearly as possible corresponding in form and character with some fine antique figure, which he placed by the side of the model posed in the same action; thus, the Discobulus (sic) of Myron contrasted with one of our best trained soldier; the Lizard Killer with a youth in the roundest beauty of adolescence; the Venus de’ Medici beside a female in the first period of youthful womanhood. The idea was original and very instructive: it showed at once how much the antique sculptors had refined nature; which, if in parts more beautiful than the selected form which is called ideal, as a whole looked common and vulgar by its side.10 aa & jy 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 For Turner’s attendance at the Academy see Hutchison 1960–62, p. 130. Finberg 1909, vol. 1, pp. 6–8. See also Wilton 2012. Pressly 1984, p. 90. Reynolds 1997, pp. 177–78. On the medals see Hutchison 1986, p. 34; Baretti [1781], p. 28; see also London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, vol. 1, p. 24, 20 May 1769. For the Council Chamber see Baretti [1781], pp. 25–26. On the two copies of the Torso in the Royal Academy see Baretti [1781], pp. 9, 28. On Colin Morrison’s donation of a cast of the Torso, together with ‘Cast of a Bust of Alexander’ in 1770 see London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, vol. 1, p. 70, 17 March 1770; on Turner’s donation see Gage 1987, p. 33. Pressly 1984, p. 90. Hutchison 1960–62, p. 130. See Gage 1987, pp. 32–33. Redgrave and Redgrave 1890, p. 234, quoted in Gage 1987, p. 33. Fig. 4. Joseph Mallord William Turner, Study of a Plaster Cast of a Helmeted Head from the Trajan Column, with Other Studies, c. 1791, black, red and white chalks and stump on dark buf paper, 337 × 269 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. D40220 (Turner Bequest V R, verso) 203 28. William Chambers ( fl.1794) The Townley Marbles in the Dining Room of 7 Park Street, Westminster 1795 Pen and grey ink with watercolour and touches of gouache, indication in graphite, heightened with gum Arabic, 390 × 540 mm prov enance: Charles Townley (1737–1805); by descent to Lord O’Hagan (b. 1945); Sotheby’s, London, 22 July 1985, lot 559; Frederick R. Koch; Sotheby’s, London, 12 April 1995, lot 90, from whom acquired by the British Museum. liter ature: Cook 1977, pp. 8–9, fig.1; Cook 1985, pp. 44–45, fig. 41; Walker 1986, pp. 320–22, pl. A; Cruickshank 1992, pp. 60–61, fig. 5; Morley 1993, pp. 228, 285, pl. LVII; Webster 2011, p. 425, fig. 321. e xhibitions: Essen 1992, pp. 432–36, no. 360a (C. Fox and I. Jenkins); London 1995 (no catalogue); London and Rome 1996–97, pp. 258–60, no. 214 (I. Jenkins); London 2000, pp. 229–30, no. 167; London 2001, p. 42, no. 72; London 2003b, p. 143, fig. 117. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1995,0506.8 Charles Townley (1737–1805) was the most influential collector of antique sculpture in Britain during the second half of the 18th century.1 From 1777 Townley’s considerable collection was arranged in his London residence, 7 Park Street (now 14 Queen Anne’s Gate), a proto-house-museum praised both for the strength of its collections and their display. It was to become one of the principal tourist sites in London. Writing about the house, James Dallaway claimed that ‘the interior of a Roman villa might be inspected in our own metropolis’.2 Park Street was also a centre of antiquarianism and Townley – particularly after 1798, when wars with France curtailed travel to the Continent – was a hugely important figure in promoting the study and interpretation of classical sculpture in Britain initiating numerous publications, including the Society of Dilettanti’s Specimens of Antient Sculpture (1809). Townley also formed a famous library and an immense archive of drawings – in effect a ‘paper museum’ – recording antiquities in both British and European collections. To complete this ‘paper museum’ and to prepare publications such as the Specimens, Townley employed numerous young artists to record his own collection. It is clear from the surviving portions of his diary and other records that 7 Park Street became, in effect, an alternative academy in London. Writing in 1829, the then Keeper of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum, J. T. Smith, published a description of 7 Park Street and its contents, observing: I shall now endeavour to anticipate the wish of the reader, by giving a brief description of those rooms of Mr Townlye’s house, in which that gentleman’s liberality employed me when a boy, with many other students in the Royal Academy, to make drawings for his portfolios.3 Fig. 1. Johann Zofany, Charles Townley and Friends in His Library at Park Street, Westminster, 1781–90 and 1798, oil on canvas, 127 × 99.1 cm, Towneley Hall Art Gallery & Museum 204 Townley’s surviving drawings, housed, along with his sculpture collection, in the British Museum, testify to the range of artists he employed and demonstrate the popularity of Park Street as a venue for artists both to meet and to draw. Records show that William Chambers – not to be confused with the architect of the same name – was one of the draughtsmen employed by Townley to prepare drawings for his ‘portfolios’. A payment of £5.5.0 to Chambers is recorded on 21 October 1795 for the pendant to this drawing, a view of sculpture in the hall at 7 Park Street, also in the British Museum. 4 Townley’s diary records the comings and goings of painters, particularly his friend, Johann Zoffany (1733–1810) who painted the iconic, largely imaginary view of Townley’s library filled with his sculpture collection and with the owner in conversation with his unofficial curator, the Baron d’Hancarville, and two other friends (fig. 1).5 205 The dining room was one of the principal public spaces of the house and contained some of the largest sculptures in the collection. These included the Townley Venus, the Discobolus (fig. 2), the Townley Caryatid, the Townley Vase, and the Drunken Faun, which Chambers places in the foreground. The modish decoration reflected both advanced neo-classical thinking and Townley’s own passions; the walls were articulated by simulated porphyry columns surmounted by capitals whose design came from Terracina; as d’Hancarville explained: ‘the ove is covered with three masks representing the three kinds of ancient drama, the comic, tragic and satyric […] the choice and disposition of these ornaments leave no doubt that this capital was intended to characterise a building consecrated to Bacchus and Ceres’ .6 Visitors are shown admiring the collection while a woman seated in the foreground is drawing from the Drunken Faun. A drawing attributed to Chambers of the same sculpture, taken from the same angle, made for Townely’s portfolios, is also in the British Museum (fig. 3). Townley’s wide circle of acquaintances included a number of amateur and professional female artists, including Maria Cosway (1760–1838), whom Townley first met in Florence in 1774. His interest in encouraging young artists led to the publication by Conrad Metz of a drawing manual based on studies of the sculpture in Park Street: Studies for Drawing, chiefly from the Antique. 30 plates (1785). Townley’s support of artists resulted in his taking an active role in the Royal Academy of Arts from its foundation. He donated casts of his own sculpture and solicited donations from friends. The Academy’s Council Minutes record his first donation in August 1769 of a ‘cast of the Lacedemonian Boy’ the so-called Knucklebone Players which appears in Edward Burney’s view of the RA’s Antique Academy on the far left, behind the Cincinnatus (cat. 25).7 One of the artists who appears regularly in Townley’s diary was the sculptor Joseph Nollekens (1737–1823) who is recorded donating to the Academy a ‘cast in plaister of the head of Diomede’ belonging to Townley in 1792.8 Townley also donated casts of sculptures in other collections, among them, in 1794 one ‘of the celebrated Bas relief in the Capitol, of Perseus & Andromeda’, a cast still in the collection of the Academy.9 Townley’s solicitude for the Royal Academy and the education of young artists continued throughout his life; in 1797 the painter and diarist Joseph Farington noted: ‘Townley […] thinks the Academy should have additional rooms for Statues &c’.10 jy 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 For Townley see particularly Coltman 2009. Dallaway 1816, pp. 319, 328. Smith 1829, vol. 1, p. 251. In February that year he had also paid Chambers £2.2.0. for some unspecified drawings, and in August £1.1.0. for ‘drawing gems’: see London 2000, p. 229. Townley’s diary records Chambers returned in May 1798 when he began to make a record of an altar of Lucius Verus Helius which Townley had recently acquired from the Duke of St Albans; he finished the study on Sunday 7 July: London, British Museum, Townley Archive, TY/1/10. For William Chambers’ pendant to this drawing see London 2001, p. 42, no. 71 (with previous bibliography). Webster 2011, pp. 419–43. London and Rome 1996–97, pp. 258–60. London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, vol. 1, p. 38, 9 Aug. 1769. It arrived with a cast of a Venus donated by Townley’s principal antiquities dealer in Rome, Thomas Jenkins. The original Knucklebone Players is in the British Museum, Department of Greek & Roman Antiquities, inv. 1805,0703.7. London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/2, Council minutes, vol. 2, pp. 173–4, 3 Nov. 1792. The original marble bust is in the British Museum, Department of Greek & Roman Antiquities, inv. 1805,0703.86, now called the Head of a follower of Ulysses. London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/2, Council minutes, vol. 2, p. 201, 7 Feb. 1794. The cast is in the Royal Academy, inv. 03/2018. The original is in the Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. 501: see Helbig 1963–72, vol. 2, pp. 156–57, no. 1330. Farington 1978-98, vol. 3, p. 840. Fig. 2. The Townley Discobolus, Roman copy of the 2nd century ad after a Greek original of the 5th century bc by Myron, marble, 170 cm (h), British Museum, Department of Greek & Roman Antiquities, London, inv. 1805,0703.43 Fig. 3 Attributed to William Chambers, Drawing of a Statue of an Intoxicated Satyr, 1794–1805, black chalk and grey wash, 280 × 193 mm, British Museum, Department of Greek & Roman Antiquities, London, inv. 2010,5006.87 206 29. Joseph Michael Gandy (London 1771–1843 Plympton) View of the Dome Area by Lamplight looking South-East 1811 Pen and black ink, watercolour, 1190 × 880 mm selected liter atur e: Lukacher 2006, pp. 132–33, fig.150 e xhibitions: London 1999a, p. 160, no. 68 (H. Dorey); Munich 2013–14, p. 43; London 2014, (unpaginated). Sir John Soane’s Museum, London, 14/6/5 The Royal Academy School of Architecture was central to the formation of the professional career and teaching of Sir John Soane (1754–1837), who is chiefly remembered today as architect to the Bank of England, of Dulwich Picture Gallery and of his incomparable house-museum at No. 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London. The unique installations of antiquities and casts after the Antique in the Museum, which he built at the back of the house, and which J. M. Gandy so atmospherically evokes in this drawing, also attest to the influence of the Academy on Soane’s pattern of collecting and his own role as a teacher. Soane entered the Academy in 1771 at the age of eighteen; he was the 141st pupil since the Academy’s foundation in 1768 and amongst the first students of the School of Architecture, the earliest institution in Britain to teach architecture in a formalised way. The School was modelled by Sir William Chambers (1723–96) on his own experience of studying architecture in Jean-François Blondel’s École des Arts in Paris, in 1749–50, when the status of the architect and teaching methods in Britain were then very different from those in France. The Académie Royale d’Architecture, of which Chambers became a member in 1762, had been founded in 1671 and was followed, in 1743, by Blondel’s more progressive École. The École’s curriculum was rigorous; it was open for study from Monday to Saturday and from eight in the morning until nine in the evening. The students’ day began with formal discussion of various topics, followed by lectures on set matters relating to drawing such as mathematics, geometry, perspective, or to building types such as military architecture, or to practical issues such as drainage and water supply. In the spring, students would undertake site visits to notable buildings in Paris and its environs.1 In Britain, by contrast, the professional status of architect was ill-defined, and was not always distinguished from that of the builder or mason. The ambiguous status of architecture was not entirely clarified by the time Soane entered the architecture school. It was the smallest of the departments at the Royal Academy and Soane was one of only nine pupils admitted in 1771. And although inspired by Blondel’s École, the programme of the architecture school was nothing like so rigourous. Students of architecture were required to attend only six lectures per year.2 The reason for this very limited formal teaching was that most students were attached to a professional architect’s office during the day; when Soane enrolled at the Royal Academy he was working for George Dance the Younger (1741–1825).3 Nor were the teaching collections available to students at all extensive. The collections of plaster casts after the Antique (and antiquities) were dominated by the requirements of painters and sculptors; in the 1810 inventory of 385 casts, only nineteen can be identified as being architectural. 4 It is against this backdrop that we must understand Soane’s own founding of an ‘academy of architecture’ in his house-museum. The history of Soane’s collections of casts and the manner in which they were installed, deinstalled and reinstalled over a period of time and over three different properties belonging to Soane (two at Lincoln’s Inn Fields and one in Ealing, London) is not straightforward. From the 1790s, Soane started collecting and displaying casts for the use of the young pupils and assistants working in his first office in No. 12 Lincoln’s Inn Fields.5 However, as his collection grew and as his career as an architect developed, the function of the collection of antiquities and of casts after the Antique changed. Gandy’s drawing shows the Dome Area of Soane’s Museum as it appeared in 1811 (a year after the 1810 Royal Academy inventory of casts was compiled).6 In this view, atmospherically lit from below by an undisclosed light source, we can readily identify a number of casts of antique sculpture and of architectural fragments. The largest casts are the Corinthian capital shown on the south wall, and a fragment of entablature, shown on the east wall, both taken from the Temple of Castor and Pollux in Rome, which Soane had purchased in 1801 from the sale of the architect Willey ‘the Athenian’ Reveley.7 Below the capital, and forming part of the parapet of the Dome we see a cast of one of the panels, decorated with a festoon, from the portico of the Pantheon, purchased from the sale of the architect James Playfair.8 Sculpture is also represented in the casts, and a number of well-known antiquities can be 207 described. Just visible through the arch in the lower righthand corner, is an arrangement of four casts taken from the base of one of the so-called Barberini Candelabra, among the most prized antiquities in the Museo Pio-Clementino, Rome, which shows the gods Minerva, Jupiter (twice), and Mercury in low relief.9 On the east wall, below the entablature of the Temple of Castor and Pollux, is a cast of a relief of two of the ‘Corybantes’, taken from the marble original in the Vatican Museums and also purchased from the Playfair sale.10 Although Soane would rearrange these casts and antiquities as his ‘Museum’ expanded, most are still to be found at No. 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields and the general impression of a dense, ‘romantic’ arrangement remains. If, originally, Soane’s collection of casts and antiquities was intended to provide exemplars for the architects training and working in his office, by the time Gandy drew the arrangements as they appeared in 1811 a shift in their purpose had occurred. In 1806, Soane became Professor of Architecture at the Royal Academy and, as a former student, he was well aware of the relatively meagre resources allocated to the School. He comments on this in his 6th lecture, given to his students at the RA.11 The arrangement of casts shown by Gandy was installed between 1806 and 1809, when Soane was preparing his Royal Academy lectures, of which he gave the first in 1809.12 It has been argued that they are a three-dimensional analogue of the lectures and their drawn illustrations.13 Indeed, Soane saw the casts as being central to his teaching: … I propose in future that the various drawings and models, shall, on the day before, and if necessary, the day after the public reading of each lecture, be open at my house for the inspection of the students in architecture, where at the same time, they will likewise have an opportunity of consulting the plaster casts and architectural fragments.14 Shortly after Gandy completed this view of the Dome Area, the European Magazine and London Review described Soane’s house-museum as an ‘… Academy of Architecture’.15 At the same time as he was responding to the lack of architectural casts and fragments in the collections of the Royal Academy, Soane’s ‘academy’ should also be seen as Soane’s reflection on the ways in which he himself had come to experience Roman architecture. Unlike the Royal Academy lectures, which Soane arranged programmatically, the ‘Piranesian’ displays of antiquities, casts and architectural fragments are set out idiosyncratically and imaginatively.16 Why did Soane reject a more conventional arrangement of casts and antiquities in his ‘academy’? Perhaps he wished 208 to recreate the experience of visiting Rome and to recall the excitement of viewing there the disorganised remains of antiquity.17 However, another reason why Soane rejected a rational academic approach to the arrangements of antiquities in his house-museum might lie in the way that Soane used the collections to form his own identity as an architect. In our drawing Gandy includes a portrait of Soane who is illuminated from the same undisclosed light source as his casts, gesturing in, by 1811, the slightly archaic manner of an interlocutor. He is at once teacher, architect and collector.18 The arrangements of casts and antiquities are not just for the use of his students and pupils but also, as he put it, ‘… studies for my own mind’.19 They reflect one individual’s view of art and architecture through the idiosyncratic juxtapositions that he created. However, there is yet another level of self-identification in Soane’s collection and display of antiquities and architectural fragments. In Gandy’s drawing, far above Soane on a shelf, can be seen a row of Roman antique cineraria and cinerary vases. That at the far left, decorated with Ammon masks, came from the ‘Museum’ of the great Italian architect and etcher, Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720–78), as did the cinerary vase decorated with griffins seen on top of the cinerarium in the middle, and the cinerarium decorated with genii on the far right. Though it is not seen in this view, in 1811, a full-size cast of the Apollo Belvedere would join the collections of the ‘academy’. Dating to 1717, it had formerly been owned by Lord Burlington and displayed in his villa at Chiswick. In 1818, further antiquities – this time from the sale of the effects of Robert and James Adam – would enhance the installations. The names of these prominent antiquaries and architects are significant: they create an intellectual genealogy for Soane, who was born the son of a bricklayer. Sir John Soane’s Museum is a very rare survival of an early 19th-century private ‘academy’ in which his collections of casts and of antiquities can be experienced much in the same manner as his own pupils and his Royal Academy students experienced them. It also demonstrates how Soane drew upon the Antique to create his intellectual persona. j k-b 1 See Bingham 1993, p.5. 2 ‘In regard to the students in architecture, it is exacted from them only that they attend the library and lectures, more particularly those on Architecture and Perspective…’. Reprinted, La Ruffinière du Prey 1977, p. 47. 3 Soane subsequently entered the office of Henry Holland in 1772. 4 Bingham 1993, p. 7. The lack of collections of casts or of architectural fragments in public collections in Britain, until Sir John Soane formed his collection, was also commented upon by John Britton in the preface to his 1827 ‘guide’ to Soane’s house-museum, Britton 1827, p.viii. 209 5 Soane had originally started collecting and displaying casts for the use of the architects working in his first office in No.12 Lincoln’s Inn Fields in the 1790s. He also hoped to inspire his eldest son – John Soane Junior – to become an architect and arranged antiquities and casts at his country villa, Pitzhanger Manor in Ealing, acquired in 1800 and rebuilt by Soane, to act as an ‘academy’ for John. For a full description of Soane’s acquisition and installation of casts in his house-museum and his use of them see: Dorey 2010. 6 This part of the house was in fact behind No. 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields. 7 Reveley had collected these casts in Italy and Soane purchased every cast from this sale. Dorey 2010, p. 600. 8 Dorey 2010, p.600. 9 These were found in the remains of Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli in 1730 and were heavily restored by Bartolomeo Cavaceppi. The British antiquary Thomas Jenkins acted as agent for the Pope when negotiating their acquisition. 10 This had been found in 1788 near Palestrina. The subject of the relief is also sometimes identified as the Pyrrhic Dance. 11 ‘…I have often lamented that in the Royal Academy the students in architecture have only a few imperfect casts from ancient remains, and a very limited collection of works on architecture to refer to.’ Reprinted in Watkin 1996, p. 579. 12 As Soane explained in his 6th Royal Academy lecture: ‘On my appointment to the Professorship I began to arrange the books, casts, and models, 210 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 in order that the students might have the benefit of easy access to them.’ Reprinted in Watkin 1996, p. 579. See: Dorey 2010, p. 606. Watkin 1996, p.579. Observations 1812, p. 382. In fact, Soane does seem to have entertained the idea of creating a more ‘rational’ Museum where casts, antiquities and fragments would be arranged according to academic taxonomies. A drawing by George Bailey, also dating to 1811 and showing the Dome Area (SM 14/6/3), includes a plan relating to a scheme of c. 1809–11 whereby both Nos 12 and 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields would be used by Soane. In this proposed scheme, the whole of No. 13 would become the Museum with the collections displayed according to type. As Soane explained in a rejected draft of his sixth Royal Academy lecture, No. 13 would incorporate: ‘… a gallery exceeding one hundred feet in length for the reception of architectural drawings and prints, another room of the same extent over it, to receive models and parts of buildings ancient and modern’. Reprinted in Watkin 1996, p. 356. Soane even used plain yellow glass in the skylights that illuminated the Dome Area, perhaps to evoke the light of the Mediterranean world rather than that of London. Soane explores the use of architecture as a type of ‘self-portrait’ in notes he made when preparing his Royal Academy lectures. See: Soane. J., Extracts, Hints, Etc. for Lectures, 1813–18, SM Soane Case 170, f.135. Soane 1835, p. 7. 30. Gijsbertus Johannus Van den Berg (Rotterdam 1769–1817 Rotterdam) The Drawing Lesson c. 1790s Black and red chalk, 483 × 375 mm. Framing lines in black chalk. Signed recto l.r. in black chalk: GVD Berg. fecit prov enance: Paris, Drouot, 26 March 1924, part of lot 55, La Leçon de Dessin (sold as a pair with another drawing, La Marchande de frivolités); Private collection, France; Private collection, England; Florian Härb, London, from whom acquired. liter ature: None. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2011-013 Born in Rotterdam, Van den Berg was a pupil of Johannes Zaccarias Simon Prey (1749–1822), a leading portrait and decorative painter in that city.1 In the 1780s, he studied for three years in Antwerp where he received special recognition for his drawings after live models and casts; he also resided for a time in Düsseldorf and Mannheim.2 In 1790, he returned to Rotterdam where he established himself as a portrait painter and miniaturist. The same year he was appointed ‘Corrector’, a judge and arranger of poses for live models, of the Rotterdam Drawings Society, whose motto was Hierdoor tot Hooger (‘From Hereby to Higher’).3 For the remainder of his career, he devoted himself to teaching. His pupils included his son, Jacobus-Everardus-Josephus (1802–61), who also became a professional painter and from 1844, director of the Teeken-Akademie in the Hague.4 One of Van den Berg’s biographers makes special mention of the finished portrait studies in black and red chalk that he made after his return to Rotterdam; the present drawing is certainly one of them.5 Berg preferred studying female models, usually posing two together: here, two elegantly dressed women in a panelled interior focus their attention on an idealised head, probably a variant of the head of an antique Venus.6 The seated draughtswoman holds up her chalk-filled porte-crayon above an angled drawing-board, intently appraising her subject. She engages with it much in the same way as Hubert Robert did some thirty years earlier in his self-portrait with the Faustina bust (cat. 17). The second woman appears to be commenting on the work in progress. A portfolio leans against a table leg on the floor below. Comparably attired women – possibly the same ones – are shown reading a letter in a sheet by Van den Berg in a private collection.7 The present composition is similar in style and format to several other chalk studies by the artist of the 1790s. It is especially close to his drawing of a female artist seated at a table in the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (fig. 1). But instead of holding a porte-crayon, this young woman operates a zograscope, an optical device invented in the mid-18th century that included a magnifying lens to enhance an image’s depth and relief; the subject of her scrutiny remains out of view.8 Another comparable drawing, signed and dated 1791 (Royal Collection, Windsor Castle; fig. 2), shows an elderly man, perhaps a drawing instructor, inspecting a portrait study from a portfolio.9 He is seated at a table which is nearly identical to that in the Bellinger example, but Berg shows him in a less formal attitude, holding a long clay pipe and resting his feet on a portable stove, in a manner reminiscent of Dutch 17th-century genre subjects. This drawing, plus a number of other figure drawings by Van den Berg preserved at Windsor, were probably obtained as a group by Fig. 1. Gijsbertus Johannus Van den Berg, Study of a Woman Seated at a Table, with an Optical Mirror, black and red chalk, 396 × 303 mm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam RP-T-1997-10 211 Fig. 2. Gijsbertus Johannus Van den Berg, A Connoisseur Examining Drawings, 1791, black and red chalk, 407 × 284 mm, Royal Collection, RL 12865 Fig. 3. Georg Melchior Kraus, Corona Schröter Drawing a Cast of the ‘Eros of Centocelle’, 1785, watercolour, 380 × 315 mm, Klassik Stiftung Weimar, KHz/01632 King George III around 1810.10 Most are probably studies after live models set in poses determined in advance in classes at the Rotterdam Drawings Society.11 Draped plaster casts were used when models were unavailable.12 As with the Bellinger drawing, their style, with their sensitive employment of black chalk and red accents for the skin, is strongly reminiscent of portrait drawings by the English artist Richard Cosway (1742–1821) and no doubt register the prevailing taste for English art in Rotterdam at the time.13 It is possible that Van den Berg intended his figure studies to be engraved, perhaps for a series on the art of drawing.14 Women artists did not begin to acquire the same privileges and educational advantages as men until the end of the 19th century; as a general rule they were denied membership of academies and were not permitted to draw after nude or anatomical models.15 They were largely confined to producing art in private studios and especially in aristocratic houses, where drawing tutors were sometimes hired to supplement the education of young women.16 For the most part, they were restricted to producing non-historical, non-mythological and non-biblical subjects, such as portraits and still-lifes, as their exclusion from study of the live model and anatomy was thought to – and generally did – prevent them from acquiring full mastery of the human form.17 Instead, they studied sculptural models and especially antique casts, often ones deemed thematically appropriate for their gender, such as the ideal head featured in the Van den Berg drawing catalogued here. A comparable situation is depicted in a watercolour close in date by Georg Melchior Kraus (1737–1806), then director of the Weimar drawing school, in which a beautiful and smartly dressed young lady, Corona Schröter, draws after a cast of the girlish son of Venus, the Eros of Centocelle (1785; Klassik Stiftung Weimar; fig. 3), a statue known through Roman copies – namely, the example discovered by Gavin Hamilton in 1772 in the outskirts of Rome and now in the Vatican – after a lost bronze original by Praxiteles.18 The tradition of women drawing from antique plaster casts in Holland, which began in the 17th century,19 was well advanced by the first quarter of the 18th century, evidenced in Pieter Van der Werff’s portrayal of a girl drawing after the Venus de’ Medici (1715; Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; p. 40, fig. 53). Van den Berg’s drawing, and others like it, confirm that the practice developed further during the latter part of the century, and became still more widespread in the 19th. The importance of plaster casts in artistic training in 212 213 Holland at this time is indicated by the activities of the Rotterdam Drawing School, but also by Van den Berg’s own self-portrait of 1794, where a reduced model of the Dying Gladiator and others are given prominence of place on the shelf directly behind the artist (Museum Rotterdam).20 avl 1 For his life and work, see Van der Aa 1852–78, vol. 2, pp. 368–69; ThiemeBecker 1907–50, vol. 3, p. 387; Scheen 1981, p. 35. 2 Van der Aa 1852–78, vol. 2, pp. 368–69. 3 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 369; For the society and his involvement therein, see Amsterdam 1994, pp. 2–3 [unpaginated]. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid.; Amsterdam 1994, p. 3 [unpaginated]. 6 Amsterdam 1994, p. 3 [unpaginated]; Berg also oversaw private classes where students drew after nude female models. 7 Ibid., pp. 3–4 [unpaginated], no. 9. 8 Bulletin van het Rijksmuseum, 45, no. 3, 1997, p. 239, fig. 9. For an in-depth study of this device, known in the 18th century as an ‘optical machine’, see Koenderink 2013, pp. 192–206. 9 Puyvelde 1944, p. 20, no. 81, pl. 142; Amsterdam 1994, p. 2 [unpaginated]. 10 Puyvelde 1944, pp. 20–21, nos. 75–83. See also on-line collections database: http://www.royalcollection.org.uk 11 For the society’s use of posed models, see Amsterdam 1994, p. 2 [unpaginated]. 12 On the role of casts, see Amsterdam 1994, p. 2 [unpaginated]. An intriguing view of the society’s drawing room, on the upper floor of the Delftse Poort in Rotterdam, was published in Plomp 1982, pp. 11–12 (drawn by an 214 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 anonymous artist, 1780, whereabouts unknown). Casts of the Laocoön, the Apollo Belvedere, and L’Ecorché (Figure of a Flayed Man), 1767 by Jean-Antoine Houdon (1741–1828) are clearly visible. For the latter, see Washington D.C., Los Angeles and elsewhere 2003–04, pp. 62–66, no. 1 (A. L. Poulet). It has also been suggested that the finished quality of Van den Berg’s drawings are reminiscent of engravings by George Morland (Amsterdam 1994, p. 3 [unpaginated]; Bulletin van het Rijksmuseum, 45, no. 3, 1997, p. 239). As proposed by Florian Härb, unpublished fact sheet on the Bellinger drawing, c. 2011. For essential reading on the subject of women artists from the Renaissance to the mid-20th century, see Los Angeles, Austin and elsewhere 1976–77 and especially the authors’ introductory essay, pp. 12–67. See also Goldstein 1996, pp. 61–66. A very small number of women artists managed to get elected to the French academy including Adélaïd Labille-Guiard (1749– 1803) and Elisabeth Vigée Lebrun (1755–1842) in 1783. But from 1663 to the dissolution of the Academy in 1793, only fourteen in total were accepted (Montfort 2005, pp. 3, 16, note 8). The French Salon in Paris was not open to non-Academy members until 1791, when women were permitted to exhibit their work. Goldstein 1996, pp. 62–64. See Los Angeles, Austin and elsewhere 1976–77, especially pp. 13–58; Goldstein 1996, pp. 62–63. Söderlind 1999, p. 23. For the statue, see Spinola 1996–2004, vol. 2, p. 61, fig. 11, p. 63, no. 85; Piva 2007, pp. 48–49, fig. 7. See for example, A Young Woman Seated Drawing, 1655–60, by Gabriel Metsu (1629–67) in the National Gallery, London (NG 5225; Waiboer 2012, pp. 205–06, A-62) and A Lady Drawing, c. 1665, by Eglon van der Neer (1635/36– 1703) in the Wallace Collection, London (inv. no. P243; Schavemaker 2010, p. 462, no. 29). Dordrecht 2012–13, no. 64A (F. Meijer). 31. Wybrand Hendriks (Amsterdam 1744–1831 Haarlem) The Haarlem Drawing College 1799 Oil on canvas, 63 × 81 cm Signed and dated lower left: ‘W. Hendriks Pinxit 1799’ prov enance: Wybrand Hendriks (1744–1831); his sale, R.W.P. de Vries & C.F. Roos, Amsterdam, 27–29 February 1832, lot 30; private collection, Paris; Adolph Staring (1890–1980), Vorden; given to the Teylers Museum in 1987 by Mrs. J.H.M. Staring-de Mol van Otterloo. liter ature: Knoef 1938, repr.; Knoef 1947a, pp. 11–13; Staring 1956, p. 174, fig. LIV; Van Regteren Altena 1970, pp. 312, 316; Praz 1971, p. 37; Van Tuyll 1988, pp. 17–18, fig. 21; Haarlem 1990, pp. 35–36. e xhibitions: Rotterdam 1946, p. 8, no. 13; London 1947, p. 4, no. 2; Amsterdam 1947–48, p. 8, no. 10; Haarlem 1972, pp. 25–26, no. 29, fig. 44; Munich and Haarlem 1986, pp. 96–97, no. 13. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, KS 1987 002 e xhibited in ha arlem only In this painting we have been admitted to a gathering at the Haarlem Drawing College. In the 18th and early 19th century every self-respecting Dutch town had its own drawing ‘college’ or ‘academy’. It was where artists and wealthy amateurs met, drew together from the nude or draped model, and where they looked at drawings together during so-called art viewings or ‘kunstbeschouwingen’. In 1799, the year this picture was painted, the Haarlem Drawing College had twenty-six working (as opposed to honorary) members, and this is very probably a group portrait of them and their committee (leaving aside the boy playing marbles on the left, who may be the son of one of the members). The setting is a house that the Haarlem artists rented in Klein Heiligland. The question that immediately arises is: ‘who’s who?’ Although the label listing the sitters that was still with the painting at the sale of Hendriks’s estate in 1832 is no longer preserved, many of the figures can nevertheless be identified with a fair degree of certainty. The two in the middle are very probably the secretary, Jan Willem Berg who gestures to the viewer’s left, and the balding treasurer, Pieter S. Crommelin. On the far right, beneath the bas-relief on the wall, is Hendriks himself.1 The man in the left background, pointing at one of the plaster casts on the mantelpiece, has been recognised as Adriaan van der Willigen (1766–1841), author and art historian avant la lettre.2 Prominently displayed against the chimneybreast are various plaster casts. The large head of the famous Apollo Belvedere in the middle is the most eye-catching (see p. 26, fig. 18). To the right of it is the classical Callipygian Venus and to the left, the crouching Nymph Washing Her Foot after Adriaen de Vries (1556–1626).3 Of the two male casts seen frontally, that on the right is after the classical Farnese Hercules (see p. 30, fig. 32), while that on the left is probably after a Mercury by François Duquesnoy (1597–1643).4 Hanging on the wall above Hendriks’s head is Vulcan’s Forge, also after Adriaen de Vries, and in the corner on the left is the life-sized cast of another classical statue: the Venus de’ Medici (see p. 42, fig. 56).5 The casts displayed, therefore, reproduce as a whole or in part, statues from classical antiquity and from 16thand 17th-century Netherlandish sculpture, which in turn reference the Antique. The casts depicted belonged to the Haarlem Drawing Academy, the forerunner of the College. Hendriks had bought them and the rest of the inventory in 1795 to help pay off the academy’s debts, and he donated everything to the Drawing College when it was founded the following year. The prime mover behind the gift was probably the Teylers Foundation, a Haarlem body that had been set up in 1778 to stimulate the arts and sciences. The foundation subsidised art education in Haarlem for decades, and Hendriks was the curator of its art collection, which was housed in the Teylers Museum.6 The fact that these plaster casts were transferred immediately to the Drawing College indicates how important they were for a society that promoted drawing, and this is confirmed by the prominence they are accorded in this group portrait. On the other hand, it should be appreciated that the supremacy of classical art and the rules of classicism, which in fact had never been applied very strictly in the Dutch Republic, were no longer so sacred in the Netherlands by 1800. Members of some drawing academies often argued that genres like landscape and scenes from everyday life in which nature was imitated literally and not idealised, should be valued as highly as history paintings, which were generally inspired by classical or neo-classical principles. The idea that Adriaan van der Willigen is the man pointing at the casts is intriguing. He was a learned amateur and the best-versed person in the gathering when it came to the history of the arts. He was very well aware how much they owed to the example of ancient Greece and Rome. A few 215 years after this painting was executed he wrote an essay in the Verhandelingen uitgegeven door Teyler’s Tweede Genootschap (Discourses published by Teylers Second Society) discussing ‘the cause of the lack of superior history painters in the Netherlands, and the means suitable for their training’. He praised his countrymen for their colouring, chiaroscuro, fidelity to nature and brushwork, yet accused them of imprecise drawing, inelegant compositions and bad taste. What, Van der Willigen asked, could be done to overcome these defects? To draw from the ‘purest casts in plaster of the finest classical statues, busts and bas-reliefs’! And he then gave a list of the well-known canon of classical sculpture, which included the Apollo Belvedere, the Laocoön, the Venus de’ Medici and the Belvedere Torso.7 In short, he was utterly convinced of the importance of classical sculpture and its formative nature. For him, it was clearly still of paramount importance. mp 216 1 For the various identifications see Haarlem 1972, p. 25 and Haarlem 1990, pp. 35–36. 2 The Van der Willigen identification was made by A. Staring (1956, p. 174) and has been adopted by other authors (see above, note 1). According to Staring, some of the portraits were added later, when the composition had already been determined, including that of Van der Willigen, who was not yet living in Haarlem in 1799. Van der Willigen is best known today for writing a comprehensive collection of biographies of artists living in the Netherlands from 1750 onwards, together with Roeland van Eynden: Van Eynden and Van der Willigen 1816–40. 3 For the Callipygian Venus see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 316–18, no. 83; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 1, pp. 73–76, no. 31 and repr. on pp. 267–69. For the Nymph Washing Her Foot after Adriaen de Vries: Amsterdam, Stockholm and elsewhere 1998, pp. 131–33, no. 10. 4 For Duquesnoy’s Mercury, of which there are several versions, some of them slightly different, see Boudon-Mauchel 2005, pp. 264–70. For the Farnese Hercules see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, pp. 17–20, no. 1, pp. 208–13. 5 For the Venus de’ Medici see Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 325–28, no. 88, and for De Vries’ Vulcan’s Forge see Amsterdam, Stockholm and elsewhere 1998, pp. 187–89, no. 27. 6 The plaster casts stood in the top front room of the house in Klein Heiligland. For a description of the house and of Hendriks’ involvement with the casts, see Sliggers 1990, no. 26, pp. 16–17. 7 Van der Willigen 1809, p. 282 (colouring etc.), p. 298 (plaster casts). 217 32. Woutherus Mol (Haarlem 1785–1857 Haarlem) The Young Draughtsman c. 1820 Oil on canvas 52.3 × 42.6 cm prov enance: A. Pluym; his sale, R.W.P. de Vries, A. Brondgeest, C.F. Roos, Amsterdam, 24 November 1846, p. 7, no. 22; sold to Gerrit Jan Michaëlis (1775–1856) for the Teylers Foundation (f 400,-) liter ature: Van Eynden and Van der Willigen 1816–40, vol. 4, p. 244; Huebner 1942, p. 69, fig. 63; Knoef 1947b, pp. 8–10, repr.; Van Holthe tot Echten 1984, pp. 60–63, fig. 4; Jonkman 2010, p. 35; Geudeker 2010, p. 60, p. 78, fig. 74. e xhibitions: Amsterdam 1822, no. 222; Moscow and Haarlem 2013–14, p. 50 (not numbered). Teylers Museum, Haarlem, KS 015 e xhibited in ha arlem only A young draughtsman sitting by an open window is engrossed in his work. He seems to be copying the object leaning against the wall in front of him, but whether it is a drawing or a bas-relief is not entirely clear. The tree visible through the window and the building beyond it stand in a garden or by a narrow canal-side street. The colourful flowers in a vase on the windowsill bring a touch of that outside world indoors. The leaded windows, ceiling beams, whitewashed walls and above all the ornately carved cupboard show that this is an old Dutch interior. Standing on the cupboard are imposing plaster casts of famous classical statues: the Dancing Faun, the Venus de’ Medici (p. 42, fig. 56) Fig. 1. Woutherus Mol, Painter and Draughtsman in a Studio, c. 1820, oil on canvas, 43.5 × 37 cm, present whereabouts unknown 218 and an unidentified statue of the Apollo Citharoedus type.1 It is difficult to make out whether the other objects also record classical prototypes: a bas-relief, a baby’s head, a couching lion and a vase with prominent handles. The interior is bathed in a serene calm, so much so that the song of the little bird in the cage high up on the wall is almost audible. One scholar recently put forward a fascinating argument that the picture is a commentary on the Classicist view of art.2 If the tree and the bouquet of flowers are interpreted as ‘nature’, and the plaster casts as ‘classical antiquity’, then the young draughtsman is occupying a special position, mid-way between them. According to that view of art, nature had to be idealised with the aid of beautiful examples, and such examples were available in abundance in classical antiquity. Statues like the Venus de’ Medici, the Apollo Belvedere and the Dancing Faun had been for centuries part of the canon of the most treasured sculptures. At the same time, however, Mol is remaining true to his Dutch origins, for he has very clearly set The Young Draughtsman in a traditional Dutch interior. A similar painting by him, Painter and Draughtsman in a Studio (fig. 1), is again set in a typical 17th-century Dutch space, with a wooden cross window, ‘Kussenkast’ cupboard, and a massive table with ball feet. It too contains a prominent display of classical sculpture.3 The apprentice draughtsman is copying a plaster cast of the Dancing Faun, and on the cupboard are casts of the same Apollo Citharoedus that we see in our picture, a reproduction of the so-called Priestess in the Capitoline Museum, and another of the Farnese Hercules (see p. 30, fig. 32 and cat. 7, fig. 3). Standing beside the cupboard there is even a copy after a classical vase, probably the famous Borghese Vase.4 Deliberately or not, the combination of classical art and a 17th-century Dutch setting relates Mol’s two studio scenes directly to the debate about the ‘national taste’ being conducted in the Netherlands around 1800 and for some decades 219 thereafter. It was felt that Dutch painting was in a deplorable state: essays were written about how standards could be raised and competitions were held to encourage improvements. Classical sculpture was regularly invoked: it was only logical that Dutch painters were lagging behind, it was said, given the absence of classical statues in Holland, and drawing academies should therefore acquire copies after antique statues (see cat. 31), and so on.5 Reading between the lines, though, one sees that the same writers were often great admirers of 17th-century Dutch painting. The painters of that Golden Age had paid little heed to Classicist art theory; they imitated nature and did not idealise it. Mol’s two studio scenes contain elements that can be associated with both artistic theories. He was very much at home in both worlds. Born in Haarlem, he had received an old- 220 fashioned Dutch training with the landscapist Hermanus van Brussel (1763–1815). In 1806, however, he went to Paris, where he worked for several years, partly as an élève in the framework of the new arts policy of King Louis Napoleon of Holland (1778–1846), apprenticed to none other than Jacques Louis David (1748–1825). In other words, classicist views about art were well-known to him. mp 1 Haskell and Penny 1981, respectively pp. 205–08, no. 34 (Dancing Faun), pp. 325–28, no. 88 (Venus de’ Medici). 2 T. van Druten, in Moscow and Haarlem 2013–14, p. 50. 3 Mak van Waay sale, Amsterdam, 26 May 1964, lot 366. 4 Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 205–08, no. 34 (Dancing Faun), pp. 229–32, no. 46 (Farnese Hercules), pp. 314–15, no. 81 (Borghese Vase). For the Priestess in the Capitoline Museum see Stuart Jones 1912, p. 345, no. 6, pl. 86; Helbig 1963–72, vol. 2, no. 1227. 5 Koolhaas-Grosfeld and De Vries 1992, pp. 119, 128. 33. Anonymous, Danish School, 19th century Two Artists and a Guard in the Antique Room at Charlottenborg Palace c. 1835 Oil on canvas, 38.6 × 33.9 cm prov enance: Private collection, Denmark; Thomas Le Claire Kunsthandel, Hamburg with Daxer & Marschall, Munich in 2003 (as Knud Andreassen Baade), from whom acquired. liter ature: Zahle 2003, p. 271, fig. 117 (as Julius Friedlænder (?)); Copenhagen 2004, pp. 110–11, no. 8, fig. 16 (as unknown artist); Fuchs and Salling 2004, vol. 3, pp. 194–95, repr. (as unknown artist). e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2003-028 The Antique Room of the Copenhagen Academy of Fine Arts, housed in Charlottenborg Palace, was a popular choice of subject for 19th-century Scandinavian art students, such as H. D. C. Martens (1795–1864), Martinus Rørbye (1803–48) and Christian Købke (1810–48). The Academy was founded in 1754 by King Frederik V, but an informal art school had been established in 1740 by his predecessor, Christian VI, so that there was already a small collection of casts for the students to study, including one of the Laocöon, but with the older son missing.1 The Academy’s programme was modelled on those of others across Europe, especially that in Paris, in which plaster copies after antique models served as the basis for the instruction of artists; in some cases casts were even valued above the originals because they made details more readily accessible to copyists. The expansion of the collection was primarily due to the efforts of three members of the Academy: a professor of sculpture, Christoph Petzholdt (1708–62), who contributed twenty-five casts and restored many others that had suffered from being moved too often;2 the sculptor and Academy Fellow Johannes Wiedewelt (1731–1802), who in 1758 sent three large chests of casts back to Denmark from Rome;3 and the painter and sculptor Nicolai Abildgaard (1743–1809), who was appointed Director in 1789 and purchased several casts, including Germanicus and the Belvedere Torso, and the missing son of the Laocoön. 4 The cast collection focused mainly on Roman copies, and it was not until the first decades of the 19th century that casts of Greek originals were added.5 This was characteristic of academies across Europe, which began to recognise the value of the Greek originals over their Roman derivations, thus diverging from Italian academic tradition. In the painting on display, an artist in his work-robe holds up a plumb-line to check the vertical axis of the cast that he is sketching. He draws his copy on a sheet attached to a drawing-board that rests on his lap, and his portfolio crammed with other drawings leans against a stool in front of him, along with his discarded top hat and cravat. A fellow artist considers his handiwork, but they are about to be interrupted by a museum guard bearing a scroll. When it was acquired in 2003, this canvas was attributed to the Norwegian artist, Knud Andreassen Baade (1808–79), whose painting of the same room now belongs to the National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design in Oslo (fig. 1), and also features a draughtsman at work, holding up a stylus to check the horizontal reference line of his subject. The depiction of the room in the Oslo painting, which is dated 1828, just precedes its renovation later that year when, under the direction of the architect C. F. Hansen (1756–1845), the walls were plastered smooth, as seen in the painting on display here.6 A comparison of the two canvases shows the way the room was modified to accommodate the growing collection, as casts were shifted around according to aesthetic, thematic or chronological principles. In the Oslo painting, the Borghese Gladiator (see p. 41, fig. 54 and cats 16, 23–24) is placed in the extreme left foreground, creating a diagonal perspective. The same technique is used in the present painting, though it is now a statue of Perseus that anchors the work, with his outstretched hand grasping a missing Medusa’s head. The Perseus was created in 1801 by Antonio Canova (1757–1822), Fig. 1. Knud Andreassen Baade, Scene from the Academy in Copenhagen, 1828, oil on canvas, 32.4 × 23.8 cm, The National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design, Oslo, inv. no. NG.M.01589 221 Fig. 2. Relief of an Eagle with a Wreath, 2nd century ad, marble, church of Santi Apostoli, Rome who donated a cast of it to the Academy in 1804, thereby becoming a member. Another modern sculpture hangs on the upper wall at left, which is a roundel with an allegory of Justice, in which Nemesis reads a list of the guilty to Jupiter, who sits in judgment. This was the work of Bertel Thorvaldsen (1770–1844), the leading sculptor in Europe after Canova’s death, who had been trained in the Academy.7 Also modern is the bust of Frederik V at the end of the room by the sculptor J. F. J. Saly (1717–76).8 The remaining casts in the room are of antique statues and reliefs, and extant inventory lists attest to the dates of their acquisition.9 The relief of the eagle in a wreath, after the original in the church of Santi Apostoli in Rome (fig. 2), is displayed on the wall above a reduced copy of a frieze, taken from the Parthenon, both of which were transferred to this southern wall as part of the 1828 reconstruction.10 Facing the viewer and leaning on a column is a reproduction of the Marble Faun (fig. 3). This was a relatively overlooked sculpture, more valued for its conjectural attribution to Praxiteles than for its aesthetic significance. It did not achieve worldrenown until the publication of The Marble Faun by Nathaniel Hawthorne in 1860, after which it became one of the highlights of the Capitoline Museum.11 Behind the Faun stands a cast of Germanicus (fig. 4), which, in contrast to the Faun, was one of the most revered antiquities almost from its discovery in the mid-17th century.12 Casts of it were commissioned for collections across Europe, including Florence, Mannheim, Madrid and the Duke of Devonshire’s collection at Chatsworth in Derbyshire. The identity of this figure is uncertain, and it has been thought by different scholars to represent Augustus, Brutus, Mercury or an anonymous Roman general; however, its identification as Germanicus, nephew of Tiberius, has persisted since 1664.13 Between Perseus and the Faun is the seated figure of Mercury, cast after the bronze original discovered in Herculaneum in 1758 (fig. 5). It was one of the most celebrated archaeological discoveries of the 18th century, and its presence is critical to the dating of the Bellinger painting because the cast was only acquired by the Academy in 1834, thus providing a terminus post quem and supporting for it a date of c. 1835.14 This precludes the authorship of Baade, who left Copenhagen in 1829 and spent the early 1830s travelling in his native Norway. In 1836 he followed his mentor, the landscapist J. C. C. Dahl (1788–1857), to Germany, where he lived until his death in 1879.15 Jan Zahle tentatively proposed that the painter was Julius Friedlænder (1810–61),16 who is also thought to be the artist of another painting of the Antique Room in Charlottenborg, dated 1832 (current whereabouts unknown).17 To commemorate the 250th anniversary of the Fig. 3. Marble Faun, Roman copy, c. 2nd century ad, after a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 170.5 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. no. S.739 Fig. 4. Germanicus, Roman, c. 20 ad, after a Greek original of the 5th century bc, marble, 180 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. no. MA1207 222 223 34. Desflaches (Christian name unknown; probably Belgian, fl. 19th century) The Connoisseur c. 1850 Oil on canvas, 60 × 50 cm Signed recto lower right, Desflaches prov enance: Galerie Fischer-Kiener, Paris; property of a European Foundation; their sale, Sotheby’s, New York, 26 October 1990, lot 144; Didier Aaron Inc., New York; Harry Bailey, New York; Didier Aaron Inc., New York; Their sale, Christie’s, New York, 22 May 1997, lot 116, from whom acquired. liter ature: None. e xhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1997-020 Fig. 6. Antique Room in Charlottenborg Palace recreated in 2004, curated by Pontus Kjerrman and Jan Zahle, with sculptor Bjørn Nørgaard Fig. 5. Seated Mercury, Roman copy, 1st century ad, after a Greek original of the late 4th century or early 3rd century bc, bronze, 105 cm (h), Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, inv. NM 5625 Academy in 2004, the Bellinger painting was presented in the accompanying exhibition catalogue as by an unknown artist,18 and until further evidence comes to light, it is prudent to maintain its anonymity. While the Academy continues to function, the cast collection was relocated and dispersed several times; first in 1883, due to lack of space, to a new building. The pieces by Thorvaldsen were transferred to his eponymous museum, founded during his lifetime in 1839 and opened to the public in 1848. In 1895 the rest of the collection was absorbed into the newly created Royal Cast Collection, which shared a building with the newly founded National Gallery of Art, in Copenhagen.19 These casts were neglected over the subsequent years, as interest in plaster copies waned in favour of original and unique works of art. When the museum underwent renovations from 1966 to 1970, the majority of the casts were packed away and allowed to deteriorate. Only in 1984, due to the combined efforts of concerned art historians, classical archaeologists and artists, were thousands of casts rescued and restorations begun. They were rehoused in the West India Company Warehouse, 224 originally a storehouse for products of the slave trade, and approximately 2,000 casts can be seen on display there. The Faun and Germanicus both belong to this collection, while Canova’s Perseus was transferred to the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek. However, in 2004, as part of the anniversary exhibition, replicas of these casts were reunited in the Antique Room of the Palace, just as seen in numerous 19th-century paintings, such as this one. A visitor in 2004, therefore, could stand in the very same spot as our anonymous painter, and witness a nearly identical scene (fig. 6). rh 1 Zahle 2003, p. 272. For the history of the Copenhagen Academy see Meldahl and Johansen 1904. 2 Saabye 1980, p. 6 and Zahle 2003, p. 272 3 Zahle 2003, p. 272. 4 Jørnæs 1970, p. 52. 5 Zahle 2003, p. 275. 6 Jørnæs 1970, p. 58. 7 Helsted 1972, p. lxxxvi. 8 Copenhagen 2004, p. 201 (S85). 9 An inventory from 1809 is especially extensive (Fortegnelse over Marmor-og Gibs-Figurerne, samt Receptions-Stykkerne og flere Konstsager i Den Kongelige Maler-, Billedhugger- og Bygnings-Academie paa Charlottenborg, partially transcribed in Zahle 2003, p. 269) and records were kept for several years by the art historian Julius Lange (see, for example, Lange 1866). 10 Copenhagen 2004, p. 198 (S51) and p. 199 (S61). 11 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 210; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2010, pp. 446–51, no. 5. 12 Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 219. 13 Ibid., p. 220. 14 Copenhagen 2004, p. 200 (S72). 15 Thieme-Becker 1907–50, vol. 2, p. 297. 16 Zahle 2003, p. 271. 17 Copenhagen 2004, p. 110, no. 7. 18 Ibid., p. 110, no. 8. 19 Zahle 2003, p. 278. In this striking candlelight view of a 19th-century bourgeois interior by the little-known artist, Desflaches,1 a man examines a work of art displayed on an easel but hidden from our view. In one hand he holds an oil lamp or candle, illuminating the corner of the room in soft, golden light and casting strong and dramatic shadows. It is exactly 10:30, according to the clock on the mantle, and the visitor, probably a connoisseur, has called on the artist at home, presumably to inspect his latest work. He has removed his hat and cloak, placed on the chair on the left, and with a pipe in hand, assumes a relaxed yet concentrated stance. Viewing and producing art by candlelight is a tradition that hearkens back to the Renaissance when artist-theorists, Leon Battista Alberti (1404–72), Leonardo da Vinci (1452– 1519), Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71) and others, advised students to draw sculpture by artificial light, to enhance the effects of relief, three-dimensionality and shadow.2 Baccio Bandinelli put this concept into practice, and drawing by candlelight was central to artistic training at his academy (see cats 1–2). Others followed suit including Jacopo Tintoretto and his followers who used an oil lamp when making studies after casts of Michelangelo’s Medici tomb figures and other models ‘so that he could compose in a powerful and solidly modelled manner by means of those strong shadows cast by the lamp’.3 The practice of drawing after models, especially casts, at night continued in the 17th century, as seen in Rembrandt’s small etching, Man Drawing from a Cast, (c. 1641). 4 Nocturnal viewings became common in the late 18th century; white casts were popularly studied by flickering torchlight because it made them appear animated.5 Indeed, the spectators’ delight is clearly evident in William Pether’s mezzotints, Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight (1769) 6 and An Academy (1772; cat. 24), both after Joseph Wright of Derby. The female model in the Bellinger painting is a reduced plaster cast of the Crouching Venus – a Hellenistic original of which several antique variations are known (fig. 1).7 The figure was enormously popular, especially in the 17th and 18th centuries when many artists produced imitations of her, the most celebrated being the marble completed in 1686 by the French sculptor, Antoine Coysevox (1640–1720), also reproduced in bronze.8 She is generally believed to represent Venus in, or emerging from, the bath, her head turned sharply to the right and her arms sensuously and protectively crossing her body, suggesting that her ablutions have been interrupted. In Desflaches’ canvas the Crouching Venus has been brightly lit and given primacy of place, suggesting she may be the subject of the canvas displayed on the easel; her animation is enhanced by the direct gaze with which she engages the viewer. While the cast in our painting probably ultimately derives from the antique marble in the Uffizi, it seems to have been idealised and modified, to reflect a distinctively Coysevesque sensibility, evidenced in the refined and delicate features of her face.9 Other identifiable works in the Desflaches composition include a second plaster cast – a male portrait bust – partly visible on the covered table in the background, to the visitor’s right. He probably derives from the marble head of a young man in the Museo Pio-Clementino in the Vatican (Roman, 1st Fig. 1. Crouching Venus, Roman copy, 1st c. ad after Hellenistic original, marble, 78 cm (h), Uizi, Florence, inv. no. 188 225 Fig. 2. Head of Lucius or Gaius Caesar, or the Young Octavian (Augustus), 52 cm (h), marble, possibly end of the 1st c. ad or later, Museo Pio-Clementino, Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 714 Fig. 3. Godfried Schalcken (1643–1706), An Artist and a Young Woman by Candlelight, oil on canvas, 44 × 35 cm, private collection, New York century ad; fig. 2).10 This bust, believed to be either one of the brothers, Lucius or Gaius Caesar, or a rare depiction of the young Octavian before he became Emperor Augustus in 27 bc,11 enjoyed considerable popularity and was copied by many artists, particularly in the 19th century. Its authenticity has occasionally been doubted – at one point it was even attributed to the neo-classical sculptor, Antonio Canova (1757–1822) – but the confirmation of its discovery by Robert Fagan in the ruins of Tor Boacciana (Ostia) in 1800–02, supports its antique origin despite it being considerably reworked.12 In addition to works deriving from antique sources are others that directly reference Dutch art of the 17th century. Immediately behind the Crouching Venus is what appears to be a pencil drawing after Rembrandt’s celebrated etching, Self Portrait Leaning on a Stone Sill (1639).13 It is in the same direction as the etching though the line is faint and the lower half of the figure, with the distinctively posed left arm, has been omitted altogether, suggesting the source was either a later impression of the print or a further, reduced copy of the original. To the right of the Rembrandt, is a moonlit landscape strongly reminiscent of the work of Aert van der Neer (1603/4–77). On the opposite wall is a portrait of a man, possibly by, or at least in the manner of, the portraitist and genre painter, Frans Hals (1582/83–1666). Partly obscured in shadow below appears to be a drawing, possibly by Jan van Goyen (1596–1656), or one of his contemporaries. As the distinctive trappings would suggest, the artist may well be Dutch, and this is supported further by a comparison with a painting by Godfried Schalcken (1643–1706) in a private collection, New York (fig. 3), which may have been known to Desflaches. A pupil of Gerrit Dou (1613–75), Schalcken specialised in night scenes; here a man, drawing in hand, presumably the artist, with his female pupil, points suggestively to a small but lively model of the Crouching Venus, animatedly illuminated by an oil lamp; clearly there is more 226 than just a drawing lesson at play here. An antique head lies dormant, face-up on the table below. By the 19th century, the Antique was readily available, even to amateur artists, via plaster casts, as Desflaches’ composition suggests. Ancient sculpture could now readily be combined with art of different types and in diverse settings, both on the continent – seen, for instance, in the work of Woutherus Mol (cat. 32), which also features Dutch and antique motifs – and in England (cat. 35). As the canon became more diffuse, the standing of the Antique also declined, as other styles, historical and modern, became increasingly more dominant as the century progressed. avl 1 The painting bears that name at lower right. In the Christie’s catalogue, New York, 22 May 1997, lot 116, the initial of the first name is given as ‘P’, without explanation, and the nationality, French/Belgian. A painting attributed to the artist, Still Life with Brass Oil Lamp, Skeleton Key and Pitcher, oil on canvas, 33 × 29.2 cm, was sold New Orleans Auction Galleries, 20 July 2002, lot 324 (as P. Desflaches). 2 Weil-Garris 1981, pp. 246–47, note 39; Roman 1984, p. 83; Hegener 2008, p. 401. 3 Ridolfi 1914, vol. 2, p. 14; Ridolfi 1984, p. 16. 4 White and Boon 1969, vol. 1, p. 68, no. B130, vol. 2, p. 119, repr. 5 Borbein 2000, p. 31 (see also note 23 listing further bibliography on nighttime viewing of casts). 6 Clayton 1990, p. 236, no. 154, P3. 7 Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 321–23, no. 86, fig. 171. The authors catalogue the example in the Uffizi, Florence, but discuss the other extant versions as well. See Lullie 1954, pp. 10–17 and Havelock 1995, pp. 80–83. 8 Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 40, fig. 22, 323. The marble version is in the Louvre and the bronze, at Versailles (Souchal 1977–93, vol. 1, pp. 191–92). 9 The cast in the painting bears a striking resemblance to one preserved in the Salzburg Museum, Austria, another idealisation of the original in the Uffizi, see http://www.salzburgmuseum.at/972.0.html It was in the collection of the painter, Anton Raphael Mengs (1728–79). In 1782, the Court of Saxony acquired it, among other casts from his estate, for the Dresden Academy of Art. 10 Spinola 1996–2004, vol. 2, pp. 131, fig. 22, 137–38, no. 123 with previous bibliography. 11 Spinola 1996–2004, vol. 2, p. 137. 12 Ibid. 13 White and Boon 1969, vol. 1, pp. 9–10, no. B21, vol. 2, p. 10, repr. 227 35. William Daniels (Liverpool 1813–1880 Liverpool) Self-Portrait with Casts: The Image Seller c. 1850 Oil on canvas, feigned circle, 43.3 × 43.3 cm prov enance: Richard S. Timewell, Tangier, by descent; Timewell family sale, Brissonneau & Daguerre, Paris, 15 June 2005, lot 56; W. M. Brady & Co., New York, 2005, from whom acquired. liter ature: Bowyer 2013, pp. 49–50, fig. 36. e xhibitions: New York 2005b, no. 13, repr.; Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, pp. 12–16, fig. 9, p. 98. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2005-016 Born into a modest working-class family in Liverpool, Daniels was apprenticed to his father, a brick maker, loading and arranging new stock; in his spare time, he drew faces on the bricks and carved and modelled small figures in wood and clay.1 His artistic talents were recognised by Alexander Mosses (1793–1837), a local painter, who encouraged him to take evening classes in drawing at the Royal Institution in Liverpool. The young Daniels was awarded first prize for a large study ‘in black and white’ of the Dying Gladiator ‘drawn from the round’ which, allegedly, Mosses ‘begged … off the lad and had … framed’.2 Daniels later became apprenticed to the painter but was confined to menial tasks, and could only paint at night, slyly returning the cleaned brushes in the morning.3 The resulting night scenes or ‘candlelight pictures’, primarily portraits and genre subjects, would become his trademark and he achieved considerable local success, exhibiting at the Liverpool Academy, Post Office Place and the Liverpool Society of Fine Arts, and then in London at the Royal Academy in 1840, 1841 and 1846. 4 He became known as the ‘Liverpool Rembrandt’ or the ‘English Rembrandt’, according to one source reputedly quoting John Ruskin.5 Daniels also shared with the Dutch master a life-long preoccupation with his own image; ‘many of his finest painting were portraits of himself’, as noted in one of his obituaries.6 And like the youthful Rembrandt he was particularly fond of depicting those on the fringes of society with whom he seemed to share a certain affinity, often representing himself in the guise of the urban poor – beggars, gypsies, brigands and others.7 Described by one biographer as ‘of fine, manly form, very handsome’ with ‘a profusion of jet black curly hair’ and a swarthy complexion, it was sometimes said of him that there was ‘gypsy blood in his veins’ and that wearing earrings only enhanced his ‘resemblance to the wandering tribe.’8 In the striking example seen here, Daniels has fashioned himself as an Italian travelling salesman of plaster casts, a popular subject for Victorian artists.9 With the increasing demand for images in museums, schools and academies but also as adornments in ordinary homes, celebrated 228 sculptures from antiquity, together with portraits of modern worthies, were mass-produced in plaster, generally in reduced form.10 The technique was simple and inexpensive: a mixture of marl and clay was poured into a slip mould of plaster of Paris that absorbed the water, leaving a thin layer of clay inside the mould that could be easily removed, lightly fired, producing a brittle but light-weight and easily portable cast.11 Favourite antique and contemporary subjects – including the Farnese Hercules and the Apollo Belvedere as well as busts of Byron, Milton, Napoleon and Queen Victoria – were now displayed and offered for sale together.12 While English firms had been manufacturing casts since the 18th century, the market became increasingly dominated by Italian makers, particularly from around Lucca who organised large groups to sell their wares on the streets of London and beyond.13 Having considerable reach through their travels, these vendors played a seminal role in disseminating knowledge of the iconic works of antiquity through all classes of society.14 The British public regarded the image-makers and sellers, men and boys from forty to fifteen with curiosity and with some suspicion.15 One of the earliest images of them is an amusing caricature by Thomas Rowlandson (1757–1827) in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London (c. 1799, fig. 1). Appearing dishevelled with unbuttoned shirt and jacket, the salesman peddles his wares to an enthusiastic family while a woman watches a peep show in the background. A slightly later example, accompanied by the title, Very Fine. Very Cheap, was etched by John Thomas Smith (1766–1833), known as ‘Antiquity Smith’, the writer, poet and Keeper of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum from 1816 to 1833 (fig. 2).16 On the seller’s board, a reduced cast of the Farnese Hercules (see p. 30, fig. 32) has been relegated to the background, obscured by a cast of a Roman vase. With a slightly sinister glint in his eyes, this figure was included in Smith’s Etchings of Remarkable Beggars, Itinerant Traders and other Persons, published in London, 1815. William James Muller (1812–45) produced a more sympathetic, even romantic portrayal of the itinerant cast seller in 1843 (fig. 3). More closely allied to the Daniels’ 229 Fig. 1. Thomas Rowlandson, An Image Seller, c. 1799, watercolour, 326 × 264 mm, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, no. 1820-1900 Fig. 2. John Thomas Smith, Very Fine. Very Cheap, c. 1815, etching, 192 × 114 mm (plate); 267 × 185 mm (sheet), from Etchings of Remarkable Beggars, Itinerant Traders and other Persons, published in London, 31 December 1815, National Portrait Gallery, London, Reference collection D40098 Fig. 3. William James Muller, The Plaster Figure Seller, oil on canvas, 82.5 × 52.1 cm, sold Christie’s, London, 6 November 2012, lot 333. Copyright: © Christie’s Images Limited (2012) painting than the others, this hawker is less an object of derision than one of wonder, even admiration.17 In the present example, Daniels, dressed in modest workman’s attire and silhouetted against a dark backdrop, balances on his head a board fully loaded with a casts of every shape and size, securing it with one hand. Many were based on examples in his own collection, probably used in his studio to prepare accessories in his portrait commissions. Immediately recognisable in the centre right is the bust of Shakespeare, whom Daniels particularly admired. He was said to have a deep familiarity with the poet’s work and could identify the exact source for every quotation, ‘without a moment’s hesitation’.18 In fact, busts of the bard are listed in Daniel’s posthumous sale of 1880, one of which is likely to be the example seen here.19 With the other arm, he cradles a bust of Homer, the blind epic poet of the Iliad and the Odyssey, another favourite of Daniel’s as noted by his biographer.20 The source for this cast was a Roman marble of the Antonine period (138-93 ad, after a lost Hellenistic original of c. 300 bc), probably the version preserved in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli (fig. 4).21 Known in several variants after the same lost Greek original, this is arguably the most celebrated image of Homer from antiquity and was used by many artists; arguably the most famous example is Rembrandt’s Aristotle with a Bust of Homer which passed through various English private collections in the 19th century (now Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York), and 230 which Daniels was probably referencing, reinforcing his association with both poet and artist.22 The other casts on the tray in the painting appear to reproduce a mixture of English and French works of the mid- to late 18th and 19th century. They include the brightly coloured parrot, probably based on a Staffordshire porcelain example, c. 1850, after a Meissen original of the 18th century, and the hooded figure on the front left, possibly an adaptation of ‘La Nourrice’ (Nurse and Child) modelled by Joseph Willems at Chelsea (c. 1752–58), after a French terracotta original of the 17th century.23 Popular images of the three Fig. 4. Bust of Homer, marble, 72 cm (h), Roman Antonine period after a lost Hellenistic original of c. 300 bc, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, inv. 6023 theological virtues, Faith, Hope and Charity, made by the Wood family at Burslem in Staffordshire, 1800–10, appear to be the inspiration behind some of the other figures on the tray: Hope at the far right, seen in profile with hands clasped; Faith, directly behind the parrot; and Charity, seen from the back, behind the Nurse and Child.24 It has also been suggested that the bust of a boy seen from the back, directly above Daniels’ right hand, might be Alexandre Brongniart (1777) by Jean-Antoine Houdon (1741–1828), known in examples in marble, terracotta, bronze, plaster and biscuit porcelain.25 Daniels appears to be between thirty-five and forty years old in this painting, slightly older than his self-portrait at the easel of c. 1845 in the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool (fig. 5); a completion date of around 1850 therefore seems likely.26 The theme of the cast vendor clearly intrigued Daniels for he would return to it again about twenty years later. In An Italian Image Seller (1870; Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool; fig. 6), the protagonist (probably Daniels again) rests on the wall of an English country lane.27 The tray is no longer present but on the ground to his right are two casts, one, a Mercury, the other, the nymph, Clytie (sometimes identified as Antonia, daughter of Mark Antony and mother of the Emperor Claudius). The marble original of the nymph, acquired in Naples by the Grand Tour collector, Charles Townley (1737– 1805) and reportedly his favourite, is now in the British Museum.28 Copies of the popular statue were made in porcelain by the firm Copeland from 1855 and it has been suggested that Daniels based his depiction on one of them.29 Daniels certainly owned a copy of the Clytie and other busts after the Antique including a Jupiter, Apollo, Diana and Laocoön, ‘which he treated with almost reverential admiration’.30 As Daniels’ Image Seller shows, by the mid-19th century iconic antique statues, once rarefied models of ideal beauty, were now commercialised and readily available on the open Fig. 5. William Daniels, Self-Portrait, c. 1845, oil on canvas, 91.5 × 71.7 cm, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, WAG 1724 Fig. 6. William Daniels, An Italian Image Seller, 1870, oil on canvas, 80 × 63.5 cm, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, WAG 3114 market through mass-produced casts. While the Antique continued to be central to the education of artists both in the studio and in the academy, it became an ubiquitous presence in the home, especially in middle-class interiors where reductions of famous statues were displayed alongside works from other periods, sometimes even assuming a secondary role to them. The amalgamation of styles and influences, in which Ancient, Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance and Modern were placed on equal footing, was, by the mid-19th century, the result of an historicist aesthetic in which the Antique had become just one of the possible artistic references, thus losing its canonical status and aesthetic primacy. avl 1 An extensive tribute to Daniels was published anonymously in serial form in the Liverpool Lantern (1880), by his friend, K. C. Spier, editor of the paper. It may be consulted at: http://art-science.com/WDaniels/LLessay.html where the artist’s obituaries and private letters and notes also are transcribed, some of which are referred to in Spier’s essay (cited here as Spier 1880). For other accounts of his life and work, see Tirebuck 1879; The Magazine of Art, 5, June 1882, pp. 341–43; Marillier 1904, pp. 95–98; ThiemeBecker 1907–50, vol. 8, pp. 362–63; Fastnege 1951; Bennett 1978, vol. 1, p. 79. 2 Spier 1880, chapter 4. The drawing, presumably after a cast of the famous sculpture in the Capitoline Museum, Rome (see cat. 20, fig. 2) remains untraced. 3 Spier 1880, chapter 4. 4 Marillier 1904, pp. 96–97; Fastnege 1951, p. 80; Bennett 1978, vol. 1, p. 79. 5 Obituary, Liverpool Journal, 16 October 1880; Liverpool Mercury 15 April 1884; Daily Post Liverpool, June 1908. 6 Liverpool Journal, 16 October 1880. 7 Representations of the urban poor in British art was an increasingly popular genre from around the mid-18th century onwards. See Hansen 2010. 8 Spier 1880, chapter 5. 9 Lambourne 1982; Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, p. 13. 10 For the history and use of casts, see Borbein 2000. For a translation in English by Bernard Fischer, see http://www.digitalsculpture.org/casts/ borbein/index.html For British cast makers and/or sellers in the 18th to early 19th c., see Clifford 1992 and for the 19th c., Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 117–24; Lambourne 1982; and Simon 2011. 11 Lambourne 1982, p. 119. 12 Ibid. 13 Clifford 1992; Simon 2011. 14 Lambourne 1982, p. 121. 15 Simon 2011 [unpaginated]. 16 Ibid., fig. 3. 17 For other images of the subject, see Lambourne 1982, pp. 118–23, figs 1–10. 18 Spier 1880, chapter 2; New York 2005b, under no. 13. 19 Walker & Ackerley, Liverpool, 6 December 1880, discussed in in Spier 1880, chapter 24. The present writer has not been able to locate a copy of this catalogue. 20 Spier 1880, chapter 2. 21 Richter 1965, vol. 1, p. 50, no. IV, no. 7, figs 70–72; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 2, pp. 15–16, no. 2 (M. Caso), pl. II, 1–4. 22 Liedtke 2007, vol. 2, pp. 629–54, no. 151. 23 Kindly pointed out by Paul Crane (personal communication), who notes the following example: Melbourne 1984–85, no. 56. 24 As noted further by Paul Crane, who points out their similarity to examples sold at Sotheby’s, New York, 15 April 1996, lot 73 (personal communication). 25 According to George Shackelford (personal communication). See Washington D.C., Los Angeles and elsewhere 2003-04, pp. 127–32, no. 15 (G. Scherf). 26 Bennett 1978, vol. 1, p. 80, no. 1724, vol. 2, p. 129; New York 2005b, under no. 13. 27 Bennett 1978, vol. 1, p. 83, no. 3114, vol. 2, p. 134. 28 Cook 1976, p. 181, fig. 144; Dodero 2013. 29 Bennett 1978, vol. 1, p. 83. 30 Spier 1880, chapter 17. 231 Bibliography abbreviations L. — F. Lugt, Les marques de collections de dessins & d’estampes . . . , Amsterdam, 1921 L. suppl. — F. 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Wright, Some Observations made in Travelling through France, Italy &c. in the years 1720, 1721 and 1722, 2 vols, London, 1730. Wright 1984 — D. R. E. Wright, ‘Alberti’s De Pictura: Its Literary Structure and Purpose’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 47, 1984, pp. 52–71. Wünsche 1998–99 — R. Wünsche, ‘Archäologische Deutungen und Ergänzungen’, in Munich and Rome 1998–99, pp. 66–87. Wurzbach 1906–11 — A. von Wurzbach, Niederländisches Künstler-Lexikon, auf Grund archivalischer Forschungen bearbeitet, 3 vols, Vienna, 1906–11. Exhibitions Amsterdam 1822 — Lijst der kunstwerken van nog in leven zijnde Nederlandsche meesters, welke zijn toegelaten tot de tentoonstelling van den jare 1822, Amsterdam, 1822. Amsterdam 1947–48 — Het Hollandsche babbelstuk 1730–1850, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (A. Staring), 1947–48. Amsterdam 1992 — Episcopius: Jan de Bisschop (1628–1671), advocaat en tekenaar, Museum Het Rembrandthuis, Amsterdam (R. E. Jellema and M. Plomp), 1992. Amsterdam 1993–94 — Dawn of the Golden Age. Northern Netherlandish Art, 1580–1620, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (G. Luijten et al.), 1993–94. Amsterdam 1994 — Nederlandse figuurstudies 1700–1850, The Rijksmuseum, Rijksprentenkabinet, Amsterdam (R. J. A. te Rijdt), 1994. Amsterdam 1997 — Mirror of Everyday Life. Genreprints in the Netherlands 1550–1700, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (eds E. de Jongh and G. Luijten), 1997. Amsterdam 2007 — Beeld voor beeld: klassieke sculptuur in prent, Allard Pierson Museum, Amsterdam (eds C. Smid and A. White), 2007. Amsterdam, New York and elsewhere 2003–04 — Hendrick Goltzius (1558–1617). Drawings, Prints and Paintings, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; The Toledo Museum of Art (eds H. Leeflang and G. Luijten), 2003–04. Amsterdam and Paris 2002–03 — De Watteau à Ingres: Dessins français du XVIIIe siècle du Rijksmuseum Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; Institut Néerlandais, Paris (ed. R. J. A. te Rijdt), 2002–03. Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002 — Michael Sweerts: 1618–1664, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; The Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco; Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford (eds G. Jansen and P. C. Sutton), 2002. Amsterdam, Stockholm and elsewhere 1998 — Adriaen de Vries (1556–1626), Imperial Sculptor, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; National Museum, Stockholm; The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles (ed. F. Scholten), 1998. Yarker and Hornsby 2012–13 — J. Yarker and C. Hornsby, ‘Buying Art in Rome in the 1770s’, in Oxford and New Haven 2012–13, pp. 63–87. Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82 — Dutch Figure Drawings from the Seventeenth Century, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C. (P. Schatborn), 1981–82. Yavchitz-Koehler 1987 — S.Yavchitz-Koehler, ‘Un dessin d’Hubert Robert: Le salon du bailli de Breteuil à Rome’, La Revue du Louvre et des musées de France, 5–6, 1987, pp. 369–78. Antwerp 1977 — P. P. Rubens. Gemälde, Ölskizzen, Zeichnungen, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp (eds R. A. D’Hulst et al.), 1977. Zahle 2003 — J. Zahle, ‘Afstøbninger i København i Europæisk Perspektiv’ in H. Ragn Jensen, S. Söderlind and E.-L. Bengtsson (eds), Inspirationens Skatkammer: Rom og skandinaviske kunstnere i 1800-tallet, Copenhagen, 2003, pp. 267–97. Zanardi 2007 — B. Zanardi, ‘Bellori, Maratti, Borttari e Crespi intorno al restauro: modelli antichi e pratica di lavoro nel cantiere di Raffaello alla Farnesina’, Rendiconti della Accademia nazionale dei Lincei, series 9, vol. 18, 2007, pp. 205–86. Zuccaro 1607 — F. Zuccaro, Idea de’Pittori, Scultori e Architetti, 2 vols, Turin, 1607. Zucker 1980 — M. Zucker, The Illustrated Bartsch 24. Formerly Volume 13 (Part 1). Early Italian Masters, New York, 1980. Zucker 1984 — M. Zucker, The Illustrated Bartsch 25 (Commentary). Formerly Volume 13 (Part 2). Early Italian Masters, New York, 1980. Zucker 2000 — M. Zucker, The Illustrated Bartsch 24. Commentary Part 3 (Le Peintre-Graveur 13 [Part 1]). Early Italian Masters, New York, 2000. Antwerp 2004 — A House of Art. Rubens as Collector, Rubenshuis, Antwerp (eds K. Lohse Belkin and F. Healy), 2004. Antwerp 2004–07 — Rijksmuseum aan de Schelde: meesterwerken uit de schatkamer van Nederland, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp, 2004–07 (no catalogue). Antwerp 2008 — Heads on Shoulders: Portrait Busts in the Low Countries, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp (ed. V. Herremans), 2008. Antwerp 2013 — Kunst Antwerpen Academie 350, Museum aan de Stroom, Antwerp (eds K. van Cauteren et al.), 2013. Arras and Épinal 2004 — Rubens contre Poussin: la querelle du coloris dans la peinture française à la fin du XVIIe siècle, Musée des beaux-arts d’Arras; Musée départemental d’art ancien et contemporain à Épinal (eds E. Delapierre et al.), 2004. Athens 2003–04 — In the Light of Apollo. Italian Renaissance and Greece, National Gallery, Alexandros Soutzos Museum, Athens (ed. M. Gregori), 2 vols, 2003–04. Bergamo 1994 — Giacomo Quarenghi, Palazzo della Ragione, Bergamo (eds A. Bettagno et al.), 1994. Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989 — Italian Etchers of the Renaissance & Baroque, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; The Cleveland Museum of Art; National Gallery of Art, Washington, D. C. (S. W. Reed and R. Wallace), 1989. 249 London 2011–12 — Leonardo da Vinci. Painter at the Court of Milan, National Gallery, London (ed. L. Syson with L. Keith), 2011–12. Boston and St. Louis 1981–82 — Printmaking in the Age of Rembrandt, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; The Saint Louis Art Museum (C. Ackley), 1981–82. Florence 2008 — Fiamminghi e Olandesi a Firenze. Disegni dalle collezioni degli Uffizi, Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi, Florence (eds W. Kloek and B. W. Meijer), 2008. London 1955 — A Loan Exhibition: Artists in 17th century Rome: to Save Gosfield Hall for the Nation as a Residential Nursing Home . . . , Wildenstein & Co., London (D. Mahon and D. Sutton), 1955. Bruges 2008–09 — Stradanus 1523–1605: Court Artist of the Medici, Groeningemuseum, Bruges (eds A. Baroni and M. Sellink), 2008–09 (published 2012). Florence 2014 — Baccio Bandinelli: scultore maestro (1493–1560), Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence (eds D. Heikamp and B. P. Strozzi), 2014. London 1962 — A Selection of Drawings from the Witt Collection: French Drawings, c. 1600–c. 1800, Courtauld Institute Galleries, London, 1962. London 2013–14 — The Male Nude. Eighteenth-Century Drawings from the Paris Academy, Wallace Collection, London (eds E. Brugerolles et al.), 2013–14. Brussels 2004 — Old Master Drawings. Organization of Antique Fairs, Gallery Kekko, Thurn and Taxis, Brussels, 2004. Geneva 1978 — Johann Heinrich Füssli, Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Musée Rath Genève, Geneva, 1978. London 1963 — Treasures of the Royal Academy, Royal Academy of Arts, London, 1963. London 2014 — Diverse Maniere: Piranesi, Fantasy and Excess, Sir John Soane’s Museum, London (ed. A. Lowe), 2014. Brussels 2007–08 — Alle wegen leiden naar Rome. Reizende kunstenaars van de 16de tot de 19de eeuw, Gemeentelijk Museum van Elsene, Brussels (D. Vautier), 2007–08 (no catalogue). Göttingen 2012–13 — Abgekupfert. Roms Antiken in den Reproduktionsmedien der Frühen Neuzeit, Kunstsammlung und Sammlung der Gipsabgüsse, Universität Göttingen (eds M. Luchterhandt et al.), 2012–13. London 1968a — France in the Eighteenth Century, Royal Academy of Arts, London (ed. P. Sutton), 1968. London and Florence 2010–11 — Fra Angelico to Leonardo. Italian Renaissance Drawings, British Museum, London; Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence (eds H. Chapman and M. Faietti), 2010–11. Brussels and Rome 1995 — Fiamminghi a Roma 1508–1608. Artisti dei Paesi Bassi e del Principato di Liegi a Roma durante il Rinascimento, Palais des Beaux-Arts, Brussels; Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Rome (eds N. Dacos and B. W. Meijer), 1995. Cambridge 1988 — Baccio Bandinelli 1493–1560: Drawings from British Collections, Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (R. Ward), 1988. Chicago 2007–08 — The Virtual Tourist in Renaissance Rome: Printing and Collecting the ‘Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae’, Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago (eds R. Zorach et al.), 2007–08. Göttingen 2013–14 — Roms Antiken in den Reproduktionsmedien der frühen Neuzeit, Kunstsammlung und Sammlung der Gipsabgüsse, University of Göttingen (eds M. Luchterhandt et al.), 2013–14. Haarlem 1972 — Wybrand Hendriks 1744–1831. Keuze uit zijn schilderijen en tekeningen, Teylers Museum, Haarlem (I. Q. van Regteren Altena, J. H. van Borssum Buisman and C. J. de Bruyn Kops), 1972. Haarlem 1990 — Augustijn Claterbos 1750–1828. Opleiding en werk van een Haarlems kunstenaar, Teylers Museum, Haarlem (B. Sliggers), 1990. Choisel 1986 — Un Grand Collectionneur sous Louis XV: Le cabinet de Jacques-Laure de Breteuil, Bailli de l’Ordre de Malta 1723–1785, Château de Breteuil, Choisel, 1986. Haarlem and London 2005–06 — Michelangelo Drawings: Closer to the Master, Teylers Museum, Haarlem; British Museum, London (ed. H. Chapman), 2005–06. Cologne 1977 — Peter Paul Rubens, 1577–1640, Museen der Stadt, Cologne, 1977. Haarlem, Zurich and elsewhere 2006–07 — Nicolaes Berchem. Im Licht Italiens, The Frans Hals Museum, Haarlem; The Kunsthaus, Zürich; The Staatliches Museum Schwerin (P. Biesboer et al.), 2006–07. Cologne and Utrecht 1991–92 — I Bamboccianti: niederländische Malerrebellen im Rom des Barock, Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Cologne; Centraal Museum, Utrecht (eds D.A. Levine and E. Mai), 1991–92. Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10 — The Artist’s Studio, Compton Verney and Sainsbury Centre for Visual Arts, Norwich (ed. G. Waterfield), 2009–10. Copenhagen 1973 — ‘Maegtige Schweiz’. Inspirationer fra Schweiz. 1750–1850, Thorvaldsens Museum, Copenhagen, 1973. Copenhagen 2004 — Spejlinger i Gips, Det Kongelige Danske Kunstakademi, Copenhagen (eds P. Kjerrman et al.), 2004. Derby 1997 — Joseph Wright of Derby: 1734–1797, Derby Museum & Art Gallery (J. Wallis), 1997. Doha 2011 — The Golden Age of Dutch Painting: Masterpieces from the Rijksmuseum Amsterdam, Museum of Islamic Art, Doha, 2011 (no catalogue). Dordrecht 2012–13 — Portret in portret in de Nederlandse kunst 1550–2012, Dordrechts Museum (S. Craft-Giepmans and A. de Vries), 2012–13. Edinburgh 2002 — Rubens Drawing on Italy, National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh (J. Wood), 2002. Essen 1992 — London World-City, 1800–1840, Villa Hügel, Essen (ed. C. Fox), 1992. Florence 1980 — Il primato del Disegno, Palazzo Strozzi, Florence (ed. L. Berti), vol. 4 of the exhibition Firenze e la Toscana dei Medici nell’Europa del Cinquecento, 4 vols, 1980. Florence 1987 — Michelangelo e l’arte classica, Casa Buonarroti, Florence (eds G. Agosti and V. Farinella), 1987. Hamburg 1974–75 — Johann Heinrich Füssli. 1741–1825, Hamburger Kunshalle, Hamburg (ed. W. Hofmann), Munich, 1974–75. Hamburg 2002 — Die Masken der Schönheit. Hendrick Goltzius und das Kunstideal um 1600, Hamburger Kunsthalle, Hamburg (eds J. Müller et al.), 2002. Hannover 1999 — Künstler, Händler, Sammler: zum Kunstbetrieb in den Niederlanden im 17. Jahrhundert, Niedersächsischen Landesmuseum, Hanover (U. Wegener), 1999. Harvard and Evanston 2011–12 — Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe, Harvard Art Museums, Cambridge (MA); Mary and Leigh Block Museum of Art, Evanston (IL) (ed. S. Dackerman), 2011–12. Heidelberg 1982 — 100 unbekannte Zeichnungen und Aquarelle des 16.-18. Jahrhunderts, Kurpfälzisches Museum, Heidelberg (S. Wechssler), 1982. Houston and Ithaca 2005–06 — A Portrait of the Artist 1525–1825. Prints from the Collection of the Sarah Campbell Blaffer Foundation, Museum of Fine Arts, Houston; Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art, Cornell University, Ithaca (NY) (ed. J. Clifton), 2005–06. King’s Lynn 1985 — French Drawings of the 17th and 18th Century, Fermoy Gallery, Guildhall of St George, King’s Lynn (ed. G. Agnew), 1985. Liverpool 1994–95 — Face to Face: Three Centuries of Artists’ Self-Portraiture, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool (X. Brooke), 1994–95. Liverpool 2007 — Joseph Wright of Derby in Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool (eds E. E. Barker and A. Kidson), 2007. Florence 1992 — Il Giardino di San Marco. Maestri e compagni del giovane Michelangelo, Casa Buonarroti, Florence (ed. P. Barocchi), 1992. London 1836 — The Lawrence Gallery, One Hundred Original Drawings by Zucchero, Andrea del Sarto, Polidore da Caravaggio and Fra Bartolomeo Collected by Sir Thomas Lawrence, Late President of the Royal Academy, London, 1836. Florence 1999-2000 — Giovinezza di Michelangelo, Palazzo Vecchio and Casa Buonarroti, Florence (eds K. Weil-Garris Brandt et al.), 1999–2000. London 1947 — Dutch Conversation Pieces of the 18th & 19th Centuries, The Allied Circle, London, 1947. Florence 2002 — Venere e amore: Michelangelo e la nuova bellezza ideale, Gallerie dell’Accademia, Florence (eds F. Falletti and J. Katz Nelson), 2002. London 1950 — French Master Drawings of the 18th Century, Matthiesen Gallery, London, 1950. 250 London 1953 — Drawings by Old Masters, Royal Academy of Arts, London (K. T. Parker and J. Byam Shaw), 1953. London 1968b — Royal Academy of Arts Bicentenary Exhibition, Royal Academy of Arts, London, 1968. London 1969 — Royal Academy Draughtsmen, 1769–1969, Royal Academy of Arts, London (A. Wilton), 1969. London 1971 — Art into Art: Works of Art as a Source of Inspiration, Sotheby’s, London (ed. K. Roberts), 1971. London 1972 — The Age of Neo-Classicism, The Royal Academy of Arts and The Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 1972. London 1975 — Henry Fuseli. 1741–1825, Tate Gallery, London, 1975. London 1977 — Rubens. Drawings and Sketches, British Museum, London (ed. J. Rowlands), 1977. London 1983 — Bartolomeo Cavaceppi: Eighteenth-century Restorations of Ancient Marble Sculpture from English Private Collections, The Clarendon Gallery Ltd., London (C. A. Picón), 1983. London and New York 1992 — Andrea Mantegna, Royal Academy of Arts, London; Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (ed. J. Martineau), 1992. London and New York 2012–13 — Master Drawings from the Courtauld Galleries, The Courtauld Gallery, London; The Frick Collection, New York (eds C. B. Bailey and S. Buck), 2012–13. London and Rome 1996–97 — Grand Tour. The Lure of Italy in the Eighteenth Century, Tate Gallery, London; Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Rome (eds A. Wilton and I. Bignamini), 1996–97. London, Warwick and elsewhere 1997–98 — The Quick and the Dead: Artists and Anatomy, Royal College of Art, London; Mead Gallery, Warwick Arts Centre; Leeds City Art Gallery (D. Petherbridge and L. Jordanova), 1997–98. London 1986 — Florentine Drawings of the Sixteenth Century, British Museum, London (N. Turner), 1986. London, York and elsewhere 1953 — Drawings from the Robert Witt Collection at the Courtauld Institute of Art, London, Courtauld Institute of Art, London; York City Art Gallery; Peterborough Art Gallery, 1953. London 1990 — Wright of Derby, Tate Gallery, London (ed. J. Egerton), 1990. Los Angeles 1961 — French Masters: Rococo to Romanticism, University of California, Los Angeles, 1961. London 1991 — French drawings, XVI–XIX centuries, Courtauld Institute Galleries, London (eds G. Kennedy and A. Thackray), 1991. Los Angeles 1999 — The Early Life of Taddeo Zuccaro, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles (A. V. Lauder; no catalogue), 1999. London 1992 — Drawings Related to Sculpture, 1520–1620, Katrin Bellinger at Harari & Johns, London, 1992. Los Angeles 2000 — Making a Prince’s Museum: Drawings for the Late-Eighteenth-century Redecoration of the Villa Borghese, Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (C. Paul), 2000. London 1995 — Prints and Drawings, Recent acquisitions 1991–1995, British Museum, London, 1995 (no catalogue). London 1997 — British Watercolours from the Oppé Collection, Tate Gallery, London (A. Lyles and R. Hamlyn), 1997. London 1999a — John Soane Architect. Master of Space and Light, Royal Academy, London (eds M. Richardson and M. Stevens), 1999. London 1999b — Portraits of Artists and Related Subjects, Trinity Fine Art, London, 1999. London 2000 — A Noble Art: Amateur Artists and Drawing Masters c. 1600–1800, British Museum, London (K. Sloan), 2000. London 2001 — Marble Mania. Sculpture Galleries in England, 1640–1840, Sir John Soane’s Museum, London (R. Guilding), 2001. London 2001–02 — The Print in Italy 1550–1620, British Museum, London (M. Bury), 2001–02. London 2003a — Artists by Artists, Chaucer Fine Arts Inc., London, 2003. London 2003b — The Museum of the Mind. Art and Memory in World Cultures, British Museum, London (J. Mack), 2003. London 2005–06 — Rubens: A Master in the Making, National Gallery, London (eds D. Jaffé and E. McGrath), 2005–06. London 2007–08 — The Artist in Art, Colnaghi in association with Emanuel von Baeyer, London, 2007–08. London 2009–10 — Rubens Drawings, British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 2009–10 (no catalogue). London 2011 — Art School Drawings from the 19th Century, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 2011 (no catalogue). Los Angeles 2007–08 — Taddeo and Federico Zuccaro. Artist-Brothers in Renaissance Rome, J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles (ed. J. Brooks), 2007–08. Los Angeles, Austin and elsewhere 1976–77 — Women Artists, 1550–1950, Los Angeles County Museum of Art; University Art Museum, The University of Texas at Austin; Museum of Art, Carnegie Institute, Pittsburgh; The Brooklyn Museum (A. Sutherland Harris and L. Nochlin), 1976–77. Los Angeles, Philadelphia and elsewhere 1993–94 — Visions of Antiquity. Neoclassical Figure Drawings, Los Angeles County Museum of Art; Philadelphia Museum of Art; Minneapolis Institute of Arts (ed. R. J. Campbell), 1993–94. Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89 — Mannerist Prints: International Style in the Sixteenth Century, The Los Angeles County Museum of Art; The Toledo Museum of Art; John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art, Sarasota; Arthur M. Huntington Art Gallery, University of Texas at Austin; The Baltimore Museum of Art (B. Davis), 1988–89. Lyon 1998–99 — La fascination de l’antique: 1700-1770. Rome découverte, Rome inventée, Musée de la civilisation gallo-romaine, Lyon (eds F. De Polignac and J. Raspi Serra), 1998–99. Mantua and Vienna 1999 — Roma e lo stile classico di Raffaello, 1515–1527, Palazzo Te, Mantua; Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna (eds A. Oberhuber and A. Gnann), 1999. Marseille 2001 — Maurice et Pauline Feuillet de Borsat collectionneurs. Dessins français et étrangers du XVIIe au XIXe siècle, Château Borély, Marseille (M. Roland Michel), 2001. 251 Melbourne 1984 — Flowers and Fables. A Survey of Chelsea Porcelain 1745–69, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne (M. Legge), 1984. Milan 1951 — Mostra del Caravaggio e dei Caravaggeshi, Palazzo Reale, Milan (R. Longhi), 1951. Milan 1977–78 — Johann Heinrich Füssli. Disegni e dipinti, Museo Poldi-Pezzoli, Milan (ed. L. Vitali), 1977–78. Milan 2007–08 — Leonardo. Dagli studi di proporzioni al trattato della pittura, Castello Sforzesco, Milan (eds P. C. Marani and M. T. Fiorio), 2007–08. Milan 2013 — La Biblioteca delle meraviglie: 400 anni di Ambrosiana, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan (eds C. Continisio, M. L. Frosio and E. Riva), 2013. Montreal 1992 — The Genius of the Sculptor in Michelangelo’s Work, The Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (P. Théberge), 1992. Moscow and Haarlem 2013–14 — De romantische ziel. Schilderkunst uit de Nederlandse en Russische romantiek, The Tretjakov Gallery, Moscow; Teylers Museum, Haarlem (T. van Druten and L. Markina), 2013–14. Munich 1979–80 — Zwei Jahrhunderte englische Malerei. Britische Kunst und Europa 1680 bis 1880, Haus der Kunst, Munich, 1979–80. Munich 2013–14 — In the Temple of the Self. The Artist’s Residence as a Total Work of Art, Villa Stuck, Munich (eds M. Brandhuber and M. Buhrs), 2013–14. Munich and Cologne 2002 — Wettstreit der Künste: Malerei und Skulptur von Dürer bis Daumier, Haus der Kunst, Munich; Wallraf-Richartz-Museum-Fondation Corboud, Cologne (eds E. Mai and K. Wettengl), 2002. Munich and Haarlem 1986 — Op zoek naar de Gouden Eeuw: Nederlandse schilderkunst 1800–1850, Neue Pinakothek, Munich; Frans Hals Museum, Haarlem (L. van Tilborgh and G. Jansen), 1986. Munich and Rome 1998–99 — Der Torso. Ruhm und Rätsel / Il Torso del Belvedere. Da Aiace a Rodin, Glyptothek, Munich; Musei Vaticani, Rome (ed. R. Wünsche), 1998–99. Ottawa and Caen 2011–12 — Drawn to Art. French Artists and Art Lovers in 18th-century Rome, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; Musée des beaux-arts de Caen (ed. S. Couturier), 2011–12. Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97 — The Ingenious Machine of Nature: Four Centuries of Art and Anatomy, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; Vancouver Art Gallery; The Philadelphia Museum of Art; The Israel Museum, Jerusalem (M. Cazort, M. Kornell and K. B. Roberts), 1996–97. Rome 1958–59 — Michael Sweerts e i bamboccianti, Palazzo Venezia, Rome (E. Lavagnino et al.), 1958–59. Oxford and New Haven 2012–13 — The English Prize. The Capture of the Westmoreland. An Episode of the Grand Tour, The Ashmolean Museum, Oxford; Yale Center for British Art, New Haven (eds M. D. Sánchez-Jáuregui and S. Wilcox), 2012–13. Rome 1981–82 — David e Roma, Villa Medici, Rome, 1981–82. Paris 1922 — Exposition Hubert Robert et Louis Moreau: au bénénfice du foyer des Infirmières de la Croix-Rouge et des infirmières visiteuses, Galeries Jean Charpentier, Paris, 1922. Paris 1933 — Exposition Hubert Robert A l’occasion du Deuxième Centenaire de sa Naissance, Musée de l’Orangerie, Paris (L. Hautecoeur et al.), 1933. Paris 1975 — Johann Heinrich Füssli. 1741–1825, Musée du Petit Palais, Paris, 1975. Paris 1989 — Maîtres français, 1550–1800: dessins de la donation Mathias Polakovits à l’Ecole des beaux-arts, École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, Paris (eds B. de Bayser et al.), 1989. Paris 2003 — A. & D. Martinez, Estampes Anciennes & Modernes. A Collectionner, cat. no. VIII, Paris, 2003. Paris 2008–09b — Mantegna 1431–1506, Musée du Louvre, Paris (eds G. Agosti and D. Thiébaut), 2008–09. Paris 2009–10 — L’Académie mise à nu: l’école du modèle à l’Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture, École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, Paris (ed. E. Brugerolles), 2009–10. New York 1988 — Creative Copies. Interpretative Drawings from Michelangelo to Picasso, The Drawing Center, New York (E. Haverkamp-Begemann and C. Logan), 1988. Paris 2010–11 — Musées de papier: l’antiquité en livres, 1600-1800, Musée du Louvre, Paris (eds É. Décultot, G. Bickendorf and V. Kockel), 2010–11. Nottingham and London 1991 — The Artist’s Model: Its Role in British Art from Lely to Etty, University Art Gallery, Nottingham; The Iveagh Bequest, Kenwood, London (I. Bignamini and M. Postle), 1991. 252 Rome 1988b — La Colonna Traiana e gli artisti francesi da Luigi XIV a Napoleone I, Accademia di Francia a Roma (ed. P. Morel), 1988. Rome 1990–91 — J. H. Fragonard e H. Robert a Roma, Villa Medici, Rome (eds C. Boulot et al.), 1990–91. Rome 1992–93 — La Collezione Boncompagni Ludovisi: Algardi, Bernini e la fortuna dell’antico, Palazzo Ruspoli, Rome (ed. A. Giuliano), 1992–93. Paris 2000–01 — D’après l’antique, Musée du Louvre, Paris (eds J. P. Cuzin, J. R. Gaborit and A. Pasquier), 2000–01. New York 1954 — Fuseli Drawings, a Loan Exhibition, organized by the Pro Helvetia Foundation and circulated by the Smithsonian Institution, Pierpont Morgan Library, New York, 1954. Nottingham and London 1983 — Drawing in the Italian Renaissance Workshop, University Art Gallery, Nottingham; Victoria and Albert Museum, London (F. Ames-Lewis and J. Wright), 1983. Rome 1988a — Da Pisanello alla nascita dei Musei Capitolini. L’Antico a Roma all vigilia del Rinascimento, Musei Capitolini, Rome (eds A. Cavallaro and E. Parlato), 1988. Rome 1997–98 — Pietro da Cortona e il disegno, Istituto nazionale per la grafica, Accademia nazionale di San Luca, Rome (ed. S. Prosperi Valenti Rodino), 1997–98. Paris 2008–09a — Figures du corps: une leçon d’anatomie à l’École des beaux-arts, École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, Paris (ed. P. Comar), 2008–09. New York 2012–13 — Bernini: Sculpting in Clay, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (eds C. D. Dickerson et al.), 2012–13. Rome 1986–87 — Rilievi storici Capitolini: il restauro dei pannelli di Adriano e di Marco Aurelio nel Palazzo dei Conservatori, Musei Capitolini, Rome (ed. E. La Rocca), 1986–87. Paris 1996 — Pisanello. Le peintre aux sept vertus, Musée du Louvre, Paris (ed. D. Cordellier), 1996. Naples 2008 — Salvator Rosa: tra mito e magia, Museo di Capodimonte, Naples (eds A. B. de Lavergnée and S. Bellesi), 2008. New York 2005b — Pictures & Oil Sketches 1775–1920, W. M. Brady & Co., New York, 2005. Rome 1968 — Accademia Nazionale di San Luca. Mostra di Antichi Dipinti Restaurati delle Raccolte Accademiche, Palazzo Carpegna, Rome (I. Faldi), 1968. Rome 1994 — Bartolomeo Cavaceppi scultore romano (1717–1799), Museo del Palazzo di Venezia, Rome, (M. G. Barberini and C. Gasparri), 1994. Paris 2008 — L’Âge d’or du romantisme allemand, aquarelles et dessins è l’époque de Goethe, Musée de la Vie Romantique, Paris, (ed. H. Sieveking), Paris, 2008. New York 2005a — Peter Paul Rubens. The Drawings, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (ed. A.-M. Logan with M. Plomp), 2005 Recklinghausen 1964 — Torso: das Unvollendete als künstlerische Form, Städtische Kunsthalle, Recklinghausen, 1964. Ottawa, Washington D.C. and elsewhere 2003–04 — The Age of Watteau, Chardin, and Fragonard: Masterpieces of French Genre Painting, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.; Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Gemäldegalerie (ed. C. Bailey), 2003–04. Münster 1976 — Bilder nach Bilder. Druckgrafik und die Vermittlung von Kunst, Westfälisches Landesmuseum für Kunst und Kulturgeschichte Münster, Münster (G. Langemeyer and R. Schleier), 1976. New Haven and London 2011–12 — Johan Zoffany, RA: Society Observed, Yale Center for British Art, New Haven; Royal Academy of Arts, London (ed. M. Postle), 2011–12. Princeton, Cleveland and elsewhere 1981–82 — Drawings by Gianlorenzo Bernini from the Museum der Bildenden Künste Leipzig, German Democratic Republic, The Art Museum, Princeton; Cleveland Museum of Art; Los Angeles County Museum of Art; Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth; Indianapolis Museum of Art; Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (ed. I. Lavin), 1981–82. Paris, Ottawa and elsewhere 1994–95 — Egyptomania: l’Egypte dans l’Art occidental, 1730–1930, Musée du Louvre, Paris; National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (eds J. M. Humbert, M. Pantazzi and C. Ziegler), 1994–95. Philadelphia 1980–81 — A Scholar Collects: Selections from the Anthony Morris Clark Bequest, Philadelphia Museum of Art (eds U. W. Hiesinger and A. Percy), 1980–81. Philadelphia and Houston 2000 — Art in Rome in the Eighteenth Century, Philadelphia Museum of Art; Museum of Fine Arts, Houston (eds E. P. Bowron and J. J. Rishel), 2000. Princeton 1977 — Eighteenth-century French Life Drawing: Selections from the Collection of Mathias Polakovits, Art Museum, Princeton University (ed. J. H. Rubin), 1977. Rome 2000a — Intorno a Poussin. Ideale classico e epopea barocca tra Parigi e Roma, Accademia di Francia, Rome (eds O. Bonfait and J.-C. Boyer), 2000. Rome 2000b — L’idea del bello: viaggio per Roma nel Seicento con Giovan Pietro Bellori, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Rome (eds E. Borea and C. Gasparri), 2 vols, 2000. Rome 2000c — Raffaello da Firenze a Roma, Galleria Borghese, Rome (ed. A. Coliva), 2000. Rome 2001–02 — I Giustiniani e l’antico, Palazzo Fontana di Trevi, Rome (G. Fusconi), 2001–02. Rome 2004 — La Collezione del Principe. Da Leonardo a Goya. Disegni e stampe della raccolta Corsini, Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica, Rome (eds E. Antetomaso and G. Mariani), 2004. Rome 2005 — La Roma di Leon Battista Alberti. Umanisti, architetti e artisti alla scoperta dell’antico nella città del Quattrocento, Musei Capitolini, Rome (ed. F. P. Fiore), 2005. Rome 2005–06 — Il Settecento a Roma, Palazzo Venezia, Rome (eds A. Lo Bianco and A. Negro), 2005–06. Rome 2006–07 — Laocoonte: Alle origini dei Musei Vaticani, Musei Vaticani, Vatican, Rome (eds F. Buranelli et al.), 2006–07. Rome 2007 — Dürer e l’Italia, Scuderie del Quirinale, Rome (ed. K. Hermann Fiore), 2007. Rome 2008 — Ricordi dell’antico: sculture, porcellane e arredi del Grand Tour, Musei Capitolini, Rome (eds A. D’Agliano and L. Melegati), 2008. Rome 2011 — Ritratti: le tante faccie del potere, Musei Capitolini, Rome (eds E. La Rocca, C. Parisi Presicce and A. Lo Monaco), 2011. Rome 2011–12 — I Borghese e l’Antico, Galleria Borghese, Rome (eds A. Coliva et al.), 2011–12. Rome 2014a — 1564/2014 Michelangelo. Incontrare un artista universale, Musei Capitolini, Rome (ed. C. Acidini), 2014. Rome 2014b — Hogarth, Reynolds, Turner: British Painting and the Rise of Modernity, Fondazione Roma Museo, Rome (eds C. Brook and V. Curzi), 2014. Rome forthcoming — Spinario. Storia e fortuna, Musei Capitolini, Rome (ed. C. Parisi Presicce), forthcoming. Rome, Dijon and elsewhere 1976 — Piranese et les francais, 1740–1790, Villa Medici, Rome; Palais des Etats de Bourgogne, Dijon; Hotel de Sully, Paris, 1976. Rome and Paris 2014–15 — I bassifondi del Barocco. La Roma del vizio e della miseria, Accademia di Francia a Roma – Villa Medici, Rome; Petit Palais – Musée des Beaux-Arts de la Ville de Paris, Paris (eds F. Cappelletti and A. Lemoine), 2014–15. Rome, University Park (PA) and elsewhere 1989–90 — Prize winning drawings from the Roman Academy, 1682–1754, Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, Rome; Palmer Museum of Art, Pennsylvania State University; and National Academy of Design, New York (eds A. Cipriani and G. Casale), 1989–90. Rotterdam 1946 — Cornelis Troost en zijn tijd, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam, 1946. Rotterdam 1958 — Michael Sweerts en Tijdgenoten, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam (E. Lavagino), 1958. Rotterdam 1994 — Cornelis Cort ‘constich plaedt-snijder van Horne in Holland’ – Cornelis Cort accomplished plate-cutter from Hoorn in Holland, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam (M. Sellink), 1994. Stockholm 1990 — Füssli, Uddevalla, Stockholm (ed. G. CavalliBjörkman), 1990. Stuttgart 1997–98 — Johann Heinrich Füssli. Das Verlorene Paradies, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart (ed. C. Becker and C. Hattendorrf ), 1997–98. Swansea 1962 — Exhibition of French Master Drawings, Glynn Vivian Art Gallery, Swansea, 1962. Toledo, Chicago and elsewhere 1975–76 — The Age of Louis XV: French Painting, 1710–1774, The Toledo Museum of Art, Ohio; Art Institute of Chicago; National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa (ed. P. Rosenberg), 1975–76. Tokyo 1968–69 — The Age of Rembrandt: Dutch Paintings and Drawings of the 17th century, The National Museum of Western Art, Toyko, and Kyoto Municipal Museum (D. A. van Karnebeek), 1968–69. Tokyo 1983 — Henry Fuseli, National Museum of Western Art and City Art Museum Kitakyushu, Tokyo (ed. G. Schiff), 1983. Toronto, Ottawa and elsewhere 1972–73 — Dessins français du 17e et 18e siècles des collections americaines. French Master Drawings of the 17th and 18th Centuries of the North American Collections, Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto; National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; California Palace of the Legion of Honor, San Francisco; New York Cultural Center (eds C. Johnston and P. Rosenberg), 1972–73. Tours and Toulouse 2000 — Les peintres du roi 1648–1793, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Tours; Musée des Augustins à Toulouse (eds P. Rosenberg et al.), Paris, 2000. Rome 2010–11a — Palazzo Farnèse. Dalle collezioni rinascimentali ad Ambasciata di Francia, Palazzo Farnese, Rome (ed. F. Buranelli), 2010–11. Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977 — Charles-Joseph Natoire (Nîmes, 1700 – Castel Gandolfo, 1777): peintures, dessins, estampes et tapisseries des collections publiques françaises, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Troyes; Musée des BeauxArts, Nîmes; Villa Medici, Rome, 1977. Rome 2010–11b — Roma e l’Antico. Realtà e visione nel ‘700, Fondazione Roma Museo, Rome (eds C. Brook and V. Curzi), 2010–11. Venice 1976 — Tiziano e la silografia veneziana del Cinquecento, Fondazione Giorgio Cini, Venice (eds M. Muraro and D. Rosand), Venice, 1976. 253 Vienna 1987 — Zauber der Medusa. Europäische Manierismen, Wiener Künstlerhaus, Vienna (ed. W. Hofmann), 1987. (MA); Elvehjem Museum of Art, Madison (WI); Spencer Museum of Art, Lawrence (KS) (eds S. H. Goddard and J. A. Ganz), 2001–02. Washington D.C. 1977 — Seventeenth Century Dutch Drawings from American Collections: A Loan Exhibition, organized and circulated by the International Exhibitions Foundation, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (F. W. Robinson), 1977. Windsor 2013 — Paper palaces: The Topham Collection as a Source for British Neo-Classicism, The Verey Gallery, Eton College, Windsor (A. Aymonino et al.), 2013. Washington D.C. 1978–79 — Hubert Robert: Drawings & Watercolors, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (V. Carlson), 1978–79. York 1973 — A Candidate for Praise. William Manson 1725–97, Precentor of York, York Art Gallery and York Minster Library (eds B. Barr and J. Ingamells), 1973. Washington D.C. 1999–2000 — The Drawings of Annibale Carracci, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (eds D. Benati et al.), 1999–2000. Zurich 1941 — Johann Heinrich Füssli (1741–1825): Zur Zweihundertjahrfeier und Gedächtnisausstellung 1951, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich (ed. W. Wartmann and M. Fischer), 1941. Washington D.C., Los Angeles and elsewhere 2003–04 — Jean-Antoine Houdon: Sculptor of the Enlightenment, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.; The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles; Musée et Domaine National du Château de Versailles (A. L. Poulet et al.), 2003–04. Zurich 1969 — Johann Heinrich Füssli, 1741–1825, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich, 1969. Williamstown, Madison and elsewhere 2001–02 — Goltzius and the Third Dimension, Sterling and Francine Clark Institute, Williamstown Zurich 2005 — Füssli. The Wild Swiss, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich (ed. F. Lentzsch), 2005. Zurich 1984 — Meisterwerke aus der Graphischen Sammlung. Zeichnungen, Aquarelli, Pastelle, Collagen aus fünf Jahrhunderten, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich, 1984. Photographic Credits Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and to obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions in the below list and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book. Ideal Beauty and the Canon in Classical Antiquity Fig. 1. © 2015 The Metropolitan Museum of Art/Art Resource/Scala, Florence Fig. 2. The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection Fig. 3. The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection ‘Nature Perfected’: The Theory & Practice of Drawing after the Antique Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 3. © bpk, Berlin / Musée du Louvre, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais / Gérard Blot Fig. 4. © Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library Fig. 5. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 6. Albertina, Vienna Fig. 7. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 8. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 9. Copyright Comune di Milano – tutti i diritti riservati Fig. 10. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 11. © Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library Fig. 12. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 13. Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam. Loan Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen Foundation (collection Koenigs) / photographer: Studio Tromp, Rotterdam Fig. 14. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 15. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 16. Rijksmuseum, Amseterdam 254 Fig. 17. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bequest of Phyllis Massar, 2011, www.metmuseum.org Fig. 18. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 19. Vatican Museums and Galleries, Vatican City/Bridgeman Images Fig. 20. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 21. © Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, Brussels / photo: J. Geleyns / Ro scan Fig. 22. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 23. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 24. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 25. Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna, Austria / Bridgeman Images Fig. 26. Vatican Museums and Galleries, Vatican City / Bridgeman Images Fig. 27. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington Fig. 28. Albertina, Vienna Fig. 29. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 30. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 31. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 32. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 33. Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, Italy / Bridgeman Images Fig. 34. S.S.P.S.A.E e per il Polo Museale della città di Firenze – Gabinetto Fotografico Fig. 35. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 36. © Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library Fig. 37. Katrin Bellinger collection Fig. 38. © bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Jörg P. Anders Fig. 39. © bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Jörg P. Anders Fig. 40. © bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Volker-H. Schneider Fig. 41. © bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Volker-H. Schneider Fig. 42. © bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Volker-H. Schneider Fig. 43. © bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Volker-H. Schneider Fig. 44. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 45. © 2015 The Metropolitan Museum of Art/ Art Resource/Scala, Florence Fig. 46. © Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library Fig. 47. © Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library Fig. 48. Royal Museum for Fine Arts Antwerp © Lukas-Art in Flanders vzw, photo Hugo Maertens Fig. 49. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Fig. 50. Musea Brugge © Lukas-Art in Flanders vzw, photo Hugo Maertens Fig. 51. ©Peter Cox/Bonnefantenmuseum Maastricht Fig. 52. Minneapolis Institute of Arts, MN, USA, The Walter H. and Valborg P. Ude Memorial Fund/ Bridgeman Images Fig. 53. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Fig. 54. Louvre, Paris, France/Bridgeman Images Fig. 55. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 56. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 57. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 58. © bpk, Berlin / Musée du Louvre, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais / Richard Lambert Fig. 59. © bpk, Berlin / Musée Condé, Chantilly, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais / René-Gabriel Ojéda Fig. 60. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015 Fig. 61. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015 Fig. 62. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015 Fig. 63. © bpk, Berlin / Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig Fig. 64. © bpk, Berlin / Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig Fig. 65. The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection Fig. 66. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 67. The Samuel Courtauld Trust, The Courtauld Gallery, London Fig. 68. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 69. © bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais Fig. 70. © bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais Fig. 71. © bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais Fig. 72. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 73. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 74. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Fig. 75. © Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford Fig. 76. Su gentile concessione del Museo Biblioteca Archivio di Bassano del Grappa Fig. 77. Photo Les Arts décoratifs Fig. 78. Photo Les Arts décoratifs Fig. 79. National Library of Medicine (NLM) Fig. 80. National Library of Medicine (NLM) Fig. 81. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Lincoln Kirstein, 1952, www.metmuseum.org Fig. 82. © Royal Academy of Arts, London Fig. 83. © bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais Fig. 84. © Royal Academy of Arts, London Fig. 85. © Royal Academy of Arts, London Fig. 86. Private collection Fig. 87. © bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais Fig. 88. Philadelphia Museum of Art Fig. 89. Cherbourg-Octeville, musée d’art Thomas-Henry © D.Sohier Fig. 90. Heidelberg University Library Fig. 91. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 92. Staatsgalerie Stuttgart © Foto: Staatsgalerie Stuttgart Fig. 93. Reproduced by permission of the Provost and Fellows of Eton College Fig. 94. © bpk, Berlin / Musée du Louvre, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais / Susanne Nagy Fig. 95. © Musée de Valence, photo Philippe Petiot Fig. 96. © Musée de Valence, photo Philippe Petiot Fig. 97. © Musée de Valence, photo Philippe Petiot Fig. 98. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington Fig. 99. © Tate, London 2014 Fig. 100. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 101. © Royal Academy of Arts, London; Photographer: John Hammond Fig. 102. RSA, London Fig. 103. RSA, London Fig. 104. © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums and Libraries Collection: The Mitchell Library, Special Collections Fig. 105. © Royal Academy of Arts, London; Photographer: Prudence Cuming Associates Limited Fig. 106. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015 Fig. 107. © Royal Academy of Arts, London Fig. 108. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 109. Photograph courtesy of the National Gallery of Ireland Cat. 1 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 3. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat. 2 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Cat. 3 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Courtesy Yvonne Tan Bunzl Fig. 2. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 3. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 4. © bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett, SMB / Volker-H. Schneider Fig. 5. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 6. S.S.P.S.A.E e per il Polo Museale della città di Firenze – Gabinetto Fotografico Cat. 4 Exhibit a. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Exhibit b. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Fig. 1. Private collection Fig. 2. © Kurpfälzisches Museum der Stadt Heidelberg Cat. 5 Exhibit. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. Vatican Museums and Galleries, Vatican City/ Bridgeman Images Fig. 3. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 4. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program Fig. 5. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program Cat. 6 Exhibit a. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Exhibit b. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 1. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Cat. 7 Exhibit a. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Exhibit b. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Fig. 3. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Fig. 4. Courtesy Amsterdam Museum Cat. 8 Exhibit. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Fig. 1. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Fig. 2. S.S.P.S.A.E e per il Polo Museale della città di Firenze – Gabinetto Fotografico Cat. 9 Exhibit. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 1. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 2. © Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon. Photo François Jay Cat. 10 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 2. Courtesy of the Master and Fellows of Trinity College Cambridge Fig. 3. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 4. © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge Cat. 11 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Fig. 2. © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge Fig. 3. © Matthew Hollow Cat. 12 Exhibit. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Fig. 1. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Fig. 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 3. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 4. The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection Fig. 5. Detroit Institute of Arts, USA, City of Detroit Purchase/Bridgeman Images Fig. 6. Collection Rau for UNICEF / Gruppe Köln, Hans G. Scheib Cat. 13 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. Courtesy Amsterdam Museum Fig. 3. Courtesy Municipal Archives of The Hague Fig. 4. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 5. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 6. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat. 14 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. © 2015 The Metropolitan Museum of Art/ Art Resource/Scala, Florence Fig. 3. © Christie’s Images Limited (1988) Fig. 4. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 255 Cat. 15 Exhibit. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 1. © Devonshire Collection, Chatsworth / Reproduced by permission of Chatsworth Settlement Trustees / Bridgeman Images Fig. 2. Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford, CT Fig. 3. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 4. Vatican Museums and Galleries, Vatican City / Bridgeman Images Cat. 16 Exhibit. The Samuel Courtauld Trust, The Courtauld Gallery, London Fig. 1. Image courtesy of Sotheby’s Fig. 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 3. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 4. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 5. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 6. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat. 17 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 2. Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam / photographer: Studio Tromp, Rotterdam Fig. 3. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bequest of Walter C. Baker, 1971, www.metmuseum.org Fig. 4. Witt Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London Cat. 18 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 3. © bpk, Berlin / Antikensammlung, SMB Fig. 4. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 5. © bpk, Berlin / Antikensammlung, SMB / Johannes Laurentius Fig. 6. © photo Musées de Marseille Fig. 7. Photographic Survey, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London. Private collection Cat. 19 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. © Accademia Nazionale di San Luca. Tutti i diritti riservati Fig. 3. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 4. By courtesy of the Trustees of Sir John Soane’s Museum Cat. 20 Exhibit. By courtesy of the Trustees of Sir John Soane’s Museum Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 256 Fig. 2. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 3. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 4. The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection Fig. 5. Staatsgalerie Stuttgart © Foto: Staatsgalerie Stuttgart Fig. 6. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat. 21 Exhibit. © bpk / Kunstbibliothek, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin Fig. 1. Image courtesy of Sotheby’s Fig. 2. Image courtesy of Sotheby’s Cat. 22 Exhibit. © 2014 Kunsthaus Zürich. All rights reserved. Fig. 1. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Paulo Cipollina Fig. 2. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Lorenzo De Masi Fig. 3. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Lorenzo De Masi Fig. 4. Istituto Centrale per la Grafica Canoni fotografici (MIBACT) Fig. 5. © bpk, Berlin / Kunstbibliothek, SMB / Dietmar Katz Cat. 23 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Louvre, Paris, France/Bridgeman Images Fig. 2. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Cat. 24 Exhibit. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 1. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection Fig. 2. Private collection Fig. 3. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat. 25 Exhibit. © Royal Academy of Arts, London Fig. 1. © Royal Academy of Arts, London Fig. 2. © Royal Academy of Arts, London Fig. 3. © bpk, Berlin / RMN – Grand Palais / Stéphane Maréchalle Fig. 4. Santa Barbara Museum of Art, Gift of Wright S. Ludington Fig. 5. Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London Fig. 6. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 7. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 8. © Royal Academy of Arts, London; Photographer: Paul Highnam Fig. 9. © Royal Academy of Arts, London; Photographer: Paul Highnam Cat. 26 Exhibit. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 1. © Tate, London 2014 Fig. 2. Courtesy of www.gjsaville-caricatures.co.uk Cat. 27 Exhibit a. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London Exhibit b. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London Fig. 1. © Tate, London 2014 Fig. 2. © Tate, London 2014 Fig. 3. © Tate, London 2014 Fig. 4. © Tate, London 2014 Cat. 28 Exhibit. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. 1. © Towneley Hall Art Gallery and Museum, Burnley, Lancashire/Bridgeman Images Fig. 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 3. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Cat. 29 Exhibit. By courtesy of the Trustees of Sir John Soane’s Museum Cat. 30 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Photo Collection RKD, The Hague Fig. 2. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015 Fig. 3. Klassik Stiftung Weimar, Bestand Museen. Photo Sigrid Geske Cat. 31 Exhibit. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Cat. 32 Exhibit. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Fig. 1. Photo Collection RKD, The Hague Cat. 33 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. The National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design, Oslo, photographer Jacques Lathion Fig. 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 3. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Fig. 4. Louvre, Paris, France / Bridgeman Images Fig. 5. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 6. Courtesy of Pontus Kjerrman Cat. 34 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. Courtesy of Olga Liubimova Fig. 3. © Tomas Abad Cat. 35 Exhibit. © Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London Fig. 2. © National Portrait Gallery, London Fig. 3. © Christie’s Images Limited (2012) Fig. 4. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 5. © National Museums Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery Fig. 6. © National Museums Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery