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Object of the Month: March 2015

Monks before a Fireplace 

Oil on canvas

Alessandro Magnasco, called Il Lissandrino

Genoese, 1667–1749

Click on the links throughout the article to view additional artists’ works and reference material.

No matter the era or the medium, it seems you can always count on artists to challenge the status quo.

Alessandro Magnasco was born in Genoa, northern Italy, in 1667. His father Stefano was a minor artist who died when Magnasco was only five years old. Around the age of ten, Magnasco was sent to Milan to live under the care of a patron while he learned commerce. However, his interests lay along the same lines as his father’s, and before long he had convinced his patron to sponsor an apprenticeship for him with the renowned Mannerist painter, Filippo Abbiati, of Milan. By 1690, Magnasco had mastered his craft and had established himself as a portraitist. This phase of his career lasted only a brief time before he transitioned into his distinguished, celebrated style.

Magnasco’s style is something of an anomaly, even for the eclectic movement that is the Baroque. His is a nervous, loose brushwork that conveys fluid movement and hazy figures and settings. Murky tones pervade his paintings, with the occasional pockets of stark light and strong color. Arguably his most interesting characteristic is his choice of unusual subject matter.

In a time largely characterized by paintings of religious subject matter, Magnasco chose instead to focus on the common man, such as beggars and gypsies, and on some of the more obscure facets of contemporary life, such as shadowy synagogue interiors and scenes of monastic life. Interestingly, Magnasco also often chose to portray scenes charged with social commentary, going even so far as to treat highly controversial subjects—in his day as well as our own—as in his painting of an Inquisition torture scene. Magnasco seemed captivated by the mysterious, socially questionable, and the bizarre.

Monks before a Fireplace is characteristic of Magnasco’s mature style. His elongated figures are reminiscent of the mannerist El Greco. At the same time, his monochromatic palate and mysterious, almost ghoulish, atmosphere heralds the coming of nineteenth-century realist Francisco Goya. Here, Magnasco once again presents the common man in his paintings—humble monks instead of otherworldly saints. His figures possess a uniformity, functioning almost as a nameless, faceless unit. But on closer examination, the figures are strikingly distinct, suggesting the idiosyncrasies of the individuals within the group including the monk perusing his crinkled manuscript and the man warming his feet at the fire while toying with the resident cat. He captures a snapshot of a quiet moment in contemporary monastic life.

Indeed, Magnasco’s very essence seems almost out of place in his world, a nod to modernism from the late baroque era.

Katharine Golighty, former Docent & Guest Services Attendant

 

Published in 2015

Object of the Month: February 2015

St. Augustine and St. Roch 

Oil on panel

Juan de Flandes

Flemish, active in Spain, c. 1465–1519

Click on the links throughout the article to view additional artists’ works and reference material.

This intriguing work by the Flemish painter Juan de Flandes was originally commissioned by the Augustinian Convent of St. Miguel de los Angeles. Here a 4th century scholar is paired with a 14th century healer. The painting’s pairing and rich iconographic detail not only highlight two fascinating biographies but also illustrate the power of image as text.

St. Augustine (figure on left):
 

St. Augustine is revered not only as one of the church’s greatest theologians but also as one of the most profound minds of the western philosophic tradition. Born in 354 in Tagaste, North Africa, he was a precocious child who by his early teens had surpassed his tutors. At seventeen, he left Tagaste to continue his education in Carthage. While in Carthage he became enamored with the famous Roman, Cicero. He writes in his Confessions that the study of Cicero’s ideals unleashed in him an overwhelming desire to turn from material pleasures to pursue wisdom. Exploring the popular religious systems of the day, he soon embraced Manichaeism. Augustine held this philosophy for several years, but he later writes that its inability to help him “harness his passions and subdue his ambitious nature” so discouraged him that he cast it aside as a worthless abstraction.

Following his training in Carthage, he taught rhetoric first in Africa, in Rome (in 383), and then in Milan (in 384). It was in Milan that he encountered Bishop Ambrose. In his Confessions Augustine writes: “This man of God welcomed me as a father. As a result, I began to love him, not because of his teaching, but because of his warm and loving personality. I enjoyed hearing him preach, not in order to learn from what he said, but in order to admire and to imitate his eloquence. Indeed, I still despised the doctrines he taught. Yet, by opening my heart to the sweetness of his speech, the truth of his teaching began to enter my soul, little by little.” Augustine soon embraced the Christian faith and Ambrose baptized him in 387. Soon after, the new convert returned to North Africa where he eventually became Bishop of Hippo, ruling in that turbulent African diocese for 34 years until his death in 430.

Like many other figures in religious art, details of Augustine’s life can be pictured through his assigned attributes. For example, he is sometimes shown wearing a bishop’s robes and miter to signify his esteemed position and spiritual vocation; he also sometimes holds a book and pen, symbols of his scholarship and writing. His most common symbol, however, is the flaming heart which represents his passion and love for Christ following his conversion (when pierced with an arrow, it also signifies the death of worldly love).  Juan de Flandes uses all of these attributes in his rendering. In so doing, he not only highlights Augustine as a revered and influential scholar but also as a passionate servant whose conversion to Christ ended the tempestuous and relentless spiritual struggle that marked his early years.

 
St. Roch (figure on right):
 

St. Roch’s history is as interesting as Augustine’s—though less easily verified and more often mixing fact with fiction. As far as we can ascertain, St. Roch was born in Montpellier, France to a wealthy, influential family. When he was in his early 20s, both his parents died, and following their death Roch distributed his possessions among the poor and set out as a mendicant for Italy. It is here that he first encounters the plague. Overcome by the suffering of a plague-stricken populace, he begins to care for (and according to some stories heal) the sick. As the disease continues its sweep across Italy, Roch travels from city to city helping those in need. Unfortunately when he reaches Piacenza he himself falls ill. Not wishing to burden anyone, he retreats into the woods to die. According to legend, during this time a dog miraculously feeds the ailing saint. In some versions of the story the dog is his own, and in other versions it belongs to another master. In this second variant, the master follows the dog into the forest, finds Roch, and nurses him back to health. Still another version of the story, replaces the animal with an anointing angel. In all versions, however, Roch regains his health and continues his ministry among the sick. At the end of the pandemic, Roch returns home. Ironically, upon arriving in Montpellier he is arrested as a spy and brought before his only surviving uncle who is a judge in the town.  Unfortunately, Roch’s illness has so altered his appearance that his uncle fails to recognize him; he is, thus, thrown into prison where he dies five years later.

Like St. Augustine, St. Roch has numerous attributes, and Juan de Flandes integrates them all into this painting. Roch’s traditional pilgrim’s garb and staff (symbols of his mendicant travels) are included. The painter also includes both the dog and the angel, accounting for not one but two variations of the saint’s healing. Roch’s key symbol, a plague boil that appears on his thigh, is also evident.

 

Almost 1000 years separate the two figures that Juan de Flandes highlights in this work. The pairing of their stories, however, highlights a common theme: the power of a transcendent vision to heal the soul, inspire compassion, and alter the day-to-day affairs of men.

Donnalynn Hess, Director of Education

 

Published in 2015

Object of the Month: December 2014

Madonna and Child with an Angel (“Madonna of the Magnificat”)

Tempera on panel

Alessandro di Mariano Filipepi, called Sandro Botticelli (and studio)

Florentine, 1444/45–1510

Click on the links throughout the article to view additional artists’ works and reference material.

The Florentine master Botticelli is known for creating elegantly fluid lines that give his paintings what art experts call an “ethereal quality.” Two expressive works showcasing this skill are his Madonna and Child with an Angel (c. 1490) and his Mystic Nativity (c. 1500).  Although both works highlight Christ’s incarnation, the overall composition and thematic nuances are vastly different.

This first work, a tondo from M&G’s collection, portrays a tender embrace between Mary and the Christ child.  The pose of the central figures readily awakens in the viewer that universal feeling of familial love.  It is an intimate human scene, but one that illuminates the wonder of the Word becoming flesh. This wonder is further explored through the angel who (unlike most angelic messengers) is without the defining attribute of wings. The angel’s focus on Mary’s Magnificat is also significant, for it draws our attention to the text that “gives voice” to the painting’s key theme: “My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior.”

The beautiful intimacy between Mary and the Christ child is also implied through the central vignette of his Mystic Nativity. However, radiating from this focal point is a sweeping panorama that takes the viewer beyond the incarnation to the final judgment. It is one of Botticelli’s most unusual works; it is also his only known signed painting. In his later years, Botticelli came under the influence of the fiery reformer Savonarola. In The Panorama of the Renaissance Margaret Aston notes that the “more expressive and powerful force discernible in his later works may represent his spiritual response to [Savonarola and] the spiritual unrest in Florence.”  Aston also points out that despite the juxtaposition of the incarnation with the apocalypse, the overall tone of the painting is joy. The apocalypse, usually so terrifying, is here transformed through the angels’ celebration.  Clearly, this nativity will change everything.

Donnalynn Hess, Director of Education

 

Published in 2014

Object of the Month: November 2014

St. Catherine of Alexandria Appearing to the Family of St. Bonaventura

Oil on canvas

Francisco de Herrera, the Elder

Spanish, c. 1590-1654

Click on the links throughout the article to view additional artists’ works and reference material.

Francisco came from a family of painters; his father was an illuminator and engraver, and his son also became a painter. He first studied with his father, Juan de Herrera Aguilar, who taught him in the Mannerist style of painting typical in late sixteenth century Seville.

His first known work is not a painting, but an engraved frontispiece for the Constituciones del Arzobispado de Sevilla (Seville, 1609). A year later, Herrera established a studio and may have been the first master of the well-known Diego Velázquez. However, a contemporary Spanish biographer, Palomino, wrote that Herrera had a terrible temper and difficulty keeping students. Nonetheless, throughout his career Herrera gained many commissions from various monasteries and convents in his hometown of Seville.

Herrera’s most significant contribution to Spanish painting is the freedom in his “modeling of forms with bold brushstrokes of solid pigment.” This mature style is evident in the present painting. “On December 30, 1627, Herrera signed a contract with the Procurator of the Franciscan College of St. Bonaventure at Seville to paint six canvases depicting scenes from the life of St. Bonaventure.” According to the contract, Herrera was to “begin work January 1, 1628, and to complete one painting every month and a half, for the sum of 900 reales for each composition. If the painter did not meet these terms, the father procurator was free to give the commission to another artist.” Herrera seems to have completed no more than four paintings including the current work along with St. Bonaventure as a Child Healed by St. Francis (Louvre, Paris), St. Bonaventure Received into the Franciscan Order (Prado, Madrid), and St. Bonaventure Receiving Communion from an Angel (Louvre, Paris).

It is not known why Herrera did not complete the commission. It could have been that he simply had too many commissions at one time. Besides the four works for St. Bonaventure, he was to complete the main altar and decorations for the Franciscan Monastery of Santa Ines, a Last Judgment for the Church of San Bernardo in Seville among others. The fact that Zurbarán had just arrived in town may have also played a role in the procurator’s decision to give the remainder of the commission to him instead of Herrera.

John M. Nolan, Curator

 

Published in 2014

Object of the Month: October 2014

A Sibyl

Oil on canvas

Ginevra Cantofoli

Bolognese, 1618-1672

 

Click on the links throughout the article to view additional artists’ works and reference material.

From the Middle Ages to the early Renaissance, an artist’s instruction commonly occurred in the workshop of master painters or religious orders; however, in the 13th century, the craft guild system launched an apprenticeship program to carefully regulate the training, materials, and assessment of prescribed artistic techniques. The standard training began for boys (around 13 years of age) within a master’s workshop setting, which lasted 3-7 years; this process became the required expectation as outlined in Cennino Cennini’s, The Craftsman’s Handbook, a how-to-guide to artistic techniques, “If you do not see some practice under some master, you will never amount to anything, nor will you ever be able to hold your head up in the company of masters.”

Once completing the basic preparatory skills, the youth could progress to “journeyman” (a master’s assistant) by possibly journeying to another city to study and practice under a different master at a new level of training and collaboration. After 3-4 years (sometimes longer), he was allowed to submit a test piece to be evaluated by both his own master and other guild representatives. If his “masterpiece” passed, he would then be able to work as a “master” painter himself and acquire a permit to establish his own workshop and apprentices—hence the name, Old Master painters.

During the Renaissance, a new concept of artistic training developed known as The Academy—a private, informal instruction venue that not only developed artistic skill, but also included life observation, philosophy, and discussion to increase knowledge and broaden understanding.

These various methods of training were challenging for artists, but produced some well-known greats as well as some very gifted lesser known artists. While art education was well framed, suited to males, and even strictly regulated in areas, there were yet some options for a female to pursue training and have a presence in the world of art.  One historian states, “Although there were routes to follow for a man who wanted to be an artist and no map at all for a woman, art training was more flexible than it seemed on the surface.”  Even when excluded from apprenticeships and academies, history provides many examples of women that received artistic training through private tuition or lessons (if her family had money), from an artist-father in his workshop, in a convent, or from seeking out friendly advice.

Interestingly, a number of the known female painters spring from Bologna, Italy in particular.  It was a city where women outnumbered the men and a place that prided itself for its famous university which as early as the 13th century opened its doors to women (some of whom became lecturers renowned for their scholarship).

Elisabetta Sirani, grew up in Bologna and under the tutelage of her artist-father, Giovanni Andrea Sirani, who (somewhat reluctantly) trained her in the manner of his master, the “Divine Guido” Reni. She became a respected painter and received important commissions for churches and portraits.  She became a member of “merit” as a full professor and a member of “honor” of the Academy of St. Luke in Rome—one of the first women painters and the only Bolognese of her generation to enjoy this privilege.  Since she was officially recognized as a professional artist, she could direct her own studio, take on apprentices, and train young artists. Breaking the tradition based on the model of arts education for men and women, Sirani welcomed women of all ages and backgrounds in her atelier including amateurs and aspiring artists like Ginevra Cantofoli, who went on to make a reputation of her own.

Ginevra Cantofoli is believed to come from a well-to-do family and was older than her teacher; yet, she was one of Elisabetta’s favorites and possibly became one of her assistants. She based many of her works on her teacher’s, and subsequently, some of her works have been confused as Sirani’s. However, she also produced original works including those for the Foresti family chapel and other large scale compositions for churches in Bologna. Rare for the 17th century, she earned her living as a professional artist; this is confirmed by a legal document drafted by the artist herself in 1688 in which reference is made to “money by her earned by her work of painting.”

A sibyl in classical mythology is a female prophetess often pictured with a book or scroll and which symbolized the harmony between Christian and Classical ideals.  However, this work is unusual as a self-portrait of Ginevra who blends the classical sibyl and Hebrew prophetess. By painting a sibyl, she associated herself with areas where women had little influence during the time, such as ancient literature and languages and religious painting.

Based on history and the great numbers of male Old Masters that followed the accepted training processes, it is unusual to see works by female Old Masters; however if you visit M&G, you can see at least two examples on display in the collection including this unique self-portrait.

Erin R. Jones, Executive Director

 

Published in 2014

Object of the Month: September 2014

Patience

Oil on canvas

Frederic James Shields, A.R.W.S.

English, 1833-1911

Click on the links throughout the article to view additional artists’ works and reference material.

Frederic James Shields, the creator of this work, was one of many provincial artists to embrace the tenets of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Like many artistic movements, the Brotherhood began with a small group of youthful idealists decrying the conventions of their day. The founding members, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, John Everett Millais, and William Holman Hunt were a diverse set of friends with one thing in common—a genuine admiration for  “the immaculate purity of Pre-Renaissance art” (K. E. Sullivan). This passion, coupled with their growing disdain for London’s Royal Academy, motivated these young painters to set down four principles to govern their work.  These principles (or “declarations” as the young men labeled them) were:

  • To have genuine ideas to express;
  • To study Nature attentively;
  • To sympathize with what is direct and serious and heartfelt in previous art, to the exclusion of what is conventional and self-parading and learned by rote; and
  • Most indispensible of all, to produce thoroughly good pictures and statues.

Time would mellow some of the Brotherhood’s youthful disdain (Millais later became President of the Royal Academy). More importantly, it would refine and extend the Pre-Raphaelite vision.

The famed Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition (1857) “awakened” the Victorian public to a wide range of artistic venues including Pre-Raphaelite art. It was at this exhibition that Frederic James Shields first encountered the meticulously executed, vibrantly colored canvases of Rossetti, Millais, and Hunt. Shields later studied with Rossetti, and the two became life-long friends. However, the rich detail and typological symbolism in works like Patience reveals that Shields’ artistic technique and iconography are more in tune with William Holman Hunt’s oeuvre. A comparison of the topological symbolism in Hunt’s The Hireling Shepherd with Shields’ commentary on Patience illustrates some of the fascinating similarities between these two artists’ approach to subject and technique:

Set upon a sundial, her ankle chained thereto, her motions circumscribed with its time-measuring limit, stands Patience. Wings has she like a dove’s, but not till God shall loose her chain shall she fly away and be at rest.  Meanwhile she waits, crowned with thorns, with eyelids dropped as seeing things invisible, and lips, firm closed, like unto the Lamb of God, who brought to the slaughter, opened not His mouth.  Her once green garment is faded, stained and tattered with storm and wrack, and she is environed by sharp thorns and thistles, the thorns bearing still some lingering withered leaves of the past winter, and putting forth fresh green shoots (new woes fast on the heels of the old ones, and the thistle seeding to multiply yet more). She keeps pressed to her bosom the word of Christ’s patience, and bears His yoke, its noose around her neck.  Moreover, she carries a basketful of seed corn, and from her girded loins hangs a sickle (Frederic James Shields).

Donnalynn Hess. Director of Education

 

Published in 2014

Object of the Month: August 2014

Ecce Homo (Behold the Man)

Oil on canvas, Signed and dated middle left: Jusepe de Ribera español/ F.1638

Jusepe de Ribera, called Lo Spagnoletto

Spanish, active in Naples, 1591-1652

 

Ribera was born in Javita, Spain and presumably apprenticed in his homeland until he sailed for Naples, Italy in 1607, where he first observed the works of Caravaggio and developed an early affinity for the master’s style. Caravaggio’s art was a continual influence throughout Ribera’s career, but a trip to Rome provided exposure to the classical style of the Carracci and Guido Reni. Ribera’s impressive list of collectors includes Cosimo II, the Viceroys of Naples, and King Philip IV. He always considered himself a Spaniard (hence, the identification in the present signature) and greatly influenced the art of his homeland although he lived in Italy most of his life and made a considerable impact on Italian Baroque artists.

The present Ecce Homo is a devotional picture boldly presenting Christ after his torture and mockery by the Roman soldiers. Ribera painted the work in 1638 at the height of his popularity, and it illustrates his ability to combine a strong spiritual image with poignant realism. Christ gazes at the viewer with a confidence amidst the mockery, knowing that the crown of thorns and reed-scepter are emblems of a heavenly power unrealized by mankind. The empty background, isolation from the jeering crowd, and the engaging look of Christ’s eyes all contribute to create an arrestingly moving portrait of the highest order.

“El Greco to Goya” is the earliest known exhibition in which this painting participated—a 1963 show held at the John Herron Museum of Art in Indianapolis, IN and at the Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of Design in Providence, Rhode Island. Additionally, the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth, TX hosted an exhibit in 1983 including M&G’s Ribera. Two of the foremost American scholars on Spanish paintings, Craig Felton and William Jordan, produced a corresponding exhibition catalog in which M&G’s painting is referred to as “unquestionably the finest” of Ribera’s known works of this subject.

John M. Nolan, Curator 

 

Published in 2014

 

Object of the Month: July 2014

The Mocking of Christ

Oil on canvas, c. 1620–30

Unknown French or Dutch (follower of Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio)

Active 17th century

 

The attribution of unsigned paintings is a tricky business and can stump even the most well-respected scholars. Sometimes documentary evidence can help to attribute firmly an author to a painting, and at other times attribution can be securely made by an expert’s trained eye through an analysis and comparison of the artist’s style and technique. The present painting illustrates the difficulty of determining attribution for an unsigned painting several hundred years old due to two complications: a dearth of documentary evidence and the artist’s using a popular style/technique (which limits unique identifying elements to an artist’s individual style).

The starting point for comparison of this work originates with the revolutionary Italian artist, Michelangelo Merisi, called Caravaggio. The dramatic lighting effects and use of ordinary people for models are some of the hallmarks of his style. These same characteristics are carried through in this painting: the shaft of light streaming down from the top center to the lower right and the variety of rugged-looking characters surrounding Christ.

The painting bears a striking similarity to the same paintings of this subject produced by Caravaggio, especially his Crowning of Thorns in the Kunsthistoriches Museum, Vienna. The characters of an armored man with a plumed hat and a torturer wearing a gaping, white shirt are found in both paintings. Even the “V” shape made by the bamboo reeds above Christ’s head are echoed in each composition. Furthermore, several of the figure types reflect similar models in some of Caravaggio’s paintings. For example, the Spanish-looking man with the reed (at the far left) resembles the man holding the ropes (at the far right) in Caravaggio’s Flagellation in the Musee des Beaux-Arts, Rouen. The boy in the feathered hat in the upper right also is a stock character found in a number of Caravaggio’s early genre paintings, including the Cardsharps at the Kimbell Museum of Art.

Comparisons such as these may seem like a good indication for an attribution to Caravaggio. However, his style became extremely popular and widely mimicked—making the task of assigning authorship difficult. Artists from all parts of Europe—France, Spain, Flanders, Holland, and Germany—flocked to Rome in the early 1600s and tried their hand at experimenting with his new style. Artists who incorporated Caravaggio’s style often retained some of their own nuances that made their work unique and more readily identifiable.

Paintings that bear a strong resemblance to Caravaggio’s paintings are often attributed to Bartolomeo Manfredi, his closest Italian follower. The similarity of Manfredi’s style to Caravaggio’s is compelling, making Manfredi a potential part of the equation with the present painting. However, scholars at Sotheby’s have isolated features unlike Manfredi’s style such as the metallic coloring, handling of the drapery, facial features (especially the figure to the far right) to point to an attribution to a Northern artist working in Rome.

The present painting seems to have the closest affinity to artists from France who were working in Rome during the 1620s—namely Nicolas Régnier, Valentin de Boulogne, and Nicolas Tournier. Of these three, the strongest possibility for an attribution for this painting is Tournier, who used similar expressive figure types, compositional arrangement, and handling of paint and drapery, as seen in his Merry Company in the St. Louis Art Museum. The facial type of Christ and handling of drapery are especially close to Tournier’s The Fiasco Drinker in the Galleria Estense, Modena.

Until further research, comparisons, and additional expert opinions support a specific attribution (such as Nicolas Tournier), the painting will continue to carry its current, more general designation as an Unknown French or Dutch Follower of Caravaggio.

John M. Nolan, Curator 

 

Published in 2014

 

Object of the Month: June 2014

The Holy Trinity

Tempera on panel

Lorenzo di Niccolò di Martino

Florentine, active 1392–1412

 

Lorenzo di Niccolò worked in Florence around the turn of the fifteenth century—one of the most significant centuries in history known as the Renaissance. Painting during this period continued in the tradition of Giotto (begun a century earlier), and Lorenzo’s own style was not much different from that tradition along with other contemporary artists. While paintings of the Trinity were common imagery within altarpieces of the time, Niccolò’s depiction is unique—painted in a way never done before. All known earlier representations of the Trinity in this configuration (known as “The Mercy Seat”) are depicted with God the Father sitting behind the crucified Christ; whereas, here, God the Father is shown standing.

Perhaps today this seems like an insignificant modification, but in the fourteenth century iconography was more codified; deviations articulated meaning, tradition, and Church dogma—all issues firmly upheld and monitored by Church officials. Interestingly, Trinity subjects with God the Father in a standing position were rare until the same concept appeared about 20 years later in one of the most famous paintings in history, Masaccio’s fresco of the Holy Trinity at Santa Maria Novella, Florence.

Another nuance of Niccolò’s imagery is that God the Father is also shown as a young man—the same likeness used for Christ. This approach heightens the physical and spiritual connection between the Father and Son, who are mysteriously distinct persons in a unified Trinity. However, the depiction of a youthful Heavenly Father was later forbidden by papal edict revealing that the iconography shown in this painting was short lived in art history.

An intriguing facet of this panel is that the entire back side of the panel is painted (with the exception of areas of wear and damage expected for an artwork over 600 years old). A full, decorative reverse side of a painting is somewhat common to early Italian panel paintings and suggests that people were intended to view the reverse. Sometimes entire narratives or portraits are found on the back of paintings; others have painted inscriptions or symbols for organizations such as confraternities. However, the pattern and application here supply a completely abstract, decorative function. In fact, the effect was intended to mimic the type of decorative marble inlaid patterns commonly incorporated into many existing Florentine churches, including the Duomo, Santa Maria Novella, and Santa Croce.

Preliminary research has revealed an almost identical pattern for what we see on this panel on a wall fresco border painted by Agnolo Gaddi in 1380 at Santa Croce. This pattern could be a clue to its inclusion in that same church to match the existing faux stonework existing on the walls. The pattern is distinct and would have the same markings as some or all of the other panels associated with the altarpiece from which this panel came. Such unique features can aid in attribution and dating, if related panels have firm documentation.

John M. Nolan, Curator 

 

Published in 2014

 

Object of the Month: May 2014

Solomon’s Prayer for Wisdom

Oil on canvas, c. 1655

Govaert Flinck

Dutch, 1615–1660

 

Govaert Flinck began his artistic career in the studio of a Mennonite preacher named Lambert Jacobsz of Leeuwarden. However, after Rembrandt settled in Amsterdam, Flinck assured his future success by entering the great master’s studio as a journeyman. He was the first to closely imitate Rembrandt’s new, Amsterdam style, so much so that some of his pictures were sold as if by Rembrandt himself.

In spite of his facility to learn his master’s style, Flinck later abandoned his teacher’s manner to assume a lighter classical style of painting learned from nearby Flanders. This change proved to be one that the patrons loved and, consequently, brought him great popularity and wealth. The officials of Amsterdam patronized Flinck more than any other artist (including Rembrandt), which is evidenced by his winning the most important civil commission in Amsterdam—the decoration of the new town hall—with this very work!

As the winning entry, Solomon’s Prayer for Wisdom is a preparatory sketch for the much larger finished canvas, which still hangs in its original position as a chimneypiece in “The Moses Room” of the Amsterdam town hall. Flinck would have shown the present sketch to the town commissioners for approval before working on the final canvas. This colorful and ambitious composition marks the height of Flinck’s powers as the leading historical painter of his day. Govaert Flinck’s classical style of painting became the standard for Dutch artists for the next hundred years.

John M. Nolan, Curator 

 

Published in 2014

 

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