Condivi and Michelangelo's "Pietà"

Well my friends, I think I may have found another minor error in an art history textbook. The textbook I use for my Renaissance classes, The Changing Status of the Artist, says the following: "Ascanio Condivi recorded that his friend Michelangelo carved himself in the guise of Nicodemus mourning over the dead Christ"¹. This seemingly insignificant comment has captured my attention for several months, and consequently I have long wanted to read Condivi's biography of Michelangelo (first printed 1553). Now that the school quarter is finished, I finally found time to read the biography this past weekend. But when I got to Condivi's discussion on the Duomo Pietà (c. 1550, see below), I couldn't find any discussion about a self-portrait! Only in the footnote of biography did I notice this information from the editor: "The figure of Nicodemus, according to a letter from Vasari to Michelangelo's nephew Leonardo shortly after the artist's death, is a self-portrait"²

Now, in the great scheme of things, perhaps it isn't too a big deal that my textbook misattributed this self-portrait information to Condivi instead of Vasari. I understand that. But I also am in favor of historical accuracy, and I thought I would put the record straight here. If any of my past students are reading this, please make a note of the error on page 69 of your textbook!

That being said, this misattribution happily led me to become familiar with Condivi's book first-hand. Many scholars believe that Condivi's work is the best account of Michelangelo's life; this book can practically be considered an autobiography. Condivi wrote that he got his information "with long patience from the living oracle of his [master's] speech."³ It appears that Michelangelo wanted this biography to be written for two reasons: 1) to correct omissions and errors about Michelangelo that appeared in Vasari's first edition of Lives of the Artists and 2) to exonerate Michelangelo from accusations that he deceived the heirs of Julius II and embezzled sums of money (in regards to Michelangelo's seemingly-endless sculptural project for Pope Julius II's tomb).

Condivi's biography is a great resource for any Renaissance scholar, and it's a rather quick read. And although I didn't read any new information about Michelangelo's self-portrait on the Duomo Pietà, I was prompted to consider reasons why Michelangelo included his self-portrait. Condivi wrote that "Michelangelo plans to donate this Pietà to some church and to have himself buried at the foot of the altar where it is placed."⁴

So, if this was to be a funerary function in some sense, Michelangelo may have wanted to include his portrait as part of the traditional convention to represent an image of the deceased on funerary monuments. Michelangelo may have also identified with Nicodemus for either spiritual or personal reasons. For example, according to legend, Nicodemus was a sculptor.⁵

However, this Pietà never was placed next to Michelangelo's tomb. Vasari, who designed Michelangelo's tomb, unsuccessfully tried to acquire the Pietà from the family who owned the sculpture at the time. However, I think it's best that Vasari didn't get his hands on the Pietà: it appears that Michelangelo changed his mind and didn't want the sculpture for his tomb after all. In 1555, two years after Condivi wrote his biography, Michelangelo abandoned and mutilated the Pietà. He then sold the sculpture in 1561 to his friend Francesco Bandini, a Florentine banker in Rome. So if Michelangelo sold the sculpture, it's very likely that he had no intention of using the sculpture on his own tomb. In a way, I'm surprised that Vasari didn't pick up on that simple concept.

A lot of scholars have discussed and analyzed why Michelangelo mutilated the Duomo Pietà, and I think I will compile some thoughts in a forthcoming post. Stay tuned!

1 Catherine King, "Italian Artists in Search of Virtue, Fame, and Honor c. 1450-1650," in The Changing Status of the Artist by Emma Barker, Nick Webb and Kim Woods, eds. (London: Yale University Press, 1999), 69.

2 Ascanio Condivi, The Life of Michelangelo, translated by Alice Sedgwick Wohl, edited by Hellmut Wohl, 2nd ed. (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999), 140 (my emphasis). I realize that the Changing Status textbook could be referring to something else written by Condivi besides his biography (such as a letter), but I highly doubt it. The editor of this Condivi text probably would have mentioned if Condivi had written anything about Michelangelo's self-portrait, instead of only mentioning this letter by Vasari.

3 Ibid., xvi-xviii.

4 Ibid., 90. Michelangelo wanted to be buried in Santa Maria Maggiore, but was actually interred in the Florentine church Santa Croce. Vasari writes details of the internment (and opening Michelangelo's casket to reveal a body untouched by decay!) in his second version of Lives of the Artists (1568). See Giorgio Vasari, The Lives of the Artists, translation by Julia Conway Bondanella and Peter Bondanella (London: Oxford University Press, 1991), 486.

5 King, 69.

Crucifix of Gero Conundrum

Okay, Ottonian art experts, I need help. I'm trying to resolve an issue regarding the Crucifix of Gero (c. 970, Cologne Cathedral, shown left). The most recent editions of Gardner's Art Through the Ages and Stokstad's Art History mention that this statue functions as a reliquary. According to both books, a cavity in the back of Christ's head contains a piece of the Host.¹

HOWEVER, I recently read here that no cavity exists behind the sculpture. "Despite older sources even citing the exact dimensions of such a reliquary opening in the Cologne sculpture, the restoration of the Gero Cross in 1976 revealed that no receptacle exists in the corpus' head."²

What's the real story behind this? Who should I believe? I'm inclined to believe the 1976 restoration news, but it seems incredulous that both major art history textbooks would have missed the "There is no reliquary cavity!" memo that was written almost 35 years ago. Did any further evidence come about after the 1976 restoration? Or should I continue to lose faith in canonical art history textbooks?

One other thought. Despite that there might not be an opening in its back, I think this statue could still function as a reliquary: in the 10th century Archbishop Gero allegedly placed the Host and True Cross in the once-cracked wood of the statue (see footnote #2 below). But I guess there's no way to prove that miraculous story through scientific analysis, is there?

1 Marilyn Stokstad, Art History, 4th ed. (Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 2011), 448. See also Fred S. Kleiner, Gardner's Art Through the Ages (Backpack Edition: The Middle Ages), 13th ed. (Boston: Wadsworth: 2010), 201304.

2 Søren Kaspersen and Erik Thunø, Decorating the Lord's Table: On the Dynamics Between Image and Altar in the Middle Ages (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2006), 59 (available online here). This same book also mentions the tradition of how the Crucifix of Gero came to be a so-called reliquary: "The early eleventh century Chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg contains a miracle story involving Gero of Cologne, who served as archbishop from 969 to 976. The passage in Chapter Two of Book Three reads: 'Meanwhile, Archbishop Gero of the see of Cologne died. As I have only spoken briefly about him, I will not relate a few things which I previously held back. He had a crucifix artfully made out of wood, which now stands above his grave, in the middle of the church. When he noticed a fissure in the crucifix's head, he healed it, trusting not in himself, but rather in the healthy remedy of the highest artisan. He took a portion of the body of the Lord, our unique comfort in every necessity, and part of the health-bringing cross, and placed them together in the crack. Then, prostrating himself, he tearfully invoked the name of the Lord. When he arose, he found that the damage had been healed through his humble benediction.'" See Kaspersen and Thunø, 45-46 (available online here).

Naram-Sin Inscriptions

Bah! I found another problem with something in Stokstad's recent Art History text. I promise that I'm not spending my time scouting out errors in this book - they just happen to pop up. I like a lot of things about Stokstad's approach to art history, but these minor errors and misleading statements are making me question whether I want to use this textbook for my classes. (Plus, it's making me wonder: what other incorrect or misleading statements in the text could have escaped my notice?) Man, if I ever decide to give up teaching, maybe Pearson Prentice Hall would hire me as an editor for their future editions of Art History.

Right now I'm bothered about Stokstad's discussion of the Victory Stele of Naram-Sin (2254-2218 BCE, shown left). Stokstad writes about the significance of "the inscription" on the stele - which suggests that there is only one inscription.¹ In reality, though, there are two inscriptions: one that was written by Naram-Sin, and another inscription (which is most prominent and recognizable) that was written about 1,000 years later. Not only does Stokstad fail to recognize that there are two inscriptions, but she also implies that the second (clearly visible) inscription is the one that was written to commemorate Naram-Sin's victory. This simply isn't true.

To prove my point, let me show you the inscriptions. Here's a detail image of the first inscription that was made:

This inscription is partially worn off (it is outlined by a rectangular shape over Naram-Sin's head) and states that Naram-Sin was victorious over the Lullubi people of the Zagros Mountains. The inscription was likely made at the time when the rest of the stele was fashioned.

Here is a detail image of the second (and easily recognizable) inscription:

This inscription was written by Shutruk-Nahhunte, an Elamite king who raided Sippar in the 12th century BC and carried the stele back to Susa as booty. Shutruk-Nahhunte recorded his actions in an Elamite text: "I am Shutruk-Nahhunte, son of Hallutush-Inshushinak, beloved servant of the god Inshushinak, king of Anshan and Susa, enlarger of my realm, protector of Elam, prince of Elam. At the command of [the god] Inshusinak, I struck down the city of Sippar. I took the stele of Naram-Sin in my hand, and I carried it off and brought it back to Elam. I set it up in dedication to my lord, Inshusinak."

This week my class has been reading a fascinating essay by Marian H. Feldman which discusses this latter inscription. (It is because of Feldman's article that I noticed the misleading information in Stokstad's book. Only after sorting out the two inscriptions did I discover that the most recent edition of Gardner's Art Through the Ages correctly describes the two different inscriptions. At least one general survey text has the correct information!) Feldman uses the Elamite inscription as a springboard to discuss how different Mesopotamian monuments became loot and booty after multiple wars in the ancient Near East. She discusses the various ways that conquering Mesopotamian groups would mutilate or deface artistic spoils of war. It's a really interesting essay, and I especially like her comparisons between ancient looting and the 2003 raiding of the National Museum of Iraq.

In regards to this stele, I liked Feldman's discussion of how Shutruk-Nahunte chose to associate himself with Naram-Sin in the second stele inscription. Feldman writes, "That Shutruk-Nahhunte did not overwrite or obliterate Naram-Sin's original inscription, as he did with other captured Mesopotamian monuments, and moreover, that in his own inscription he attributed the stele to Naram-Sin by name, suggests that this particular monument possessed a significance beyond simple war booty. Rather, Shutruk-Nahhunte's knowledge of the stele's association with a charismatic, if dishonored, ruler of the first great Near Eastern empire imbued the monument with added value."² It's neat to think about how the value and meaning of this stele has changed over time.

Anyhow, thanks to Marian H. Feldman, I've now got my two inscriptions straight. Let's hope that Stokstad straightens out her own error in future editions of Art History.

1 Marilyn Stokstad and Michael W. Cothren, Art History, 4th edition (Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 2011), 36.
2 Marian H. Feldman, "Knowledge as Cultural Biography: Lives of Mesopotamian Monuments," in Dialogues in Art History, from Mesopotamian to Modern: Readings for a New Century, Elizabeth Cropper, ed. (London: National Gallery of Art, Washington, 2009), 44.

"Masculine" vs. "Feminine" vs. "Androgynous"

This quarter I have been peppering my lectures with some discussion about women in the visual arts, following some of the ideas that Christine Havice presented in Women's Studies Quarterly. ¹ Although art historical practice and publications have changed since Havice published her article in 1987, I think that many of her suggestions are still appropriate in the classroom today.

Recently I've been talking with my students about Akhenaten and the Amarna period in Egyptian art (on the left is the colossal figure of Akhenaten, c. 1353-1336 BC). This topic easily segued into a discussion (prompted by Havice) about the problematic nature of the labeling an artistic style or work of art as "masculine" and "feminine." We discussed how our 21st century idea (i.e. construct) of "masculine" and "feminine" differs greatly (or likely didn't even exist) in prehistoric and ancient times, and by using those labels we are superimposing our cultural ideology on a work of art. All in all, using such adjectives in art historical discussions implies that a similar "masculine" or "feminine" construct existed at the time the art was created.

Sigh. And such is the challenge for art historians. I think it is often difficult to find correct (i.e. objective) adjectives and phrases to describe works of art, because we always interpret works of our through our own cultural lenses. I'd like to think that Michael Ann Holly would agree with me on this subject, since she has much lamented the melancholic separation between historians and the objects of their scholarly discussion.

So, what do we do? Search for different adjectives? Continue to describe works of art in the best way that we know how, yet recognizing the surrounding culture from whence our biases spring? We obviously can't ditch adjectives altogether; the discipline of art history revolves around the limited translation of images to words.

I don't know the answers to solve such conundrums regarding adjectives, but I have formed one opinion about adjectives for the Amarna style. I think it is just as problematic to try and neutralize ground between the "masculine" and "feminine" terms by saying that Akenaten's colossal statue "suggest[s] androgyny" (sorry, Marilyn Stokstad).² Do we know if Akhenaten was trying to appear androgynous in his art? No! Even without using the "masculine" or "feminine" label, Stokstad is trying to define this statue on sexual grounds, in this case suggesting the lack or combination of sexual characteristics as a definition. (Besides, do we even know if the concept of androgyny existed in ancient Egypt?) I think it would have been more appropriate for Stokstad to say that the sculpture may suggest androgyny to the modern viewer.

1 Christine Havice, "Teaching about Women in the Visual Arts: The Art History Survey Transfigured," Women's Studies Quarterly 15, no. 1/2 (Spring-Summer 1987): 17-20.

2 Marilyn Stokstad and Michael W. Cothren, Art History, 4th edition (Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 2011), 71.

Ghiberti's North Doors

Excuse me, Marilyn Stokstad, but I found an error in your art history textbook.  Granted, I own a dated version (1999) of Art History (Revised Edition, Volume Two), and I'm hoping that subsequent editions have corrected this error.  My copy states the following on p. 647:

"In 1402, a competition was held to determine who would provide bronze relief panels for a new set of doors for the north side of the Florence Baptistery of San Giovanni." (my emphasis)

This is incorrect.  Although the doors resulting from this competition have now ended up on the north side of the baptistery, at the time of the competition these doors were intended for the eastern side of the building.¹

The competition to create a set of doors for the baptistery helped revive a project that had been put-aside for several years.  When Andrea Pisano had created a set of doors about seventy years before (dated 1330), it was intended at the time that doors would be completed in a similar fashion for the remaining two portals.

Ghiberti won the competition and a set of doors were completed between 1403-1424 (see above left).  At the time of completion, Pisano's doors were moved from their original location on the east side, in order to accommodate Ghiberti's new doors.²

Although Ghiberti's doors were installed on the eastern side, later they were moved to their current location: the north side of the building.  The same year that Ghiberti completed these now-northern doors, he was given a second commission to complete the last set of doors for the baptistery.  This second commission resulted in the famous doors which are known as "The Gates of Paradise" (1425-52, see below right), and are currently located on the east side of the building.³

I feel like there's a lot of confusion regarding Ghiberti's doors.  So much emphasis is placed on "The Gates of Paradise" (and for good reason), that no doubt many people think that these are the doors which immediately resulted from the competition in 1401-02.  If you think about it, though, that assumption doesn't make a lot of sense.  Ghiberti's submission piece for the competition, The Sacrifice of Isaac (1401) was designed within a quatrefoil shape.  Likewise, Brunelleschi (Ghiberti's rival) completed his submission (also called The Sacrifice of Isaac (1401)) for the competition in a quatrefoil.  It's easy to see Ghiberti and Brunelleschi's logic for using the quatrefoil; they wanted their doors to match the already-existing door by Pisano. After winning the competition, Ghiberti's used the quatrefoil shape for all the panels in his now-northern doors. Ghiberti only abandoned the quatrefoil shape when he created the doors for his later commission, "The Gates of Paradise."

It's easy to look at the competition submissions and see that the north doors resulted from that historic competition.  But you need to be able to see the north doors in order to make that association.  Many art history textbooks include images of Ghiberti's and Brunelleschi's competition panels (see this example in the most recent version of Gardner's Art Through the Ages), but then don't include pictures of the north doors.  Instead, "The Gates of Paradise" is shown.  It's too confusing to discuss the 1401 competition and then display doors that weren't directly associated with the competition!  If textbook writers could include just an image of the north doors (even a small one), it could help students keep their facts (and doors!) straight.


*7/25: I made a couple of revisions to this post, having found more information about the original location of Andrea Pisano's doors and the nature of the 1401-02 competition.

1 See Laurie Schneider Adams, Italian Renaissance Art, (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 2001), 60.  In truth, at this time the Florence baptistery needed two portals to be decorated.  The aim of the 1401-02 competition was to begin work on this project.  For a little bit more information regarding the nature of the competition, see Manfred Wundram and Gustina Scaglia, "Ghiberti." In Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T031929pg1 (accessed 26 July 2010).

2 Ibid. Today Pisano's doors are located on the south side of the baptistery. Manfred Wundram and Gustina Scaglia write that Pisano's doors were originally moved to the west portal, in order to create room for the doors from Ghiberti's first commission.

3 The now-northern doors were moved from the east side in 1452, soon after "The Gates of Paradise" were finished.