Grice e Carboni – disegno dal vivo, disgeno del nudo dal vero, disegno dal vero, disegno del nudo dal vero
-- disegno dall’antico, desegno
dalla natura -- drawn from life -- tratto dalla vita – royal academy –drawn
from the antique -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza (Livorno).
Filosofo italiano. Grice: “I love Carboni – my favourite of his tracts is
‘between the image and the ‘parable’” – a semiotics of communication with
sections on ‘the tacit response,’ through the looking-glass’, ‘towards the
hypertext,’ and quoting extensively from some ‘conversational-implicature’
passages in Aristotle’s metaphysics, ‘To ask ‘why is man man?’ is to ask
nothing!” “For some expressions, analogy suffices!” Insegna a Roma, Bari,
Viterbo. Altre opere: L’angelo del fare.
Melotti e la ceramica (Skira) e Il colore nell’arte (Jaca). Cura Dorfles, Brandi, Deleuze, Guattari, Adorno.
Tra le recensioni dei suoi saggi si segnalano: Giacomo Marramao, Gianni Vattimo
(“L’Espresso”), Gillo Dorfles (“Il Corriere della Sera”), Victor Stoichita (“il
manifesto”). Al Festival delle Letterature di Mantova hanno presentato i suoi
saggi Sini e Didi-Huberman. Scrive su “Nòema” e “Images Re-vues” e sulla “Rivista di
Estetica”. “L’Impossibile Critico. Paradosso della
critica d’arte, Kappa); “Cesare Brandi. Teoria e esperienza dell’arte, Editori
Riuniti); “Il Sublime è Ora. Saggio sulle estetiche contemporanee, Castelvecchi);
“Non vedi niente lì? Sentieri tra arti e filosofie del Novecento,
Castelvecchi); “L’ornamentale. Tra arte e decorazione, Jaca); “L’occhio e la
pagina. Tra immagine e parola, Jaca); “Lo stato dell’arte. L’esperienza
estetica nell’era della tecnica, Laterza); “La mosca di Dreyer. L’opera della
contingenza nelle arti, Jaca); “Di più di tutto. Figure dell’eccesso,
Castelvecchi); “Analfabeatles. Filosofia di una passione elementare,
Castelvecchi); “Il genio è senza opera. Filosofie antiche e arti contemporanee”
Jaca); “Malevič. L'ultima icona. Arte, filosofia, teologia, Jaca). Drawing after the Antique at the British Museum,
1809–1817: “Free” Art Education and the Advent of the Liberal State, Martin
Myrone Drawing after the Antique at the British Museum, 1809–1817: “Free” Art
Education and the Advent of the Liberal State Martin Myrone Abstract From 1808
the British Museum in London began regularly to open its newly established
Townley Gallery so that art students could draw from the ancient sculptures
housed there. This article documents and comments on this development in art
education, based on an analysis of the 165 individuals recorded in the
surviving register of attendance at the Museum, covering the period 1809–17.
The register is presented as a photographic record, with a transcription and
biographical directory. The accompanying essay situates the opening of the
Museum’s sculpture rooms to students within a farreaching set of historical
shifts. It argues that this new museum access contributed to the early
nineteenth-century emergence of a liberal state. But if the rhetoric
surrounding this development emphasized freedom and general public benefit in
the spirit of liberalization, the evidence suggests that this new level of
access actually served to further entrench the “middleclassification” of art
education at this historical juncture. Authors Martin Myrone is an art
historian and curator based in London, and is currently convenor of the British
Art Network based at the Paul Mellon Centre for Studies in British Art.
Acknowledgements The register of students admitted to the Townley Gallery was
originally consulted during my term as Paul Mellon Mid-Career Fellow in
2014–15. Thank you to Mark Hallett and Sarah Victoria Turner of the Mellon
Centre for their continuing support and guidance, to Baillie Card and Rose Bell
for their careful editorial work, Tom Scutt for crafting the digital presentation
of my research, the two anonymous readers for their valuable critical input,
and to Antony Griffiths, formerly of the British Museum, and Hugo Chapman,
Angela Roche, and Sheila O’Connell of the British Museum, for providing access
to the register and for their advice. I am especially indebted to Mark Pomeroy,
archivist, and his colleagues at the Royal Academy of Arts for the access
provided to materials there and for advice and suggestions. I would also like
to thank Viccy Coltman, Brad Feltham, Martin Hopkinson, Sarah Monks, Sarah
Moulden, Michael Phillips, Jacob Simon, Greg Sullivan, and Alison Wright. Cite
as Martin Myrone, "Drawing after the Antique at the British Museum,
1809–1817: “Free” Art Education and the Advent of the Liberal State",
British Art Studies, Issue 5,
https://dx.doi.org/10.17658/issn.2058-5462/issue-05/mmyrone From the summer of
1808 the British Museum in London began regularly to open its newly established
galleries of Graeco-Roman sculpture for art students. The collection, made up
almost entirely of pieces previously owned by Charles Townley, had been
purchased for the nation in 1805 and installed in a new extension to the
Museum’s first home, Montagu House, which was built earlier in 1808. After some
protracted discussion with the Royal Academy, detailed below, the collection
was made available for its students in time for the royal opening of the
Townley Gallery on 3 June 1808. From January 1809, a written record was kept of
students admitted to draw from the antique. This volume survives in the library
of the Department of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum and identifies
one hundred and sixtyfive separate individuals admitted through to 1817. 1 The
register forms the focus of this essay and is presented here as a facsimile and
transcription, with an accompanying directory of student biographies (see
supplementary materials below). This may be taken as a straightforward
contribution to the literature on early nineteenth-century art education, and
the author hopes it may be useful as such. However, it also situates the
opening of the Museum’s sculpture rooms to students within a rather more
far-reaching set of historical shifts. Namely, it argues that this new form of
museum access was part of the early nineteenth-century emergence of a liberal
state that “actively governs through freedom (free ‘individuals’, markets,
societies, and so on, which are only ‘free’ because the state makes them so)”.
2 Access to the British Museum was “free” in that there were no charges or fees.
Meanwhile, the arrangement offered a degree of freedom to the students
themselves; they were expected to be largely self-selecting and
self-regulating. When the arrangement was exposed to public scrutiny, as a
result of questions asked in parliament in 1821, the freedom of access and the
service this did to the public good were emphasized. But, once closely
scrutinized, the evidence suggests that this manifestation of the freedoms
encouraged by the liberal state had a social disciplinary role (even if disciplinary
function can hardly be recognized as such), in serving to further entrench the
“middle-classification” of art at this historical juncture. 3 The conjunction
of art education and a grandiose notion such as the liberal state may be
unexpected, and rests on three key assertions. The first is that art worlds are
structured and in their structure have a homological relationship with the
larger social environment. 4 The initial part of this statement (that art
worlds are structured) may not be especially hard to swallow, given the
relatively formalized and hierarchical nature of the London art world during
the early nineteenth century, when cultural authority was vested in a small
number of institutions, and the practices associated with academic tradition in
principle still held sway. However, that the structure of the art world, in its
hierarchical dimension, may also be homologically related to the larger field
of power, so that social relationships are reproduced within this relatively
autonomous sphere, is more clearly contentious, and runs contrary to
commonplace beliefs and expectations about talent and luck in determining
personal fate in the modern age—artists’ fortunes most especially. In fact, in
the period under review here, the artist became an exemplary figure in the new
narratives of social mobility: the art world came to serve as a model of how
talent or sheer good fortune could override social origins and destinies. 5 The
second assertion is that the Royal Academy and British Museum were developing
new forms of state institution, underpinned by the conjoined principles of
freedom of access and public benefit. Such has been argued importantly by
Holger Hoock, and while I depart from his arguments in some key regards, his
insights into the status of these institutions and the role of forms of
public–private partnership in their formation are crucial. 6 The third
assertion (and this marks a departure from Hoock), is that the state is not a
stable, centralized entity, or site of power either “up above” or “below”
historical actors. Instead, it is taken to be the sum of actions and
dispositions ostensibly volunteered by these historical agents in all their
multitude and variety. The crucial point of reference here is the sustained
body of work on the liberal state by the historian Patrick Joyce, deploying the
work of Bruno Latour and Michel Foucault, among others, to yield a more
materialistic and decentralized understanding of the emergence and role of
state bodies. 7 The state, in this view, is composed of technologies,
disciplinary structures, habits of mind, and ways of doing things. The
mechanics of art education, insofar as this involves the movement through or
exclusion of individuals from identified places, the arrangement of their bodies
in relation to one another and to their model, the management of their
behaviour within those places, the very motion of their bodies, hands, and eyes
under the surveillance of their peers, teachers or other authorities, may be
considered as a form of biopolitics; the student who entered his or her name
into the British Museum’s register of admission was producing his or her
governmentality. 8 The argument here is emphatically historical and states that
this arrangement, while it may have precedents and may have been seminal,
belongs to an historical moment—the emergence of the liberal state. My case,
which can be sketched out only in outline in this context, is that the
emergence of the familiar institutional arrangements of the modern art world
between the 1770s and the 1830s (in the form of actual institutions and
regulatory structures or permissions, including annual exhibitions, centralized
art schools supported by the state directly and indirectly, emphasis on
quantifiable measures of access and engagement as the test of public value, and
so forth) represents in an exemplary way the illusory freedoms promoted by
liberalism, and renewed by present-day “neo- liberalism”, as addressed by
commentators from the prophetic Karl Polanyi through to the later work of
Foucault and Bourdieu on the state, and Luc Boltanski and Eve Chiapello, among
others. 9 The early nineteenth-century art world can be proposed as a
privileged focus of attention because it was still of a scale which can allow
for the kinds of data-based analysis which must underpin any sort of
sociological exploration, and because its individual membership can be
documented in fine detail in a manner which is simply not possible at an
earlier historical date. Paradoxically, despite its announced commitment to
non-intervention and personal freedom, the emerging liberal state generated
huge amounts of documentation about society and its individual members—tax
records, parochial and civil records, the national census from 1801—which
digitilization has made more readily available than ever before, allowing this
generation of artists to be documented as never previously. 10 The production
of artistic identities through these records is not unrelated to changes in
artistic identity itself over the same timeframe. One way of realizing this
might be to consider the period outlined above—c. 1770–1830s—not as a period
from the foundation of the Royal Academy to its removal to Trafalgar Square, or
even as the era of Romanticism, as much literary and cultural history-writing
would dictate, but as the era from Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations (1776) to the
Reform Act (1832) and the Speenhamland system, a last experiment in patrician
social care before the Poor Law Amendment Act (1834), taking in Thomas Malthus
and David Ricardo. The challenge is thinking of these two frameworks not in
sequential or spatially differentiated ways, but as simultaneous and identical.
Within this emerging liberal state the figure of the artist is attributed with
a special degree and form of freedom, what has conventionally been alluded to,
in generally sociologically imprecise ways, as a feature of “Romanticism”,
slumping into “bohemianism” and a generic idea of art student lifestyle. If
this was a moment of unprecedented state investment in the arts (from the Royal
Academy through to the Schools of Design) and government scrutiny (notably with
the Select Committees), it simultaneously saw the emergence of artistic
identities expressing the values of personal freedom, freedom from regulation, and
even active opposition to the state. I propose that art education, as it took
shape in the emerging liberal state, might be explored as a “liberogenic”
phenomenon: among those “devices intended to produce freedom which potentially
risk producing exactly the opposite.” 11 As such, it may have renewed
pertinence for our own time, although this does not entail seeing a “causal”
relationship between the past and present, or a linear genetic relationship
between then and now. In fact, the purpose of this commentary, and the larger
project it arises from, 12 is rather to trouble our relationship with that
past. The intention is not, however, to point unequivocally to the era under
consideration as here entailing “the making of a modern art world”, with the rise
of art education and museums access representing a stage towards
democratization, as illuminated in stellar fashion by the great Romantic
artists (J. M. W. Turner—famously the son of a lowly London
barber—pre-eminently). I would want instead to take seriously Jacques
Rancière’s call for “a past that puts a radical requirement at the centre of
the present”, eschewing causality and “nostalgia” in favour of “challenging the
relationship of the present to that past”. 13 If giving attention to the
“freedom” of art education at the advent of the liberal state provides any
insight at all, it should do so by troubling rather than affirming our
narratives of the genesis of a modern art world. Access to the Townley Gallery
The arrival at the Museum of the Townley marbles, together with the development
of the prints and drawings collection and its installation in new, secure rooms
in the same wing, fundamentally changed the character of the institution. As
Neil Chambers has noted, having been primarily a repository of (often
celebrated) curiosities of many different forms, quite suddenly “The Museum was
now a centre for art and the study of sculpture.” 14 The shift was acknowledged
internally at the Museum by the creation in 1807 of a distinct Department of
Antiquities, which also had responsibility for the collection of prints and
drawings. But while the significance of the opening of the Townley Gallery in
the history of the British Museum is clear, the opening of the collection to
students has barely been noticed in the art-historical literature. The register
has been overlooked almost entirely, and the relevance of this development in
student access may not even be immediately obvious. 15 Figure 1. William
Chambers, The Sculpture Collection of Charles Townley in the dining room of his
house in Park Street, Westminster, 1794, watercolour, 39 x 54 cm. Collection of
the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum
Figure 2. Attributed to Joseph Nollekens, The Discobolus, 1791–1805, drawing, 48
x 35 cm. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees
of the British Museum Townley’s collection had already famously been on display
for many years at his private house in Park Street, London. William Chambers’
(or Chalmers’) drawing of the Park Street display from 1794 includes a
well-dressed young woman drawing under the supervision or advice of a man,
promoting the idea that the collection was available for sufficiently genteel
students of the art more generally (fig. 1). In his recollections of the London
art world, J. T. Smith described “those rooms of Mr Townley’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”. 16 Smith’s former
employer, the sculptor Joseph Nollekens, has been identified among the more
established artists who were also engaged by Townley to draw from marbles in
the collection (fig. 2). As Viccy Coltman has noted, “The townhouse at 7 Park
Street, Westminster became an unofficial counterpoint to the English arts
establishment that was the Royal Academy: as an academy of ancient sculpture,
much as Sir John Soane’s London housemuseum in Lincoln’s Inn Fields would
become an academy of architecture in the early 19th century.” 17 Evidently, a
number of the students and artists admitted to draw from the Townley marbles
once they were at the British Museum knew them formerly at first hand from
visiting 7 Park Street; for instance, William Skelton, admitted to draw at the
Museum in 1809, had apparently already studied and engraved three busts from
the collection for inclusion in the design of Townley’s visiting card (fig. 3).
Townley had hoped for a separate gallery to be erected to house the collection,
but his executors, his brother Edward Townley Standish and uncle John Townley
were unable to agree a plan. 18 The sale of the collection to the Museum was a
compromise. With the erection of a new gallery space for the collection
underway, the Museum considered how special access might be given to artists.
That the question was posed at all should be an indication of how far the realm
of cultural consumption and production was being folded in to the emerging
liberal state at this juncture. At a meeting of the Trustees on 28 February
1807, a committee was set up to consider how the prints and drawings
collections might be used by artists, and to draw up “Regulations... for the
Admission of Strangers to view the Gallery of Antiquities either separately
from, or together with the rest of the Museum: And also for the Admission of
Artists”. 19 Figure 3. William Skelton, Charles Townley's visiting card,
1778–1848, etching, 65 x 96 cm. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image
courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum With the Gallery still under
construction, the Sub-Committee was not obliged to move quickly, and it proved
to be a protracted and unexpectedly fractious affair. 20 It was not until the
Museum’s general meeting of 13 February 1808, that the principal librarian, Joseph
Planta, reported “his opinion of the best time & mode of admission of
Strangers as well as artists, to the Gallery of Antiquities”, with the request
that Benjamin West, President of the Royal Academy, be asked to attend a
further meeting. 21 After delays, he did so on 10 March, after which the
Council drew up a set of regulations. 22 These went back to the Academy with
additions and changes, which were accepted by the Council who wrote to the
British Museum on the 10 May to that effect, noting that a General Meeting of
the Academy was to take place, “to prepare the final arrangement for his
Majesty’s approbation”. 23 Accordingly, at the British Museum, the
Sub-Committee’s reports and proposals were approved by the Standing Committee,
with “Resolutions founded on the above mentioned Reports” read at the General
Meeting of 14 May. 24 The resolutions, numbered so as to be inserted in the
existing regulations regarding admissions, were confirmed in the meeting of 21
May, over three months after what should have been a straightforward matter was
raised (see Appendix, below). 25 Clause number eight, concerning the payment of
Academicians charged with the supervision of students, evidently caused some
consternation within the Academy, as recorded in the diary of Joseph Farington.
26 The relative authority of the Council and General Assembly had been a
contentious matter in previous years, and the lengthy dispute over arrangements
with the Museum reflected lingering tensions. On 12 July 1808 the proposals
were read, and “After a long conversation it was Resolved to adjourn.” 27 The
subject was taken up on re-convening on 21 July, but without resolution. 28 At
yet another meeting, on 26 July 1808, the point about the Academy’s provision
of superintendents to monitor the students while at the British Museum was
referred back to Council. 29 We have to turn to Farington’s diary for a fuller
account. He noted that the Academy’s General Assembly had met on 12 July “for
the purpose of receiving a Law made by the Council ‘That permission having been
granted by the Trustees of the British Museum for Students to study from the
Antiques &c at the Museum, certain days are fixed upon for that purpose,
& that an Academician shall attend each day at the Museum & to be paid
2 guineas for each day’s attendance’... Much discussion took place.” 30 At a
further meeting: “The Correspondence of the Council with the Sub Committee of
the British Museum was read from the beginning” and “much discussion” was had
about the supervision of the students, Farington making the point that: as the
studies of the British Museum shd. be considered those of completion and not to
learn the Elements of art the Academy shd. not recommend any student whose
abilities & conduct wd. not warrant it, that it should be considered the
last stage of study, when those admitted wd. not require constant inspection;
therefore daily attendance of a Member of the Academy wd. not be necessary. 31
The point of contest may have concerned the right of the Council to organize things
independent of the General Assembly of the Academicians, and a more general
question about economy (“Northcote proposed that the Academician who in
rotation shall attend at the British Museum, shd. have 3 guineas a day. West
thought one guinea sufficient”). 32 But Farington’s point is more revealing in
indicating the expectation that the selected students of the Academy were to be
largely self-regulating, and self-disciplining; they were to be granted freedom
because they had already internalized the discipline required by these
institutions. Figure 4. Front cover, Register of Students Admitted to the
Gallery of Antiquities, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital
image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum The matter finally settled, students
were admitted to the Townley Gallery from at least the beginning of 1809: the
first entries in the register book are dated 14 January 1809 (figs. 4 and 5 to
11). On that date four students were enrolled, although only one of them was at
the Royal Academy. That was Henry Monro, the son of Dr Thomas Monro, Physician
at Bedlam and an amateur and collector who ran the influential “academy” at his
home in Adelphi Terrace. The other students included two of the daughters of
Thomas Paytherus, a successful London apothecary, and a Ralph Irvine of Great
Howland Street, who seems quite certainly to have been Hugh Irvine, the
Scottish landscape painter and a member of the landowning Irvine family of
Drum, who gave that address in the exhibition catalogue of the British
Institution’s show in 1809. Another five students registered in February and
July. This included another recently registered Royal Academy student, Henry
Sass, whose name was entered into the Academy’s books in 1805, recommended for
study at the British Museum by the architect and RA John Soane, and the artists
William Skelton, Adam Buck, Samuel Drummond, and Maria Singleton. The mix of
amateur and professional artists, young and old, and indeed the mix of male and
female students (discussed below), continued throughout the register. View this
illustration online Figure 5. Page 1, Register of Students Admitted to the
Gallery of Antiques, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image
courtesy of British Museum View this illustration online Figure 6. Page 2,
Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiquities, 1809–17.
Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the
British Museum View this illustration online Figure 7. Page 3, Register of
Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiquities, 1809–17. Collection of the
British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum View
this illustration online Figure 8. Page 4, Register of Students Admitted to the
Gallery of Antiquities, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital
image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum View this illustration online
Figure 9. Page 5, Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiquities,
1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees
of the British Museum View this illustration online Figure 10. Page 6, Register
of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiques, 1809–17. Collection of the
British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum View
this illustration online Figure 11. Page 7, Register of Students Admitted to
the Gallery of Antiques, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital
image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum Eight of the twelve students
registered on 11 November were current Academy students; this proportion of
Academy students to others continues throughout the record. But on the same day
Planta noted to the standing committee that the Royal Academicians not having
availed themselves of the Regulations in favour of their Pupils, & many
applications having been made to him for leave to draw in the Gallery of
Antiquities, he therefore submitted to the consideration of the Trustees,
whether persons duly recommended might not be admitted in the same manner as in
the Reading Room. 33 The matter was referred on to the general meeting. 34 On 9
December 1809 the new regulations were confirmed: Students who apply for
Admission to the Gallery are to specify their descriptions & places of
abode; and every one who applies, if not known to any Trustee or Officer, will
produce a recommendation from some person of known & approved Character,
particularly, if possible, from one of the Professors in the Royal Academy. 35
On 10 February 1810 it was instructed “That the Regulation respecting the mode
of Admission of Students to the Gallery of Sculpture, as made at the last
General Meeting be printed & hung up in the Hall, & at the entrance
into the Gallery”. 36 The students admitted through 1810 were predominantly
students at the Royal Academy, but also included the emigré natural history
painter the Chevalier de Barde and Charles Muss, already established as an
enamel and glass painter. The same pattern was apparent in subsequent years.
Twenty-five students were registered in 1811 and again in 1812, before numbers
dropped to twelve in 1813, eight in 1814, picking up with nineteen in 1815, and
dropping to nine in 1816. The Museum’s original stipulation that no more than
twenty Academy students be admitted each year did not, it appears, create any
undue constraints on the flow of admissions. Far from having a monopoly over
student admissions, as the Museum’s original regulations had anticipated, the
Royal Academy had apparently been distinctly laissez-faire, doing little to try
to push students forward to make up the numbers. The galleries the students
gained access to comprised a sequence of rooms within the new wing added to
accommodate the growing collection of sculptural antiquities, notably the
Egyptian material taken from the French at Alexandria in 1801. The Egyptian
antiquities dominated the galleries in terms of sheer size, although the visual
centrepiece, whether viewed from the Egyptian hall or through the extended
enfilade of rooms II–V where the Townley marbles were displayed, was the
Discobolus (fig. 12). 37 The intimate scale of the galleries brought benefits,
as German architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel noted on his visit of 1826:
“Gallery of antiquities in very small rooms, lit from above, very restful and
satisfying”. 38 But is also imposed a practical limit on the numbers of
students who could attend. This changed when, in 1817, the Elgin marbles were
put on display at Montagu House in spacious, if warehouse-like, temporary rooms
newly annexed to the Townley Gallery (fig. 13). The spike of interest recorded
in the register, with thirty-seven students listed under the heading “1817”,
must reflect this new opportunity. The register terminates at this point,
although the volume continued to be used to record students and artists admitted
to the prints and drawings room (upstairs from the Townley Gallery) from 1815
through to the 1840s. 39 Figure 12. Anonymous, View through the Egyptian Room,
in the Townley Gallery at the British Museum, 1820, watercolour, 36.1 x 44.3
cm. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the
British Museum Figure 13. William Henry Prior, View in the old Elgin room at
the British Museum, 1817, watercolour, 38.8 x 48.1 cm. Collection of the
British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum Some
form of register must have been maintained, but appears not to have survived,
and evidence of student attendance after 1817 is largely a matter of anecdotal
record. 40 These later records also, incidentally, point to the variety of
student practice in the galleries. While the Museum’s original stipulations
made the presumption that admitted artists would be drawing (“each student
shall provide himself with a Portfolio in which his Name is written, and with
Paper as well as Chalk”), students evidently worked in different media as well.
James Ward referred explicitly to “modelling” in the Museum in his diary
entries of 1817; and George Scharf’s watercolour of the interior of the Townley
Gallery from 1827 (fig. 14) shows a student sitting on boxes at work at an
easel, with what appears to be a paintbrush in his right hand and a palette in
his left. 41 Nonetheless, the Townley marbles had lost much of their allure.
Jack Tupper, a rather unsuccessful artist associated with the Pre-Raphaelite
Brotherhood, recalled his growing disillusion when studying at the British
Museum in the late 1830s: “So the glory of the Townley Gallery faded: the
grandeur of ‘Rome’ passed.” 42 Figure 14. George Scharf, View of the Townley
Gallery, 1827, watercolour, 30.6 x 22 cm. Collection of the British Museum.
Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum The material record of
student activity in the Townley Gallery, in the form of images which seem
definitely to derive from this special access to the Museum, is extremely
scarce. 43 Whatever was produced in the Gallery was, after all, generally only
for the purposes of study, and was unlikely to be retained or valued after the
artist’s death. John Wood, a dedicated student at the Royal Academy from 1819,
noted: “I am surprised at the comparatively few drawings I made in the Antique
School at the Royal Academy, including my probationary one, not exceeding five,
with an outline from the group of the Laocoon.—In the British Museum I made a
chalk drawing from the statue of Libēra for Mr Sass”, that is, the Townley
Venus, apparently drawn by Wood as an exercise for the well-known drawing
teacher Henry Sass. 44 Student drawings after the antique must have been
numerous, but that does not mean they were preserved. J. M. W. Turner had
apparently attended the Plaster Academy over one hundred and thirty times up to
the point he became an ARA, in 1799. 45 Yet even with a figure of his stature,
whose studio contents were so completely preserved, and whose dedication to
academic study was so notable, we have only a handful of drawings which appear
certainly to derive from his time at the schools. 46 There are, doubtless,
traces of study in the Museum to be uncovered in finished works of the period.
Charles Lock Eastlake’s youthful figure of Brutus in his ambitious early work
is evidently a direct lift from the marble of Actaeon attacked by his own
hounds in the Townley collection; he had been admitted to draw from the antique
in 1810 (figs. 15 and 16). But given the dissemination of classical prototypes
(in graphic form as well as in plaster) it would be hard to insist that it was
only access to the British Museum’s antiquities which made such allusion
strictly possible. Figure 15. Charles Lock Eastlake, Brutus Exhorting the
Romans to Revenge the Death of Lucretia, 1814, oil on canvas, 116.8 x 152.4 cm.
Collection of the Wiliamson Art Gallery & Museum. Digital image courtesy of
Wiliamson Art Gallery & Museum Figure 16. Anonymous, Marble figure of
Actaeon attacked by his hounds, Roman 2nd Century, marble, 0.99 metres high.
Collection of the British Museum (1805,0703.3). Digital image courtesy of
Trustees of the British Museum The Register of Students as Social Record Of
arguably greater interest than the question of the “influence” of access to the
marbles on artistic practice is the evidence the register provides about the
social profile of the students. This takes us to the heart of the question
about the relationship between art education and the state. This was, in fact,
a question raised at the time. The British Museum was in 1821 obliged to draw
up a report on student and public attendance of the Museum, prompted by Thomas
Barrett Lennard MP, who had entered a motion in the House of Commons seeking
reassurance that this publicly funded institution was not “merely an
establishment for the gratification of private favour or individual patronage”.
47 Lennard’s questions arose from a growing body of criticism directed against
the Museum, which turned on the question of whether, as a publicly funded body,
everyone could expect free access, or only a more specialist minority. As one
critic jibed in 1822, “If the British Museum is open only to the friends of the
librarians, & their friends’ friends, it ceases to be a public
institution.” 48 The report elicited by Lennard’s question provided a detailed
breakdown of admissions. With regard to providing access to draw from the
antique, the Museum indulged the impression that it not only fulfilled but
exceeded its commitment to admitting Royal Academy students: providing the
figures for the period 1809–17 (based, surely, on the register under
consideration here), the Museum’s report elaborated: The Statute for the
admission of Students in the Gallery of Sculptures being among those required
by the Order of the House of Commons, it may not be irrelevant to add, that the
number of students who were admitted to make drawings in the Townley Gallery,
from the year 1809 to the year 1817, amounted to an average of something more
than twenty. 49 Notably, this summary gives the clear impression that the
antiques were being opened to the students of the Royal Academy; such is, quite
reasonably, presumed by Derek Cash in his recent, careful commentary on
admission procedures at the Museum. 50 The report also pointed to recent
changes: In 1818, immediately subsequent to the opening of the Elgin Room, two
hundred and twenty-three students were admitted: in 1819, sixty-nine more were
admitted, and in 1820, sixty-three. It asserted that, now: Every student sent
by the keeper of the Royal Academy, upon the production of his academy ticket,
is admitted without further reference to make his drawings: and other persons
are occasionally admitted, on simply exhibiting the proofs of their qualification.
According to the present practice, each student has leave to exhibit his
finished drawing, from any article in the Gallery, for one week after its
completion. 51 Thus stated, the Museum appeared to be fulfilling its public
duty in providing free access to appropriately qualified students. The bare
figures might seem to indicate a steady rise in student interest, which could
be taken as a marker of quantitative success. In one of the earliest historical
accounts of the Museum, Edward Edwards implied that the statistical record was
evidence of how Planta had progressively extended access to the Museum: “From
the outset he administered the Reading Room itself with much liberality... As
respects the Department of Antiquities, the students admitted to draw were in
1809 less than twenty; in 1818 two hundred and twenty-three were admitted.” 52
At that level of abstraction the information appears beyond dispute. What I
test in the remainder of this essay is how these statements stand up to the
more individualized account of student activity represented in the biographical
record. That record does include the most assiduous students of the Royal
Academy of the time, who certainly did not need the kind of “constant
inspection” Farington worried about, the kind of student anticipated by the
Museum’s regulations. Among these we could count Henry Monro, Samuel F. B.
Morse and Charles Robert Leslie, William Brockedon, Henry Perronet Briggs,
William Etty and Henry Sass, the last two famously dedicated as students of the
Academy. 53 However, the full biographical survey of the register points to a
more complicated situation. Of the one hundred and sixty-five individuals named
in the register, it has proved possible to establish biographical profiles for
the majority: details are most lacking for about twenty-four of the attending
students, although in most of those cases we can conjecture at least some
biographical context. 54 Slightly less than half the total number of
individuals listed were recorded as students at the Academy at a date which
makes it reasonably likely that they were actively attending the schools when
they were admitted to the British Museum (eighty in all). 55 Around twenty more
established male artists attended, and several of these were formerly students
at the Royal Academy, including John Samuel Agar, John Flaxman, and James Ward.
Whether they were pursuing their private studies or undertaking more specific
professional tasks is not always clear. There are, certainly, a few cases where
the latter appears to be the case. When William Henry Hunt was admitted it was
explicitly for the purpose of preparing drawings for a publication; both
William Skelton and John Samuel Agar were probably admitted in connection with
his ongoing work engraving from sculptures at the Museum. It seems likely that
the “Students to Mr Meyer”, that is, the engraver and print publisher Henry
Meyer, were engaged on professional business, as was Thomas Welsh, recommended
by the publisher Thomas Woodfall. More striking, though, is the determined
presence in the register of artists who did not pursue the art professionally
or full-time, including the relatively well-documented Chevalier de Barde,
Arthur Champernowne, John Disney, Hugh Irvine (assuming he is the “Ralph
Irvine” who appears in the register), Robert Batty, Edward John Burrow, Edward
Vernon Utterson, and a number of others designated as “Esq”, so clearly from
the polite classes, even if their exact identities remain unclear. There are at
least fifteen male individuals who appear to come from backgrounds sufficiently
socially elevated or affluent enough to suggest they were taking an amateur
interest rather than pursuing serious studies. 56 Enough of these men are known
to have practised art to make it quite certain that they were not, at least
generally, being admitted to consult the collection without intending to draw,
and John Disney was admitted explicitly “to make a sketch of a Mausoleum”.
Notable, in this regard, are the large number of women admitted to study, most
of whom are or appear to be from polite backgrounds, including the Paytherus
sisters, Elizabeth Appleton, Louisa Champernowne, Miss Carmichael, Elizabeth
Batty, Miss Home, Lucy Adams, Jane Gurney, Maria Singleton, and Anne Seymour
Damer. 57 Some were established artists, or became so; others were pursuing art
as a polite accomplishment, or at least we can assume so given their family
circumstances; in other cases the situation is by no means clear-cut. All were
admitted without special comment or notice despite the issues of propriety
around the drawing of even the sculptured nude figure by female artists which
crops up in contemporary commentaries. 58 This may be all the more striking
given the relative paucity of women admitted as readers at the British Museum library
over the same period: only three out of the three hundred and thirty-three
admitted between 1770 and 1810, as surveyed by Derek Cash. 59 On this evidence,
the field of artistic study was, in the most literal terms, relatively female
compared even to the study of literature or history. This points to an
under-explored context for the inculcation of the students into life as an
artist: the “feminine” sphere of the home, and of siblings (whether brothers or
sisters) alongside parents. We have, surely, barely begun to consider the
family as the context in which artists are made as much as, if not more than,
the studio and academy. Nor is it straightforward to assume that those
individuals who had enrolled as Academy students also had expectations about
the professional pursuit of the art. Among the Academy students who attended, a
large proportion, including a majority of the most assiduous, were from polite
social backgrounds, with fathers in the professions, or who were office-holders
or from the landowning classes, including Henry Monro, John Penwarne, Richard
Cook, William Drury Shaw, Charles Lock Eastlake, Henry Perronet Briggs,
Alexander Huey, Thomas Cooley, Samuel F. B. Morse, Andrew Geddes, John
Zephaniah Bell, Thomas Christmas, John Owen Tudor, and Samuel Hancock. Others
were the sons of elite tradesmen, highly specialized craftsmen or merchants,
including William Brockedon, Seymour Kirkup, Charles Robert Leslie, Gideon
Manton, and John Zephaniah Bell. These were not, either, predestined to be artists,
by simply following in their father’s footsteps, but were opting in to an
artistic career, having had, usually, a decent education, and access to
material and social support. In many cases their brothers, who shared the same
upbringing, became doctors or lawyers, property-owners or merchants. A number
of individual students gave up the practice of the art—Thomas Christmas became
a landowner in Willisden; Richard Cook was able to retire, wealthy; Seymour
Kirkup languished in Rome dabbling in the arts; William Brockedon became more
engaged as an inventor and traveller; while others were never really obliged to
draw an income from their practice but pursued art as a pastime. It remains the
case that there was a high level of occupational inheritance; perhaps
thirty-eight of the students (23 percent) had fathers who were architects,
engravers or artists in painting or sculpture. Many were the sons of
established artists (including Rossi, Bone, Stothard, Ward, Dawe, Wyatt,
Bonomi, and the brothers Stephanoff); a few were part of “dynasties”
encompassing generations engaged in the arts (Wyatt, Wyon, Hakewill, Landseer).
Even then, there is the case of John Morton (noted confusingly as “John Martin”
in the register, although the address given provides for a firm identification),
who, although the son of an artist and a student at the Royal Academy,
exhibited personally as an “Honorary”, suggesting he was not professionally
engaged. That his brother became quite prominent as a physician suggests that
this was a quite emphatically middle-class family setting. There are several
points to derive from this information, even as lightly sketched as it
necessarily is here. Firstly, it is noteworthy that while female students were
a minority they were a definite presence; in this regard, the British Museum
was like other spaces of artistic study, notably the painting school at the
British Institution. 60 The observation is upheld by the contemporary records
of student attendance at the British Institution or of copyists at Dulwich
Picture Gallery, and should serve as a reminder that the Royal Academy was
exceptional among the spaces of art education in being so entirely male. 61
Secondly, it is striking how few came from humble backgrounds unconnected with
the art world; really, only a handful, which would include John Tannock (son of
a shoemaker in Scotland), William Etty (son of a baker in York), John Jackson
(son of a village tailor in Yorkshire), and William Henry Hunt (whose father
was a London tin-plate worker). The circumstances which led to their gaining
access to the London art world are, therefore, noteworthy, as a third and most
important point would be to emphasize how emphatically metropolitan, polite,
and middle-class was the British Museum as a site of artistic education. The
Townley Gallery on student days was a place where working artists, students,
amateurs, and patrons mingled. 62 While the Royal Academy is conventionally
seen as an engine of professionalization, it is striking that the social
affiliations of artists point to strong, arguably increasingly strong,
affiliations between amateurs and professionals—to the extent that our
terminology around this point needs to be reconsidered. Looking over the
biographical survey, the kind of social suffering or precariousness typically
associated with artists’ lives, perhaps especially during the era of
industrialization, is markedly absent. When it does appear—most strikingly with
the grim life-stories of the siblings Jabez and Sarah Newell—they are among the
minority of students from backgrounds neither closely connected with the art
world, nor comfortably middle-class or genteel. The examples of stellar social
ascent and achievement on the basis of talent alone are real; but they are the
exceptions rather than representative. The relative weight of personal and
Academic connection is exposed in the record of the provision of references for
students. Of the forty-three referees recorded between 1809 and 1816, less than
half (nineteen) were Academicians. One of those was Henry Fuseli, who as Keeper
of the Academy Schools through this period must have provided references as
part of his duties, and accordingly provided the second largest number of
recommendations (nineteen; all but one students at the RA). The lead in providing
references was taken by William Alexander, artist and keeper of prints and
drawings (twenty-two; mainly but not exclusively students). Overall, officers
and Trustees were most active in admitting students. Most only ever provided a
reference for one, or at most a handful, and the jibe about “friends of the
librarians, & their friends’ friends” contains some truth. But the same
point applies to the artists, most of whom only ever recommended one student,
often known personally to them already: David Wilkie recommended his assistant,
John Zephaniah Bell; George Dawe provided a reference for his own son; Thomas
Lawrence for his pupil William Etty; Thomas Phillips and John Flaxman, the
relatives of fellow Academicians; Thomas Stothard, the son of a neighbour
(Kempe). Geography, too, seems to have played a role, with referees often
coming from the same area as their favoured student: Francis Horner recommended
John Henning, whom he had known in their native Scotland; the Scottish George
Chalmers recommended James Tannock; Arthur Champernowne put forward William
Brockedon, his protégé, whom he had supported in moving from Devon to the
metropolis to pursue art; James Northcote recommended two fellow West
Countrymen; Benjamin West, notorious for giving special assistance to visiting
American students, two such (Leslie and Morse). If the admission procedure
could be interpreted as an opportunity for the Academy to assert a corporate,
professionalized identity, based purely on merit, we can nonetheless detect underlying
patterns of kinship, personal, social, and geographical affiliation. Simply
stated, even if study at the Museum was free and freely available, any given
student would still need to access a letter of reference and the time to go to
the Museum (as well as the material means to acquire the portfolio, paper, and
chalks anticipated by the Trustees). The opening hours for students militated
against anyone attending who had to use these daylight hours for work, a point
which was made quite often with reference to the Reading Room through this
period. 63 The most assiduous students needed the time free to study at the
British Museum, something that well-off students like Eastlake, Brockedon,
Briggs, and Monro had readily available to them. Their peers at the Academy who
were obliged to work during the day to make a living, or who were serving
apprenticeships, would simply not be able to make the hours available at the
Museum. 64 The ambitious painter Thomas Christmas was free to attend the
Museum, having dedicated himself to study after working as a clerk, but his
brother, Charles George Christmas, who held down a job in the Audit Office,
would have struggled; accounting for his studies at the Academy, he had told
Farington, “He shd. continue to do the business at the Auditors' Office,
Whitehall, which occupies Him from 10 oClock till 3 each day, as it will keep
His mind free from anxiety abt. His means of living and leave Him with a
feeling of independence.” 65 Given that the students were admitted to the Townley
Gallery from noon to 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and that the Trustees
continued to prohibit the use of artificial lights in the Museum, there was
scarcely any real possibility of Charles George Christmas attending, although
he also enjoyed the comforts of a middle-class home background (their father
was a Bank of England official). With the ascent of utilitarian criticism,
visitor levels were turned to anew as a measure of the institution’s fulfilment
or failure to fulfil its “national” purpose. On strictly statistical terms, the
Museum seemed to be successful at providing opportunities for art students.
Only under the closest scrutiny, with attention to the “micro-history” of
individual lives, does that illusion start to be tested. It is, though, at this
“micro” level that we can apprehend the characteristic paradox of an emerging
cultural modernity, one that is still with us. Yet the point, to follow
Rancière, is not to see the past ascent of a present situation, but to force
ourselves to feel uneasy with that sense of recognition and its tacit model of
history. The evidence is that free access to culture and the (circumscribed)
promotion of equality were combined with socially restrictive patterns of
preferment. 66 Study at the British Museum may have been free, and freely
available to properly qualified students of the Academy, but you needed to be
in the right place at the right time, to have the time available, and, indeed,
to know or at least be able to access the right people, to get in. This point
may seem unduly sociological or even tendentious, but overlooking it involves a
denial of the socially invested nature of time, specifically, of the scholastic
time (given over to study or contemplation or to creation) mythically removed
from the influence of social forces. 67 The acts of nomination which saw
certain men and women given special access to the Townley Gallery, acts so
seemingly trivial in themselves involving perhaps only an exchange of words and
a scribbled note, were microcosmic manifestations of social authority of the
most far-reaching kind. 68 When Robert Butt, the principal manager of the
bronze and porcelain department at Messrs Howell & James, Regent-street,
was examined by the Select Committee on Arts and Manufactures in 1835, he
noted: The process by which a knowledge of the arts of painting and sculpture
is now acquired is this: a young man receives tuition from a private master; he
draws from the antique at the British Museum for a certain time, and when he
shows that he has sufficient talent to qualify him for a student of the Royal
Academy he is admitted; but the expense of acquiring that preliminary knowledge
is considerable, and the young artist must also be maintained by his relatives
during the time that he is acquiring it. 69 The following year, in a further
parliamentary committee, this time dedicated to testing out the British
Museum’s claims to public status, James Crabb, “House Decorator” of Shoe Lane,
Fleet Street, was asked, “Did you ever obtain any assistance, by means of
casts, from the better specimens of sculpture in the Museum or elsewhere?”, to
which he replied, “I should derive assistance from them if I had the
opportunity, but I have not time.” 70 Considered sociologically, as the
personal experience of these men seems to have obliged them to do, time was
certainly of the essence. The prevalence of students with secure middle-class
backgrounds at the British Museum might, then, be taken as evidence of an early
phase in the “middle-classification” of art practice, the awkward but evocative
phrase used recently by Angela McRobbie in her eye-opening observations of
careers in the present-day creative industries. 71 Whatever emphasis may be put
on equality of access to educational opportunity, however rigorously fairminded
and anonymized the tests and measures involved in admission procedures, without
forms of positive support to counterbalance or actively adjust social
inequalities, those same inequalities will tend to be reproduced,
homologically, in the educational field. This is patently not a simple matter
of social and material advantage underpinning artistic enterprise in a wholly
predictable way; such would be a nonsense, in light of the many students who
did not enjoy such advantages. Instead, it is the very flexibility built into
the exclusionary processes of the emerging cultural field which is
significant—the possibility that talented students could get access, gain
reputation, achieve success, without being limited by their social origins.
“Freeing” art education allowed for the expression of personal preferences or
dispositions at an individual level, which at an aggregate level reproduced
larger power relations. Exposing that ultimately exclusionary process, which
may be marked only in small differences, in personal dispositions and
behaviours, in the personal choices and decisions which are neither truly
personal nor really pure as choices, is no small task. This essay, and the
biographical survey accompanying it, with its details of a multitude of student
lives otherwise scarcely recorded or recognized, is intended as a small
contribution to that larger project, with the excess of data presented here
perhaps imposing, in itself, new requirements on our understanding of the
history of art education. Appendix Regulations for the admission of students of
the Royal Academy to the Townley Gallery at the British Museum (May 1808): [7]
That the students of the Royal Academy be admitted into the Gallery of
Antiquities upon every Friday in the months of April, May, June, & July,
& every day in the months of August and September, from the hours of twelve
to four, except on Wednesdays and Saturdays the Students, not exceeding twenty
at a time, to be admitted by a Ticket from the President and Council of the
Royal Academy, signed by their Secretary. [8] The better to maintain decorum
among the Students, a person properly qualified shall be nominated by the Royal
Academy from their own body, who shall attend during the hours of study; the
name of such person to be signified in writing, from time to time, by the
Secretary of the Royal Academy to the Principal Librarian of the British
Museum. [9] That the members of the Royal Academy have access to the Gallery of
Antiquities at all admissible times, upon application to the Principal
Librarian or the Senior under Librarian in Residence [10] That on the Fridays
in April, May June & July one of the officers of the Department of
Antiquities do attend in the Gallery of Antiquities according to Rotation in
discharge of his ordinary Duty. [11] That in the months of August &
September some one of the several Officers of the Museum, then in Residence, do
(according to a Rotation to be agreed upon by themselves & confirmed by the
Principal Librarian) attend on the Gallery upon the Days for the
admission of Students. [12] That the attendants in the Department of
Antiquities be always present in the Gallery during the times when the Students
are admitted. 72 Footnotes The original register is held in the Keeper’s
Office, Department of Prints and Drawings, British Museum. Patrick Joyce,
“Speaking up for the State” (2014), https://www.opendemocracy.net/ourkingdom/ patrick-joyce/
speaking-up-for-state. These points are made in light of a larger research
project, which has given rise to the present study: a biographical survey of
all the students of paintings, sculpture, and engraving who were active at the
Royal Academy schools between its foundation in 1769 and 1830 together with a
monograph, provisionally titled The Talent of
Success: The Royal Academy Schools in the Age of Turner, Blake and Constable,
c. 1770–1840 (forthcoming). This fuller survey indicates several important shifts
over these decades, including a fundamantal shift in the proportion of students
coming from family backgrounds in the arts and design-oriented trades, in
comparison with those coming from professional and genteel backgrounds. It
exposes, specifically, a new group whose fathers were engaged as “officers”, in
the civil service or bureaucratic roles, who in turn had a disproportionate
representation within the developing art establishment (as Academicians, or as
officials in other cultural bodies). The term “art world”, as designating a
space of co-production, stems from Howard S. Becker, Art Worlds (1984), rev.
edn (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2008). As deployed here, it
is closer in conception to the sociological “field” as detailed by Pierre
Bourdieu across a succession of influential works. Notable among these, for
present purposes because of its methodological statement about the homological
analysis of the world (field) of art in relation to the field of power, is The
Rules of Art, trans. Susan Emanuel (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1996), esp.
214–15. See, notably, the chapter on “Workers in Art” in Samuel Smiles’s
Self-Help, first published 1859 with numerous further editions. On the
self-motivated artist as the model for all forms of work, see Angela McRobbie,
Be Creative: Making a Living in the New Culture Industries (Cambridge: Polity
Press, 2016), esp. 70–76. Holger Hoock, The King’s Artists: The Royal Academy
of Arts and the Politics of British Culture, 1760–1840 (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2003) and Hoock, “The British State and the Anglo-French Wars Over
Antiquities, 1798–1858”, Historical Journal 50, no. 1 (2007): 49–72. Patrick
Joyce, The Rule of Freedom: Liberalism and the Modern City (London: Verso,
2003) and Joyce, The State of Freedom: A Social History of the British State
Since 1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013); also his “What is the
Social in Social History?”, Past and Present 206, no. 1 (2010): 213–48. On this
Foucauldian framing of art education and creative production within liberalism,
see McRobbie, Be Creative, 71–76 and passim. Karl Polanyi, The Great
Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time (1944; Boston,
MA: Beacon Press, 2002); Michel Foucault, The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at
the Collège de France, 1978–1979, ed. Michel Sennelert, trans. Graham Burchell
(Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008); Luc Boltanski and Eve Chiapello, The
New Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Gregory Elliott (London and New York: Verso,
2007); Pierre Bourdieu, On the State: Lectures at the Collège de France,
1989–1992, ed. Patrick Champagne and others, trans. David Fernbach (Cambridge:
Polity Press, 2014). See Edward Higgs, Identifying the English: A History of
Personal Identification 1500 to the Present (London: Bloomsbury, 2011), 97–119.
Higgs’s account is, essentially, positive about the liberties and rights
secured by this rising documentation. The position taken here is more
determinedly Foucauldian. For the foundational role of statistics in “liberalisation”,
and the hidden affinities between the liberal and the totalitarian, see Michael
Foucault, “Society Must Be Defended”: Lectures at the Collège de France,
1975–76, ed. Mauro Bertani and Alessandro Fontana, trans. David Macey (London:
Penguin, 2004). Foucault, Birth of Biopolitics, 69. A biographical dictionary
of Royal Academy students from 1769–1830. See note 3, above. Jacques Rancière,
The Method of Equality: Interviews with Laurent Jeanpierre and Dork Zabunyan,
trans. Julie Rose (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016), 108. Neil Chambers, Joseph
Banks and the British Museum: The World of Collecting, 1770–1830 (London:
Routledge, 2007), 107. The register is mentioned in the notice of Seymour
Kirkup in G. E. Bentley, Blake Records, 2nd edn (New Haven, CT, and London:
Yale University Press, 2004), 289n. Kirkup was an unusually assiduous student
at the Museum, admitted in 1809 and renewing his ticket through to 1812. The
reference in Bentley appears to be the only published reference to the
register. The admission of the Paytherus sisters to draw at the Museum is noted
by James Hamilton in his London Lights: The Minds that Moved the City that
Shook the World, 1805–51 (London: John Murray, 2007), 72, although with
reference to the early Reading Room register (marked “1795”) in the British
Museum Central Archive, rather than the volume in Prints and Drawings. See J.
T. Smith, Nollekens and his Times, 2 vols., 2nd edn (London: Henry Colburn,
1829), 1: 242. Viccy Coltman, Classical Sculpture and the Culture of Collecting
in Britain since 1760 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 242–44. See B.
F. Cook, The Townley Marbles (London: British Museum Press, 1985) and Ian
Jenkins, Archaeologists and Aesthetes in the Sculpture Galleries of the British
Museum, 1800–1939 (London: British Museum Press, 1992). Chambers, Joseph Banks,
Derek Cash, “Access to Museum Culture: The British Museum from 1753 to 1836”,
British Museum Occasional Papers 133 (2002), 68.
http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/publications/research_publications_series/2002/
access_to_museum_culture.aspx. The British Museum, Central Archive,
C/1/5/1029–30. Library of the Royal Academy of Arts, London, CM/4/50–52.
Library of the Royal Academy of Arts, London, CM/4/59. The British Museum,
Central Archive, C/1/5/1034. The British Museum, Central Archive,
C/1/5/1043–144. Cf. “Chapter III: Concerning the Admission into the British
Museum”, in Acts and Votes of Parliament, Statutes and Rules, and Synopsis of
the Contents of the British Museum (London, 1808), 15–16. Joseph Farington, The
Diary of Joseph Farington, ed. Kenneth Garlick, Angus Macintyre, and others, 17
vols. (New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press, 1978–98), 9: 3284.
Library of the Royal Academy of Arts, London, GM/2/366, 370. Library of the
Royal Academy of Arts, London, GM/2/371. Library of the Royal Academy of Arts,
London, GM/2/372–73. Diary of Joseph Farington, 9: 3313. Diary of Joseph
Farington, 9: 3317. Diary of Joseph Farington, 9: 3284. The British Museum,
Central Archive, C/3/9/2426. The British Museum, Central Archive, C/3/9/2428.
The British Museum, Central Archive, C/1/5/1069. The British Museum, Central
Archive, C/1/5/1070. The arrangement of the galleries was first detailed in a
written description provided by Westmacott for Prince Hoare’s Academic Annals
(London, 1809) and in Taylor Combe’s A Description of the Ancient Marbles in
the British Museum, 3 vols. (London, 1812–17). See Cook, Townley Marbles,
59–61. Karl Friedrich Schinkel, “The English Journey”: Journal of a Visit to
France and Britain in 1826, ed. David Bindman and Gottfried Riemann (New Haven,
CT, and London, 1993), 74. The record of admissions to view prints and drawings
must have arisen from the new regulations issued by the Trustees in November
1814; see, Antony Griffiths, “The Department of Prints and Drawings during the
First Century of the British Museum”, The Burlington Magazine 136, 1097 (1994):
536. In March 1817 the student artist William Bewick wrote to his brother: “I
last Monday set my name down as a student in the British Museum.” See Thomas
Landseer, ed., Life and Letters of William Bewick (Artist), 2 vols. (London:
Hurst and Blackett, 1871), 1: 37. Edward Nygren, “James Ward, RA (1769–1859):
Papers and Patrons”, Walpole Society 75 (2013): 16. Jack Tupper, “Extracts from
the Diary of an Artist. No.V”, The Crayon, 12 December 1855, 368. An album of
drawings of the Townley Marbles in the British Museum (2010,5006.1877.1–40)
appears to have been collected by Townley himself, so dates to before the installation
of the marbles at the Museum. The drawings serve as records of the objects
rather than student exercises. The drawings by John Samuel Agar in the Getty
Research Institute are evidently preparatory for the prints published in
Specimens of Antient Sculpture. BL Add MS 37,163 f.106. This and other figures
in the Townley collection could also be found as casts in the Royal Academy’s
plaster schools, so even if Wood’s drawing, for example, could be traced, it
could not definitively be said to be made in the Townley Gallery. See Ann
Chumbley and Ian Warrell, Turner and the Human Figure: Studies of Contemporary
Life, exh. cat. (London: Tate Gallery, 1989), 12–13. Eric Shanes, Young Mr
Turner: The First Forty Years, 1775–1815 (New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University
Press, 2016), 33–34. Hansard (House of Commons), 16 February 1821, c.724
(online at http://hansard.millbanksystems.com/commons/
1821/feb/16/british-museum). See Cash, “Access to Museum Culture”, 197–225 for
a full account of public discussions around this date. Quoted in Cash, “Access
to Museum Culture”, 208. British Museum: Returns to two Orders of the
Honourable House of Commons, dated 16 th February 1821, House of Commons, 23
February 1821, 2. Cash “Access to Museum Culture”, 71. Quoted in The Literary
Chronicle, 17 March 1821, 168. Edward Edwards, Lives of the Founders of the
British Museum (London: Trübner and Co., 1870), Acts and Votes of Parliament,
Statutes and Rules, and Synopsis of the Contents of the British Museum. London,
1808. Becker, Howard S. Art Worlds (1984). Rev. edn. Berkeley, CA: University
of California Press, 2008. Bentley, G. E. Blake Records. 2nd edn. New Haven and
London: Yale University Press, 2004. Boltanski, Luc, and Eve Chiapello. The New
Spirit of Capitalism. Trans. Gregory Elliott. London and New York: Verso, 2007.
See Martin Myrone, “Something too Academical: The Problem with Etty”, in
William Etty: Art and Controversy, ed. Sarah Burnage, Mark Hallett, and Laura
Turner (London: Philip Wilson, 2011), 47–59. The barest and most conjectural
biographies include those for William Carr of New Broad Street; W. W.
Torrington; Edward Thomson; Richard Moses; and Mr Lewer. Information is most
notably lacking for the trio of Miss Cowper, Miss Moula, and Mr Turner of Gower
Street; William Hamilton of Stafford Place; William Irving of Montague Street;
Thomas Williams of Hatton Garden; Daniel Jones; M. Hatley of Albermarle Street;
Miss Edgar; Miss Carmichael of Granville Street; Mr Atwood; Mr Higgins of
Norfolk Street; George Pisey of Castle Street; Charles White of George Street;
Robert Walter Page of Wigmore Street; Henry A. Matthew; Thomas Welsh; and John
Hall. Students were entered as “probationers” for a period of three months
(which might be extended), and once registered could attend the Schools for a
period of ten years. Ralph Irvine; Arthur Champernowne; the Chevalier de Barde;
John Disney; John Campbell; Edward Utterson; John Lambert; Robert Batty;
Alexander Huey; Richard Thomson; Charles Toplis; John Frederick Williams; Edward
Burrows; William Carr; W. W. Torrington. Jane Landseer; Janet Ross; Georgiana
Ross; the two Misses Paytherus; H. Edgar; Maria Singleton; Elizabeth Appleton;
Louisa Champernowne; Miss Carmichael; Elizabeth Batty; Frances Edwards; Eliza
Kempe; Ann Damer; Miss Cowper; Miss Moula; Miss Trotter; Miss Adams; Sarah
Newell; Emma Kendrick; Jane Gurney. Gentleman’s Magazine (1820) and A Trip to
Paris in August and September (1815), quoted by William T. Whitley in his Art
in England, 1800–1820 (London: Medici Society, 1928), 263, as evidence that “It
was still thought improper for women to study from such figures” as the Apollo
Belvedere. Cash, “Access to Museum Culture”, 113. As the American Samuel F. B.
Morse (a student at the Royal Academy and the British Museum) noted in 1811: “I
was surprised on entering the gallery of paintings at the British Institution,
at seeing eight or ten ladies as well as gentlemen, with their easels and
palettes and oil colours, employed in copying some of the pictures. You can see
from this circumstance in what estimation the art is held here, since ladies of
distinction, without hesitation or reserve, are willing to draw in public.” See
Edward Lind Morse, ed., Samuel F. B. Morse: His Letters and Journals, 2 vols.
(Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 1914), 1: 45. Lists of students admitted to copy
at the British Institution appear in the Directors’ minutes, NAL RC V 12–14,
and in contemporary press reports. Individuals admitted to copy at Dulwich
Picture Gallery were routinely listed in the “Bourgeois Book of Regulations”
from 1820; photocopies and notes at Dulwich Picture Gallery, C1 and H3. This is
expecially clearly expressed in James Ward’s diary notes on his visits in 1817,
meeting there the artists William Skelton, Joseph Clover, Henry Fuseli, and
William Long, but also the gentlemen collectors and scholars William Lock,
Edward Utterson, and Francis Douce (Nygren, “James Ward”). See Cash, “Access to
Museum Culture”, 217 and passim. Although the timing of the Academy’s evening
classes might seem to be more accommodating, even this may have been
challenging. The master of Richard Westall, later a watercolour painter,
“permitted him to draw at the Royal Academy, in the evenings; but for that
indulgence he worked a corresponding number of hours in the morning”.
Gentleman's Magazine, February 1837, 213. Diary of Joseph Farington, 4: 4783.
On educational tests as linking “macro” and “micro”, “both sectoral mechanisms
or unique situations and societal arrangements”, see Boltanski and Chiapello, New
Spirit of Capitalism, 32. See Pierre Bourdieu, Pascalian Meditations, trans.
Richard Nice (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000). “Acts of
nomination, from the most trivial acts of bureaucracy, like the issuing of an
identity card, or a sickness or disablement certification, to the most solemn,
which consecrate nobilities, lead, in a kind of infinite regress, to the
realization of God on earth, the State, which guarantees, in the last resort,
the infinite series of acts of authority certifying by delegation the validity
of the certificates of legitimate existence”, Bourdieu, Pascalian Meditations,
245. The potentially trivial nature of the acts of nomination involved in
gaining access to the British Museum is highlighted in Joseph Planta’s own account
of providing recommendations (for the Reading Room) often only on the basis of
casual conversations. See Cash, “Access to Museum Culture”, 207. Report of the
Select Committee on Arts and Manufactures, House of Commons, 4 September 1835,
40. Report of the Select Committee on the British Museum, quoted in Edward
Edwards, Remarks on the “Minutes of Evidence” Taken before the Select Committee
on the British Museum, 2nd edn (London [1839]), 14. McRobbie, Be Creative. The
British Museum, Central Archive, Bourdieu, Pierre. On the State: Lectures at
the Collège de France, 1989–1992. Ed. Patrick Champagne and others. Trans.
David Fernbach. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2014. – – –. Pascalian Meditations.
Trans. Richard Nice. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000. – – –. The
Rules of Art. Trans. Susan Emanuel. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1996. Cash, Derek.
“Access to Museum Culture: The British Museum from 1753 to 1836.” British
Museum Occasional Papers 133 (2002)
http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/publications/research_publications_series/2002/
access_to_museum_culture.aspx Chambers, Neil. Joseph Banks and the British
Museum: The World of Collecting, 1770–1830. London: Routledge, 2007. Chumbley,
Ann, and Ian Warrell. Turner and the Human Figure: Studies of Contemporary
Life. London: Tate Gallery, 1989. Coltman, Viccy. Classical Sculpture and the
Culture of Collecting in Britain since 1760. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2009. Combe, Taylor. A Description of the Ancient Marbles in the British
Museum, 3 vols. London, 1812–17. Cook, B. F. The Townley Marbles. London:
British Museum Press, 1985. Edwards, Edward. Lives of the Founders of the
British Museum. London: Trübner and Co., 1870. – – –. Remarks on the “Minutes
of Evidence” Taken before the Select Committee on the British Museum. 2nd edn.
London [1839]. Farington, Joseph. The Diary of Joseph Farington. Ed. Kenneth
Garlick, Angus Macintyre and others. 17 vols. New Haven and London: Yale
University Press, 1978–98. Foucault, Michel. The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures
at the Collège de France, 1978–1979. Ed. Michel Sennelert. Trans. Graham
Burchell. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. – – –. “Society Must Be
Defended”: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1975–76. Ed. Mauro Bertani and
Alessandro Fontana. Trans. David Macey. London: Penguin, 2004. Griffiths,
Antony. “The Department of Prints and Drawings during the First Century of the
British Museum.” The Burlington Magazine 136 (1994): 531–44. Hamilton, James.
London Lights: The Minds that Moved the City that Shook the World, 1805–51.
London: John Murray, 2007. Higgs, Edward. Identifying the English: A History of
Personal Identification 1500 to the Present. London: Bloomsbury, 2011. Hoock,
Holger. “The British State and the Anglo-French Wars Over Antiquities, 1798–1858.”
Historical Journal 50, no. 1 (2007): 49–72. – – –. The King’s Artists: The
Royal Academy of Arts and the Politics of British Culture, 1760–1840. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2003. Jenkins, Ian. Archaeologists and Aesthetes in
the Sculpture Galleries of the British Museum, 1800–1939. London: British
Museum Press, 1992. Joyce, Patrick. The Rule of Freedom: Liberalism and the
Modern City. London: Verso, 2003. – – –. “Speaking up for the State” (2014).
https://www.opendemocracy.net/ourkingdom/patrick-joyce/speaking-up-for-state –
– –. The State of Freedom: A Social History of the British State Since 1800.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. – – –. “What is the Social in
Social History?” Past and Present 206, no. 1 (2010): 213–48. Landseer, Thomas,
ed. Life and Letters of William Bewick (Artist). 2 vols. London: Hurst and
Blackett, 1871. McRobbie, Angela. Be Creative: Making a Living in the New
Culture Industries. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016. Morse, Edward Lind, ed.
Samuel F. B. Morse: His Letters and Journals. 2 vols. Boston: Houghton Mifflin,
1914 Myrone, Martin. “Something too Academical: The Problem with Etty.” In
William Etty: Art and Controversy, ed. Sarah Burnage, Mark Hallett, and Laura
Turner. London: Philip Wilson, 2011, 47–59. Nygren, Edward. “James Ward, RA
(1769–1859): Papers and Patrons.” Walpole Society 75 (2013). Polanyi, Karl. The
Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time (1944).
Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 2002. Rancière, Jacques. The Method of Equality:
Interviews with Laurent Jeanpierre and Dork Zabunyan. Trans. Julie Rose.
Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016. Schinkel, Karl Friedrich. “English Journey”:
Journal of a Visit to France and Britain in 1826. Ed. David Bindman and
Gottfried Riemann. New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press, 1993.
Shanes, Eric. Young Mr Turner: The First Forty Years, 1775–1815. New Haven, CT,
and London: Yale University Press, 2016. Smiles, Samuel. Self-Help: With
Illustrations of Character and Conduct. London: John Murray, 1859. Smith, J. T.
Nollekens and his Times, 2 vols. 2nd edn, London: Henry Colburn, 1829. Tupper,
Jack. “Extracts from the Diary of an Artist. No.V.” The Crayon, 12 December
1855. Whitley, William T. Art in England, 1800–1820. London: Medici Society,
1928. drawn from the antique Artists
& the Classical Ideal Adriano Aymonino and Anne Varick Lauder with
contributions from Eloisa Dodero, Rachel Hapoienu, Ian Jenkins, Jerzy Kierkuc
́-Bielin ́ski, 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 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 ISBN (paperback): 978-0-9573398-9-7
ISBN (hardback): 978-0-9932041-0-4 Designed and typeset in Albertina and
Requiem by Libanus Press Ltd, Marlborough Printed by Hampton Printing (Bristol)
Ltd 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) Contents Preface 6 Abraham Thomas Introduction 7 Adriano Aymonino
and Anne Varick Lauder Acknowledgements 9 Ideal Beauty and the Canon in
Classical Antiquity 11 Ian Jenkins and Adriano Aymonino ‘Nature Perfected’: The
Theory & Practice of 15 Drawing after the Antique Adriano Aymonino
Catalogue Bibliography Photo credits 79 232 254 - authors of catalogue
entries AA: Adriano Aymonino: AVL: Anne Varick Lauder: Eloisa Dodero: cats 9,
22 JK-B: Jerzy Kierkuc ́-Bielin ́ski: cat. 29 JY: Jonathan Yarker: cats 24, 25,
26, 27, 28 MP: Michiel C. Plomp: cats 6, 7, 8, 11, 31, 32 RH: Rachel Hapoienu:
cats 1, 2, 4, 33. The exhibition ‘Drawn from the antique: artists and the
classical ideal” 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 student at the Royal Academy, Soane
wins a travelling scholarship to embark on the grand tour. This forms 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 the exhibition ‘Drawn
from the antique – artists and the classical ideal’ offer a glimpse into an
intriguing world of academies, artists’ workshops and private studios, each
populated with carefully chosen examples of statuary which provide compelling
snapshots of classical antiquity. Similarly, within his house and museum at
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Soane creates his own bespoke arrangements of ancient
statuary 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 the
exhibition ‘Drawn from the antique – artists and the classical ideal’ evolves from
a series of conversations between Timothy Knox, and the collector K. Bellinger,
to see if there may be some way to showcase the Bellinger extraordinary and
unique collection of art-works *depicting* artists’ studios. We extend a
special thanks to K. Bellinger, not only for her generosity in allowing us to exhibit
these wonderful pieces but also for all the hard work in securing some stunning
loans from other collections. We are grateful for the loans from the Getty
Collection, the Rijksmuseum, the Kunsthaus Zürich, the Kunstbibliothek in
Berlin. For the UK loans we would like to thank The British Museum, the
Victoria and Albert Museum, the Royal Academy of Arts and the Courtauld
Gallery. “Drawn From The Antique: Artists and The Classical Ideal” is a collaboration
between The Soane Collection and the Teylers Collection, and I am grateful to M.
Scharloo for agreeing to host the first leg of this exhibition, and also to
Michiel Plomp, for facilitating the exhibition in Haarlem. It feels rather
appropriate that the founders of our two institutions, Teyler and Soane, were
both collectors with singular visions of how their collections should provide a
resource for academic study and creative practice. This exhibition would not
have been possible without the fantastic curatorial team that K. Bellinger assembled:
A. Aymonino, A. Varick Lauder, and R. Hapoienu. I would like to express my
gratitude to them for bringing the project to fruition. I would also like to
thank 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 S. Palmer, D. Jenkins and J. Kierkuc-Bielinski, as well as S.
Wightman at Libanus 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. The exhibition explores one of the central practices of artists for
years: drawing after the antique – l’antico. Ancient Graeco-Roman statuary provides
artists with a “model” from which he learns how to represent the volume, the pose
and the expression of the male nude and which simultaneously offers a perfected
example of anatomy and proportion. For an established artist, a piece of antique
statuary or a elief offers a repertory of form that serves as inspiration. Because
the imitation (mimesis) and representation of nature is the principal aim of the
classical artist, education in a workshop or an academy revolves around the
study of geometry and perspective – to represent space – and anatomy, the antique
but also THE LIVE MODEL – to learn how to deploy and mould the male body
convincingly in a piece of statuary. This practical approach to the antique –
as a convenient model for depicting or moulding the naked male form – is accompanied by a more
theoretical, aesthetic, and philosophical one. A piece of ancient Graeco-Roman
statuary statue is perceived as a bench-mark of perfection and of the Platonic
concept of ideal beauty, the physical result of a careful selection of the best
parts of nature. Classical Graeco-Roman authors, such as the Italians Vitruvio,
Cicerone or Plinio, reveal to the artist and the philosopher that antique statuary
is based on a system. There is a Pythagoreian harmonic proportions. This rests
on the mathematical relationships between a part of the body and the whole
body. A piece of ancient statuary therefore embodies the same rational
principle on which the harmony of the cosmos and nature are based. It is the
powerful combination of this rational and universal principle that the antique
expresses, together with its extreme versatility as a model of forms, that
guarantees its ubiquitous success. Students in the early stages of their
training are encouraged to ‘assimilate’ fully the idealised beauty of a classical
statue through the copying of plaster casts. Only then can he be exposed to an
‘imperfections of nature’ as embodied by the live naked male model (“Drawn From
Life”). This is intended to provide the craftsman with a standard of perfection
that is then infused into his own statuary. For an artist, it was considered
essential to travel to Rome. At Rome, the artists confront the venerated
antique ‘original’ – not the copy -- and assembles his own ‘drawn’ collections
of models – ‘drawn from the antique’ only, not ‘drawn from life’, for which you
don’t need to go to Rome. Drawing (desegno) is considered the only intellectual
part of an art – the first sensorial (specifically visual) manifestation of an idea.
Drawing from and ‘after’ the Antique (desegno dall’antico) is the union of
intellectual medium and intellectual subject. It becomes an integral part of
the learning process and the activity of the artist who aims at pleasing the
Society gentleman. It proves crucial for legitimising the ambitions of the artist
who fashions himself as a practitioner of a liberal and intellectual activity.
So widespread is it, that representing the practice itself developed into an
artistic genre. Through a selection of pieces exemplifying this fascinating
category of images, by artists as diverse as the Italian Zuccaro, Dutch Goltzius
and Rubens, French Natoire, Swiss Fuseli and English Turner, we may attempt to
analyse this phenomenon. We begin with an image relating to an early Italian
academy and with a portrait, in which a piece of ancient statuary is included.We
may proceed to an image of an artist as he ‘draws’ after a celebrated statue –
the Apollo del Belvedere and the Laoconte, il torso del Belvedere, l’Antino del
Belvedere – in the cortile ottogono del casino della villa Belvedere in Monte Vaticano,
the Belvedere collection that serves as a model. We next may explore the varied
approaches of artists to a piece of ccanonical statuary in Rome and the ways in
which the Italian academic curriculum – with the antique (l’antico) as one of
the two cornerstones (the other being: ‘natura’) – spreads all over Rome, where
each palazzo claims its collection – Farnese, Ludovisi, Albani – and even up to
La Tribuna di Firenze.An Italian drawing manual is a powerful vehicle for the uncostested
establishment and entrenchment of the classical ideal. Significantly, a manual
illustrates the practice of copying after the antique in their frontispieces.
Next follow two of the most relevant images embodying the classicist credo of
the accademia dell’arte at Rome and academie des beaux arts a Paris. The
accademia a Roma codifies a structured syllabus. First-hand experience of the
Antique ‘original’ in Rome becomes a must. Fuseli magnificently draws the
fragments of the head, right hand, and left foot of the colossal statue of
Constantine at the Campidoglio. Fuseli’s
image expresses a ‘romantic’ attitude towards classical statuary, based on the
direct emotion and empathy – the eros of Plato, and the catharsis of Aristotle
-- rather than a ‘study’ (studio) of an idealised beauty and proportion. Classicism
is embraced and an academic syllabus is developed to graduate from the academy
– as opposed to the nobility who can still practice amateur and present their
statues at the annual exhibitions. The elite, educated in the classics, has a
crucial role in disseminating the classical ideal. For less privileged students
at Oxford (‘only the poor learn at Oxford’) the Ashmolean starts collecting a plaster
cast of this or that original in Rome. Statues serve a decorative purpose in
the villa garden fountain --- and the palazzo interior -- a clear sign of the
commercialisation and further diffusion of the Antique. But while classical statuary
becomes a n attract when doing the calls. Its role within academic curricula
remains well-established. The Antique as a canonical model begins to be
challenged by the more dynamic and innovative forces of art, a challenge that
led to its rapid decline. The last exhibit shows a plaster copy of the celebrated
ancient bust of Homer at the Farnese collection in Napoli is placed on equal
footing with a bust of a non-classical author, neo-classical statuary, and even
with a multicoloured porcelain parrot, reveals how the Antique becomes just one
of the many historical references favoured by society, if not by Society. Although
focused on images representing the relationship of an artist WITH the Antique,
that is, the act or performance of copying or drawing from or after it, this
catalogue includes also examples of the product of the practice: sketches
actually ‘drawn from the antique’ not by students wanting to pass, but by professionals
such as Goltzius, destined to be disseminated through the engraving. We have
also included drawings by Rubens and Turner showing the compromising practice
of setting a live model in the pose of the antique model – lo spinario, i
lottatori in the case of a syntagma or statuary group -- and an early academic
study by Turner the student of the torso del Belvedere (Aiace contempla
suicidio). An image may portray how the artist HIMSELF in the presence of the
Antique. The point of view should always be that of the intended addressee: the
noble Epicurean connoisseur. The form and ideas that he enjoys and seeks in the
classical model, the diversity of his taste according to his mood, and the
kinds of image that are created to show their own relationship with the
Antique. The attitudes towards classical statuary of a manic collector or an antiquarian,
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 in the
round male nude statue or syntagma (i lottatori), as opposed to a relief. The
free-standing in the round reproduction of the male naked body is what the
gentleman enjoys in terms of the proportion, the anatomy and his beauty. A
relief rather serves as a compositional model and inspiration for a narrative mythological
or historical scene. Drawings after reliefs would be the subject of a different
exhibition. The choice of the two venues is entirely appropriate. Haarlem is one
of the earliest Northern cities where the Antique is a subject of debate –
within the private academy established by Mander, Cornelisz, and Goltzius –
whose magnificent series of drawings after canonical classical statues is
preserved in the Teylers Collection. The Soane Collection at Lincoln Fields, on
the other hand, represents an incarnations of the classicist curriculum. It is
an eccentric, kaleidoscopic academy where, in the name of the union of the
arts, the study of Vitruvian and Palladian architecture gets integrated with
the copying of paintings, classical statuary and plaster casts, to attain that
mastery of drawing of the human forms (uomo
vitruviano) advocated by Vitruvius as a crucial element of architecture (to be
replaced by Le Corbusier’s functionalist metron!). The idea for this exhibition
has evolved. The Bellinger Collection is based on a just one theme: the sculptor
at work. Fascinated by the creative process and the mystique surrounding it.
The Bellinger Collection includes items in a range of media – drawings,
paintings, prints, photographs and sculpture. Rather than stage an obvious
‘greatest hits’ exhibition focusing on celebrity, my idea is to show
little-known, rarely exhibited, works and to present aspects of the collection,
which had been rather neglected by scholarship in an attempt to open new
ground. A preliminary step is made by Knox, who approached K. Bellingerto
enquire whether she might showcase works from the collection in the piano
nobile of the Palazz Soane. It soon became apparent that the theme of the
relationship between the sculptor and antique statuary, which seemed so
suitable to the venue of an architect’s palazzo-cum-academy-cum-museum with its
rooms filled with antiquities and plaster reproductions, would have resonance
with the Few. Accompanying a selection of works from the Bellinger Collection
we have attempted to borrow on loan some of the most ‘iconic’ images, and
others less well-known, that demonstrate the evolution of this practice of this
class of ‘Drawn from the Antique’ over an extended period. Almost half of the
works on display have never previously been exhibited and most have not been
shown. The resulting display provides the first overview of a phenomenon
crucial for the understanding and appreciation of ancient Roman art of the
classical Augustean period, which lays stress on the creative processes of the
Italophile artist and on the norms and conventions that guides and inspires his
art. Presenting a relatively small yet coherent display on a topic that
encompasses one of the major themes in the history of Art has been a serious
challenge but a most pleasurable one. Our exhibition could not have been
accomplished without the unwavering support of K. 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 Ballinger we owe our deepest gratitude. For the
other works on display, we have benefited from the great generosity of
colleagues at 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. We owe sincere thanks to H. Chapman at the British Museum, S. Buck
at the Courtauld, R. Hibbard and H. Dawson at the Victoria and Albert, C.
Saumarez-Smith, H. Valentine and R. Comber at the Royal Academy. Abroad we wish
to acknowledge the generosity of L. Hendrix and J. Brooks at Villa Getty, Bernhard
von Waldkirch at the Kunsthaus Zürich, T. Dibbits at the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam
and K. Käding at the Kunstbibliothek, Berlin. We are enormously grateful both
to the Soane Collection and the Teylers Collection for hosting this two-venue
exhibition. Thanks are due to T. Knox and A/ Thomas, for their support for the
project, and to S. Palmer, and D. Jenkins, for assisting with the loans. M. Scharloo,
of the Teylers and Michiel Plomp, 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 S. Wightman at Libanus, to whom we owe
our warmest thanks, and printed by Hampton Printing in Bristol. R. 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: E. Dodero, I. Jenkins, J. Kierkuc -Bielinski, M. Plomp and J.
Yarker. Special thanks are due to Dodero for sharing an infinite knowledge of
antique sources. Finally, we are greatly indebted to P. Joannides for his
input. Any and all errors are entirely our own. We wish to acknowledge warmly P.
Taylor and Rembrandt Duits for granting us unfettered access to the
Photographic Collection of the Warburg and other colleagues and friends who
assisted in various ways in bringing this project to fruition: Mattia Biffis, R
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, C. 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. Ideal Beauty is the
Canon in Classical Antiquity. The practice of drawing from the antique is a
time-honoured one – if not antique! But even the Augustean copy makers knew who
to imitate --. Since Antino became such an icon, we can say that Adrian
finished the practice of ‘drawing from the antique’: He started to ask his
slaves to ‘draw from nature’ – the nature of his lover! The philosopher should
be reminded of the substantial role that the Antique has played in the
education and inspiration of artists for years. Soane famously mixed marble
sculpture with plaster reproductions in the learned and decorative interiors of
his Lincolnfields villa. A constant theme in ancient philosophy (with which any
Oxonian with a Lit. Hum. is more than acquainted with) is that behind the
surface chaos of the tangible sensible world, there is a hidden order (kósmos).
Harmony occurs when the opposite forces in nature (natura, physis), such as wet
and dry, hot and cold, strong and weak, are properly balanced. Well-being
depends upon a set of complementary humours. Reason (logos) – but cf. Dodds on
the irrational -- is the weapon wielded in a constant struggle against the dark
forces of the natural and non-natural artificial conventional realms alike. The
concept of ‘number’ plays an especially important role in the Graeco-Roman, or
Italic world view. Mathematics was most probably acquired from Babylon and
first took root in the cities of Ionia. Pythagora, who had settled in Crotona
and Melosponto in southern Italy, discovers the measurable intervals of the
musical scale This demonstrates that number holds the key to the mysteries of
the harmony of the Universe. 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. Applied
mathematics finds a new purpose in the creation of colossal temples in an
architectural culture that takes its inspiration from that of East. The
technical aspects of this new tectonic art are explained in philosophical
treatises. None of them survive but they were known to the Roman philosopher Vitruvio,
who uses them extensively for “De Architectura”. His is the only complete
treatise on ancient Roman architecture to survive. It is the main channel
through which knowledge of ancient Roman architectural principles are handed
down. The impact it has on architecture is paramount. Colossal temples are erected
and foremost among them is the archaic temple of Diana at Efeso. Its forest of
columns, some of them carved pictorially and its painted and gilded mouldings
are breath-taking. The Ionian Enlightenment terminates by the catastrophic
destruction of Mileto y the Persians. The Persians next set out to punish
Athens for her instigation of the revolt. The failure of the Persian invasion
in a series of battles on land and sea serve 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 – the ‘Athenian dialectic’ -- that humanity’s sense of self is forged.
It is there that mankind acquires a unique and individual soul with personal
responsibility for its welfare. In classical antiquity mankind places itself at
the centre of the universe and is as Protagoras famously says, ‘the measure of
all things’. Protagoras’s contemporary, the philosopher Socrates, leads the way
in a moral philosophy aimed at penetrating the dark hinterland of human
existence. Humanism prompts a “realism” (de rerum matura) in product of an ‘ars’ that re-presents the naked
male body in a ‘naturalistic’ way. There were those, however, who ha less
positive view of human capacity for self-determination. A recurring theme in
the philosophy of Socrates’ famous pupil, Plato, is the theory of ‘mimesis’ (‘imitatio’),
whereby the product of an ‘ars’ 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 the Idea. In
Plato’s kósmos, reality is not to be found in Nature. Reality (and ideal
beauty) cannot be detected by *sensing*. Rather, reality and beauty is ‘noetic’
and exists beyond nature (trans-naturalia) and can be grasped only through an effort
of the ‘intellectual’ (logistikon) part of the tri-partite soul (the other two
parts being the thymoeides and the epithymtikon). A man never gets to ‘know’ or
grasp this ideal beauty. Man must be governed by the philosopher king, who has the
intellectual capacity to achieve true knowledge and understanding of the universal
law. The nature that man knows is itself a ‘copy’ (mimesis, imitation –
imitative) of this suprasensible realm, so Plato argued and. As an imitation of
nature, a product of an ‘ars’ is twice removed from the meta-physical intelligible
world. There is no place for the pretensions of artists in the world of true
reality. Only the pure and virtuous abstract beauty and goodness
(kalloskagathia, bonus et pulchrus) of a ‘form’ (‘forma’) is to be found in the
realm of the idea. The clearest and most developed account of Plato’s
condemnation of the idols or products of ‘ars’ and his reasons for banning it
from his ideal state (polizia, politeia) are to be found in the Socratic
dialogue known to modern readers as The Polizia (Politeia). The ‘Polizia’
(Politeia) is beautifully crafted in a series of carefully honed set-piece
speeches in which, and the irony is obvious, Plato demonstrates his skills as a
philosophical artist – the dialogue aimed at beauty, rather than truth. It is
difficult to say to what extent Plato puts words into or takes them out of the
mouth of Socrates. The historical Socrates never wrote anything himself. We can
at least be sure of Socrates’ insistence upon the imperative to pursue
justified true belief (knowledge) as distinct from mere belief or opinion
(doxa) and to seek understanding, as distinct from mere creed. These are after
all the goals by which Socrates measures the moral integrity of man’s
intelligence. When it comes to the standing of the product of an ‘ars’ in
Socrates’s moral landscape, we may wonder whether this marble worker who had
followed in his father’s ‘ars’ himself shares aristocratic Plato’s anti-thetical
view of the ‘artista’. In a dialogue recorded by Xenophon between Socrates and
Parrhasio, it is concluded that the product of an ‘ars’ cannot achieve beauty
by simply ‘reproducing’ (or imitating, or copying) an individual, particular, single,
naked male live model. He who pursues to give a product of an ‘ars’ must
instead select the best part of more than one particular, singular male naked
live model – this is not Adriano’s portraiture of Antino -- melding (or moulding) those parts (individua) together
in such a way as to transcend, by way of a universalium, nature itself (the
natural naked male live model) and turn the ‘re-presentation’ of a ‘beautiful’
(kalos) naked male live model into an ‘ideally’ beautiful naked male body. Aristotle.
ever practical, ever helpful, opposes Plato in arguing that, instead of being a
slave to Nature, man may create (poien) as nature itself created. In his
Poetics and Politics he recognises the civic role of the product of an ‘ars’,
as he praises the value of the products of the ‘ars’ of Polygnotos. “For
Polygnotos re-presents but tweaks a natural male body better than the natural
male body is. It’s an improving (perfection) on, rather than an imitation, of
‘imperfect’ nature of this or that particular naked male body – again this is
not Antino’s portraiture – To this product of the ‘ars’ Aristotle grants the
label of an ideal model – not the live model of imperfect nature. It is futile
to try to guess who said what when. Suffice it to say that the statuary-maker
is under pressure from various sides to justify the product of his ‘ars’ as a
proper exemplar that perfects the imperfection of the natural male live model,
reflecting the universal law of the kósmos. The artist has to look at
philosophical mathematics. There is a historic change in the re-presentation
(improved re-presentation, improvement) in the product of ‘ars’ of the body of
a naked live model. Ironically, the abstract concept behind a ‘youth’ or ‘kouros’
[e. g. marble 194.6 cm (h) Met Museum 32.11] with its ‘formulaic’ tendency to
convey the naked male form of a live model through a descriptive line and a block-like
(rather than waving) form gives way to contrapositum
(contrapposto), and a greater fluidity – if not ‘naturalism’ -- conjuring a three-dimensional
volume of live flesh. This ‘naturalistic’ figure type becomes the standard or
canon. The ‘canon’ itself (first canon, as we shall see – cf. Lisippo) referred
to the Doriforo of Policleto. Policleto obviously moulded and cast in bronze as
he was in front of the real ‘doriforo’ (name unknown), the canon (qua model
what exemplum) with copyists, notably in the copy of 212 com (h) at Naples –
Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Napoli, 1st century bc copy of
original of c. 440 bc, -- inv. 6011 The
canon was famous in antiquity for its elaborate system of measurements about
which Policleto wites a philosophical treatise known as ‘The Canon.’ To judge
from what philosophers say about the spear-bearer, it is an explanation of the
principle of proportion that Policleto declares to be the key to perfection in
the product of the ‘ars’ qua re-presentation of the body of the male live
model. The concept of ‘symmetria’ (commensuratio) is used to describe this
system of a measured proportion. To the ancient authors, however, it signified
a 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 of contrapposto found in the statue Doryphoros
and in many classical statues extremely influential. Polykleitos trains at a
workshop (not an academy like Plato’s!) of Ageladas of Argos, along with Mirone.
Mirone’s statue [v. Museo Nazionale Romano, Roma, inv. 126371 – 155 cm (h) copy
of original of c. 460-450, marble] is said
to have more by way of ‘commensuratio’ about them than any other statues of his
generation. As with the Doryphoros so with Myron’s Discobolo, known only
through Roman copies, it is pretty difficult to hypothesise the exact system of
proportion that he uses. We detect the deployment of balanced opposites in the
composition. The creators of the doriforo and the discobolo share a common
regard for the live model that transcends the nature of the live model. Although
Polykleitos’ Canon and its physical embodiment, the original doriforo, are lost
– the most famous Roman copy was excavated ONLY AT THE END OF THE OTTOCENTO –
various literary sources handed over to the Renaissance the knowledge of them
and the classical principle that the beautiful model is based on proportion,
commensurability and mathematical perfection. This is the quest for the
beautiful model that is measured and defined within the premises of natural
philosophical mathematics. In the minds of commentators, the attribution of the
power of creation (poiesis) to the statue-maker likens him to a seer and affords
him a unique insight into his subject. It was said of Policleto that while his
skill is suitable for representing what Vico (and Carlyle) calls a ‘hero’
(Italian ‘eroe’ – cf. il culto dell’eroe), the imaginative power of Fidia –
author of the Parthenon’s sculptures, notably the Elgin marble of MARTE qua
simbolo della mascolinita – conjures a ‘deus’ (dio). His positive view of the
intuitive process of artistic creation (poiesis) becomes especially important
in Rome where copies of the great works of Greek classical sculpture are
reproduced in large numbers. ‘Re-produced’, that is, but not ‘re-plicated’ (cf.
replicatura). For no two copies are, by definition, ever exactly *the same*
(for one, the piece of marble is ‘another’). A Roman copyist, so-called, is,
mostly an ethnic [it. ennico] Greek. He probably saw his product as a variation
on a theme, or an improvisation (if not improvement) on the ‘original’, not a slavish
copy – plus, his Roman Mecenas couldn’t care less – connoisseurship was looked
own. A Roman vir has other things in mind, such as battle! It is through this
army of Roman copies that Italian artists acquire a fragmentary knowledge of
the proto-type (cf. Weber’s ideal type], the vast majority of which, in bronze,
as they should – for sculpting marble is different than moulding wax -- are
deliberately melted by Christians as blasphemous pagan, heathen, gods and
heroes. The spectre of the greatest mind of all antiquity, Plato, and his
condemnation of art always hover over the heads of artists and art lovers
alike. In the high empire of ancient Rome a neo-Platonist movement challenges Plato’s
extreme opinion and argues for the product of an ‘ars’ of being possessed of the
intellectually beautiful (even if first perceived through the senses – nihil
est in intellectu quod prior non fuerit in sensu. Plotino notes: ‘now it must
be noted that the wax [...] brought under a hand to a ‘beautiful’ ‘form’ or
‘shape’ (eidos, idea, morphe) is ‘beautiful’ not ‘he’ or qua wax – for so the
crude block would be as ‘pleasant’ or pleasurable or pleasing – but *qua* form,
eidos, shape, morphe, or idea. This practical and workable Aristotelian and
neo-Platonic rather than the Platonic philosophy of art was that adopted by most
Italians (even if they let Ficino dreamed about!). The paradoxical (feigned,
ironic, taunting) superiority of the product of an ‘ars’ art to nature – as a
selected, ideal, improved, correctio version of it (no ‘warts and all’) – has
been a central premise of the “beau ideal” where ‘beau’ can be in the Romance
languages both masculine and neuter (‘il bello’ – il bello ideale) in the humanistic
theory of art and especially in its neo-classical incarnation. A statue is admired
and enjoyed as the embodiment of a moral aesthetic that can be applied also to a
plaster cast. It serves both as the paradigm of art training and as source of
inspiration for artists for centuries. 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. The main source for
this famous sentence is Platone, Theaetetus 151e. See also Diogenes Laertius,
De Vitis ... philosophorum, 9.51. 3 Platone, Republic, 10, esp. 10.596E–597E. 4
Xenophon, Memorabilia, 3.10.1–5. 5 Aristotele, Poetica, 1448a1; Politica,
1340a33. See also Metafisica, 1.1, 981a. 6 Plinio, Naturalis Historia,
34.57–58. 7 Cicerone, Bruto, esp. 69–70, 296; Plinio, Naturalis Historia,
34.55; Galeno’s treatises, esp. De Placitis Hippocratis et Platonis, 5, and De
Temperamentis, 1.9; Quintiliano, Institutio Oratoria, esp. 5.12.21 and
12.10.3–9; Vitruvio’s De Architectura, 3.1. 8 Quintiliano, Institutio Oratoria,
12.10.3–9. 9 Plotino, Enneads, 5.8.1. 14 ‘Nature Plus-Quam-Perfected’: --
the ‘Drawn from the Antique’ at the Royal Academy. ‘Desegno dall’antico’,
‘desegno dalla natura’. In his inaugural lecture as Professor of Painting at
The Royal Academy of Arts in London, Opie arranged a few headings, which
included a general definition of painting, the imitation of Nature, the idea of
general beauty, the idea of general perfect beauty, the idea of perfect beauty
the true object of the highest style, as the aim of the highest style, design, drawing,
the most important part of painting, the uses of knowledge of anatomy, symmetry
and proportion the next in importance. great excellence of the *ancients*, the
ancient sculptor in those points; studying antique statuary to advantage, perfection
of the Art of painting under Vinci, Buonarroti, and Sanzio. Opie’s outline,
with its standardised categories, is a clear example of ‘inglese italianato e
un diavolo incarnato’ and a summary of a time-honoured aesthetic tradition
which indeed he is drawing from the antique! Opie’s proposal of what constitutes
‘the high style’ is 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. At the core of this tradition is the thesis that
art imitates nature and, in art’s highest manifestation, perfects nature by
selecting her best parts, to create (poien, design) a model of ideal beauty –
drawn from the antique -- a universal standard to which man aspires. Classical
statuary plays a crucial role in this theoretical framework. An antique statues
is perceived, and often revered, as works in which the process of this
selection of the best parts of nature is accomplished. An antique – and thus a
sketch ‘drawn from the antique’ -- offers the ‘antique’ (not natural live) model
from which the form, the pose, the gesture and the expression of a naked male is
appreciated, in its idealised anatomy and proportion. As the theory evolves
from the 16th century onwards, the three leading protagonists of the High
Renaissance, Vinci, Buonarroti and Sanzio – not mannerist Bernini, such as
Tasso is not in the canon as Ariosto is -- are placed on the same level as the antique,
as the first trio of non-antique or non-ancient (i. e. modern) artists – cf.
Hymns Ancient & Modern) whose statues equal, if not surpass, the antique
(but there was not ‘Drawn from Buonarroti!’). The humanistic theory of art
remains for centuries the philosophical aesthetics. It undergoes many
developments and was at times challenged. It is primarily through the medium of
‘desegno’, drawing, that one is educated in geometry and perspective – to learn
how to re-present space – and in anatomy and the male naked live model – to
learn how to deploy the naked male. ‘Drawn from the antique’ represents the
essential component of this educational method, initially as a convenient model
for the copying the male form, and then progressively as a bench-mark of
perfection whose appreciation one is supposed to assimilate before being
exposed to ‘fallible Nature’, embodied by the naked male LIVE model with all
its imperfections – the profession being underpayed and carried out by
Italians! – and this or that unnecessary feature – however necessary this
unnecessary feature is for the photographer of Antino, before he photoshops! In
its codified and pedantic rigidity, this Vitruvian categorization reveals 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 is progressively
being dismantled by those who advocate subjectivity, individual expression and
the conceptual freedom required by inventive genius. Although the normative
principle of the humanistic theory of art remains solidly established within the
academic programme, the creative forces of art are increasingly to be found ‘outside
Plato’s Academy’. With this epochal shift of aesthetic values, 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 Marinetti (if not
Mussolini) and those avant-garde Italian artists who did not believe in the
idealising role of art and, increasingly, not even in its imitative one. The
Antique, which sustains and inspires creativity and diversity in art, offering
an immense repertory of forms, expressions and aesthetic principles, loses its
propulsive drive. To understand the pervasive role the classical statue or statuary group plays
in the education and inspiration of artists in the Early Modern period, that is
from the 15th to the early 19th century, we return to the theoretical
foundations and the practical concerns that create and sustain the conditions
for its immense success and eventual decline. 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 shifts to an art
that, as in antiquity, aims at a convincing ‘imitation’ of the external world,
the world of Nature, with man at its centre. The primary concern of early
Renaissance artists and art theorists is to set a rational rule for the
faithful (or improved) representation of space and the human figure on a
two-dimensional surface, free-standing, in the round. In his “De Pictura”, Alberti
establishes the principle of art as an intellectual discipline, focusing on
geometry, mathematical perspective and the representation of the naked male. The
philosophical conviction that ‘man is the scale and measure of all things’ is applied
to space: Alberti’s choice of viewpoint and scale in the perspective diagrams is
based on the *height* of a well-formed male and the units into which he is divided.
This philosophical position also accepts that the main aim of the art of
statue-making is the depiction of a man’s action, emotion and deed, what
Alberti called “la storia”. Naturally, the study and drawing of the LIVE model
in a work-shop, and later of anatomy and classical statuary in a studio and an academy
or club, are essential for this purpose. Although Alberti’s approach, and even
the literary structure of De Pictura, is based on classical models and
examples, his conception of art is ‘naturalistic’. For Alberti, to become
skilled in the visual arts ‘the fundamental principle will be that all steps of
learning should be sought from nature’ (“dalla natura”, not “dall’antico”). Earlier,
more practical treatises, like Cennino Cennini’s Libro dell’Arte advocates the
study of a painting produced by a master, a practice that encourages repetition
and which could eventually lead to artistic sterility. Alberti accepts the
copying of two-dimensional works by other artists only because ‘they have
GREATER STABILITY OF APPEARANCE than the living, live, lively, model’, but he
privileges the drawing of a statue because, being life-*like* (cf. ‘natura
morta’), it does not impose just ONE viewpoint on its copyist, but infinite –
which makes ‘drawn from the antique’ a fascinating reflection on the
draughtsman, who seeks, say, for rear views!
Hence, while the practice of the early workshop often involved the
copying of three-dimensional models or drawings of such models, it is as a
preparation for life-study (“DRAWN FROM LIFE”) rather than an end in itself. This
is is not to ignore the impact of antique proto-types on artists, which was
enormous. One need only think of Donatello’s Ganimede who was responding to
antique models from very early in the Quattrocento. But from a theoretical
point of view, for Alberti, the emphasis is on the full mastery of the natural
forms (‘DRAWN FROM LIFE’) rather than on the imitation of other works of art,
even those from antiquity. The artist’s goal is to achieve an illusionistic
translation of the external world onto the flat surface of a drawing (‘DRAWN
FROM LIFE’) or into the volumes and masses of sculpture – as in Italian
statuary not based on the Antique: Michelangelo’s Bacco, Bernini’s Enea, etc.
-- Nevertheless, in Alberti we find the roots of two intertwined concepts, both
originating in classical sources, which progressively support and justify the
practice of copying as in ‘drawn from the antique’. The ultimate point is to
create a ‘beautiful’ naked male by selecting the most ‘excellent parts . . .
from the most beautiful naked males. Every effort should be made to perceive,
understand and express beauty. To substantiate this principle, Alberti recalls
the episode of the celebrated painter of antiquity -- depicted by Vasari in his
fresco at his own palazzo in Arezzo, ‘Zeusi compone Elena dalle fanciulle di
Crotona’-- the Italian Zeuxis, who, in order to create Elena, the image of
female perfection, selects the most beautiful maidens from the city of Crotona and
unfairly goes to choose the best part from each. This silly anecdote – sexist,
since the male equivalent would be unthinkable --, derives from ancient
literary sources, and becomes one of the most recurrent adaggi of the art
treatise in the following centuries. Zeuxis embodies and clearly explains the
idea of art as a form of ‘perfected nature’. The beautiful (‘il bello’, for
Italians hardly use ‘bellezza’, unless you are Sorrentino) is based on a system
of a harmonic proportion. For Alberti, in the perfect male the single part – the
two hands, the head, the two legs, he torso, the back, etc. – is related
numerically to the other parts and to the whole (il totto) in the principle of commensurability or
syn-metron, literally the measurability by a common standard. The overall
result is harmonic perfection (‘ Just look in my direction! Ain’t that
perfection!’) which Alberti defines as ‘concinnitas’, a theory that Alberti
bases on Vitruvio’s De Architectura. Pro-portion, which Alberti covers in depth
in his “De Statua” becomes a major subject of philosophical aesthetic
speculation. Vinci and Dürer produce in-depth studies, and Vinci’s ‘uomo
vitruviano’ is the perfect expression of the theory of the mathematical
conception of the naked male [Vinci, Gallerie dell’Academia, Venezia, inv. 228
– Le proporzione dei corpo umano secondo Vitruvio, metal point, pen and brown
ink with touches of wash, 344 x 245 mm c 1490] For Alberti, one selects the
best from nature and reassembles the selection according to a system of
harmonic proportion ultimately resting on the mathematical relation THAT IS
rationally inferred from Nature itself. This principle is the cornerstone of
aesthetics. Although the central textual foundation for the concept that ‘il
bello’ is based on proportion, Policleto’s Canon, had been lost, Renaissance
artists and scholars are well aware through Vitruvio and other classical
writers that ancient artist base his work on this principle. Therefore, from
the 16th century onwards, and especially in the following two centuries, the
crucial appeal that an antique statue had for artists rested not only in its
aesthetic quality and form, but also on the very fact that it embodied the
intellectual principle of proportional perfection. The rationalistic (indeed
illuministic) approach of the Canova’s French academy (when moulding the wax of
Napoleon in nudita eroica) even provides students with manuals in which the
numerical proportion of a statue is carefully laid out. This idea-guided naturalistic
attitude of art theory, which had in any case been greatly modified in High
Renaissance practice, shifts towards an even more idealistic (hyper-idealistic,
not romantic) approach and, simultaneously, a more systematic one, laying the
ground plan for the classicist theory. Because most art theoreticians consider
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 focus on
the codifying of a rule that may be imposed in the academy, the model of
perfection is increasingly deemed mandatory (Dolce, Lomazzo, Armenini), the antique
that they feel inspired and guided the ‘buona maniera’ of Buonarroti and Sanzio
(whom the pre-raphaelites hated), became the standard by which a fault (errore)
of Nature or this or that affectation (say, the length of necks in Modigliani)
is corrected. The ‘drawn from the antique’ takes a decisive lead over the ‘drawn
from life’ (DESEGNO DALLA VITA), and the construction of taste – the lure of
the antique that had lured the antiques themselves, such as Adriano! Correspondingly,
in the classicist tradition that develops in Rome – the headquarters of the
French Academy at Villa Medici -- the Antique (l’antico) becomes the essential
model for the composition. This, definable as the depiction of episodes based
on Roman mythology or Roman history, with a moral value attached, is considered
from Alberti the highest form and final aim and receives the place of honour in
the academic hierarchy of the genres. Although a naturalistic and
anti-classicist tendency remains alive even within the academic system,
classicism establishes itself as the predominant aesthetic principle, as Opie’s
inaugural lecture as Chair of Painting (but not Chair of Sculpture – since
that’s a whole different animal!) at the Royal Academy attests. Its success
rests primarily on the fact that it represents an aesthetic approach that is
considered to express a universal and a ‘true’ principle. And this, because of its
rational nature, can be taught by rule, which suits the systematic attitude of
Enlightenment culture. The proliferation of the academy encourages 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 a new and codified form, eventually reaches the most remote corners
of the world, with the antique army as the herald. At the centre of the
education of any 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. ‘Disegno,’ (dall’antico, dalla vita), endowed with an
intellectual role by Vasari and other
theorists, as the manifestation of the idea and invention of the artist, becomes
the essential quality of the Roman and Florentine academies. 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. Opie, himself a poor draughtsman – hence his teaching of
‘disegno’ --, still considered ‘Design, or Drawing, the most important part of
Painting’. Drawing after the Antique, or Drawing from the Antique, as a union
of intellectual medium and intellectual end, becomes integral to the learning
process and the activity of artists, along with ‘Drawn from Life’. The academy
is depicted, the studio, an artists copying from some original or drawing from a
cast, in situ in, usually, Rome or back at home. Whether he is drawing from the
antique 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 form, pose and expression, or to assimilate a system of ‘correct’
proportions and anatomy, no would-be member of the academy can avoid
confronting the lessons of the Antique, and of adjusting his creative process
in relation to it. Apart from the didactic and inspirational functions of drawing
from the antique (as opposed as from life), many other reasons justified the
practice. As a result of their pervasiveness, a studio ‘drawin from the
antique’ (disegnato dall’antico’) – which are innumerable – are difficult to
categorise because they are produced for different reasons, serve different
purposes and display different conceptions and relations to the antique.
Nevertheless, one might attempt a division. There is the didactic ‘drawn from
the antique’: a copy produced his education as an a course assignment at the
Academy: a drawing produced by a master in a workshop to provide the apprentice
with an accessible repertory of classical forms to copy. There is RECORD drawing:
a sketch created to serve as inspiration for a form, a pose, am expressios, a composition,
a movement, a proportion, etc., for its own artistic purpose. There is translation,
a precisely finished drawings intended to be engraved, usually conveying as
much information as possible about the statue’s form and pose. There is documentary
drawings, produced with the purpose of recording accurately the physical
appearance of an antiquities obviously including any damage the statue may have
undergone. To this category belong many drawings produced specifically for the antiquarian
collector, from the “Codex Coburgensis” to those of the famous ‘Paper Museum’
assembled by Pozzo. There is the marketable
drawing: a finished copy specifically produced to be sold on the market or
commissioned by a collector to fill his ‘paper museum’ of classical
antiquities. Examples are those by Batoni for Richard Topham, Esq. – The Topham
Collection --. There is the promotional drawing, a drawing made with the
specific purpose of promoting the acquisition of an item (statue or statuary
group), such as those by Jenkins to Townley – The Townley Collection. Naturally,
as with any categorisation, these divisions are a simplification and a drawing
may overlap two or more classes, such as this or that drawing by Goltzius, intended
to be engraved, but which also function as a repertory of an antique forms to
be used in the artist’s practice. Whatever their categories, all these drawings
followed the technical evolution of the medium, from the predominant metalpoint
and pen-and-ink to the black and red chalk. Athough pen-and-ink remains a
favoured medium, chalk becomes the choice for FULL-SIZE statuary, as a softer,
more pliable medium it allows a more sophisticated rendering of a tonal passage
and, therefore, of relief and anatomu. Red chalk especially offers the impossibility
of bringing the ANTIQUE (antico) to LIFE (vita), transforming or
transubstantiating inorganic matter into ‘warm flesh’. In artists’ workshops
one of the most important aspects of an apprentice’s training, aside from
mastering the manual procedures of painting, is copying works by the master and
other artists. This is intended as a means to shorten the process of learning
how to represent the THREE-DIMENSIONS onto two thanks to examples already
produced by others. This practice is described by Cennini, although still
intended only to train the apprentice to reproduce the master’s style and not
yet Nature or Life. An aapprentices could resort to copying model books and
sketchbooks already assembled by the master or by others. These were
repertories of a drawing of an animal, a plant, decorative details, a male nude
at rest, a male nude 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 is included mainly as a source
of information on the anatomy, its form, modelling, pose, expression,
movementsand the interaction of all t hese elements. Most of the early
drawings that represent antique forms are produced by artists active in Rome
where the largest number of accessible physical remains from antiquity is
concentrated. AN ANCIENT FULL-SIZE STATUE IN THE ROUND may have survived above
ground. Among the most famous publicly displayed examples are the ANTONINO, or
pseudo-Constantine the Great. outside the Lateran Palace, the Spinario, and the
Camillo, both of which are moved from the Lateran to the Campidoglio by Sesto IV;
the Quirinal Horse Tamers, I DIOSCURI, and the two Quirinal Recubantes or
Rivers. Virtually no ancient painting is known, and its appearance was
conjectured from a description (ecphrasis) in a 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
Nerone in Rome, known as grotte, that artists access ancient examples, and from
this time a wave of grotesque motifs and decorations spread widely. More
readily available is a sarcophagus relief or a large imperial relief. A drawing
may depict mainly this category of ancient artefacts. They are popular because,
with their complex, frieze-like narratives, it inspires the compostion of a
“storia” as Alberti notes. Among the most frequently represented are the
reliefs of sarcophagi and the imperial reliefs of Trajan’s Column and the
Arches of Titus and Constantine. The subjects preferred by late Gothic or early
Renaissance artists – Bacchic themes, Amazons, the story of Adone, marine
deities or ancient battles – demonstrate an interest in the nude and in the
depiction of movement, dynamism and strong expressions. Although it is recorded
that Donatello and Brunelleschi copy antiquities during their stay at Rome, no
drawings survive by either of them to reveal their approach to the Antique. The
earliest surviving drawings of an antique is by artists in the workshops of
Fabriano and Pisanello, when they were in Rome working for Martino V in St John
in Lateran. The drawings correspond in many ways to the paintings. They show
little awareness of the formal principle of classical art, transforming a figure
from a Roman sarcophagus relief into a Gothic type. They often re-interpret the
pose and, sin! -- proportion of the original, even, as in the case of a sheet of
a fantasia in the Louvre, assembling figures from different s arcophagi. This
process of extra-polation, isolation and modification is common to many
drawings from the Antique. The draughtsman creates a visual repertories of
single figures, or isolated groups of figures which are easy to re-use in their
own compositions. From a teaching point of view, an isolated figure is probably
considered, at least in the model books and sketchbooks, to be more readily
assimilable by the apprentice in the workshop than a whole composition. 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 original
model is a celebrated sarcophagus relief of the Muses, Minerva and Apollo then
in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore. It was copied in drawings by several
later growing archaeological awareness, in parallel with the spread of
antiquarian studies and rising interest in the classical world and its physical
remains. On the other hand, artists display a free handling and more personal
approach to the original, as they move away from the restraints of the model
book. With the exception of Donatello, from whom he learned much, MANTEGNA is
the quattrocento artist who had the most complex and sophisticated relationship
to the antique. Mantegna’s 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 MANTEGNA – or a copy after a drawing – executed during his stay
in Rome accurately renders a classical proto-type but with a vivacious freedom
in style. It represents one of the Trajanic reliefs inserted in the central
passage of the Arch of Constantine. MANTEGNA sketches it at an angle from the
right side and from below. He precisely records the relief’s damaged condition
by showing both the emperor and the helmeted soldier on the right without their
right hands. He interprets the composition freely, concentrating on the most
prominent actors and on the relief’s formal principle, specifically its
treatment of movement and emotion, qualities praised by Alberti as essential
for the construction of a “storia”. The flow from left to right is accentuated,
Trajan has windswept hair.The horse is shown galloping, less upright and
frontal. The mouths are wide open, as are those of the soldiers on the right,
expressing the intensity of emotion in the victory over the Dacians. A drawing
like this serves a two- fold purpose, as a study of a formal principle and a
record of antique costumes, armours, shields and helmets. Its organisational
lessons and visual references could then be re-used to demonstrate the artist’s
power of inventio and his erudite knowledge of the classical past, as Mantegna
indeed does at Mantova in his sequence of canvases of the Triumph of Caesars [Sarcophagus
of the Muses, with Apollo and Minerva, front, 2nd c. ad, marble,
Kunsthistorisches Museum, Antikensammlung, Vienna, inv. I 171. 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. 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 Lippi and Franco
and it was engraved by Raimondi. The Ambrosiana draughtsman reproduces 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 re-used in the future. The artist selects primarily
figures that offered the greatest variety and movement of cascading robes,
leaving the nude Apollo in the bottom right corner unfinished. Two tendencies,
apparently opposed but both symptomatic of a more profound understanding of the
antique, gains ground in sketchbooks and loose drawings. On one hand there was
a [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.] A similar
evolution is seen in 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 male body. The earliest examples are again a group of drawings
by Pisanello. They represent, among other figures, the ANTONINO and one of the
two Horse Tamers or Dioscuri on the Quirinal Hill. The latter is especially
relevant for our purpose, as the Dioscuri constitute the two most complete
free-standing nude in Rome. Both Dioscuri are copied repeatedly, praised by
contemporary written sources, and [Trajan overpowering Barbarians, Roman, c.
117 ad, marble, Arch of Constantine, central arch, north façade, Rome remained
constant sources of inspiration for artists into the 19th century. In a drawing
of one of the Dioscuri, the draughtsman isolates the sculpture from its
context, and focuses exclusively on rendering the anatomy. The cloak on the
forearm is just outlined. Although it is an impressive achievement and while
the male nude is realised much more plausibly than those figures taken from
sarcophagus reliefs, the ELONGATION and SLIMMING
of the figure and the inaccurate rendering of the idealised anatomy betrays a Gothic
mindset. The same DIOSCURO is copied in a drawing by Gozzoli [ Equestrian
Statue of Marcus Aurelius, Roman, 161–180 ad, bronze, 424 cm (h), Capitoline
Museums, Rome, inv. MC3247. 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. 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] Pollaiuolo. Many are modelled on an ancient proto-type, like those being
handled and studied by the artists at Bandinelli’s academy. But ‘DISEGNO DALLA VITA’
from a posed apprentice is also widely practised and becomes increasingly
common in the final decades, especially in Florence. Another drawing by Gozzoli’s
circle shows the practice of setting a male naked LIVE MODEL in the pose of
(apres, after) “l’antico” – a contradiction: DISEGNO DALLA VITA E DALL’ANTICO. In
this case the obvious reference is the Spinario, the celebrated bronze antique
figure whose complex pose remains one of the most popular for a live model. The
use of the model book as a teaching tool disappeared but sketchbooks and the travel
book reproducing antiquities became more widespread. 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 Biondo’s influential “Roma Instaurata”,
a methodical guide to the monuments of Rome. 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 work of Florentine artists like Pollaiolo,
Ghirlandaio and Lippi [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] probably executed when he was in Rome to assist
Fra Angelico in the St Nicholas Chapel in the Vatican Palace]. In this case the
drawing is again far from accurate, and the draughtsman combines the 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 forearm. 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 male is still not emphasised and we seem
to be looking at a real MALE 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 formost 15th-century
artists, classical free-standing statuary was seen as a model for the nude male,
its poses and movements. With notable exceptions, such as Donatello, artists
did not try to grasp the anatomical and formal principle of the original nor does
he aspire to recreate the process of idealisation innate in so many classical
nudes. For this reason, the drawings are often not immediately recognisable as
copies after the Antique (‘drawn from the antique’). 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. Their presence in the work-shop is also
acknowledged in “De Sculptura” by Gaurico, who speaks of artists having
cabinets ‘filled with any sort of sculptures’ and ‘chests filled with casts’. Although
a cast may OBVIOUSLY BE TAKEN from a male naked live model, as described by
Cennini, others are ‘cast from the antique’, such as those mentioned by
Ghiberti and Squarcione, the teacher of Mantegna, whose workshop at Padova
contained a collection of antiquities. Casts and antiquities are part of the
working material of the bottega. They also serve to elevate the status of the
workshop to that of a STUDIO or 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 with the foundation of the academies. A
beautiful drawing of feet, part of a sketchbook by Gozzoli eloquently shows the
use of casts, in this case most likely taken from antique fragments, as
teaching tools in the bottega. We see here one of the earliest visual records
of a [Spinario, Roman, 1st century bc, bronze, 73 cm (h), Capitoline Museums,
Rome, inv. MC1186. 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. 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. 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 a cast, that would expand exponentially. For the study of the naked
male and the three-dimensional form, a pupil could rely also on small models in
wax, CLAY, or bronze, provided by such sculptors as Ghiberti or Sanzio, Buonarroti,
and Rome as the Centre of the Study of the Antique. The following generation,
that of Buonarroti and Sanzio, sees a seismic shift in the approach to the antique.
They now attempted to equal or even surpass the antique by penetrating its
principles.The two titans of the High Renaissance had a radically different
approach towards the classical naked male form, but they both aime at assimilating
the ancient ‘mimetic’ or imitative standard of an idealised naturalism, full
mastery of the naked male, its anatomy and proportions, and the convincing
rendering of the EMOTION or EX-pression (or affect) of the soul. Vinci expresses
a deep interest in the Antique and is directly exposed to it in Florence
and in Rome. The classical naked male form is referenced in many of his works,
particularly in the unrealised project for an equestrian statue of Francesco
Sforza in Milan. But Vinci’s naturalism, based on empirical observation, means
that he always checks his ancient sources against the scientific observation of
the natural world. He remains a naturalist at heart, famously stating that ‘he who
copies a copy is Nature’s grandchild when he may been her son’. On the other
hand, from a practical point of view, Vinci also acknowledges the usefulness of
copying from a ‘good master’ and sculpture. While for Vinci the Antique remains
an interest secondary to Nature, Sanzio’s and Buonarroti’s engagement with the
antique is on an unprecedented level. The immense impact that Sanzio and
Buonarroti have on their own generation and on Western art in the centuries
that followed lies in the very fact that they are perceived and celebrated as
the first modern masters who had equalled, if not surpassed, the ancients. Opie,
lecturing on painting at the Royal Academy, proclaims 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. Bembo
elevates Buonarroti and Sanzio to the same pedestal of the ‘ancient good
masters’ and Vasari sustains his uncompromising panegyric of Buonarroti by
affirming that his Davide (Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence) surpasses in
beauty and measure even the best ancient monumental sculptures of Rome, in
particular the various Rivers and the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal. The Mondern,
now capable of providing an idealised nude more convincing than the most famous
surviving classical ones, outshines the Ancient. Artists of Sanzio’s and
Buonarroti’s generation have the advantage of benefiting from more, and more
readily available, ancient statuary, including those discovered in excavations
and those displayed in relatively accessible settings. However, both Vinci and
Buonarroti must already have been exposed to drawings, casts and models after
the Antique respectively in the workshops of Verrocchio and Ghirlandaio. Both
studied (although Vinci briefly) in the Giardino di San Marco, an informal
academy set up by Lorenzo il Magnifico to train artists specifically in drawing
and copying after the antique under the supervision of the sculptor Giovanni. Vasari
informs us that Buonarroti devoted himself obsessively to the task, and Condivi,
Buonarroti’ss biographer, emphatically states that the genius ‘having savoured
their beauty [...] never again goes to Ghirlandaio’s workshop or anywhere else,
but there he would stay all day, always doing something, as in the best school
for such studies’ As a pupil Sanzio probably did not receive a similar training
in the workshop of Perugino, who had less interest in the Antique. But some
drawings with reference to classical models survive and he certainly
participates in the sophisticated antiquarian environment in Florence, where he
moves. It is the impact of what Buonarroti and Sanzio see in Rome, where they
both moved that has the most far-reaching and radical impact on the evolution
of their art and their relationship with the anqique. Under the pontificates of
Rovere (Giulio II and Leone X, Rome establishes herself as the centre for the
study of the Antique. Many of the most celebrated collections of antiquities – Medici,
Farnese, Borghese, Ludovisi, Albani -- are formed or consolidated, such as
those of Riario, Maffei, and Della Valle
and later on the Cesi and the Sassi. The collection of antiquities at
the Campidoglio is enlarged with the transfer of the statues of the Rivers, the
Nile and the Tiber from the Quirinal and the Antonino from the Lateran, the
latter a statue so important for the symbolic imagery of Rome that Buonarroti
designs a square around it. However, the real centre of attention in the early
years of Buonarroti and Sanzio in Rome are 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 are discovered,
[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] provoking enormous enthusiasm among contemporaries: the Apollo del
Belvedere, the Laoconte, the Cleopatra, the Ercole Commodo, and the large
rivers Tevere and Nilo. By 1512 all could be admired, with the addition of the
Venere Felice in the Cortile Ottogono del casino della Villa del Belvedere nel
Monte Vaticano, a purpose-built space commissioned by Giulio II from Bramante,
the great interpreter of ancient Roman architecture. The Cortile, displaying
some of the most complete and prestigious sculptures from antiquity, soon
became the canonical Roman site for making a copy ‘drawn from the antique’. It
retains its unparalleled prestige, as the many drawings after its statues
eloquently attest. It is invaluable, as the Cortile del Belvedere offers them
the opportunity to study different male forms and positions and different sub-types
of ideal beauty at the same time: moving from the Apollo, to the strong and pronounced
muscular anatomy of Ercole Commodo. Two more statues are added to the
Courtyard: the Antino del Belvedere and the Torso del Belvedere. The Antino del
Belvedere is to become the canonical model for artists for the perfect
proportions of the naked male body. The Torso del Belvedere becomes one of the
most copied of all antiquities, a compulsory reference for the body of the
muscular male at rest, especially because of Buonarroti’s admiration for it and
the popular belief that he gives instructions to leave it unrestored. The
master’s praise of the evocative fragment became a leitmotif in artistic
treatises and literary sources to the point that it [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] became known in
18th-century Britain as the ‘School of Michelangelo’. The Cortile del Belvedere,
the Campidoglio, and the collections in the various palazzi: Palazzo della
Valle and others, remain the privileged centres for copying the Antique in Rome.
The increasing number of accessible classical statues makes Rome a pole of
attraction, to congregate and to complete one’s education and gather on paper a
repertory of classical forms and motifs. This was a phenomenon central to the
development of art. It is evocatively
described by Bembo. Under Giulio II and Leone X both Buonarroti and Sanzio are
at the centre of the antiquarian debate and, as Bembo puts it, play an
essential role in their efforts to emulate and surpass the antique (they fail).
Indeed Vasari attributes the rise of the ‘bella maniera’, and the great
achievements of Sanzio and Buonarroti, to their familiarity and exposure to the
Belvedere statues. Even if Vasari’s words are a retrospective celebration aimed
at establishing the primacy of the Florentine and Roman schools, the spirit of
classical art permeates much of Buonarroti’s and Sanzio’s Roman production and
specific antique proto-types are evoked in many of their works. One need only
think of the inspiration Buonarroti derives from the Torso del Belvedere for
his Ignudi in the Sistine Chapel. Given their familiarity with classical
antiquity, it may seem strange therefore that very few drawings after classical
statuary by either Buonarroti or Sanzio survive. Many might have been
intentionally destroyed. Vasari recounts Buonarroti’s burning large numbers of
drawings, sketches [Fig. 18. Apollo del 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 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. 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 so that none
could see the efforts of his creative process. Nonetheless, in the few
surviving drawings which bear direct references to classical models, one sees
their tendency towards ‘assimilating’ the spirit of antique forms rather than *slavishly*
copying them (as an amanuensis would). This attitude can be shown by comparing
a drawing by Aspertini after the Belvedere Cleopatra with one by Sanzio derived
from the same statue. Aspertini’s copy, paired on the facing page with one from
a relief from the Arch of Constantine, embodies the attitude typically seen in
a sketch- book: a more or less faithful rendering of the antique form, in this
case rather finished and accurate, that serves as a record. Sanzio’s drawing
represents a more evolved phase, when the ancient form takes a new shape: the
elegant and difficult pose of the body of the Cleopatra and the play of the
drapery over her intertwined [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, Sanzio, Figure in the Pose of the Sleeping Cleopatra, c.
1509, pen and brown ink, 244 × 217 mm, Albertina, Vienna, inv. 219. Sanzio, The
Muse Calliope, detail from the Parnassus, c. 1509–10, fresco, Stanza della
Segnatura, Vatican Palace, Rome] legs are used as an inspiration for the muse
Calliope in his Vatican Parnassus. Sanzio nevertheless also produces some
‘record’ drawings. Nominated by 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. His method,
based on a precise analysis paired with ancient literary sources, remains
unmatched. His scholarly attitude towards classical art and his thorough
understanding of it are clearly expressed in a famous letter that he wrote to
Leo X with the help of the courtier Castiglione in which he appeals against the
destruction of classical monuments. At the same time, he provides an
outstandingly accurate description of the different styles of ancient sculpture
found on the Arch of Constantine. One of the very few surviving exact copies of
classical statues in Sanzio’s hand is indicative of his precise, almost [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. Pseudo-Antino del Belvedere, 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. Belvedere Torso, Greek or Roman, 1st
century bc, marble, 159 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 1192] archaeological
approach to the Antique, and we can assume that he produced similar ones during
his period as inspector of Roman antiquities. It is a clear rendering of one of
the two horses from the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal, that we encountered in
Gozzoli’s study. There could not be a better comparison to demonstrate the
progress made in the understanding of classical statuary. Sanzio’s drawing is
‘scientific’. We 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, i. e. DRAWN AT EYE LEVEL (Sanzio presumably
stood on a platform) and not seen from below, as in most other contemporary
views. This allows the proper study of the proportion of the sculpture, in a
way similar to an architectural elevation. 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. Incidentally
Sanzio’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. It
is likely, nevertheless, that Sanzio generally left making such specific
records of classical sculptures to the pupils of his large workshop, as several
surviving drawings in the hand of Romano and Polidoro da Caravaggio, among
others, attest. Some of these were probably intended to be engraved, as it is
in Sanzio's circle that we find the first printed images of celebrated statues
and reliefs, such as those of Raimondi, Marco [Sanzio 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. Buonarroti, 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. Buonarroti, 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. Romano (attr.), Apollo del Belvedere, c. 1513–15, pen and brown
ink, pencil, 316 × 155 mm, Albertina, Vienna, inv. 22449. Veneziano, Apollo
Belvedere, engraving, c. 1518–20, 269 × 169 mm, private collection. Dente and
Agostino Veneziano (c. 1490–after 1536; fig. 29). The print medium, which plays
a crucial role in disseminating the knowledge of the Antique is to be
increasingly used in work-shops and academies for training. One first copies
the Antique from a flat image, before turning to the third dimension of a cast or
an original. Sanzio’s approach towards the Antique, based on study,
measurement, reconstruction and dissemination, cannot be more distant from that
of Buonarroti, who constantly confronts the classical models with a challenging
spirit. Several anecdotes reported by contemporaries reveal his approach
towards antiquity. Boissard informs us that shortly after having seen the Laooconte
emerging from the ground of the Esquiline, Buonarroti enthusiastically comments
that it is ‘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’.This
quotation is poignant for understanding the Platonic concept of divine
inspiration for Buonarroti. At the same time it shows clearly that his
relationship with the antique model was not based on a process of imitation but
rather on that of ‘aemulatio,’ a creative rivalry possible only after the
assimilation and internalisation of its principle. This approach is reinforced
in a celebrated passage from Vasari which became a recurrent leitmotif in
subsequent art literature – in which he reports that Buonarroti creates figures
of nine, ten or even twelve heads high, searching only for the overall grace in
the artistic creation, because in matter of the proportion, ‘it is necessary to
have the compass in the eyes and not in the hand, because the hands *work* and
the eyes *judge*’. Advocating the principle of grace, consistency of artistic
creation, and the artist’s own judgement, Buonarroti therefore disregards the
canon of *eight* heads comprising the male figure established by Vitruvio,
implicitly expressing a relation with the classical proto-type based on empathy
and intimate understanding of its form, rather than on a rational adherence to a
rule based on a number– an approach he replicates in his architecture. Buonarroti’s
surviving copies after classical statues can be counted on one hand, such as a
series of reproducing the torso of an antique Venus, probably made in
preparation for one of the female figures in the Medici Chapel. His free
relationship with the Antique emerges from many of his drawings, for instance
the Beckoning Youth, loosely inspired by the Apollo del Belvedere. Buonarroti 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. Sanzio and Buonarroti have been
discussed at length because their different attitudes towards classical forms
resurface constantly in Art. This polarity may be defined as assimilating the
principles of the Antique by sticking to its rules and system of proportions OR
assimilating the creative spirit of the Antique by breaking its rules. At the
risk of oversimplification we could argue that Reni and Poussin fall within the
first sphere and Rubens and Bernini in the second. It is not by chance that the
classicist credo that permeates the Italian and French academies for most of
their history elects *Sanzio* as their champion, while the eccentric and unruly
Buonarroti remains a figure more difficult to celebrate from a didactic point
of view. The Antique in Theory plays a Role in the Academic ‘Alphabet of
Drawing’. More statues emerge from the soil of Rome and those already
discovered are given new life and integrity by partial or full ‘restoration’. A
statue is usually unearthed in fragmentary states, as can be seen from the
evocative drawings of Roman collections by Heemskerck. Whether philologically
correct or not, the practice of restoration allows one to copy the naked male in
its entirety rather than in mutilated fragments. Celebrated restorations
included those of the Apollo del Belvedere and the Laooconte by MONTORSI on the
recommendation of Buonarroti. Among the excavated statues three must be
mentioned as they immediately became constant references for artists. The place
of honour goes to the Ercole Farnese. It provides an ideal model for the
muscular male at rest and copies after it become ubiquitous in artists’
work-shops and academies. The other two statues are discovered together in and
immediately entered the collection of the Villa Medici in Rome: I LOTTATORI,
representing two males in a complexly interlocked ‘syntagma’ or group.
I LOTTATORI are used often in later academies as a source for posing TWO LIVE
MODELS – SYNTAGMA DISEGNATO DALLA VITA (see cats 16 and 27b); and the Niobe Group
whose suffering expressions would be widely referenced as a source for drama
and pathos, for instance by Reni, among others. In time, a standard set of
ideal types (to use Weber’s term) begins to take shape, thanks to the diffusion
of bronze and plaster casts and, especially, of prints. After the loose sheets
of Raimondi, Dente and Veneziano, more systematic enterprises are launched.
Collections such as SPECVLVM ROMANÆ MAGNIFICENTIÆ by Lafréry or ANTIQVARVM STATVARVM URBIS ROMAE by
Cavalieri, play a crucial role in the wide dissemination of a canonical
selection of classical statues, thus attracting more and more artists to Rome
to study the originals. This tendency towards codification also affects the
relationship of artists and art writers with the Antique, as the imitation of
classical statuary is given theoretical underpinning. At the same time the
Antique acquires a clear role within the curricula of the emerging academies as
a teaching tool, systemising a practice that, as we have seen, is already
widely diffused within Renaissance workshops. Art theory in general goes
through a process of radical systematization. Many artists and writers feel that
rules are required to give ‘ars’ an intellectual frame-work that would lift its
status from ‘mechanical’ to ‘liberal’ arts – (as in M. A. Magister in Arts, MA
before DPhil Lit Hum) an ambition dating back to the writings of Alberti. Most
theoreticians and artists believe that a codified precept is also vital to inculcating
the ‘correct’ principle in an age that they considered to be one of artistic
corruption. Armenini speaks explicitly of the ‘pain’ that masters like Sanzio
and Buonarroti would have felt in seeing the art of his own time. And Armenini,
Lomazzo, Zuccaro and others, notwithstanding differences among them, consider
that the rule can 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 with correct proportions and anatomy and inculcate the ideal
standard. A foundation of this theoretical effort is provided by the
assimilation of Artistotle’s Poetica, the first reliable Latin translation of
which circulated widely. Since no comprehensive treatise on painting had [Cavalieri,
The Laocoön, engraving plate 4, from Antiquarum statuarum urbis Romae, Rome,
1585] readily found in his work. For him the best ancient sculptures embodied
the supreme quality of ‘grazia’, which cannot be attained by study but only by
judgement – a concept that remains one of the central tenets of Italian art
theory. Vasari’s Lives also proclaims 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. Although
traditionally the Venetians aim at imitating nature directly on the canvas
through colour and therefore are less attached to the laborious practice of
drawing after the antique, classical statuary plays a role in the formation of
many Venetian painters, and casts are used in their workshops. Tintoretto, for
instance, owns a large collection of casts and reductions of ancient and modern
sculptures. 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 Dolce’s “Dialogo della pittura.” Dolce’s “Dialogo
della pittura” contains the strongest defence of the Venetian tradition against
the Vasarian point of view. It also contains, if not fully developed, most of
the fundamental elements of the artistic theory. Dolce clearly specifies that
in the search for the perfect proportion of the naked male, the artist should ‘*partly*
imitate nature’ and partly ‘the best marbles and bronzes of the antient [sic]
masters’, because through them he can ‘correct’ this or that defects of this or
that living form – the live model -- as they are ‘examples of perfect beauty’, an
ideal version 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. An ancient statue is to be ‘imitated’ with
‘judgement’, to avoid turning a pleasing trait into a formula or, worse, an eccentricity.
This warning would be repeated frequently, notably, y Rubens and Bernini and it
could lead to open opposition to copying the Antique. Similar advice appears in
Armenini’s Veri Precetti della Pittura. Armenini’s “VERI PRECETTI DELLA
PITTURA” is quite systematic and offers one of the most articulated approaches
towards the role of the Antique in the artist’s education. Many of Armenini’s ideas
and much of his advice would becomes standard practice. In the chapter on
‘disegno’, Armenini states that to acquire the ‘bella’ or ‘buona
[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, Napoli, inv. 6001. I
LOTTATORI. Roman copy of a Greek original of the 3rd century bc, marble, 89 cm
(h), Uffizi, Firenze, inv. 216. The Niobe, possibly Roman copy of a Greek
original of the 4th century bc, marble, 228 cm (h), Uffizi, Firenze, inv. 294] survived
from antiquity, the Poetics, together with Orazio’s Ars Poetica, offer a
theoretical structure that could be transferred from the literary disciplines
to visual art – justified by Orazio’s celebrated motto ‘ut pictura poesis’, ‘as
is painting so is poetry’. More relevant from our perspective, Aristotle’s
Poetica provides, in several passages, an authoritative ancient source for the
principle that art may ‘perfect’ nature to create an ideal model – a concept
implied but never clearly defined by Alberti – and which constituted one of the
most solid bases for the classicist doctrine of art. This Aristotelian trend
had a counter-balance in a neo-Platonic tendency in which ideal beauty does not
derive from Nature but is 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. 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 the antique statue – becomes one
of the leitmotifs of Italian art theory (v. Dorfles, “Natura e Artificio”). The
most important writer on art of the Renaissance, Vasari, firmly establishes 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 drawing is described
as the physical, sensible manifestation EX-pression of an idea, encompassing
‘all the objects in nature’. Although he does not provide a theoretical case
for drawing after the Antique, nonetheless passages referring to the impact
that classical statues have on artists are 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 copy, as they embody the best of Nature. Armenini’s importance lies
also in the fact that he is the first to list the specific statues and reliefs to
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. The imitation of the Antique also becomes a central
tenet of the earliest art academies. Deriving their name from the ancient
philosophical Academy (Hekademos) of Plato, an ‘accademia’ is intended as a venue
for the cultivation of the practical, but even more, the intellectual aspects
of art. Its role is conceived in parallel and not in opposition to the artist’s
workshop, where the apprentices is still supposed to learn art’s technical
rudiments. One of the first mentions of the word ‘accademia’ in conjunction
with art is found in the first object shown in this catalogue, the Accademia del
Belvedere run by BANDINELLI eengraved by Veneziano. This depicts an ‘accademia’
centred on disegno set up in the Belvedere, where Leo X gives him quarters. It
shows artists learning how to draw the naked male and it is significant that
the focus of their attention is a series of statuettes modelled after a classical
proto-type. This, and the later view of Bandinelli’s Florentine Academy, are
the very first examples of an iconographical genre: the image of an accademia,
workshop, studio, 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 the
catalogue shows how the presence of the Antique becomes progressively relevant.
The centrality of disegno and the naked male is firmly stressed by the
institutional, more organised, ‘accademia’.. The first, and a model for all
future academies, was the aptly named ‘Accademia del Disegno,’ – or ‘dei
disegnanti’ -- founded in Florence by Cosimo de’ Medici on the initiative of
Vasari. Its aim is to emancipate the artist from guild control, and to affirm
the intellectual status of the art.The two most significant academies that followed
before the are ‘Gl’Incamminati’, or ‘Accademia degl’incamminati, founded in
Bologna by the three Carraccis, and the Accademia di San Luca in Rome,
relaunched and given a didactic curriculum under Zuccaro. These academies –
although there were significant differences among them, and often huge
discrepancies between the theory they supported and the everyday teaching they
practised – proposes 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, -- DISEGNO DALL’ANTICO, DISEGNO DALLA
VITA -- to teach him to master the correct depiction of the naked male. We can
see an idealised version of early academic practices in a complex and
fascinating drawing by Stradano,
engraved by Cort, where the stress is on anatomy, the Antique and on the three
arts of disegno. Similar practices are illustrated in an etching by Alberti
showing a structured curriculum of studies involving anatomical dissection,
geometry, the Antique and architectural drawing. These studies codify artistic
exercises (and give a bad name to ‘academic’) that had been current from the
early Renaissance onwards but important new teaching structures were
introduced. These include a rotating academic staff, a competition and a prize,
and an organised debate on artistic questions and they are supported especially
by the regulations of the Accademia di San Luca. 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
the model for the Académie Royale in Paris. All these institutions strongly
advocate the copy of the Antique, both in plaster reproduction or in the
original. The Accademia del Disegno supervises drawing from the Antique both in
the Academy and in the workshops where apprentices were trained. It also owns a
‘libreria’, which includes drawings, models of statues, architectural plans,
and ancient sculpture, all used as teaching tools. The Accademia di San Luca
lists the copying after the Antique in its first statutes and receives a donation of casts, while numerous
plasters – such as reliefs from Trajan’s Column, the bust and the head of the
Laocoonte, one of the Horse Tamers of the Quirinal, the Torso del Belvedere and
many other entire or in fragments – appear in its early inventories. The
importance accorded by 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 brother, Taddeo sketching the Laocoonte at the Belvedere. 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 am
artist should follow: imitation of the Antique and the works of Renaissance
masters, such as Sanzio’s Stanze and Loggie, Buonarroti’s Last Judgment and
Polidoro’s painted façades. Another sketch, by a Zuccaro follower, depicts Zuccaro
himself in the Accademia, surrounded by students sketching after the cast of an
ancient torso. The Carracci academy too, although primarily focused on
life-drawin (DISEGNO DALLA VITA), advocates study of the Antique and we know
that Carracci makes his collection of drawings, medals and casts available for
students. 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 work-shops and which would have a long-lasting
impact. This contributes significantly to giving the Antique a fixed place
within teaching curricula. Modelled on the learning of grammar, the ‘alphabet’ is
a sequence that encourage students to advance from elementary unity to complex
whole and from the simple and similar to the varied and different. The scheme
once again originated in Alberti, who advises a painter to follow the method
practiced by teachers of writing, from the alphabet to whole words. So the beginner
is 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’. He recommends the same process for the study of the
male anatomy: starting from the bones, proceeding to the sinews and muscles,
and finally to the flesh and skin. An iincreased stress on the naked male means
that pupils often start from the eye, then assembles different parts of the
body in ever more intricate combinations, and finally reaches the whole naked
male, via the study of ancient sculpture AND the live model. Benvenuto [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] Cellini reports that starting with the eye is
the common practice and advised, like Alberti, a similar process for the study
of anatomy. This process is reflected in the various images of early academies
or studios, such as Stradanus’ The Practice of the Visual Arts, where one pupil
is shown drawing an eye on his sheet, or Alberti’s Painters’ Academy where an artist
is presenting a similar drawing to his master. 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 figure. The process
usually starts with copying a drawing or print, then paintings, first in
grisaille and then in colour, moving onto ancient sculpture [PRELIMINARY to the
LIVE MODEL – drawn from life], either originals or casts, and, FINALLY, to the
live model. This progression, already outlined by Vinci in his treatise on
painting, and advocated also by Vasari, is 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. Armenini delineates both the
progression from the eye to the whole body and from a drawing or print to the
live model (via the preliminary of the ‘drawn from the antique’, and warned the reader not to subvert this
order. The earliest academies applied this method and Zuccaro’s statutes of the
Accademia di San Luca, which are the most explicit, specifically mentioned the
‘alphabet’ or ‘ABC’ of drawing. It becomes standard practice in academies. The aim is, 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 a form from imagination – for a
mythological heroic figure -- *independent* of any object of imitation
(IMITATUM). The ‘alphabet of drawing’ has its physical manifestation in the
publication of the drawing-book, conceived in the environment of the Carracci
academy, such as Fialetti’s “Il vero modo”. The diffusion of such manuals contributed
enormously to spreading the knowledge of the didactic role of the Antique to
artists who makes a grand tour to Rome a compulsory part of his education. Odoardo
Fialetti, Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parti et membra del
corpo humano, Venice, c. 1608, etching, 100 × 140 mm, The Bellinheger Collection].
Rome establishes herself as the preeminent centre for anyone eager to
assimilate the principle of Italian art. The first significant artist, and one
of the greatest of all to do the tour to the Belvedere with the specific
educational intent, is Dürer. Durer spends the years in Rome. The impact of
classical statuary is evident in many of his prints and paintings, for example,
in his “Adam and Eve”. But the largest number of artists to travel to Rome
originates 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 seek especially to learn how to master the naked male
through the lessons of the Antique and the works of Sanzio and Buonarroti. Rome
offers also the opportunity of training in one of its many workshops and the
appealing possibility of benefiting from the system of commissions. Indeed the
‘fiamminghi’, as they are called in Rome, gain an increasing number of
commissions, eventually, in their turn, influencing the Roman art world. Some
of them stayed for long periods or moved permanently, such as Stradanus, Giambologna
– il ratto delle sabine, il mcurio di Medici -- or Tetrode. We know about the
Roman years of many of these artists mainly thanks to Mander’s “Schilderboeck”,
the 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 multi-faceted. Most fill their sketchbooks with
drawings that served as a collection of forms to be re-used. Others, like
Spranger, according to Van Mander, aim to assimilate the principles of
classical art to establish a repertoires of forms and an attitude towards the
naked male that could be infused in their own creations, rather than spending
too much time in the physical act of drawing. Although ‘Mabuse’ is the first
Fleming to pass time in the peninsula, it was only with Scorel that the lesson
of antiquity was transmitted, through his work-shop at Utrecht. Of his various
pupils, Heemskerck is certainly the most prolific and versatile in copying
antique statuary. Two albums from the
years he spent in Rome are preserved in Berlin. They constitute one of
the largest surviving collections of copies after the Antique 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. Many are topographical views of Rome
in which Heemskerck indulges in the depiction of architectural ruins and
sculptural fragments, and which he later reuses 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 [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] Posthumus. Other drawings are more or less accurate depictions of classical
statues in their physical locations, from the Belvedere to the Campidoglio, 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 Heemskerck’s different approaches to copying
the Antique and, correspondingly, the different media he employs to do so. His
drawings range from the precise pen-and-ink study, in which he faithfully
records the condition of celebrated statues, isolating the head as a physiognomic
type to a drawing where the whole statue is presented FROM DIFFERENT ANGLES, to
record the different poses and volumes of the naked male in space. He also makes
copies in which he exploits 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 the face, the drapery or other
details. Finally, in yet other red chalk drawings he carefully records decorative details
from a statue or a relief. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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 ] 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 is a stunning visual
repertory that is easy to access and use, and which would inspire him when he
returned home. Several Frenchmen also established their residence in Rome. Many
of them, such as Beatrizet, Lafréry, or Dupérac, specialise in engraved views
of the city and its ancient remains, catering to a market increasingly
fascinated by Rome’s ruins and statues. In one engraving attributed to
Beatrizet, we find a rare image of an artist in the act of copying from ancient
statuary in situ – in this case the famous colossal “Grande Bellezza” Marforio,
at that time located in the Forum now in the courtyard of the Palazzo Nuovo of
the Campidoglio. The image clearly expresses the sense of awe that one feels 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’. It is against this backdrop that we
must consider Goltzius’ draughtsmanly activity in Rome, where he arrived almost
certainly on the recommendation of his friend Mander, who had already been in
Italy. Goltzius was then is celebrated as an [Fig. 44. Beatrizet (attr.), An
Artist Drawing the ‘Marforio’, 1550, engraving, 370 × 432 mm, published in
Antoine Lafréry’s Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae] engraver throughout Europe.
With Mander and Haarlem he establishes an academy in Haarlem. 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 Heemskerck’s Roman drawings, then
owned by Cornelisz. It is therefore significant that while in Rome, Goltzius takes
an approach to classical statuary that is very different from Heemskerck’s. Goltzius
concentrates from the beginning on *thirty* of the most famous classical
statues, of which 43 drawings in total survive. Goltzius’s 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 predecessors, who fill single pages of
their sketchbooks with details from unrelated sculptures, he devotes a full
page to *each*, a practice followed by Rubens. Goltzius’s intent from the
beginning is clearly to produce a drawing that may be transformed into an engravings
capable of surpassing in precision all previously published series, and which,
in faithfully reproducing the volume of the naked male, would also demonstrate
his renowned virtuosity in handling the burin. His set is intended for a market
of connoisseurs and collectors, but it is also likely that Goltzius wishes to
provide anyone with correct and detailed images of classical statues that they
could copy during their apprenticeships. Goltzius engraves only three plates,
one of which, significantly, shows an artist at work copying the celebrated
Apollo del Belvedere. A few years after Goltzius’s tour to Rome, Rubens arrives.
He spends two prolonged periods in Rome. 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, Rubens arrives in Rome already equipped with a thorough
understanding of the Antique and its literary sources, a passion he cultivates throughout
his life with his circle of scholarly friends and patrons. Rubens’s 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 by Raimondi and his pupils and
through those in the collections published by Lafréry and De Cavalieri. When in
Rome Rubens devotes himself completely to copying this or that original with
unique thoroughness, both to exercise his draughtsmanship and to create an
immense repertory of forms, to which he refers for inspiration throughout his
life. His approach towards classical statuary istwofold. One is purely intellectual,
focused on understanding the mathematical proportions and volumes of this or
that emblematic antique which he divides into different categories according to
muscular strength, to capture the very essence of their perfection. The other is
more direct: to study the statue exhaustively in order to assimilate its formal
principle For Rubens it is not only necessary to ‘understand the antique’, but
‘to be so thoroughly possessed of this knowledge, that it may diffuse itself
everywhere’. Unlike Goltzius, Rubens studies a statue over and over again,
copying it from many, and often unusual, points of view, devoting a single page
to each. No one before Rubens shows such a painstaking interest in
understanding the formal logic of a single statue intended as a whole. Rubens’s
focus on the naked male – to learn the principles of a perfect naked male – on specificslly ‘muscular’ masculine male
statues, such the Laocoonte, the Torso del Belvedere, and the Ercole Farnese
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.
But, as Dolce and Armenini had already done before him, Rubens also cautions to
focus on the form and not on the matter of the statue, to avoid the ‘smell’ in a
drawing or a creation. Rubens is aware of the danger of transferring the
characteristics and limits of a three-dimensional medium (is flesh the medium
of the live model?) into another – drawing or painting. In a section titled “De
Imitatione Statuarum” of a larger theoretical notebook that he compiles over
several years, Rubens refers to painters who ‘make no distinction between the
form and the matter -- the ‘figura’ and the flesh, with the result
that ‘instead of ‘imitating’ living flesh from the life of nature, they
only represent marble tinged with various colours’. We can see Rubens’s genius
at re-vitalising the ‘inert’ substance of the antique model as if it were a
live model to be drawn from life, by applying his principle of inventive and
transformative imitation in most of his drawings after the Antique, for which
he uses soft chalk on rough paper better to ‘re-translate’ the substance back into
the natural living flesh, as if drawn from life. This is particularly evident
in muscular figures such as the Torso del Belvedere and the Laocoonte, which he
brings back to life, to the life Virgil instilled Laocoonte with, or Aiace had.
-- adopting a dramatic angle and a diagonal that completely abandons the
static [Rubens, The Back of the Belvedere Torso, c. 1601–02, red
chalk, 395 × 260 mm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, inv. 2002.12b] and
the academic frontal point of view of most academic drawings. This attention to
the qualities of the naked male skin and flesh, and the dynamism, pathos, and
drama that he learns mainly from classically Roman – but POST-classically
Greek] statuary is to become the main traits of his own art. In this he is following
in the footsteps of Buonarroti, who, not by chance, Rubens copied extensively,
focusing especially on the nudes of the Sistine Chapel and on his statues. Rubens
adopts a similar approach to the live model, which he often poses in attitudes
reminiscent of an antique – such as the Spinario, or the Wrestlers. Unsurprisingly,
he frequently cited the Laocoonte and the Torso, but the most recurrent is the
Spinario in the Campidoglio – even though the head is not the original one -- for
which several drawings of the complex pose made from different angles survive. The Spinario pose is already chosen by one of
the pupils of Gozzoli for this particular purpose of the antique-imitating live
model, and it remains one of the most popular, even, easiest, for posing the
live model – everyone has a thorn! -- Rubens’s drawings of the Spinario convey
the essence of Rubens’s attitude towards the ideal human form, and the
Spinario’s attitude towards his own thorn. By posing flesh as imitatiang
another substance imitating flresh, Rubens – or the artist who does this -- is
able to bypass the dangers of the ‘matter’ to focus only on the complex form and
pose of the original statue or statuary group or syntagma (think Lottatori!). Back
in Antwerp, Rubens retains 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. They remain a
constant source of inspiration and they may also have been used as teaching
tools – as in the best tradition of Renaissance workshop practices – judging by
the copies deposited by his pupils in the cantoor, Rubens’s cabinet or studio.
The flux of artists coming to Rome did not cease, although most become
fascinated by the radical naturalism of Caravaggio and his followers, rather than
aiming at recreating the principles of classical art. A group of artists even
develops a successful speciality in the depiction of contemporary Roman street
life and everyday reality: a rustic tavern, a drinking scenes, brigands, street
vendors, charlatans and carnivals. The art of the ‘Bamboccianti’, so named
after their leader, Laer, dubbed ‘Bamboccio’, or ‘ugly puppet’, is fiercely
criticised as a debased form of art that deliberately chose the ‘worst’ of nature
(cf. verismo, and the customs of realistic naturalism) by the supporters of
classicism and history painting, such as Albani, Sacchi, and Rosa, as well as
by the philosophers of ‘ideal beauty’ such as Bellori. In contrast to the
Dutch, among the foreign communities in Rome, it was the French who are 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 artists towards the
study of art in Rome is perfectly visualised in a canvas by Goubau, a Flemish
painter influenced by the Bamboccianti, who had been in Rome. On the right,
judicious [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. Rubens, Study of the Younger Son FIGLIO PIU GIOVANE of the Laocoön Seen
from the Back, black chalk, 444 × 265 mm, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv.
623, F 249 inf. n. 5, p. 11] artists under the supervision of a master are busy
at work among imaginary Roman ruins, copying and measuring an ancient statue or
a relief, among them the ERCOLE FARNESE; on the left the Bamboccianti indulge
in the pleasures of wine and music under the pergola of a rustic tavern. Nevertheless,
this wittily expressed opposition should not be taken too literally, as the
educational and inspirational role of classical statuary had been deeply
assimilated by artists of every inclination or aesthetic Many move between
genres and artistic currents such as the Flemish genre painter Lint, who
produced many drawings after the Antique while in Rome. 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 Sweerts.
The Antique, and its didactic role in the Italian model of artistic education,
also made rapid progress in all of civilised Europe, supported by the
publication of Karel van Mander’s Schilderboeck. Knowledge was transmitted
mainly through drawings, drawing-books and plaster casts. These are used in the
drawing schools or private academies that proliferate, 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, dictating what goes on in
a workshop – the notable exception being the academy founded in Antwerp by
royal [Goubau, The Study of Art in Rome, 1662, oil on canvas, 132 × 165 cm,
Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp, inv. 185] decree. But despite the heavy
hands of the guilds, many thriving workshops, while accepting individual
apprentices, adopt *Italian* academic practices, 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 students 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 in
Utrecht (see cat. 11).143 During the second half of the century, other private
drawing schools or ‘colleges’ were founded, which cater for a clientele of
artists or the dilettanti giving them the chance to draw from casts and the
nude live model alongside their studio practice. Among the most famous are those
of Sweerts, opened in Brussels and of Bisschop in The Hague. Closely connected
with workshops’ and schools’ drawing practices was the proliferation of
drawing-books and artists’ manuals. Most of them were based on the example of
Odoardo Fialetti’s Il Vero Modo and Giacomo Franco’s De excellentia et
nobilitate delineationis (1611) sometimes re- printing 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 38 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 draw- ing-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 curricu- lum, 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). The Italian and the
French Academies in the Seventeenth Century and the Establishment of Classicism
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
sculp- ture, 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 cos- mopolitan antiquarian environment of Rome. Excavations
continued and some of the new discoveries immediately joined the canon of ideal
models. Three of them, in particu- lar, 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 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 along- side 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 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 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 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 trans- lated 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 recom- mending 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
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 pro- tagonist 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 assem- bled a vast encyclopaedic collection of drawings divided by
themes, a ‘Paper Museum’, with sections devoted to classi- cal antiquity
commissioned from several contemporary artists.160 Classicism found probably
its clearest and most influen- tial 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 follow- ers,
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 program-
matic 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
princi- ples laid down by the art theory of the second half of the 16th
century, as it shared with it a fundamental premise: the neces- sity 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 incor- porated 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 archaeo- logical consistency to his art, so that his paintings
would represent classical histories with the maximum of accuracy, 42 43
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 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 atti- tude 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 copy- ing (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 further-
more 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 Ren- aissance 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 develop- ment 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 tw
o decades of its history, fairly tolerant in its aesthetic positions, during
the 1660s the Académie was drastically reformed by the powerful Minister and
Super- intendent 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 promi- nent
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 expres- sions 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 sculp-
tures 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 occa-
sion 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 comforta- ble 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 tradi- tion 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 con- tinued 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 promot- ers
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 theo- rists 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 pro- portions.
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 propor- tions 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 bod- ies 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 17th- century 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 num- bers 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 Anti- nous’ – 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 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 anat- omies, 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 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 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 male body was believed to provide more
anatomical infor- mation compared to the female one. One of the most dis-
turbingly 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 Jean- Galbert 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 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 The stress on anatomical precision also produced a spectacu- lar
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. 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 popu- lar Anatomie des formes extérieures du corps humain, published
in 1845 by Antoine-Louis-Julien Fau (fig. 85), served as inspira- tion 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. 83. Jean-Galbert Salvage, Écorché of
the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, 1804, plaster, 157 cm (h), École nationale supérieure
des Beaux-Arts, Paris, inv. MU11927 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. 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 Neo-
classicism 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 inextri- cably 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 for- midable 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 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 conse- quence, 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-François- Paul 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 congre- gated to
round off their education in the physical and spirit- ual presence of the
Antique and the great Renaissance masters.207 The crucial role that Rome
occupied in 18th- century 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 208 been purified and tried in it’. Of course, artists
and travel- lers had visited the city to study its art for at least two centu-
ries, 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 anti- quarians 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 through-
out 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 52 53 Fig. 92. Giovanni Paolo Panini,
Roma Antica, 1754–57, oil on canvas, 186 × 227 cm, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart,
inv. Nr 3315 (1671–1730), Batoni’s red chalk drawings are among the most
extraordinary produced in the 18th century. With their preci- sion, 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 devel- ops 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 collec- tions 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, acade- mies 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 papal- supported 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 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 atmos- phere 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 enlight- ened 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 Acca- demia 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 side- by-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 concen- trate 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 devel-
oped 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
copy- ing 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.
54 55 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 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 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 pension- naire 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. 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 liberalisa- tion and economic expansion, Britain had one of the most
dynamic national art schools in Europe and a Royal Acad- emy, 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, 56 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 interna-
tional 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, 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 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
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 collec- tion 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 Competi- tions were set up and
the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce, which was
founded Fig. 100. William Hogarth, The Analysis of Beauty (Plate 1), 1753,
etching and engraving, 387 × 483 mm, private collection, London 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, proba- bly 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. 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 58 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 ‘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
antiquar- ian 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 house- academy 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 psycho- logical dependence
on the model. This balanced approach to the Antique would become a leitmotif
among later genera- tions 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
him- self 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 behav- iour 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
summa- rised by the Bolognese art theorist Carlo Cesare Malvasia (1616–93) with
the specific neologism ‘statuino’ or ‘statue- like’ (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 repre- sented by Caravaggio and his followers. In fact, although it is not
immediately obvious, Caravaggio had a profound under- standing 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 60
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 Appen- dix, 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 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 individ- ual 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 words of the painter James Northcote (1746–1831) in 1826
clearly express (see Appendix, no. 19). But if various ‘progres- sive’
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 conserva- tive, 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 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 frag- ment 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
2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Hoare 1809, p. 11. See also Opie 1809, pp. 3–52. The
italics are the author’s. 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.
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 transla- tions and editions
contributed to the diffusion of Albertian principles well into the 19th
century. See Alberti 1991, pp. 23–24. 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. On the sources and structure
of De Pictura see especially Spencer 1957 and Wright 1984. Alberti 1972, p. 97
(book 3, chap. 55). Ibid., p. 101 (book 3, chap. 58). Ibid., p. 99 (book 3,
chap. 55). 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). 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. 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. 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 concen- trated 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 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. 26 Rome 1988a, pp. 95–96, no. 24 (A. Cavallaro); Paris 1996,
pp. 180–81, no. 100. 27 See Rome 1988a, pp. 158–59, no. 51, see also pp.
155–56, no. 49; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p. 87, no. 38. 28 Wegner 1966, pp.
88–89, no. 228; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 86–87, no. 38. 29 Weiss 1969. 30
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). 31 Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 207–08, no. 158iii. 32 Alberti 1972,
pp. 80–81 (chap. 41). 33 See Lightbown 1986, pp. 140–53, 424–33; Elam 2008–09.
34 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). 35 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.
36 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. 37
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. 38 For a general overview see Weiss 1969, pp. 180–202; Ames-Lewis 2000b,
pp. 52–60, 79–85. 39 Gaurico 1969, pp. 62–63; Gaurico 1999, pp. 142–43,
providing a less accurate translation. 40 Cennini 1933, vol. 2, pp. 123–31. 41
Fiocco 1958–59; Lightbown 1986, p. 18; Favaretto 1999. On Ghiberti’s col-
lection of casts see Ames-Lewis 2000b, p. 81, with previous bibliography. 42
Ames-Lewis 1995. 43 Fusco 1982; Ames-Lewis 2000b, pp. 52–55. 44 Ragghianti and
Dalli Regoli 1975; Ames-Lewis 2000a, pp. 91–123; Forlani- Tempesti 1994. 45
Ames-Lewis 1995, pp. 394, 397, fig. 10. For the practice see Schwartz 2000–01.
46 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. 47 The
first printed edition of Biondo’s Roma Instaurata was published in Rome in
1471: Weiss 1969, esp. pp. 59–104. 48 On Michelangelo’s and Raphael’s attitude
towards the Antique the bibliogra- phy 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. 49 Clark 1969b; Marani 2003–04; Marani 2007. 50
Leonardo 1956, vol. 1, p. 51, no. 77. 51 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 45, no. 59, p. 64,
no. 112. 52 Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 6, p. 21. On other sources on
the para- gone between Michelangelo and the ancients see Florence 1987, pp.
107–08. 53 Elam 1992; Florence 1992; Joannides 1993; Baldini 1999–2000;
Paolucci 2014. 54 Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 6, pp. 9–12; Condivi
1998, pp. 10–11; Condivi 1999, p. 10. 55 Knab, Mitsch and Oberhuber 1984, pp.
51–54; Ferrino Padgen 2000. 56 See Franzoni 1984–86; Cavallaro 2007; Christians
2010. A list of collec- tions with essential bibliography is providedalso in
Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 497–507. 57 For the Nile and the Tiber see Bober
and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 112–13, no. 65. 58 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 Tiber in 1512 and Nile probably in
1513: see Haskell and Penny 1981, respec- tively 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, Michel- angelo 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 appropri- ated 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. Armenini 1587, pp. 136–37 (book 2,
chap. 11). 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. Horace, Ars Poetica, 361. See Lee 1967, esp. pp. 3–9. Aristotle, Poetics,
see esp. 9; 15.11; 25.1–2; 25.26–28. 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. 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. On Vasari and the Antique see Barocchi 1958; Cristofani 1985. Puttfarken
1991; Rosand 1997, pp. 10–24. Walters 2014, p. 57. Whitaker 1997. 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. Armenini 1587, see esp. pp. 59–60 (book I, chap. 8), pp. 86–89 (book
II, chap. 3). See also Lomazzo’s treatment of the Antique: Lomazzo 1584, p. 481
(book VI, chap. 64). General surveys about the development of European
academies include Pevsner 1940; Goldstein 1996. See also Levy 1984; Olmstead
Tonelli 1984; Boschloo 1989. On images of academies see Kutschera-Woborsky
1919; Pevsner 1940, passim; Roman 1984. On the Florentine Accademia del Disegno
see Pevsner 1940, pp. 42–55; Goldstein 1975; Dempsey 1980; Wa ́zbin ́ski 1987;
Barzman 1989; Barzman 2000. 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. On Alberti’s print see
Roccasecca 2009, p. 133. Olmstead Tonelli 1984. Alberti 1604, esp. pp. 2–15.
Jack Ward 1972, pp. 17–18; Olmstead Tonelli 1984, pp. 96–97. 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. On
the drawing see Bora 1976, p. 125, no. 126. Malvasia 1678, vol. 1, p. 378;
Goldstein 1988, esp. pp. 49–50. On this see Meder 1978, vol. 1, pp. 217–95;
Amornpichetkul 1984; Bleeke- Byrne 1984; Roman 1984, p. 91; Bolten 1985, p.
243. Alberti 1972, p. 97 (book 3, chap. 55). Alberti 1972, p. 75 (book 2, chap.
36). Cellini 1731, pp. 156–59. 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. Armenini
1587, see esp. p. 86 (book 2, chap. 3). 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). Gombrich 1960; Rosand 1970; Maugeri
1982; Amornpichetkul 1984; Bolten 1985. On Dürer in Italy see Rome 2007. Dacos
1995; Meijer 1995; Dacos 1997; Dacos 2001. Van Mander 1994-99, vol. 1, pp.
342–45 (fols 271r–v). See Meijer 1995, p. 50, note 18. Dacos 1995, pp. 19–20;
Dacos 2001, pp. 23–34. Hülsen and Egger 1913–16; Veldman 1977; Dacos 2001, pp.
35–44; Bartsch 2012; Christian 2012; Veldman 2012. On Beatrizet see Bury 1996;
on Lafréry see Chicago 2007–08; on Dupérac see Lurin 2009. 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. ‘I disagi e li affanni tutti del
mondo non stima un quattrino’. On the so-called Haarlem Academy see Van Thiel
1999, pp. 59–90. Veldman 2012, p. 21, with previous bibliography. Reznicek
1961, vol. 1, pp. 89–94, pp. 319–46, nos. 200–38, 245–48. 127 128 129 130 131
132 133 134 135 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. 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. See Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 69–74.
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. 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. 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. Muller 2004, p. 22; Edinburgh 2002, pp.
43–46, nos 8–14; Wood 2011, vol. 1, pp. 129–241; Cody 2013. Van der Meulen
1994–95, vol. 1, pp. 80–81. Muller 2004, p. 22. On Rubens’ collection see
Antwerp 2004, with previous bibliography. Jaffé 1977, p. 80; Healy 2004. 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 condemna- tion see Bellori
1976, p. 16. On Goubau see Briganti, Trezzani and Laureati 1983, pp. 295–99. On
the painting see Paris 2000–01, pp. 382–83, no. 188 (J. Foucart); Cappel- letti
2014–15, pp. 48–50. Vlieghe 1979. On other Dutch artists copying the Antique in
Rome in the 17th century see Van Gelder and Jost 1985, pp. 35–36. 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. See Emmens 1968, pp. 154–59; Bleeke-Byrne
1984, pp. 30, 38, notes 76–77. Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 448–49 (fol.
297v); Bolten 1985, p. 248. De Klerk 1989. Bolten 1985, pp. 248–50. For
Bisschop’s school see Van Gelder 1972, p. 11. Bolten 1985. Bolten 1985, pp.
119, 131, 133–34, 141, 143, 153, 157, 188–207, 243–56; Walters 2009, vol. 1, p.
79. 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 Bleeke- Byrne
1984, p. 34 and note 45; De Klerk 1989, p. 284. 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. 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. 64 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 attrib- uted 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 Beaux- Arts, 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). 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 repro-
duced 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. 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 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. Diderot’s remark appeared in an article
in the Correspondance littéraire, philos- ophique 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. London 2013–14, pp. 36, 46–47. 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.
Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13; Toledo, Chicago and elsewhere 1975–76; Plax 2000.
Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13; Schoneveld-Van Stoltz 1989, pp. 216–28, with previ- ous
bibliography. 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. Goethe 2013, vol. 2, p. 373.
Overviews on the Grand Tour are Black 1992; London and Rome 1996–97; Chaney
1998; Black 2003. 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. Macandrew 1978; Connor Bulman 2006; Windsor 2013, with previous
bibliography. Haskell and Penny 1981, esp. pp. 23–30, 43–52; Paris 2010–11,
with previous bibliography. 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. On the Concorsi see Cipriani and
Valeriani 1988–91; Rome, University Park (PA) and elsewhere 1989–90; Cipriani
2010–11. On the early years of the Capitoline as a public museum see Arata
1994; Franceschini and Vernesi 2005; Arata 2008. See Arata 1994, p. 75. On the
Accademia del Nudo see Pietrangeli 1959; Pietrangeli 1962; MacDonald 1989;
Barroero 1998; Bordini 1998. 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). Boyer 1955;
Loire 2005–06, pp. 75–81. Caviglia-Brunel 2012, pp. 115–63. For Natoire’s
drawing (fig. 94) see Paris 2000–01, p. 372, no. 177; Caviglia- Brunel 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. On
Robert in Rome see Rome 1990–91. 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. Henry 2010–11. 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. Sérullaz 1981–82, p. 42. For David’s drawing (fig. 98) see
Rosenberg and Prat 2002, p. 499, no. 642. See Pressly 1979; Valverde 2008;
Busch 2013. On all these aspects see Pears 1988, esp. pp. 1–26. As general
introductions see Denvir 1983; Solkin 1992; Brewer 1997; Bindman 2008. 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. See MacDonald 1989. 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. Einberg and
Egerton 1988, pp. 64–71. Kitson 1966–68, esp. pp. 85–86; Postle 1997, esp. pp.
83–84. See Paulson 1971, vol. 2, pp. 168–71; Nottingham and London 1991, p. 62,
no. 37. Coutu 2000, p. 47; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. On Mortimer’s painting see
Nottingham and London 1991, p. 45, no. 11, with previous bibliography.
MacDonald 1989. Allan 1968, pp. 76–88; Bignamini 1988, p. 108; Postle 1997, pp.
85–87; Coutu 2000, p. 52; Kenworthy-Browne 2009, pp. 43–44. Ibid. On the
Glasgow Foulis Academy see Pevsner 1940, p. 156; MacDonald 1989, pp. 84–85;
Fairfull-Smith 2001. On the Royal Academy see Hutchison 1986. On its
regulations see also Abstract 1797. 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. On Zoffany’s painting see New Haven and London 2011–12, pp. 218–21, no.
44, with previous bibliography. For the medal see Hutchison 1986, p. 34. On
Kauffman’s painting see Rome 2010–11b, pp. 325, 432–33, no. V.7. For Townley
see particularly Coltman 2009. On Soane’s collection of plaster casts see Dorey
2010. De Architectura, 1.1, esp. 1.1.13; Watkin 1996. Jenkins 1992, pp. 30–40.
Venice 1976, pp. 114–15, no. 49. Malvasia 1678, vol. 1, pp. 359, 365, 484. On
the 17th-century neologism ‘statuino’ see Pericolo’s forthcoming article. See
De Piles 1677, pp. 253–54; De Piles 1708, esp. pp. 128–38. Bellori 1976, p.
214; Bellori 2005, p. 180. See Pucci 2000a; Bukdahal 2007 Diderot 1995, p. 4.
See also Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 91. Boime 1980, pp. 330–35, pl. ix.47.
Couture 1867, pp. 155–56. 6609a, 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. 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.
Diderot’s remark appeared in an article in the Correspondance littéraire,
philos- ophique 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. London 2013–14, pp. 36, 46–47. 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. Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13; Toledo,
Chicago and elsewhere 1975–76; Plax 2000. Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13;
Schoneveld-Van Stoltz 1989, pp. 216–28, with previ- ous bibliography. 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. Goethe 2013, vol. 2, p. 373. Overviews on the Grand Tour
are Black 1992; London and Rome 1996–97; Chaney 1998; Black 2003. 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. Macandrew 1978; Connor
Bulman 2006; Windsor 2013, with previous bibliography. Haskell and Penny 1981,
esp. pp. 23–30, 43–52; Paris 2010–11, with previous bibliography. 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. On the Concorsi see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91; Rome, University Park
(PA) and elsewhere 1989–90; Cipriani 2010–11. On the early years of the
Capitoline as a public museum see Arata 1994; Franceschini and Vernesi 2005;
Arata 2008. See Arata 1994, p. 75. On the Accademia del Nudo see Pietrangeli
1959; Pietrangeli 1962; MacDonald 1989; Barroero 1998; Bordini 1998. 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). Boyer 1955; Loire 2005–06, pp. 75–81. Caviglia-Brunel
2012, pp. 115–63. For Natoire’s drawing (fig. 94) see Paris 2000–01, p. 372,
no. 177; Caviglia- Brunel 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. On Robert in Rome see Rome 1990–91. 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. 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239
240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259
Henry 2010–11. 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. Sérullaz 1981–82, p. 42. For David’s drawing
(fig. 98) see Rosenberg and Prat 2002, p. 499, no. 642. See Pressly 1979;
Valverde 2008; Busch 2013. On all these aspects see Pears 1988, esp. pp. 1–26.
As general introductions see Denvir 1983; Solkin 1992; Brewer 1997; Bindman
2008. 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. See MacDonald 1989. 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. Einberg
and Egerton 1988, pp. 64–71. Kitson 1966–68, esp. pp. 85–86; Postle 1997, esp.
pp. 83–84. See Paulson 1971, vol. 2, pp. 168–71; Nottingham and London 1991, p.
62, no. 37. Coutu 2000, p. 47; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. On Mortimer’s painting
see Nottingham and London 1991, p. 45, no. 11, with previous bibliography.
MacDonald 1989. Allan 1968, pp. 76–88; Bignamini 1988, p. 108; Postle 1997, pp.
85–87; Coutu 2000, p. 52; Kenworthy-Browne 2009, pp. 43–44. Ibid. On the
Glasgow Foulis Academy see Pevsner 1940, p. 156; MacDonald 1989, pp. 84–85;
Fairfull-Smith 2001. On the Royal Academy see Hutchison 1986. On its
regulations see also Abstract 1797. 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. On Zoffany’s painting see New Haven and London 2011–12, pp. 218–21, no.
44, with previous bibliography. For the medal see Hutchison 1986, p. 34. On
Kauffman’s painting see Rome 2010–11b, pp. 325, 432–33, no. V.7. For Townley
see particularly Coltman 2009. On Soane’s collection of plaster casts see Dorey
2010. De Architectura, 1.1, esp. 1.1.13; Watkin 1996. Jenkins 1992, pp. 30–40.
Venice 1976, pp. 114–15, no. 49. Malvasia 1678, vol. 1, pp. 359, 365, 484. On
the 17th-century neologism ‘statuino’ see Pericolo’s forthcoming article. See
De Piles 1677, pp. 253–54; De Piles 1708, esp. pp. 128–38. Bellori 1976, p.
214; Bellori 2005, p. 180. See Pucci 2000a; Bukdahal 2007 Diderot 1995, p. 4.
See also Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 91. Boime 1980, pp. 330–35, pl. ix.47.
Couture 1867, pp. 155–56. 66 67. 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. Excerpt from P. Bembo, Prose . . . della volgar lingua, Venice,
1525, 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. 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. In his treatise Dialogo della pittura . .
. (1557), the humanist, writer and art theorist Lodovico Dolce upheld a strong
defence of the Venetian school of painting, based on colour, against the
Florentine and Roman ones, based on drawing, supported by Giorgio Vasari. At
the same time he included one of the earliest theoretical statements on the
necessity to study the Antique as a model of idealised nature and perfect
beauty – especially in the study of the proportions of the 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 eccen- tricities – 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. Exerpts from Ludovico Dolce, Dialogo della
pittura intitolato l’Aretino . . . , Venice, 1557, pp. 32r–33r. The following
translation is from the first English edition: Aretin: A Dialogue on Painting.
From the Italian of Ludovico Dolce, London, 1770, pp. 127–32. 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 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 ungrace- ful; but by giving into too great a liberty, have
made that which was in their original pleasing, totally otherwise in the copy.
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 1568 – is
arguably the most influential example of art literature of the Renaissance.
Vasari’s biographies of the most famous modern artists set the standard for a
progressive conception of the history of art, with the Florentine and Roman
schools representing its culmination. At the start of his essay on painting, in
a section added to the 1568 edition of the Lives, he provides a definition of
disegno, drawing, to give a theoretical underpinning to his defence of the
Central Italian 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 founda-
tion for the centrality of drawing in the curriculum of future acade- mies. 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 judgement of the artist – a concept
that remained one of the central tenets of Italian art theory for the next two
centuries. He 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 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 SOURCE #1 VITRUVIO (80–70 bc – post c.
15 bc) On harmonic proportions as the principle of ideal beauty. Marcus
Vitruvius Pollio’s De Architectura, 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 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). The first chapter of book 3, provided
architects and artists with an authoritative account of the principle of
harmonic proportions based on commensurability which had inspired ancient
sculptors and paint- ers in search of ideal beauty. The celebrated passage on
the perfect proportions of the human body was visualised by Leonardo in his
‘Vitruvian Man’ (see p. 17, fig. 2). The following translation is from the
first integral English edition: The 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 pro- portion, 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, * All sentences in Italics are by the present author throughout. 68 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. 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. Written around 1390 possibly in
Padua, Cennini’s Il Libro dell’Arte is the first art treatise composed in
Italian. Although mainly concerned with practical advice to painters, Cennini
also devoted some of the chapters to the education of the young artist, ofering
the first written evidence of the importance of drawing in the apprenticeship
of the aspiring painter, and especially the copying of works by other artists.
Later, in early Renaissance workshop practices, this increasingly included
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. 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 in 1525, but composed over the
previous two decades, contains one of the earliest and most eloquent reports of
artists converging on 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, refine- ment, 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 [...]. 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), consti- tutes 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 him- self 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 con- tinual 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 sculp- tures
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 histo- ries
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. 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. [P. 8] [The
Academician in charge] will start instructing the students in what to study,
assigning to each of them a different 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 land- scapes,
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 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. 70
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. In
1713 Gianlorenzo Bernini’s son Domenico (1657–1723) published a biography of
his father that constitutes, with Filippo Baldinucci’s Vita del cavaliere . . .
Bernino (MS. 1682), one of the most important sources on the life and art of
the great Baroque sculptor and architect. A passage describing the impact of
the art of Rome on Gianlorenzo, after his arrival from his native Naples,
vividly evokes the dedication and devotion of the young sculptor in
assimilating day and night the principles of the great classical examples in
the Belvedere Courtyard – especially the Antinous Belvedere, the Apollo
Belvedere and the Laocoön. Excerpts from Domenico Bernini, Vita del cavalier
Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713, pp. 12-13. The following translation is from
Domenico Bernini, The Life of Gian Lorenzo Bernini, ed. and trans. by F.
Mormando, University Park (PA), 2011, p. 101. 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. 10. Gianlorenzo Bernini
(1598–1680) on the formative role of ancient sculpture in the education of
young artists. In 1665 Bernini visited France at the invitation of Louis XIV to
discuss designs for the completion of the Palais du Louvre. His five-month 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 by Bernini on his
visit to the Académie Royale de peinture et de sculpture is among the clearest
statements on the formative role assigned to antique statuary in the education
of young artists in 17th- century Rome. At the same time it reveals the opinion
of the great Baroque sculptor on the dangers of copying from classical models
without also involving independent inspiration and artistic creations. The
manuscript of the Journal du voyage du cavalier Bernin en France par M. de
Chantelou was published for the first time by Ludovic Lalanne in a series of
articles in the Gazette des Beaux-Arts in 1877–84 (a new edition by M. Stanic ́
was published in Paris in 2001). The following translation is from Paul Fréart
de Chantelou, Diary of the Cavaliere Bernini’s Visit to France, ed. by A. Blunt,
trans. by M. Cornbett, Princeton, 1985, pp. 165–67. 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 mem- bers. 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 sur- rounded 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 recognis- ing
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. 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. Giovanni Pietro Bellori, a central figure
in 17th-century art theory and 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 God’s perfect Ideas become
corrupted in our world because of accidents and the innate imperfection of the
‘matter’. The role of ‘noble’ artists is therefore to aim at recreating the
perfection of the original divine ideas in their works by selecting the best
parts of nature. Classical statues ofer the best guide and example for the
modern artists as they are the result of this process of selection already
achieved by ancient artists. In the final paragraph quoted here, 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 72 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. [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 [...]. 13. Gérard Audran (1640–1703) on the perfect proportions of
antique sculptures. Gérard Audran, engraver and conseiller of the Parisian
Académie Royale, published the most popular illustrated manual on the measured
proportions of selected canonical ancient statues in 1682 (see p. 48, figs
72–73). We find in the Preface one of the clearest expressions of the
rationalistic attitude of the Académie: the Antique here represents an
infallible standard of perfect proportions, which Audran has made available,
‘compass in hand’, for young artists, providing them with precise references on
which to base their own figures. Excerpts from Gérard Audran, Les proportions
du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, Paris,
1683, pp. 1-4 of the Preface (unpaginated). The following translation is from
The Proportions of the Human Body, measured from the most Beautiful Statues by
Mons. Audran . . . , London,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 mon- strous and extravagant Figures.
Everyone agrees to this Maxim generally consider’d, but everyone puts it
differently in practice; 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. 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. As director of the second St
Martin’s Lane Academy from 1735, he became increasingly hostile to a curriculum
based on the French Académie model. In his theoretical treatise The Analysis of
Beauty, published in 1753, he attacked the idealistic concept of art – as a
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 proportion
such as those produced by Dürer and Lomazzo in the 16th century. Hogarth
retained a bold independent-minded position towards the Antique, criticising
the slavish reverential attitude of connoisseurs and men of taste, while
recognising the greatness of certain antiquities. Their peculiar elegance,
according to Hogarth, is the expression of the ‘serpentine line’, the central
principle of his own aesthetic. Excerpts from William Hogarth, The Analysis of
Beauty, London, 1753. [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? [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. 15. Johan Joachim Winckelmann (1717–68) on the Antique.
Winckelmann, the greatest art historian of the 18th century, moved 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 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 Nachahmung der
griechischen Werke in der Malerei und Bildhauerkunst, ed. by C. L. von Ulrichs,
Stuttgart, 1885, pp. 6–12, 24. The following translation is from the first
English edition: J. J. Winckelmann, Reflections on the Painting and Sculpture
of the Greeks . . . , trans. by Henry Fuseli, London, 1765. [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 narrow- spirited
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. 16. Denis Diderot (1713–84) on the
excessive dependence on the Antique at the expense of the study of Nature.
Philosopher, polymath and editor of the Encyclopédie, Diderot is one of the
central figures of the French Enlightenment. His celebrated art criticism was
directed towards the biennial Salons organised by the Académie Royale de
peinture et de sculpture in Paris, and covered the period from 1759 to 1781.
His review of the 74 75 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’s
review of the Salon of 1765 was written for Melchior Grimm’s Correspondence
littéraire, which circulated in manuscript form. It was printed for the first
time in Jacques-André Naigeon, Oeuvres de Denis 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 compari- son. 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 poster- ity, 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 medio- cre 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. 17. Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723–92) on
the role of the Royal Academy and on the study of the Antique. Sir Joshua
Reynolds, the foremost portrait painter in England in the 18th century, served
as first president of the Royal Academy between 1768 and 1792. His fifteen
Discourses on Art, delivered to the students and members of the Academy between
1769 and 1790, became widely popular in Britain and abroad. They represent a
distillation of the idealistic and academic art theory of the previous
centuries in support of the ‘Grand manner’, mixed with his personal views, such
as Reynolds’ huge admiration for Michelangelo. The Discourses range from
didactic guidelines for the Academy to more theoretical discussions, and
references to the Antique can be found throughout, especially in Discourse 10,
devoted to sculpture. Excerpts from Discourses of Art. Sir Joshua Reynolds, ed.
by R. R. Wark, New Haven and London, 1997. [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. [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
perfec- tion 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. 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. The second edition of Diderot’s and
D’Alembert’s epochal Encyclopédie included an entry on the Académie de France
in Rome, in which the role and mission of the institution is celebrated in
superlative terms. A period in Rome was still considered, even by the
anti-academic Diderot, to be essential for young artists to round of their
education in the physical and spiritual presence of the Antique and the great
Renaissance masters. This apology and defence of the Roman Académie was also
perhaps intended to counter the opinion of those, such as the sculptor
Etienne-Maurice Falconet (1716–91), who judged the trip to Rome no longer
necessary, given the quantity of plaster casts available in France. Excerpt
from D. Diderot and J.-B. le Rond D’Alembert, Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire
raisonné des sciences, des arts et des metiers . . . , new ed., Geneva, vol. 1,
1777, pp. 238–39 (translation Barbara Lasic). The French Academy in Rome is a
school of painting that King Louis XIV established in 1666, & one of the
most beautiful institu- tions 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 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. 19. James Northcote
(1746–1831) on the decline of the Antique as a model and on the thirst for
novelty in art. The pungent and lively conversations between the writer and art
critic William Hazlitt (1778–1830), and the painter James Northcote, were
published in various articles in The New Monthly Magazine in 1826 and then
collated in 1830, causing scandal for their frankness among contemporaries. The
passage selected is one of the most revealing testimonies on the growing
dissatisfaction with the Antique and the widespread demand for new forms of
art. Excerpts from William Hazlitt, Conversations of James Northcote, Esq.,
R.A., London, 1830, pp. 51–53. ‘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!’ 76 77. CATALOGUE. Notes to the reader support. All
drawings and prints are on paper. measurements: 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. inscriptions: 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. provenance: Provenance
is given in chronological sequence, as completely as possible. Collectors’
names are given as listed in Lugt (abbreviated L., L. suppl.) literature/exhibitions:
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 .
. MDXXXI. /. A. V.’ selected literature: 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. BRANDIN . provenance: Elizabeth
Harvey-Lee, North Aston (Oxfordshire), from whom acquired in 1995. IN . / ROMA
. / IN LUOGO . DETTO / . BELVEDERE . / exhibitions: Not previously
exhibited. The Bellinger Collection, inv. no. 1995-047 This renowned print by
Agostino Veneziano after a design by Baccio Bandinelli, the Florentine sculptor
and draughts- man, 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 appropri- ate 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 Disegno4 – 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 there- fore evident
that artistic academies were from the beginning conceived of as humanistic
educational institutions, reliant, among other things, on ancient statues as
sources of inspira- tion. 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 itself.6 In Bandinelli’s own words, his was an
‘Accademia par- ticolare 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’ contem- plation. 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 noctur- nal
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 80 81 and artists overlapping one another.
This may refer to a well- known 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 acces- sible 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 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
produc- tion 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 possibil- ity 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 model- ling 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. 82 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 unwar- ranted, 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 privi- leged
relationship to the Antique. This betrays the arrogance 29 that is also evident
in his writings, 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; Waz ́bin ́ski 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. 15 16 17
18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 Hegener 2008, p. 401. For Venus Felix, see
Spinola 1996–2004, vol. 1, p. 97, PN 23 and fig. 14 on p. 98. Ciardi Duprè
1966, p. 161. The inventory number of the statuette is A.76-1910. 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). ‘Fece molte figurine [...] come Ercoli, Venere, Apollini, Lede,
ed altre sue fantasie’ (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, vol. 5, p. 251). See
Florence 2014, pp. 372–75, no. 32. Fusco 1982; Ames-Lewis 2000b, pp. 52–55. See
also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 22–23. Thomas 2005, p. 11. The
print’s inventory number is WA1863.1759. 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 repre- sent 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’. 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). 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 appella- tion 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. Minonzio 1990, p. 686 and Florence 2014,
p. 528 under no. 77. 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
separa- tion. 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. 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. Weil-Garris 1981, p. 224.
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]
provenance: Venator & Hanstein, Cologne, 3 November 1998, lot 2722, from
whom acquired. selected literature: 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. 84 85 exhibitions: 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 acad- emy
(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 acad-
emy 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 figu- rines 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 work- shops around the mid-16th century,
mainly through skele- tons, 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 draughts- men.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 impor- tance 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 inter- twined 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 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 pub- lisher,
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 differ- ent 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, repre- sented 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 86 87 Fig. 1. Pierfrancesco Alberti, Painters’ Academy, c.
1603–48, etching, 412 × 522 mm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-1952-373
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 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 Renais- sance, 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
Datedl.c.:‘1548’;inscribedl.r:‘A.S.Excudebat.’;inscribedl.c.inpencil:‘No
7.’andbelowtor.inpencil:‘No 7’. With the initials of the publisher, probably
Antonio Salamanca (1478–1562). provenance: 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 literature: 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). before c. 1562 at Sant’ Agostino in Rome, 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. 1 2 Pevsner 1940, pp. 40–41; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 86.
This engrav- ing, 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).
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
89 which post-dates rh exhibitions: 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 on- going
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 demon- strate 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 over- ruled 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 through the folds of his tunic, an
unsubtle reference to his virility. His ‘progeny’ – a selection of his small
models and statu- ettes – 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
embodi- ment 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
opportu- nity 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 terra- cotta 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 demonstrat- ing 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 devour- 25 ing a lower thigh and knee, 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 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) com- missioned
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 hero- martyr and father from antiquity,
Laocoön, with his sculpted ‘offspring’ triumphant. 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. For a full discussion of the statue, see
Vossilla 2014, pp. 156–67, repr.; Florence 2014, p. 573, no. VII. For Herculean
imagery in the engraving, see Hegener 2008, pp. 382–86, 389–91, 395–96. Barkan
1999, p. 304; Krahn 2014, pp. 324–31. 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). First
noted by B. Davis, in Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89, p. 77; Barkan
1999, pp. 308–09, fig. 5.19. 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. Barkan 1999,
pp. 309–12; V. Krahn, in Florence 2014, pp. 356–59, no. 28. 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 double- sided 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. 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. Hegener 2008, p. 383. Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 34. 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. 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.
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.). 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.
Faietti and Kelescian 1995, pp. 220–21, no. 4; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, p.
237, fig. 185a. Aldrovandi 1556, p. 270, cited and translated by Bober and
Rubinstein 2010, p. 236. 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. 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.).
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. D. Cordellier, in Paris 2000–01, pp. 237–40,
no. 74, repr. 29 Aspertini (1472–1552) (fig.4; Kupferstichtkabinett, Berlin).30
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 avl 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. 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. 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). Hegener 2008 p. 618, no. 17, fig. 226; Heinecken
(1778–90, vol. 2, p. 90). 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. 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). 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. 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. 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. Weil-Garris Brandt
1989, pp. 497, 499–500. Weil-Garris 1981, p. 237. 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. Weil-Garris 1981, p. 237; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, p. 34.
Campidoglio – freely interpreted by artists like Amico 92 93 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) 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’ provenance: Sir H.
Sloane bequest, 1753. literature: 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. exhibitions: 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 exhibited 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 II1 432 × 295 mm Inscribed recto, l.c., on wooden box:
‘Cornelius Cort fecit. / 1578’; along bottom: ‘Illmo et Exmo Dn ́o 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.: ‘PICTVRA’; 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’. provenance:
possibly entered Rijksmuseum collection late 19th century (L.2228)2 literature:
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. exhibitions: 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. 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 inscrip- tion 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 Dutch- man 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, repre- sented only by the man seated at the table before the
Venus, holding a pair of dividers. The architect is in fact overshad- owed 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 paint- ing
– 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 prom- inence 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 indi- vidual 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 ‘A B C ’ 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 Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-BI-6381 exhibited
in haarlem 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 95 96
97 finally flesh.13 The students in Stradanus’ drawing are dili- gently
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 Acca- demia, 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
motiva- tion, the design proved very popular, as evidenced by the existence of
two early copies of the engraving, the first of 22 which was published in
Venice around 1580. 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. 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). I am grateful to Erik Hinterding, Curator of
Prints at the Rijksmuseum, for his correspondence regarding this provenance.
Bober and Rubinstein 2010, pp. 89–90, no. 42 and pp. 113–14, no. 66. 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. 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 pub- lication of the print, and it was
published by another man, Lorenzo Vaccari (Bruges 2008–09, pp. 228–29). It may
even have been published post- humously, as Cort died in 1578 (Sellink and
Leeflang 2000, part 3, p. 119). 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). Bruges 2008–09, p. 228. 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 inscrip- tion 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). London 2001–02, p. 18. Leesberg 2012a, p. 161.
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. Appendix, no. 7. Alberti 1972, p. 75 (book
2, chap. 36) and p. 97 (book 3, chap. 55). Heikamp 1972, p. 300. It is true
that for decades the idea for such an institution had been simmer- ing,
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. 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). The Heidelberg drawing is much
larger and measures 465 × 363 mm. 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). Ottawa, Vancouver and
elsewhere 1996–97, p. 148. Rotterdam 1994, p. 200. Bruges 2008–09, pp. 226–27.
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. 98 99 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 5. Federico
Zuccaro (Urbino c. 1541–1609 Rome) Taddeo in the Belvedere Court in the Vatican
Drawing the Laocoön c. 1595 Pen and brown ink, brush with brown wash, over black
chalk and touches of red chalk, 175 × 425 mm 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’. provenance: 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
literature: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. exhibitions: 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). 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 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 The J. Paul
Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 99.GA.6.17 exhibited 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 even- tual 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 aspir- ing 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 contem- porary 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 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 voyeuristi- cally 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 inces- santly with little to eat or
drink anticipates the vivid descrip- tion 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 assem- bled 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) commis- sioned the architect,
Donato Bramante (1444–1514), to incor- porate 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 con- temporary
descriptions of the courtyard. The setting is now a sun-drenched rise with a vista,
no t 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, 1946,0713.639 100 101 102
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 expres- sions 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, undoubt- edly to create an air of authenticity. It is possible that he
consulted print sources such as Marco Dente da Ravenna’s ( f l . 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 – free-
standing 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 demon- strates 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 back- ground, 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
curricu- lum.35 Successful learning also required virtue and hard work – fatica
– both physical and intellectual, and such quali- ties 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, 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 recon- struction 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 provenance: 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 literature: 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. exhibitions: Münster 1976,
p. 138, no. 111, p. 140, repr. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. no. K III 23
exhibited in haarlem 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 provenance: P.
& D. Colnaghi Co., London, from whom acquired in 1854. literature: 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.
exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. The British Museum, Department of Prints
and Drawings, London, 1854,0513.106 106 107 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 travel- ling
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 industri- ously.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 impor- tant sculptures, in both
public and semi-public locations 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 accu- racy 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 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-and- error 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 inten- tion 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 cen- tury 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 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 interna- tional 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 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15 16 mp 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. ‘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’. ‘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”’. 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. For the early tradition
of Northern European artists going to Rome (includ- ing Gossaert, Van Scorel
and Van Heemskerck), see Brussels and Rome 1995. Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1,
pp. 388–89 (fol. 282 verso). Ibid., pp. 390–91 (fol. 283 recto). Ibid. Luijten
2003–04, p. 123. Reznicek 1961, vol. 1, pp. 89–94, pp. 319–46, nos 200–38;
245–48. 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. Veldman 2012, pp. 11–23. Reznicek 1961, p. 90;
Brandt 2001, p. 136. Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 18; Brandt 2001, p. 136. Brandt
2001, pp. 143–46. 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 26 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. 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. literature:
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. exhibitions: 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 exhibited in
haarlem 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’.
provenance: Bequest of Carel Godfried Voorhelm Schneevoogt (1802–77), Haarlem.
literature: 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. 112 113 1 Odescalchi (1658–1713); purchased from the
Odescalchi family by the Teylers Foundation, 1790. provenance: Queen Christina
of Sweden (1626–89); Cardinal Decio Azzolini (1623–89); Marchese Pompeo
Azzolini (1654–1706); Don Livio exhibitions: 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 litera- ture, 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 compari- son with those of the ancients’.7 The
statue recovered its original legs only in the 18th century. In addition to the
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 previ- ously
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 conse- quently 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.9 114
115 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 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 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
repre- sented 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 sugges- tion, 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 2 3 4 5 6 7
8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 See footnote 1 in cat. 6. ‘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’. ‘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’. I wish to thank Professor Ilja Veldman, who generously put at my
disposal her Goltzius entries for the forthcoming catalogue of the sixteenth-
century Netherlandish drawings in the Teylers Museum, which she is preparing
with Yvonne Bleyerveld. 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. Haskell and
Penny 1981, p. 229. 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’. Reznicek 1961,
vol. 2, pp. 89–94; Brandt 2001, passim; Luijten 2003–04, pp. 117–25. For both
drawings see Luijten 2003–04, pp. 132–36. Göttingen 2013–14, pp. 210–11. 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). Brandt 2001, pp. 143–46. 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). For the dating of the three prints see Reznicek
1961, p. 419; Boston and St. Louis 1981–82, p. 12, under no. 6. 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). Schapelhouman 1979, p. 67 (with earlier literature);
Luijten 2003–04, pp. 135–36. 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). Schapelhouman
2003–04, pp. 147–58. Van Mander 1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 392–93 (fol. 283v). Ibid.
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. 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 experi- menting 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 117 8. Hendrick Goltzius
(Bracht-am-Niederrhein 1558–1617 Haarlem) The Belvedere Torso 1591 Red chalk,
255 × 166 mm provenance: 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. literature: 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. exhibitions: 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 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 30 118 119 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 inscrip- tions 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’ provenance: Gabriel Huquier
(1695–1772); William Fawkener; his bequest to Museum, 1769. literature: 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. exhibitions: 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 draw- ing 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 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 prepara- tion 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
extraordi- nary 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 antiqui- ties 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 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
mp See footnote 1 in cat. 6. 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.
Wünsche 1998–99, p. 67. 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.
Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 312. Guhl 1880, vol. 2, p. 42; Schwinn 1973, pp.
36–37. Wright 1730, vol. 1, p. 268; Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 312–13; Schwinn
1973, p. 172; Montreal 1992, pp. 76–77. ‘... 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. Stolzenburg 2000, pp. 437, nos
142–44, 439, no. 161. Van Thiel 1999, pp. 79, 294, no. 7, pl. 34. 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). 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. Veldman 2012, pp. 11–23. 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. Brandt 2001, p. 143. Reznicek 1961, vol. 1, pp. 321–22, no. K 201;
Luijten 2003–04, p. 131. Reznicek 1961, vol 1, p. 452, no. 431, vol. 2, fig.
132; Florence 2008, pp. 61–62, no. 33 (M. Schapelhouman). Reznicek 1961, vol.
1, p. 452. 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. 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 theore- ticians, 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 summa- rised by the Bolognese art theorist Carlo Cesare
Malvasia (1616–93) with the specific neologism ‘statuino’ or ‘statue- like’.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 disre- gard the ‘matter’, something that he repeated in
modified form several times, in studies of live models in poses remi- niscent
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 personifi- cation 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 122 123 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 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, 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. 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’. provenance: Elmar Seibel, Boston, from whom
acquired. literature: 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). and now in the Borghese Gallery. 124 125 exhibitions: 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 hunt- ing), 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 work- shop 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 draw- ing
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 infor- mal
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). 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 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 126 127 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 vol- umes
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 demo- graphic – 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. 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 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 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 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 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. Walters 2009, vol. 1, pp. 6–7; Walters 2014,
p. 58. Walters 2014, p. 57. Walters 2009, vol. 1, p. vi. 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 instruc- tional 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). 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). The Holy Family and Christ Preaching.
Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, p. 248; Nichols 2013b, pp. 195, 236, note
134. 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). Fittschen and Zanker 1985, vol. 1, pp. 67–68, no. 61,
vol. 2, pls 69, 70, 72. 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). As pointed out by Eloisa Dodero (personal communication). Künzl 1970;
Bober and Rubinstein. 2010, p. 69, no. 20; CensusID: 58121. Walters 2014, p.
57. Ridolfi 1984, p. 16. Ridolfi 1914, vol. 2, p. 14; Whitaker 1997. 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; Ames- Lewis 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 persua- sively 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. 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) provenance: Elmar Seibel, Boston, from whom
acquired. literature: Strauss 1973, p. 348, no. 1 64, 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.
exhibitions: 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 repre- sent 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 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, inciden- tally, 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 130 131
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 13 artist has again created the suggestion of antique
pieces. Images of artists drawing in a studio combined with assem- blages 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 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 work- shop
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 Bloemaert’s Tekenboek, which only contains specimens 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
from the plaster figure of an elderly, reclining man. foundation for the
learning of art.15 Midway through the Tekenboek, Bloemaert reiterates this 132
133 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 17 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
popula- rity 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.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 dimen- sions (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). 1 2
3 4 5 mp 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. Van Mander
1994–99, vol. 1, pp. 448–49 (fol. 297v). Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, vol. 1,
p. 570. Ibid., vol. 1, p. 571. 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 12. Michael Sweerts (Brussels 1618–1664 Goa, India) A Painter’s
Studio c. 1648–50 Oil on canvas, 71 × 74 cm provenance: Private collection,
Moscow; acquired by Dr Abraham Bredius (1855–1946); purchased by the
Rijksmuseum in 1901 for f. 400. selected literature: 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.
exhibitions: 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 back- ground 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
gentle- men 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 docu- mented 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 artistic theory of the day, particularly
the importance placed on learning through drawing.5 Karel van Mander recom-
mends 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 back- ground, 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 publica-
tions 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 collec- tion of ninety-nine casts after antique and
anatomical 134 135 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’.1 4 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 composi- tion.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 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. 1. Michael Sweerts, A Painter’s
Studio (detail) 136 (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 respec- tively 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 also owned the Duquesnoy relief that occurs in Sweerts’
Artist’s Studio now in Cologne (fig. 6).34 An intriguing pay- ment 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 substi- tuted 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. 5 6
7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 Sutton 2002, pp. 11, 17. 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. Martin 1905,
p. 127. See Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 33–34. Martin 1905, p. 127.
Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe; Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002,
pp. 94–96, no. VI (G. Jansen). 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. 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. 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. Van Mander 1604, fol. 292v; Van Mander 1973, pp. 428–29.
Sutton 2002, p. 18. This also may be due, in part, to the compromised condition
of the canvas. Sutton 2002, p. 20. Martin 1905, p. 127; Horster 1974, p. 145.
Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 100; Palma and de Lachenal 1983, pp. 133–37, no. 58
(de Lachenal). 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. Haskell and
Penny 1981, p. 274; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, pp. 62–63, no. 50. 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. As first observed by Döring 1994, p. 62. For the statue see Stuart
Jones 1912, pp. 288–89, no. 22. Döring 1994, p. 63. The subject was noted by
Denys Sutton (London 1955, p. 91) and Marita 138 139 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 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
31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 Ibid., p. 27. Ibid., p. 27. 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). Bikker 2002, pp. 27–28. Ibid., pp. 28–31, figs 25, 27.
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. Lock 2010, p.
251; Bikker 2002, p. 31. Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, pp.
133–35, no. xix (G. Jansen). Present whereabouts unknown; see Amsterdam, San
Francisco and elsewhere 2002, p. 133, fig. xix–i. 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. watermark:
part of the crowned coat of arms of Amsterdam.1 provenance: Private collection,
Germany; Sotheby’s, London, 13 April 1992, lot 260, from whom acquired.
literature: London 1992 (unpaginated), repr.; Broos and Schapelhouman 1993, p.
51, under no. 34, fig. b. exhibitions: 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 anti- quarian 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
land- scapes, 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
usually executed in pen and brush and wash with a distinc- tive 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). Doubt- less 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 140 141 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 associ- ates; 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 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 contrib- uted 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 – includ- ing 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 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 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 contempo- rary 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 watermark: possibly part of a coat of arms.
provenance: Bassenge, Berlin, 6 December 2001, lot 5452 (as Anonymous, Southern
German, c. 1700), from whom acquired. literature:None. exhibitions: 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 stand- ing 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, etch- ing, 221 ×
105 mm, Warburg Institute Library, London the statuette are so posed that they
appear to exchange glances. In the background, partially obscured by the sculp-
ture’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 144 145 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 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 146 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 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 attrib- uted 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 Fig. 4. Wallerant
Vaillant, A Boy Drawing in a Studio, c. 1660–75, mezzotint, 324 × 300 mm,
Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-1889-A-14489 second Allegory of Sculpture drawing
(fig. 3), is a literal quotation from a plate in the second volume of
Bisschop’s 12 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 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 avl 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]. Armenini 1587, pp. 52–59 (book 1, chap. 7); Alberti 1604, p. 5
(quoting Federico Zuccaro); Roman 1984, p. 91. 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. 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. Haskell and Penny 1981, pp. 286–88, no. 70; pp. 337–39, no. 94.
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. 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). Haskell and Penny 1981, p.
232; Gasparri 2009–10, vol. 3, pp. 17–20, no. 1, repr. on pp. 207–13. Hollstein
1949–2001, vol. 31, p. 119, no. 96. 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). 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). 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). 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). For his life and work, see C. Lawrence, “Cock, Jan Claudius de”.
Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, accessed December 10, 2014,
http://www.oxford- artonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T018366. Pauwels
1977, p. 37. Published in Brussels by Mertens 1865; Lawrence 1986, p. 283.
Mertens 1865; Lawrence 1986, p. 283. 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 publication.
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.17 147 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
professioni 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.’. watermark: Possibly a four-legged animal inscribed in a double circle.
provenance: Possibly Hugh Howard (1675–1737); Charles Francis Arnold Howard,
5th Earl of Wicklow (1839–81), from whom acquired in 1874. literature: 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. exhibitions: 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 expres- sion 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 archi- tect, 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 defin-
ing and diffusing the central tenets of the classical ideal, preparing the
ground for the eventual affirmation of classi- cism 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 exer- cise 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 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 copper- plates 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 composi- tion, 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 refer- ences 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 mas- sacring the Fine Arts, 1704–10, etching and engraving, 468 × 319 mm, The
British Museum, Department of Prints and Draw- ings, London, inv.
1874,0808.1714 that. We know from another passage in Bellori that Maratti,
although he ‘always considered [...] perspective and anat- omy 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 geome- try 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 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 perspec- tive – ‘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 150 151 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 classi- cal 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 ration- alisation 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
discus- sion of Maratti’s drawing, taught ‘in their schools and in their books
that Raphael is dry and hard, that his style is statue- like’.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 44 ‘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). For a biographical summary see Rudolph 2000. Schaar and Sutherland
Harris 1967. See Bellori 1976, pp. 625, 636, 639. See Baldinucci 1975, p. 307.
On Maratti’s cult for and imitation of Raphael see also Mena Marqués 1990.
Goldstein 1978, p. 3. 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. On Maratti’s role
within the Accademia see Goldstein 1978, esp. pp. 2–5. On Bellori’s see
Cipriani 2000. 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). Philadelphia
1980–81, p. 116, note 3 and 4; Winner 1992, p. 512, fig. 5. Bellori 1976, pp.
629–31. On Del Carpio’s commission see Haskell 1980, pp. 190–92; Pierguidi
2008; Frutos Sastre 2009, pp. 369–71. For other drawings of the series, see
Winner 1992. 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. 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). This second state
contains the address of Frey. Rudolph (Rome 2000b, 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 explic- itly issued in parallel to the reward ceremony
of the 1728 Concorso Clementino: see Rome 2000b, vol. 2, pp. 484–85, no. 4.
earlier, with the Allegory of Ignorance as its pendant (fig. 3). aa 2 3 4 5 6 7
8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 1 153 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’. provenance:
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 literature: 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
exhibitions: 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 exhibited in
london only Painter, draughtsman and educator, Natoire was a contem- porary 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 infor- mation 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 pro- fessor 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 well- established 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 exam- ple. 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 Fig. 1. Charles-Joseph
Natoire, Two Models, c. 1745, red chalk, 490 × 420 mm, sold Sotheby’s, Paris,
18 June 2008, lot 101 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. 2. Francesco Carradori, Istruzione elementare per
gli studiosi della scultura . . . , Florence, 1802, detail of plate 5
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 repre- sented
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 academi- cians 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 assem- bles 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 impor-
tantly, 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 Jean- Antoine 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 156 157
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 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 institu- tion 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 How- ever, 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. London 2013–14, p. 33. 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. The fact that the drawing is in reverese seems to suggest
that it is a counter- proof. 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. Paris 2000–01, pp. 415–29; London 2013–14, pp.
62–69. 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
Lichtenstein and Michel 2006-12, vol. 1.1, pp. 374–77. See also Goldstein 1996,
p. 150. Dezailler d’Argenville 1745–52, vol. 2, p. 182. Macsotay 2010, pp.
189–90. 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. Carradori
1802, esp. pp. 3–4, article 2, and plate 5; Carradori 2002, pp. 23–24, and pp.
60–61, plate 5. London 2013–14, p. 34. 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. Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, see esp. vols 1–2, passim.
See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, pp. 45–46. 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. On Perrier’s Segmenta see Picozzi 2000;
Laveissière 2011; Di Cosmo 2013; Fatticcioni 2013. 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. London 2013–14, p. 53. On a similar display in the real École du modèle see
Guérin 1715, p. 258 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. I would
like to thank Alastair Laing for discussing these two paintings with me. 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. Guérin 1715, p. 165, no. 1. See
Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, passim. Guérin 1715, pp. 257–60. See also
Foster 1998, pp. 56–57; Schnapper 2000; Macsotay 2010. Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13;
Plax 2000. Jouin 1889; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35. On the Concorsi Clementini
see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91 and Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, p.
54. See also cat. 15. Macsotay 2010; Henry 2010–11. Locquin 1912, pp. 5–13;
Schoneveld-Van Stoltz 1989, pp. 216–28; Caviglia- Brunel 2012, pp. 86–87. As
already noted in Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977, p. 80, no. 42. 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). 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 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
Charles- François-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 158 159 1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 aa 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. On Natoire
see Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977; Caviglia-Brunel 2012. For the Monpellier
drawing see above note 1. 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. Montaiglon 1875–92, vol. 5, pp. 171, 193; London 1991, p. 80,
no. 35; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 334, no. D.362. Guérin 1715, p. 259; London
1991, p. 80, no. 35; London 2013–14, pp. 46, 62. See the 4th article of the
1648 statutes of the Académie: Montaiglon 1875–92, vol. 1, p. 8. See also
Guérin 1715, p. 258. 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. 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 provenance: 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. literature: 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. exhibitions: 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 ambassa- dor, 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 vedu-
tista, 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 unbut- toned 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 room’s
generous proportions, the beamed ceiling and for- mal 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 Draughts- man at the Capitoline, c. 1763 (p. 56, fig. 95) convey something
of the wonder and excitement that he must have felt at 20 encountering these
celebrated sights for the first time. 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 22 the present drawing. 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. Fig.
4. Hubert Robert, Le Dessinateur, red chalk, 300 × 400 mm, present whereabouts
unknown 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 por- trait 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 1
2 3 4 5 6 7 8 avl 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. Taillasson 1808, p. 473. 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. Collector and
connoisseur, Pierre-Jean Mariette preferred Robert’s draw- ings 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. 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.
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. For the bust, see Fittschen
and Zanker 1983, vol. 1, pp.20–21, no. 19, vol. 2, pls 24–26. For its
restoration, see London 1983, pp. 66–67. Cavaceppi’s posthumous inventory of
1802 mentions two marble Faustinas and one plaster cast 9 10 11 12 13 14 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 collec- tion (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 of 1765. 162 12 Certain decorative features in
the painting – the 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’ watermark: 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). provenance: 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. literature: Le Claire Kunst 2011, no. 13
(unpaginated), repr.; Yarker and Hornsby 2012-13, pp. 65–66, fig. 37; Körner
2013, lot 307R, repr. exhibitions: 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 guide- books 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 gran- deur 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 sculp- tor 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 con- taining 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. 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 perhaps
Cavaceppi himself, working on a female bust (fig. 6). 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. 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). Howard 1988, p.
479; Piva 2000, p. 5; Barr 2008, p. 86. Goethe 1827–42, p. 540, cited in C.
Piva in Rome 2010–11b, pp. 418–19, no. IV.1. Piva 2000, pp. 6, 17, note 4;
Honour and Mariuz 2007, pp. 26, 60–63. For Nollekens, see Howard 1964, pp.
177–89; Coltman 2003, pp. 371–96. For Grignoin, see Ingamells 1997, pp. 433–34.
Howard 1988, p. 479. For Cavaceppi’s works from British collections, see London
1983. Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 68. Barr 2008, p. 104 and p. 184, Appendix B.
Some of the same topographical details are discernible in a little-known floor
plan of the building (Piva 2000, p. 10, fig. 7). 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. As first noted by Stefan Körner (Körner 2013, under lot 307R). Ibid.,
under lot lot 307R; U. Müller-Kaspar, in Hüneke 2009, p. 416, no. 270. Körner
2013, under lot lot 307R; U. Müller-Kaspar, in Hüneke 2009, p. 430, no. 283.
Müller-Kaspar 2009, p. 395. D. Kreikenbom, in Hüneke 2009, pp. 578–79, no. 357.
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 (Müller- Kaspar 2009, p.
395; U. Müller-Kaspar, in Hüneke 2009, pp. 416, 430). Marseille 2001, p. 96,
no. 109. 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’. 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 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 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, 17 Fig. 7.
Hubert Robert, Studio of a Sculpture Restorer, oil on panel, 13 × 10 cm,
private collection. Photo: Witt Library his Raccolta. 166 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 attrib- utes
of Urania, the muse of Astronomy (‘Lucilla Sotto sembian- za 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 past. avl 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.’ provenance: Trinity Fine Art, London,
1999, from whom acquired. literature: Le Blanc 1854–88, vol. 3, p. 244, no. 6,
‘Campiglia (Giov. – Dom.). 1739. In – fol. -1er état : avant le lettere.’
exhibitions: 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 involve- ment 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 vol- umes that aimed to provide a visual record of the art collec-
tions 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 degli eccellenti pittori, illustrating 320 portraits of prominent
artists, published in 1752–66. This last volume, based on art- ists’
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 brim- ming with confidence. Assuming
that Le Blanc’s date is cor- rect, 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 culmi-
nated 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 168same
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 168
169 adopts the same pose in the print as he did for his person- ification
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 communica- tive 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 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 immedi- ately 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 connois- seurs, 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 admir- andus’.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 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 For essential biography, see Prosperi Valenti 1974, pp.
539–41; Quieto 1984a; Quieto 1984b. Through his agent, Francesco Ferdinano
Imperiali, Topham commis- sioned Campiglia and others, including the young
Pompeo Batoni, to make dozens, if not hundreds of drawings with the aim of
systematically illus- trating 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. 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). 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 men- tions – 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. Campiglia’s relatively youthful
appearance suggests the drawn or painted original may have been executed a
decade or so earlier. He was proposed by Sebastiano Conca on 15 November 1739
and his mem- bership confirmed, 3 January 1740 (Quieto 1983, p. 3). 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 9 10 11 12 13 14
15 16 17 18 19 20 Haskell and Penny (1981, pp. 139–42, no. 4) give a full
account of the sculp- ture’s history and reception. See also Krahn 1996. See V.
Krahn in Rome 2000b, vol. 2, pp. 403–04, no. 9. Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 142
and Krahn 1996. Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 142; and Winckelmann 1968, p. 153.
Hogarth 1753, pp. 81–83. Faldi 1977, pp. 504, 508, fig. 8. Quieto 1983, p. 5;
Rome 1968, p. 22, no. 5. Liverpool 1994-95, p. 72, no. 19. Ibid., p. 72.
Gentleman’s Magazine 1853, vol. 40, p. 237, as quoted by H. Macandrew 1978, p.
138. 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. 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). 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 self- portraits in the Museum Florentinum are
based on the Uffizi’s collection. 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. 170 171 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.’ provenance: 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’). literature: 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. exhibitions: Not previously
exhibited. Sir John Soane’s Museum Library, London, 4033 exhibited 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) dona- tion 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 antiqui- ties 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 antiquar- ians 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 associa-
tion 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 sump- tuous 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, accompa-
nied 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 9 Capitoline. 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 stand- ing 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 so- called 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. 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. 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 – dis- played 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. 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 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 bureau- cratic 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).For recent and brief
introductions on the history of the Capitoline collec- tions, with previous
bibliography, see Parisi Presicce 2010; Paul 2012. On the early years of the
Capitoline as a public museum see Arata 1994; Franceschini and Vernesi 2005;
Arata 2008. Document dated 5 December 1733 quoted in Arata 1994, p. 75. On the
Pinacoteca see Marinetti and Levi 2014. On the Accademia del Nudo see
Pietrangeli 1959; Pietrangeli 1962; MacDonald 1989; Barroero 1998. On
Campiglia’s supervision of life classes at the Accademia del Nudo see Pirrotta
1969. On the Concorsi see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91; Rome, University Park
(PA) and elsewhere 1989–90; Cipriani 2010–11. 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). Campiglia started working on his designs for the
plates in 1735: see Franceschini and Vernesi 2005, pp. 59–60. See Haskell and
Penny 1981, pp. 224–27, no. 44; Mattei 1987; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2010,
pp. 428–35. 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. 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. It was referred to as
such in the award ceremony for the Concorso: see Belle Arti 1754, p. 36. 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. 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. For the Antinous Belvedere and the Venus de’ Medici see
above p. 26, fig. 22 and p. 42, fig. 56. Many are found in volumes 8 to 12. 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. On access to the
Capitoline Museum in the 18th century see Sgarbozza 2010–11.
174 175 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’. provenance: Hippolyte Destailleur
(1822–93) collection (no. 110). literature: 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. exhibitions:
Not previously exhibited. Kunstbibliothek, Berlin, Hdz 3027 exhibited in london
only Private aristocratic collections of antiquities in Rome contin- ued to
attract large numbers of artists and visitors during the 18th century. The
Farnese Palace, with its group of canon- ical 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 envi- ronment, 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-
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 draw- ing.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 view- point and an angle that allows for maximum drama: the
receding pillars of the portico frame the focus of our atten- tion, 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 176 177 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 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
discus- sion 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 architec- ture, which was evidently drawn first
and before the figures were superimposed, is less successful. It is notable
that the 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 scale of the two sides
of the courtyard visible behind the por- tico 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 pensionnairesof 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’ gather- ings 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 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 direc- torates 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. SeeMéjanès1976;WashingtonD.C.1978–79,pp.148–155.
Berckenhagen1970,pp.393–96,nos3026–3074and3673–3674. 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 collec- tion 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 développe- ment 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). 178 179 1 2 3 4 5 aa 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). See Gasparri 2007, p. 11 and pp. 157–78. 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. Rausa 2007b,
pp. 57–60. On Chays (often spelled differently, Chaÿs, Chais, Chaix) see:
Thieme- Becker 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. 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) watermark: ‘ZP’ and the coat of arms of the
city of Zurich1 provenance: Susan Coutts, Countess of Guildford (1771–1837)
(her stamp on the verso2); Paul Hürlimann, from whom acquired in 1940. selected
literature: 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.; Noch- lin 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 exhibitions: 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 exhibited 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 fam- ily of
artists, his father, Caspar (1706–82), a painter and histo- rian, 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 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 inter-
ruptions, 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 pre- sent drawing, in Putney Hill in south-west London,
in 1825. The eight years Fuseli spent in Rome were of great impor- tance 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 ini-
tially 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 180 181 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 interest- ing – 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 per- fectly 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. 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. 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 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 word- play.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.
5. Hubert Robert, Ancient Sculptures of the Capitoline, red chalk, 442 × 330
mm, Staatliche Museen, Kunstbibliothek, Berlin, Inv. Hdz 3076 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 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
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 Schiff 1973, p. 479. 2 Ibid.,
p. 479. 3 See Pressly 1979; Valverde 2008; Busch 2013. 4 For Fuseli’s biography
see Tomory 1972, pp. 9–46; Schiff 1973, vol. 1; Zurich 2005, pp. 13–31. 5 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). 6 See Wornum 1848, p. 345. On
Fuseli’s Lectures see in particular Bungarten 2005. 7 Knowles 1831, vol. 3, p.
90, aphorism no. 88. 8 For these statues see respectively p. 26, fig. 18; p.
41, fig. 54; p. 26, fig. 19; p. 30, fig. 34. 9 For a checklist of Fuseli’s
drawings of ancient sculptures see Schiff 1973, vol. 1, pp. 475–79, nos 634–65.
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 Schiff 1973, vol. 1, p. 450,
no. 445 (dated 1771); the ancient scene is taken from D’Hancarville 1766–67,
vol. 2, pl. 32. Schiff 1973, pp. 456–57, nos 485 and 487 (c. 1776). See in
particular Winckelmann 2002, pp. 674, 676 (original pagination pp. 347–49). See
also Appendix, no. 15. Schiff 1973, vol. 1, p. 547, nos 1072 and 1072a
(1801–05). Schiff 1973, vol. 1, p. 496, no. 757. See Powell 1973, pp. 67–75.
See in particular Waldkirch 2005, pp. 63–78. 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. 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
colos- sal 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. 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. See Berckenhagen 1970, p. 332; Paris 2000–01, p. 374, no.
180 (J.-P. Cuzin). These details are clearly rendered on the drawings by Della
Bella and Robert. 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). Lindsay 1986, p. 483. Schiff 1973, vol. 1, pp. 115, 478–79, no. 665,
vol. 2, p. 145, fig. 665. The pose finds parallels in other works by Fuseli
chiefly illustrating mourn- ful 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. 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 every-
thing’). 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 provenance: Private collection, Vienna; Gallery
Kekko, Lucerne, 2004, from whom acquired. literature:None. exhibitions:
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 presi- dent
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, includ- ing 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
composi- tions 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’ work- shops 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 527 184 185 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,showingtheartistatsixty,intheKunsthistorisches 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 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 186 187 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 suprem- acy of Flemish academies over the English ones by
establish- ing 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. 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. 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). Lock 2010, p. 255, fig. 12.4;
Phillips 2013, p. 127, fig. 5. ‘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. 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. Jaffé 1989, p. 281, no. 764. Ibid., p. 371, no. 1379. Between 1764 and
1768, the school was revitalized under Count Charles Cobenzl (Phillips 2013,
pp. 127–28). Paris 2000–01, no. 1, pp. 150–51 (L. Laugier); Pasquier 2000-01b.
Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 221; Laugier 2000–01. See also Aymonino’s essay in
this catalogue, p. 41. Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 221. Ibid., pp. 221–24, no.
43, fig. 115. For Rubens’ study of sculpture in Roman collections, see Van der
Meulen 1994-95, vol. 1, pp. 41–68. 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. For his
collection, see Muller 1989, Appendix C, pp. 82–87 and Muller 2004, especially,
pp. 18–23. 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. Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, p. 73.
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 composi- tions by the
artist (Van der Meulen 1994–95, vol. 1, p. 239, note 9). De Piles 1708, pp.
139–48; De Piles 1743, pp. 86–92. . Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 221. However,
due to the demand for casts the Borghese tried to stop moulds from being made
(Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 221). Liverpool 2007, p. 132, no. 10; Clayton 1990,
p. 236, no. 154, P3. Tassaert and Pether, both members of the Society of
Artists, had a disagree- ment over the latter’s proposed exhibition fee for
fellows (Hargraves 2005, pp. 141–42). Landford’s, London, 11–25 February 1751,
among lots 1–77. 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’; td
and l.c., at the foot of the seated artist: ‘Done from a Picture in / the
Collection of the R . Hon. / L . Melburne.’ provenance: The Hon. Christopher
Lennox-Boyd (1941–2012), from whom acquired by the British Museum in 2010.
literature: 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. exhibitions: 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 signifi- cantly, 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 him- self) 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 188 189
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 pre- cisely
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 illumi- nated 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) 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. Liverpool 2007, p. 159, no. 31. For Yale version of the painting
ibid., p. 159, no. 32. Nicolson 1968, vol. 1, p. 234, no. 188; London 1990, pp.
61–63, no. 22; Liverpool 2007, p. 132, no. 10. 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. Ibid., p. 5. Joseph Wright to William Thompson, Derby 25
March, 1773, in Barker 2009, p. 72. 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. Liverpool 2007, p. 162, no.
34. For the relationship between Tate, Wright and the Liverpool Society of
Artists see Barker 2003, pp. 265–74. 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). Clayton 1990, p. 236, no. 154, P3. Derby 1997, p. 88, no. 152. 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. On this see Roman 1984, p. 83. See also cat. 1, p. 80, note 8. Kitson
1966–68, p. 86. 190 191 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.’
provenance: From an album of drawings in the possession of the Burney family;
P. & D. Colnaghi, London, from whom acquired 5 July 1960. literature: 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. exhibitions: 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
fol- lowed 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, follow- ing 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 two- hour class each
night. Until 1860, both were attended by male 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, pro- ficiency 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, 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 ubiqui- tous 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 origi- nals 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 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. 9. Plaster Cast of the Head of Trajan, from Trajan’s Column, 15.5
× 15.4 × 4.6 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, iaa&jy
FortheearlyhistoryoftheRoyalAcademysee Hutchison1986,pp.23–54. For drawing
after casts in Britain before the foundation of the Royal Academy see esp.
Postle 1997; Coutu 2000; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. 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.
Hutchison1986,p.27.Forthe‘RulesandOrders,forthePlaisterAcademy’, 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. Hoare1805,p.3. SeeRogers2013. The identification of the
teacher with Moser is confirmed by other like- nesses: see Edgcumbe 2009. 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. 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.
OnplastershopsandtradersinBritaininthesecondhalfofthe18thcentury 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. FortheFaunwithKidseeHaskellandPenny1981,pp.211–12,no.37. 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 sup- plied 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. 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.’ 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. 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). For Leonardo’s cartoon see London 2011–12, pp.
289–91, no. 86 (L. Syson). Barry 1798, p. 7. 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. WindsorLiscombe1987. 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 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. 5. François Duquesnoy, Relief
with Music-Making Angels, 1640–42, marble, 80 × 200 cm. Filomarino Altar,
Church of Santi Apostoli, Naples 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 differ- ences from them, as a private
organisation sponsored by the monarch rather than a state-run academy.
194 195 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.’ provenance: 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. literature:None. exhibitions: 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 physi- cally 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 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 acad- emy 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 – trans- formed 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 196 197 Fig. 2. Isaac Cruikshank,
Bless The Bottom, bless Thee-Thou art translated – Shakespere, 1794,
hand-coloured etching, 295 × 212 mm, G. J. Saville 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 8 The
reason for the commotion was that once a student had a seat, he was expected to
retain it for the week. The atmos- phere 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. 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 aa&jy 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 character- istics as
the man in the drawing. For a list of their likenesses see respectively Trusted
2006 and Coutu 2008. See Baretti [1781], pp. 18–30. See Reynolds 1997, p. 47.
London 1997, pp. 170–71, no. 67. See Coutu 2000; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. George
1870–1954, vol. 7 (1793–1800), p. 118, no. 8519. 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. Farington 1978–98, vol. 1, p. 281.
Pressly 1984, p. 87. Farington 1978–98, vol. 2, pp. 461–62. Ibid., vol. 2, p.
462. 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 popu- larity 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 satiri- cal 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 ren- dered 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 presenta- tion 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 cross- hatching 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 198 199 students. other the lumps of
bread they were given to erase their draw- ings. 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: 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: 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.’ literature:
Postle 1997, pp. 91–93, repr.; Owens 2013, pp. 102–03, pl. 76. exhibitions:
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.’ literature: Wilton 2007,
p. 16, repr. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Victoria and Albert Museum,
Prints & Drawings Study Room, London, 9262 provenance: 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). 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? 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 excel- lence
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 admi- ration’ (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 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 intermit- tently 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– 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) 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) 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 contin- ued: 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 adoles- cence; 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 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. 202
203 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) 1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10 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 provenance: 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. literature: 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.
exhibitions: 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
collec- tor 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
antiquari- anism and Townley – particularly after 1798, when wars with France
curtailed travel to the Continent – was a hugely 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
important figure in promoting the study and interpretation of classical
sculpture in Britain initiating numerous publica- tions, 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 Townley’s surviving drawings, housed, along with his sculp-
ture 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 ‘portfo- lios’. A payment of
£5.5.0 to Chambers is recorded on 21 October 1795 for the pendant to this
drawing, a view of sculp- ture 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).5 204 205 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 con- secrated
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, includ- ing 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 dona- tions 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 educa- tion 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 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
literature: Lukacher 2006, pp. 132–33, fig.150 exhibitions: London 1999a, p.
160, no. 68 (H. Dorey); Munich 2013–14, p. 43; London 2014, (unpaginated). Sir
John Soane’s Museum, London, 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 unspeci- fied 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 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 mathe- matics,
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 archi- tect’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 architec- tural.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 com-
piled).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
206 207 described. Just visible through the arch in the lower
right- hand 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 oppor- tunity 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 16 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
architec- tural 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, Piranesi, 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. fragments are set out
idiosyncratically and imaginatively. Why did Soane reject a more conventional
arrangement of casts and antiquities in his ‘academy’? Perhaps he wished 208 1
2 3 4 j k-b See Bingham 1993, p.5. ‘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. Soane subsequently entered the office of Henry
Holland in 1772. 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 appoint- ment to the Professorship I began to arrange the books, casts,
and models, 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, 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 provenance: 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. literature:None.
exhibitions: 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 recogni- tion 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 reminis- cent 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-1997-10 210 211
Fig. 2. Gijsbertus Johannus Van den Berg, A Connoisseur Examining
Drawings, 1791, black and red chalk, 407 × 284 mm, Royal Collection, RL 12865
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-histor- ical,
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 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 – prevent them from acquiring full mastery of the human
form.17 Instead, they studied sculptural models and espe- cially antique casts,
often ones deemed thematically appro- priate for their gender, such as the
ideal head featured in the Van den Berg drawing catalogued here. A comparable
situa- tion 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 draw- ing 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; Thieme- Becker 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 [unpagi- nated]. 12 On the role
of casts, see Amsterdam 1994, p. 2 [unpaginated]. An intrigu- ing 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 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’ provenance: 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. literature: 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. exhibitions: 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. 214 215 Teylers Museum, Haarlem, KS 1987 002
exhibited in haarlem 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 16th- and 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 impor- tant 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 point- ing 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 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
impre- cise 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 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 For the various
identifications see Haarlem 1972, p. 25 and Haarlem 1990, pp. 35–36. 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. 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. 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. 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.
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. Van der Willigen 1809, p. 282 (colouring
etc.), p. 298 (plaster casts). 216 217 32. Woutherus Mol (Haarlem
1785–1857 Haarlem) The Young Draughtsman c. 1820 Oil on canvas 52.3 × 42.6 cm
provenance: 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,-) literature: 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. exhibitions: Amsterdam 1822,
no. 222; Moscow and Haarlem 2013–14, p. 50 (not numbered). Teylers Museum,
Haarlem, KS 015 exhibited in haarlem 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 cup- board 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 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 fascinat- ing 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 con- ducted in the
Netherlands around 1800 and for some decades 218 219 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
improve- ments. 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- 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. 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 provenance: Private collection, Denmark; Thomas Le Claire
Kunsthandel, Hamburg with Daxer & Marschall, Munich in 2003 (as Knud
Andreassen Baade), from whom acquired. literature: 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). 1 2 3 4 5 mp Haskell and Penny 1981, respectively pp. 205–08, no. 34
(Dancing Faun), pp. 325–28, no. 88 (Venus de’ Medici). T. van Druten, in Moscow
and Haarlem 2013–14, p. 50. Mak van Waay sale, Amsterdam, 26 May 1964, lot 366.
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. Koolhaas-Grosfeld and De Vries 1992, pp. 119, 128.
exhibitions: 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 mem- bers 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 depic- tion 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 220
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
sculp- ture, more valued for its conjectural attribution to Praxiteles 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 than for its aesthetic
significance. It did not achieve world- renown 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 Herculan- eum in 1758 (fig.
5). It was one of the most celebrated archaeo- logical 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 provid- ing 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 222
223 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
subse- quent years, as interest in plaster copies waned in favour of original
and unique works of art. When the museum under- went 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,
Fig. 6. Antique Room in Charlottenborg Palace recreated in 2004, curated by
Pontus Kjerrman and Jan Zahle, with sculptor Bjørn Nørgaard 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 anony- mous painter, and witness a
nearly identical scene (fig. 6). literature:None. exhibitions: Not previously
exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1997-020 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, proba- bly a connoisseur, has called on the artist at home, presum-
ably 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 protec- tively
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 dis- tinctively 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 Zahle 2003, p. 272. For the history
of the Copenhagen Academy see Meldahl and Johansen 1904. Saabye 1980, p. 6 and
Zahle 2003, p. 272 Zahle 2003, p. 272. Jørnæs 1970, p. 52. Zahle 2003, p. 275.
Jørnæs 1970, p. 58. Helsted 1972, p. lxxxvi. Copenhagen 2004, p. 201 (S85). 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). Copenhagen 2004,
p. 198 (S51) and p. 199 (S61). Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 210; La Rocca and
Parisi Presicce 2010, pp. 446–51, no. 5. Haskell and Penny 1981, p. 219. Ibid.,
p. 220. Copenhagen 2004, p. 200 (S72). Thieme-Becker 1907–50, vol. 2, p. 297.
Zahle 2003, p. 271. Copenhagen 2004, p. 110, no. 7. Ibid., p. 110, no. 8. Zahle
2003, p. 278. 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 provenance: 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. 224 225 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 authen- ticity
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 consid- erably 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 com- parison 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. 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). Weil-Garris 1981, pp. 246–47, note 39; Roman 1984, p.
83; Hegener 2008, p. 401. Ridolfi 1914, vol. 2, p. 14; Ridolfi 1984, p. 16.
White and Boon 1969, vol. 1, p. 68, no. B130, vol. 2, p. 119, repr. Borbein 2000,
p. 31 (see also note 23 listing further bibliography on night- time viewing of
casts). Clayton 1990, p. 236, no. 154, P3. 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. 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). 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. Spinola 1996–2004, vol. 2, pp. 131, fig. 22, 137–38, no. 123
with previous bibliography. Spinola 1996–2004, vol. 2, p. 137. Ibid. 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 provenance:
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. literature: Bowyer 2013, pp. 49–50, fig. 36.
exhibitions: 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 pic-
tures’, 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
pre- occupation 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 wear- ing earrings only
enhanced his ‘resemblance to the wander- ing 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 contempo- rary 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
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 work- man’s attire and silhouetted
against a dark backdrop, bal- ances 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 Archeo- logico
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 adapta- tion 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 27 English country
lane. 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 porce- lain 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. 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. avl 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; Thieme- Becker 1907–50, vol. 8, pp. 362–63; Fastnege
1951; Bennett 1978, vol. 1, p. 79. 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. Spier 1880, chapter 4. Marillier 1904,
pp. 96–97; Fastnege 1951, p. 80; Bennett 1978, vol. 1, p. 79. Obituary,
Liverpool Journal, 16 October 1880; Liverpool Mercury 15 April 1884; Daily Post
Liverpool, June 1908. Liverpool Journal, 16 October 1880. Representations of
the urban poor in British art was an increasingly popu- lar genre from around
the mid-18th century onwards. See Hansen 2010. Spier 1880, chapter 5. Lambourne
1982; Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, p. 13. 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. Lambourne 1982, p. 119. Ibid. Clifford 1992; Simon 2011. Lambourne 1982,
p. 121. Simon 2011 [unpaginated]. Ibid., fig. 3. For other images of the
subject, see Lambourne 1982, pp. 118–23, figs 1–10. Spier 1880, chapter 2; New
York 2005b, under no. 13. 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. Spier 1880, chapter 2. 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. Liedtke 2007, vol. 2, pp. 629–54, no. 151. Kindly
pointed out by Paul Crane (personal communication), who notes the following
example: Melbourne 1984–85, no. 56. 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). According to George Shackelford (personal
communication). See Washington D.C., Los Angeles and elsewhere 2003-04, pp.
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— 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. 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. 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. Antwerp 1977 — P. P. Rubens. Gemälde, Ölskizzen,
Zeichnungen, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp (eds R. A. D’Hulst et al.),
1977. 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 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. Bruges 2008–09 — Stradanus 1523–1605: Court Artist of the Medici,
Groeningemuseum, Bruges (eds A. Baroni and M. Sellink), 2008–09 (published
2012). Brussels 2004 — Old Master Drawings. Organization of Antique Fairs, Gallery
Kekko, Thurn and Taxis, Brussels, 2004. 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). 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. 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. Cologne 1977 — Peter Paul
Rubens, 1577–1640, Museen der Stadt, Cologne, 1977. 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. Florence 1992 — Il Giardino di San Marco. Maestri e compagni
del giovane Michelangelo, Casa Buonarroti, Florence (ed. P. Barocchi), 1992.
Florence 1999-2000 — Giovinezza di Michelangelo, Palazzo Vecchio and Casa
Buonarroti, Florence (eds K. Weil-Garris Brandt et al.), 1999–2000. Florence
2002 — Venere e amore: Michelangelo e la nuova bellezza ideale, Gallerie
dell’Accademia, Florence (eds F. Falletti and J. Katz Nelson), 2002. 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. Florence 2014 — Baccio Bandinelli: scultore maestro (1493–1560),
Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence (eds D. Heikamp and B. P. Strozzi),
2014. Geneva 1978 — Johann Heinrich Füssli, Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Musée
Rath Genève, Geneva, 1978. 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.
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. Haarlem and
London 2005–06 — Michelangelo Drawings: Closer to the Master, Teylers Museum,
Haarlem; British Museum, London (ed. H. Chapman), 2005–06. 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. 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. 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. London 1947 —
Dutch Conversation Pieces of the 18th & 19th Centuries, The Allied Circle,
London, 1947. London 1950 — French Master Drawings of the 18th Century,
Matthiesen Gallery, London, 1950. London 1953 — Drawings by Old Masters, Royal
Academy of Arts, London (K. T. Parker and J. Byam Shaw), 1953. 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. London 1962 — A Selection of Drawings from the Witt
Collection: French Drawings, c. 1600–c. 1800, Courtauld Institute Galleries,
London, 1962. London 1963 — Treasures of the Royal Academy, Royal Academy of
Arts, London, 1963. London 1968a — France in the Eighteenth Century, Royal
Academy of Arts, London (ed. P. Sutton), 1968. 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 1986 — Florentine
Drawings of the Sixteenth Century, British Museum, London (N. Turner), 1986.
London 1990 — Wright of Derby, Tate Gallery, London (ed. J. Egerton), 1990.
London 1991 — French drawings, XVI–XIX centuries, Courtauld Institute
Galleries, London (eds G. Kennedy and A. Thackray), 1991. London 1992 —
Drawings Related to Sculpture, 1520–1620, Katrin Bellinger at Harari &
Johns, London, 1992. 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). London 2011–12 — Leonardo da Vinci.
Painter at the Court of Milan, National Gallery, London (ed. L. Syson with L.
Keith), 2011–12. London 2013–14 — The Male Nude. Eighteenth-Century Drawings
from the Paris Academy, Wallace Collection, London (eds E. Brugerolles et al.),
2013–14. London 2014 — Diverse Maniere: Piranesi, Fantasy and Excess, Sir John
Soane’s Museum, London (ed. A. Lowe), 2014. 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.
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, 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. Los
Angeles 1961 — French Masters: Rococo to Romanticism, University of California,
Los Angeles, 1961. Los Angeles 1999 — The Early Life of Taddeo Zuccaro, The J.
Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles (A. V. Lauder; no catalogue), 1999. 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. 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. 250 251 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. 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. Naples 2008 — Salvator Rosa: tra mito e magia, Museo di
Capodimonte, Naples (eds A. B. de Lavergnée and S. Bellesi), 2008. 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.
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. New York 1988 — Creative Copies. Interpretative
Drawings from Michelangelo to Picasso, The Drawing Center, New York (E.
Haverkamp-Begemann and C. Logan), 1988. New York 2005a — Peter Paul Rubens. The
Drawings, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (ed. A.-M. Logan with M. Plomp),
2005 New York 2005b — Pictures & Oil Sketches 1775–1920, W. M. Brady &
Co., New York, 2005. New York 2012–13 — Bernini: Sculpting in Clay,
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (eds C. D. Dickerson et al.), 2012–13.
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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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 — Füssli, 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 1996 — Pisanello. Le peintre aux sept vertus, Musée du
Louvre, Paris (ed. D. Cordellier), 1996. Paris 2000–01 — D’après l’antique,
Musée du Louvre, Paris (eds J. P. Cuzin, J. R. Gaborit and A. Pasquier),
2000–01. Paris 2003 — A. & D. Martinez, Estampes Anciennes & Modernes.
A Collectionner, cat. no. VIII, Paris, 2003. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. Recklinghausen
1964 — Torso: das Unvollendete als künstlerische Form, Städtische Kunsthalle,
Recklinghausen, 1964. Rome 1958–59 — Michael Sweerts e i bamboccianti, Palazzo
Venezia, Rome (E. Lavagnino et al.), 1958–59. Rome 1968 — Accademia Nazionale
di San Luca. Mostra di Antichi Dipinti Restaurati delle Raccolte Accademiche,
Palazzo Carpegna, Rome (I. Faldi), 1968. Rome 1981–82 — David e Roma, Villa
Medici, Rome, 1981–82. 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. 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 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. Rome 1994 — Bartolomeo
Cavaceppi scultore romano (1717–1799), Museo del Palazzo di Venezia, Rome, (M.
G. Barberini and C. Gasparri), 1994. 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. 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 2010–11a —
Palazzo Farnèse. Dalle collezioni rinascimentali ad Ambasciata di Francia,
Palazzo Farnese, Rome (ed. F. Buranelli), 2010–11. Rome 2010–11b — Roma e
l’Antico. Realtà e visione nel ‘700, Fondazione Roma Museo, Rome (eds C. Brook
and V. Curzi), 2010–11. 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. Cavalli- Björkman), 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. 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 Beaux- Arts, Nîmes; Villa Medici, Rome, 1977.
Venice 1976 — Tiziano e la silografia veneziana del Cinquecento, Fondazione
Giorgio Cini, Venice (eds M. Muraro and D. Rosand), Venice, 1976. 252 253
Vienna 1987 — Zauber der Medusa. Europäische Manierismen, Wiener Künstlerhaus,
Vienna (ed. W. Hofmann), 1987. 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. Washington D.C. 1978–79 — Hubert
Robert: Drawings & Watercolors, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.
(V. Carlson), 1978–79. Washington D.C. 1999–2000 — The Drawings of Annibale
Carracci, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (eds D. Benati et al.), 1999–2000.
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. Williamstown, Madison and elsewhere
2001–02 — Goltzius and the Third Dimension, Sterling and Francine Clark
Institute, Williamstown (MA); Elvehjem Museum of Art, Madison (WI); Spencer
Museum of Art, Lawrence (KS) (eds S. H. Goddard and J. A. Ganz), 2001–02.
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. 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. Zurich 1941 — Johann Heinrich Füssli (1741–1825): Zur
Zweihundertjahrfeier und Gedächtnisausstellung 1951, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich
(ed. W. Wartmann and M. Fischer), 1941. Zurich 1969 — Johann Heinrich Füssli,
1741–1825, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich, 1969. Zurich 1984 — Meisterwerke aus der
Graphischen eichnungen, Aquarelli, Pastelle, Collagen aus fünf
Jahrhunderten, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich, 1984. Zurich 2005 — Füssli. The Wild
Swiss, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich (ed. F. Lentzsch), 2005. 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 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 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) 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 Sammlung. ZMassimo Carboni.
Keywords: tratto dalla vita, estetica, arte, icona, parola, immagine, filosofia
antica, il concetto dell’antico, l’antico – l’antico e il moderno – drawing
from the antique – antico – filosofia antica, arte antica, statuaria antica,
the lure of the antique – il gusto e l’antico --. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, “Grice
e Carboni” – The Swimming-Pool Library.
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